The Book of Earth (31 page)

Erde knew she would never be that beautiful. She had also thought she didn’t care, but now—watching the inviting curve of Raven’s neck as she inclined toward Hal like a flower to the sun, listening to the low, gay music of her voice—Erde knew that she did care, and the understanding made her inexpressibly sad. It reminded her that someone had once told her she was beautiful, but it must have been a long time ago because she could no longer recall who it was. She worried that her memory was fading. No matter how hard she tried to hold onto them, certain details softened, others remained bright. Alla. Her dear grandmama. She felt the loss of them all over again, sharp enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Earth snorted behind her. She felt a clumsy prodding at her back, as if a vast weight was bumping her ever so gently, which it was, the weight of a dragon snout.

She turned, distracted. He had not shown an awareness of her mood before, being too submerged in his own dilemma. Or was it just that, in the unaccustomed sun and open space, he was finally feeling playful? As she faced him, he stopped and dropped back on his haunches to stare at her with his tongue lolling. Erde had to smile, and laugh her breathy silent laugh. How could she do otherwise, with such a great and silly creature as her devoted companion?

*   *   *

They saw scattered groupings of the ragged long-haired cattle in the fields along the trail and later, a large herd of sheep guarded by a slim black and white dog. The sheep barely noticed them. The dog glanced their way, alert, looked at the dragon and then to Raven as they passed, but did not budge from its post.

Bypassing the sheep was hard for the dragon, whose hunger was beginning to preoccupy him. Erde knew this from the constant thoughts of eating in her own head. She was amazed that all these animals took the reality of a dragon
in their midst more or less for granted. They seemed curious but unamazed, even though Erde was sure they couldn’t have ever seen a dragon before. Almost as if they’d expected him, or rather, since Raven had shown no evidence of prior knowledge, as if they’d
always been
expecting him.

Erde wasn’t sure what she meant by that. She considered Earth’s peculiar hunting practices. A notion was forming in the deeper part of her brain, not yet whole or coherent, about the nature of the dragon’s presence in the world. That somehow, no matter how terrifying he might look, he knew how to “be” without causing distress or even very much notice. Her image of it was the huge bulk of him crossing a beach of smoothed sand without leaving footprints.

Her own thought process mystified her just as much as Earth did. Often of late, while trudging through the forest or struggling up some stony hill, she’d found herself in the grip of an idea she couldn’t quite make out the logic of. Like holding a knitted garment that’s come unraveled, a pile of half-sleeves and tangled yarn and loose ends. You search out this end, then that, and tie together the ones that match, but still the shape or size of the garment is unfathomable. Erde had begun to suspect this was because the garment—or the idea—was much bigger than she was.

The grassy trail led over a low hill and down beside a sand-bottomed creek that curled off around the foot of a bigger hill dotted with trees and thickly wooded at its crest. A flock of small birds danced in the bramble hedge along the bank, arguing over the last of the blackberry crop, though there were plenty left for all, dark and glistening on the vine. Erde could have filled her cap twice over, but even better, there were apples on the trees farther up the hill, and here and there a few late cherries glistened among dark green leaves. And pears! She counted half a dozen trees filled with little brown teardrop fruit. She had never seen a pear tree growing wild, only the scraggly seedlings her grandmother had imported year after year from the South in sympathy with the castle gardener, who each spring would swear he’d found just the right spot to help them thrive. As far as Erde knew, there’d never yet been an edible pear produced at Tor Alte. She ran to catch up
with Hal and Raven, pointing out this fruity cornucopia that was making her mouth water for something other than stale bread and dried venison.

“Amazing,” Hal observed. “As always.”

“It’s a fine harvest this year,” Raven agreed. Erde wondered how she found the energy to smile so much.

“You’ve heard how it is out east?” he asked.

“Every time Esther goes to market. It’s even worse up north, and the west is hardly better. We’ve sent what we could to our sisters in the villages, and Esther sells at the lowest price she can without, you know, calling attention.”

“Umm. Attention like that you don’t need, right now.”

Raven nodded. “We’ve had a few close calls of late.”

“It’s that scourge of a priest,” said Hal. “His ravings encourage others to say and do things they’d go to confession for ordinarily.”

“These dark times do likewise. People want an explanation for their misery. He gives it to them.”

Hal merely grunted in reply and then, their cheer dampened, they paced along in silence, until Raven slipped her arm through his and hugged him warmly. “But we’re so glad you’ve come. We’re way overdue for a serious discussion of strategy. Many of us think it’s time to pull our heads out of the sand.”

Hal frowned. “Let’s not get reckless, now. You’re most useful here and safe where you are.”

“We’ve always thought that. Now we’re not so sure.” Then she let him go and waved. “Look! Here’s Doritt come to meet us!”

Ahead of them, the path filled suddenly with black, lop-eared goats. A tall woman dressed in brown urged them forward with the help of another black and white dog.

“I’m not coming to meet you,” the woman declared as she drew abreast of them, and the herd flowed around them like black silk. “I’m clearing these damn goats out of the yard. Every baking day they come crowding in, thinking they’re going to get some. Ha! Dreamers! Well, there, Hal, how are you?”

Hal grinned. “Well enough, Doritt. And you?”

Doritt grasped the hand he offered. “Did she ask about Lily and Margit?”

“She did. I didn’t see them.”

Doritt frowned. “Pity. Well, here you are anyway.” She peered at Erde with frank curiosity. “This lad belong to you?”

“The lad’s a lady, can’t you tell?” laughed Raven, leaning comfortably into Doritt’s side. “Her name’s Erde.”

Doritt stuck her hand out again. “So much the better.”

Erde did not have much experience with handshakes. She was surprised at the vehemence involved. Doritt’s hand was as large as Hal’s, long and strong like the rest of her. It engulfed Erde’s own strong hand completely and made her feel satisfyingly small. Doritt had a plain oval face and the largest, darkest eyes Erde had ever seen on a human being, deep and liquid with intelligence, like a dog’s eyes. Her wavy brown hair was caught in an untidy knot at the back of her neck. She fussed with it, tucking in strands that immediately shook loose again with the abrupt motions of her head as she talked.

“Now the Mule says you’ve brought me another one!”

Erde had quite forgotten the she-goat, who came trotting up now to mingle with the herd.

“I guess I did,” agreed Hal. “And I’d like you to take a good look at her. She was mauled by a cat last night.”

“It’s Linden should have the look, then.”

“No, that’s just it, the goat is fine. Just absolutely fine.”

Doritt peered at him suspiciously. “You’re confusing me.”

“Well, I’d just like to know how she got so fine, this soon after a mauling.”

“There’s a tale needs telling here,” remarked Raven.

“It will be mostly
his
tale, I suppose.” Doritt nodded at the dragon as if noticing him for the first time. Like Raven, she showed no fear, and even less surprise. “Yours?” she demanded of Erde.

Taken aback, Erde could only nod.

Doritt turned to Hal, arms flailing in the air. “You’re not planning on leaving
that
with us as well? He’ll eat us out of house and home!”

“Oh, Doritt,” reproved Raven. “Think of it! A dragon!”

“Well, yes,” said Doritt. “Exactly.”

Hal glanced back at Earth. “I don’t expect he’ll be staying long. He’s on a Quest. But he could use a good solid meal, if you could see your way to it.”

Doritt sighed. “I knew it. Dropping in out of nowhere as usual, telling me I got to round up the old folks and give ’em the ax.”

“I think you’ll find he has his own very civilized methods.”

Doritt fussed with her rebellious hair. “Does he want to eat now?”

Hal looked to Erde, who nodded without even asking Earth.

“We can’t refuse a dragon,” declared Raven softly.

Tall Doritt shrugged. “Oh, hell, give him the run of the valley. He’s a dragon, after all. He’s got to eat.”

*   *   *

When Earth had wandered off on his own, with dubious backward glances and requests that Erde accompany him, Doritt sent the goats in another direction with the dog, and fell in alongside. By the time they reached the first signs of habitation, Erde knew the good and bad of every creature in Doritt’s care. She wasn’t sure if the other woman even noticed that she hadn’t said a word.

But for its verdant productivity, which would have been astonishing in any place, in any season, the farm was not impressive at first glance. Erde saw no fortifications, no walls, no defining gates to announce where pasture ended and yard began. They were well inside before she recognized that the brash and unkempt foliage threatening the path for at least the last quarter mile was an endless vegetable garden. Everywhere she looked, she saw something edible. She stopped to inspect a bushy plant as tall as her chest and found a dozen fat green squashes lurking beneath its broad prickly leaves. How unfortunate, she mourned, that farmers who grow this well couldn’t find enough time for a proper patchwork of garden plots, with their reassuring squared corners and neat rows. Just past the squash, a fruit tree had been left to grow in the middle of a lettuce patch. Erde couldn’t imagine Tor Alte’s gardener standing for such disorder.

Even the buildings, good sturdy stone structures, were
scattered here and there at odd angles, hidden within a clump of trees or half-buried in the side of the hill, their walls choked by some overgrown sage bush or fruity bramble, and their roofs submerged beneath trailing bean vines, looking in sorry need of maintenance.

And where was the center of this chaos of plenty and disrepair? Erde found it too disorienting. You could stroll through this entire farm and never know it was there. Except, of course, for the animals, who created a chaos all their own.

Erde could not spot a single henhouse or hog pen. Animals wandered loose everywhere: chickens, turkeys, and ducks pecking about underfoot; a brown pig rooting with her seven fat children; gray rabbits rustling in the hedges; a small horse dozing beneath a nut tree; huge lazy cats lounging in the dust of the path; and the occasional elderly dog taking the sun. A flock of black geese spotted Doritt from afar and streaked to meet her with much flapping and honking, pressing around her feet and nibbling at her clothes. She scolded and complained, but gave each one of them a moment of her full attention.

Hal halted in a grassy clearing ringed with big old maples just starting to turn orange. With his arm around Raven’s waist, he inhaled deeply. “Ah. Paradise found.”

Erde joined him with an experimental sniff. The aroma of fresh bread mixed with barn smells and the perfume of fall roses. She wondered where among all these trees a bakery might reside.

Doritt kept walking, turning back midstride at the edge of the clearing with a belated wave. “See you at dinner!” The black geese followed noisily behind.

When their honking had faded into the trees, Hal cleared his throat. “Well, where is she?” For the first time since entering the valley, he seemed not quite sure of his welcome.

“Working.” Raven arched her brows prettily. “Did you expect all of us to drop everything the moment you arrived?”

“Um,” said Hal. “Well, no. Of course not.”

“She went right in as soon as she’d talked with the Mule. Something’s been on her mind all day.”

Hal laughed nervously. “Maybe she knew I was coming.”

“Oh, yes. Well, naturally that would upset her.” Raven glanced up to see if he knew she was teasing, then added seriously, “It’s something in addition to that.”

“Ah. Well then, will she . . . should I . . . ?”

Having made him truly uneasy, Raven smiled and touched his arm reassuringly. “Of course you should. She’s waiting for you.”

Hal beckoned Erde to him. Resting a hand on her shoulder, he guided her toward the trees. And there, hidden in the shade of the branches, was a shallow flight of neat stone steps leading to a flagged terrace roofed with thatch. The rafters and cross-beams were slender trees with the bark still on them. Crickets and small birds chirped in the straw. A wide wood-framed doorway set in a rough stone wall led into a low shadowy room. Groups of chairs and tables were scattered about, but in here, the disorder was human and comfortable. The furniture was tightly made and the smooth-planked floor was worn to a satiny luster. At one end towered a darkened fieldstone fireplace. At the other, a row of tall windows had been set very close together to let cool light into the room through a break in the trees.

In front of the windows, a woman sat at a spinning wheel easily as tall as she was, surrounded by piles of carded wool. The light filtering in behind touched her pale hair, her white garment, and the soft white wool with the same hazy gleam. She raised a hand from the wheel in greeting, then bent back to her work. Raven came in behind them and went to sit beside her.

“That’s Linden,” Hal whispered, and Erde agreed that there was a special serenity in the room, a kind of living stillness that made you loath to break the spinner’s concentration, that compelled you either to sit down and beg to be put to work, or to pass on through without disturbance.

Hal led her across the room, out onto a narrow covered walkway that framed the four sides of an open, stone-paved court. The roof of the walkway was the overhang of a second story, the first real indication of the building’s size. Above a final, pitched slate roof, the maple grove loomed and swayed, so that light dropped into the court like sun through water, shifting and diffuse. In some more shadowy corner, a fountain played delicate music to a birdsong accompaniment. Erde was reminded of the peaceful cloister
at the little convent in the valley below Tor Alte, where she had accompanied the baroness each Christmas with food and gifts for the nuns.