Moons' Dreaming (Children of the Rock) (28 page)

Tob faced forward again. With a click of his tongue he urged Stockings to quicken her pace. The wagon rocked a little as they picked up speed, and Tob shifted slightly in his seat, bracing one knee against the side support for security. Behind him he could hear his father moving among the bundles and crates, humming under his breath. Tob smiled. It was good to be home.

After what seemed to Tob far too short a time, Jordy ordered him to slow Stockings to a walk once more. When they reached the first sharp turn a few minutes later, Stockings tried to continue straight on. The low hedge that bordered the road apparently did not register in what passed for her brain. Tob pulled her head sharply to the right. She slowed, but resisted turning.

Jordy came to the front of the wagon and rested his elbows on the back of the driver
’
s seat. His watchful eyes studied first the horse, then the boy. Tob grimly ignored the scrutiny. He was not going to let Stockings take advantage of him.
Foolish beast!
Foolish, but not unaware of who was driving her. She almost never tried her tricks on Jordy. Three years before, when Tob had first started traveling the summer trade route with his father, he had understood her lack of respect for him. As a twelve-year-old he
’
d lacked the weight and strength necessary to force his will on an obstinate horse. But he
’
d grown since then.

As though reading his mind, his father said in his ear,
“
You
’
ll never impress her with your strength, lad. I
’
ve told you more than once, in a contest of brute strength, the horse wins every time. Don
’
t wrestle with her. Intimidate her. Take charge.
”

Tob took a deep breath, and unleashed his frustration.
“
By the Rock, I
’
ll come up there and twist your ears off!
”
he shouted. Stockings, startled, began to turn her head to look back at him.
“
Now, gee!
”
he concluded with a final sharp tug on the reins.

It worked. Stockings danced nervously to the right, almost shying from the hedge as though it had just that moment sprung forth from the ground. They negotiated the corner with room to spare, and Tob consciously relaxed his grip on the reins. Jordy gave him a pat on the shoulder.

“
Next time, plan on outsmarting her before you reach the critical moment.
”

Stockings settled into her usual swinging walk down the center of the road. Jordy climbed up beside his son as they left the fields behind. On their right, the ridge sloped sharply upward, all rocks and scrub plants. On the left, a narrow strip of pine trees blocked any view of the valley. Only a short way before them the road seemed to end in empty space. Stockings negotiated this sharper, more difficult curve, agreeably. Tob supposed even she could see the undesirability of walking off the edge of a cliff.

The road became slightly steeper for a while, and Tob held Stockings to a cautious walk. Finally, they eased around the third curve. Beyond it, Broadford and the river were much closer, although still at a slightly lower elevation than the road.

“
I
’
ll take over now, Tob, lad. I
’
ve some errands for you. First, run home and let your mother know we
’
re back. But don
’
t stop to spin tales for your sisters.
”

“
No, sir.
”

“
Then get you over to Kessit
’
s place. Tell him we
’
ve got his load of stonewood and we
’
ll need his help unloading it at the shop.
”

“
Pross, too,
”
Tob suggested. He liked woodman Kessit
’
s son. Pross, in turn, though several years older than Tob, still seemed to enjoy the occasional afternoons they could steal from their responsibilities. They would wander the riverbank in search of turtles and birds nests, Pross exchanging his knowledge of current events in Broadford for Tob
’
s news of strange people and distant towns.

Jordy smiled at him.
“
Aye. Pross will be welcome. Find out when Kessit can get away, then come directly to the inn. It may be that I
’
ll want your help with the rest of the load.
”

“
All right, Dad. Anything else?
”

“
That
’
ll do. Off with you.
”

Tob jumped down from the moving wagon and ran across the road, eager for the feel of soft grass beneath his feet. Once in the pasture, his strides quickly degenerated into a series of leaps and bounds, intermingled with rapid sprints and occasional breathless tumbles down some of the shorter slopes.

He reached the bank of the stream at a familiar spot and detoured briefly to check the progress of the blackberry patch. Given enough rain the patch would provide his sisters with several weeks
’
work by
mid
summer. He felt a twinge of nostalgia for summers he
’
d spent happily roaming this field, but swiftly dismissed it. No more summers at home for him. Blackberry season was also peak trading season. By then he and his father might be anywhere from the northern coast to the edge of the Great Desert, or even high in the Dherrican Mountains, where ponds formed a thin skin of ice every night, even in high summer.

He leapt the stream and cut diagonally across the corner of the pasture. At the bottom of the gentle hill he let himself through the gate. Pepper
’
s pet goat bleated in surprise, bolted a few steps, turned, and lowered her horns at him. Then she flicked her tail and ambled back to her browsing, as if to say,
“
If I
’
d known it was only you, I wouldn
’
t have bothered.
”

Pepper was sprawled in the open door to the stable, petting one of the cats, when Tob climbed over the south gate. The cat looked up, eyes blinking sleepily, but Pepper didn
’
t notice him until he was on top of her, fingers reaching for her ribs.
“
Tobble!
”
she squealed, and doubled up into a ball.

He quit tickling her at once and clamped a hand over her mouth.
“
Shhh,
”
he said.
“
I want to surprise Mom. Where is she?
”

She pushed his hand away.
“
You
’
re back!
”

“
Where
’
s Mom?
”

“
I don
’
t know. The loom, I think. She
’
s been working on a rug for days.
”
She struggled to sit up. The cat, already disturbed by her giggling, dashed away.
“
I didn
’
t hear the wagon.
”

“
That
’
s
‘
cause it
’
s not here yet. Dad
’
s taken a load to the inn.
”

“
I want to see him. Can I come with?
”

“
I
’
m not going there yet, so, no, you can
’
t. Besides, shouldn
’
t you be doing something?
”

“
I am doing something. I
’
m staying out of the house while Matti
’
s sleeping.
”

Tob tickled her again, this time at the juncture of neck and shoulder. She giggled, scrunching her head to one side in defense.

Tob ran for the house while she was still giggling. He crossed the empty living area, putting his feet down with care to avoid making any noise. The trapdoor to the attic was open. He could just hear the sound of Matti
’
s steady breathing. Halfway along the central wall the hearth was unoccupied, trammel hooks hanging empty. The banked embers of the breakfast fire glowed dimly behind a scattering of trivets, but not even the usual pot of cider benefited from the warmth.
No reason it should be there,
Tob reminded himself.
Mom didn
’
t expect
us
back for two more days.

The steady click of the loom drew him toward the doorway to the right of the hearth. He lifted the curtain soundlessly and peaked through. His mother
’
s hands moved steadily over the loom, the rings on her fingers reflecting a sparkle from the lamp hung over her head.

He grinned in anticipation.
“
Surprise,
”
he said.

His mother turned sharply sideways on her stool. For an instant her dark eyes registered only alarm, then she recognized him and visibly relaxed. She rose and stepped quickly toward him, hands outstretched. Tob accepted her quick hug, the brush of her cheek against his, and was enveloped briefly in the smells he always associated with her: hearth smoke, cooking spice, and the dust from the loom. Then she stepped back, hands dropping to her sides, and looked him in the eye.

“
We were only one day at Fairdock,
”
Tob explained.
“
And we ended up not stopping at Hillcrest after all. We have to unload at the inn, but we should be home in time for supper.
”

His mother smiled her acceptance of his words.

Tob continued,
“
I
’
ve got to go help. I just came to tell you we
’
re back. I don
’
t suppose there
’
s anything to eat? I
’
m starving.
”

She put her hand on his shoulder and gently turned him toward the outer room. He waited by the table as she rummaged soundlessly in the cupboard. She brought a half loaf of bread, a square of white cheese, and her small, blue jam pot to the table. Before she began to slice the bread, she held up the knife until she had his attention, then pointed toward the ceiling. Tob replied by placing his fingers to his lips. Satisfied, his mother made quick work of fashioning two sandwiches for him, one of sweet grape jam, the other of cheese. He picked them up, one in each hand, and leaned across the table to plant a kiss on her cheek. She tousled his hair and then gestured him out the door.

In the yard Pepper was lying in wait for him at the corner of the house. When she made a grab for his jam sandwich he simply held it in the air over her head, at which point she pretended she was no longer interested.

“
Was she surprised?
”

“
Perfectly. I
’
ve got to go.
”

“
Can I come? Please?
”

He started down the gentle slope of the lane that connected their yard with the road to Broadford.
“
No.
”
Tob tore a
corner off his sandwich and gave it to her.

She beamed at him.
“
Thanks, Tobble. Make Dad hurry. I want to see him.
”
She took a big bite of bread and jam.

“
Yeah. Bye.
”

Pepper, her mouth full, could make no reply. Tob waved once and ran for the Broadford road.

Of all the inconveniences of life at Soza, Vray had hated the wind the most. It came up off the plains in great, roaring, neverending gales, full of dust in summer and snow in winter, rain in spring and autumn. There was no escaping the wind at Soza. It pushed its way in through every crack in the windows, under every door frame. It hit her in the face the moment she stepped outdoors, and drove at her back down all the cloistered walkways. Her clothes always seemed too thin to keep the needle-sharp or grit-filled swirls of air away from her skin. There wasn
’
t any corner in the whole House without its own backwash. Vray hid from the wind more than she did from the switches of the Brownmothers.

But at night, locked in and alone on her pallet in the kitchen storeroom, there had been no escaping the soughing, sighing, or howling of the wind outside the thick walls of Soza. It kept her awake, or seeped into her dreams. The noise reminded her of many things. Even worse, it sometimes reminded her of nothing at all. She would lay curled up in the dark, nursing new and old bruises, in terror of falling into chaos, terror that nothing existed but her and the wind. Her past, her identity threatened to blow away on those long nights, and she feared she was going mad. The only answer was to make a conscious effort to call up memories of her former life.