Even with frequent healing attention by Omara, and by Macurdy as his skill improved, it was the fifth day after the attack before Melody was strong enough to travel safely and with reasonable comfort. (On the other hand, a physician from Farside would have disbelieved the rate of healing—been impressed that she'd even survived. Not only had blood loss been heavy; her right pleura had been punctured, and the lung collapsed.) By the time they left, the last cohorts were gone, except for their escort, the Kullvordi 2nd Cavalry.
Keeping an easy pace, they reached the Big River after the last infantry cohorts had been ferried across. And traveling more briskly, reached Teklapori eight days later, with Melody fully recovered.
Travel stained, they were ushered into the palace. Inside it had changed conspicuously, the old hangings and furniture mostly replaced. Even Macurdy noticed. It was lighter and brighter, less ornate, less of a hodgepodge. Within minutes a servant came to tell them that King Pavo was waiting for them in the guest parlor. "Two men were with him on business of the crown," the servant added, "but he has sent them away for now." Then he bowed again and gestured them to follow.
They found Wollerda in uniform, one that Macurdy hadn't seen before. The design was the same—the elegantly simple Sisterhood guardsman design—but the material had a velvety sheen, while over one shoulder was a sash that looked to Macurdy like silk, with alternating stripes of Teklan red and Kullvordi blue. He wore a crown, though not the bejewelled ceremonial crown, and beneath it all, he'd gained weight.
Wollerda was grinning from ear to ear as he stepped quickly to meet them halfway to the throne: Queen Liiset remained in the background as the two ex-rebels gripped and shook hands. "It's good to have you back," Wollerda said, then looked at Melody. "And you, Colonel. Your husband reported your injuries, both in battle and later."
When he'd seated them, he fixed Macurdy with his gaze. "What did you do to her attacker? You didn't say."
Macurdy told him, the story bringing a gradient raising of the royal eyebrows. When it was done, Wollerda looked at Melody. "What do you think of that?"
She shrugged. "He's the commander. And when he explained it . . . The man acted in hatred, for a reason; I'd have done the same, except I wouldn't have botched it. And the story will have spread—he may even have taken it home himself—spread like the story of how Macurdy handled the rapes at Ternass. It'll give the Rude Lands, maybe even the empire, a different view of us here."
Wollerda's lips pursed, and he looked at Macurdy. "You reported some hangings earlier. What happened at Ternass?"
Macurdy told that one, too, leaving out only the ball of glowing plasma at the end of his saber, chuckling now at the memory of the Kormehri running bare-assed.
Wollerda's eyebrows had returned to the rest position. "Macurdy," he said, "I've seen wisdom from you before, but that was true genius." He turned to Liiset. "Show the colonel the changes you've made here. The marshal and I are going to talk about his negotiations with Cyncaidh. I'll send word when we're done."
"Of course, Your Majesty," Liiset answered, and smiling at Melody, led her from the room. Melody would rather have stayed, but didn't argue. When they were gone, Wollerda grinned again.
"Actually I want to talk about more personal matters: about your Varia and my Liiset. Since I married Liiset, I've looked differently at the Sisterhood. And I also understand why you were so determined to recover your Varia. Her twin is a wonderful wife, whether we're at the table discussing matters of state, or in bed." He grinned. "And she never demands." His grin skewed a bit. "But then, she hardly needs to. Her wishes are seldom far from my own, seldom far enough to refuse. I suspect she sometimes judges how far I can be moved, and sets her comments and suggestions accordingly." He chuckled drily. "I've learned a lot from her; there are things I look at quite differently now than I did."
He eyed Macurdy shrewdly. "You wonder if that's good, eh? All in all it is. Before, my opinions were too fixed, my ideals sometimes at odds with good sense; the Sisters have things to teach us. Not Sarkia's ready ruthlessness, but . . ."
He changed the subject. "Your reports said nothing about getting your Varia back, only that you'd married Melody. What happened?"
Macurdy looked at his palms as if something were written on them. "She was there: Varia, with Cyncaidh. She's his wife."
"Ah." Wollerda peered intently at Macurdy. "I'd like to know more about that. There may be insights there."
Macurdy shrugged, then summarized her odyssey from escaping the Cloister to arriving at Aaeroth Manor. "And when Cyncaidh got her home—he told me this—he and his wife, who was far gone in decline and died soon afterward, worked on her until she agreed to marry him. Told her she didn't have a chance of ever getting to me again. He said they lied to her to break her down. Exaggerated is the word he used."
Neither man said anything more for a minute, then Wollerda asked another question. "You wrote that Quaie was dead, that you killed him yourself. How did that happen?"
Macurdy told him. Wollerda stared. "A ball of fire? That's a magic I never heard of before." He shook his head. "But you've got something beyond magic, Macurdy: beyond it and more important. You've got a knack for doing and saying the right thing. Or maybe that's magic. Anyway, Liiset reported to the Dynast that you'd killed Quaie, and—" Wollerda got up and went to a side table—"she sent you a letter we're both curious about.
Wollerda gave a wax-sealed envelope to Macurdy, who opened it with his dagger and removed the letter. It was brief, and when he'd finished reading, he looked at Wollerda. "She wants me to visit the Cloister. She has an important position for me, if I'm interested."
"Are you?"
Macurdy shook his head. "Nope. I can't even imagine what she might offer."
"It could be better than I can offer," Wollerda pointed out. "In some respects, anyway. You'd have more influence from there than from here."
"There's only one Sister I ever wanted to be around, and that's over now. There are other Sisters I like, since I've gotten to know them. Liiset of course. And Omara, who was in charge of the sorcery unit with the army. She did a lot of good; among other things she saved Melody's life. And I got along with Sarkia all right, when we were negotiating. But . . ." He shrugged again. "Sarkia's too cold-blooded for me. And the things she had done to Varia—if I'd known about them earlier, I'd have killed her." He exhaled audibly. "I'll send her a message; tell her I plan to stay in Tekalos, to farm and have children."
"Maybe things will change in the Sisterhood," Wollerda said thoughtfully. "When someone else takes over."
Macurdy, seeing the aura as well as the man, looked sharply at him. "What haven't you told me?"
Wollerda shrugged. "Liiset doesn't often say what's in the messages she gets from the Cloister, but . . . Two weeks ago, when she read one, she got a strange look. And didn't put the letter away as she usually does—as if she intended to read it again first. Then I had a chance and read it myself. Sarkia asked who she'd recommend as the new Dynast, when the time came that one was needed. Asked for four names, and who she'd recommend not be considered.
"Later on she said to me, `You read my message from the Dynast, didn't you?' and I admitted it of course." He looked meaningfully at Macurdy. "I asked Liiset once who she thought would eventually replace Sarkia, and she said that was one thing Sarkia never talked about. So. What caused her to think about it now?" Wollerda paused as if to stress what he said next. "Then, after her last weekly message, Liiset reminded me of that. And said, `The Dynast has gone into seclusion. She's at the Cloister, but staying in her suite.' " He shrugged. "Looks as if time has finally caught up with her."
Macurdy nodded thoughtfully. "Who did Liiset recommend, do you know?"
Wollerda shook his head. "I'll ask her at supper. She might even tell us."
At supper, Macurdy got a pretty good idea how Wollerda had gained weight; this wasn't the simple fare he'd eaten as a commander of rebels. When they'd finished, a light wine was served. Macurdy drank buttermilk, instead, and they talked of his plans to farm. He had in mind to try certain Indiana practices in Teklan conditions.
"I had the idea you wanted to be ambassador to the empire," Wollerda said.
Macurdy looked at his wife. "I doubt that Melody would like living in a city, especially where people might be hostile to us. She might run someone through before it was over."
"Well, if you're set on farming, I've got a farm for you. Actually a choice of two large estates. Their ex-owners were guilty of major tax frauds."
"What will the locals think of that? The neighbors around there?"
"They'll cheer. They're smallholders, and both the men I've thrown in prison were old favorites of Gurtho, arrogant and overbearing." He cocked an eyebrow. "Actually I had another job I'd hoped you'd take, if you turned down the ambassadorship. And to tell the truth, I can't imagine you being satisfied as a farmer very long, after what you've been doing."
Macurdy shook his head, laughing. "You don't know me as well as you think. I'm a farmer born and bred." He paused. "What did you have in mind?"
"Minister of Revenue. It needs a strong man, the income is more reliable than farming, and you'd have a lot of influence."
Macurdy shook his head vigorously. "No way in hell would I take that job. You might consider Tarlok though; he could do it, do it right. And Kithro's worth considering as ambassador."
"Hmm. You know, that's a good idea. Both of them are. I'll take it up with them."
"Just don't tell Tarlok I recommended him."
Wollerda grunted. "Anyone who'd want the job, I'd rather not give it to. In running a kingdom, money's a problem, but if you don't tax honestly, the whole thing turns sour."
Macurdy sipped his buttermilk, saying nothing. He was thinking about the new furniture and wall hangings in the palace, all expensive.
Wollerda's next words popped Macurdy out of his reverie. "Liiset," he said, "who did you recommend to the Dynast as dynast-designate? And who did you recommend against? Can you tell us?"
Liiset looked at him calmly. "Of the four I recommended, only two are anyone you know of. My first recommendation was Varia, if we could somehow get her back. When we were young, she was trained for the executive staff. But that's out, since she's married Cyncaidh. And my second—" She turned to their guests. "My second was Curtis Macurdy." They gawped, Macurdy especially. "You're of Sisterhood lineage," she pointed out, "and I see no reason that the Dynast has to be a woman, though who knows how Sarkia might look at it. As for recommending against someone—I'll keep that to myself. It's not someone I dislike; simply someone whose appointment would be unfortunate, a source of abrasion and conflict."
Liiset's report introverted them, killing the conversation. After a few minutes, Wollerda excused them.
Before they went to sleep, Melody lay gazing at the ceiling. "Macurdy," she said, "I'm glad you refused to be the tax collector."
He grunted. "It's a lousy job. A lot of people are going to resent whoever does it, even if he's honest. To do a good job of it, you've got to push, even throw people in jail. If I had to do that, I'd get mad every time I saw money wasted, and any government invented by man is going to waste money. Even if it's only poor judgement."
Melody nodded. "I grew up thinking there were only three honorable professions: soldier, farmer, and shaman. And I'd rather have you be a farmer. Farmers are home at night." She turned on her side, fondled him, felt him swell. "Soldiers are likelier to get killed, too." She raised up on an elbow, kissed him and threw a leg across his. "And I want us to be together a long long time."
They moved to one of the farms, into a house with eight rooms plus kitchen, pantry, cellar, and servants' wing. The field hands had kept the crops in decent tilth, and Macurdy had no difficulties with any of them. Summer faded into fall, and Melody learned about morning sickness. The corn was harvested, the potatoes dug, and fall plowing gotten under way. Farming wasn't as satisfying as he remembered it, but Macurdy told himself that would change when the crops were crops he'd planted himself. And when he learned where to get alfalfa seed, and peanuts, and other things he wanted to try.
One noon, he came up from the fields to find a large and familiar black bird perched on the roof, looking coldly at the cats, all of them interested but tentative. No doubt partly because of his size, but also because he was scolding them in a perfectly human voice.
"Blue Wing!" Macurdy shouted joyously. "It's great to see you!"
"Really! How great could that possibly be, when you keep creatures like those around?"
"The cats? There's not one who'd tackle you. They're not foolish enough for that."
"As long as I don't fall asleep."
Macurdy ran them off—as barn cats they were wary of him anyway—and Blue Wing glided down to the porch roof.
"Where've you been the past year?" Macurdy asked.
"I helped raise a pair of young, and amongst my kind, it takes till nearly the equinox before they can forage for themselves."
"Did you bring your wife along?"
"By wife I presume you mean a permanent mate. Happily we don't have such aberrated concepts." He eyed Macurdy. "Perhaps for a species like yours, that takes so ridiculously long to mature their young and tends to have more or less permanent residences, an arrangement such as marriage makes sense. But for the more fortunate . . ."
Macurdy grinned. "I'm married, you know. To Melody."
"I'm aware of that. We have already spoken, she and I. I'm also aware that she will give birth next summer. And frankly, I think she'd be much better off laying eggs than in passing something the size of a human infant through her vent. After carrying it around inside her for the better part of a year! Outrageous!"
"How'd you like to stay around this winter? I'll make you a perch in the corner of the windbreak, where the winter winds won't be so bad, and put a roof on it to keep the rain and sleet off. On top of a twelve-foot post, on a platform so the cats can't bother you, or a weasel. And nail a sheet of copper around the post near the top, so they can't get close enough to scrabble at the platform. How about it?"
Macurdy built the perch that same day, Blue Wing supervising, and although afterward the bird was off roving much of the time, over the weeks before winter they had several good conversations. Through his species' hive mind, the bird had heard quite a bit about the war, but what he learned from Macurdy was both broader and more detailed than any other great raven had learned. And when Macurdy was in the fields working, or in the woods with his men cutting firewood, Blue Wing sometimes accompanied Melody on her almost daily rides, perched on her wrist like a falconer's hawk so they could talk more easily. It was mostly she who fed him, when he was around.
Mostly though she rode alone or with Macurdy. The Green River, broad and dark, formed the south boundary of the estate, and they enjoyed exploring the woods that bordered it, both on the flood plain and the first terrace. Coons were numerous, and possums and fox squirrels. Floods were too extreme for beaver and muskrats, and deer and razorback were scarce because of hunting, but porcupines and otters weren't uncommon. Sometimes they saw tracks of bobcat and fox. And of course, cows that trailed down to drink.
Once Melody called, "Macurdy! Come here! There's something you've got to see!"
He rode over to where she sat in the saddle, pointing at a patch of heavily disturbed ground. Something had been rooting up roots or tubers of some sort; skunk-cabbage he supposed. "Looks like a really big razorback," he said.
She shook her head, led him to the shore, and pointed to an exposed sandy mud flat. "Look at those."
He saw hoof prints, sharp and deep, far bigger than any razorback's he knew of. "I've never seen any before," she said, "and never expected to, certainly not in country as cleared and farmed as this."
Macurdy chewed a lip. A great boar could mean trouble. Something that large could hardly sustain itself on skunk-cabbage; in country without much large game, it would prey on livestock. And while he didn't believe in enchanted swine with powers of witchcraft, even in Yuulith, he could very well believe in an animal so cunning that it could be thought of as supernatural. Hopefully it was merely passing through. If it took only a calf or two, he'd call it a bargain.
They found where the tracks moved on, and leaning forward in the saddle, Melody started following them.
"Where are you going?"
"To see if we can come up on it. We'll probably never have another chance to see one."
"Hey! Wait now! They're dangerous!"
She looked at him as if to say, "So?"
"Suppose you do? And suppose he doesn't like it?"
"Then he'd have to run fast enough to catch us."
"He just might do that."
"Damn it, Macurdy! Who's the one that climbed the tree to chase the jaguar out?"
"I didn't have any choice."
"Well then, who went into the fallen timber and buffaloed Slaney? And who went into the Kormehri camp and fronted down a whole damned company?"
"I had to do those things, honey. I didn't have any choice!"
"Macurdy, you can be so exasperating!"
"Besides, you're pregnant. If something happens to you . . ."
She swore at him, and turning her horse, trotted across the bottomland and up onto the terrace, Macurdy trotting Hog a bit behind. He knew what would happen next, and he was right; when she got onto the firmer high ground, she kicked her horse to a gallop. The last he saw of her, she'd crossed a field of corn stubble and cleared the rail fence on the other side. He shook his head, wondering if she'd ever get over her reckless streak. After the baby comes, he told himself. If she didn't jiggle and jar it to death first. He wasn't going to bring that up though. Not again.
To his relief, there was no predation. The great boar passed through the neighborhood leaving no damage behind.
They had snow cover two weeks before the solstice, which everyone said was early. And when, a month later, it had deepened instead of melting, they said it was the hardest winter they'd ever seen. Finally, in mid-One-Month, a thaw arrived, with an all-night rain that took the snow out at one shot.
Meanwhile Melody had begun to swell, and not long afterward could feel the fetus move inside her. In bed, she'd place Macurdy's hand where he could feel it, and he decided he loved her more than ever. She was more affectionate than ever, too, given to kissing him without warning—or without cause, so far as he could see.
One night after they'd made careful love, she lay gentle fingers on his cheek. "Liiset calls you Curtis," she said. "Is that what Varia called you?"
"Um-hmm."
"Would you like me to call you that?"
"If you'd like. I like whatever you call me." He chuckled. "Except when you're mad at me. Some of those names I don't like too well."
"Curtis," she said thoughtfully. "Curtis. I like it." She kissed him. "Curtis, I love you. I love you very much."
And when they got up in the morning, she still called him Curtis. She stopped running her horse, too, settling for a walking gait, or an easy trot. She's settling down, he told himself. At last.
In the beginning of Two-Month, with the ground bare, the big freeze struck. The fireplaces, never adequate in cold weather, seemed almost useless now. More blankets were piled on the beds, enough that they had to wake up to turn over. Ice froze in the pail in the kitchen, and despite the fireplace, burst the ceramic pitcher on the washstand in their bedroom. Macurdy let Blue Wing perch on the mantle in the living room, though the bird suffered from claustrophobia indoors. Then, blowing on his fingers from time to time, the squire of Macurdy Manor sat down and drew plans for a brick stove, with flues to be built in the walls between the living room and the rooms adjacent, intending to build it the next summer.
The big freeze lasted for four days, cold enough that when he went outside, even at midday, the hairs in his nostrils stiffened. Something which, back home in Washington County, was taken to mean the temperature was below zero.
This time the cold broke without a storm; on the fifth day it simply warmed up. Not up to freezing—not that warm—but the bright sun felt good on his face, and the cows were let out for the exercise. The sparrows and crows were out too, those that hadn't died. And Blue Wing. After five days with only brief hours outside, he flew high and wide. "The river is frozen," he announced when he returned, and said that was something rare for the Green. The ground was certainly frozen—as hard as the new concrete pavement on Main Street back in Salem.
The next day dawned warmer than the day before. Toward noon the temperature rose above freezing, the bright sun shining on a slick of mud atop the frozen ground, and Macurdy and Melody saddled their horses for a ride. The cattle tracks went directly to the pasture above the woods, and when the two riders got there, Macurdy rode around examining what condition it was in, while Melody rode down to see the frozen river, and Blue Wing soared high overhead. The pasture grass was a mixture, and grazed-down enough that Macurdy wasn't sure what species dominated. Nor how much winter-kill there might be, given such severe cold without snow cover.
He heard Blue Wing shrieking something and looked up, to see the raven spiraling down, almost diving. The short hairs bristled on Macurdy's neck. Then he discerned the words: "Macurdy! Macurdy! The ice has broken! Melody is in the water!"
Thumping Hog's flanks with his heels, Macurdy galloped as recklessly as Melody ever had. At the river bank he pulled up. The hole was mostly full of broken ice, and only her horse's head showed, whinnying wildly. She's gone under the ice, Macurdy thought, and galloped wildly downstream, where eighty yards away he could see water kept open by rapids. If he could get there before she was carried through and under the next ice . . .
He got there just as she emerged, and Hog didn't hesitate when Macurdy drove him into water shockingly, deathly cold, reaching her near the foot of the rip. Leaning down, he grabbed her sodden coat with a grip of iron, then Hog fought their way across the current back to shore. Macurdy jumped down and examined her; there was no trace of spirit aura; little even of body aura.
He howled then, howled at the sky like a hound. But only once before turning her over on her stomach and beginning the artificial respiration he'd learned in grade school, at the same time chanting brokenly a formula Arbel had taught him. He pressed and relaxed, pressed and relaxed, until, soaked as he was, he was shivering almost too violently to continue. God! he prayed silently, let her live, and I'll do anything you ask! He knew that artificial respiration would be useless if long interrupted, yet feared that any life which might remain would freeze out of her, so after half an hour, his hands and mind numbed by cold and shock, he stopped. High clouds had moved in to block the sun, as if God himself had turned against him.
Almost too cold to function, he struggled the dead body across Hog's shoulders, then managed, barely, to pull himself into the saddle. At the house, he carried what had been Melody into the living room, while his houseman, who'd come into the room to investigate, melted back out in shock. There was no trace of aura now. He stripped her, dried her, wrapped her in blankets, and laid her out in front of the fireplace. Then, long after there was any use in it, he began artificial respiration again. He had only a vague notion of time, but finally was aware that her body was stiffening.
Moving woodenly, he carried her into the bedroom, washed her, painstakingly brushed her hair, and got her into clean clothes—her dress uniform, stored in a cedar chest against moths. When that was done, he called for his houseman, who came in wide-eyed and silent.
"Have Dellerd harness Socks and hitch him to the buggy. I'm taking my wife to Teklapori."
Not trusting his voice, the houseman nodded silently and disappeared. When he was gone, Macurdy wept violently for about a minute—hard racking sobs that shook his whole body, while the tears sluiced. Then it passed. Stripping himself before the bedroom fire, he rubbed his body with a rough towel till he was red and tingling with renewed circulation. That done, he dressed in dry clothes, put on a heavy coat, and carried the body out to the buggy—a sort of surrey with the back enclosed—where he lay it gently on the back seat. Then, after giving a few instructions to the houseman and farm foreman, he drove off down the road toward the capital, a silent Blue Wing flying low overhead.