Ravenheart (27 page)

Just the other morning he and Finbarr Ustal and his brothers, Jabe and Killon, had been out in the high pasture repairing a drystone wall. The brothers, all redheaded and pale-skinned, had been chatting in a language Kaelin did not know. He had asked Finbarr about it. Conversation ceased immediately. Finbarr scratched at his thin red beard. “It is Keltoi, Kaelin. The language of the clansman. Does no one speak it in the conquered lands?”

“No.”

“A shame, that is, to be sure,” said Finbarr, swinging back to his brothers and beginning the conversation again.

Kaelin could make no inroads with these men or with Bally Koin and Senlic Carpenter, the two senior herdsmen. Senlic was the friendliest, if “friendly” could be used to describe the fact that he would at least acknowledge Kaelin’s presence with a nod or a wave.

Yet Jaim had no difficulty with them. With him they would chuckle and swap jokes, engaging in easy familiarity.

Kaelin continued to work patiently alongside them, believing that in time their suspicions of him would fade and that they would accept him as a clansman.

Then came the visit of Call Jace.

Kaelin was strolling back from the abattoir, where he had sold two steers to one of the Black Mountain butchers. He saw the gray-haired Senlic Carpenter and Finbarr Ustal standing with two tall kilted highlanders and what he took at first to be a boy. What was surprising was that all three highlanders wore swords and had pistols tucked into their belts. Kaelin walked toward the group. He saw Senlic speaking swiftly to the leader, a tall man nearly as big as Grymauch. The man wore a bonnet cap sporting an eagle feather and a cloak of pale green and blue intersected with red horizontal and vertical lines. As he came closer, he realized the third highlander was not a boy but a young red-haired girl dressed in buckskin leggings and a bright green woolen overshirt. She also sported a bonnet cap, but without a feather. Her face was pretty, her eyes deep green, her mouth divine. Kaelin could not take his eyes off her. She was without doubt the most beautiful girl he had ever seen. Suddenly aware of the growing silence, he dragged his gaze from the girl and spoke to the leader.

“Good morning,” said Kaelin. “Are you here on business?”

“If I am, what is it to you, boy?” answered the man. His eyes were pale blue, his beard close-trimmed and black with touches of silver.

Kaelin could see he was angry, though he could think of no reason why. Kaelin’s greeting had been courteous. “My aunt Maev owns this farm,” said Kaelin, “and I speak for her.”

“She should have known better than to leave a boy in charge,” said the man. “I’ll conduct my business with Senlic.”

Now Kaelin felt his blood grow hot. “No, you will not,” he said. “And if you call me ‘boy’ again, you can leave my property and seek business elsewhere.”

“Is that so? How, then, does ‘whelp’ sound to you?”

The highlander was taller than Kaelin by around six inches and much heavier. Despite that, Kaelin dropped his shoulder and sent a straight left that crashed against the man’s jaw. It was a good punch and knocked the surprised highlander back a pace. Kaelin followed in with a right to the belly and a left cross that almost spun the man from his feet.

Something struck him hard across the back of the head. Kaelin stumbled and fell to his knees. Dizziness swamped him, but he fought it and struggled up. He saw that the second highlander, a young man with a thick red beard, had struck him with a pistol butt. Kaelin could feel blood flowing down his neck, and his head was pounding.

With a great effort he pushed himself to his feet. He stood and swayed. Finbarr and Senlic were standing by quietly. The leader was rubbing his jaw. No one spoke. Kaelin backed away, turned on his heel, and walked to the house. He was unsteady, but the power of anger surging through his veins gave him strength. In his own room he pulled the walnut box from beneath his bed, opened it, and lifted clear the two pistols. Swiftly he loaded them. Then he walked back into the sunshine.

The men were still there, only now Finbarr’s brothers, Jabe and Killon, had joined them. The tall man Kaelin had struck was the first to see him. He said something, and the men spread out. The highlander who had hit Kaelin with the pistol butt saw the guns in Kaelin’s hands and dragged his own weapon clear, cocking it and bringing it to bear. Before he could shoot, Kaelin’s pistol roared. He had aimed for the chest, but the shot struck the highlander on the side of the head. The man dropped his pistol and slumped to his knees before toppling to the ground. Senlic Carpenter ran to him, rolling him to his back. “It did not penetrate,” he told the other highlander. “It creased his scalp. He’ll be all right.”

Kaelin heard the words but did not care. The remaining silver pistol came up, pointing directly at the face of the leader. He walked forward until the barrel was inches from the man’s face.

“Feel free to use the word ‘whelp’ again, you scum-sucking goat turd. It will be the last word you utter. Come on! Say it!”

“You want me to kill him, Father?” said the young woman.

Kaelin flicked a glance to his right and saw that the girl had drawn her pistol. It was cocked and pointed at his belly.

“Yes, shoot,” said Kaelin. “Do it now! It will not prevent me from exploding what passes for his brains all over the yard.”

“Nice pistols,” said the man, his voice calm, his eyes angry. “They look like Emburleys.” He turned to the girl. “Put it down, lass. There’ll be no more shooting today.”

The man on the ground groaned and tried to sit. Then he fell back.

“Carry him inside,” the tall man told Senlic and the others. They moved instantly to obey him.

“Stand fast!” ordered Kaelin. The men froze. “If he cannot walk,” he told the leader, “you can carry him to his home, wherever that may be.”

The highlander stood for a moment, holding to Kaelin’s gaze. He said nothing and moved to the fallen man. Leaning down, he hoisted him to his feet. Before he could fall, the leader ducked down and hefted him to his shoulder. Then he walked away. The girl stood for a moment. “You were lucky today,” she told Kaelin. “But when Bael recovers from your cowardly attack, he will seek you out.”

“And I’ll bury him,” said Kaelin. “Now get off my land.”

He watched her walk away, then swung to the waiting men. “You speak in Keltoi, you talk of conquered lands, and you regard southerners as little more than hounds of the Varlish. And yet beneath it all you are scum, all talk and no honor. Back in Old Hills, when a man takes a wage, he works—and fights—alongside the man who pays him. It is called loyalty where I come from.”

“
You
do not pay the wages,” said Finbarr Ustal. “They come from Maev Ring. The man you threatened is Call Jace,
the clan leader of the Rigante. I’d fight and die for him willingly, and I’d need no wage for it.”

“Then go and do it, Finbarr. Pack your things.”

“I have a wife and three bairns to support,” said the shocked man.

“I’m sure Call Jace will support them for you, you being such a loyal follower.”

Finbarr stood stunned. Senlic Carpenter stepped forward. “This must not get out of hand, Kaelin,” he said. “No one knew you were about to strike Call Jace, and when Bael hit you with the pistol, it took us all by surprise. None of us would have allowed any further harm to come to you. You have my word on that. Finbarr is right, though, in one respect. Call Jace is admired throughout the mountains. He holds to the old ways. Even the Beetlebacks will not ride into his territory.”

“What did he want here?”

Senlic looked away, then took a deep breath. “He was here for his tribute, sir. Two steers a month. Your aunt agreed to it. Every farmer and merchant pays Call Jace. If they didn’t, he would steal the steers anyway.”

Kaelin stood very still. He was angry enough to tell them all to pack their belongings and leave and to add that if Call Jace stole one cow, he would kill him. Yet he did not, for he knew it would be foolish. With no one to run the farm he would be reduced to hiring men he did not know. As to the tribute, if Maev had agreed to it, then that was all there was to it. He stood silently staring at them, his contempt obvious.

“Am I dismissed, then?” asked Finbarr Ustal.

Kaelin’s head had begun to pound. He reached up and felt a lump the size of a sparrow’s egg. The skin was split, though blood was no longer flowing.

“Pick out two steers for the tribute and deliver them yourself,” said Kaelin.

“ ’Tis a two-day walk to his settlement,” said Finbarr.

“Then you’d best take supplies,” answered Kaelin. “You still have a place here, Ustal. But if you cross me again, I’ll kill you.”

Senlic Carpenter spoke. “Call Jace may want more steers, sir. Because of the … embarrassment,” he concluded lamely.

“I don’t care what he wants.” Kaelin swung back to face the silent Finbarr. “Tell Call Jace that Maev Ring set the tribute and I will abide by it. Tell him also that as leader of the clan, he is welcome at my house.”

“That is all? No … apology or … gesture of friendship?” asked Finbarr.

“No.”

Kaelin walked toward the house. His legs almost gave way, and he staggered but then righted himself. Once inside, he sat down in front of the fire.

Then he passed out.

He awoke some hours later. Moonlight was filtering through the window, and the fire had gone out. His head was thudding like a drum. Rising from the chair, he groaned and walked through to the kitchen. There was a pitcher of water on the table, and he poured himself a drink. The water made him feel sick. He made it out into the yard before vomiting. Feeling weak and disoriented, he struggled up the stairs to the west-facing bedroom and lay on the bed, too weary to remove his clothing.

He felt better by the time the dawn came up, though his head still hurt. Blood had matted his hair and stained the pillow. Moving downstairs, he cooked three eggs and ate them with the previous day’s bread, which he fried in beef fat.

The sun was bright as he made his way to the well, drawing up a bucket of water and splashing it to his face. Senlic Carpenter was bringing in the dairy herd. He and Bally Koin would spend most of the morning milking. The cart, with the four girls who churned the butter, was just cresting the eastern hill. Kaelin found that the brightness of the sunlight hurt his eyes. Bally Koin strolled past him but made no sign of acknowledgment. Even Senlic looked away as he led the cows in.

So this is how it will be, thought Kaelin.

For the next three days Kaelin Ring lived in a world of
silence. No one spoke to him unless to respond to a question he asked. All eyes avoided him. By the second day even the churners looked away as he walked past, and the butchers who arrived to dicker for fresh meat seemed a little more distant.

On the morning of the fourth day Finbarr Ustal walked into the farmyard and approached Kaelin.

“Did he accept the tribute?”

“Aye, sir. He has invited you to dine with him at his home should you wish to travel there.”

Kaelin looked into Finbarr’s eyes. The man was at pains to disguise his expression, but Kaelin sensed he was enjoying the moment. “How do I get there?” asked Kaelin.

“You walk due west, following the mine road. You will be met.”

“And when is this invitation for?”

“Whenever you choose to arrive, sir. Will you be going?”

“Why would I not?”

Finbarr shrugged. “You might feel that the Black Rigante were bringing you into a trap. You might think that you were meant to die in the wild country.”

“Would you advise me to accept, Finbarr?” asked Kaelin.

“It’s not for me to offer advice.”

Kaelin stayed silent but held to the man’s gaze. The silence grew. Finbarr seemed uncomfortable. “What? What do you want me to say?”

Senlic Carpenter moved into view. “He wants you to tell him whether they plan to murder him, Finn.”

“How would I know what they plan? He doesn’t have to go.”

“Is Bael recovered?” asked Senlic.

“He has a sore head, but he’s walking.” Finbarr exchanged glances with the old herdsman. “All right. All right. Bael will probably challenge him to a duel.” He looked back at Kaelin. “What did you expect? That it would all be forgotten?”

“Don’t go, Kaelin,” urged Senlic. “It will blow over.”

“It’s time I saw the mountains,” said Kaelin Ring. “You stay in charge until I get back.”

Once inside the old house, Kaelin went to his room and stood at the window, staring out at the western mountains. He wished Grymauch was there. When Finbarr Ustal had spoken of the invitation, Kaelin’s stomach had tightened. Fear of this kind was alien to the young highlander and all the more powerful now as a result. Turning from the window, he caught sight of his reflection in the square mirror above the pine dresser.

He looked older than his fifteen years, his face angular, his dark eyes deep set. Kaelin was pleased that the raging fear inside did not appear to show on the stern young features. No one would guess that he was quaking inside.

The reality was that he had brought this situation on himself. The man Bael had been protecting his chief. He could have stabbed Kaelin or shot him. Instead he had struck him once with the butt of his pistol.

The events that had followed had been entirely of Kaelin’s making, and he felt relieved that he had not killed Bael.

Even so he had managed to anger and humiliate the leader of the Black Rigante, a clan known for its murderous ways.

Now he was to pay, probably with his life.

You don’t have to go, he told his reflection.

Yet deep in his heart he knew he had no choice. If he refused, it would be a second snub to Call Jace, and that would mean total enmity. Then they would come for him. At some point, as he mended a fence or traveled into Black Mountain for supplies, clansmen would appear and cut him down. And even if they ignored him, everyone would know that Kaelin Ring was too frightened to walk into the mountains and face Call Jace.

He recalled the words of Jaim Grymauch: “Always listen to fear, Kaelin. Never be ruled by it. Fear is like a cowardly friend. His advice is not always wrong, but given the chance, he will drag you down into the pit he dwells in.”