A year after my marriage
- "Lowland ways been creeping into the Uplands." said Cenmin. "Little bit at a time."
- "Yep. Seen it happening." said Branhucar. "Better horses. More swords. More wine -" He reached for the bottle, and poured most of what remained into his friend's cup. He offered me the dregs, but I knew better than to try to match them, drink for drink.
Bacho had a stronger head for alcohol. I just wanted to sit with the two headmen, and listen to their tales and observations. He acted older - and looked it, too, with the full beard he was growing.
Many people knew why had Bacho stopped shaving - it was to cover the scars from his encounter with me. His chin would forever be marked. But his heavy moustaches and thick facial hair helped to conceal them. And no one ever said a word about his beard - me least of all.
- "Not necessarily
better
wine, though." said Cenmin. I snapped out of my reverie.
- "Finer cloth. Gemstones. Jewelry made of something other than bone." said Branhucar, counting the improvements on his fingertips.
- "Or a necklace of teeth." said Cenmin.
- "Is it true," asked Bacho, "that your granddam - Payl - had a necklace of foreskins?"
- "No, lad." said my father. "That's a myth." He winked at Cenmin. "It was her friend, Meeli DeadEyes - and she collected the whole penis - foreskin and all."
- "That's one thing that hasn't changed." said Cenmin, rolling his cup between his fingers. "Men are just as cruel. Just as ruthless."
- "That may never change." agreed my father.
Both headmen fell silent, revisiting memories that they wouldn't share, tales they would never tell.
- "Never thought I'd see a real live guslar in the Uplands, though." said Cenmin. "That's a definite improvement."
- "Apparently, they're out of fashion in Hvad town." said my father.
- "How the fuck would you know?" laughed Cenmin. "You've never been within a hundred miles o' the place."
- "That tinker told me. The one with the needles, and the brightly coloured thread. Drove a hard bargain, the little bastard - but he told me quite a bit."
"He said that Izumyrian things are all the rage in Hvad town now. Singers, with or without accompaniment. Flutes, a drum, or stringed instruments that are nothing like a gusle."
Branhucar leaned forward. He was just getting warmed up. "Joglari, they call them. Or menestrels. They sing of love more often than valour, or heroism."
- "If that's what the Niskadi value, they can keep it." said Cenmin. "I hope that shit never comes here. Bacho - get us another bottle, will you?"
There were other changes in the Uplands. Some were more subtle. Others were obvious. There was the taking of second names, for one. Down at the eastern end of the lake, under the shadow of Myeva, the headman and his family took the name of a famous ancestor as their own: Nadesti.
They still got nicknames, of course - like Stoneface, for Dengel, the eldest son. But within 20 leagues of the lake, everyone knew the name Nadesti.
***
Meonwe was a wonderful wife. I resisted the temptation for more than a year, but when she became pregnant, I had to ask.
- "Why did you choose me, Meonwe - over Bacho?"
- "Fishing for compliments?" She laughed. "It was easy, Veran. You were kind, and I liked your smile, from the very beginning."
Our first child - a girl - died before her second birthday, of a sudden fever. But the second, our son Iarn, survived. He took after his paternal grandfather.
After that, Meonwe was delivered of a boy - stillborn. We took it all in stride, as best we could. It was just a fact of life - and death. Children died. Far too often ... but that was the way of things.
Three daughters followed: Yevna, dark-haired, like her mother, then Tanguiste, who had my colouring, but Meonwe's fine features, and finally Guenneret - Guenna, as we called her. Our youngest resembled me to an absurd degree.
- "Your eyes, your hair." said Meonwe. "Same rosy cheeks, same mouth, same nose - poor thing. Not much of me, from the look of her."
- "She'll be smart," I promised, "just like her mother."
Bacho and Abrelda had a son, a little more than a year before our Iarn. They named him Kestutis. After that, Abrelda bore two more sons, and a daughter, but only the little girl survived.
I often wished that I could been closer with my wife's sister. Abrelda, though, seemed to shy away from me. One day, I began to understood why. That was the first time that I saw a livid bruise on the side of her neck.
Some time later, she had bruises on her forearm. Then a sprained wrist.
Life is hard, in the Uplands, and everyone pitches in to get the work done. Bumps and bruises, and even more serious injuries are common. But Abrelda always seemed to be trying to conceal hers. That, and her increasing shyness - furtiveness, really - told the tale.
Meonwe cautioned me about saying anything.
- "It's between them, Veran." she said. "Until she asks us for help, no good will come of you putting your foot in it. Abrelda has to make the first move. I'll talk to her."
Whatever the sisters said to each other, none of it reached me. Meonwe would no more have betrayed a confidence than I would have. Nothing changed.
Cenmin passed away when Iarn was nine. Bacho was acclaimed as the new headman at Bentwood, in his father's place. But the loss of his friend weighed heavily on my father.
- "It's the end of an era." he said.
Branhucar began visibly fading. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with him, physically. More and more, though, he began passing his duties to me. I accepted, on the condition that he spend time with his grandchildren.
My father agreed. He began training Iarn in the use of bow, axe, and sword. He took Yevna fishing, and taught her to handle a boat. Tanguiste was too small for such pursuits, but she loved to sit at his feet, and listen to his stories.
- "One more, Granpa." she would plead. "Just one more."
Guenna would simply toddle over, and climb into his lap. Branhucar couldn't resist her.
When my mother died, in the exceptionally harsh winter of the frozen lake, we were all surprised. Everyone had expected Branhucar to go first. But he lingered on until the fall of that year, and saw the leaves turn.
- "You'll be fine." he said. "You're a good man, Veran. Folk trust you. They'll follow your lead."
Branhucar did not die unattended. Our whole family was around him. No one thought the less of me when I cried at his passing.
***
Iarn was 12 years old - almost 13 - when I killed Lanko Nadesti. It was the right thing to do - perhaps the only thing I
could
do. I tried to consider what my father would have done, in my place. I decided that he would not have let murder go unpunished.
But I was also well aware that I was possibly committing my young family to a feud with the Nadestis. Iarn was too young to help me - but old enough to be a target. My daughters, my wife ... they were all vulnerable, too. Not for the first time, I wished that my brothers had not gone off in search of fame and fortune with the far-off Duke of Hvad.
On top of these worries, I found Povilas growing more and more distant. He was almost surly. Did he blame me for his father's murder? Or was he angry that I hadn't let him fight Lanko Nadesti, man to man?
- "He'll come around." said his friend Guithrit Firebush.
A wise person once said that there were three things that could drive a man from his home: a bad roof, a smoking chimney, or a quarrelsome wife. I had none of those. But we did have mosquitoes.
Asphodels grow best in wet, boggy moorlands - and there was a patch of low ground not far from our settlement. After a mild winter, and a wet spring, we suffered torments when swarms of mosquitoes attacked us.
I was burning hay, to kill them - something in the hay is deadly to them - when Bacho came to visit. He didn't say anything, at first. But then, he hadn't walked all this way to remain silent. I was prepared to wait for him.
- "What are you going to do?" he asked.
