Gemmell, David – Morningstar

She carried the carcass to a long, narrow bench. I followed her and watched as she sliced open the skin of the creature’s neck. Then she cut away the bones and head and pulled clear the crop-bag which she flung to the floor. ‘Useless,’ she said. ‘Even dogs wouldn’t touch it. Now give me your hand,’ she ordered me, and took hold of my wrist. ‘Insert two fingers here either side of the neck, and rotate them inside the beast.’ It was slimy and cold and I could feel the bird’s tiny tendons and veins being torn as my fingers slid over the brittle bones. She pulled my hand clear, then inserted her own fingers into the hole. ‘Good,’ she muttered, ‘you have released the lungs, the gizzard and the heart.’I’m so pleased.’Turning the goose, she took up a small knife and then pushed a finger into its body. Extending the skin, she cut a circular hole at the rear and discarded the sliced flesh. ‘Push your hand in and pull out the insides,’ she ordered me. I swallowed hard and did as she instructed. My stomach turned as the oily, dark and bloody mess pulled clear. I stepped back from the table.

‘Don’t you vomit in here!’ she snapped. Stepping forward, she continued to clean out the goose, removing what appeared to be oceans of fat. ‘Good tallow,’she said. ‘Candles, grease for leather, ointment for the rheumatik. Liver, heart and lung make for good broth. A fine bird.’

I couldn’t speak and turned away to where the hares were hanging head-down. Each of them had a small clay pot suspended from its ears. Walking towards one I glanced into a pot; it was full of blood but, worse than this, there were maggots floating there.I watched another emerge from the hare’s nostril and drop into the congealing blood. Sickened, I leapt back.

‘This one’s rotten!’ I said.

Megan walked over to where the creature was hanging. ‘Not at all. It is just high. The meat will be soft and full of flavour. Wulf will be coming for it tonight. We’ll prepare that next.’I could not watch and, without the usual courtesies, ran from the hut.

The sound of Megan’s laughter echoed after rne.

It is hard for a young man to discover that he is useless. We have such pride when young. I was a good bard and a fine musician. As a magicker? Well, there might have been twenty or thirty men in the southern kingdom who were better than I – but not more.

Yet here in this village I was little more use than a mewling half­wit. It galled me beyond words. I wanted to leave, to march away to some larger settlement. But the forest was vast and my knowledge of it scant.

That evening I sat disconsolately before the fire tuning my harp and thinking back to the days of childhood in the south. Jarek awoke sometime before midnight and, without a word to Megan, took up his cloak and walked from the house.

‘Where are you from?’ I asked the old woman.

‘Not from here,’ she answered. Her speech was clipped, the pronunciation good. But the voice was disguised, I felt.

‘Are you noble-born?’ I enquired.

‘What would you like me to be?’ she responded.

‘Whatever you wish to be, madam.’Then take me as I am. An old woman in a small village by a lake.’Is that all you see when you look in the mirror?’I see many things, Owen Odell,’ she told me, an edge of sadness in her voice. ‘I see what is and what was.’

The fire was crackling in the hearth, the smoke spiralling up through the small hole in the high thatched roof, the wind hissing through cracks in the wooden walls.

‘Who are you?’ I asked her.

She smiled wearily. ‘You want me to be some mythic queen or ancient sorceress? Do you seek always to make the world fit into a song?’I shrugged. The songs are comforting, Megan.’You are a good man, Owen, in a world where good men are few. Take my advice and learn to use a blade or a bow.’You wish me to become a killer?’Better than to be killed.’Are you a widow?’What is this fascination you have with my life? I grow herbs and prepare meat for the table. I weave cloth and cast an occasional spell. I am not unusual, nor in any way unique.’I do not find you so.’She stood and stretched her back. ‘Go to bed, bard. That is the place for dreams.’ Wrapping her shawl about her, she walked out into the night.

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