The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [101]
When the time came for everyone to leave, a pair of Mountain Folk appeared with the carrying chair to take Otho to his chamber. Mic and Kov went with them. Servant lads hurried in to clear away the remains of the food. When they left, Berwynna shut the door behind them with a grateful sigh.
“Tired?” Dougie said. “I am, and confused as well.”
“So am I.” Berwynna managed a smile. “The city’s overwhelming, and the way the people live—I still don’t understand it all.”
“Particularly your clan.” Dougie frowned at the wall. “Now, Mic is your mother’s brother. Right?”
“A half brother. His father is my mother’s father, and my grandfather. ”
“But his mother, she’s not your grandmother?”
“She’s not. My mother’s mother is dead.”
“So your grandfather had two wives? One after the other, I assume.”
“Well, I wouldn’t call them wives, not like back in Alban. And I think it was more or less at the same time.”
Dougie sat down on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Heathen, then, these people,” he said. “The poor women!”
“Heathen, truly, but don’t waste your sympathy on the women. They choose the men they want, Enj told me.” Berwynna grinned at him. “Like I chose you.”
“Then there’s somewhat to be said for being heathen.” Dougie returned the smile. “Not that we could be telling Father Colm that, if ever we return to Alban.”
Berwynna took off her outer dress and placed it folded onto the chest by the window. She perched on the sill with her back to the long drop down and began to comb her hair. The crowded events of the day were finally settling in her mind, at least enough for her to begin to think them through.
“You know, I’m worried about Otho,” Berwynna said. “He’s not well.”
“He hasn’t been well in three years, lass,” Dougie said. “But truly, I didn’t like the look of him tonight either.”
“Mic’s mother is somewhat of a healer, and Mic told me she’d look in on Otho tonight. I hope she’s as good with her herbs as Mara is.”
“Or good enough, anyway. Your sister’s a fair marvel, and I doubt me if anyone can match her.”
“True spoken.” For the first time it occurred to Berwynna to wonder if she missed her sister. Mayhap, she thought, but I don’t miss waiting upon her hand and foot!
The morning justified their foreboding. With the rising sun someone knocked hard on the door. Dougie got out of bed, wrapped his plaid around him for modesty, and opened the door. Berwynna sat up just as a grave-faced Mic walked into the chamber.
“I’ve got ill news indeed,” Mic said. “I’m afraid Otho’s gone to the ancestors.”
Berwynna’s eyes filled with tears, and she found that she couldn’t speak.
“That’s a shame,” Dougie said. “How did it happen?”
“In his sleep.” Mic flung himself into a chair. “I suppose that it’s the best way to go, if you’re going. We found him in his bed this morning. His heart must have given out, or so my mother thinks.”
Berwynna wiped her tears away on the edge of a blanket. “He always told me,” she said, “that he wanted to die back here in Dwarveholt. At least he got his wish.”
“So he did, and he’ll be laid to rest here, too. My mother will preside. ” Mic turned to Dougie. “Wynni can go to the funeral, but it’s going to be down in the deep city, so I’m afraid they won’t let you come with her. I’m truly sorry, Dougie.”
“Don’t trouble your heart over it.” Dougie paused for a yawn. “Funerals are a grim duty, and I shan’t mind missing one.”
“Well and good, then,” Mic said. “Wynni, I’ll stand outside while you get dressed. We bury our dead quickly, and so they’re waiting for us.”
Once she’d dressed, Berwynna joined Mic out in the circular entrance hall. He led her across to the mouth of one of the tunnels, where Vron was standing, carrying a big basket of what looked at first glance like cabbage.
“For the light.” Vron hefted the basket. “It’s a kind of fungus.”
“I see,” Berwynna said. “I’m so sorry you’ve lost your brother. I shall miss him.”
“You may be the only soul in Lin Serr who does,” Vron said, but his wry smile took any sting out of the words.
As soon as they left the dim sunlight in the entrance