Read Online Higher Mythology by Jody Lynn Nye - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jody Lynn Nye
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from the powder-strewn changing table, and let the girl take charge.
“Well, you know me, don’t you?” Dola asked, her tone softening as she laid the child down. With deft hands, she cleaned up the spilled powder, swabbed Asrai clean with a moist cloth from the bowl on the table’s edge, and dried her. She straightened out a fresh diaper, the loose edges smoothing into a snug fit around Asrai’s waist as if it had always been thus. “It’s easy to see you need me,” Dola said, picking Asrai up against her shoulder and regarding Holl fiercely over the infant’s head as she wrestled Asrai into a loose, lightweight smock of fading red-flowered cloth.
“We rely upon you absolutely,” Holl told her gravely, with a little bow. “I’ve promised to help Tiron and Enoch repair the big loom today, and there’s a handful of other things that need looking into. Maura has promised that if the weaving turns out well, she’ll make you a new winter coat with the first lengths on her sewing machine. Tiron and the Master agree you deserve it.”
Dola seemed placated by Holl’s adult regard of her. Her small chin relaxed, and she smiled up at him. “It’s no worry to me. I’ll take care of her as long as I’m needed. Only, Mama wanted me to help with the vegetables for dinner.”
“One of us will be back here long before that,” Holl promised. He checked his toolbox to be sure his good working tools were inside, and picked it up. “She’s just been fed, so she won’t need feeding for a while. You grant us a few hours of needed respite every day, and we’re not forgetting that. We’re grateful to you, Dola. If you get tired, find us in the house or the barn,” he said from the door. “There’s sweet cake in the cupboard.”
Acknowledging his last statement with a bare nod, Dola was already seated comfortably with the baby beside the unlit fireplace, making pictures in the light for Asrai’s amusement. Holl smiled at his daughter’s happy coo and glided away between the cornstalks.
It was not as satisfactory as it might have been to have such important employment, Dola found herself thinking as the baby dozed on her knee. It was a fine day, what she could see of it. The sun was warm and golden. Anyone could tell the corn crop was a fine, thick one. Her mother, who had a way with green and growing things, was well pleased. Dola herself was glad that their first real summer’s planting would feed them easily during the winter to come, but it did block out the scenery so completely. How hard it was to think of the winter, months and months away, new woven coat or no! It was boring to stare out at the crops, and she had not brought a book along. The only reading matter she could find in the cottage were on the bedside shelves, and those did not interest her. Holl favored technical manuals of Big Folk science, and Maura’s stack had novels, but in foreign languages. There was not even tidying up to be done to keep her mind occupied. A pity Asrai’s screaming made her unwelcome in the general household. She might have been kin, but their clan-leader Curran had a minimal tolerance for noise. It came of spending too many years in enforced silence.
“You’d think we were a lot of Trapped Monks! Well, he didn’t say we might not go elsewhere, did he?” she said out loud. “Just to be back before time to make supper.”
On a hook next to the baby’s cot was a sling woven like a fisherman’s net. Made for full grown Folk like Maura or Holl, it was too big for Dola when she first tried it on. She tied the top fold in a square knot. It stood upon her thin shoulder like a fist, but the carrier now lay correctly with its bulge upon her hip. Dola fitted the sleeping baby into the sling and arranged her so that her head was supported by the upward curve of cloth against Dola’s side. It felt sufficiently secure. Dola tucked her vision cloth into her tunic pocket, and they went outside into the sun.
The rhythmic
“Well, you know me, don’t you?” Dola asked, her tone softening as she laid the child down. With deft hands, she cleaned up the spilled powder, swabbed Asrai clean with a moist cloth from the bowl on the table’s edge, and dried her. She straightened out a fresh diaper, the loose edges smoothing into a snug fit around Asrai’s waist as if it had always been thus. “It’s easy to see you need me,” Dola said, picking Asrai up against her shoulder and regarding Holl fiercely over the infant’s head as she wrestled Asrai into a loose, lightweight smock of fading red-flowered cloth.
“We rely upon you absolutely,” Holl told her gravely, with a little bow. “I’ve promised to help Tiron and Enoch repair the big loom today, and there’s a handful of other things that need looking into. Maura has promised that if the weaving turns out well, she’ll make you a new winter coat with the first lengths on her sewing machine. Tiron and the Master agree you deserve it.”
Dola seemed placated by Holl’s adult regard of her. Her small chin relaxed, and she smiled up at him. “It’s no worry to me. I’ll take care of her as long as I’m needed. Only, Mama wanted me to help with the vegetables for dinner.”
“One of us will be back here long before that,” Holl promised. He checked his toolbox to be sure his good working tools were inside, and picked it up. “She’s just been fed, so she won’t need feeding for a while. You grant us a few hours of needed respite every day, and we’re not forgetting that. We’re grateful to you, Dola. If you get tired, find us in the house or the barn,” he said from the door. “There’s sweet cake in the cupboard.”
Acknowledging his last statement with a bare nod, Dola was already seated comfortably with the baby beside the unlit fireplace, making pictures in the light for Asrai’s amusement. Holl smiled at his daughter’s happy coo and glided away between the cornstalks.
It was not as satisfactory as it might have been to have such important employment, Dola found herself thinking as the baby dozed on her knee. It was a fine day, what she could see of it. The sun was warm and golden. Anyone could tell the corn crop was a fine, thick one. Her mother, who had a way with green and growing things, was well pleased. Dola herself was glad that their first real summer’s planting would feed them easily during the winter to come, but it did block out the scenery so completely. How hard it was to think of the winter, months and months away, new woven coat or no! It was boring to stare out at the crops, and she had not brought a book along. The only reading matter she could find in the cottage were on the bedside shelves, and those did not interest her. Holl favored technical manuals of Big Folk science, and Maura’s stack had novels, but in foreign languages. There was not even tidying up to be done to keep her mind occupied. A pity Asrai’s screaming made her unwelcome in the general household. She might have been kin, but their clan-leader Curran had a minimal tolerance for noise. It came of spending too many years in enforced silence.
“You’d think we were a lot of Trapped Monks! Well, he didn’t say we might not go elsewhere, did he?” she said out loud. “Just to be back before time to make supper.”
On a hook next to the baby’s cot was a sling woven like a fisherman’s net. Made for full grown Folk like Maura or Holl, it was too big for Dola when she first tried it on. She tied the top fold in a square knot. It stood upon her thin shoulder like a fist, but the carrier now lay correctly with its bulge upon her hip. Dola fitted the sleeping baby into the sling and arranged her so that her head was supported by the upward curve of cloth against Dola’s side. It felt sufficiently secure. Dola tucked her vision cloth into her tunic pocket, and they went outside into the sun.
The rhythmic
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