Feather (11 page)

Feather sat down, turning her back to the camp. There was much talk among the men about the cask of strong drink one of them had confiscated. She would not watch them drink and mock the prisoners.

Once again, Tag came to her.

“May I eat with you?”

“I thought you didn’t want to be around me anymore, now that you are a warrior.”

“Feather, don’t.”

She shrugged and moved a fraction of an inch, indicating that he could sit on the edge of her blanket.

“Your new clothes fit.”

She said nothing but took a bite of the delicious roasted meat.

“I am sorry for the way you got them,” he said, balancing his plate on his lap and reaching for his pack, “but I’m glad that you have warm things now.” He opened the pack, and Patch came out squirming and yowling. “There now, hush. I brought you some meat.”

“How long will they restrain the prisoners?” Feather asked.

“We leave in the morning. They will march with us.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Lex said it.”

“Can you believe him?”

Tag shrugged. “I think so. I heard him tell Mik we needed a few new replacements.”

Feather stared at him. “For the boys who died at the City of Cats?”

“I guess so. We lost a man last night too, and . . .” 

“What?”

“Lex thinks Cade may not make it.”

Feather pounded her thigh in anger. “He’s getting better.”

“I think so, but last night before we left, he was feverish again. His shoulder is all red and swollen, and he can’t bear to touch it. Mik was talking about leaving him here.” 

“Leaving him to die?”

Tag picked up a chunk of cornbread. “If we could just stay put for a few days, he would have time to regain his

strength. I will do all I can to be sure he comes with us. Will you do the same?”

“Of course.”

He nodded, and they ate in silence for a few minutes. When Tag was finished, he wiped his mouth with his

hand. “At the village, I sneaked away to look for tools.” 

She blinked at him. “You mean . . . you left the battle?” 

He looked around furtively. “Yes. After the first rush, the men were going from hut to hut, and I just . . . went the other way. I thought if I stayed away from the thick of it and maybe found something useful, I would get by all right. That’s when the young fellow jumped me, and we had our private war.” He grimaced. “I don’t know yet how I beat him.”

“I was afraid for you,” Feather whispered.

“There was no need.”

She shrugged. “You are here, but that doesn’t mean you will never be struck down on a raid. At least you are not a murderer.”

Tag smiled. “You don’t hate me then?”

“No. I wanted to.”

He pulled the pack over and reached inside. “Here.” He put several small disks in her hand, and she held them up close. “Coins.”

“Yes. I grabbed them in one of their huts. Hide them.” 

“What for?”

“For your journey.” He looked over his shoulder again. “You know. Next spring. You will need resources. If you have coins, maybe you can trade for food and not have to steal it.”

She nodded solemnly and dropped the coins into her pouch. “Thank you.”

“I wanted to get you a knife too, but I did not find one. Maybe on the next raid. But I found this.” He brought out one more treasure. It was hardly as big as her hand, rectangular and flat.

“What is it?”

He grinned at her. “A book!”

He set several stained papers carefully in a pile on the table in the lodge. It was wet and cold outside, and Alomar insisted that the items from the chest be kept in a dry corner of the meeting room. No one had opened the sacks until Hunter, Jem, and Karsh returned with the stranger.

“They all seem to be written to the same man.” Sam sounded a bit uncertain, and Karsh wondered if he really knew what he was talking about.

“The writing is . . . different from the books,” Alomar ventured.

“Yes. These papers were written by hand. The books were made on a printing press, and the runes look different, more uniform.”

“Can you read them all?” Alomar asked, and Karsh held his breath.

“Some of them are difficult. Each person’s handwriting is different. Some are neat and easy to decipher. Others are very hard. And some are quite fragile.” Sam bent over one of the papers, holding it closer to the lantern. “This appears to be a letter from the captain of the king’s guard, saying that Ezander and four of his knights will stay at the lodge for a week to hunt at the next full moon.”

“The king’s own captain,” Zee breathed. Her father, Alomar, had taught her his reverence for the written word.

Alomar sighed. “Perhaps you can sort through them and put them in some kind of order, then read them to the people. Would that be too much to ask of you, sir?”

Sam looked up at him. “I can do that. I’d be glad to. It will take time. There are many different kinds of papers here: letters, orders, and lists of supplies.”

Alomar nodded. “Then maybe you can tell us first about these books.”

“That is easier.” Sam picked up the biggest book. “This one is a dictionary.”

“Sir?” Hunter asked in confusion.

Sam smiled. “It is a book that tells you what words mean. There are many words in the ancient language that we don’t use much anymore. One of them is
dictionary.
It means a book of words and their meanings.”

Hunter laughed. “So if we could read this book, we would learn much about the world and the old times.”

“That is true,” Sam agreed. “But it is not a good book from which to learn how to read. This one would be better.” He held up a clothbound volume. “This is a book of the history of Elgin, published on the occasion of the birth of Prince Linden. It will tell you a great deal about the Old Times, before the great sickness. But between then and now . . . well, I fear there are no books giving our recent history.”

“And you think we could . . . learn to read that?” Alomar asked hesitantly, his eagerness shining in his faded blue eyes.

“I do, sir. It would take time and practice, but I’m sure a man with a quick mind like yours could learn.” Sam looked around and smiled at them all. When his gaze rested on Karsh, a warm longing sprang up in the boy’s heart. “Even these children could learn to read in a winter’s time,” Sam said.

Karsh sprang up from the bench where he sat and edged closer to Sam. “Will you be our teacher?”

“Here, now, boy,” Alomar began, but Sam looked into his eyes, and Karsh felt a spark of understanding between them.

The stranger turned to Alomar. “I am willing to stay with your people and give this service, if you will allow it, sir. The cave is adequate but cold. I could stay there this winter and survive, I am sure, but I have begun to think it would not be so bad to live in a village again.”

Alomar looked around at the other men. “What say you, elders? Shall we give this man a home with us and feed him in return for lessons?”

“I would help you with the harder work too,” Sam said quickly.

Shea nodded. “I say yes.”

Rand stroked his beard. “I see no harm in it. But Sam must pledge his fealty to the Wobans.”

“You seem to be a people who can be trusted. I would like to be one of you.” Sam looked first to Alomar, then the other men, and they all nodded.

“We will meet tonight around the fire and officially accept you into the tribe,” Rand said.

Alomar gestured toward the small stack of books. “And what of these other volumes, sir?”

Sam smiled and reached for the one in which Karsh had seen the pictures. “This is also a history book but of the world at large, not just your land. It tells tales of all the nations in this part of the world, but also it seems to give accounts of faraway lands. There are tales told by sailors who went across the sea to trade. This book was printed earlier than the Elgin history, perhaps by fifty years.”

“There are drawings of weapons and battle engines,” Hunter said.

“Yes, and of castles and carts and ships. You can learn much from this book.” Sam picked up another. “This one will also be useful. It is about plants. It will tell you much about the plants you know and some that you are not familiar with. It may teach you some new ways to use plants that will be helpful to you.”

Tansy drew a deep breath. “Are there pictures in it?”

“Yes. I think you will find it most informative. And this one . . .” Sam picked up the last of the pile, a much worn leather-bound book. “This seems to be an account book, or what we might call a ledger, kept by the captain of the outpost. It is a handwritten record of all the supplies brought in and expenses paid. Wages for the men who served there, grain for the horses, food and drink for the servants manning the outpost and also for the king and his guests when they stayed at the lodge.”

“Then King Ezander is mentioned in this book also?” Alomar asked.

Sam leafed carefully toward the end of the book. “Yes, several times. The last section tells of a royal party visiting the lodge: King Ezander, Queen Milla, Lord Taber and his lady, Captain Wobert—”

“Wobert!” Alomar cried.

“Yes.” Sam looked up at him. “You know this name, sir?”

“It is my grandfather’s name.”

“He traveled with the king at that time. Perhaps he was in charge of the king’s safety and security.”

Alomar reached out a trembling hand and touched the record book. “Thank you.” Alomar seemed overcome, and Shea bent to place an arm around his shoulders.

Hunter said to Sam, “Our elder’s ancestor was loyal to the king, and after the sickness and Ezander and Linden’s deaths, he gathered a band of stalwart people. His son, Womar, led this band after him, and now Womar’s son, Alomar, is chief elder to our people, the Wobans. He has taught all of us to reverence books. It has been his dream to find one and to learn to read it.”

“I will teach him,” Sam said solemnly.

“The children,” Alomar cried, leaning on Shea to rise to his feet. “Please, sir, you must teach our children. I am old and will probably not be with the tribe many more winters. When I am gone, this knowledge must not be lost. If the children can read it, the books will teach many generations.”

Sam nodded. “I will do as you say, and I will teach them to write as well, so that they can make copies of the books, and they will never be lost to this tribe, even if these volumes crumble.”

“And perhaps,” Alomar ventured, “one of our children will someday write a history of the Woban tribe.”

Outside the dogs began to bark. Hardy hurried to the lodge door and flung it open, looking first toward the ridge and the signal pole.

He turned back toward the villagers, grinning. “This is indeed a day of good fortune. The trader comes!”

Karsh dashed outside into the bitter cold air. The snow had not yet fallen, but surely it would soon. He began to run down the path toward the mouth of the valley.

The trader came striding along the trail with his carved walking stick. Beside him trotted two dogs each bearing a pack. Karsh knew those packs were full of trade goods. Friend would take his wares out one thing at a time so that the people could appreciate each item. He would tell the story of how he came by each thing and tell them its worth.

Even though he was excited to see the trader’s merchandise, Karsh had a more urgent purpose. Now was his chance to ask Friend to seek word of Feather’s whereabouts.

Jem nodded at Karsh. “You should trade for it. It will help you find metal to make things from.”

Karsh swallowed hard. He was too excited to think about trading, and besides, he didn’t have much to trade. They had a small sack of nails left from building the new house, but they would keep those for another building project.

“When we return to our digging in the spring,” Hunter said, smiling at Karsh, “it would help us know where to dig in the cellar.”

“Yes,” Friend agreed, “and it will pick up small bits of iron that you drop in the grass.”

“Do you go to the Blens?” Karsh asked.

Friend nodded. “Sometimes I meet up with one of their bands. I don’t like to stay with them, but sometimes I trade with them for a few days. They are useful when I want to cross the desert or a stretch of wild country where the wolves are plentiful. It is good not to cross those places alone.”

“You will ask them?” Karsh had already told him about Feather’s abduction, but he couldn’t help saying it again.

“Yes, boy. I will be discreet, but I will watch for her.” He looked at the elders. “I remember the little girl,” he said, and Karsh was grateful to him for that. “She had bright eyes and light feet.”

“Yes, and she is skilled in fletching arrows,” Shea told him. “That is my hope for her. If her captors know her skill, I doubt they will mistreat her.”

Friend frowned. “As you say, they will probably put her to work, or they might sell her.”

Karsh felt sick at that suggestion. He had never considered that the Blens who took Feather might bargain her away to someone else, and his sister could end up far, far away.

“You mustn’t tell anyone else how to find us,” Rand said.

“Do not fear. I go to my customers, and when I leave them, I forget the trail to their villages. I do not tell how I go, except on rare occasions.” Friend glanced toward Sam, who sat quietly on a bench listening. “This man I told how to reach you. I have known his people for many years, and he was in need.”

“We have accepted Sam into our village,” Alomar said.

The trader nodded. “That is good. He will be an asset to you.” He looked at Karsh again. “If I see your sister and have the chance, I will tell her you are asking for her. But I will not let the Blens know that. I will mark the band she is with and see if I can learn where they intend to rove next.” He shrugged. “It may not help much, as I won’t come back here again until spring.”

Karsh stepped closer to him and touched his sleeve. “Just knowing that she is alive would be something. They are mean, you know.”

Friend looked down at his packs. “I know. I hope you find her and that they have not harmed her.”

It was all Karsh could hope for at the moment, but that night, when Hunter came to the room where the men and boys slept, he paused by Karsh’s bedroll and knelt beside him. “For next spring,” he whispered, and laid something next to Karsh’s head.

When Hunter went to his own sleeping place, Karsh reached out and felt the floor beside him. His hand closed over a smooth object, and at once he knew that it was the lodestone.