Donn: Fate

It was good to see House Penia again after all this time.

He stopped to savor the view.

The road from Dylath-Leen turned downhill from here, through scattered groves and fields and houses to the river, branching off here and there, before reaching the village proper.

The waterwheel was turning, driving the millstones and the irrigation system, and he could see people at work throughout the valley, farming, herding, at peace.

The Nest was open, as it should be, and he could even see a handful of children playing in its courtyard.

He followed the road a bit farther, across the stone bridge, and up the hills on the far side, until he found his home, a collection of small buildings stretched out along the hillside, overlooking the thriving village. In the middle stood the white-washed house, time-darkened beams clearly visible, slate roof fully reflecting the sun where it wasn’t covered in moss.

He couldn’t see anyone there, but there was no wash hanging on the upstairs lines. All was well, it seemed.

He turned to his companion.

“Home again, Hakim. It’s been too long.”

Hakim smiled, and signed “A bottle of your wine would go down very smoothly, I think.”

Donn laughed.

“Oh, by all means! And perhaps with some smoked ham and cheese, I think!”

He raised one eyebrow, and at Hakim’s invitation, snapped the reins. They cantered down the hill.

“Master Donn! Welcome back!” came a call from one of the paddocks they passed. Donn waved back to the young man watching his dog watching the sheep.

“Good to be back, Master Thom! All is well, I hope?”

“The wheat is strong and tell, four new lambs, and I’ve got one on the way myself.”

“Another one? He’ll be helping you out on the farm in no time! When is she due?”

“Not until the fall, Master Donn.”

“May all be well with you, Master Thom.”

“And with you.”

They exchanged brief greetings with a number of people as they approached the village, slowing as they passed the Nest.

Headmistress Kiarna was sitting out front in a rocking chair, holding two babies. A few of the brindle pack were lounging in the sun, one eye on the children and one on the road. They saw him immediately, of course, but recognized he was not a threat.

“Afternoon, Headmistress.”

“Afternoon to you, Master Donn. Brought more young’uns with you?”

“Not this time, I’m afraid. You seem to have your hands full already!”

“Always somethin’ needs doin’ when there’s chill’un around.”

“Perhaps these will help,” said Donn, dismounting and walking to the packhorse he was leading. “I picked up a few things along the way.”

He pulled out three large bundles, and set them down on the porch next to her.

“Oh, Master Donn, you already give so much… no need to…”

“Hush. There is always need, and would that I could help even more. Take it, please.”

She bowed her head and pressed her palms as if in prayer, thanking him.

“Thank you, Master Donn. Blessins of the gods ’pon you.”

“And to you, Headmistress, in all things.”

He remounted, nodded his head farewell, and they cantered on.

The Nest was a combination nursery, school, and temporary shelter, especially for children new to House Penia. He and Pensri had started it shortly after they wed, gradually building up his ancestral home and nurturing the local community. Many of the people living here now had come to House Penia in years past—over a decade now—as escaped slaves, orphans, battered and abandoned women, people of all sorts.

Here they found, at least, a place they could rest and start to heal; for many, it was a safe home and the discovery that they were not outcasts anymore.

Donn was a free trader working for Factor Chóng Lán, and while he worked for the Factor because they shared a vision of what the Dreamlands should and could be one day, the reason he worked so hard was to make House Penia even better than it was now, and save even more people.

While he was on the road, which was most of the time, his family and much of the whole House Penia community were run by his first wife, Pensri. A former slave, now purchased and emancipated by Donn seconds before he asked for her hand in marriage, she was passionate about freeing slaves, especially children. The rest of his line family supported her, of course, but second wife Noor spent most of her day keeping the house running, and the children safe. She was helped in part by third wife Mahelt, but Mahelt had never fully recovered from her torture as a young girl, and refused to venture outside of the safety of the house.

His husband, Shurala Tokarra, ran the farm together with Mahelt’s son, eighteen-year-old Jasque, and help from the others as needed. Of late, Pensri’s twelve-year-old son Arthit had been helping out quite a bit, growing into a responsible young man.

He and Hakim dismounted at the front gate, and led the horses to the stables.

Jasque was shoveling manure and didn’t hear them approach.

“Master Jasque! That looks hard work for a summer’s day!”

The teenager turned, and his face burst into a smile as her recognized them, and there was a chorus of barking as a half dozen brindle dogs came racing, ears pointed at the sound of his voice.

“Donn! You’re back!”

Jasque carefully leaned the shovel against the stall and walked over to greet them. Donn smiled: no doubt the lad wanted to run as the dogs had, but that would be unbecoming in the young adult he was striving to be.

Donn wrist-shook him, then pulled him in close for a quick hug, arm around the shoulders. After a moment, Donn knelt to greet the brindles and suffer their slobbering, and Jasque turned to Hakim.

“Master Hakim, welcome back.”

They shared a wrist-shake. Hakim poked him in the bicep, signing that those muscles were getting pretty big.

Jasque just grinned.

“Let me help you with the horses.”

They got the saddles and harnesses off, and turned the horses loose into the paddock to rest. There was plenty of grass to eat, with water in the trough, and later they’d get a proper feedbag.

“Unload the packhorses here, or at the main house?”

“Might as well do it here,” said Donn. “Nothing really heavy this trip, and I expect we’ll have plenty of helping hands as soon as word gets out…”

“Papa! You’re back!”

“Like I said,” laughed Donn, turning just in time to catch twelve-year-old Arthit as he came flying into his arms. “How are you, boy?”

He hugged the child, and set him down again, still holding one hand but leaving the other free to hug Noor as she came walking up with three-year-old Donnal on her hip.

“Master Donn, welcome home.”

“Good to be home, Noor, good to be home. And how are you, Donnal?”

He tickled the boy, who squirmed and tried to pull away, managing to jump out of Hoor’s grasp and half-jump, half-fall to the ground. Unhurt, he screamed with laughter as he hid behind her skirt. 

Donn reached into his ruck and knelt down, holding out his hand to the boy.

Donnal peeked out from behind Noor, staring at Donn’s closed fist, and slowly crept closer.

“I brought a little present for you, Donnal,” said Donn, moving his fist a little bit. “You want it?”

Donnal nodded, eyes wide and fixed.

“You have to take it, Donny,” said Noor, pulling him out and pushing him toward Donn. “He won’t bite you!”

Donnal hesitated, holding onto Noor’s skirt with one hand, and holding the other close across his chest. Donn slowly reached out, and relaxed his finger a bit to show something red inside, and Donnal’s hand crept forward to touch one finger.

At his touch, Donn’s hand opened to fully reveal a hand-carved wood toy, a red dragon with little wheels and a rope to pull it with.

Donnal grabbed it, his fears forgotten, and immediately held it up to show Noor, then ran toward the house happily trailing his new toy behind.

The whole family helped carry his load up onto the porch, effusively greeting both Donn and Hakim. Hakim was embraced by everyone as well, as the oldest and closest friend of the family. Uncle Hakim, the children called him, and he played the uncle well every time they came.

Donn—cellar-chilled wine in one hand—slowly unpacked, pulling out one piece at a time, keeping the children in suspense. Once the children were settled down with “Uncle Hakim,” he pulled out the more important gifts: a dagger of the finest Ogrothan steel for Jasque; an ivory landscape set with trees and animals of semi-precious stones for Mahelt; and to Noor a vial of perfume from Oriab and a bottle of skin cream from the markets of Celephaïs.

He embraced Pensri, his first love, and held out her gift, wrapped up in a small piece of cloth. She tilted her head quizzically and at his enigmatic silence slowly unwrapped it to reveal a small sheet of white paper with curling script written across it in gold, and a piece of white string.

“Sai Seen,…” she whispered, tears coming to her eyes. “From the Great Temple of Wat Luan in Woth!”

“For you, by name, from Luang Por Hridyanshu himself.”

She carefully folded it up again in the cloth, and put it inside her tunic, then embraced Donn once more, almost weeping with happiness.

“Thank you, my Donn, thank you.”

A bit abashed by her reaction, he hugged her back and stroked her hair, then looked around at the rest of the family.

“Where is Shurala?” he asked.

“He’s up in the high field today, but he’ll have seen you, and be back soon with Hafsah,” explained Pensri.

“Hafsah? How is she?”

“Very happy, and with child already.”

“With child? Is she wed, then?”

A quiet fell and Pensri’s eyes grew larger.

“You never got the letter…” she whispered. “I’m so sorry; I thought you knew. We wed Hafsah in the spring. Your fourth wife.”

Donn’s face paled.

“Donn? What is it?”

He quickly rallied, forced a smile, and pulled out another package.

“Nothing, nothing. Just a muscle cramp, that’s all… I’ve a gift for Shurala, of course. And I must have heard of my new wife from the spring breeze, because I just happen to have a gift for her as well!”

Pensri frowned slightly, wondering if he was hiding something, but Hakim began to play his panpipe and the children quickly gathered around him, calling out the names of songs for him to play.

Donn was all smiles again, and she put it out of her mind.

Shurala Tokarra came riding up a bit later, Hafsah riding behind, arms around his waist.

“Donn! Welcome home!” he called, lifting the woman up and setting her down on the ground before nimbly hopping off himself. His hand smacked into Donn’s wrist and they shook firmly. “It’s been far too long.”

“It’s good to be home again, Shu.”

Donn turned to Hafsah, arms open.

“Welcome to the family, dear Hafsah,” he said, and embraced her. “I remember you coming her so many years ago as a child, and look at you know… a woman, and my wife! I am so happy that you are part of the family now!”

She had been with them for about ten years, growing from a terrified orphan just escaped from slavery into a confident, attractive young woman that everyone liked. Noor had taken her under her wing, nursing her battered spirit back to health, and teaching her how to be a woman. And now she was more than just another lost child, or helper for the farmwork—now she was part of the family.

He was used to forcing smiles, and no one but Hakim could tell it wasn’t genuine, and Hakim was silent.

“A small gift for you, Shu, which I believe you may enjoy,” he said, handing over a fairly large package. It looked like a brick wrapped in cloth, and must have been fairly heavy, judging from the way he and Shurala handled it.

His husband slowly unwrapped it, and gave a shout of delight.

“Mondath Longleaf!” He rubbed the compressed leaves with his fingers, and inhaled the fragrance. “Mondath Longleaf, the finest tobacco in all the Dreamlands.”

“And I have a gift for you as well, dear Hafsah. Forgive me for not being here for the Joining, but perhaps this will in some small way begin to make amends.”

Another small package changed hands, but it was soft, pliable, unlike Shurala’s tobacco.

She gave a small squeal as she unwrapped it to reveal a woven fabric of shimmering green and blue and gold, changing colors and hues in the sunlight as she touched it.

“What is it? It’s so beautiful… so soft.”

“Spider-silk, from Moung.”

She clutched it to her breast, bowing, but Donn reached out and pulled her upright once again.

“I am your husband, Hafsah, not your master. Stand tall!”

At his command everyone there stood taller, prouder, more confident… it was Donn’s mantra, a summation of his personal philosophy, and the foundation of House Penia: stand tall, together.

Gift-giving complete, they gradually returned to their various tasks, leaving Donn, Hakim, and Pensri on the porch, with a few children scattered about close at hand.

“We thought you’d be home for Year’s Turning,” said Pensri. “Your letter arrived about a week later.”

“I replied as soon as I received it. We were traveling through the Lispasian Mountains on the way back from Thaphron, and the Factor couldn’t reach us until we reached Ygiroth.”

“No matter,” smiled Pensri. “Now that you’re home, safe and sound.”

He wrapped an arm around her.

“I think you had better get your incense and say a proper prayer for that Sai Seen,” he suggested. “I don’t think it’ll spoil, but the Luang Por doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Thank you, Donn,” she smiled. “Tonight we must complete Hafsah’s Joining.

“Arthit, go and ask the Truthsayer to join us tonight for the Joining. Tell her Donn has returned. And don’t forget to take two of dogs with you!”

She smiled, and stood, slipping off to her altar to say a prayer for her family and herself before putting the sacred Sai Seen on her wrist. Blessed by Luang Por Hridyanshu, the Abbott of the Great Temple of Wat Luan in Woth, her birthplace and the home of her mother, it would surely protect them all.

Once she left Hakim signed a question: “What’s the matter?”

Donn sighed, and glanced around.

None of the children knew much sign language, and he and Hakim had evolved their own special shorthand anyway.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out a tiny sheet of paper, holding it out to Hakim.

“This,” he said, and then switched to sign.

“Remember when we were in Poltarnees years ago? That time we sold the lacquered tigers with the ruby eyes?”

Hakim unfolded the paper, nodding. He remembered.

“I made an offering at the Temple there, for a safe journey, and the seer gave me that.”

The paper read, You shall be mourned by four wives.

“I was determined to never marry a fourth wife,” Donn continued. “but it never occurred to me that they might marry in my absence… I am doomed.”

“We’ve been doomed many times over the years, Donn, yet here we are,” countered Hakim. “Nothing has changed; we have always known we might die, and certainly will die, someday. Did you hope to live forever?”

“No, but… I wanted a little more,” replied Donn.

“You have done so much good here, and have so much more to do. Why stop because someone reminds you that you are mortal after all?”

Donn was still.

“Papa!”

Young Donnal ran up to him, pulling his new red dragon after. “Papa, look! Fido is following me around!”

“Fido!? You named your dragon Fido!?”

“No, papa! It’s his name, I didn’t give it to him.” He held it up proudly. “Say hi, Fido!”

Donn smiled and patted both boy and dragon on their heads.

“Hello, Fido. Welcome to my home.”

Donnal gave an enormous smile and ran off again, no doubt to show his new dragon to somebody else.

Donn took advantage of the interruption to stand, and with his ruck and another bundle in hand, headed off toward the pantry: “I guess we’d better get this cleaned up.”

Hakim lifted his own ruck, and headed for his room in the rear of the house. Donn had offered to build him a house of his own, several times, but Hakim refused. He only wanted a roof over his head, and needed nothing more: he owned almost nothing except what was in his ruck, although his room was decorated with a range of hand-made figurines, paintings, pretty rocks, and other gifts from the children he’d befriended here and elsewhere.

One wall of the room was taken up by his workbench, where he made musical instruments and toys, usually by himself but often with the “help” of eager young children.

He unpacked his gear carefully, as always. He didn’t have much, and most of what he had was worn with time and use, but they all had one thing in common: they did what they were supposed to do. He had no use for gold chasing or gems, a simple steel blade was all he needed, and easiest to part with should the time come.

Perhaps the most important thing he carried was his panpipe: he could make another one easily enough, and often made them as gifts for others, but he’d carried this one for long enough now to feel an attachment. It had taken his years to learn to play well without a tongue, and this panpipe, perhaps more than any of its many predecessors, seemed to be helping.

He was hesitant to allow any connections in his life. After the loss of Basaaria, and Eshan, and Nausheen, and all that had been bright in his life, he had no interest in “connections.” He treasured Donn’s friendship and the warmth of his family, but they could never fill the sadness in him, no matter how much love and laughter they shared.

A roof over his head was more than he needed.

He was worried about Donn, though… it was unusual to see him so pessimistic, so afraid of dying. They’d faced certain death many times, or so they’d thought, only to find a way through, a way to come home again. Donn never gave up, and he’d dragged Hakim out of his own suicidal thoughts so many times, way back when they first met in Oonai. Way back when he’d lost everything that mattered. Donn had brought him back from the edge, shown him the good in the world, had made life worth living again, if only to bring a little joy, a little hope, to others even less fortunate.

And now Donn needed help.

Hakim was determined to be there for him, but he didn’t know how. Yet.

* * *

That night was the ceremony of Joining, when a new member was welcomed into the family through birth, marriage, or adoption. Old family bonds were ritually severed, and each member of the family swore they would love, honor, and protect the new one as their own. There were times when personalities clashes and someone would have difficulty swearing, truthfully, to love the new person, and so it was also acceptable—but far less appreciated—to swear not to harm them directly or indirectly.

Donn’s family had grown slowly over the years, mostly through birth and marriage, and thus far no one had elected to avoid the “love, honor, and protect” oath.

The Truthsayer, Aninagria of Aletheia, ensured that the oaths were honest. A Truthsayer would carefully prick the finger of each member of the family, and while touching that drop of fresh blood judge if the person themselves believed what they were saying was true, or false, or a little of both. Oaths were precisely worded to eliminate possible doubts, because usually any half-truth detected by the Truthsayer was due to a poorly worded question, not a lie.

The Goddess Aletheia had no temples, no rites, no special symbols or sacred books: she could appoint anyone a Truthsayer at any time, often completely uprooting someone’s life with new responsibilities. They bore no mark of their calling, but anyone who claimed to be a Truthsayer and was not would be cursed by the Goddess, losing all powers of speech and hearing.

The punishment was well-known and more than sufficient to prevent false Truthsayers.

“Truthsayer Aninagria, we welcome you to our home,” said Donn, inviting her to step up and into the house proper from the entrance. He walked with her toward the main room of the house, where so much of the family’s daily life was concentrated.

Like much of the house, the floors were of reed mats, but this room had a large firepit built into the floor, with a flue built into the ceiling to guide smoke and ash away. An iron chain hung from one of the black rafters, with a time-aged iron pot suspended over the coals.

This was the social center of the family, and where close friends and guests were invited. It was also, however, where the family shrine was located.

The family shrine stood against the rear wall, an imposing structure of reddish wood, polished by generations of Donn’s ancestors, decorated by inlays of silver and mother-of-pearl. A small table stood in front of it, with an incense holder, while the shrine itself held nothing but a wood box, small enough to fit into one’s hand.

All of the adult members of the family had seen the bones inside, the right index finger bones of Kwea, the founder of the line, over a dozen generations ago. It may have had magical properties—there were a variety of tales told and retold in the family—but nobody knew for sure. What they did know was that it was a symbol of a family that had existed here for far, far longer than they had been alive, and that they were integral parts of continuing the honored tradition.

The family was gathered and waiting, the children quiet with the single exception of Donnal, cranky at being awakened from his nap. Pensri shushed him.

Normally Donn would lead, as first husband, but since this Joining was for him and Hafsah, it was Shurala who knelt in front of the shrine and lit the incense sticks.

He stuck them into the small bowl of sand there, and raised his head to look at the casket.

“Kwea, Founder of our Family, we ask you to witness this Joining today, to extend your protection to this new member of our Family, and this house.”

The assembled family members, with the exception of Hafsah, echoed his words.

The Truthsayer, a middle-aged woman from down in the valley, wife of the village baker, approached to stand directly in front of Donn.

She removed a glinting needle from the small embroidered bag she carried, and held her hand out.

Donn placed his hand in hers, looking her in the eyes as she grasped his index finger and gently pricked it, squeezing out a single drop of blood.

Although the Truthsayer was prepared to ask the question and judge Donn’s answer, Donn was ready. Hafsah was already his wife, like it or not, his fate set. He wished it could have been otherwise, but he did not wish her any harm.

“I, Donn of Dylath-Leen, welcome Hafsah into the Family as our wife, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect her.”

“He speaks truth,” said the Truthsayer, but held onto his hand for a moment more. He fully believed in what he said, unquestionably, but his blood spoke of a… misgiving? …a doubt? No, a worry. He was worried for a future he feared.

She held her peace, as he fully believed his words: he had spoken truthfully, and well.

She turned to Hafsah, who repeated the words she had already spoken to the Donn’s husband and wives at the first Joining: “I, Hafsah of Khem, join into the Family freely and of my own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them.”

“She speaks truth.”

And it was done.

The Joining complete, the doors were opened and they began preparing for the welcome feast to come.

That evening a host of villagers from the valley come to pay their respects and celebrate the occasion. Reeve Brukah was there, of course, with her husband and several of their children, and Headmistress Kiarna. Healer Chimalmat came from the local Temple of Panakeia. Even Mahelt stayed long enough to greet the first guests, although she soon slipped away again from the noise and crowd.

The enormous room was packed, with farmers enjoying an unexpected break in their week’s work; children excited to be able to run around “with the big people;” people bringing platters of food from the kitchen, some cooked there, others brought by guests; Hakim and a few others playing local tunes; and a whole barrel of Donn’s own wine from the cellar for all to drink.

Donn smiled and laughed with the rest, drinking toast after toast and seemingly enjoying every minute of it, but Hakim noticed he never left his seat to circulate, talking and joking with everyone, offering toasts of his own, or pulling little gifts or candy out of his pockets for the children. They came to him, and when he was alone for a time he sat, just drinking.

Pensri must have noticed, he thought, because she sat by his side, talking to him quietly as their guests permitted, or asking a child to bring him a delicious treat from one of the platters.

Noor caught her eye from the kitchen, one eyebrow raised, but returned to her domain at Pensri’s tiny headshake, too small to be noticed in the excitement.

Hours later it was done, guests sent home with gifts of thanks in their hands and sleeping children on their backs. The room was  already clean and neat—the people of House Penia always helped each other—and the family headed toward the bath. Noor had fired up the boiler earlier and the water was already hot.

The children were first, of course, and Donn joined the rest of them in bathing and drying the exhausted children and getting them to bed. Tonight there was no need to tell them tales or ask Hakim to play a song; they were asleep before their heads hit the pillow.

Pensri knelt next to Donn, scrubbing the grime of the long ride from his back. Shurala Tokarra and their new bride, Hafsah, were already soaking, Shurala with yet one more cup of wine resting on the bath’s edge.

Mahelt and Noor were joined by young Jasque, who had only recently reached a maturity that allowed him to join his parents here. Mahelt had come to them at a very young age, heavy with child and with nowhere to go, and young Jasque had been born right in this very house. He was eighteen now; Mahelt had been a child of only fifteen when he was born.

Donn had drunk more than enough, and should have been well on his way to singing and dancing, but remained quiet, his responses short and his attention obviously elsewhere.

“No new scars, I see,” said Pensri as she rinsed his off. “I always worry that you’ll come back missing an arm or something.”

He grunted, stood to walk to the bath and join Shurala and Hafsah, Pensri close behind.

The rest of the adult family joined them a few minutes later, soaking in the hot water together.

There were a few minutes of silence.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been myself,” Donn said. “This last trip was tough, and I lost a good friend on the way. It made me realize how short our lives are, how fragile… and how much I love you all, and our children.

“Perhaps I’m getting too old for all this, and should stay for good, dispensing wisdom and kisses as a proper patriarch should.”

Shurala reached out and wrist-shook Donn, pulling him closer for a hug, and Pensri and Noor embraced them both, followed a moment later by Mahelt.

Unexpectedly, it was withdrawn Mahelt who broke the silence this time.

“Donn, you have meant so much to so many. To me, to Jasque, to countless mothers and children and ex-slaves, most of whom have stayed here and found new lives in this valley.

“Please, stay here. Stay with us.”

There was a sudden babble as everyone agreed, pressing him to give up his trading life and settle down.

He smiled and nodded, and said he’d give it a try.

“In the meantime,” he added with his usual twinkle, “why won’t anyone give me a cup of that wine!”

Pensri pushed his head under water and things seemed to go back to normal, but she still wondered if that was really all.  

* * *

Summer gradually gave way to fall, and the second corn crop was almost ready. Chestnuts and pears were on everyone’s table, and while there were very few apple trees this far south, there were enough for everyone to enjoy one or two. It was getting a bit chilly in the mornings now, with thick fogs hiding the hills and pastures until the noon sun burned it off to reveal the changing hues of autumnal leaves.

Dylath-Leen, warmed by the Cirque as it swept past the city and on toward Ophir and Poltarness, rarely saw snow, but their little valley, nestled in the Sarrub Hills as they sloped up toward the snow-capped mountains and distant Carcassonne, was no stranger to snow. The storms would come sweeping down from the north with the burdens of snow, and drop it all here on House Penia before they blew themselves out in the southern warmth.

It was usually only up to a man’s knees, but every once in a while it would snow over a meter. This year seemed likely to be a cold one, everyone agreed, and they stocked up on food, on firewood, and on fodder for the animals.

Donn was true to his word.

He sent word to Factor Chóng that he was taking a rest, and received a bottle of aged Cydathrian brandy, a dark, reddish amber delight, taken from the Factor’s own cellar, with a note congratulating him of his well-deserved rest, and wishing him even more grandchildren and great-grandchildren to bless his days.

He asked Hakim once again to marry into the family, and once again Hakim refused, happy to share in the community’s warmth while remaining true to his own memories.

From Hakim, he learned how to make kites, and soon every child had a unique and colorful kite of their own, and every day they came asking him to help them fly, or repair, or retrieve one from a tree it had lodged in.

Fenrir, who he had raised from a puppy a dozen years earlier, died that fall of old age, surrounded by his own children and grandchildren, and with his beloved Master Donn at his side, stroking his head to soothe the pain. Donn buried him personally in the pasture that had been his workplace for so long, so he could continue to watch over the sheep in his slumber.

He even learned how to shear a sheep, and eventually became quite proficient at it, but hated it nonetheless. Even he had to admit, though, that the sweater he wove from that wool was warm, even if the sleeves were not of the same length.

Shortly after the first snowfall of the year, a light powdering that was only enough to delight the children and turn everything muddy that afternoon, a visitor came calling.

“Captain Gunnarsson!”

He turned to the young woman accompanying him and suddenly recognized her.

“Uralorea! I almost didn’t recognize you!”

He had met her a couple years earlier, on Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, when he and Captain Gunnarsson had traveled together in search of Princessa.

He invited them inside, offering spiced wine to warm themselves with.

“It’s been, let me see, about three years now? Tell me what’s happened, Captain.”

“Uralorea is indeed my daughter, and thanks to you we found each other.”

“And her mother, um, Lo…”

“Lotarra,” said Gunnarsson. “Lotarra died of fever when Uralorea was only eight, leaving her with no family. But for me.”

“I’m so sorry, Captain… I wish that you could have found her.”

“At least I can give my daughter a better life. Her daughter.”

“There are few things more important,” nodded Donn. “You know what House Penia works for.”

“Yes, you told me, years ago. That’s why I’m here.”

Donn raised an eyebrow.

“Master Donn, I am a sea captain, at home with the waves and the wind; a ship like mine is no place for a young girl. She needs a real home, a real family, and the warmth that you can give her.

“Master Donn, you earned my trust and my respect on Mtal,” he said, and looked Donn straight in the eyes. “I would ask you to take her into your family, to raise as your own daughter.”

Donn was speechless.

“I bring you her dowry, to use as you see fit to raise her, or for her to wed one day.”

He set a heavy-looking bag on the table; it clunked dully.

Donn lifted the bag.

“This is quite a sum, Captain,” he said, hefting it. “I would feel ill at ease taking it, I fear.”

He reached out and set it down in front of quiet Uralorea.

“It is her dowry, to use as she sees fit.”

He turned back to Gunnarsson.

“I accept Uralorea into my family gladly, and will protect and raise here as my own daughter. I accept no money from any man to raise my daughter, however, and by the friendship we share would ask that you not mention it again.”

He turned his head toward the interior of the house.

“Pensri! Noor!”

Noor stuck her head in immediately—she had been in the kitchen—and Pensri appeared only a moment later from one of the back rooms.

“What happened, Donn?”

“Call the others, please. Mahelt and Hafsah—is Shurala nearby?”

“Hafsah and Shurala are both in the tanning shed,” said Noor.

“Send one of the children to fetch them. It’s important.”

In a few minutes they were all there.

Donn introduced them to the Captain, and to Uralorea, explaining the Captain’s predicament.

“The Captain and I worked together many years ago, on the Bella, and we’ve helped each other out now and again, here and there. He has asked us to accept Uralorea as our own daughter, and I have accepted.”

“Uralorea, welcome to our home. Donn has told us your tale”

They surrounded her, enfolding her, and Hafsah began crying just seconds before Uralorea did.

Captain Gunnarsson sat at the table, an outsider unsure of how to act, and feeling the pain and the weight of what he had just done.

Donn laid his hand atop the Captain’s, and Shurala placed his hand atop theirs.

“Have no fear, Captain Gunnarsson. We will love and protect her as Family, with our lives if need be.”

The Captain, blinking in a vain attempt to stop a stray tear, nodded.

“Thank you, Master Donn, Master Shurala. For her sake, and mine, thank you.”

“Pensri!” said Donn loudly. “It’s not every day we get a new daughter!

Shurala pulled Captain Gunnarsson to his feet.

“Come on, Captain. The women are going to have their way with Uralorea, and it’s time for you to bathe, and shave, and get ready for tonight’s celebration.”

The Captain looked around, confused, and saw the women surrounding his daughter, leading her out of the room with giggles.

“Celebration?”

“A Joining. Welcoming a new daughter into the family is no small thing!”

They walked out with the Captain, leaving the room empty.

* * *

The Joining that night was much the same as the joining of earlier that year, when Donn formally welcomed Hafsah into the family, except that this time the family was joined by a single outsider: Captain Gunnarsson.

Truthsayer Aninagria started with Donn, who swore that he would accept Uralorea into the family, to love, to honor, and to protect, and then asked his wives and husband to swear the same oath.

Next it was the Captain’s turn, and she asked him if he gave his daughter freely to the family, to be raised as one of their own, and affirmed that he spoke truth at his simple “Yes” in response.

Finally she turned to Uralorea herself, who had stood silent throughout.

“Mistress Uralorea, do you join into the Family freely and of your own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them?”

“Yes.”

“You have reservations, my dear… please, what are they?”

Uralorea hesitated, looking at Gunnarsson and Donn in turn.

“I… My mother died years ago. I was alone until Master Donn led my father to me. He has been good to me, and I believe we have come to love each other as man and daughter should. I am a hindrance to him, and I understand his intent, that bringing me here is a sign of how much he loves me.

“But it hurts! I have only just gained my father, and now to lose him again…”

Donn stepped forward and held out his hand.

“Dear Uralorea, you will not lose your father. He will always be your father, and you will never lose his love. But you will gain a family, and we will gain a daughter, to share our love and our lives together.

“If you are willing, join us, and you will always be with family no matter where you ride.”

She looked into his eyes for a long minute, then turned to look at Captain Gunnarsson, who nodded.

Another minute passed.

Her back straightened and she looked the Truthsayer in the eyes.

“I, Uralorea of Ma-ka-Tuo-Rasha, join into the Family freely and of my own will, and swear to love, to honor, and to protect them.”

“She speaks truth.”

The women broke into excited laughter mixed with tears, and hugged their new daughter. Tonight they would get to know each other, weaving new bonds of friendship that would, hopefully sooner than later, finally turn to bonds of love.

After dinner and a conversations with the Captain, Donn walked out into the garden, and found Hakim looking at the stars.

The torchlight was dim here, but there was enough light to sign by.

“The stars are bright tonight, Donn.”

“The moon is young, and winter is coming.”

“Congratulations on your new daughter. Gunnarsson is a smart man to find such a good house for her.”

“Yes,” signed Donn after a moment, watching the stars. “A new daughter, a new wife, a new grandchild to come… the family is healthy, and growing.”

“…and?”

“And I feel old, Hakim. My fate is upon me.”

“Because you were told you were mortal? We are all mortal, Donn. Most of us, anyway.”

Donn merely stood, hands hanging at his side until he trudged back inside under Hakim’s worried gaze.

* * *

It was a cold winter this year. Year’s Turning was still more than a month distant and already they had half a meter of snow on the ground.

The Sarrub Mountains were blanketed in white, with veils of snow whirling around them searching for a place to come to earth.

They had laid in a good supply for the winter, of course: food, fodder, and firewood, as the saying went, but the winter wind was still cold.

In spite of their preparations, though, the unexpected came calling.

In the darkest part of the night the brindles had seen something in the pasture, and set up a howling that woke them all, and probably half the village to boot. The sheep were safely in the barn to protect them from the falling snow, but anything that drove the dogs that wild might well smash through the barn doors.

While not common in the hills around Dylath-Leen, creatures of all types lurked in the Dreamlands.

Armed with swords, bows, and torches, and surrounded by the pack of brindles, growling, hackles high, teeth bared, scanned the fields and pastures, staying close to each other as they scouted. They relied on the dogs to warn them of immediate danger, and the dogs took their duties very seriously.

The barn was undamaged, the sheep disturbed more by their torches and dogs than by whatever had excited the watchdogs so badly.

“Here’s the trail!” called Shurala, waving his torch to signal the others.

“Never seen anything like it,” mused Donn as he examined the glistening track.

It looked like something had been dragged along the ground, pushing aside the piled snow, something covered in a thick slime. Something soft, boneless…

“Ever seen anything like it?”

Shurala shook his head and held his torch up high again.

“Guard!”

The dogs obeyed their training, spreading out to surround the party, facing outward toward any possible threat.

The trail came out of the rough to the west, crossed over their fields and pastures, and continued on again into the forest to the northeast, leaving behind its slime and several destroyed fence sections. It changed course in the middle abruptly.

“What do you think?” asked Donn. “If it’d gone on straight it would have reached the barn.”

“I think the brindles scared it off,” suggested Shurala. “And if we didn’t see it when we got out here, it must move pretty quickly.”

“Dangerous?”

“None of the dogs got hurt, it looked like, shrugged Shurala. “But…”

He pointed at a bush growing near the thing’s track: it was half melted, as if by some strong acid.

“Let’s make sure it’s gone, then,” suggested Donn. “And tomorrow Jasque and I will get cut some trees to replace those fence sections. Gonna be hard work to fell good trees and fix that fence in this cold, but it’s gotta be done.”

“I’ll go with you,” suggested Shurala.

“No, I’d be happier if you stayed to keep an eye on things here. OK?”

“OK, but be careful out there.”

“We will.”

After dawn he and Jasque harnessed up two of the draft horses. The horses would have little trouble with only half a meter of snow. He debated bringing one or two of the brindles along, but the snow would make for tough going for the dogs, much as they’d love it, and he really wanted them guarding the family.

“We’ll be back in a couple hours,” he said to Noor. “If we see some good fallen trees on the way it might even be sooner.”

“Safe journey!” she called, and they set forth.

The sky was a sullen grey, clouds heavy with snow, the air crisp and punctuated with a few flakes of snow now and then. It didn’t look like it’d snow until later, probably that night, and man and beast both knew the road even if it was hidden under another dozen centimeters.

The road dipped down from the hilltop the family’s farm was built on, and then up again toward the forests of the Sarrub Hills.

“That looks like a nice birch over there!” called Jasque some time later, pointing to a snow-covered tree lying on the open ground a dozen meters from the dense trees of the forest.

“Roots are torn out of the ground,” said Donn. “Must have been that big storm we had in the fall. Yeah, let’s take a look!”

This picked out a path approaching the birch, carefully leading the team over the rough ground. Once the tree had been limbed they’d tie one end up between the two horses, and drag the whole things home that way. It’d be a lot easier to chop it up there.

“Pretty big! Must be thirty-five, maybe forty centimeters thick!”

“And birch burns clean and hot… perfect,” agreed Donn.

He stripped off his coat and started lopping off branches with one of the axes.

“Gonna be a heavy load for the horses. Maybe we should have brought four?”

“Yeah, maybe,” said Donn, glancing at the clouds overhead. “Let’s see how it goes.”

They chopped and sawed until the trunk was revealed, excess branches stripped off to lighten the load and make it easier to handle.

Donn pulled the yoke down—a simple affair with a leather harnesses for the horses holding a study pole between them. Once it was hooked up all they had to do was secure the base of the tree trunk on top, and walk the horses home.

The hardest part was levering the tree trunk up onto the bar, but they’d done it before, many times, and it wouldn’t be a major problem this time, either, they figured. Until they saw the wolves coming out the trees.

It must be a pack from the Sarrubs, Donn thought, driven south by the unusually cold winter, in search of game. And he and Jasque were here, out in the open… He looked around quickly.

There!

A relatively young tree, an oak perhaps. It was the only one close enough; the wolves were already spreading out, heads low, eyes fixed on their prey. Not big enough for both of them, but for Jasque…

The horses began to whicker nervously, shuffling their hooves in the snow.

Donn grabbed Jasque and they ran for the tree, Donn listening for the sound of crunching snow behind him.

No time.

He grabbed Jasque and pushed him up the trunk, practically throwing him into the air. Off-balance, the boy grabbed the branch, slipped, and finally pulled himself up to safety.

So this is it, then… to love, to honor, and to protect… I shall be mourned by four wives, he thought.

“Donn! Your hand!”

There was no time for Jasque’s entreaty.

He drew his sword as he turned to face his death.

The gray shadows of the wolves raced through the snow toward them, silently, and past, with only a glance before they raced on, eyes fixed on the small herd of deer just ahead. White tails flashed as the deer fled, two of their number staining the snow with crimson as the wolves gathered for their feast.

Donn fell to his knees.

He was alive!

The wolves hadn’t been hunting them after all, but the deer… the plump, juicy deer of the forest, far safer than facing the steel swords and daggers of Man.

He was alive!

He threw his head back and roared with laughter.

“I’m alive!” he screamed into the wind, screamed to the brooding mountains.

 I am mortal, but so are we all. When I die, whenever and wherever, I die knowing that my family is safe, four wives to mourn me. And until then, by the Gods, I will live!

Jasque dropped down out of the tree, staring at Donn.

“Well, son, what are you waiting for?” he laughed, clapping the boy on the back. “We’ve got some fence trees to fetch, and then we have to plan out our route for next year! You’re coming with me on the road; time to show you the ropes!”

END