YARROW
“HELLO!” he called.
He didn’t want to be afraid, so he waited a moment longer before calling, “Hello!” again.
The place did not look dangerous. It felt completely safe. A little house, and he apparently, was a guest in it. Just a moment longer and he could remember. He would remember.
A woman came down the steps. She wore a light blue gown and had nut brown skin. He hair was lustrous and straight, pulled behind her back, and it was almost black.
He looked at his own white hands, but that did not change the fact that he felt like she was his mother. So he asked her.
“Your mother?” Yarrow said. “No,” she came to him. “Not your mother.”
“Where do I come from?”
“You look to be a man of Daumany, and we are near that border. We are in the place called the Borders. A few days north are the Sun Mountains, A few days south east and you are in Daumany, northwest, Chyr. Southwest is Zahem. I would go to Chyr if I were you.”
He stared at her in horror and she said, “But I did not mean now.” Her eyes closed. “You have forgotten yourself. It happens. What do you know?”
He closed his eyes and tried to remember.
“I don’t know anything,” he said. His voice was small and defeated.
“Well, sit,” Yarrow said. “Sit and think to yourself a while, and I’ll get breakfast ready.” She gave him a hooked smile. “You do remember breakfast. Right?”
“Well, yes,” he said. “That I can remember well enough.”
It wasn’t completely facetious. Even for a creature such as herself, magic was no light thing. And the High Magic, the Star Magic, one gave herself to, and the Gods help you, you never knew what would happen. Because of what Birch had said, Yarrow knew she had to let the man into her home, and she knew she had to tell him as much of the truth about Theone as possible. That wrankled her. That moved against all sense, but still she did it anyway. And then, in the night, like a horrible thing, the need to use the Black Wand, the knowledge of the words to say assaulted her. And she had loosed that terrible power.
In the kitchen, opening up cupboards and shouting back, lightly, “I’ll make you some coffee if you like? It’s always what I like to start me up in the morning,” she kept thinking “What have I done? How much is left of him? Truly, what had come to her door last evening was a horrible man, a killer, a Black Star. But what was here right now was someone lost.
You’ve given him his innocence again. You’ve made a him like a child. Now he can start all over again.
That was a comforting thought. More, it was a true one. It didn’t make her feel any better.
The kitchen door pushed open, and Yarrow was startled from her worries.
“I’m sorry,” the man said, “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
“It’s all right,” Yarrow said, turning around and bringing the coffee and flowers to the island in the middle of the large kitchen. “I’m just so used to living with only Birch.”
The black haired man, once called Ruval, looked thoughtful and said, “Two women living alone?” He looked about the sunlit kitchen with the copper pots and pans hanging from the walls, and the yellow curtains the sun shone through.
“Well, we aren’t living alone. We have each other,” Yarrow said. “And before I had a neice. But she is gone, and has been for some time.”
She smiled brightly then, screwing the lid of the coffee back on.
“In truth it hasn’t been easy all the time,” Yarrow said. “We all have our own lonelinesses, but Birch and I can be your friends and help you through your troubles. You may stay in this house as long as you like.”
THEONE
When Theone saw the wild looking woman driving the vardo, she did not want to stop, though the woman seemed to be waiting for her. After all, she knew she was supposed to be more or less following some vague path in the direction Yarrow had sent her and that, at current, she was being followed by a Hand, a Black Star. Yarrow had said she was safe from him, but there had been no time to test this.
Theone stopped, and the woman looking down at her said, “Climb up and let the horse walk with us.”
Theone thought of saying the horse was not hers. She was on the verge of saying, “We should bring it back.” Instead she took the hand the woman stretched down to her, caught it and vaulted into the wagon.
“I really want to thank you,” Theone said. “I can cook. In a way.”
“Well I can cook in actuality,” the woman with the dark reddish brown hair said. “Well,” she slapped her thigh, “we should start moving, shouldn’t we?”
Theone could not argue this, and so they headed up the road again.
“As long as we’re traveling mates,” the woman said, “I should introduce myself. The name is Dissenbark.”
Theone turned around and murmured, “That’s a beautiful name.”
“It’s a stupid name,” Dissenbark said. “But it’s the one my mother gave me, so what can you do?”
“I’m Theone.”
“Now, that’s one hell of a name. It’s like a real royal name. I bet you’re a princess or something like.”
This was true enough, Theone reflected, but it wasn’t really wise to say it, so she said, “Really, I’m just a girl on the run.”
“Aren’t we all?” Dissenbark said. “Men are pigs. No, men are monsters. My Pa was a good man, but they killed him. Bad men all around, and they run the few good ones into the ground. Well, what can you do? But run? So we run.”
For some reason this made Theone want to cry. It made her eyes sting. For a moment she could hardly speak, her throat was filled with so much emotion. Then she sucked it all down and said, “Yes. So we run.”
YARROW
They came into the house together, laughing and Aunt Birch said,
“This is the first warm day we’ve had in a long time.”
“It’s the first warm day I can remember at all,” he said.
Then he said, “I did tell you my name when I first came.”
“You gave both Yarrow and I a name,” the wheat haired woman said, “but you said it wasn’t yours.”
He waited for it.
“You said your name was Ruval.”
He made a face. “I don’t think I like that at all.”
Aunt Birch shook her head and smiled as they made their way into the kitchen and she searched for the tea kettle.
“Well, then you can make yourself a new one.”
“I can’t just do that.”
“Apparently the old one wasn’t very good. Since you wouldn’t use it.”
“But,” he said, “If I have a name, well then I’ve got a life, a family perhaps. I have to get back to that life.”
“But maybe you don’t,” Yarrow, who was hanging herbs above the island in the kitchen, said. “And maybe this is a gift. Maybe you can begin a new life.”
There was a faucet which Yarrow and Birch had installed. It linked to the water table under the house, and made things better than in the days when there had been a well. It piped water through the whole house, and as Birch filled the tea kettle, she said, “Still, you should try to remember. If you try to remember your life will come back to you.”
“Do you think that’s true, Aunt Birch? Yarrow? Really?”
“I do,” Yarrow said. She was convinced that the true forgetting had come when he had been made a Hand, and she believed, or fervently hoped, that the person he remembered would be the person he had once been.
The sky overhead spun with joy, white clouds in the deep blue. He was running, breathlessly. He had never known running in terror, but he knew what it was like to have people run from him.
“I’m going to get you! I’m coming to get you!” she sang after him.
She was everything. He wanted to be caught by her, but she had to truly catch him! He wanted to be taken up by her. And then her long cool finger tackled him, laughing and he was laughing with her and she was saying, “I’ve got you, my sweet! I’ve got you my Kenneth!”
He woke up, blinking and suddenly sad in the morning light of this house. This was the good house, The good place. He could smell bacon which meant Yarrow was already awake.
What was the bad place? What was the place he’d been afraid to wake up in?
He came down the steps, hearing her laughter in his ears. In his dream he hadn’t scene her, but he knew her hair was blond like Birch’s, like wheat, and she smelled like jasmine, though he didn’t know what jasmine was.
“Good morning, you,” Yarrow greeted him.
He blinked. “I have a name.”
Yarrow looked at him.
“My name is Kenneth.”
Yarrow, much interested, did not take her eyes from him as she brought him a mug of juice.
Aunt Birch, a light shawl wrapped about her, was already sitting at the table. Kennethh turned to her.
“I had a dream last night. It was so sweet. I’m sad to wake from it. I hope I have it again.
“My name is Kenneth,” he said again, sitting down, “It’s what my mother called me.”
“You dreamed of your mother?”
“We were playing in the fields. She was chasing me and laughing, and I was laughing.” Kenneth, once called Ruval, sighed and took a sip from his juice. “I got the impression that I am not someone who laughs a great deal.”
“You laughed a lot yesterday,” Yarrow pointed out, going back to the stove where she was frying eggs.
“But,” Birch added, “I too, have the idea that laughter is new to you.”
“She was so wonderful,” Kenneth said. “I want to dream about her. Can either of you make that happen?”
Yarrow took the eggs from the skillet and pursing her lips said, “There are herbs I can burn, prayers to be said, to open your mind. That both of us can do.”
Birch nodded, rolling her tongue in her mouth.
“Thank you,” Kenneth said. “I wonder…”
Yarrow brought the plate of eggs and toast to him and said,
“What do you wonder? I’m frying mushrooms. Do you like those?”
Kenneth made a strange face, grinned, and said, “I don’t know.”
Yarrow grinned ruefully and said, “Well, we’ll find out.
“Now… you stopped talking. What did you wonder? You said you wondered something?”
“I wondered if she was still alive. My mother.”
Yarrow said nothing because there was no way for her to find out, and finding out was the only sensible answer.
YARROW
They came into the house together, laughing and Aunt Birch said,
“This is the first warm day we’ve had in a long time.”
“It’s the first warm day I can remember at all,” he said.
Then he said, “I did tell you my name when I first came.”
“You gave both Yarrow and I a name,” the wheat haired woman said, “but you said it wasn’t yours.”
He waited for it.
“You said your name was Ruval.”
He made a face. “I don’t think I like that at all.”
Aunt Birch shook her head and smiled as they made their way into the kitchen and she searched for the tea kettle.
“Well, then you can make yourself a new one.”
“I can’t just do that.”
“Apparently the old one wasn’t very good. Since you wouldn’t use it.”
“But,” he said, “If I have a name, well then I’ve got a life, a family perhaps. I have to get back to that life.”
“But maybe you don’t,” Yarrow, who was hanging herbs above the island in the kitchen, said. “And maybe this is a gift. Maybe you can begin a new life.”
There was a faucet which Yarrow and Birch had installed. It linked to the water table under the house, and made things better than in the days when there had been a well. It piped water through the whole house, and as Birch filled the tea kettle, she said, “Still, you should try to remember. If you try to remember your life will come back to you.”
“Do you think that’s true, Aunt Birch? Yarrow? Really?”
“I do,” Yarrow said. She was convinced that the true forgetting had come when he had been made a Hand, and she believed, or fervently hoped, that the person he remembered would be the person he had once been.
The sky overhead spun with joy, white clouds in the deep blue. He was running, breathlessly. He had never known running in terror, but he knew what it was like to have people run from him.
“I’m going to get you! I’m coming to get you!” she sang after him.
She was everything. He wanted to be caught by her, but she had to truly catch him! He wanted to be taken up by her. And then her long cool finger tackled him, laughing and he was laughing with her and she was saying, “I’ve got you, my sweet! I’ve got you my Kenneth!”
He woke up, blinking and suddenly sad in the morning light of this house. This was the good house, The good place. He could smell bacon which meant Yarrow was already awake.
What was the bad place? What was the place he’d been afraid to wake up in?
He came down the steps, hearing her laughter in his ears. In his dream he hadn’t scene her, but he knew her hair was blond like Birch’s, like wheat, and she smelled like jasmine, though he didn’t know what jasmine was.
“Good morning, you,” Yarrow greeted him.
He blinked. “I have a name.”
Yarrow looked at him.
“My name is Kenneth.”
Yarrow, much interested, did not take her eyes from him as she brought him a mug of juice.
Aunt Birch, a light shawl wrapped about her, was already sitting at the table. Kennethh turned to her.
“I had a dream last night. It was so sweet. I’m sad to wake from it. I hope I have it again.
“My name is Kenneth,” he said again, sitting down, “It’s what my mother called me.”
“You dreamed of your mother?”
“We were playing in the fields. She was chasing me and laughing, and I was laughing.” Kenneth, once called Ruval, sighed and took a sip from his juice. “I got the impression that I am not someone who laughs a great deal.”
“You laughed a lot yesterday,” Yarrow pointed out, going back to the stove where she was frying eggs.
“But,” Birch added, “I too, have the idea that laughter is new to you.”
“She was so wonderful,” Kenneth said. “I want to dream about her. Can either of you make that happen?”
Yarrow took the eggs from the skillet and pursing her lips said, “There are herbs I can burn, prayers to be said, to open your mind. That both of us can do.”
Birch nodded, rolling her tongue in her mouth.
“Thank you,” Kenneth said. “I wonder…”
Yarrow brought the plate of eggs and toast to him and said,
“What do you wonder? I’m frying mushrooms. Do you like those?”
Kenneth made a strange face, grinned, and said, “I don’t know.”
Yarrow grinned ruefully and said, “Well, we’ll find out.
“Now… you stopped talking. What did you wonder? You said you wondered something?”
“I wondered if she was still alive. My mother.”
Yarrow said nothing because there was no way for her to find out, and finding out was the only sensible answer.
Theone had found a companion and Dissenbark is less alone. Ruval has found and old name and regained his innocence. When we return, the story will take us back north, at long last, to the war between Edmund and Edith, and their enemies, our friends Wolf and Myrne!
