Harpy’s Flight. Megan Lindholm

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СКАЧАТЬ to my shoulders already, and keeps on growing.’

      ‘It will soon stop, by itself,’ Ki said comfortingly. ‘But if it is such an irritation to you, you could always find a woman to take you and bind it back.’

      Lars’s shoulders thumped against the cuddy door as he threw himself back in disgust. ‘You, too eh? I feel like a yearling at a stock fair. Rufus reminds me of my “duty.” Mother must have Katya over to help wind the wool, to put shingles on the barn, to aid with the spring calving. Strange. Up to last year, I was help enough for her when such things needed doing. Now she must have the two of us – and no more, mind you.’

      Ki chuckled. She knew they were both keeping their minds from a darker subject. She knew it, and worked at it.

      ‘So your mother plots against you, with the aid of your older brother. What of this Katya? Can she be so distasteful that you must resist?’

      ‘Katya.’ Lars rolled his eyes up. ‘Katya is plump and pretty, and as exciting as corn bread. Already she has the look of a farming woman. Hips that could birth a nation, shoulders that could take an ox’s yoke, hands to steer a plow, breasts to nurse a brood.’

      ‘Sounds daunting,’ Ki murmured.

      ‘Daunting. That’s the word for her. We grew up as friends, you know, liking one another well enough. She has grown to be a solid, pleasant woman – a woman to go fishing with, or hoe with in the fields. But not a woman I would choose as a mate and partner. I have never desired her that way.’

      ‘Then keep your hair loose upon your shoulders, Lars. It becomes you so. Soon enough a woman will find you and come to bind it back for you.’

      ‘I hope she begins looking soon,’ Lars grumbled softly.

      Evening was cooling the world. Night scents were beginning to rise. Through the trees on either side of the road Ki could make out the dim lights of small houses. Those were the homes of Sven’s kinspeople, those related by blood or tied by their oaths to the family. These were the people who would demand of Ki their Rite of Loosening. Landholders all, they would come with their farmers’ eyes and earth-worker hands to ask of Ki what had become of their Sven. A cold feeling twisted inside her. She did not want to lie.

      Ki turned tired eyes to the night sky. She tortured herself. If she narrowed her eyes and did not look at Lars too directly, she could pretend. Many evenings Sven would tie his horse to the tail of the wagon, to trail along. He would clamber up on the box beside her. The children would be drowsing in the cuddy as they talked in low voices and watched for a good stopping place. Some evenings they didn’t speak at all. The sound of slow hooves and the wagon’s creaking was all the conversation they required. Those were long, companionable evenings, with Sven’s shoulder gently bumping against Ki’s as she drove.

      ‘How did it happen?’ Again, Lars broke Ki’s spell.

      She hesitated. She tried to find words for it. It must be a tale he would believe. It must be a tale they would all accept. A thousand times Ki had imagined herself at this moment, when one of Sven’s people would ask that question. She did not want to lie. She did not think she could.

      The words came to her brokenly, sounding strangely distant to her own ears. She might have been speaking of a famine in a far-off country, or blighted fields on the other side of the mountains. ‘They … Sven took the children. Young Lars was big enough to sit behind him and cling to his shirt. His little legs stuck out. He couldn’t wrap them around that big horse. Little Rissa he put before him. She thought it great fun to be up so high on that big black horse. You never saw that beast of Sven’s, Lars. A full stallion, and given to sudden, unpredictable tempers. I had advised him against such a horse, but you know how he was. He loved its spirit and the chance to measure his will and spirit against that of the horse. Usually it was not a fight between them; it was a trying, a challenge between two high-spirited animals. But sometimes … stubborn, stubborn man.’

      True, every word of it. As far as she had taken the tale. Ki let the silence lengthen. She had pointed Lars onto a false trail. She hoped his mind would take it up. Silently she begged Sven to forgive her for laying their deaths on his judgement in horses. When Lars did not speak, Ki knew he was trying to spare her. He thought he knew the way of it. Good. She broke the silence for him.

      ‘I would warn you, Lars. I know nothing of this Rite of yours. I fear I shall bring shame on myself before the family.’

      Lars snorted. In happier times it would have been the beginning of his forgiving laugh. ‘You have always worried overmuch about offending us, Ki. We know you are not of us. Cora, my mother, will guide you through. And Rufus, too, will be at your side to help you if needed. Do not be offended. It is not often done this way, but it can be, especially in cases where the sole survivor of a family is a small child. The Rite Master has approved it.’

      ‘To your Rites I am myself a child. I take no offense.’

      ‘Did Sven never speak to you of our customs?’ Lars ventured.

      ‘Sometimes. But we spoke little of death customs. Sven involved himself with life. He did say … Lars, you may think me crude to ask this in such a way, at such a time. Your mother worships Harpies?’

      Ki’s words had sounded steady and calm. Only her heart shook in her body. She longed for Lars to deny it, to laugh at her for believing Sven’s tall tales. Then she could relax, could share with them the truth of Sven’s death.

      Lars spread his large hands upon his knees. ‘It must sound strange to you. And Sven would make it more so, with his jibes and mocking ways. It is not worship we give them, Ki. We know they are not gods. They are mortal beings like ourselves but, unlike us, they have a closer link to, well, to the Ultimate. Fate works more directly upon them. They hold the keys to the doors between the worlds. They have a knowledge denied to us, and abilities …’

      ‘… abilities born of those other worlds. I know the phrases, Lars. Sven told me that your mother sacrificed a bullock to the Harpies on the eve of our formal agreement, and a yearling each time I gave birth. You are right – it seems outlandish to me: To me they are carrion-eaters, preying on herds and flocks, taking savagely, mocking, cruel …’

      Ki ran out of words and sputtered into silence. Lars shook his head tolerantly. ‘Myths, Ki. The common myths about the Harpies that so many believe. I do not blame you. If I had seen only what the Harpies do and not been educated about their customs, I would believe it also. But a Harpy kills only in need. Only when it must feed. It is not like a Human, who may kill for sport or sheer idleness. Harpies have learned the balancing points between the worlds, between death and life itself. They could show us the paths of peace our own kind have forgotten.’

      ‘Religious bunk!’ Ki did not realize she had voiced her bitterness aloud until she saw the rebuke in Lars’s eyes.

      ‘I am sorry,’ she said with true contrition. Lars had just lost his brother. He did not need to have his beliefs mocked. ‘I judge them, as you say, by what I have seen. I come from a different people, Lars, and I have been raised on the old tales around the Romni fire. When I was small, I believed that the moon was the mother of us all. She had birthed every race: Human, Harpies, Dene, Tcheria, Alouea, Windsingers, Calouin, and all the others. To each she gave a different gift, and she placed us all on this world. She gave us a law: live in peace together. And she watches over us eternally from the skies to see how well we will obey. It is a simple tale, Lars, and perhaps I do not believe it now as I once did. But I do not believe that any one of the sentient races is superior to any other. I do not believe that Humans owe an atonement to any people, least of all to СКАЧАТЬ