could try the farm down the road there. They have plenty of people coming and going.” The woman points. “Could be they’ve heard of her.”
“Thank you.”
Konrad goes directly to the farm and makes his inquiries. To no avail. He mounts once more and rides beyond into a valley and across more slopes, stopping at each dwelling. The people want to be helpful. But they know nothing. He speaks to a gaggle of women washing laundry at the lake edge. Each has suggestions. He goes to bed that night with a plan: The next day he will send three servants to gaily painted farmhouses with adjoining barns. They will cover the land.
Konrad sleeps well, finally.
The next morning is his birthday, and he wakes with unusual energy. He will resume the search himself. Why not? But first he must check with that dolt of a smith.
When he rides up on Meta, the smith comes running. “I remembered two more things, sire.”
Konrad’s hands tighten on the reins. “Speak.”
The smith holds out his hand.
Konrad drops in a coin.
“Two things, sire.”
Konrad drops in a second coin.
“First, she won’t be back to market till winter, and she’ll give me a visit when she comes then.”
This is important news. This might mean the girl came from quite far away, after all. “And the second thing?”
“Today’s her birthday.”
“What? Today? Are you sure?”
“July sixth it is, isn’t it, sire? Her mother was out getting presents for her birthday and putting them in a cloth sack. That she was. July sixth, the girl told me. Today.”
Konrad’s mouth has gone dry. Zel and he share the same birthday. Surely she isn’t turning fifteen. She has to be at least two or three years younger than he is. So they weren’t born on exactly the same day. The year differed. Still, the date is important. They are connected, oh, yes, Zel and Konrad are connected by the movement of the moon, by the changes of the sky and of the world’s waters, by time itself. Zel and Konrad were born under the same star.
Goosebumps spread up Konrad’s arms, across his chest.
He searches all that day and the next and the next. He rides week after week. He goes alone, because now the thought of being helped irritates him.
Daily he stops in at the smithy to see if anything has jogged the man’s memory. But the smith is thick as a tree.
And the people whose homes he visits are hardly better. The further he goes from town and the more isolated the home he visits, the more the people answer brusquely. Some suspect he might want the girl for low purposes. They hesitate. He throws himself on their mercy, doing nothing to hide his own confusion at his growing need. Soon the tongues of even the most suspicious farm wives loosen. But the answers are the same. No one anywhere has heard of a girl with deep, dark eyes; yellow braids; a simple smock; a special way with horses; a cheerless mother (as the smith once described her to Konrad); and the name of Zel.
Yet she’ll be back to the market in winter.
Konrad won’t wait for winter. He can’t. And, anyway, how could a girl and her mother make their way into town when the roads become ice slicks? The smith must have misunderstood. She’ll be back soon.
Now even Konrad’s dreams turn to Zel. He sees himself riding through an orchard and finding Zel perched in a tree. She tosses an apple core on his head and laughs. One leg dangles, uncovered by her smock—though she does not realize this—smooth and hairless as the tree bark. In another dream he’s been riding all day. Meta stops to drink at a mountain pool. Konrad strips andjumps into the bracing water. And along comes Zel, cooing, luring the mare away with an early fall apple. She is unaware that Konrad’s clothes are tucked in a bag hanging from the saddle. Naturally he has to fetch the mare back.
Dreams. In Konrad’s dreams Zel has all the strength of the girl who dared to undo the lip rope at the smithy and hold Meta’s head by herself. More even.
“Thank you.”
Konrad goes directly to the farm and makes his inquiries. To no avail. He mounts once more and rides beyond into a valley and across more slopes, stopping at each dwelling. The people want to be helpful. But they know nothing. He speaks to a gaggle of women washing laundry at the lake edge. Each has suggestions. He goes to bed that night with a plan: The next day he will send three servants to gaily painted farmhouses with adjoining barns. They will cover the land.
Konrad sleeps well, finally.
The next morning is his birthday, and he wakes with unusual energy. He will resume the search himself. Why not? But first he must check with that dolt of a smith.
When he rides up on Meta, the smith comes running. “I remembered two more things, sire.”
Konrad’s hands tighten on the reins. “Speak.”
The smith holds out his hand.
Konrad drops in a coin.
“Two things, sire.”
Konrad drops in a second coin.
“First, she won’t be back to market till winter, and she’ll give me a visit when she comes then.”
This is important news. This might mean the girl came from quite far away, after all. “And the second thing?”
“Today’s her birthday.”
“What? Today? Are you sure?”
“July sixth it is, isn’t it, sire? Her mother was out getting presents for her birthday and putting them in a cloth sack. That she was. July sixth, the girl told me. Today.”
Konrad’s mouth has gone dry. Zel and he share the same birthday. Surely she isn’t turning fifteen. She has to be at least two or three years younger than he is. So they weren’t born on exactly the same day. The year differed. Still, the date is important. They are connected, oh, yes, Zel and Konrad are connected by the movement of the moon, by the changes of the sky and of the world’s waters, by time itself. Zel and Konrad were born under the same star.
Goosebumps spread up Konrad’s arms, across his chest.
He searches all that day and the next and the next. He rides week after week. He goes alone, because now the thought of being helped irritates him.
Daily he stops in at the smithy to see if anything has jogged the man’s memory. But the smith is thick as a tree.
And the people whose homes he visits are hardly better. The further he goes from town and the more isolated the home he visits, the more the people answer brusquely. Some suspect he might want the girl for low purposes. They hesitate. He throws himself on their mercy, doing nothing to hide his own confusion at his growing need. Soon the tongues of even the most suspicious farm wives loosen. But the answers are the same. No one anywhere has heard of a girl with deep, dark eyes; yellow braids; a simple smock; a special way with horses; a cheerless mother (as the smith once described her to Konrad); and the name of Zel.
Yet she’ll be back to the market in winter.
Konrad won’t wait for winter. He can’t. And, anyway, how could a girl and her mother make their way into town when the roads become ice slicks? The smith must have misunderstood. She’ll be back soon.
Now even Konrad’s dreams turn to Zel. He sees himself riding through an orchard and finding Zel perched in a tree. She tosses an apple core on his head and laughs. One leg dangles, uncovered by her smock—though she does not realize this—smooth and hairless as the tree bark. In another dream he’s been riding all day. Meta stops to drink at a mountain pool. Konrad strips andjumps into the bracing water. And along comes Zel, cooing, luring the mare away with an early fall apple. She is unaware that Konrad’s clothes are tucked in a bag hanging from the saddle. Naturally he has to fetch the mare back.
Dreams. In Konrad’s dreams Zel has all the strength of the girl who dared to undo the lip rope at the smithy and hold Meta’s head by herself. More even.
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