A Wizard in a Feud

8

May Lugh’s light shine on all in this house,” Versey said, stepping in and Alea was very much disappointed. Here was no august holy presence, but an ordinary middle-aged man in woolen jacket and baggy trousers, pulling a wide brimmed hat from his head. He had a beard, but it was trimmed short and grizzled, as was his close-cropped hair. He looked like any of the clansmen, except that his jacket was dove gray instead of plaid.

Hazel came hurrying out of the sickroom, waving another woman in. She bustled up to Versey, wiping her hands on her apron. “Be welcome, Druid! What news?”

“Why, only that Linda’s at death’s door,” Versey said. “The whole valley knows it.”

Hazel’s face hardened. “Yes, I suppose a Mahon sentry might have eavesdropped on someone from the house talking about it—and if one Mahon heard, they’d all know in an hour, and the whole valley by the end of the day.”

“As they should,” the Druid said firmly. “The danger of one is the danger of all.”

“Well, I’ll agree with that,” one of the men said, “but not the way you mean.”

“I’ll settle for any agreement at all,” Versey sighed. “I’ll pay my respects to your grandfather, if I may.”

“Surely, Reverend!” Hazel turned to discover most of the clan surrounding her. They opened an avenue to the hearth and the old man’s great chair beside it.

Versey strode down that alley and gave Grandpa a small bow. “The gods keep your house safe, Esau!”

“And may they keep the wind at your back, Versey,” Grandpa said. “Come to join us for the deathwatch, have you?”

Alea couldn’t help herself. “She’s not going to die.”

They both turned to stare at her. Then storm clouds gathered in Grandpa’s face, anger warring with ingrained courtesy toward a guest, but Versey said, “I’ve not seen you before. Who be you, lady?”

Hazel stepped forward. “This is Alea, a peddler—only she seems to know something of healing, too, and has been doing what she can for our Linda.”

Alea shrank inside. One way not to get along with the local priest and healer was to set up in competition with him.

But Versey seemed interested, not antagonized. “For loss of blood? What have you been doing, then?”

“Feeding her soft cider,” Alea said, “for it’s sweet, and the blood carries sweetening to the rest of the body.”

“And it’s wet, like blood, so it might help fill up the veins.” Versey nodded. “What else?”

“Broth,” Alea said, “of liver, to strengthen the blood.”

“And water, again to fill the veins.” Versey nodded. “It may work, if we can keep her alive long enough for the heart to fill her veins again.” He turned back to Grandpa. “It may be that I haven’t come for a wake, after all. May I pay Linda a visit?”

“If you think it will do any good, Versey, of course,” Grandpa said, somewhat unwillingly.

“Thank you, Esau.” Versey gave the old man a bit of a bow, then turned back to Alea. “Show me, young woman.”

Alea led him to Linda’s room, reflecting that the Druids had come down in the world very badly. Instead of the household bowing to him, showing him deference, and clinging to his slightest pronouncements, they treated him with courtesy only, and seemed to be happy to see him because he was a visitor, not because he was a holy man.

Versey sat down by the bed and took Linda’s hand. He inspected it closely. “The nails look well enough, though pale. The skin is dry and flaking, but that’s what you’d expect with so much blood loss.” He touched her wrist and gazed off into space for a few minutes, and Alea realized he was taking Linda’s pulse. He nodded. “Slow but strong.” He looked down at the sleeping face. “She breathes lightly but easily. So pale, though! Is her color any better than it was yesterday?”

Alea studied her patient closely. “Not really, but I keep hoping.”

Versey nodded. “She may yet live.”

“What else can we do?” Alea burst out.

Versey shrugged. “The ancients used to pour blood from one person into another, but even if we could work out the manner of it, the blood might be wrong. There are different kinds of blood, you see, and we’ve lost the knack of telling the one from the other.”

Alea flirted with the idea of calling Herkimer for directions on blood typing, but decided against it; she might be handing Linda from a natural death to burning for witchcraft. Herself, too, of course. “There must be something!”

“There are some herbs that might help, in that broth of yours.” Versey rose. “I’ll see what these Gregors have by way of a garden.” Briefly, he rested a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry, daughter. She’ll live, or I mistake the signs. You’ve done well, very well indeed.”

Then he left, and Alea stared after him, wondering why he had called her “daughter” when he hadn’t said that to any of the others.

After dinner, while others watched Linda, Versey and Alea talked shop. He told her which herbs were good for what ills, and little verses to help her remember. She, in turn, told him about the minor operations she had studied, and the importance of cleanliness for surgery. That led to germ theory, and she was surprised and delighted that Versey already knew of it, though he spoke of germs as creatures carried by the blood, so small that no one could see them and that could live on doorknobs or dishes or any surface. He sighed as he told Alea of his trials in trying to persuade the clans to be clean. He had even told them of brownies and fairies, and how they hated dirt and laziness. Questioning, she discovered that he truly believed in the spirits and remembering the fairies she and Gar had met, she could see why.

“You’ve heard that some of those tiny creatures you call ‘germs’ grow in our stomachs and help us digest our food, of course,” he said.

Alea was amazed how much knowledge had survived the collapse of the colony’s technological civilization. “Yes.” She smiled. “They live on a little of our food, and help our bodies to use it.”

Versey smiled, too. “That seems fair.” He turned to look at Linda’s door, worry creasing his forehead. “She could use some more of them now, I don’t doubt. The heat of the fever has probably killed a good many of them.”

“Of course!” Alea said with chagrin. “Yogurt! Why didn’t I think of that?”

Versey turned back to her in surprise. “Yogurt?”

“Sour milk left on the stove overnight,” Alea explained, “with the fire banked inside. It will pick up spores from the air and clabber. When it becomes—well, almost like butter—it’s sour but good to eat, and has bac … the same kind of tiny creatures as those in our stomachs.”

“A good thought.” Versey rose. “I’ll ask Hazel to set a bowl of milk on the stove.”

“And tomatoes!” Alea reached up to catch his sleeve. “I should have thought of that. We must give her tomato juice to drink!”

“Red as blood, and the same consistency.” Versey nodded. “Like calls to like, and it will bring blood into being. Very good, Alea. I should have thought of that, too.”

He went off to the kitchen, and Alea scolded herself for forgetting. The fever and the blood loss had both doubtless depleted Linda of electrolytes. She’d thought that at first and been angry because there were no oranges or lemons here, but they had served tomatoes at dinner, and she’d forgotten that tomatoes had citric acid! Not the best electrolyte, to be sure, but enough.

“They’ll see to it.” Versey smiled as he came back to her. “How did you learn of healing, Alea? I’ve never before met a peddler who knew anything of it. Did you learn it as a child?”

Time to be vague but truthful. “No, I learned it from a traveling companion. He’d been a soldier, so I suppose he learned it from a battlefield healer.”

“A healer on the battlefield!” Versey sighed. “Wouldn’t it be good if the clans had something of the sort!”

“Well, they do seem to know a little,” Alea said cautiously. “Are you the only healer in this region?”

“In the county, at least,” Versey said, shaking his head. “It would be good if there were more Druids, and if all of us learned healing, but it’s a hard life, enduring the hidden contempt of those you try to save.”

“Save?” Alea asked in surprise.

Versey gave her a sad smile. “The healer in me tries to save their bodies from death, Alea, and the priest in me tries to save their souls from dedication to killing and cruelty. But no one believes in the gods, not really, so they don’t respect the few of us who do.”

“Then why do you?” Alea asked, wondering.

“Well, I was raised knowing the old tales,” Versey said. “Parents tell them to their children at bedtime, and around the fire on long winter nights. But as you grow up, you learn that everyone really thinks they’re just that, stories—stories that teach you right from wrong and how to steer clear of the worst mistakes you can make—but only stories for all that.”

“Then what made you believe them?”

“Despair.” Versey looked straight into her eyes. Alea stared.

“I despaired of the killing ever coming to an end,” Versey explained. “I despaired of clans ever learning to forgive one another for their ancestors’ crimes and for the murdering that’s gone on ever since. I cast about for some way to end it, someone who could tell them ‘Stop!’ and make it happen and finally realized that only the gods could do that. If they would. That’s when I began to believe in them.”

“But if they can, why don’t they?” Alea asked.

“I understood that, too,” Versey said. “It all came to me in an instant that made me feel as though something, someone, was pulling me up by the hair. I realized that the gods must be real, but that they won’t make the clans stop, only tell them how.”

“The clans won’t listen, though,” Alea protested.

“No, they won’t.” Versey heaved a gusty sigh. “They won’t, though I’ve spent my life trying to tell them. ‘The gods are real,’ that’s my message—the gods are real, and they’re talking to you all the time, if you’ll only stop and listen.”

“I’ve listened,” Alea said. “I haven’t heard.”

“Haven’t you?” Versey’s eyes lit with zeal. “These are the gods of the forest, remember, the gods of field and brook, of thunder and rain, of rock and earth and all that grows from it. Haven’t you ever gone out to the fields and simply sat and listened?”

“Of course I have,” Alea said, “when people become too much for me.”

“Then you’ve heard the wind as it blows through the corn,” Versey said, “and the water as it runs in the brook. You’ve heard birdsong and thunder and the fallen leaves rustling as you walk through the forest in autumn.”

“Yes, of course.” Alea blinked. “Who hasn’t?”

“You’ve heard all that, and you say you’ve never heard the gods talking?” Versey leaned toward her with a smile of pity. “Listen again, lass, listen with your heart as well as your ears, and you’ll know suddenly what the gods want of you. You won’t hear it in words, just with a sudden certainty, here…”—he touched his temple—“…and here…”—he touched his heart—“…a. certainty, and all at once you’ll be sure what’s right and wrong.” He leaned back, hands on his knees, beaming. “Then it’s time for words-to tell it to other folk.”

“But they’ll say I’m crazed, that my mind is shattered!”

“Not if they listen, too,” Versey said, his smile telling her that they now shared a great treasure. “Not if you can talk them into listening, too.”

Gar’s pack bulged by the time he was done trading, pelts and furs take up a great deal more room than needles and spices. Well, Herkimer could always use more furs to fashion clothing for the next cold-weather planet they might visit. Gar would simply have to arrange another drop and send the furs back up with the drone that brought him more trade goods. Certainly none of the clans would want more pelts; they all trapped enough on their own. At least the outlaws had found some gold nuggets to trade—not that they would bring much from the next clan down the road. They might do for fashioning buttons, or even jewelry, but the clansfolk didn’t really seem to have any concept of money.

Trading done, they all sat around a fire in the center of the circle of cottages, watching the spit turn the carcass of the day’s game—a wild boar. Gar looked from Rowena on his right to Lem on his left and wondered why they bothered waylaying travelers if they had no use for money. Needles and pins, perhaps? “Penny for your thoughts, peddler,” Rowena said.

“A penny?” Gar looked up, startled. “You have pennies?” Rowena turned wary. “Of course, but don’t think you can talk us into trading them away. Everyone knows you need pennies to lay on the eyes of the dead.”

“Oh.” Gar pursed his lips in thought. “So that’s what they’re for?”

“Of course!” Rowena stared. “What would you use them for?”

“Trading,” Gar said quickly.

Rowena gave a laugh that was more like a grunt. “Fools they’d be who traded them away. How would they bury their dead, then? That must be why the ancients made so many pennies—because they knew everyone must die some day.”

“Is that why you waylay travelers, then?” Gar asked. “In hopes they’ll have pennies?”

“Who’d be so foolish as to bring their dead-coins with them on a journey?” Rowena countered.

“Peddlers,” Gar said, “like me. You must have a lot of us come through your woods, if you find us worth ambushing.” Rowena looked at him strangely. “Peddlers are even more rare than pennies, stranger, and don’t try to tell me you don’t know it! No, most of the traffic is the escort parties a clan sends to take a Druid or bard from one clan to another, or their young folk on wander-year, and you may be sure we give each one a wide berth.”

“Then who do you rob?”

Rowena shrugged. “There’s the occasional Druid or bard who’s as cocky as you, thinking he or she can fight off a whole outlaw band—though they mostly have less reason.” She gave him a sardonic smile. “You didn’t fare so badly. If all travelers fought like you, we’d have to send every outlaw against them, every time.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” Gar said. “Peddlers don’t rate armed escorts, though?”

“More than any Druid or healer!” Rowena said. “Fact is, they’re so prized that no clan will risk hurting them.” The sardonic smile was still there. “That’d be cause enough to start a new feud.”

“So a peddler alone is a real find,” Lem put in.

“Yes, I can see I must have been,” Gar said slowly. “Too tempting to resist.” He looked around him at gaunt faces with the sores of scurvy and other vitamin deficiencies. They watched the roasting boar with gleaming, hungry eyes. “You can’t farm among these trees, can you?”

“No, and if we cleared land for a field, it would tell the clansfolk where to look,” Lem confirmed. “ ‘See here! Outlaws near! Come and get ‘em!’ ”

Rowena nodded. “They won’t miss a few sheep, or the odd cow now and then—but a dozen sheep at a time, or a cow a week? That would bring the whole clan marching against us.”

“I wouldn’t think any clan would risk a pitched battle against so strong a band. Why, there must be sixty of you! And in your own forest?”

“Oh we might win—once,” Rowena said. “Trouble is, they wouldn’t stay gone. They’d come back—and back, and back, and back. We’d start another feud, and that’s what we’ve fled.”

Gar looked again at the people around him and felt renewed determination to find a way to end the fighting.

Gar declined several offers of hospitality, saying that he felt hemmed in by houses, and rolled out his blanket by the communal fire. He wasn’t fooling anyone—the outlaws all knew he had reason not to trust them.

Of course, by the same token, he didn’t dare sleep, so he sat cross-legged on the blanket, recited a koan, and let himself fall into a trance that would give his body some rest but also leave him aware of his surroundings. He knew he would have to find a shelter for a nap the next day, but he wasn’t about to leave himself vulnerable just then.

When the waking sleep had taken hold, and the outlaws’ village seemed remote, as though he saw it through a pane of thickened glass, Gar let his awareness expand to embrace the myriad of thoughts and emotions from the animals of the forest—hunger and greed, fear and the excitement of the chase, lust and frustration—then farther and farther, eavesdropping for a few seconds on the dreams of each of the homesteads around the forest. There, finally, he found the waking mind he sought.

How was your day, Alea?

Gar! Thank heavens! she thought back, then poured out the tale of the Gregor clan and Linda’s near-death—not in words, but in a rush of emotions and images that lasted only seconds. Then you saved another life? Well done!

How could I do less? Alea thought, abashed.

No, that’s not your way. His thoughts warmed in a way that made her both yearn and shrink. Gar must have sensed it, for he overlaid the heat with a layer of seeming coolness. Because of that, you seem to have won the approval of the family Druid.

Approval, and a great deal of knowledge. Alea sent another tumble of images and concepts that summarized all Versey had told her about his life, and his place in a society built on feuding. Finally she asked, What of you? Where are you? Not alone in the forest, I hope!

In the forest, but not alone. Now it was Gar’s turn for the cascade of emotions, images, and ideas that had made up his day. When he was done, Alea asked, So the clans assign escort parties to peddlers? Wouldn’t it have been handy to know that!

It would, Gar answered, but if I had, I wouldn’t have come to know as much about the outlaws as I do.

Yes. Fancy being outlawed for pleading the cause of peace! We peacemakers have been declared criminals before this. Gar’s thought carried a tone of resignation. I’ve even heard of them being jailed during wartime.

How ironic! The killers are honored and the peace-lovers are despised! What of the thieves and murderers and adulterers?

If they murder someone within their own clan, they’re outlawed, Gar returned. As to the others, as long as their crimes are directed against the enemy clan, they’re applauded.

So the feuds turn everything upside down, Alea mused. What if there were no war? Would it be turned right-side up?

Let us cause an outbreak of peace and find out, Gar suggested.

There was a little more, an exchange of personal reactions to the day, but Alea’s thoughts grew more and more bleary with sleepiness, and Gar told her good night. The conversation over, he sat and listened to the silence for a while.

Suddenly, a current seemed to pass from the crown of his head down his skin to his toes, and a distant voice seemed to call, Magnus! Where do you wander? Speak, my brother!

Gar answered with a silent surge of joy. Gregory! How fare you? Instantly, he sensed the turbulence, the yearning, the fear, the abject conviction of worthlessness when Gregory looked at the glowing face of the beautiful woman who lay sleeping before him.

You are in love! Gar had to suppress the feeling that he had never thought it could happen to his bookish little brother. Then his own thoughts darkened. Wait! I know that face!

We sit in judgment over her, Gregory mourned. You must join us in rendering that verdict, Magnus.

Gar listened, spellbound, as the story flooded him, heart and mind. He responded with panic, quickly allayed into wariness, and finally into wholehearted approval and good wishes—but also cautions.

Then his mother, his sister, and his middle brother each added their good wishes, modulated onto Gregory’s. At last his little brother said good-bye and the contact was broken.

Little! Little no longer! In love, his humanity restored, and likely to propose. Gar sat galvanized with apprehension, then remembered his mother’s sage counsel and let it ebb…

And felt far more alone than he had in two years.

In the morning, Linda actually woke up and smiled. She was still too weak to hold her new baby, but her eyes spoke volumes as she gazed at the little bundle in Hazel’s arms. Alea watched and marveled that a woman could go through so much pain, bring herself to death’s door, knock, and manage to run away—and still think it all worthwhile!

“She has a reason for living now,” Versey explained to her after breakfast, as they sat outside on the bench beside the door. “But she’s so young!” Alea protested. “Surely she had reason enough already, especially with her husband! Or aren’t they in love?”

“You saw them look at one another this morning, and how he caressed her hand,” Versey answered. “Yes, that’s reason to live—for the moment. It doesn’t give you any stake in the future, though.”

His words echoed inside Alea, in a hollow she tried to ignore. To hide it again, she asked, “What’s your reason for living, then?”

“A wife and three children,” Versey answered, “though I sometimes think she must have been crazed, to wed a man like me who must live on the leavings of others.”

Alea stared. “But surely the people you tend provide for you!”

“Most of the time, they’d rather not even see me,” Versey said with a sardonic smile. “If you don’t believe in the gods, you’d rather not be reminded of them. Oh, each clan in the country will send me a pittance to make sure no other has a right to look down on them. We are the ones who keep the histories of our clans, after all, and remind them of their heritage.”

“Surely they would listen carefully to you, then!”

“No one really pays much attention to the old ceremonies,” Versey sighed. “The wandering bards, now, that’s another matter. They’re truly honored, since they bring news—and always compose a new ballad praising the valor of the clan who hosts them, every time they visit.”

“Well, that’s some respect for the old ways, at least,” Alea said, “and the bards are trained much like Druids, aren’t they?”

“Like it in that they learn all the old lore, and the craft of verse and lyric, aye. They know the stories of the gods, but not how to celebrate the rites.”

“Well, I should think not! That’s your province, and the clans have to come to you for that.”

Versey shook his head. “The only time they send for me is when someone dies.”

Shocked, Alea asked, “Not even when someone’s ill?”

“You saw how it was with Linda.” Versey nodded his head toward the doorway. “Two steps from her grave, she was, but did they call me? No. I heard the gossip and came for the deathwatch.”

“But … but … if they pay no heed to the ceremonies, why call you when someone dies?”

“That’s the one rite they do want.” Versey nodded sagely. “Believe in it or not, no one’s about to take chances with the Afterlife. No, a Druid must come to the wake and say the prayers to speed the soul’s journey to the Afterworld. And the folk must sing a coronach, a lament for the dead, if a bard’s not at hand.”

“What will happen if they don’t?”

Versey shrugged. “Who knows? But I believe that without a Druid’s testimony, the spirit of the dead would not be honored by his ancestors’ ghosts. I believe it, and so do the clans—or if they don’t, they’re not about to take the risk. How much does it cost them, after all? A night and a day of mourning, and a smoked ham or bull’s hide for the Druid. Why take the chance?”

“Why indeed?” Privately, Alea was shocked, though she tried not to show it. How could the Druid by so cynical and still fulfill his office?

Because his belief was stronger than his disillusionment, that was how—strong enough to allow him to cope with the facts, strong enough for him to live in reality.

“You’ll be off peddling again, then?” Versey asked. Alea nodded. “It’s what I do.”

“No it’s not,” Versey said.

Alea’s heart skipped a beat. She stared at the Druid, wondering how he could have discovered that she was an off planet agent.

But Versey wasn’t looking back; he drained his mug and stood up. “You heal as well as trade, and it’s as a healer you shall go when you leave this place. I’ll speak to Esau and see you have a proper escort.”

Alea nearly sagged with relief.

Versey was as good as his word. In spite of their cynicism, the clan still seemed to respect the Druid’s words, for when Alea left the next morning, she left with gifts and lavish thanks—and a guard of a dozen clansfolk, to see her to the next homestead.

Gar strapped his pack shut and swung it up to his shoulders, then held out his hand to Rowena. “Thank you for your hospitality.” He looked out at the assembled outlaws. “Thank you all.”

They returned his thanks in chorus. Rowena smiled as she shook his hand. “Good luck on the road, peddler. We’d send an escort with you, but it would be more than likely to draw the anger of the next clan you met.”

“Send me.”

The crowd fell quiet, staring at the young man who stepped forward.