Half the World

Father Yarvi nodded. ‘Such is life. It is a rare mistake you make only once.’

‘Can I ask a question?’

‘I have the sense that if I said no, you would ask anyway.’

‘I’m not too deep a well to fathom, I reckon.’

‘Then speak.’

‘What am I doing here?’

‘Why, holy men and deep-cunning women have been asking that question for a thousand years and never come near an answer.’

‘Try talking to Brinyolf the Prayer-Weaver on the subject,’ grunted Rulf, pushing them clear of the wharf with the butt of a spear. ‘He’ll bore your ears off with his talk of whys and wherefores.’

‘Who is it indeed’, muttered Yarvi, frowning off towards the far horizon as though he could see the answers written in the clouds, ‘that can plumb the gods’ grand design? Might as well ask where the elves went!’ And the old man and the young grinned at each other. Plainly this act was not new to them.

‘Very good,’ said Thorn. ‘I mean, why have you brought me onto this ship?’

‘Ah.’ Yarvi turned to Rulf. ‘Why do you think, rather than taking the easy road and crushing her, I have endangered all our lives by bringing the notorious killer Thorn Bathu onto my ship?’

Rulf leaned on his spear a moment, scratching at his beard. ‘I’ve really no idea.’

Yarvi looked at Thorn with his eyes very wide. ‘If I don’t share my thinking with my own left hand, why ever would I share it with the likes of you? I mean to say, you stink.’

Thorn rubbed at her temples. ‘I need to sit down.’

Rulf put a fatherly hand on her shoulder. ‘I understand.’ He shoved her onto the nearest chest so hard she went squawking over the back of it and into the lap of the man behind. ‘This is your oar.’

FAMILY (#u2382b282-c063-5880-9d2c-9f02ec70241e)

‘You are late.’

Rin was right. Father Moon was smiling bright, and his children the stars twinkling on heaven’s cloth, and the narrow hovel was lit only by the embers of the fire when Brand ducked through the low doorway.

‘Sorry, sister.’ He went in a stoop to his bench and sank down with a long groan, worked his aching feet from his boots and spread his toes at the warmth. ‘But Harper had more peat to cut, then Old Fen needed help carrying some logs in. Wasn’t like she was chopping them herself, and her axe was blunt so I had to sharpen it, and on the way back Lem’s cart had broke an axle so a few of us helped out—’

‘Your trouble is you make everyone’s trouble your trouble.’

‘You help folk, maybe when you need it they’ll help you.’

‘Maybe.’ Rin nodded towards the pot sitting over the embers of the fire. ‘There’s dinner. The gods know, leaving some hasn’t been easy.’

He slapped her on the knee as he leaned to get it. ‘But bless you for it, sister.’ Brand was fearsome hungry, but he remembered to mutter a thanks to Father Earth for the food. He remembered how it felt to have none.

‘It’s good,’ he said, forcing it down.

‘It was better right after I cooked it.’

‘It’s still good.’

‘No, it’s not.’

He shrugged as he scraped the pot out, wishing there was more. ‘Things’ll be different now I’ve passed the tests. Folk come back rich from a raid like this one.’

‘Folk come to the forge before every raid telling us how rich they’re going to be. Sometimes they don’t come back.’

Brand grinned at her. ‘You won’t get rid of me that easily.’

‘I’m not aiming to. Fool though y’are, you’re all the family I’ve got.’ She dug something from behind her and held it out. A bundle of animal skin, stained and tattered.

‘For me?’ he said, reaching through the warmth above the dying fire for it.

‘To keep you company on your high adventures. To remind you of home. To remind you of your family. Such as it is.’

‘You’re all the family I need.’ There was a knife inside the bundle, polished steel gleaming. A fighting dagger with a long, straight blade, crosspiece worked like a pair of twined snakes and the pommel a snarling dragon’s head.

Rin sat up, keen to see how her gift would sit with him. ‘I’ll make you a sword one day. For now this was the best I could manage.’

‘You made this?’

‘Gaden gave me some help with the hilt. But the steel’s all mine.’

‘It’s fine work, Rin.’ The closer he looked the better it got, every scale on the snakes picked out, the dragon baring little teeth at him, the steel bright as silver and holding a deadly edge too. He hardly dared touch it. It seemed too good a thing for his dirty hands. ‘Gods, it’s master’s work.’

She sat back, careless, as though she’d known that all along. ‘I think I’ve found a better way to do the smelting. A hotter way. In a clay jar, sort of. Bone and charcoal to bind the iron into steel, sand and glass to coax the dirt out and leave it pure. But it’s all about the heat … You’re not listening.’

Brand gave a sorry shrug. ‘I can swing a hammer all right but I don’t understand the magic of it. You’re ten times the smith I ever was.’

‘Gaden says I’m touched by She Who Strikes the Anvil.’

‘She must be happy as the breeze I quit the forge and she got you as an apprentice.’

‘I’ve a gift.’

‘The gift of modesty.’

‘Modesty is for folk with nothing to boast of.’

He weighed the dagger in his hand, feeling out the fine heft and balance to it. ‘My little sister, mistress of the forge. I never had a better gift.’ Not that he’d had many. ‘Wish I had something to give you in return.’

She lay back on her bench and shook her threadbare blanket over her legs. ‘You’ve given me everything I’ve got.’

He winced. ‘Not much, is it?’

‘I’ve no complaints.’ She reached across the fire with her strong hand, scabbed and calloused from forge-work, and he took it, and they gave each other a squeeze.

He cleared his throat, looking at the hard-packed earth of the floor. ‘Will you be all right while I’m gone on this raid?’