A tale told by the fire on one of those long winter nights in Belegost.
This all happened before I had met any of you. And it seems as though it will follow me the rest of my life.
I was in Norcastle when I met Black Sue. Have you ever been to Norcastle? It's right where the Tarrent and Powder Rivers meet. I had to cross over on a ferry to get there. I'd been on the road from Chystyr for almost a week, and it was good to get back to a town. It's not so bad traveling by yourself around there; the roads are fairly safe, and there were small settlements along the way. I always paid my way in work, if I could. I've been in more kitchens than I like to think about. When I couldn't work, I still had a few pennies that I'd made working for an alchemist in Chyster. I hadn't met Ryde and his pots of gold yet.
When I got to Norcastle, I went to the monastery, to see if I could get a place to sleep for the night. Sometimes the monks will give me a bed, though not always. They say I'm a temptation to the younger brothers. Me, a respectable widow! And in this bog dress it's hard to tell I'm a woman, much less whether I'm pretty or not.
I met Angorad, a church knight, and Milton, one of the novices. He might have been 8 or 10. Hungry, as always. I gave him half of the food they offered me, and it went down in two bites.
Then I met Deacon Fortinbras, and right away I was glad that they
couldn't put me up for the night. I didn't like him one bit. He kept
asking me questions about where I'd been, and who I'd talked to, and what
the news was in Chystyr. I told him about the wounded I'd seen at the
infirmary, but not a whole lot else. He asked me to come back the next
day so we could talk more. He even asked me questions about the monastery
in Standridge, my home town. He was, well, too eager. I was afraid to
tell him much of anything.
I went into the city down by the river to get a room for the night.
Fortinbras had told me that the Fishmonger's Wife was a good inexpensive
place to stay. It was right on the water, and you could smell the fish
market. Mum ran the place. I worked for her in the kitchen, and gave her
some willowbark for her arthritis. Her hands were swollen with it. Her
husband was dead, but she had a big strong son, Thomas, who was maybe 16.
That was the shyest boy I ever met. You would have thought he had never
seen a woman before. He would bring wood into the kitchen, throw it into
the woodbox, and run out without saying a word, or else he would call me
"Ma'am". I tried to talk to him, but he got tongue-tied and red in the
face, and wouldn't look at me. He was much better at talking to Queenie,
their old cat. Thomas is good to his mother, though. Her other children
all work on the river, so he stays to look after her. Mum is afraid that
he'll take it into his head to go off to the war.
I slept in a little dark closet with no windows, and just enough room for a hammock. Though I was supposed to work in the kitchen early the next day, Mum didn't wake me. The willowbark tea had done its work, and her hands were better. River people don't talk much about it, but they do appreciate what you do for them.
That day I went up to the marketplace to buy a traveling cloak, and to see if I could get work with one of the local herbalists. There was an alchemist in town, but he worked for the rich folk. One of the people at the market said I should try Black Sue's place instead.
When I got there, Sue was packing to leave town. She was going east to Landsrue to visit her friend Ishabel Isinglas. You remember Ishabel? She was one of the lamplighters who was killed, and she would have made head of the guild if she hadn't been in the wrong place at the wrong time. I met Ryde and Alain when I went asking about her at the Night Watch headquarters. Ishabel and Sue had been friends for over twenty years, and Sue visited her in Landsrue now and then. Sue had a touch of the sight, and she knew trouble was coming to Norcastle. Actually, you didn't need much sight to see that. The armies were moving east, and it seemed likely they would reach Norcastle before winter came. I wonder if they did?
I talked to Sue for maybe ten minutes before she decided I would do. I'm young and strong, and I know enough about herbs that I would be a help to her rather than a hindrance. Sue also liked the idea of having someone along who could read and write. She can make her mark, and she can read a few words, but not a lot else. And she hated to be taken advantage of. There aren't a lot of people shrewder than Sue. She could be all smiles one minute, and a thundercloud the next. You didn't want to cross her. But I guess I don't have to tell you that.
As we were leaving through the east gate, I stopped a small boy and gave him a copper to take the rest of my willowbark to Mum. An outrageous sum, I know, but I was in a hurry and I wanted to make sure it got there. I needn't have worried. Black Sue knew the boy, and he certainly knew her. The look she gave him when she told him to "go quick and don't dawdle" would have guaranteed safe delivery of a pound of gold, or even hoarhound candy, much less a few ounces of willowbark. After the boy had run off, Sue scolded me for being so free with my money. It was the first time, but it wouldn't be the last.
Black Sue and I took turns pulling her wagon, which was loaded with empty sacks. The road between Norcastle and Landsrue goes through mountain country, and there were plenty of herbs to be gathered during those summer days. Sue reckoned the trip would take about five weeks. Chrysalbries, her little white dog, rode on top of the sacks, looking like he owned the world. We camped out in the open, sometimes alone, and sometimes with other travellers along the way. Every three or four days, and on a few moonlit nights, we went up into the mountains looking for herbs. There's a lot to be found, if you know where and how to look.
One day I was in a marshy sort of place, near a small running stream. Sue and I didn't usually go gathering together, since that makes it easier to trample the more delicate plants. You get in each other's way. Chrysalbries was probably asleep under the wagon, or off pretending to chase a rabbit. It was a quiet, still day, with lots of sun and a light breeze, and the slight chill that never goes away when you're up that high.
The ground was wet, and I was picking my way very carefully so as not to fall into a boggy hole. I had done that only a few days before, and it took hours for my clothes to dry. I heard a noise, like a small animal in pain. After a short while, I heard it again. And again. I made my way quietly through the marsh. There was a small body on a small hillock, where the ground was fairly dry. She, for she was both female and pregnant, was lying on the ground with her eyes closed, sheltered by a bush. She was so tiny. I never saw anything so small yet so alive. Her head looked like it was too big for her body, and her arms and legs were like slender twigs. She was half-lying on a cloak of moleskin, and her skin looked brown and leathery. She could have stood in the palm of my hand. You would call her a brownie, though that's not what she would call herself.
I'm told that brownies are a quiet people. You don't see them unless they want you to. I didn't know that then. But I did know that something was wrong. Her face had that inward, focused look; she no longer saw or heard or cared about anything except the pain that wracked her body, and forced its way out in low groans. It was a scene I had witnessed many times with my mother when she was called to the bedside of a woman in labor. I had watched and helped and held the newborns, rejoicing when they lived, and grieving over their small sad bodies when they died. This tiny woman was not much bigger than one of those babies. And her child? If it lived, it would be the size of my finger. If it lived.
I crept up to her and laid a hand on her head. Her eyes flew open, and I said something to her, I don't remember what, to try and comfort her. I could see the fear in her eyes as she tensed to flee. The pain came again, and she collapsed. She didn't trust me, but she didn't have a choice.
I examined her as best I could. I felt so huge and clumsy, and I was afraid of hurting her. The baby was turned around somehow, and couldn't come out. I had some pennyroyal with me, which is good for easing contractions. I mixed some with a bit of water, and then had to sit back and think about how much to give her. A normal dose would kill her. In the end I gave her about an eighth of what I would give a human, and waited. After a few minutes, the contractions eased a bit, and she lay a little more quietly. I poked and prodded as delicately as I could until I felt something give. All at once there was a rush of blood and baby. A very small, very brown boy lay on the ground.
I picked him up, cut the cord, and handed him to his mother. She looked tired but no longer in pain. She sat up and put him to her breast, and he immediately started sucking. He didn't make a sound, and neither did she. I never saw such a quiet baby. His eyes were a startling black, there was no white at all. He stared solemnly at the world, much more alertly than a human newborn. I wouldn't have been surprised to find that he was walking within the month. They live faster than we do.
I waited a short while to make sure they were both doing well. The mother never took her eyes off me, though she never spoke. She was still bleeding, so I went off to find some herbs to staunch the flow. When I returned a few minutes later, they were both gone. There was a bloodstain on the ground, and the imprint of her cloak was still in the grass, but that was all. I left the herbs there in case she returned, and went to find Sue.
Chrysalbries was under the wagon when I returned, but Sue was still gone. I paced around our campsite, making dinner, doing odd jobs, and trying to do anything to take my mind off of what had happened. But I kept seeing the baby's eyes, black and staring. We were camped a short way from the road that day, so that our wagon would be safe from passing travellers. As soon as Sue arrived, I blurted out the whole story to her. It was one of the few times I've ever seen her speechless. We sat and talked about it all evening.
And that was the end of it. Or so I thought. I had been lucky enough to see one of the little people, and I would remember it to the end of my days. Sue and I broke camp and continued on our way the next morning.
Two nights and many miles later, I woke to the sound of music. It was faint, but beautiful, and it called to me. I got up and followed it through the woods, and around a boulder. There had been a new moon just four nights ago, but I walked into a meadow bright with moonlight, the music swirling around me. At first I couldn't make out who was playing, but after a minute or two I saw a small man seated on a rock, with a fiddle under his chin. He nodded to me as he continued to play. The song was sweet and high, and ended soon after I arrived, as if he had been waiting for me. I curtsied, and the fiddler began another song, friendly and welcoming. When that song was done, he started a third, and this time I could hear the sounds of a pipe. I looked around the glade, and picked out the piper, sitting on another rock, watching me as he played. The tune was a happy one.
They played one last song, joined by a third brownie, playing two sticks. The melody was again happy and joyous, and the piper played a quick high counterpart to the fiddle. It was as if the two instruments talked to each other. I wanted to shout, for I knew then that the baby and the mother had lived.
As the song died away, more brownies appeared out of the trees, both men and women, dressed in forest colors of brown and green. They wore leaves and skins of small animals, and hats made of nutshells, decorated with beautiful bright feathers. There were about a dozen in all, but it was hard to count them. You couldn't see them unless they moved, and even then you could have mistaken them for a breeze through the grass. They faced me across the meadow where I stood, dazed and enchanted at the sight..
A brownie walked towards me. His clothes were in sharp contrast to the others, as he was dressed like a courtier, with a sword at his side. His clothes were made of silk and leather. He had boots that came up over his knee, and they had spurs on the heels. He stopped a few feet from me, took off his hat, and made a deep bow. I curtsied as best I could, which startled him somewhat, but he recovered quickly.
"I am Amrodel of the Reminii", he said. "Perhaps you have heard of me?"
I admitted that I had not, as I had not travelled in these mountains before. He frowned at that. He reminded me of nothing so much as a blue jay. His clothing was bright and showy, and he moved with quick little jerks. You could almost say that he strutted.
Amrodel asked me to sit, as he didn't like to have to look up at me all the time. He stood on a small hillock, and we were just about eye-to-eye. Then he thanked me for coming to the aid of Hepsabonabell and her new son, Jeheshradel. Hepsabonabell had been out on some business of her own when her time came. None of the Reminii had been nearby to help. If I hadn't come along, she and her son might have died. The Reminii cherish their children, as their numbers are not great.
Amrodel is what you might call a chevalier. He told me he was the Guardian of the Lake. I didn't know what that meant, and I still don't. But I think that somewhere up in those mountains there is a lake that has not been seen by many of us big folk. The Little People keep it as secret as they can, though I don't know why. But it must be important to them. I would like to see it someday.
There are many different tribes of brownies, did you know that? The Reminii live in those mountains, and others live on the plains near rivers or in the uplands. Some live near human settlements, and people leave out milk and bread for them. We saw one of the wilder tribes on the way here. Remember the little blue man near the pass? The Little Folk are a very fierce and proud people, and Amrodel was prouder than most. Honor meant everything to him. If I had laughed at his size or questioned his courage, I believe he would have killed me on the spot.
For my assistance to Hepsabonabell, Amrodel awarded me a boon. I was so astonished by everything that I didn't know what to ask for. Maybe someday I'll go back and ask to see that lake. He also gave me a torc, or what would be a torc to a brownie. I certainly could never wear it around my neck. It makes a beautiful finger ring, but I don't want to lose it, or have somebody take it into their head to steal it. I've got it tied into a thong that I keep around my neck. Wait, I'll show you. Here it is.
Mariam brings out what looks like a ring-sized bracelet, made of very fine silver wires and green beads. There are fox-heads on both ends.
Amrodel and I talked a little while longer, and then it was time for me to go. The other brownies had already left, and I lost sight of Amrodel almost as soon as he turned away. I was alone in the meadow with the fiddler, who struck up another song, a song of parting. I curtsied to him again and went back down the trail. The oddest thing of all happened when I got back to camp. Chrysalbries sat up and looked at me, and I spoke softly to him so as not to wake Sue. He wagged his little stub of a tail. Then I looked over to where I had laid down to sleep, and I was still there! I wasn't quite sure what to do. I went over to myself. I touched my shoulder, or maybe I should say I touched my other shoulder. It sounds strange, but there it is. As I did, I felt myself falling, and next thing I knew I was lying on the ground. The moon was gone again, I was very tired, and there was only one of me. I went to sleep right away.
I wonder what Chrysalbries saw?
I got up early the next day and tried to find the path I had taken the night before. When I got to the boulder, the path became completely overgrown. I had to fight my way through bushes and undergrowth that had not been there during the dream. But I still had the torc, so it couldn't have been a dream, could it? The meadow was there, but it looked somehow different in the light. I can't explain it.
I went back to our camp and woke Sue, and saw her speechless for a second time. I showed her the torc, and she warned me that I should keep it hidden. We didn't talk a lot about it after that. And for the rest of the trip, we always found the herbs we were looking for, often in plain sight. No more spending half the day looking for that one particular species of herniaria that only grew under the meanest, nastiest bramble bushes in creation. You would come around the corner to find it standing alone in a beautifully weeded plot without a thorn in sight. Sue and I took to mentioning what we were looking for in camp each night, just to make it easier on them. It broke our hearts to see a huge patch of cleared ground surrounding a clump of mint, when we already had enough mint for the next three seasons. We always picked it though. We didn't want to seem ungrateful.
After we got to Landsrue, I didn't think so much about the Reminii. There was more than enough trouble to occupy all of us. But once we got back into the mountains on our way here, I started wearing that torc outside my dress. I figured we could use any help we could get. Do you remember the day we found Harald's village? We were trying to get away after the ogre fight, because we thought another one was at our backs. I went off into the woods by myself, and then came back to show you the trail. I know you wondered what was going on, and I'm sorry I didn't tell you then, but we were in a hurry. What happened was that I saw a little woman, armed with a spear, on the side of the trail. She waved me over and led me to a little clearing. I told her we needed a place to hide, and she told me where there was a trail that led down to a village of Big People. I guess dwarves are still pretty big to her. She also said I wouldn't like it. And she told me to tell the Reminii that her people pay their debts. That torc must be some kind of well-known and accepted token among the brownies. I came back and got all of you, and then left some of the elk meat for her. I hope she found it.
Later on, we saw the little blue man who warned us about the Orcs. I think he must have recognized my torc too, but it was hard to understand him.
I haven't seen one of the Little People since, and I'm not really expecting to. They show up when it suits them, and that's fine with me. There are probably some living on this mountain. Just don't underestimate them, Ryde. They may be little, but their swords and spears are as sharp as anybody else's. And any folk that can pull your body in two and make the moon shine when it shouldn't is somebody that deserves some respect.
That's all for my story. Who's next?