Dragon's Kin (11 page)

“Something else is troubling you,” Master Zist noted.

“Well . . .” Kindan began slowly, considering his words carefully. “I’ve always been taught not to lie, and yet it seems that I’ve told an awful lot of lies recently . . . I’ve always found that lies tend to come back to me.”

Master Zist nodded. “When have you lied?”

“Well, I said that you’d asked for the things to be set up for the Gather tonight.”

“And did I not send you on that task?” Master Zist asked. Kindan nodded slowly. “So you said what you said in order to do what I asked you to do, isn’t that so?” Kindan nodded. “That’s not a lie, Kindan. That’s being a good subordinate.”

“A subordinate?” Kindan repeated, unfamiliar with the word.

“Like Swanee is responsible for the supplies but works for Natalon,” Master Zist said, giving an example. “Or a shift leader working for the head miner. A subordinate is someone who has been given a task by his leader and sometimes uses the authority of that leader to accomplish it.

“If you had said, ‘Master Zist asks you to make me some bubbly-pies’ when I never did, that would be a misuse of a subordinate’s powers,” the Harper added. “A subordinate does walk a tender line between lie and truth. A subordinate is supposed to guess what his leader wants and guess correctly.” He wagged a finger at Kindan, eyebrows crunched tightly together in warning. “You don’t want to be wrong when you’re my subordinate.”

Kindan shrugged in wary acceptance. “But what about at the birthing? You didn’t ask me to see to it that Nuella was present, and we fooled Margit and Milla. If that’s not a lie, it’s certainly stretching the truth.”

“That was a difficult situation,” the Harper agreed. “You did well, by the way. Lies and secrets are related, Kindan. Secrets breed lies. Because Natalon wants to keep Nuella a secret, for reasons that I’m not allowed to tell you, you had to create some deceptions.”

“But if secrets are so bad, why do so many people have them?” Kindan asked.

“Because sometimes they are the only thing some people can truly call their own,” Master Zist answered with a sigh.

“Well, I can’t see how long Nuella will remain a secret,” Kindan said. “Both Zenor and I know about her, and we’ve been in the Camp less than a year.”

Master Zist nodded. “I have pointed out the same to Natalon,” he said. “But he has his reasons.”

“Because she’s a girl, or because she’s blind?” Kindan asked. Kindan had guessed she was blind the day he’d found Natalon’s hold full of bad air—but he wasn’t certain if that was Natalon’s reason for keeping her concealed.

Master Zist smiled at the youngster. “That was a good try—offering me a choice in hopes of getting me to reveal the secret,” he said, “but I’ve been a Harper longer than you’ve lived.

“And it was perceptive of you to notice Nuella’s condition,” the Master continued. “Perhaps from that, you can make some conjectures”—he held up a hand when Kindan opened his mouth—“which, as my apprentice, you’ll keep to yourself.”

“I would have figured it out sooner if I’d seen her any other time but when the traders were here,” Kindan remarked. “I thought she was one of them.”

Master Zist nodded in understanding.

“In such a tight community as this Camp, everyone knows everyone else and most everyone has the same things,” he continued. “Oh, there are a few special trinkets or family heirlooms, but mostly no one has more than another. So some people have secrets all their own. Or they have secrets because they’re afraid how others would react if the secret were ever known.”

Master Zist gave Kindan a wry grin and added conspiratorially, “Most of the time, other people wouldn’t care a bit for another person’s secret. But, as I said, a secret makes a person who’s got nothing else feel special. Which is why Harpers are instructed”—and Kindan heard the special emphasis on the word “instructed” as an instruction to him—“to respect the secrets of others.”

“So when is a secret a bad thing?”

“A secret’s a bad thing when it can be used to hurt others, or when it hides a hurt,” Master Zist said quickly. “You’ve an obligation, again as a harper, to expose a secret like that when you find it.”

“What sort of secret is that?” Kindan asked, mentally running through the small list of secrets he’d discovered about other people.

Master Zist made a sour face. “I once knew a man, a hard man, who when he’d taken too much wine would lose his sense and temper. When he did that, he’d beat his children.” His lips tightened. “That’s that sort of secret.”

Kindan shivered at the thought. “So a bad secret is the sort of secret that when people know it, they can help?”

Master Zist considered his words before responding. “I suppose you could say that,” he replied. He got up, finished the last of the
klah
he’d been sipping, and gestured for Kindan to follow. “We’ll talk more of philosophy later. Right now we’ve got work to do.”

There
were
six coal drays in the trader caravan. All the camp youngsters and women turned out to greet the traders who had walked up in front of the coal drays.

“You’re the first fresh faces we’ve seen in six months!” Milla exclaimed, passing out dainties she’d made especially for their arrival.

“Tarri,” a woman in her early twenties said, extending a hand to Milla and looking around at the rest of the crowd. “Journeyman Trader.”

Master Zist stepped through the crowd with Kindan not far behind. “I’m Master Zist, pleased to meet you.”

Tarri’s eyebrows went up at the sight of a MasterHarper here at this small camp, but she quickly schooled her expression and gladly shook his hand.

“I’ve seven apprentices from the MasterMiner along with me,” she said, nodding to a knot of miners clustered nearby.

Kindan smothered a puzzled look. He’d heard Natalon tell Master Zist that eight apprentices had been sent—not seven.

“We’ll be glad to have them,” Master Zist said cheerfully, waving to the group. Under his breath he said to Kindan, “Where are we going to put them?”

Kindan whispered back, “They’ll have to go where there’s the most room.”

Master Zist’s eyes widened in a combination of alarm and glee. “That’d be Tarik’s place, wouldn’t it?”

Kindan gave an imperceptible nod.

“Master Zist, would you know where the coal drays go?” Tarri asked. From her expression, Kindan guessed that she expected the Harper wouldn’t.

“If you follow the fork in the road back there, you’ll come right to the depot,” Master Zist answered calmly.

Tarri nodded thanks and turned to the other traders, issuing orders. In a moment she turned back to the Harper.

“I imagine Miner Natalon will be wanting to talk about supplies and the price for his coal,” she said.

“Miner Natalon’s on shift at the moment and has asked me to show you the courtesy of his hold,” the Harper replied, bowing and gesturing toward Natalon’s hold with one hand. “If you’ll follow me, I’m sure you’re parched from the journey and wouldn’t mind a bit of refreshment.”

The young trader nodded agreeably and strode on to the hold, side by side with Zist.

“Do you know where we’re supposed to go?” a boy scarcely older than Kindan asked of the remaining crowd before Kindan could follow the Harper.

“He’d be just the lad,” Milla told him, pointing at Kindan. “Why don’t you get the apprentices settled, Kindan, while I go serve the traders?”

Kindan suppressed his disappointment at not being able to stay around to learn the latest gossip but admitted, with a nod, that he was outmaneuvered and outranked by the baker.

“I’m Kindan,” he said to the gathering apprentices. “I’m sure we can get you settled in. If you’ll follow me.”

In the end, Kindan managed to foist four of the apprentices, two older and two younger, onto Tarik’s Dara—mostly through fast-talking that alluded to how much esteem she’d gain in fostering the lion’s share of the new apprentices. Dara’s eyes, at first wary, grew quite appreciative as she imagined breaking the news to Tarik. Kindan, who thought Tarik would hold his privacy in higher regard, was not so sure of the miner’s reaction.

Toldur’s wife, Alarra, was glad to take in two—the older Menar and young Gulegar—while Norla happily took young Regellan when Kindan hinted broadly that he’d be on the opposite shift from Zenor, giving her a constant chance of someone who spoke “adult words” nearby.

With the apprentices all settled, Kindan went back to the Harper’s cothold to spruce up, change, and get his drums. Inside he was surprised to hear the soft sounds of someone crying in Master Zist’s study.

It was Nuella. The glows in the room were dim; Kindan realized that no one had had a chance to change them.

“What’s the matter?” he asked as he caught sight of her sitting in one of the large chairs. Nuella looked up at the sound of his voice.

“I—I—Master Zist was supposed to teach me,” Nuella said shakily. “I thought maybe I’d gotten it wrong so I went back to the hold only—only I heard him talking to someone else. So I came back here.”

“Oh, things got all mixed up because the caravan’s come in,” Kindan said.

“I didn’t hear the drums,” Nuella protested.

“Well, that’s because there’s no one at the relay yet, I expect,” Kindan said, referring to the drum relay midway between Crom Hold and Camp Natalon. “I spotted them and then got awfully busy between Master Zist and your father.”

“But it was a girl’s voice I heard talking to Master Zist,” Nuella said.

“That’s Tarri, the Trader,” Kindan told her.

“A girl can be a trader?” Nuella sounded surprised.

Kindan shrugged. “Why not? Although I think Tarri is older than that. She’s a journeyman, by her shoulder knots.”

Nuella sniffed. “I heard Milla say that a girl could be a baker or a mother, but that was all a girl was good for. She was complaining to Mother about it.”

“I can’t understand why Milla would complain,” Kindan said without thinking. “She’s a pretty good baker.”

“Mother wants to name the baby Larissa,” Nuella said in an abrupt change of topic. “She’s all worried whether the baby can see. She doesn’t want—”

Kindan realized that Nuella was telling him her secret.

“I’m sure the baby is fine,” Kindan said, sounding far more like Master Zist than himself. Nuella heard it too and frowned at him.

“Mother says that you can’t tell when they’re first born,” Nuella went on. “Sometimes it’s years before they lose their sight.” She paused and bit her lip nervously before continuing in a rush: “I could see just fine all the way until I was three. And then . . . things just started to go blurry and dim. Now everything is just splotches . . .”

With a look of determination she stood up, steadying herself against the wall for a moment with an outstretched hand, and walked over to the door where Kindan stood. “Master Zist keeps the furniture in the same place,” she said appreciatively.

“I know,” Kindan replied. “He keeps yelling at me when I move it.”

“Father’s afraid of what the others will say if they find out,” Nuella said. “That’s why he was so glad to get Tarik to move out. Cristov almost found out once, you know.”

“Why is your father so worried?” Kindan blurted.

Nuella scowled, and shook her head angrily. “He’s afraid that we’ll be shunned,” she said bitterly.

“Shunned? But you’ve done nothing wrong,” Kindan said, wondering why the ultimate punishment—expulsion from society—could even be considered.

“Not like that,” Nuella corrected him. “His mother was blind, too. There aren’t that many blind people, you know.”

Kindan nodded, then said, “I know.”

“Well,” Nuella went on, “I heard him and Mother talking about it several times. Arguing, really. My father’s afraid that people will wonder what’s wrong with
him
, if his children are blind. And they won’t trust him. And he’s afraid that no one will marry Dalor.” With a catch in her voice, she added, “He doesn’t think I’ll ever get married.”

“So he wants to keep you a secret?” Kindan asked. Nuella nodded. “I don’t see how. Master Zist knows,
I
know, and Zenor knows. It was a wonder others didn’t figure it out the other day.”

Nuella snorted. “Some people who have perfectly good eyes only see what they want,” she said. “I usually wear clothes to match Dalor’s. Once Milla brushed right by me without even noticing.”

“And what a choice bit of gossip she’d make of you,” Kindan replied.

“She would, indeed,” Nuella agreed, adding bitterly, “And then Uncle Tarik would spread the gossip throughout the camp. ‘If he can’t make decent children, what sort of miner can he be?’ ”

Kindan considered her words carefully. He could see Tarik saying such spiteful things, and he could imagine there would be some who would listen. Certainly Tarik’s cronies would. And they’d repeat the gossip. And, if anything went wrong, like the bad air in the hold, there’d always be some who would start believing the gossip.

“All the same, you’re going to be found out sometime,” Kindan said.

Nuella nodded. “I’ve been telling Father that ever since we came up here. And I
want
to get out. But he keeps telling me to wait until the right time. He had hopes—before the cave-in . . .”

Kindan felt his throat tighten as he remembered all that had been lost in that cave-in. Master Zist had kept him so busy that it was only in his sleep—his nightmares—that he remembered the past, and his family.

“There’s a Gather tonight,” Kindan said. “I’ve got to get over there.”

“I won’t hear it if I stay here,” Nuella said, downcast. She held up her fingers, which were dotted with tiny pinpricks. “Mother says that everyone does this. I’m not sure—”

“Oh, they do!” Kindan said reassuringly. “I saw Zenor with the same pinpricks—diaper pins, right?—with his sisters.”

Kindan could tell that his words had relieved Nuella’s fears. One thing bothered him, though. “How long has Zenor known?”

“Oh, since the first sevenday we moved here,” Nuella said with a grin. “He fell off the fence when he was trying to get away from Cristov and hurt himself pretty badly.” She made a face. “I heard him crying. I couldn’t just leave him there for Cristov to find and probably kick, so I bundled him up to my room and bandaged him up and we’ve been friends ever since.”