Chapter 85:
What the Dowry Bought
Ama had a lovely habit of defaulting back to an emotion of liveliness and goodwill – she could not be moody or obsessive for too long, a trait Moth desperately wished she had.
After their talk in the lane, she had been shaken out completely of any lingering sorrows, and now, riding alongside Moth, she talked animatedly.
Feldar and Lt. Grotte rode further on ahead, talking privately to each other, allowing Moth and Ama to chat freely.
“I can only be here until Nehem comes back, dad said.” Ama explained. “Dad said one of us can be around you, but a whole crew of Hevweds would cause a problem.”
“He’s right – grandpa’s right to keep away.” Moth sighed.
“Even if people talk, you can just kill them with magpies, so I don’t see the problem.”
Moth smacked Ama’s shoulder, laughing. “Ama, I can’t control magpies. Our ferryman has authority over them, he tells them what to do.”
“Well, you’re his wife, and dad says all wives can control their husbands.”
“You know he’s joking. If that were true, he wouldn’t have that tattoo on his shin.”
Ama’s keen eyes, always on the alert for prey, watched distant falcons circling over the farmlands. Her hand twitched to her bow – snug in its holder – but she stopped herself. She looked at Moth and said, narrowing her eyes, “But you are his wife, right?”
Moth glanced at her ring. “Yes. We’re married.”
“So, when you get pregnant will it be a bird? Will you give birth to magpies?” asked Ama.
“Ama!” Moth felt all the blood rush to her face. Too stunned for words, she fluttered her hand uselessly and repeated, “Ama, that is – I mean, that is not an appropriate line of talk.”
“Don’t be so old, Moth. It’s just bizarre, I can’t be the only one thinking this. I know he’s supposed to be a human but isn’t he also supposed to be a big magpie? What’s a half ferrier baby like?”
Moth hotly looked away, thrilled that their conversation wasn’t being overheard by Lt. Grotte and Feldar.
Ama continued to speak all her thoughts aloud. “Babies already look so weird. Oto is weird, his birthmark makes him look weirder – and I know, I’m not supposed to say that to Pris, but she doesn’t mind. Rodin jokes about it all the time, saying he spilled his wine.”
“Oto?” asked Moth, perplexed.
“You know, the baby,” Ama said, and when Moth continued to look at her blankly, her eyes widened and she said, “Oh, that’s right, you were gone. Priscilla gave birth about a month after your wedding-sacrifice.”
Reeling, Moth gasped, “I have another nephew?”
“Yeah, he’s annoying.”
“What does he look like? Does he favor Pris or Rodin?”
“He looks exactly like a baby, all babies look like weird little bog-headed piglets. He’s weirder than most though, he has this portwine birthmark that covers part of his head and face – apparently in runs on mom’s side of the family and skipped a few generations.”
Suddenly it really did seem like six months had passed, Moth felt jolted out of time. Not only did she have a nephew, but he was already several months old – he would already be laughing, he would begin to recognize his own name, recognize his family members.
He wouldn’t recognize her.
Ama was still babbling in the background as Moth dizzily processed this information. She whirled on Ama, interrupting her as she demanded, “What else happened while I was gone?”
Ama squinted as she thought. “Hm. Uh. Oh! Ursula opened a shop.”
“A shop!”
“You know how Brohm’s dad is dead?” said Ama, “Which is why, he’s–”
“The way he is.”
“Yeah. Well since his dad couldn’t give Ursula a bridal dowry–”
Moth gasped. “That’s right. Lord Berrimont Ede gave her the bridal dowry.”
“Stop interrupting,” huffed Ama, kicking at Moth. “Let me finish! Ursula used the dowry money to buy a shop in the Tailor District. It’s called ‘The Bear in Linen’, you know, like the nursery rhyme – she said it’s still taking time to grow her clientele but it’s going better than she’d hoped. She said the women are interested in her Hiren folk fashion, because” Ama put on a high affected tone to imitate Ursula, “they’re jealous of how I look in it.’”
Moth sparkled with pride. The idea that Berrimont Ede inadvertently advanced Ursula’s dreams was gratifying – and Ursula had always had a shrewd eye for business, Moth did not doubt her success.
Then, a thought dragged her down with a jolt.
“Ama?” Moth asked, hesitantly. “Does Ursula know about me? About my…marriage?”
Ama averted her eyes. “No. Ma is the one who writes to her, and she didn’t know how to explain it by ink.”
Moth felt a tinge of relief. Somehow, her marriage, her role and identity, felt confined to Hiren and did not seem like it belonged anywhere near the city with its factories and trains.
Ursula was no longer Hiren – Moth wondered how quickly Ursula would forgo all of Hiren’s superstitions, beliefs, and celebrations. She could not imagine Ursula giving her yearly offering of embroidery to the ferryman by way of some other ofere. She’d already peeled the tin off her shoes.
It was a strange idea, and Moth said, to change the subject, “How are Japh and Patri? Is their slice of property still free of fogspots?”
“Japh knows his animals, the sheep seem to quadruple every year. No fog on his space yet – its small but at least it’s not touched.”
“And Patri?”
“Patri?” repeated Ama. She made a range of irritated and uncertain expressions, but finally she said, lowering her voice, “I think she’s sick. I really don’t know.”
“Has a doctor been to see her? Is Japh taking care of her?” pressed Moth, confused by Ama’s face.
“I know Patri is always acting like she’s sick – if the wind blows too strong or she doesn’t feel like working, she’s bedridden again. But this is different, I mean, she looks bad; and Patri would never fake being sick to the point of being ugly.”
Moth knit her forehead. “When did she start getting sick?”
“A few weeks ago. I think around when you came back, but I’m not sure of the exact time.”
Moth, concerned, wondered how Japh was handling her illness – or if he noticed a difference. Then she looked over at Feldar – thought Moth could never tell if Patri and Feldar were close, she was still his sister and he had always taken care of her.
“Do you remember Quin Barrowly?” Ama asked.
Moth’s breath clogged her throat. She stiffly looked over at Ama, who was watching the falcons again.
“She’s back in Hiren. I saw her briefly when I was helping Japh with the lambing – she’s been visiting Patri a lot.” Ama wrinkled her nose. “She’s just as creepy as I remember her. Just stares at you like a wild dog. I don’t know where she’s been staying but I’m guessing under bridges by the look of her.”
“Stay away from her!” Moth hissed. She tugged Ama’s shoulder – Ama stared at her with shocked, wide eyes – and she repeated, “Stay away from Quin – she’s dangerous, Ama – she has power.”
“I–”
Moth pointed to the scars on Ama’s face. “She did that to you. Those woods belong to her – you yourself said you felt like the trees were alive to attack you. Ama, Quin’s a shaman – not the useless kind around here, she has real power.”
Ama reflexively touched her scarred face, astonished. She was lost in thought as she remembered her agonized escape through Picky Woods. She leaned towards Moth and whispered, “She hasn’t been around Japh and Quin’s place for a while, last time I saw her was a few days before I left for those woods, I don’t think she’s been back since.”
That was a relief for Moth to hear. Still, a worrying thought crept into her mind – was Quin making Patri sick?
She couldn’t be sure but knowing Quin it wasn’t unlikely.
“Hey, Norwin kids,” shouted Lt. Grotte, waving her hand to catch their attention. “We’re getting close to Packipike farms.”
Feldar pointed towards a dense windbreak they had to pass through, “The Pahkinna clan will be out to welcome us. Mere you ride up front – you’re who they want to see.”