Raina did not know much about the gods, had never understood their secret motives, and had not once in her thirty-three-year life felt touched by them, but she had been moved to act by a strong sense of wrongness. Stannig Beade, the new clan guide from Scarpe, had not wasted any time asserting his power. "The Hailstone is dead," he had told the crowd assembled on the greateourt five days back, "and just like a corpse we must mourn and bury it."
The word bury had been a mistake. This was Blackhail, not Scarpe, and a Blackhail corpse was left to rot above ground in hollowed-out basswoods, and the crowd had grown restive. Stannig Beade had a sharp eye and a subtle mind and had quickly realized his mistake. "Just: as a slain Blackhail warrior is left in sight of the gods, we will do the same with the stone. We will grind it down to powder and scatter it over the earth. I know it is hard to hear. I look before me and see good men and women who loved the Hailstone like a god. But make no mistake, the Hailstone was never a god. It was a place where the gods rested, and now it has been shattered they have nowhere to dwell when they come to Blackhail. Do you want that, Hailsmen and Hailswomen? Do you want the Stone Gods to pass by your roundhouse and your clan?"
No they had not, and many in the crowd began to nod their heads in agreement. Stannig Beade was a clever speaker; his voice had been sharp and rasping, but his words had got him exactly what he wanted.
Already he had made a lie of them. The remains of the Hailstone were being dumped in Cold Lake, not scattered on open ground as he had claimed. The first cartload had been hauled west yesterday at dawn. Raina had seen it leave. She had asked questions and got no answers, so she had saddled Mercy and followed the tracks left by the cart. Tarp had been roped over the rubble, but a wormhole in the cartbed leaked dust. Raina was not given to fancy, but there had been a moment when she had first spotted the trail of granite powder lying lightly amid the yellow winter grass where she felt as if the Hailstone was letting her know where it was and what she must do.
The trail of Hail dust led all the way to the east shore of Cold Lake. She had watched from a careful distance, concealed by the boughs of a two-year hemlock, as the Scarpeman driving the cart had backed the bed up against the lake, released the tailgate and let the cart roll down to the shore. The rubble had gone crashing into the water. Raina had not waited to see the dust cloud settle and had promptly turned Mercy and galloped home.
At first she had wondered about the lie. Why would Stannig Beade risk being discovered in such an obvious deception? The answer came when she got back, and it surprised her. There were people in the roundhouse—Hailsmen and Hailswomen — who were already aware of what Stannig was doing. Merritt Ganlow was one of them. "Oh come on, Raina," the head widow had said after Raina informed her of what she had seen. "Of course the Hailstone was never going to be scattered— it'd cause dust storms for a week. Best place for it is the lake. That way it'll stay in one place. Whole almost. Stannig told me that after he made the announcement to the clan he spent time with Scarpestone, alone, and the gods told him he'd made a mistake. The Hailstone wasn't a corpse and should not be treated like one. The remains should be shown deeper respect."
Raina had actually laughed, a bitter sound not much to her liking. "You don't actually believe that, Merritt? Stannig Beade doesn't care about the Hailstone. He wants to see it destroyed so thoroughly it can never be resurrected, and all its power becomes his."
Merritt Ganlow had jumped on her words. "The Hailstone is destroyed. He didn't do that. We did, as a clan. All Stannig's doing is trying to dispose of the remains in a decent manner. Tell me, Raina, what else is he supposed to do?"
They were both shaking. They had been standing outside the closed door of the widows' hearth and Raina felt weary and exposed. She had not expected this from Merritt. Edging farther away from the door, she said, "Why does he insist on grinding every bit of the stone to nothing? I've seen what's he's doing, not even a chip as big as an apple core will remain by the time he's through."
The head widow had already begun shaking her head whilst Raina was speaking. "We are clansmen. We grind our stone. That's what we've done for centuries. Stannig Beade is doing what every guide since Ballard the Scared has done before him: he loads the stone in his mill and breaks it"
"No," Raina protested. "It's not the same."
Merritt Ganlow raised her chin. "Tell me why."
She could not. The words needed to convey the complex and ephemeral ideas in her head were beyond her. What Stannie Beade did was wrong, she felt it in her gut—he'd come here and looted the heart of clan—but if she said that she would sound like a peeved child.
All the while Raina was thinking Merritt watched her with keen green eyes. When the silence had stretched overlong, she said, "Your nose is put out, Raina. Simple as that. With your husband away you thought the mice would play, but now there's another cat in the house."
Raina had to give it to Merritt: the woman was sharp. It was true, Raina had been hoping to run things while Mace was away. Return some order to the house, banish the Scarpes to outbuildings, make plans of her own for Hailstone. She'd wanted the chance to guide Blackhail back … to clan.
Breathing deeply, Raina tried to replace her waning strength with air. A woman whom she had trusted and called friend had been cleverly turned against her. Almost it was too much.
She tried one last time. "You are right, Merritt, I'm not happy that Stannig came here. He's Scarpe's guide—let them have him. We're paying tribute to a foreign stone whilst Scarpemen are grinding down the Hailstone and carting it away."
Merritt must have heard something close to breaking in Raina's voice, for she was gentle in her reply. "Who better to do that job? Name me one Hailsman who would relish breaking down the ruined stone? Stannig hopes to spare, not deceive us."
How had he got to her? Raina wondered. What tales had he spun? What promises had he whispered in her ear? Whatever he had done it was subtle, for Merritt was too clever to fall for obvious ploys. Did he know how close Merritt was to Raina herself? Was he trying to isolate the chiefs wife? Raina tucked that thought away for later consideration. To Merritt she said the only thing she had left. "Stannig Beade is a Scarpe. I thought you were my ally against them."
Tutting softly, Merritt shook her head. "Think clearly, Raina. My position on Scarpes in the Hailhouse is unchanged. Tomorrow, through that very door, two hundred Scarpes will come and kick me out of my hearth. They've done some sort of swap-around with the tied Hailsmen who were due to take it. It's a disgrace, and you underestimate me if you think that Stannig Beade can convince me otherwise. He hasn't tried to. I doubt if he'd dare. What he did do was come to me and ask my opinion on some things. And for a wonder he actually listened to the answers. That, I respect. It's fitting that a new clan guide acquaints himself with matters of clan, and also fitting that he takes the time to introduce himself to its widows. He knows there are things wrong in this clan. But right now he doesn't have time for that. His priority is the new guidestone—and rightly so. We must be settled as a clan before we can move forward, have a heart beating before we can breathe. You know that and if you would look beyond his colors, you would see that Stannig Bead is guide first and foremost. Not a Scarpe."
Raina felt a little stunned, as if someone had knocked her with some force on the head. How on earth was she to deal with this? At least now she knew how Stannig Beade had got to Merritt: he had flattered her and opened up a channel to power. It was telling that Stannig Beade had made no such overture to the chiefs wife, no cozy little talk, no confessions of uncertainty, no delicate request for information. He wouldn't dare. Five days ago on the greatcourt they had met eye-to-eye, and she had seen through him and he through her. Stannig Beade knew the chiefs wife for his enemy, and Raina Blackhail knew that before her stood a man who coveted Blackhail's power.