Hatchling (Tameron and the Dragon) (11 page)

Dorena smiled, and brought out some scraps, a couple of which looked strong enough to hold any number of stitches, and were large enough to cover the ruined areas and still let him anchor his sewing on parts that were whole. The next day he mended the clothes, though he still had to rest at times, as well as keeping Jorry amused. Dorena approved his work that night, thoug
h she added a few stitches in places where his weren't as neat as she liked. Then she said the clothes were now his, since he'd made them fit to wear again.

Tam
was so overwhelmed he couldn't speak. He knew he could never replace her son, but was glad beyond words she thought him worthy to wear his garments, and put away the too-large castoffs clearly borrowed from the missing Aylar.

Marysa frowned a little bit when came home one evening and saw him in them. Tam didn't understand. What else was he to wear?

Then he saw the way the younger woman looked at the death-doll on the mantel. He didn't know what to say, and hoped she wasn't angry with him. Dorena must have seen his distress, as she patted him on the shoulder and said, "She knows it's not your fault. You'll outgrow those clothes of Darin's soon enough, and then Jorry can wear them."

The cabin felt so warm and good to him. He wanted to be close to the people around him, though at first he held back from their embraces. Was he really part of the family? Dorena told him a few times not to be so shy, and after that he returned their warm greetings as well as he could. He'd lost track of how long he'd been here. Did it matter?

Jorry followed him outside one day when Tam was carrying in some firewood. The boy picked up a piece of kindling and pretended to be a great swordsman. Tam forgot his duties and joined in the play with a larger stick. It felt familiar, though it wasn't heavy enough. He waved the mock blade in a pattern he almost remembered. Jorry watched and tried to copy him. "Your arm needs to be straight. Your elbow is sticking out," Tam said absently.

How did he know that? A woman's face, eyes gleaming at him from under a shining helm, suddenly appeared in his mind. Then he lost it. Pain stabbed behind his left ear, and Tam gently felt the lump. It was still tender, but was dry instead of weepy.

He stopped fooling around and brought in the small logs, but left the long stick by the pile. It wouldn't fit into the fireplace anyway. Jorry pretended to guard him, so Tam could protect the fair maiden--disguised as an armload of wood-- he carried back into the house. Once he was done, he formally thanked Jorry for the boy's assistance against the enemy. Perhaps he was too old for such make-believe, but it was fun.

Marysa came home that evening, too. It always seemed like a holiday when she was there. That night she helped serve dinner, passed on town gossip, and laughed at a joke Jorry had made up, even though it was pretty bad. She brightened everything just by being there.

Tam thought he couldn't be any happier till she settled herself by the fire with her son in her lap and began telling stories. His favorite was the one about the Littlest Dragon. He felt sorry for the hero at first, a tiny dragonlet that everyone thought was too young to be any help. Then he was proud when the small beast rescued all the others when an evil sorcerer enslaved them through treachery. If only dragons were real!

He watched Marysa's face as she told another tale, drinking in her beauty as if it were wine. Oh, Blessed Lord and Lady, there was another memory he could not grasp. Water, bark tea, and sometimes a sip of home-brewed ale was his portion here. How did he know the taste of wine, whether it was dark and red, or a pale gold that caught the sun?

It didn't matter now, with Jorry's mother to look at. The firelight from the hearth made her face glow with warmth and kindness as she gazed down at the boy in her lap.

Even when she sang "The Wall", which spoke of the barrier around this land that no commoner might pass and her eyes grew sad, Marysa was well worth looking at. Did she know how beautiful she was this night?

With the last verse, the evening was over. Tam sang the chorus over to himself as he went to bed.
The Wall is high...I cannot cross over...nor have I...any wings to fly...I'll build a bridge...wide enough for two...my love and I, to walk side by side.
A little bit of hope was better than none.

That night he let himself imagine that this
was
his real family. The once-urgent desire to learn more about where he truly came from was gone. Why search for more when he already had so much?

Chapter 6

As Tam lay in bed later that night, he heard Jorry crying. The boy's small face twisted in fear, though his eyes stayed closed. "No, Da, no! Don't hit me--!"

His own dreams were bad enough. No one so young should have such nightmares. Tam held the child and spoke softly. "He's not here, Jorry, just me. It's all right. He can't hurt you. Go back to sleep." He stroked the boy's hair. Jorry soon became more peaceful in his arms.

He gazed at the dying fire, afraid to move in case he woke the boy. Perhaps this place wasn't as idyllic as he thought. It wasn't right for anybody to be this frightened. Did Jorry call Aylar, still out trapping, Da? Or was the boy's real father still alive? He had to be stronger soon. Marysa and Dorena might not be able to protect Jorry if the family's livelihood depended on the man. It might be up to him.

Tam laid the child back down when his arms grew too tired, then sat on the edge of the cot. How long had he been here? Was there anyone who missed
him
?  It hadn't worried him before. Maybe he'd run away for the same reason Jorry had nightmares. His head ached as he tried to remember.
Run, boy, run,
echoed an old woman's voice. Maybe the same old woman whose face he'd glimpsed when he was playing soldier with Jorry?

He tried to hold back tears as the pale mist swallowed up what else remained. Then he couldn't shield away his own sorrow any longer and wept into the corner of his blanket. A small hand stole up into his and squeezed. Soon they both slept.

The snow was so deep the next morning that Marysa was forced to stay home. No one was going to travel in this weather. Tam helped her bring down fodder for the cows while Dorena prepared breakfast in the house. The barn was attached, and twice the size of the cabin, but Marysa's mother didn't want them to use the inside door. "I can't keep the floor clean as it is," she grumbled as she told them to circle around outside.

Tam was aware of Marysa's gaze as he pulled down hay from the loft.

"I never thought Mama would let anyone wear those clothes till Jorry was grown," she said.

"Your mother said they were Darin's. Is that his death-doll on the mantel?"

"Yes. My little brother. He died last winter from a fever. The mage wouldn't come, since he was too busy with all the others who had it, or so he said." She sounded angry. "Jorry takes after my brother in build, though he's been healthy this winter so far. He became sick at the same time my brother got it, and was weak for a long time after it."

"Does he call Aylar 'Da'?" Tam was afraid of the answer.

"Blessed Lady, no!" she said. "Jorry calls him Papa. I don't blame you for wondering. I've had bad dreams about the man he calls 'Da' myself. I should have come last night when he called out, but I was so tired. I'm glad you were there. Only a real man could be so kind." Marysa smiled.

He felt hot and cold at the same time just looking at her. "I don't mind. I wish I could do more. Maybe my family can help yours, once I remember who they are."

"If you have the same kind of memories the boy and I have, I don't blame you for wanting to forget! Don't worry about it. Mother wants to keep you, so you're safe here no matter where you're from."

She was so beautiful that Tam wasn't upset at her implication that he was only pretending not to remember. Was it his imagination, or was her dress tighter in the bodice than usual? He mumbled something back, then turned away to take a handful of grain from the bottom of the feed bin to give to the leanest cow.

Marysa touched him on the shoulder, and he almost jumped out of his skin. "You took out enough for three days," she said, pointing at the hay. "The silly beasts will eat themselves into a colic. Put some of it back."

He obeyed her, but watching her complicated the task, and he dropped nearly as much fodder as he picked up.
She said only a real man could be so kind,
he thought to himself. And he wasn’t even shaving much yet!

Snow fell for days. Marysa seemed to enjoy talking to him now, though she never had before. One evening when Dorena insisted that they were all filthy, Tam was sent to the barn to wait his turn while the women and Jorry washed in front of the hearth. He couldn't help but hear Marysa laugh, or the splashing of the water that'd been heated over the fire. Then he imagined how Marysa must look without clothes, pink all over from the warmth. Oh, how could he go back in for his turn, the way he felt right now? He'd have to ask them to leave and risk the chill of the barn before he could strip and wash!

He slid his fingers alongside the single wall that separated him from the rest, and felt several flaws. Just as he was telling himself how evil it would be to bend down and try to see what was on the other side, Dorena's voice came through, a bit muffled. "You can open the inside door if you want, Tam. It's terribly cold outside. You may as well wait in here for a bit more water to get warmer."

"No!" He swallowed hard. "I'll come around." Perhaps the brisk wind and snow might make him fit to be around the others, or so he hoped. Tam wrapped himself in the cloak he'd borrowed and went out the other door. A short walk to the privy and back helped to cool his heated imagination.

Dorena had hung a couple of blankets near the hearth, so anyone bathing there could keep most of the warmth to themselves. Tam was grateful of the screen and washed as quickly as he could from the basin. He couldn't have seen anything even if he had looked. Being clean felt good, though he longed for a real bath. Part of him remembered what it was like to sit and soak all over, but that meant nothing. The inn where Marysa worked had a bathhouse for those with the coin for it. No doubt he'd grown up in a similar place.

Tam sighed with sheer satisfaction when he wrapped himself in one of the blankets, nearly hot from hanging by the fire, and went to a bed already warmed by Jorry. Tomorrow he'd wear clean clothes, while Marysa would help Dorena with the laundry. He quickly fell asleep next to the boy, feeling better than he had for a long time.

Instead of the jumbled confusion that usually ruled his dreams, he thought he was back in the barn. Only this time he bent his head to a crack and saw Marysa washing, with no blankets in the way. In this vision she was stripped to the waist, her breasts hanging free. His loins caught on fire and he couldn't tear himself away, no matter how disgraceful it was to spy on her. To top things off, right when he was ready to spend, she turned her head in his direction. Her eyes widened, apparently noticing his eye at the peephole--and then she
winked
at him!

He awoke, groaning with pleasure and shame at the same time. "Are you sick?" Jorry asked sleepily.

"No, no, just a nightmare," Tam said, knowing he lied.
If only Marysa didn't share a bed with her mother.

Jorry fell back asleep. Tam was glad he'd wrapped himself with the extra blanket after the bath now, though he hoped Dorena wouldn't launder it tomorrow. How could he hide the mess he'd left?
A fine return for all this hospitality,
he thought, but couldn't stop wanting more such dreams.

The storm continued. He tried to avoid Marysa's morning and night-time embraces, and found work to do in the barn when his feelings became too strong. It didn't help. Dorena said nothing about it, but Marysa always seemed to be laughing at his shyness. As he slept each night, his body and imagination conspired to set him on fire with need for her. The only good thing about it was that her mother couldn't do the washing till it was dry enough outside to hang anything up.

During the day it was easier. He took the cows into the forest when the weather cleared, though the snow was still too deep for Marysa to return to the inn.

One morning he used his play-sword to dig out plants and leaves beneath the drifts for the cattle. It was hard work, but he was strong enough to bear it now. When he'd brushed aside enough clear space so the cows could fend for themselves, he pretended to be a soldier again. He spun the heavy wooden rod in complex patterns. It helped him to think. Was it wrong to want Marysa? He shouldn't stay if he was a fugitive. He might get his new family into trouble. But where could he go? He still had headaches when he tried to remember where he belonged.

Soft white flakes settled on his face as he looked up at the sky. The clouds were gray and threatening, and it wasn't even noon yet. Had the cows eaten enough? The pile of fodder in the barn shrank every day, but had to last till spring. He uneasily watched the weather, while absently twirling his staff.

Tam dropped it when he heard Marysa laugh. "Aren't you playing with the wrong stick?" she asked. She was muffled in a heavy cloak. "Mother sent me to help you bring the cows home. She's worried about another storm."

The wind blew ice into his face. "We'd better go," Tam said. He gathered the cattle together with Marysa's help. The beasts were reluctant to move out from behind the trees and i
nto the small clearing between them and home. He shook with chill as the freezing gale blasted through his clothes. They hastened back to the barn and put the cows in their stalls. The storm roared outside the entrance just as Marysa helped him close the large rear door.