were tombstones, for the most part, and that’s a gloomy sort of
business. Darral learned his father’s trade, and when he was sixteen
or so, he married Alara, the daughter of a local dry goods merchant.
Father pestered us almost continually until, in 5329, Alara finally
gave birth to a baby boy. Father’s face fell the first time he looked
at the baby, Geran. ‘He’s not the one, Pol,’ he reported.
‘That’s not my fault, father,’ I told him. ‘Oh, by the way, in just
a few years, I’m going to be moving Darral and his family.’
‘Oh?’
‘Medalia’s right on the main road between Darine and Muros,
and there are just a few too many strangers passing through town
for my comfort. I want a place that’s just a little more remote.’
‘Oh? Where have you decided to settle?’
‘It’s a little village up in the mountains.’
‘What’s the name of the place?’
‘Annath, father. It’s right next to the Algarian border, and there’s
a big stone-quarry there, so Darral should be able to find work that
doesn’t involve tombstones.’
*CHAPTER37
Did you perhaps notice that my explanation of the decision to move
my little family to Annath was slightly less than candid? I thought
you might have noticed that. I’ve found over the years that it’s not
really a good idea to give my father too much information. Father
has an overpowering urge to dabble in things, and his dabbling
frequently ends up being disastrous. I suspect that my father thinks
of himself as an artist, but his definition of art and mine are worlds
apart.
Actually, I’d never even seen Annath, and my decision to move
there was based entirely on its proximity to the Algarian border.
Mother had told me that Geran was destined to marry an Algarian
girl named Ildera, and I thought it might be a good idea if the two
of them were to grow up in the same general vicinity.
AS it turned out, though, our move was delayed by old Darion’s
final illness, which was unfortunately quite protracted. I dislike
lingering illnesses even more than I hate those sudden heart stoppages.
A decent illness would run its course in a week or ten days, and
the patient would then recover or die. Death has little dignity if it’s
either too quick or too slow. Anyway, Darion hung on until 5334,
and after his funeral, a change of scene was definitely in order.
Everything in Medalia reminded us of our loss.
Darral sold his stoneworks and our house. and we packed up
such possessions as we wanted to keep in a pair of wagons and left
Medalia early on a summer morning with Darrel driving one wagon
and me driving the other.
Yes, as a matter of fact, I do know how to drive a team of horses.
Why do you keep asking these silly questions? We’ll never reach
the end of this if you keep interrupting me like that.
It was summer, as I recall, and summer’s a nice time to travel in
the mountains. There was no real hurry, so we took our time. At
one point, Darral reined in his team, looking speculatively at a
mountain stream that was gurgling over smooth round stones and
joyously plunging into deep quiet pools. ‘What do you think, Aunt
Pol?’ he called back to me. ‘This might be a good place to camp for
the night, and we really ought to rest the horses.’
‘It’s only noon, Darral,’ Alara pointed out.
‘Well, this is a good place, and we have pushed the horses pretty
hard. It’s all been uphill, you know.’ He sounded sincerely
concerned about the horses, and he seemed to be making a special point
of not looking at the stream. I knew the signs, of course. I’d seen
them often enough back in Eingaard. I looped the reins of my team
around the brake handle of my wagon and climbed down. ‘Over
there,’ I said, pointing at a mossy little area under some low-hanging
cedar trees. ‘Before you get started, unhitch the horses, water them,
and stake them out in that meadow. Then build a fire-pit and gather
enough firewood for supper and for breakfast.’
‘I sort of thought -‘
‘I’m sure you did, dear. Get the work done first, and then you can
go play.’
He gave me a sort of sheepish look and then absolutely flew into
his chores.
‘What did you mean by that, Aunt Pol?’ Alara asked me. ‘Darral’s
a grown man now. He doesn’t play any more.’
‘Oh, really? You have a lot to learn, Alara. Take a look at your
husband’s face. He hasn’t worn that expression since he was about
nine years old.’
‘What’s he going to do?’
‘He’s going to offer to provide supper, dear.’
‘We’ve got dried beef and flour and peas and all in the back of
your wagon.’
‘Yes, I know. He’ll say that he’s tired of the same old thing every
night, though.’
‘Why would he do that?’
‘He wants to go fishing, Alara. That little stream’s seducing him
for all it’s worth, and he’s not resisting very hard.’
‘He can’t catch enough fish to feed us all in one afternoon.’
‘Well, he might, and there’s always tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow?’ Her face grew indignant. ‘That’s absurd! We’ll never
get to Annath if he stops every time we come to some little brook.’
‘You’d probably better get used to it, Alara. I think it runs in the
family. Tomorrow morning, one of the horses will be lame, or a
wagon wheel will have to be greased – and of course it’ll be too
late to start out by the time he’s finished.’
‘How long will this last?’
‘That probably depends entirely on how the fish are biting. I’d
give it about three days – unless Old Twister has some relatives
here in these mountains.’
‘Who’s Old Twister?’
So, while Darral was furiously chopping firewood, I told her about
Gelane’s years-long campaign to catch that wily old trout in the
stream outside Eingaard. It passed the time, and it put Alara in a
much better humor. Alara was a serious young lady, and laughing
was good for her. Darral finished with his firewood, cut himself
and his son some willow saplings to use for poles and went off to
entertain the fish. ‘Oh, one thing, dear,’ I said to Alara. ‘Don’t,
whatever you do, reach for a knife if they happen to bring home
some fish.’
‘Why would I reach for a knife, Aunt Pol?’
‘Exactly. That’s the fundamental rule you’ve always got to keep
out in plain sight. You’ve got to establish it right from the start.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Look him right in the face, cross your arms, and say, “You caught
them, so you clean them.” Never deviate from that, even if he’s
managed to fall and break his arm. He cleans the fish. You don’t.
He may pout about it, but don’t weaken. If you relent even once,
You’ll betray all of womankind.’
She laughed. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Aunt Pol?’
‘Not even one little bit. Don’t ever clean a fish. Tell him that it’s
against your religion or something. Believe me, dear, if you ever
clean so much as one fish, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.’
Darral and his little son Geran actually caught fish in that small
stream – enough at any rate to still the yearning almost all men fall
prey to when they happen across fast water. It took them two days
to do it, though, which is a fairly standard period of time for it.
Then we moved on, plodding through the mountains toward our
destination.
The mountain gorge where Annath lay ran from north to south,
and we reached it about mid-afternoon on a glorious summer day.
I was struck by the similarity of the village to Eingaard. Mountain
towns are almost always strung out along the banks of a stream,
and that puts them at the bottom of a gorge. I suppose you could
build a village on a hilltop, but you won’t be popular with the
women of the town if you do, since the chore of carrying water
inevitably falls to the women. Women like to be close to a stream,
and most women would be happier if the stream ran through the
kitchen.
I liked what I saw about the village, but I did feel an apprehensive
chill the first time it came into view. Something rather dreadful was
going to happen here in Annath.
Virtually everyone in town turned out when our wagons rolled
down the single street. People in small towns do that, you know.
‘Where wuz it y’ wuz a-goin’, stranger?’ a grizzled old codger
with a woodsy dialect asked Darral.
‘Right here, friend,’ Darral replied, ‘and I think we can’ drop that
“stranger”. My family and I’ve come here to settle permanently, so
I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other.’