Lark and Wren

The Church said displays like that, of a woman's body, were forbidden, and a sin. Rune had never quite reasoned out why that should be so-for the Holy Book said other things, entirely, about taking joy in the way of a man and a maid, and celebrating the body and the spirit. But the dancers certainly seemed to feel the same way as the Church-yet they kept dancing, as if they reveled in doing the forbidden. And the men who came to watch them gave Rune the same feeling. There was something slimy about it all, tawdry and cheap, like the way Jon had made her feel this afternoon.

The man who ran the show was horrible, able to make almost anything sound like an innuendo. He was using those women, using them with the same callousness that Kerd the Butcher displayed with the animals he slaughtered.

But they, in turn, were using their audience, promising something they wouldn't deliver, not without a further price attached. Promising something they probably couldn't give-promising gold, and delivering cheap gilded lead.

And the men in the audience were part of the conspiracy. They certainly didn't care about the women they ogled, or later bedded. They cared only for the moment's pleasure, sating themselves without regard for the women, using them as if they were soulless puppets. Things, not human beings.

No, she couldn't do that . . . couldn't reduce herself to a creature. There was something wrong about that. And not the Church's notion of right and wrong, either. No matter what happened, she could not put herself in the position of used and user. . . .

And yet, that's exactly the position that Stara put herself in. She was no different from any of those hard-eyed women who stayed only the night, from the 'dancers' at the Faire. She had determined on a price for herself, and she was using Jeoff to get it, with never any thought of love or joy involved.

And Jeoff was most definitely using Stara, for he was taking advantage of her by demanding what he wanted without 'paying' for it first, forcing Stara to put herself in the position of begging for that price.

It would be a different story if they had come together with care for one another.

Not that it mattered, in the end. Whatever came of this, it would probably spell trouble for Rune.

And with that comforting thought, exhaustion finally got the better of her, and she slept.

' . . . and when I got out of the kitchen, he was already gone,' she lamented to Jib, as they raked the area in front of the stable clean of droppings, and scattered water over the pounded dirt to keep the dust down. 'I picked up a few songs from him, but he really was awfully good, and he knew more about the Bardic Guild than anyone I ever talked to before. There was so much I wanted to ask him about! I wish I hadn't had to work so hard-I could have gotten a lesson from him-'

'It don't seem fair to me,' Jib said slowly. 'I know Stara wasn't doin' anythin'. She was just foolin' around the common room, actin' like she was cleanin' mugs and whatall, but she weren't doin' nothin' but fill pitchers now an' again. Them mugs was still dirty when she was done. Cook was talkin' about it this mornin' t' Tarn.'

'I shouldn't have had to play server,' she complained bitterly, swinging the watering can back and forth to cover as much ground as possible. 'They should've let me fiddle, like they used to. You can't have a whole evening of music with just one musician, not if you don't want him to wish he'd never walked in before the night's over. Master Heron was tired, really tired, by the time he was done. If they'd let me play, I could've let him take a good long break or two. And he wanted me to play, he said so, he wanted to know if I would play a duet with him. He could have helped me, taught me songs right-'

'Well, heckfire, Rune,' Jib replied, sounding, for the first time in weeks, like her old friend instead of the odd, awkward stranger who wanted to court her. 'I dunno what t' say. Seems t' me pretty rotten unfair. Ye know? Looks t' me like your Mam is gettin' what she wants, an' ol' Jeoff is gettin' what he wants, an' all you're gettin' is hind teat. Ev'body here is doin' all right but you, and ye're th' one pickin' up the slack.'

Rune nodded unhappily, as they walked back to the stable to put the watering cans away under the shelves by the stable door. 'Nobody ever asks me what I want,' she said bitterly. 'Anything that needs done, they throw on me, without ever asking if I've got the time. They all seem to think they can do whatever they want with me, because I'm not important. I'm just a girl, just Stara's brat, and I don't count. I'm whatever they want me to be, with no say in it.'

And that includes Jon and his friends.

'Well, ye got a roof, an' plenty t' eat,' Jib began, echoing her pessimistic thoughts of last night. 'This ain't a bad life, really-'

'It's not enough,' she continued, angry now. 'I hate this place, and I hate most of the people in it! I don't want to be stuck here the rest of my life, in this little hole back of beyond, where everybody knows everything about everybody else, or they think they do. And they think that they're so good, God's keeping a special place in heaven for them! I can't get anywhere here, because no matter what I did, I'd never be good enough for them to even be civil to.'

Jib's brow puckered, as if he had never once thought that someone might want something other than the life they now shared. That Rune would want the freedom to play her fiddle, he should have understood-she'd dinned it into his head often enough. But that she'd want to leave was probably incomprehensible. He certainly looked surprised-and puzzled-by her outburst. 'Well,' he said slowly, 'What do you want, then?'

Rune flung her arms wide. 'I want the world!' she cried extravagantly. 'I want all of it! I want-I want kings and queens at my feet, I want wealth and power and-'

'Na, na, Rune,' Jib interrupted, laughing at her in a conciliating tone. 'That's not sensible, lass. Nobody can have that, outside of a tale. Leastwise, no musicker. What is it ye really want?'

'Well, if I have to be sensible . . .' She paused a moment, thought about what it was that was making her so unhappy. It wasn't the drudgery so much, as the loss of hope that there'd ever be anything else. And the confinement in a corner of the world where nothing ever happened, and nothing ever changed, and she'd always be looked down on and taken advantage of. 'Jib, I want to get out of here. The people here think I'm scum, you know that. Even if the High King rode up here tomorrow and claimed me as his long-lost daughter, they'd look down their noses at me and say, 'Eh, well, and she's a bastard after all, like we thought.' '

Jib nodded agreement, and sighed. He leaned up against the doorpost of the stable and selected a straw to chew on from one of the bales stacked there.

'So?' he said, scratching his head, and squinting into the late afternoon sunlight. 'If ye could go, how'd ye do it? Where'd ye go, then?'