The Spirit Stone - Katharine Kerr [61]
‘Can’t sleep?’ Nevyn said. ‘I would have thought you’d be exhausted after a day like today.’
‘So did I.’ She stopped herself just in time from adding a ‘my lord’. ‘But I’m used to hard work and the like. I used to have plenty of chores to do besides tending Evan, so I’d be up at dawn every day.’
‘Ah, of course. The work on a farm’s never done.’
‘Just so.’
They shared a companionable silence, watching the fire, occasionally feeding it with twigs and small branches, while Morwen gathered her courage to ask Nevyn the question that always haunted her. He seems truly wise, she thought. Mayhap he’ll know.
‘Nevyn?’ she said. ‘Do you know why the gods cursed me? I mean, not so much why they cursed me as me, if you take my meaning, like, but why they curse people with the witchmark.’
‘They don’t,’ Nevyn said. ‘That’s naught but superstition, and a silly one at that.’
‘But everyone says—’
‘Huh! That “everyone” is very often wrong. Now, I don’t pretend to understand exactly what causes a harelip, mind, but the gods have naught to do with it. Some of the learned physicians of Bardek attribute it to certain influences of the moon upon the baby in its mother’s womb. Others think that too little food or too much ale might weaken the mother’s humours and unbalance those of the womb, allowing the watery humours to take precedence over the earthy. Such a precedence might produce a split in solid flesh, just as a river cleaves the land. There are other theories, but those are the two that sound the best to me. The cause might even be a combination of both.’
In utter shock Morwen could only stare at him.
‘Either way,’ Nevyn went on, ‘you’re not in the least to blame, no matter what the old hags and gossips in your village told you.’
Morwen tried to speak, couldn’t, and wondered if she’d ever speak again.
‘It will take you a while to digest what I’ve told you,’ Nevyn said with a smile. ‘But do think about it.’
She nodded her agreement. Nevyn suddenly yawned and clasped a quick hand over his mouth to stifle it.
‘Here, you’re doubtless tired.’ Morwen finally found her voice. ‘And I’d best get some sleep myself.’
‘Indeed. And we’ll have plenty of time to talk about such matters during our journey.’
Morwen returned to the shelter and the sleeping Evan, but for a long time that night she lay awake. You’re not to blame. Nevyn had spoken so calmly, so quietly, that she believed him beyond her simple wishing his words to be true. Her old pain had been like clutching the handle of an iron pan only to find it burning hot—in her shame at the gods’ curse she’d been unable to either let go of it or to carry it. Now she felt as if she’d plunged that charred hand into cold water at last. If only I could tell Lanni! That regret was the only blemish on her new-found wondrous freedom. If only Lanni were here to share it!
In the morning, she woke to find most of the camp up before her. The thought woke with her: it’s no fault of mine. It accompanied her, too, like a cheerful friend, while she fed Evan and got him ready to ride with his father again. Yet during the morning’s journey, when she had plenty of time to herself for thinking, the good cheer faded away. She remembered another phrase of Nevyn’s, ‘old hags and gossips’. Little did he know just how horribly the women in question had treated her as a child, how they had refused to let their own children play with her, how they had taught those children to taunt and tease her.
And then at home her sister and brother teased her as well. Worse yet, they fell into the habit of hitting or pinching her, just casually, every time they passed by. She had taken