Phae felt the night descend like a blanket. Trailers of mist began to creep along the ground from the woods, probing and seeking the fallen man. The moon rose, high and silver, wreathed in frost. The temperature began to plummet, but Phae did not experience the chill. The Fear Liath was getting closer, snuffling along the edge of the woods, tracing Shion’s ragged steps as he had attempted to flee. Phae clenched her fists, experiencing the terror of the beast, even though the Seneschal was near.
Then she heard the creak of wagon wheels. A lone cart rumbled down the road. A man hummed a tune and a swaying lantern hung from a post fastened to the edge of the seat, lighting the path through the hedge maze. The wagon wheels groaned, the axles needing to be oiled. The cart approached the desperate situation and then the driver stopped his tune, giving a sound like chup, chup! The horse stopped, stamping its hooves impatiently. As the wagon master peered around the horse at the dark shape on the ground, he smoothed back some hair and she saw a glittering gold ring fastened there. She stared at him in shock—a Romani!
The Romani leapt from the box seat and unhooked the lantern, bringing it over to gaze at Shion’s body.
“Well, good night!” the man said with a wry voice. He knelt by the body, first examining the injuries at a distance. He sighed heavily. “He’s more to be pitied than laughed at. Do you see this one, Roke, you old beast? Half-dead. Well, it’s as hard to see a bleeding man as it is to see a barefoot duck, but it’s no use boiling your cabbage twice, is it? I wonder what you did wrong, fellow, to be left like this? The silent are often guilty.”
The Fear Liath roared, sending the horse into a tremor of panic.
The Romani stood and calmed the beast, beginning to whistle a tune again. It was a gentle and soothing tune and the whistle became a low song. The horse quieted immediately and the man stroked his nose. The Romani fetched a bag from beneath the seat and went back to Shion and knelt next to him. He set the lantern down nearby and went to work.
Phae stared in amazement as the Romani began treating the wounds with expert hands. He lifted Shion up and turned him over, exposing the most hideous of the wounds. Then unstoppering a vial of pungent olive oil, he began dabbing it across his wounds and then mopping up the blood and oil with rags that he produced from his bag. He hummed a Romani tune all the while, even as the tendrils of mist began to descend.
Phae tightened her grip on the Seneschal’s arm. “Will the Fear Liath harm him?”
The Seneschal shook his head slowly. “He is very wise. He knows how to master himself. He knows how to master fear. The creature cannot threaten him.”
Phae’s eyes widened. “What is the secret then?”
“Do you hear his tune? It’s a love ballad. He sings it to remember his wife while he travels. His love for her is very deep. He bought her and buys her again each time she is ready to earn another ring. He pays handsomely for her, often more than a full year’s worth of his trading pay. She works hard while he is gone and helps him earn the price. Remember the secret, child.”
Perfect love casts out fear
She felt his thought burn inside her heart, searing her with its power and the gift of recollection. The Romani stopped, cocking his head, hand poised on the stopper.
“Aye, master,” the Romani said with a chuckle. “Marriages are all truly happy. It’s having breakfast together that causes all the trouble.” He laughed to himself and began working again on Shion’s wounds. “You’re an awful mess, lad. But it looks like I’ve stopped the bleeding a bit. You’ll need some stitches ere we are done, but this isn’t the place now, is it? A windy day is the wrong one for thatching. Best get you to the village yonder. Are you ready Roke, you old beast? You never plow a field by turning it over in your mind. Best to get back there, even if the casks of salmon spoil. Not worth a man’s life, anyway. I know, Roke, you old beast, everyone lays a burden on the willing horse. That’s your duty tonight. Let me lift him up . . . ugh, he’s a heavy one even without all his blood.”
Shion moaned and the man clucked his tongue. “It’s all right, lad. Worst is over. It’ll be dawn before you know it. Up with you, lad. Let’s set you on the driver’s box. I can walk alongside. Up you go!”
Phae watched him hoist Shion up on the wagon seat. He wrapped him in blankets, gave him small sips of wine and bits of cheese. He used ropes to hold him in place and immobilize him and then turned the cart around and headed back the way he had come, ignoring the mist that hung thickly in the trees, mist that had never descended low enough to dim the man’s lantern.
Then she heard the creak of wagon wheels. A lone cart rumbled down the road. A man hummed a tune and a swaying lantern hung from a post fastened to the edge of the seat, lighting the path through the hedge maze. The wagon wheels groaned, the axles needing to be oiled. The cart approached the desperate situation and then the driver stopped his tune, giving a sound like chup, chup! The horse stopped, stamping its hooves impatiently. As the wagon master peered around the horse at the dark shape on the ground, he smoothed back some hair and she saw a glittering gold ring fastened there. She stared at him in shock—a Romani!
The Romani leapt from the box seat and unhooked the lantern, bringing it over to gaze at Shion’s body.
“Well, good night!” the man said with a wry voice. He knelt by the body, first examining the injuries at a distance. He sighed heavily. “He’s more to be pitied than laughed at. Do you see this one, Roke, you old beast? Half-dead. Well, it’s as hard to see a bleeding man as it is to see a barefoot duck, but it’s no use boiling your cabbage twice, is it? I wonder what you did wrong, fellow, to be left like this? The silent are often guilty.”
The Fear Liath roared, sending the horse into a tremor of panic.
The Romani stood and calmed the beast, beginning to whistle a tune again. It was a gentle and soothing tune and the whistle became a low song. The horse quieted immediately and the man stroked his nose. The Romani fetched a bag from beneath the seat and went back to Shion and knelt next to him. He set the lantern down nearby and went to work.
Phae stared in amazement as the Romani began treating the wounds with expert hands. He lifted Shion up and turned him over, exposing the most hideous of the wounds. Then unstoppering a vial of pungent olive oil, he began dabbing it across his wounds and then mopping up the blood and oil with rags that he produced from his bag. He hummed a Romani tune all the while, even as the tendrils of mist began to descend.
Phae tightened her grip on the Seneschal’s arm. “Will the Fear Liath harm him?”
The Seneschal shook his head slowly. “He is very wise. He knows how to master himself. He knows how to master fear. The creature cannot threaten him.”
Phae’s eyes widened. “What is the secret then?”
“Do you hear his tune? It’s a love ballad. He sings it to remember his wife while he travels. His love for her is very deep. He bought her and buys her again each time she is ready to earn another ring. He pays handsomely for her, often more than a full year’s worth of his trading pay. She works hard while he is gone and helps him earn the price. Remember the secret, child.”
Perfect love casts out fear
She felt his thought burn inside her heart, searing her with its power and the gift of recollection. The Romani stopped, cocking his head, hand poised on the stopper.
“Aye, master,” the Romani said with a chuckle. “Marriages are all truly happy. It’s having breakfast together that causes all the trouble.” He laughed to himself and began working again on Shion’s wounds. “You’re an awful mess, lad. But it looks like I’ve stopped the bleeding a bit. You’ll need some stitches ere we are done, but this isn’t the place now, is it? A windy day is the wrong one for thatching. Best get you to the village yonder. Are you ready Roke, you old beast? You never plow a field by turning it over in your mind. Best to get back there, even if the casks of salmon spoil. Not worth a man’s life, anyway. I know, Roke, you old beast, everyone lays a burden on the willing horse. That’s your duty tonight. Let me lift him up . . . ugh, he’s a heavy one even without all his blood.”
Shion moaned and the man clucked his tongue. “It’s all right, lad. Worst is over. It’ll be dawn before you know it. Up with you, lad. Let’s set you on the driver’s box. I can walk alongside. Up you go!”
Phae watched him hoist Shion up on the wagon seat. He wrapped him in blankets, gave him small sips of wine and bits of cheese. He used ropes to hold him in place and immobilize him and then turned the cart around and headed back the way he had come, ignoring the mist that hung thickly in the trees, mist that had never descended low enough to dim the man’s lantern.
