A Journey of the Heart

  "She speaks of things a little differently than we do. That's all."

  "I'm not finding fault," my mother said. "If anything is a gift to you, she is." She saw that she'd surprised me. She smiled. "Your warrior has taught you well, and I can see that she cares for you. I couldn't ask for more than that." She gave me back the bow. "Come with me now. There's something we must talk about."

  She started down the hill. Since the afternoon had become quite warm, I thought she might take me down to the river, but she turned aside toward the oak grove. The cool air under the trees was heavy with damp, and the wet earth smelled of dying things. We sat down in the center of the grove.

  I prepared myself to be patient, expecting to hear the usual motherly advice. Instead she said, "Who killed the man whose body you found?"

  I blinked in surprise. "I don't know for certain."

  "Was it Vintel?"

  "Maara believes so. I can't imagine who else could have done it."

  "Does Vintel know you found his body?"

  I was going to say no when I thought about what Vintel had said to me when she told me to bring my bow to the frontier. She told me to bring "the pretty one." At the time I was preoccupied with other things, and it didn't occur to me that she might have recognized the bow that killed Eramet.

  "I don't know," I said. "It's possible."

  "Does anyone else know?"

  "Only the Lady. She told us not to speak of it to anyone else."

  "That was wise." My mother frowned. "You must be very careful of Vintel."

  "I am," I assured her.

  "You must be more careful now," she insisted. "For the reasons you have told me and for reasons you know nothing about." She glanced around us, as if she suspected that even the sacred trees might hide an adversary. "I believe you stand between Vintel and her ambitions."

  I didn't see how I could stand between Vintel and anything.

  "Before you came home," she said, "Merin spoke to me of something we used to talk about when we were young women together. It was almost a joke between us then, because when we were young the future we spoke about seemed to lie so far ahead of us that we thought we might never reach it. I always wanted children, but Merin never did. She used to tell me that I must have two at least, one to be my heir, and one to be hers. She has chosen you, Tamras."

  "Chosen me? Chosen me for what?"

  "Chosen you to be her heir," my mother said. "She wants to adopt you as her daughter on midwinter's day."

  I forgot that we had been talking about Vintel.

  "Adopt me?" I could hardly understand what those words meant.

  "Merin needs an heir," my mother said.

  "Not for many years yet," I protested.

  "Who can tell? And if she were to name someone on her deathbed, what good would that do? She needs a child now, so that when the time comes, no one will remember that once her heir was not her child."

  I still didn't understand how Merin could adopt me, who had a living mother.

  "It's the motherless who are adopted," I said.

  "Adoptions such as this are not unheard of."

  I couldn't hear her. I felt as if I were losing her, as if she were giving me away, and my eyes filled with tears.

  "Tamras," said my mother, with exaggerated patience, "you are no longer a child. You have no more need of me, but Merin has great need of you." She took my hand. "She has need of you in ways she hardly knows."

  In spite of myself, I was curious to know what she meant.

  "What ways?" I asked her through my tears.

  "Motherhood is a great teacher," she said. "I wouldn't recommend it to every woman, but a woman who has the care of many, as Merin does, could learn a great deal from caring for just one child of her own." She lifted my chin so that she could look me in the eye. "Will you at least think about it?"

  All the thinking in the world, I knew, would not change my mind. "I already have a mother. I don't want another, and if I had to choose one, it would not be the Lady Merin."

  "Why not?"

  "I've been a great disappointment to her. Surely she must have told you. She hasn't approved of anything I've done since I arrived here."

  My mother chuckled. "Merin may command warriors, but I defy her to command my daughter. She complained to me that you would never avail yourself of her advice. She was furious when I laughed at her."

  My mother seemed amused, but I was serious. "How could she become my mother then? We would always be at odds."

  "As are many mothers and daughters."

  "I wouldn't change a good mother for a bad one."

  Although she tried to hide her smile, my words pleased her.

  Suddenly I had an idea.

  "Let her take my sister for her heir," I said. "Tamar would be delighted to inherit Merin's place."

  "She would, and that's why you are Merin's choice. And mine." The smile left her eyes. "No one can compel you in this. I ask only that you think of all the good that could be done and all the evil avoided if you were Merin's heir."

  I found it difficult to believe that any good could come from doing something that felt so wrong to me.

  "There's another thing to consider," she said. "If you were Merin's acknowledged heir, you would be protected from Vintel."

  I had forgotten about Vintel.

  "Vintel isn't blind, and she isn't stupid. Through me, your tie to Merin is almost as close as a tie of blood. Vintel can't help but see you as a rival."

  If Vintel saw me as a rival, she must see herself as Merin's heir. Though I now understood her value as a war leader, I could not imagine her in the Lady's place.

  "Why would Vintel expect the Lady to choose her?" I said.

  "I doubt she would," my mother replied, "but if anything were to happen to Merin," and she touched the earth beneath her so that her words would not come true, "the strongest woman here would take her place, because there would be no one to stand against her. Whoever would succeed Merin must be strong enough to hold the power she inherits."

  "What good would it do then for the Lady to name me? Vintel is much stronger than I am."

  "Tradition and custom are even stronger than Vintel. If Merin adopts you, the elders will nod and say, 'This was spoken of long ago.' It will seem right to them, and so it will come to seem right to everyone else. If everyone believes you are Merin's child, their belief will give you Merin's power, and when the time comes for you to take her place, you will also have power of your own."

  "I still don't see how becoming Merin's heir would protect me. Wouldn't it make Vintel more my enemy?"

  "It might," she said, "but she would find it much more difficult to do you harm. If anyone suspected that harm had come to you through her, she would never be allowed to profit from her betrayal. She would lose the place she has, and possibly her life as well. But as long as you are only one apprentice among many in Merin's house, you will be vulnerable. It's much easier to drown the kitten than the cat."

  Still I couldn't see myself as Merin's child.

  "Why in the world would Merin want me for her daughter?"

  My mother sighed. "Although she may not show it, Merin cares for you. She loved you at first for my sake. Now she has come to know you, and I believe she sees in you something she will hardly acknowledge, even to herself." She smiled mysteriously. "It is the very thing that puts the two of you at odds."

  "What's that?"

  "You two are so much alike. You are both so certain that your view of the world is the right one, and you both hold so stubbornly to your own opinions."

  She set a finger against my lips, to silence my denial.

  "Part of Merin's greatness as a leader is that she cannot be swayed easily by contradictory advice," she went on. "Merin sees the same strength in you, and it annoys her only because your opinions don't coincide with hers."

  The daylight was fading, and it was growing chilly under the trees. My mother shivered and stood up.

  "Let's go in," she sai
d. She helped me to my feet and put her hands on my shoulders. "All I ask, Tamras, is that you not close your mind to the possibility that you were meant for greater things than to sit in judgment over the disputes of a tiny village in the hill country."

  That much I could agree to.

  Early the next morning, my mother left for home. I walked with her until midday, when she insisted I turn back. We said no more about my becoming Merin's heir. She knew me well enough to know that I would be more likely to come around to her way of thinking if she left me alone to make my own decision.

  She had, however, one thing more to say to me about the Lady. When she took her leave of me, she said, "Take care of Merin for me. Will you?"

  "Take care of her?" I replied. "How can I take care of her?"

  I had thought it Merin's duty to take care of me.

  "I'm not at all sure," my mother said. "I'm uneasy about her. I suspect she may be unwell, although she has assured me otherwise. There may be nothing wrong, but it would ease my mind if I knew you were keeping an eye on her. Will you?"

  "Of course I will. I'll do whatever I can for her."

  "Thank you." She smiled and kissed my brow.

  "If she'll let me," I added.

  "Remember," she replied, "that Merin may appear hard on the outside, but hard things are brittle, and when they break, they shatter."

  I had all afternoon to think as I walked back to Merin's house, and the more I thought, the more uncertain I became. My mother had said nothing to the Lady about my unwillingness to become her heir. I think she hoped that by the time the Lady mentioned it to me, I might have changed my mind.

  The day before I had been certain that would never happen. Now I had begun to doubt. Perhaps I was being selfish. Perhaps I should be thinking more of the good of others and less of my own feelings. My sister would not hesitate to seize the opportunity if such an important place were offered to her. Although she loved our mother no less than I, she would think it sentimental of me to be so reluctant to give her up.

  After supper I asked Maara to come with me to the oak grove. The first stars were just twinkling out. In the grove it was almost dark. Neither of us spoke until we were safe among the trees.

  "My mother told me that the Lady wants to name me her heir," I said.

  "I thought as much," said Maara.

  "What?"

  "You're the obvious choice."

  Why was it that so many things were obvious to everyone but me?

  "And it explains a great deal," she said.

  "It does?"

  "It explains why Merin didn't want to entrust you to a stranger, and why she was so determined to apprentice you to Vintel, who would have been to you a powerful ally, instead of the adversary she is now. And it explains why Vintel was so eager to apprentice you, because through you she would increase her own importance. For a long time I thought Vintel was your enemy because of me. I'm glad it isn't altogether true."

  "My mother is afraid that I stand between Vintel and her ambitions," I said. "That means Vintel must see herself as Merin's heir."

  Maara nodded.

  "She also says that becoming Merin's heir will protect me from Vintel."

  "I believe your mother is right. This has come not a moment too soon."

  "I have no intention of becoming Merin's heir," I protested.

  "Why not?"

  "I have a mother. How can I let go of her?"

  I was already missing her, and the thought of losing her brought tears into my eyes.

  "Your mother will never let go of you," said Maara, "whether or not you become Merin's child."

  "Even if that were true, how could I be Merin's child? It's been difficult enough trying to do what seems right to me when everything I do she disapproves of. If I were her child, how could I resist her?"

  "It would be difficult," Maara conceded.

  "And I could never love her as a child should love her mother."

  "You might learn to love her."

  "Every time I called her my mother, it would feel like a lie."

  "Perhaps."

  "It would be wrong," I insisted.

  She shrugged.

  "Why don't you believe me?"

  "Why are you trying so hard to convince yourself?"

  Then I had to face my fears.

  "I'm afraid I'm being selfish," I said. "What if it's the best thing for everyone?"

  "The best thing for everyone but you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then it would be a difficult decision."

  "What do you think I should do?"

  "You should do what feels right to you," she said. "Always."

  And always before I had done just that. Now I found myself caught in a dilemma. Neither path felt right to me.

  "What would you do?" I asked her.

  She smiled. "What I would do makes no difference. Life hasn't asked me that question."

  But life had asked it of me and was waiting for my answer.

  "I don't know what to do," I said.

  "Then wait."

  There was a reason I couldn't wait. It took me a moment to remember what it was.

  "My mother fears the Lady is unwell," I said.

  Maara grasped in a moment what it had taken me all day to understand. "If your mother is right, Merin will need to name an heir as soon as possible."

  "Then I have no choice."

  "You always have a choice," she said.

  "A choice of evils," I replied.

  "That may be, but if that's all you see, now is not the time to choose."

  Three days passed before the Lady appeared in the great hall, and when she did, she was pale and listless, as if she had been ill. Mindful of my mother's wish, I had inquired of the healer if the Lady was in good health, and the healer had assured me that she was. Now I wished I had insisted on seeing her myself.

  To my surprise, the Lady gave no indication that she intended to speak with me. At mealtimes I sometimes caught her watching me from the high table, but when I met her eyes, she looked away. Perhaps she was waiting for me to approach her.

  Maara said nothing more to me about my decision. I thought I would wait before speaking to Namet about it. I wanted to come to a clearer understanding of my own feelings before anyone told me how I ought to feel. Maara hadn't done that, and I had trusted that she wouldn't, but I was unsure about Namet. If I was in danger from Vintel, Maara was in danger too, and if my becoming Merin's heir would protect me, it would protect her as well. That was almost enough to make my decision for me.

  It was another week before Vintel brought her warriors home. They arrived unheralded at suppertime. Vintel barged through the front door of Merin's house with such force that several of the warriors sitting near the door leapt to their feet and drew their swords. She had, of course, meant to call attention to herself, but something caught her eye, and she stopped abruptly to stare at the wall above my head. The man behind her walked into her, knocking her off balance. The warriors she had startled laughed, enjoying her embarrassment all the more because she had given them a scare. It was an inauspicious homecoming.

  The warriors of Vintel's band sat down to eat. Their unwashed faces, tangled hair, and filthy clothing showed me what I must have looked like when I walked through the great hall to offer the Lady the spoils of war. When I remembered the shield, I knew what Vintel had been looking at.

  Taia and Sparrow came in together. I was delighted to see them both. They joined me at the companions' table, and I listened eagerly to their account of what had happened after we left them. Vintel had followed the northerners' retreat, to drive them out of Merin's land for good. She had pursued them so relentlessly that they left behind unburied the bodies of their wounded who had died.

  Sparrow told me that the apprentices now spoke of the battle as Taia's day. Taia blushed with embarrassment and pride.

  "I wish your warrior had let you stay with us," Taia said. "I made sure everyone knew the part that Tamras of the Bow playe
d in our victory. They would have made much of you too, but now it's old news."

  Although I didn't say so, I was glad I had avoided being made much of. Maara had been wise to bring me home.

  42. A Journey of the Heart

  Winter came early that year. Almost before the trees had changed their colors, the first snowfall dusted them with white. A few weeks later a heavy snow fell, and as we had done the year before, Maara and I went out into the countryside to set our snares. Sparrow and a few of the other girls had asked me if I would make fur leggings for them.

  The first animal we caught was a hare, its fur pure white and very thick.

  "This winter will be long and bitter," Maara said.

  For those who'd had a meager harvest, it would be a time of hunger. Again I was reminded how fortunate we were.

  Only a few weeks remained until midwinter's day, and the Lady still hadn't spoken to me about my adoption. I began to wonder if I should speak with her about it. Although I had given the matter a great deal of thought, I had come to no conclusion. It still felt wrong to abandon the mother I loved, but it felt just as wrong to refuse the place the Lady offered me. When I tried to think of someone else she might choose to be her heir, it seemed that not only was I the obvious choice, but that there was no one else.

  At last I spoke to Namet about it. She had no advice to give me.

  "You must follow your own heart," she said.

  A few days before midwinter's night, in the early morning before anyone was up, the healer came to the companions' loft. She woke me and gestured to me to come with her. She didn't speak until we were in the kitchen.

  "I'm sorry to wake you so early," she said. "The Lady wants you."

  The day I dreaded had come, I thought, but when I turned to go up to the Lady's chamber, the healer said, "Wait a minute. I want to brew something for her fever."

  "Is she unwell?" I asked.

  The healer's brow furrowed with worry.

  "Out of her head all night," she told me. "Full of wild talk. She finally slept an hour or two this morning. She's a bit better now, but she refused the medicine I gave her. She may be willing to take something from your hand."

  "Does she have winter sickness?"