Dragon’s Kin

Chapter IV

The air was cold and the wind swept it through Kindan’s X clothes with a sharp bite. Winter was driving out fall, but Kindan was sure that it was always cold in the graveyard. The last words had been said, the rest of the Hold was drifting back down to the main Hall for a toast to the dead but Kindan held back, a small shape at the edge of the new graves.

His father had never said too much to him. As the youngest of nine children, Kindan had been one face among many. His elder brothers had always been remote, larger than life—nearly like Master Natalon.

All the same, Kindan felt that he should have said something more, should have left some remembrance. Jakris had made a carving, and Tofir had left a drawing, before they had both gone off with their new families.

Terra and her husband, Riterin, already had four children of their own and all of them young, so they had been willing to take Jakris, the eldest. Besides, Riterin was a woodworker, so Jakris’s gift of carving would be well-appreciated in their household.

Tofir had been fostered to Crom Hold itself, where his gift with drawing would be encouraged and he might even take up mapping, a skill that was always needed in the mines.

“Kindan!”

Kindan turned his head toward the caller. It was Dalor. He ran up to Kindan.

“Father said you’d still be up here. He told me that you’re to come down before you catch your death of cold.”

Kindan nodded solemnly and set off behind the younger boy. Kindan had seen more of Dalor in the past sevenday than he had in many months, but he suspected it was Natalon’s way of looking out for those beholden to him. Not that Kindan minded; Dalor was okay in a distracted sort of way.

Dalor cast a backward look at Kindan, partly to see if he was really following and partly out of sympathy for the youngest of Danil’s sons.

“There’s some mulled wine down at the hold”—only Dalor and his family called their large cottage “the hold”—“and father said we’d get some as soon as we got in.”

“Nine, can you believe it?” Milla was saying to Jenella, Dalor’s mother, as they made their way into the hold kitchen. “Most of them Danil and his sons, more’s the pity. And what’s going to happen to poor Kindan now? They’ve placed the other two, and I don’t see why they haven’t placed him, too. It must be spooky sleeping in his place all by himself, poor lad.”

Jenella, Dalor’s mother, saw the boys and coughed pointedly at Milla. But Milla, who had her back to them rolling dough, didn’t pick up on the hint. “Is that your cough come back? It’s got chill enough now, but you don’t want it what with you finally expecting another,” she said.

She went on blithely: “Nine dead, three injured, and poor Zenor demanding his place in the mines for his father, not that I blame him, the way Norla, his mother, is dealing so poorly with it all.” She placed the dough in rising tins. “And a shift leader short—what are they going to do?”

“Dalor, Kindan, you look chilled to the bone,” Jenella said loudly, cutting across anything more that Milla might think to say. “Milla, could you be a dear and pour them some of the mulled wine that’s on the stove? Getting up’s so tiring for me right now.”

Jenella was seven months pregnant. Kindan had heard that she’d been pregnant before but had lost the baby. Silstra had gone to help that night and had come back so distraught that her father had had to put her to bed.

“Oh!” Milla exclaimed, turning around. “I’m sorry, boys, I didn’t see you. The mugs are there in the cupboard. Why don’t you help yourselves so I can get these dainties into the oven?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dalor said politely. He was taller than Kindan and reached the mugs easily—Kindan realized that he would have had to get a stool or something to reach them and once again cursed his late growth. He was six months older than Dalor and still a whole hand shorter.

With mugs full of hot spiced wine in their hands—the spirit had left the wine when it was heated or Kindan would not have been allowed to drink it—the two boys found a clear spot at the bench and sat quietly, not trusting that their luck would last.

“Natalon will be sending for you shortly,” Jenella told Kindan.

“Yes, ma’am—” At a sharp nudge and a glare from Dalor, Kindan corrected himself. “—my Lady.”

Kindan had never been quite sure how to address Dalor’s mother. Jenella had always seemed so less able than his own sister, but then again, if Natalon could prove Camp Natalon, it’d be Mine Natalon someday and Jenella would be the wife of a minor Holder.

But to prove Camp Natalon, they would have to mine the coal—and no one, aside from the investigating team, had been in the mines for the past sevenday.

It was normal, Kindan had heard the grown-ups say, not to go back to the mines until after all the bodies were recovered and the funerals had taken place.

“I heard Zenor’s been put on father’s shift,” Dalor commented to Kindan. “With his father gone, there’s no one else to provide for his family.”

“How will he do his studies?” Kindan wondered aloud.

Dalor looked at him thoughtfully and then shrugged. “I guess he won’t,” he said. “Perhaps that’s just as well, with Master Zist giving classes.”

“Like you’d know,” Kindan shot back, forgetting who else was in the room. He looked abashedly at Dalor’s mother before muttering to Dalor, “Sorry.”

Fortunately for him, Master Zist arrived at that moment. “Kindan, please come with me.”

Master Zist led Kindan to the same great room that was normally used by the resident Harper for classes in the mornings. There were three tables in the room, two long ones running the length of the hall and another smaller one set perpendicular to the other two. Master Zist usually sat at that table, with the hearth behind him.

Natalon and Tarik were seated at the nearer of the two long tables. At a gesture from Natalon, Master Zist and Kindan approached and took seats opposite them.

“Kindan,” Natalon began, “I’m told that you wish to stay here in the camp.”

Kindan nodded. He hadn’t really thought much about what that meant until now. He’d have to be fostered. That and he had heard enough whispered words by the adults to realize that he would never be allowed to stay in his cottage by himself. A quick look at Tarik made it clear who was hoping to move in. With Jenella expecting, Kindan could imagine that Tarik, his wife, and three older children would probably be grateful to escape the noise of a newborn.

Kindan felt a flush of anger come over him at the thought of Tarik moving into the cottage that his father had built for his family. Then another thought burned brighter in his mind.

“Sir,” Kindan said, “what did the investigation find?”

Natalon cast a sidelong glance at Tarik, who stiffened and gave Kindan a sour look.

“As often happens when there are accidents like these,” Natalon said, “the results are not conclusive.”

Kindan sat up straighter in his seat, preparing to argue, but Natalon restrained him with an upraised hand.

“We think,” Natalon said carefully, “that your father’s shift had the bad luck to dig into some loose rock and that it caused a slide both over and behind them.”

“But there was a smell,” Kindan protested. “Dask told me there was a smell. I smelled it, too.”

Natalon and Tarik exchanged looks. Tarik shook his head. “None of the men I spoke with talked of a smell,” he said.

“Are you sure you understood Dask correctly?” Natalon asked.

“I thought it took years of training to understand a watch-wher,” Tarik said sourly. “And the beast must have been in a lot of pain.”

“It doesn’t take years to learn the sounds for ‘bad air,’ ” Kindan protested. “It and the other danger signals were the first I was taught.” He did not bother to mention that his teaching in watch-wher lore had come from Silstra, and there had been a very little of it at that.

Tarik shook his head. “I saw no sign of fire.”

“Could have been a small pocket,” Natalon suggested, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “The blast would have started the cave-in.”

“A pocket a watch-wher couldn’t detect?” Tarik sneered. “The way Danil boasted, I thought they were supposed to have magic noses.”

Kindan glowered at the older man, but Master Zist moved quickly to block Tarik’s sight of him. He reached over and placed a hand on Kindan’s arm and squeezed it warningly.

“If someone had driven a pick right into a pocket and made a spark, it’d all be over before the watch-wher could react,” Natalon argued.

“See?” Tarik demanded, seeming satisfied. “What’s the use of them, then? I say we’re lucky to be rid of the last of them. We’ll mine faster on our own.”

Natalon prepared a hot retort, but Master Zist broke in. “What about Kindan?”

Natalon and Tarik looked startled, as though they had forgotten that Kindan was in the room with them.

“That house is too big for him,” Tarik said. “There’s plenty of others who could use the space better.”

“And there’s the memories,” Master Zist said softly, as if to himself. “It’s not good to linger where there are too many memories.”

“Well...” Natalon said, consideringly.

“I could use the house,” Tarik spoke into the silence. He looked at Natalon and said, “You’ve got a new one coming, and me and mine would just be too many underfoot.”

“Well,” Natalon said slowly, “if Kindan doesn’t mind.”

“It’s not his house to give,” Tarik said sourly. “The house will have to be emptied when Thread comes, anyway.”

Kindan flushed at Tarik’s brusque manner.

“That still doesn’t answer where the boy will live,” Master Zist noted, ignoring Tarik’s response.

“He should foster with those who can handle an extra mouth,” Tarik grumbled. “Maybe Norla could take him in.”

Norla was Zenor’s mother. Kindan liked her, even though she had always seemed a little overwhelmed by all her daughters. He’d be with Zenor, too, and that would be good. Or would it? Kindan wondered soberly. It would be awkward to have Zenor in the mines while Kindan was still in classes with Master Zist. No, maybe that wasn’t a good idea. And Kindan wasn’t sure he’d like to suddenly become big brother to four little girls, one of them still in diapers.

“He should go to the one with the least children,” Natalon said, quoting the old, long-established rules regarding fostering. “Someone who’s had some knowledge of raising children but won’t be too heavily burdened by it.”

He raised his head to gaze directly at Master Zist.

The Harper sat bolt upright, astonished. Clearly he hadn’t anticipated this turn of events.

Tarik’s eyes gleamed. “You know something of grief, too, Master Zist.”

Master Zist glowered at him. Kindan had followed the exchange with growing alarm, but even so he could see how Tarik was trying to profit from others’ loss and matched the Harper in his glower at the older miner. Tarik sat back and ignored their looks, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

“I don’t—” Master Zist and Kindan said in unison and stopped in shock, looking at each other.

Natalon stood up, ending the discussion. “I think this will work out well, Master Zist. Kindan, you may ask anyone for a hand to haul up your things and an extra bed for you to the Master’s cottage.”

“I’ll be glad to find someone for the job,” Tarik added, a satisfied smile undisguised on his face. “If it’s all right with you, Natalon, I would like to begin moving today.”

In the end Swanee, the camp supply man, and Ima, the camp’s butcher, gave Kindan a hand moving his stuff.

“If you take the frame apart, you can carry it up in pieces,” Swanee said to Kindan while he rolled the mattress up and heaved it over his shoulders. He tapped the empty frame. “There’s good wood there,” he said approvingly. “Get the slats first and then come back for the rest.”

Under Master Zist’s directions, they took two chests of drawers and a smaller clothes chest out of Danil’s cottage.

“Your sisters will doubtless want these when they hear the news,” Master Zist said. “I’m sure you’ll do well with just the chest, but set all of them up in your room.”

“My room?” Kindan echoed. He’d never had a room of his own; he’d always shared with Tofir and Jakris.

“Well, you won’t be sleeping with me,” Master Zist said with a wry look.

“I’d best bring lots of blankets, then,” Kindan said thoughtfully. For all their trouble, Tofir and Jakris had been enough to keep Kindan warm on the coldest nights—when they hadn’t pulled the blankets off.

“If it’s all the same with you, Kindan,” Swanee said after taking a careful look around the cottage, “I’d like to take anything you don’t need and give it to those that don’t have. The rest I’d like to put up in storage. Tarik has enough stuff of his own.”

Kindan heartily agreed to the request, and all three nodded in approval.

“Just a moment,” Master Zist said, raising a hand. Everyone looked at him. “Kindan, is there anything special you’d like for yourself?”

Kindan thought about that for a moment. “Anything?”

“Anything,” Master Zist agreed.

“Well, if I could have Mother’s old table, the one with the hinged lid and the old music inside—”

“Music?” Master Zist raised an eyebrow.

Kindan nodded. “It was special to her, and to my father after...”

Master Zist raised a hand to stop him. “Ima, Swanee, can you see to it?” The two nodded in quick agreement. “Anything else?”

“Take a good look around, lad,” Swanee advised. “If, after we’ve distributed everything, there was something you’d forgotten we could always get it back, but...”

Kindan took a good look through the cottage. He stopped in the kitchen and looked at Master Zist. “Do you need any cook-ware or dishware?”

Master Zist shook his head. “The Harper’s cottage is well supplied with both.”

Kindan pursed his lips in a frown, thinking. Then he nodded. “I think that’s everything, then.”

Swanee gave Kindan a searching look and then nodded firmly. “Very well, we’ll get your stuff up and distribute the rest. Thank you, lad, there’s many will be grateful for what you don’t need.”

Kindan nodded mutely, not really understanding what the supplier meant.

Nuella made Dalor tell her everything when he came upstairs.

“Kindan’s moving in with the Harper?” she exclaimed when he finished his tale.

“And Uncle Tarik is moving into Danil’s old house,” Dalor said by way of confirmation. He was glad—that way he wouldn’t have to listen to their uncle complaining all the time.

“Oh, but it’s awful!” Nuella complained. “How will I get to see the Harper if Kindan’s staying there?”

Dalor frowned, then said, “I don’t know.”

“And Master Zist was going to teach me the pipes,” Nuella added sadly to herself.

“You’re good already!” Dalor told his sister stoutly.

“Only you would know,” Nuella said, feeling miserable.

“And Mother,” Dalor corrected.

“This cave-in’s set Father’s plans back, hasn’t it?” Nuella asked.

Dalor shrugged.

Nuella sighed. “I wish...” She sighed again, shaking her head, her wish unvoiced. After a moment she picked up her pipes and began playing a soft, sad song.

Kindan was really surprised, hours later, to find himself sitting on his own bed, in his own room, with the sounds of the Camp’s harper pottering about in another room.

Master Zist had popped his head in several times to ask, “Everything all right, lad?”

The first time, Kindan had nearly jumped with shock at the question and could only bring himself to nod mutely in response.

“Well, then, I’ve got some things to attend to,” Master Zist had said. “If you need anything, you can get it from the kitchen. I’ll be in my study and I’m not to be disturbed.”

A quick glance at the Master’s face told Kindan that disturbing him would not be a wise thing to do at all. He had nodded quickly but said nothing.

“All right, then,” Master Zist had said, to fill in the silence. “Get yourself settled in and we’ll have dinner when I’m finished with my work.”

Now Kindan heard voices from Master Zist’s study. A younger voice and the Master himself. Curious, Kindan listened more carefully. The young voice sounded a lot like Dalor, but he couldn’t hear it clearly enough to be sure. Maybe Master Zist was trying to catch Dalor up on all his missed lessons. It occurred to Kindan to wonder if perhaps Dalor had received extra lessons from Journeyman Jofri, as well. Perhaps because he was Natalon’s son it had been decided to keep him out of all the rough and tumble of the everyday classes. Kindan knew that all the kids in the camp thought that Dalor was a bit sickly. Although, come to think of it, Kindan couldn’t recall ever seeing Dalor coming down with anything. Perhaps Jenella, who’d lost so many babies in childbirth, was being careful with Dalor and keeping him in whenever he got the slightest bit sick. It didn’t seem likely to Kindan ... and the voice didn’t quite sound like Dalor’s. He wondered if he was allowed to open his door to hear the voices more clearly.

As he pondered the notion, another voice joined in. Kindan immediately recognized the voice as Miner Natalon’s. It seemed as though Natalon was not pleased about something. He heard the youngster’s voice, as well, and Master Zist’s. Judging by the rise and fall of the voices and their tones, Kindan was certain that whoever owned the younger voice was someone well known to Natalon. So it was probably Dalor, Kindan decided. Maybe Natalon was annoyed to find Dalor bothering the Master, Kindan guessed.

The voices rose in parting and Kindan heard two sets of feet walk to the front door and leave. A while later Master Zist walked into the hallway and knocked on Kindan’s door.

Having never been afforded such a courtesy, Kindan didn’t know how to respond.

“May I come in?” Master Zist asked after a short wait.

Kindan opened the door. “Of course, Master Zist.”

Master Zist entered the room and looked around. “All settled, then?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kindan replied.

“Good,” Zist said, nodding emphatically. “Come along, we’ll eat in the kitchen.”

Kindan smelled the hearty beef stew before he saw it bubbling on the hearth in a pot he recognized from Jenella’s kitchen. He looked around for the dishes and cutlery and set the table.

Master Zist served them and they ate in an awkward silence. Kindan finished his stew quickly and waited politely to see if he could have seconds. Master Zist noticed this but continued to eat in slow, deliberate bites. By the time the Master was finished, Kindan was squirming in his chair.

“Dessert?” Master Zist inquired.

“Well,” Kindan began, then blurted, “I was wondering if I could have some more stew.”

Master Zist gestured to the pot. “There’s only you and me here, Kindan. You may have what you want.”

As Kindan refilled his plate, Master Zist regarded him thoughtfully. When Kindan returned to the table, the Harper said, “When we are alone, Kindan, you may always help yourself. You just have to ask.”

Kindan, mouth full of stew, smiled and nodded.

“You had a lot of older brothers and sisters, didn’t you?”

Kindan nodded again.

Master Zist sighed. “I was the eldest in my family. I can’t quite imagine how it must have been for you. But I can guess that you were probably the last to get seconds ... or dessert.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Kindan said. “Sis made sure that I always got to eat something.” He made a face. “But Kaylek always tried to steal my desserts, when we had them.” His face took on a sadder, more introspective look.

“You didn’t get along with Kaylek, did you?” Master Zist inquired gently.

Kindan shook his head. “No, not until just before—” He looked troubled. “Zenor, my friend, he told me that Kaylek saved his life.” Tears formed in Kindan’s eyes. “He was always mean to me, but he saved Zenor’s life.”

“It’s a bit hard to grasp, isn’t it?” Master Zist commented. “I have been surprised how often people who only seem to be bad have turned out to be selfless when it really matters.”

Kindan nodded in wordless agreement.

“Kindan, do you know what harpers are supposed to do?”

“They’re supposed to teach, and to sing songs at gathers, and play instruments,” Kindan said, not quite sure he had the right answer.

Master Zist nodded. “That’s part of their job. Harpers also gather information and pass it along. We preserve knowledge. We help with the healers.”

“My sister did some healing,” Kindan offered.

Zist nodded acknowledgment. “And we also try to smooth things over.”

Kindan looked puzzled. Master Zist sighed. “We listen to everyone and try to help when we think it’s appropriate.”

Kindan tried hard to look as though he understood, especially because he’d finished his stew and his mouth was watering for dessert and he knew that Master Zist would keep on talking until Kindan showed that he understood what he was saying.

Master Zist smiled in wry amusement. “We are trained to be good observers, too. Sometimes we don’t pay attention, but we’re trained.” He rose, taking Kindan’s dish with him, and served them the dainties that the baker had sent over.

“A harper’s trained to watch and listen, as well as to play and sing,” Master Zist said after he’d had a bite of the dainty.

Kindan nodded, his mouth full.

“And a harper’s trained to keep secrets,” Zist added.

“I can keep a secret,” Kindan said.

Master Zist wagged a finger at him. “Ah, but there are some times when you have to let others keep secrets, too. Can you do that?”

Kindan looked doubtful.

“Well, we’ll see,” Master Zist said. “For now, I expect that you won’t try to overhear any conversations I have in my study or kitchen. If you hear something and you want to talk about it, you come to me. I’ll tell you whether it’s a secret or not. Can you do that?”

Kindan nodded.

“Good lad.” Master Zist finished his dainty, saw that Kindan had finished as well, and stood up. “You do the dishes and get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll start with your lessons.”

“Lessons?” Kindan repeated.

Master Zist nodded. “Lessons,” he repeated. He nodded toward his study. “Harpers also take notes. Jofri left me his. And he noted that a certain son of Danil’s was not only good at singing but showed an interest in becoming a Harper.”

Kindan’s eyes lit with astonishment. “He did?”

Master Zist nodded solemnly, but his eyes were twinkling. “He did,” he affirmed. He waggled a finger at the door. “Now finish up and off to bed with you.”

It seemed to Kindan that his new life was far more strenuous than his old life. And sadly, very different. He still had duty on the watch up the cliffside hundreds of meters above the mine entrance with its splendid view of what most folk simply called “the valley,” but which he and the Harper had started to call “Natalon’s Valley.” Now, however, he was not just one among the many but the lad placed in charge of all the younglings on watch duty. That job might have been Tofir’s or Jakris’s had they remained, but Kindan was shocked to realize that he was the oldest boy in the camp who wasn’t working in the mine itself.

The first day he’d looked down from his perch and had seen Zenor, dressed in overalls cut down from a pair of his father’s, Kindan had felt a mixture of shame, awe, and sorrow. Shame that he wasn’t going down into the mine, as well; awe that his best friend Zenor was doing such a grown-up job; and sorrow to see the bitter proof of the disaster that had claimed not only the lives of his own father and brothers but also Zenor’s father and his childhood.

But Kindan found that his new duties left him with little time to reminisce—whether on purpose or just because the camp was so short of able bodies he could not guess. When he was sure the watch was set up properly for the day and runners had been arranged to be ready at all the usual spots, he found himself in charge of a group of sturdy boys and girls nine and ten Turns old helping to trim the branches from trees felled the day before by the Camp’s adults.

Zenor’s mother, Norla, found that her years of dealing with younglings were put to good effect as she found herself in charge of a daily crèche of all the Camp’s infants while their mothers helped out planting the fields below or working the herb gardens or helping cut trees into timber for the mine. It was, Master Zist had suggested, a good way to immerse her in activity while keeping her close to her youngest children. Before, the task had been rotated amongst all the women with infants, but now Norla’s cottage was filled with diapers in various stages of use, and mothers stopped in whenever they could to check on their babies, giving the widowed Norla more contact with the rest of the Camp than she would have had otherwise.

The hill of coal on the other side of the valley from the mine grew steadily in size, but not without cost.

Kindan heard but kept to himself many late night conversations spoken in low voices in the Harper’s cottage. With the exception of Tarik, nearly all the miners had come to pay their respects at one time or another to the new Harper. Many returned. All were worried.

“Sure, we’re getting coal enough, but for how long?” was the common complaint. “Without new diggings, we’ll soon be reduced to either working the pillars or ... just giving up.”

Kindan hadn’t been surprised the next morning when he had been asked to explain to the MasterHarper what was meant by “working the pillars.”

“A coal field’s a huge field underground,” Kindan had said. “There’s rock on top of it that’s pressing down. When we dig, we leave large pillars of coal untouched to help support the rock above—”

“But that’s not the only way to do it, is it?”

Kindan nodded. “You could build in supports and then pull out the pillars. In fact, if the field weren’t so huge, or when it’s finally mined out—probably not before the end of the coming Pass or even longer—”

“More than fifty Turns?” Master Zist was impressed.

Kindan nodded again. The seam’s a good three meters wide, and there’s acres of it down there. The Camp would have to be proved and then they’d drill some more shafts, one for air and the other just for coal, and they’d probably make roads on the level wide enough for workbeasts to haul the coal out, instead of just men with carts or wheelbarrows.”

Master Zist sighed, shaking his head at his own ignorance. “Let’s get back to the pillars.”

Kindan nodded. “The pillars keep the rock above the coal from bearing down on the field and crushing the coal. They support the weight. If you work your pillars—”

“Then you run the risk of crushing the whole field?” Master Zist guessed.

Kindan smiled at the Harper. “Exactly!” he agreed.

“So when would it make sense to work your pillars?”

Kindan shrugged. “I don’t know everything about mining, Master Zist,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Just give me a guess, then,” the Harper allowed.

“Well... I can think of two times: when you need to get coal out in a hurry and you’re not going to keep mining; and when you’ve mined everything else and you’re willing to build up new pillars to bear the load while you work the coal pillars,” Kindan said.

“So either way, it’s the end of the mine, is it?” Master Zist asked.

“Yes,” Kindan agreed in a troubled tone. If the mine were to close, he thought, what would happen to him?

Master Zist must have guessed his thoughts, for he punched Kindan lightly on the shoulder. “Harpers can work anywhere, lad.” He looked at the window. “And speaking of work, we’ve both chores to get started.”

Classes with the MasterHarper were different, too. They had been different before from those with Harper Jofri, but now, as a fostering in the Harper’s cottage, Kindan was aware of his unique position. He found himself backing Master Zist’s gruff ways out of his strong sense of loyalty, when before he would have done his stubborn best to undermine the Harper’s discipline.

Dalor noticed it and said nothing; Cristov noticed it and taunted him about it. Tarik’s son had always lorded his position over the other children in the Camp, but now he took special pains to rub Kindan the wrong way, taking every opportunity to remind Kindan that he was now sleeping in his room and how nice Kindan’s old house was.

Kindan took the abuse as long as he could, until one day he caught Cristov leaving the hold on his way back to his house for lunch. One deft hook of his leg and Cristov was sprawled in the mud and snow that was the pathway between Miner Natalon’s hold and the rest of the camp.

“You need to watch your feet,” Kindan said to him roughly. “As well as your tongue.”

Cristov jumped to his feet, but before he could do any more, a huge hand grabbed Kindan by the ear and dragged him back into the hold.

“I’ll deal with this,” Master Zist’s deep voice said. Cristov’s opened mouth closed into a sly grin as he watched Kindan being hauled away.

“Wipe your feet,” the Harper told Kindan when they reached the entrance to the hold. Kindan complied, still smarting at the grip on his ear, and followed the Harper back into the classroom.

“Sit,” Master Zist ordered, indicating a seat at one of the long tables. Kindan sat and raised a hand to rub his injured ear.

“Leave it alone, you earned the pain,” Zist told him. “Now I want you to tell me what you did wrong and what you should have done.”

Kindan furrowed his brow and tried to ignore his sore ear. “He’s been saying—”

“Remember that you’re training to be a harper,” Master Zist reminded him. “Words are supposed to be your trade.”

“But—”

Master Zist held his hand up, and Kindan stopped. “Tell me three good things about Cristov,” the Harper ordered.

Kindan closed his mouth and thought. “Well, he’s strong.”

Master Zist raised one finger and gave Kindan an encouraging look.

“His mother likes him.”

“That’s a good thing about his mother,” Master Zist said wryly.

“Aren’t harpers supposed to be trained at the Harper Hall?” Kindan asked, hoping to change the topic.

“A Master may take an apprentice wherever he is,” Master Zist responded, “and send him on to the Harper Hall later.” He raised his hand with the one finger extended. “But you have not finished.”

“Urn, well... he’s not good at figures ... or writing—”

“Those are faults, not virtues,” Master Zist said with a sigh.

“I know,” Kindan protested, “I’m just trying to think—”

“I see,” the Harper said. “Well, this is taking too long and we’ve both work to attend. So, to help you think, in addition to your other chores, you will go down to Tarik’s every evening after you’ve done your usual chores and wash all their clothes for them. You will continue doing this until you can report to me three virtues of Cristov. And you will apologize to Cristov for your behavior.”

“But—but—” Kindan spluttered. “How will I get Cristov’s mother to let me do their laundry? I can’t imagine her being too eager to let me do it.”

“How you get her to do it will be up to you,” Master Zist told him. “But do it, you will.”

Kindan rolled his eyes.

Master Zist wagged his finger at him. “I don’t think that rolling your eyes will work with Dara,” he said. He rose from his seat. “Get going; there might be a bite to eat left in the kitchen if you run.”

“What about you, Master?”

“I,” Master Zist stretched to his full height and assumed a lordly pose, “have a date with a young lady.” Catching Kindan’s surprised look, he added with shushing motions, “Go on! Off with you!”

It took Kindan two grueling days to come up with three virtues Cristov possessed: honesty; loyalty; integrity. He managed to ingratiate himself with Dara by explaining that he had fond memories of doing laundry in his old house and could he please do a few loads for them to relive the memory? Cristov looked ready to die of laughter at the question and Tarik looked sour, as always, but Dara relented after giving Kindan a long, searching look.

All the same Kindan was delighted when he reported his findings to Master Zist and got out of his extra chore.

“Describe the house to me,” Master Zist ordered then.

Kindan started to run down the layout of the house from memory, but the Harper stopped him with an upraised hand.

“No, not how you remember it, how it is.”

Kindan struggled to find words, fumbled, and shook his head.

“A harper must learn to observe,” Master Zist said. “Wherever you go, you must be observant.” Under the Harper’s questioning, Kindan slowly recalled all the details of Tarik’s house and the items inside it. He was surprised to discover how much he knew of the state of the house, even though he had not consciously set out to learn it.

“Good,” Master Zist said at last. “It is late—you’d best get to sleep.”

Kindan looked rebellious.

“Tomorrow, we shall meet at the Hold for the evening,” Master Zist said. “We’ll celebrate winter’s end, and I’ll need you to have your wits about you and help on the drums.”

Kindan was surprised. Master Zist had started him working on the drums almost as soon as Kindan had moved into his cottage, but he had never suspected that the Master, always short of praise, would let him perform with him.

“Don’t be so surprised,” Master Zist said. “I can’t play all the instruments by myself, you know. Now, to bed with you. Tomorrow will be long enough without the evening’s festivities at the end of it.”

The next day Dalor had morning watch on the cliff heights. Kindan, woken up well before dawn by the Harper, had as his duty the setting of the watchers. After a hasty cup of klah—breakfast would come later—he set off in the dark looking to meet Dalor at the bottom of the path up to the cliff heights.

The winter snow was still on the ground, but there had been no new snow for over a sevenday and much of it had turned to slush with the warming weather. Kindan walked carefully, enjoying the crunch as each of his steps broke through the thin layer of ice that had formed over the snow during the cold night.

There was no sign of Dalor. He waited a few moments and then, aware that he had other duties, he set off for the hold.

The instant he opened the door, he smelled trouble. There was something wrong with the air. He had learned enough about bad air in the mines to have some guess as to what had happened—the chimney had been blocked, or something had caused all the gases from the hearth to spread into the hold and not leave it.

All his training told him to duck to the ground where the air was cooler and might still be breathable, but Kindan knew that time was of the essence.

“Fire! Help, help! Fire!” Kindan shouted at the top of his lungs. He started fanning with the door to suck some of the air out, but he knew it wasn’t enough. He had to get a draft going. He ran from the kitchen door around to the front, all the while shouting as loud as his lungs would allow.

At the front he opened the great doors of the hold and fanned them a few times.

Master Zist came running over. “Lad, what is it?”

“Bad air!” Kindan said. “I could smell it when I went into the kitchen for Dalor. I’ve got the door to the kitchen open and I’m trying to get more air in but—”

“Fire! Help, help! Fire!” Master Zist bellowed. Shapes were approaching from different directions. Kindan looked around. Help might be too late. He ducked into the hallway.

“Kindan!”

“It’s okay,” Kindan shouted back. “I’m little, I don’t need as much air as others. If I can get upstairs, I can open the windows and maybe wake them up.”

The air on the stairways was definitely bad, Kindan realized as he started up them. He took a few good lungfuls and then held his breath, suddenly grateful for the dares he’d had with Kaylek on who could hold their breath the longest. His eyes were stinging as he reached the landing. His fingers fumbled with the window latch, but he got it open finally and took a few deep breaths before he turned to the bedrooms.

He opened the first door, ran into the room, and heaved open the first window he could find. He heard the shouts of others entering the house and running up the stairs. He shook the person in the bed—it was Dalor. Dazed and confused, Dalor looked up.

“Come on, Dalor!” Kindan shouted at him. “Bad air, come with me!” Suiting actions to his words, he grabbed Dalor’s arm. Shortly, he had the other boy leaning against him and started him out of the room, fighting his own light-headedness as he did so.

Some men met him at the door. One grabbed Dalor and threw him over his shoulders and the other grabbed Kindan and did the same, despite his protests.

Suddenly Kindan was outside, spread out on the snowy ground, taking deep, steady breaths. His head ached.

Something was wrong. Someone was calling her name, but it seemed as from a great distance.

“Nuella! Nuella!” It was Zenor’s voice. A smile played across Nuella’s lips. Zenor. She really liked him. Her friend. The first friend she’d made at the camp. Her only friend. She tried to move, but her limbs felt heavy, like stone.

“Nuella!” Zenor’s voice drew nearer. Dimly Nuella heard a door open, and then she felt someone shake her, grab at her. She was picked up and dragged out of her room.

“The air’s bad, Nuella—I’ve got to get you out,” Zenor said.

Bad air? Nuella thought to herself. Outside? The first faint stirrings of alarm grew inside her, but she was too heavy and tired to move. Outside—She wasn’t supposed to be outside.

“Not outside,” she murmured. Zenor, panting and hauling her down the stairs, didn’t hear her.

“Are you all right, lad?” Master Zist asked, kneeling down beside Kindan. Kindan nodded feebly, wished he hadn’t for the way his head felt, and managed to gesture a question with an open hand. “The others? They seem all right, thanks to you.”

Another person dropped beside Kindan. It was Natalon. “Thanks, lad. We would have died in our sleep, if it hadn’t been for you.”

Kindan sat up more, managed a sickly smile for Natalon, and looked around. Jenella was being wrapped in a blanket, her eyes streaming with tears; Swanee was beside her, coughing deeply. Kindan’s eyes narrowed as he saw Zenor helping a young girl get her breath back. He looked up at Master Zist and raised an eyebrow inquiringly. The Harper cocked his head and shook it just slightly.

Kindan jumped up, ignoring the pain behind his eyes, and grabbed Dalor, with a conspiratorial look in his eyes. He jerked his head toward the girl and Dalor’s eyes grew wide. Kindan shook his head again and walked nonchalantly with Dalor over to Zenor and the girl.

Zenor had placed a blanket over the girl’s head. He looked up curiously as Kindan approached. Kindan raised a quick fingers to his lips as he moved to block the girl from the view of the others.

“Come on, Dalor, you can get warmed up at the Harper’s fire,” Kindan said loudly, motioning for the girl and Zenor to stand up.

After that, it took only a little bit of work to arrange it so that Dalor was covered by the same blanket as the girl, and the four of them marched carefully to the Harper’s cottage, Kindan talking loudly the whole way.

It was possible, he hoped, that things had happened too quickly for anyone but him to notice that two children had been brought out of Natalon’s house, instead of just one.

Safe in the kitchen, all four of them warmed themselves by the fire. Dalor and the girl, still in their nightclothes, were shivering more than Kindan and Zenor.

“How’d you find us?” Dalor asked, his lips still blue.

“You were late for watch,” Kindan explained.

“Thanks,” Dalor said.

The girl reached up a hand hesitatingly toward Kindan and brushed his cheek. “Thank you, Kindan,” she said.

“You’re welcome, Nuella,” Kindan replied. At Dalor’s hiss of surprise and Zenor’s widened eyes, he added, “Master Zist has taken me as his apprentice. He says that a harper has to keep secrets and has to respect the secrets of others.” He turned to the cupboard and pulled out some mugs.

“Zenor, will you help me bring some warm klah while Dalor,” and Kindan emphasized the one name, “warms up here?”

Zenor grinned broadly at his friend. “Sure.” Kindan winked at Dalor’s surprised look and said, “I’ll see you later.”

By that evening, everyone in the camp knew that the chimney had been blocked, apparently by a freak crack of brick, and that Natalon’s hold had been thoroughly aired and there was no danger to anyone attending Winter’s End there.

All the same, the great double front doors and the windows of the long room were wide open to reassure any worriers. The two long tables that by day served students were pushed to either side of the room, and the teacher’s table was pushed all the way to the far end of the room from the hearth so that there was a good warm area for dancing.

Kindan and Master Zist were situated on top of the long table pushed against the wall. The Harper instructed Kindan to keep a simple beat on the drums, to accompany the songs.

The drumming was so basic that Kindan could spare his attention to observe the partygoers. The whole of Camp Natalon was fewer than two hundred people, including the smallest baby, but such a crowd should have filled the room nearly to bulging. As it was, Kindan calculated that less than a quarter of the Camp’s inhabitants were present.

And no wonder—regardless of what the miners knew about bad air, not even Milla the baker could be coaxed back into the kitchen that morning to make her dainties. Natalon’s lady, Jenella, was still suffering from the combined effects of the bad air and her pregnancy and was confined to bed.

The absence of others was easier to understand—Zenor had four little sisters and his mother to look after. And, because of the cave-in that fall, it was still necessary to, work two solid shifts, so the second shift was still in the mine. A third “air” shift had been organized to keep the air pumps going through the night, but that consisted of only four people working in two pairs and they were mostly the youngest, the oldest, or the least skilled.

Kindan was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t realize that Master Zist had stopped playing until the Master was speaking in his ear, having gotten up from his chair and walked over to where Kindan was seated. “Keep up that beat, lad, while I go mix with the crowd.”

Kindan nodded without breaking beat and watched as the MasterHarper climbed down from the table and made his way over to the refreshments. Kindan beat a bit harder as the Harper approached that table, and his hint must have been taken, for Master Zist tossed a backward wave at him—he would bring Kindan back some refreshments on his return.

Still playing instinctively, Kindan scanned the small crowd to pick up snippets of conversation.

“Caravan coming in to pick up our coal—” It was true: With the snow melting, there should be a trader caravan in any day now to take the last six months’ worth of mined coal.

“—hope they bring some apprentices—” Natalon had sent a drum message to the MasterMiner in Crom asking for more apprentices.

“—no use, they’ll be the worst, or who’d let them go?”

Kindan sighed, as that last comment made too much sense. Any apprentices that could be freed to go to a new mine would never be the best apprentices—they’d be kept on by their Masters at the current mines. Some of them would just be young and eager, but others might even be more trouble than they were worth: lazy or shiftless.

“—without a watch-wher, how are we going to be safe?” Kindan’s ears pricked up at that snippet of conversation, trying to identify the speaker.

“—there’s been too many accidents, especially since—” Kindan guessed that the speaker was about to say “the cave-in,” but the voice had slipped away from him in the general noise of the hall. Kindan agreed with whoever had said that; there’d been minor accidents once or twice a week since the cave-in that had killed his father and Dask. Partly, as Kindan had heard Natalon tell Zist one late evening when they both thought him asleep, because they were working hard with few people, and partly because it was just the nature of working underground where any carelessness could easily result in an injury.

Kindan searched the crowd and spotted Panit, one of Tarik’s old cronies, stumping about with a cast on his foot. The old miner had not been paying attention and had let a trolley get away from him and run over his foot.

“At the end of the day, it’s the head miner who’s to blame, isn’t it?” Panit asked a small knot of worried-looking miners gathered around him. Kindan stiffened. “Maybe the problem’s not watch-whers, but leadership.”

Kindan strained to see the reactions of the other miners but only succeeded in losing his beat. With a quick flourish, he jumped back into it, but not before several heads turned in his direction, Panit’s being one of them.

“When you’re listening in,” Master Zist murmured in Kindan’s ear, appearing suddenly at his side, “it’s important not to be noticed.”

Kindan managed a sickly smile in return. “Sorry,” he muttered back.

Master Zist nodded. He thrust a mug and a plate of snacks at Kindan and said, “Take a break.”

Not long after that, the Gather broke up. Kindan and the Harper were the last to leave, bowed under the weight of their instruments and the length of their day.

Kindan could never remember how he got into his bed that night.

“Master Zist! Master Zist!” Dalor’s cry woke Kindan far too soon. He stirred groggily, frightened by the tone of Dalor’s voice.

“Eh? What is it?” Master Zist called out from his room as Kindan tumbled into the kitchen.

“It’s my mother,” Dalor said, face pale with fright. “The baby’s coming early.”

The Harper emerged from his room, still in his bedclothes. He took one look at Dalor and turned decisively to Kindan. “Go run to Margit’s and get her up here.” He turned back to Dalor, “I’ll be along as soon as I get some clothes on. You get on back. Start the cook boiling water, if she hasn’t already.” His tone turned softer as he took in the look on Dalor’s face. “It’ll be all right, lad. Now off with you!”

The moment Dalor was out of earshot, Kindan told the Harper, “Margit’s not much at midwifery. Silstra did most of that, and Harper Jofri.”

“Journeyman Jofri learned his healing after I’d thrown him out of my singing class,” Master Zist said. Then he sighed. “And I learned my singing after the MasterHealer threw me out of his healing class.”

Kindan looked alarmed. The Harper made shooing motions with his hands. “Get off, now! Well cope.”

Kindan chivvied Margit along as fast as he could when he woke her but she was not to be hurried. They reached Jenella’s room in time to hear Milla, who was standing in the doorway, wail, “It’s too soon, it’s too soon!”

“No, it’s not,” Margit said matter-of-factly. “It’s a month before normal time, and that’s close enough.” She drew herself closer to the baker and said harshly, “And if you can’t get yourself under control, you’ll go back to the kitchen.”

Milla, who wouldn’t miss the excitement for gold, sniffed and drew herself up, but closed her mouth.

Kindan, carrying Margit’s work things, followed her into the room. Natalon was holding Jenella’s hand. Master Zist had arranged sheets and blankets discreetly and placed himself to receive the baby.

Margit shouldered the Harper aside to make her own inspection. Satisfied, she went to Jenella’s side. “You’re fine, dear, just fine,” she assured her. “When the next contraction comes, just bear on down. You know the drill.”

Dalor stirred uncomfortably from his spot in the room. Master Zist glanced at him, eyes narrowed, and then turned to Kindan. “Lad, get Swanee to cook some towels in boiling water. We’ll need to clean the baby when it arrives. Take Dalor to help you.”

Kindan gave the Harper a quizzical look, then enlightenment dawned and he grinned. Dragging a reluctant Dalor after him, he left the room.

Out of earshot, Kindan said to the other boy, “If we work it right, we can get your sister in to substitute for you some of the time.”

“Oh, please,” said a figure appearing out of the shadows. It was Nuella. “I’d like to be there; Mother will want me.”

“But if Margit or Milla—” Dalor protested.

“They won’t know if there’s only one of you in the room at a time and you wear the same clothes,” Kindan said. “Not in all the excitement.”

“That will only work if you wear my cap,” Dalor said, pulling the cap he usually wore off himself and stuffing it on Nuella’s head.

“And put your hair under it,” Kindan said. Nuella took the cap off, twirled her hair up into a bun and stuffed the cap back on.

“Perfect!” Dalor said. “You look just like me.”

“But if you forget the cap or it falls off, you’ll be caught out,” Kindan warned. Dalor looked frightened.

Nuella settled the matter, telling Kindan, “When you go down, be sure to have the cook sterilize the sharpest knife she has—she’ll moan, but don’t listen—that’ll be to cut the cord. Have her put it on one of the boiled rags so it stays sterile.”

Kindan started down to the kitchen wondering just when Dalor’s sister had taken charge.

All the same, his plan worked perfectly. Kindan deftly managed it so that Dalor and Nuella switched off every quarter hour. After Jenella’s first wide-eyed recognition of her daughter and Nuella’s subtle nod in Kindan’s direction, Jenella calmed down with a grateful smile and clasped Nuella’s hand tightly.

When the baby came, Margit deliberately stepped away to let Master Zist receive it. Kindan got the distinct impression that she wanted to place the burden—figuratively and literally—in the Harper’s big hands. And that’s how it turned out. One moment the Harper was leaning in, calling soothing words to Jenella, and the next moment there was a little snuffle and a slight mewing sound.

“Kindan, come here with that knife,” Master Zist ordered. When Kindan came around, he saw the small newborn still attached by its umbilical cord.

“Make a loop with the cord,” Master Zist instructed. As Kindan complied, the Harper said to Natalon, “Come cut the cord and welcome your new daughter into the world.”

Natalon, with a proud look at his wife and a big smile on his face, cut the cord. Margit took the baby from Master Zist, quickly wiped it off with the sterile towels, and looked up for blankets to wrap the baby in.

“I’ll get them,” Nuella offered, hastily leaving the room.

Margit followed her departure with a penetrating look, saying to Jenella, “You’ve got a good lad there. Usually it’s only the daughters that know where the baby things are kept.”

“Dalor’s been talking about this for a while,” Kindan said, improvising quickly. “Although I think he was hoping for a brother.”

“He’ll be pleased with a sister, I’m sure,” Natalon said. He gazed happily at Jenella. “I know I am.”

Dalor returned, sweating visibly, with the baby things and passed them on to Margit, who wrapped up the newborn and passed her to Jenella.

“I don’t know what the Harper thinks,” Margit said with a nod to Master Zist, “but I think she’s perfect.”

Kindan was surprised to see that Master Zist’s face was flowing with tears.

Margit’s face fell when she noticed. “Oh, Master Zist, I’m sorry, I’d forgotten you’d had one of your own.”

Master Zist nodded, wiping his eyes. “I did,” he said after clearing his throat. He looked to Jenella. “I’m sorry, but your lass looks the same as mine did when she was born.”

“What was her name?” Kindan asked softly.

“Carissa,” the Harper murmured. He forced a smile on his face and looked toward the proud parents. “And what are you going to name this bouncy one?”

Natalon and Jenella exchanged glances. “We don’t know yet.”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” Margit agreed. “Now why don’t you leave while I help Jenella and her babe get settled in.” And she backed up her words with determined shooing motions with her hands. “Milla, you can stay and help.”

By the time the others had collected downstairs, the early morning light was showing. Natalon bit back a curse. “I’m late for my own shift!”

“I think they’ll understand,” Master Zist told him.

“I had Swanee send word, Father,” Dalor added.

Natalon gave him a grateful look and let out a big sigh of relief.

“It’ll be a long day for all of us,” Master Zist said to Kindan as they made their way back to the Harper’s cothold. “But that’s the way things go, sometimes.”

Kindan nodded in agreement but was robbed of words by a huge yawn.

“Some klah will help you start the day,” Master Zist said.

Kindan had a great tale to tell as he set the watch. It was still bitterly cold in the watch-heights so he stayed on to gather kindling and firewood as the first watcher got settled in. He was back down the hill in time for classes with Master Zist and back up again at lunchtime, when the morning mist was finally lifting, to spell Renna, Zenor’s eldest sister, while she got her lunch. So it was he who first saw the trader caravan approaching.