Sword of Ice and Other Tales of Valdemar

'We belong here.'

'You always say that!' Suddenly Jory was standing, yelling across the table. 'We belong where we can make a living!'

Mariel silently left the kitchen. Lara followed her into the bedroom. Inya let them go. It was bad enough they'd

lost their mother. They shouldn't have to worry about losing their home, too.

'You're a fool,' Jory said, but he didn't say anything more. Somehow, with the children's leaving, the argument had ended.

For now. Inya sighed and started clearing the table.

She'd just finished the dishes when the door flew open and Mariel staggered in. Her clothes were soaked through; water streamed from her hair. She shivered. Thunder rumbled outside.

Inya hurried her to the hearth. She hadn't seen Mariel leave; the girl must have climbed out one of the bedroom's shuttered windows. Inya winced. Had the argument with Jory upset her so much that she didn't want to go through the kitchen again?

Mariel stared at the flames. Her face had a strange look, eyes very large and dark. Inya hoped she hadn't caught a chill. She put water on for tea.

'What do you think you're doing, running around in the rain like that? You'll make yourself sick.'

'I had to feed the animals.' Mariel's teeth chattered.

'Your father would have done that.'

'I had to do it.'

The tea boiled. Inya poured Mariel a steaming mug of it, then added a spoonful of honey. Mariel took the cup eagerly. Inya poured herself a cup, as well. Just listening to the wind made her shiver. Her joints were stiffening with dampness; she knew she wouldn't sleep well.

She sipped the hot tea, staring at Mariel over the cup's rim. Mariel's clothes and hair were drying; she'd stopped shivering, too.

She looked a lot like her mother had at that age, from the dark eyes to the long, stringy hair. For a moment Inya thought she saw Anara sitting there, not a married woman but a girl, halfway between childhood and adulthood, staring at her through serious eyes.

'Grandma? Are you all right?' Mariel's voice brought Inya back to the present.

Inya brushed a hand across her face. 'I'm fine. Are you warmer now?'

Mariel nodded.

'Why don't you go on to bed, then?'

'Come with me.' Mariel sounded suddenly young.

'I'll be along in a moment.' Inya watched as Mariel left the room. Then she stood, wincing at the weight on her knees. She walked slowly to the door, examining the worn-out hinge. She felt a tingling at the base of her skull. Some instinct made her undo the latch. She opened the door, staring out into the cold, wet night.

The wind had died. The moon shone through the dark clouds, lighting the field. And something stood beneath that moon, too perfect to be a horse. Its white hide shone, brighter than any moon.

Inya slammed the door shut again. The hinge creaked in protest.

She realized she was crying. .7 can't follow you. Don't you understand?:

The Companion didn't answer, and Inya didn't open the door again. She banked the fire and stumbled into bed.

That night she dreamed of half-grown children—Mariel, Anara, even herself as a girl. Only all the girls had blue eyes, bright as sapphire. Inya knew that wasn't right, though in the dream she couldn't think why.

Inya woke in the dark, not sure what had stirred her. Rain crashed against the roof; thunder rumbled. She crawled out of bed. The dirt floor was cold and damp beneath her feet, even through heavy socks. Her knees and ankles ached. She walked slowly toward the kitchen.

Jory stood by the door, holding a lantern. The yellow light cast shadows on his face. His shoulders were tight, hunched together. He looked tired.

Inya tensed. 'What's wrong?'

'It rained harder than I thought last night. The river's rising fast. If it doesn't crest by the end of the week, the farm'll flood out. Sooner, if the rain keeps up.'

Inya bit her lip. She'd known the water was high, but she'd thought they had more time.

There hadn't been a flood since she was a girl. People had come from the village, then, helping her parents build floodwalls of mud and wood. Together, they'd held the water back.

Jory ran a hand through his hair. 'Soon as the sun's up, I'm going to start digging.'

Inya nodded, suddenly wide awake. 'Ill send the children into town with word that we need help.'

Jory nodded. He opened the door again. The sky was dark, still more black than gray. Rain fell in icy sheets. There was no moon, no Companion standing in the field. Perhaps she had given up and gone away.

Jory stepped back out, closing the door behind him. Inya went to wake the children.

Mariel was already up. Lara poked out from under the blankets, yawning and rubbing her eyes. Inya explained, as quickly and calmly as she could, while the sun rose and thin light crept around the shuttered windows.

'Will we have to swim?' Lara sounded so worried that Inya didn't know whether to laugh or cry.

'Of course not.' Inya spoke as gently as she could. 'We're going to sit down and have breakfast, same as always. Then I'm going to send you into town with a message for the mayor.' As a child, Inya had taken a similar message to the mayor's grandfather. River's Bend hadn't had a mayor back then, but there had been a village council, and he'd been on it.

While the girls munched on reheated soup and cold bread, Inya wrote the message. Then she bundled Lara and Mariel into warm clothes and followed them outside. The rain had let up, and pale yellow light filtered through the clouds. The warm rays felt good on Inya's face.

She didn't have time to stand around, though. The dishes needed washing, and the door needed mending. She had to check for new leaks in the roof, too. And with Jory and the girls out all morning, she needed to make something warm for lunch.

She went back inside, closing the door behind her.

* * *

The rain started again soon after the girls left. No thunder this time, and not much wind; just a steady drizzle that stole all the warmth from the air. Inya found herself shivering, even inside. She worked slowly, knees and ankles complaining as she did.

Lara didn't return until well past noon. She pulled off her boots, sat down by the hearth, and stretched out her feet to warm them. 'Where's Mariel?'

'She's—' Lara hesitated. 'She's outside helping Dad.'

Inya nodded. She put water on for tea, then sat down beside Lara.

'They made me wait a long time,' Lara said. 'They wouldn't let me see the mayor, but they took the note to him, and came back with an answer. It's in my pocket.' Lara pulled out a sheet of wet, crumpled paper. The ink ran, but Inya could still make out the writing. She read the letter slowly. Then she read it again, unable to believe the words.

Much of it was formal, meaningless prose, thanking her for writing and expressing concern for her family. But two lines told her what the message really meant.

While we share concern for your property and safety, the village has not gone unaffected by this rain, and our own affairs occupy most of our time. I can make no promises, though we will send what help we can, when we can.

Anger blurred Inya's sight. What help we can, when we can. That meant there'd be no help at all. And, our own affairs. That meant the farm's affairs were not the village's affairs, not their concern at all.

Things had been different when Inya was a girl. The farm and village had worked together; in her grandmother's day, the farm had even been the larger of the two. There'd been no question, then, about whether the villagers would help hold the water back. They had helped. Just like Inya's family had helped the villagers, during hard winters, supplying food and charging only what they could afford.