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Authors: Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff
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white-hot fury. “Damn you, sister! I did not cause that flood! Nor
did our mother cause that flood. Our households were destroyed because we lived
on the northern shore, and we lived on the northern shore because the people of
this village—people
like you ,
Janka Telek—would
not let us live among them. If it’s
anyone’s fault
that our father and my husband are in the bosom of Itugen, it is yours. Yours
and your husband’s
and all the other cruel and bigoted people of Dalibor.”
She had left then, not giving her sister a chance to reply.
But she had seen the expression on Janka’s face and knew that recalling it would bring her
more satisfaction than guilt.
It was nearly dark when she found herself at the door of
Devora’s bakery,
not sure why she was there. When Devora appeared to answer her knock, hands
coated with flour, she was struck mute, unwilling to ask for favors, but the
older woman ushered her into the shop and prompted her.
“Why,
Kassia! I was surprised not to see you today. How’s it gone for you at market?”
“Not
as well as I expected.” Kassia took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “It went better at Lorant.” She dove into the story
then, since Devora wanted all of it, and in the end, she didn’t have to beg favors.
They were freely offered.
“I
don’t know what
that Blaz Kovar uses for brains,” Devora said, shaking graying curls, “I sometimes suppose it to be the same as he sits
on.”
Kassia laughed, partially with relief, partially because she’d secretly had the
same thought about her brother-in-law. “He
believes he’s protecting
his family from my curse.”
“Oh?
A curse that hasn’t
taken effect in three years? Well, and what does your sister Janka think?”
Kassia bit back a snide retort and said mildly, “Much the same thing.
That I might doom her family with my very presence.”
“Well,
I’ve no such
superstitions. Look, now. It’ll
be dark as pitch in less than an hour. Why don’t you and I go and get Beyla and your things and
get you settled into my parlor?”
“Mistress
Devora, are you sure you want to do this? It’s such an imposition—to take up your whole parlor—”
The baker got to her feet with an alacrity that always
surprised Kassia, given her age and stature. “Nonsense. That parlor is a luxury pure and simple.
I lived without it for many years before my youngest son married away to Tabor.
It’s more bedroom
than parlor anyway what with that trundle bed and all. It’ll be happy to have a
little boy sleeping in it again.”
They lit a lamp for the walk up to the Kovar cottage; old
Dalibor had no street lamps like her younger twin. Kassia thought that both she
and Beyla would very much appreciate sleeping in a happy room.
oOo
The remainder of the week passed slowly for Kassia. She
visited the marketplace, managing to earn a few more rega for Ursel Trava, she
helped Devora and her daughter about the bakery to earn her keep, she read the
kites over Lorant, and often she gazed up the cobbled way toward New Dalibor,
agonizing over the red-haired girl and her infant son.
Every thought of them bruised her heart, making her feel
weary and impotent. Yet, there was nothing she could do. Any attempt to let her
thoughts drift toward them ended in a panicked retreat. Perhaps she could ask
Master Lukasha how to be certain that a warning had been heard or a blessing
bestowed—oh, and
she had thrown blessing upon blessing toward New Dalibor, praying with every
fiber of her soul that Itugen and Mat would hear her and shield the unknown
child.
“Beneath
cupped hands,” she begged Mat during her nightly meditation.
As the new week opened onto Celek morn, Kassia journeyed
with Beyla and Devora across the Pavla Yeva, through the ruined forest and up
Little Holy Hill to the cesia for Matyash. She had much to celebrate, she knew,
and though she was already beginning to tremble in anxious anticipation of the
morrow, though she missed one sister and
did our mother cause that flood. Our households were destroyed because we lived
on the northern shore, and we lived on the northern shore because the people of
this village—people
like you ,
Janka Telek—would
not let us live among them. If it’s
anyone’s fault
that our father and my husband are in the bosom of Itugen, it is yours. Yours
and your husband’s
and all the other cruel and bigoted people of Dalibor.”
She had left then, not giving her sister a chance to reply.
But she had seen the expression on Janka’s face and knew that recalling it would bring her
more satisfaction than guilt.
It was nearly dark when she found herself at the door of
Devora’s bakery,
not sure why she was there. When Devora appeared to answer her knock, hands
coated with flour, she was struck mute, unwilling to ask for favors, but the
older woman ushered her into the shop and prompted her.
“Why,
Kassia! I was surprised not to see you today. How’s it gone for you at market?”
“Not
as well as I expected.” Kassia took a deep breath and plunged ahead. “It went better at Lorant.” She dove into the story
then, since Devora wanted all of it, and in the end, she didn’t have to beg favors.
They were freely offered.
“I
don’t know what
that Blaz Kovar uses for brains,” Devora said, shaking graying curls, “I sometimes suppose it to be the same as he sits
on.”
Kassia laughed, partially with relief, partially because she’d secretly had the
same thought about her brother-in-law. “He
believes he’s protecting
his family from my curse.”
“Oh?
A curse that hasn’t
taken effect in three years? Well, and what does your sister Janka think?”
Kassia bit back a snide retort and said mildly, “Much the same thing.
That I might doom her family with my very presence.”
“Well,
I’ve no such
superstitions. Look, now. It’ll
be dark as pitch in less than an hour. Why don’t you and I go and get Beyla and your things and
get you settled into my parlor?”
“Mistress
Devora, are you sure you want to do this? It’s such an imposition—to take up your whole parlor—”
The baker got to her feet with an alacrity that always
surprised Kassia, given her age and stature. “Nonsense. That parlor is a luxury pure and simple.
I lived without it for many years before my youngest son married away to Tabor.
It’s more bedroom
than parlor anyway what with that trundle bed and all. It’ll be happy to have a
little boy sleeping in it again.”
They lit a lamp for the walk up to the Kovar cottage; old
Dalibor had no street lamps like her younger twin. Kassia thought that both she
and Beyla would very much appreciate sleeping in a happy room.
oOo
The remainder of the week passed slowly for Kassia. She
visited the marketplace, managing to earn a few more rega for Ursel Trava, she
helped Devora and her daughter about the bakery to earn her keep, she read the
kites over Lorant, and often she gazed up the cobbled way toward New Dalibor,
agonizing over the red-haired girl and her infant son.
Every thought of them bruised her heart, making her feel
weary and impotent. Yet, there was nothing she could do. Any attempt to let her
thoughts drift toward them ended in a panicked retreat. Perhaps she could ask
Master Lukasha how to be certain that a warning had been heard or a blessing
bestowed—oh, and
she had thrown blessing upon blessing toward New Dalibor, praying with every
fiber of her soul that Itugen and Mat would hear her and shield the unknown
child.
“Beneath
cupped hands,” she begged Mat during her nightly meditation.
As the new week opened onto Celek morn, Kassia journeyed
with Beyla and Devora across the Pavla Yeva, through the ruined forest and up
Little Holy Hill to the cesia for Matyash. She had much to celebrate, she knew,
and though she was already beginning to tremble in anxious anticipation of the
morrow, though she missed one sister and
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