and smiled brilliantly into Dewes’ face. Her face assumed such beauty, and her green eyes such power, that Dewes took an involuntary step backwards. A hint of music drifted about the small group.
“Have we interrupted your business with the Goodwife, Trader Dewes?”
“Er, no,” he stammered. “I was just paying Goodwife Renkin for her sheep when you approached.”
“Then how fortunate,” StarShine said, “for that means the Goodwife must now be free of her charges. Is that not so?” she asked the woman.
Entranced by the Icarii, the Goodwife only nodded.
“Free,” the Enchanter said, “to come sit with PaleStar and myself and tell us stories of your sheep. Would you like to do that, Goodwife?”
The Goodwife nodded once more.
StarShine let the woman’s hand go. “Then pick up your pack, Goodwife. Farewell your sheep, and come share some time with Us.”
So it was that Goodwife Renkin found herself lunching with two Icarii Enchanters under the awning of a food hall next to the market square of Tare. Both the Enchanters nibbled delicately at the fare the proprietor had placed before them; the Goodwife stared at them, her food untouched.
For some time StarShine and PaleStar ate, unspeaking, but sharing unspoken thoughts. Every so often one of them would lift her head and smile reassuringly at the Goodwife, then lower her eyes and concentrate again on her food.
The Goodwife, whose thoughts of adventure and excitement had never gone beyond seeing the market square of Tare, continued to stare at them.
Finally StarShine raised her head and pushed her plate away. “Goodwife, you must tell us something about yourself.”
The Goodwife slowly opened her mouth, then closed it silently again. What was there to say about her humdrum life in northern Arcness that might interest these magical creatures?
“Tell us where you come from, my dear,” PaleStar said. “It will be a start.”
Slowly the Goodwife told the two Icarii about her husband and children in northern Arcen, their lives devoted to sheep and a few meagre crops. “This is the first time I have been more than five leagues from my home,” she finished on a whisper, certain she must have bored the Icarii Enchanters witless.
However, they looked anything but bored. “And your mother?” StarShine asked gently. “Does she stay behind to watch over your children while you have come to market?”
The Goodwife shook her head. “No. My mother died of the milk-fever three weeks after birthing me.”
PaleStar sat back, frowning. “Then who raised you, Goodwife?”
“My grandmother, gracious Lady.”
“Ah,” both the Enchanters breathed. “Your grandmother.” All the Icarii Enchanters who travelled south through eastern Tencendor had spent time looking for women such as this. But they were few and far between among the Acharites. The Seneschal had been … vigilant.
“She must have been an unusual lady,” StarShine said.
“Talented,” PaleStar added and lifted one of the Goodwife’s hands out of her lap. “Perhaps she told you pleasant stories when you were a little girl.”
Very tense now, the Goodwife nodded her head but did not speak. She kept her eyes firmly in her lap.
“You are safe,” StarShine said, and laid her hand over the Goodwife’s where it rested in PaleStar’s. A feeling of peace infused the Goodwife’s body, and she looked up. “Safe,” StarShine repeated.
“I have never told anyone,” the Goodwife mumbled, and now her eyes were full of guilty tears. “Never.”
“Of course not,” StarShine soothed. “You were good. You had to be.”
“They took her away,” tears slipped down the Goodwife’s cheeks, “when I was eight. And every year for ten years they would come back to ask me questions. I was afraid.”
“I have no doubt.” PaleStar’s voice was edged with anger, but the Goodwife knew the anger was not directed at her.
The Goodwife sniffed, wiping her nose along her sleeve. “They burnt her. They told me that.”
“They will not burn you,” StarShine said, and she impulsively leaned forward to give the woman a brief hug. “You are safe now.”
The Goodwife took a tremulous breath, slowly relaxing. “All the Brothers have gone. When I travelled south I saw none, and there are none here in this town.”
“No. All the Brothers have gone, and there are few Plough-Keepers left, Goodwife. You are free to do what you like now, free to believe what you like.”
“Will you tell me what has happened? I have heard so little – mostly hearsay.”
“Of course, Goodwife,” and StarShine told her briefly what had transpired in the land over the past two years.
If possible, the Goodwife’s face became even more astounded than before. “Then I am safe? The Seneschal will not hurt me if I … if I …”
“You are safe, Goodwife. Do what you will. Do you have a daughter who …?” StarShine let the question trail off.
The Goodwife shook her head. “No. Neither of my daughters have the talent. I was glad, for I thought that they would be safe. But now … now I am sad. I should have liked a daughter to carry on.” Abruptly the Goodwife realised she had lost her awe of the Icarii and was chatting to them as if they were old friends. She grinned shamefacedly.
StarShine’s smile faded and she leaned forward, extending her hand to rest her palm on the Goodwife’s forehead. “Shush, Goodwife, I do you no harm. I only want to help you remember.”
Bright music flooded the Goodwife’s body, and she gasped. “Oh! I had forgotten so much!”
“Disuse engenders forgetfulness, Goodwife.” StarShine leaned back, looking wan with her effort. That had been a powerful enchantment, and she would have to rest a day or so now before she could fly on to Carlon. “Make sure you do not forget again.”
The Goodwife nodded.
“Make sure you make good use of what you have remembered, Goodwife, because this new land needs such as you.”
She sat for a very long time after the two Enchanters left her, watching the street life with unseeing eyes. Remembering.
When she was a little girl, too young to help in the fields, her grandmother had told her stories. Told her stories and taught her herbs. Herbs and spells. Nothing dangerous, nothing evil, only herbal recipes that, when used in conjunction with the spells, would ward against hurt or infection, calm tempers, or engender love. Simple things, but enough to have her grandmother seized and burned by the Seneschal.
From the day the Seneschal had taken her grandmother the young girl had lived an unblemished life. She had never (well, hardly ever) used the herbals
