“So, do you court your wyf or me, Chun of the Soft Furs?”
The older man laughed; the younger gaped, but recovered.
“I would be honored by the friendship of your thighs, Fire Matron, but they would consume me. Grant me only my due; I ask no more.”
“Why do you come to me for that which only your wyf can grant? Nessa Silken-hair, with whom would you lie tonight?”
The girl—and she was hardly more than that—had been stifling a giggle. “Ardet grows too possessive and domineering. He chases the others off, but most nights all we do is sleep. Besides, his feet stink.”
“You wish to divorce him, then?”
“For smelly feet? No, lady. He can be kind when not crossed, and he makes the best butter in the village, worth much to me in trade. Only let him take his turn with Chun or take another wyf if I cannot satisfy him.”
Prid snickered. “He has tried for years to find another hearth,” she whispered. “He even visits the girls’ lodge, for some of us will have houses to keep when we come of age. Maybe he was handsome, once.”
“You,” said Jame, “are cruel. Pity the man for his butter’s sake, if nothing else, but never go with him; I don’t trust his eyes.”
Some arrangement apparently had been made for the three departed together, if not amicably, at least without trading blows. Ardet glanced at Prid as he passed, and a predatory expression, meant to look friendly, flickered across his face. She stuck her tongue out at him.
Jame had been aware throughout of a man sitting across the fire from her, his face in the shadows. Now he leaned forward. Even without the painted tattoos, she recognized that scarred upper lip, now twisted unpleasantly in a scowl.
“You led the horse raid on Tentir.”
“You cut my brother’s throat.”
“You shot my cadet.”
“And neither of you may claim blood rights while under my hospitality.” Gran Cyd gestured them forward. They came, warily, side by side.
“Nidling of the Noyat, why are you here?”
“I came to negotiate with your lord, lady. We hill tribes needn’t be at each other’s throats, not when there are others ripe to cut.”
“Such talk of cutting. We raid where we please, but without killing if possible. Why raise more enemies of the blood? You already have a potent one, here.”
“This?” He jerked his head toward Jame. “Should we run scared of a mere female, moreover one who comes under false pretenses?”
“If by pretense you mean that she is the Earth Wife’s Favorite, that was no doing of hers. If you class her as ‘mere female,’ here is another one speaking to you.”
He made a gesture of dismissal. “No offense intended, but I came to discuss serious matters with your lord.”
Gran Cyd leaned back. Sparks snapped in the smoldering green of her eyes, but her deep voice remained calm. “No offense taken—yet. My housebond Chingetai is on the hunt, but will return for the night’s feasting. We welcome you to stay until then.”
The Noyat bowed, turned, and left.
“And now,” said Gran Cyd, “for you.”
Jame also bowed, adding a salute to a reigning lord.
“So you are the Earth Wife’s true Favorite.” The Merikit leaned her head on her hand, examining her guest. “How do you find it?”
“Very strange, lady.”
“No doubt. And why do you grace my lodge on this of all days?”
“I’m not sure what day this is, besides Winter’s Eve. At the equinox, the Earth Wife told me to come, and so I have.”
“Ah. Mother Ragga explains less than one would like, does she not? Then you had better speak to her.”
Gran Cyd rose, towering a good, regal head and a half over the Kencyr. Nidling of the Noyat was a fool. She drew back a tapestry to reveal a familiar door down several steps. Jame descended and, not to her great surprise, found herself in the Earth Wife’s lodge. Rather more unusual was to discover Mother Ragga with her ear to the floor, her ample rump in the air, snoring. Jame stepped down carefully onto what was left of the earth map. Most of it presumably was in Marc’s hands by now to aid in rebuilding the stained glass window, but Mother Ragga had left the land north of Restormir intact.
Jame knelt by her head and shook her gently.
She snorted, yawned, displaying a great expanse of empty gum, and stretched.
“Oh, it’s you. At last. Wait a minute.” She inserted a stubby finger into her ear and rooted out clotted dirt. “Hard work, listening. Dry work.” She picked up a bowl, drank deep, and wiped her mouth with a sigh. Jame smelt the crisp tang of strong ale.
“Look ye.” The Earth Wife pointed to a pile of black basalt. “Here’s Burny’s blasted volcano. Here at its foot is a valley six fathoms deep in ash, or was before the equinox downpour. Then it turned into mud like quicksand. Nasty, nasty stuff. It’s taken the past three weeks for it to dry out and solidify. Any time now, probably tomorrow, the yackcarn herd will figure out that it’s no longer trapped and will start running.” Her dirty finger traced a path down to where two ruts converged. “Here.”
“Let me guess. That’s the Merikit village, isn’t it?”
“Indeed. On my advice, Gran Cyd told Chingetai to take his hunters north to divert them. Instead, the stupid man went south to raid the Caineron herds. By stock and stone, he and M’lord Caldane deserve each other.”
“So why am I here? Surely you don’t expect me to divert a stampede on my own.”
Gummy eyes glimmered at her out of a bird’s nest of gray hair. “Oh, you’ll think of something. You always do. Now go meet your neighbors.”
Prid and Hatch were waiting outside with a throng of their friends when she emerged. All of them wanted to show her off to their mothers, so she made a fine progress through the darkening streets from lodge to lodge, attended by a twittering horde of children.
A few of the lodge-wyves greeted her with suspicion, one or two with disbelief, but most seemed to find her Favorite’s rank a fine joke.
One, fair-haired and plump, was stirring a pot full of something bubbling and savory that made Jame’s empty stomach growl. She dropped the ladle with a squeak when her twins pulled the guest inside to greet her.
“Look, housebond, a visitor, and by the Four t’is the Earth Wife’s Favorite himself! How honored we are!”
“Er . . . ” said Jame. “Likewise.”
“And such smooth cheeks!” She stroked one. Jame backed away, feeling her face redden. She had been courted by women before, but never so openly.
“Oh, and look!” She had seized Jame’s braid. “Only one, and that straight down the back! What, a virgin to both bed and battle?”
Right-hand braids for children sired, left-hand for men killed, Jame remembered.
The two girls who had brought her here giggled. So did the mass of round faces crowding the doorway behind them.
The lodge-wyf rubbed against her like a cat, nearly knocking her over. “Come back tonight and favor me, silken boy.”
A figure emerged from the shadows, glowering. “Tonight is ours, false wyf, or”—the dark face split into a grin; here too was a woman although dressed like a man—“return and favor us both.”
Jame bolted.
Up top, the twins were laughing so hard, as was everyone else, that their eyes and noses ran. “They were only teasing you. Ma and Da have only wanted each other since they were in the maidens’ lodge together.”
“And, from what they said, I suppose that the Favorite has the pick of the village.”
“Oh yes. To bear a Favorite’s child is great good fortune—usually.”
“The last two Favorites weren’t much . . . er . . . favored.”
Prid grinned. “But then they were Chingetai’s picks, not the Earth Wife’s or Gran Cyd’s. Even those who did have their children didn’t give them credit. Chingetai was furious.”
“I bet he was,” Jame muttered. “But tell me: you said the village faces starvation, yet in every lodge women and men are cooking.”