The Shadow Isle - Katharine Kerr [61]
“Wynni!” Marnmara came striding into the chamber, her arms full of sacks and supplies. “Don’t prattle! You’ll only upset her more.”
“Oh, my loves!” Angmar said. “Please, not another of your squabbles!”
For her mother’s sake, and hers alone, Berwynna held her tongue, even when Marnmara smirked at her—at least, she took her sister’s smile as a smirk, not a conciliation. Still, her thoughts were her own, and she found herself thinking about the strange book that Dougie had brought to Haen Marn. She’d heard Tirn tell Mara that it seemed to have somewhat to do with dragons. What if there’s a spell in it? She’d heard them mention dweomer, too.
“I’ll brew you up a restorative,” Marnmara said to Angmar.
“My thanks,” Angmar said, “but I doubt me if aught will help. My time must be upon me. There’s not much reason left to me to live, now that we’re home, and I know that I’ll never see your father again. At least you children will have your proper place and your proper destiny now.”
“Don’t talk like that, Mam, please?” Berwynna said. “Enj thought the Westfolk could help. Who are the Westfolk, anyway?”
“Ask Enj,” Angmar said. “I’m so weary in my very soul, and there’s somewhat important I needs must tell Marnmara. Help me sit up, Wynni.”
Berwynna piled pillows between Angmar and the bedstead, then helped her mother lounge comfortably against them. At the hearth Marnmara was lighting a small fire. Once it caught, she placed an iron kettle of water next to the flames to heat.
“Mam?” Marnmara turned around to face the bed. “You’re not about to die. I’d know it if you were, and you’re not, so please don’t talk about dying.”
“I know your heart must ache, though,” Berwynna said. “Mine would in your place.”
Angmar smiled, but she looked only at Marnmara. “Come here, child, and listen.”
With a backward glance at the kettle, Marnmara walked over.
“Now that we’re home,” Angmar began, “I shall tell you an important thing. There was no use in worrying you with it when we were so far away. I’ve told you many a time that you were born to be the Lady of this isle, though I doubt me if you know all of what it means. The Lady before you did bear no daughter to take her place when her time came upon her, only a son, and him I did marry. But our firstborn daughter was poor little Avain, and never could she take on such a task. Then my husband died. Your father found me, or perhaps the gods sent him. Either way, at last the isle had its trueborn Lady once again.”
What about me? Berwynna thought. I suppose I’m just here by chance or such, for all they care!
“It were a grave thing if the isle should have no Lady,” Angmar went on. “So one day you’ll have to marry in your turn, that you may mother a daughter.”
“But I don’t want to!” Marnmara laid a hand over her mouth.
“That matters not,” Angmar said. “You’ll have to marry a man of the Mountain Folk, not merely any man. That’s the rule of the isle, that the Lady must marry a Man of Earth and bear him children. Had I been the true Lady, I never could have taken your father to my bed, but I wasn’t, and the times were desperate.”
Marnmara had gone pale. She lowered the hand from her mouth, looked at her mother for a long moment, then got up with a toss of her head. She hurried back to the hearth and knelt down to add herbs to the water in the iron kettle. We’re home, Berwynna thought, so maybe I can marry Dougie now, since I obviously don’t matter to the stupid island. She was about to ask her mother when Marnmara left the hearth and rejoined them.
“I don’t want to marry,” Marnmara said. “Surely I should be able to adopt a girl child instead.”
“You most certainly can’t.” Angmar sat up a little straighter. “Wynni, run along now. Go ask Enj your questions, because truly, you must have many of them.”
Berwynna considered protesting, but her mother and sister were glaring at each other in a way she recognized all too well. They’ll argue the whole wretched afternoon, she thought. With a sigh she left the chamber and went downstairs. After all, she reminded herself,