“I have some clothes for you.”
“My own are fine, thank you.”
“Indeed they are, Gaelen, but a grey, threadbare tunic will not suit you, and bare legs will be cut by the brambles and gorse, as naked feet will be slashed by sharp or jagged stones. And you’ve no belt to carry a knife. Without a blade you’ll be hard-pressed to survive.”
“Thank you then. But I will pay you for them when I can.”
“As you will. Try them.” Caswallon threw him a green woolen shirt edged with brown leather and reinforced at the elbows and shoulders with hide. Gaelen slipped off his own dirty grey tunic and pulled on the garment. It fitted snugly, and his heart swelled; it was, in truth, the finest thing he had ever worn. The green woolen leggings were baggy but he tied them at the waist and joined Caswallon at the tree to learn how to lace them. Lastly a pair of moccasins were produced from Caswallon’s sack, along with a wide black belt bearing a bone-handled knife in a long sheath. The moccasins were a little too tight, but Caswallon promised him they would stretch into comfort. Gaelen drew the knife from its scabbard; it was double-edged, one side ending in a half-moon.
“The first side is for cutting wood, shaving, or cleaning skins; the second edge is for skinning. It is a useful weapon also. Keep it sharp at all times. Every night before you sleep, apply yourself to maintaining it.”
Reluctantly the boy returned the blade to its sheath and strapped the belt to his waist.
“Why are you doing this for me?”
“A good question, Gaelen, and I’m glad you asked it early. But I’ve no answer to give you. I watched you crawl and I admired you for the way you overcame your pain and your weakness. Also you made it to the timberline, and became a child of the mountains. As I interpreted clan law, that made you clan responsibility. I took it one stage further, that is all, and invited you into my home.”
“I don’t want a father. I never did.”
“And I already have a son of my blood. But that is neither here nor there. In clan law I am called your father, because you are my responsibility. In terms of Lowland law-such as the Aenir will not obliterate-I suppose I would be called your guardian. All this means is that I must teach you to live like a man. After that you are alone-should you so desire to be.”
“What would you teach me?”
“I’d teach you to hunt, and to plant, to read signs; I’d teach you to read the seasons and read men; I’d teach you to fight and, more importantly, when to fight. Most vital of all, though, I’d teach you how to think.”
“I know how to think,” said Gaelen.
“You know how to think like an Ateris thief, like a Lowland orphan. Look around and tell me what you see.”
“Mountains and trees,” answered the boy without looking around.
“No. Each mountain has a name and reputation, but together they combine to be only one thing. Home.”
“It’s not my home,” said Gaelen, feeling suddenly ill at ease in his new finery. “I’m a Lowlander. I don’t know if I can learn to be a clansman. I’m not even sure I want to try.”
“What are you sure of?”
“I hate the Aenir. I’d like to kill them all.”
“Would you like to be tall and strong and to attack one of their villages, riding a black stallion?”
“Yes.”
“Would you kill everyone?”
“Yes.”
“Would you chase a young boy, and tell him to run so that you could plunge a lance into his back?”
“NO!” he shouted. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“I’m glad of that. No more would any clansman. If you stay among us, Gaelen, you will get to fight the Aenir. But by then I will have shown you how. This is your first lesson, lad, put aside your hate. It clouds the mind.”
“Nothing will stop me hating the Aenir. They are vile killers. There is no good in them.”
“I’ll not argue with you, for you have seen their atrocities. What I will say is this: A fighter needs to think clearly, swiftly. His actions are always measured. Controlled rage is good, for it makes us stronger, but hatred swamps the emotions-it is like a runaway horse, fast but running aimlessly. But enough of this. Let’s walk awhile.”
As they strolled through the woods Caswallon talked of the Farlain, and of Maeg.
“Why did you go to another clan for a wife?” asked Gaelen as they halted by a rippling stream. “Oracle told me about it. He said it would show what kind of man you are. But I didn’t understand why you did it.”
“I’ll tell you a secret,” said the older man, leaning in close and whispering. “I’ve no idea myself. I fell in love with the woman the very first moment she stepped from her tent into the line of my sight. She pierced me like an arrow, and my legs felt weak and my heart flew like an eagle.”
“She cast a spell on you?” whispered Gaelen, eyes widening.
“She did indeed.”
“Is she a witch?”
“All women are witches, Gaelen, for all are capable of such a spell if the time is right.”
“They’ll not bewitch me,” said the boy.
“Indeed, they won’t,” Caswallon agreed. “For you’ve a strong mind and a stout heart. I could tell that as soon as I saw you.”
“Are you mocking me?”
“Not at all,” he answered, his face serious. “This is not a joking matter.”
“Good. Now that you know she bewitched you, why do you keep her with you?”
“Well, I’ve grown to like her. And she’s a good cook, and a fine clothes-maker. She made those clothes you are wearing. A man would be a fool not to keep her. I’m no hand with the needles myself.”
“That’s true,” said Gaelen. “I hadn’t thought of that. Will she try to bewitch me, do you think?”
“No. She’ll see straightaway the strength in you.”
“Good. Then I’ll stay with you… for a while.”
“Very well. Place your hand upon your heart and say your name.”
“Gaelen,” said the boy.
“Your full name.”
“That is my full name.”
“No. From this moment, until you say otherwise, you are Gaelen of the Farlain, the son of Caswallon. Now say it.”
The boy reddened. “Why are you doing this? You already have a son, you said that. You don’t know me. I’m… not good at anything. I don’t know how to be a clansman.”
“I’ll teach you. Now say it.”
“Gaelen of the Farlain, the… son of Caswallon.”
“Now say, ‘I am a clansman.’ ”
Gaelen licked his lips. “I am a clansman.”
“Gaelen of the Farlain, I welcome you into my house.”
“Thank you,” Gaelen answered lamely.
“Now, I have many things to do today, so I will leave you to explore the mountains. Tomorrow I shall return and we’ll take to the heather for a few days and get to know one another. Then we’ll go home.” Without another word Caswallon was up and walking off down the slope toward the houses below.
Gaelen watched until he was out of sight, then drew his dagger and held it up before him like a slender mirror. Joy surged in him. He replaced the blade and ran back toward the cave to show Oracle his finery. On the way he stopped at a jutting boulder ten feet high. On impulse he climbed it and looked about him, gazing with new eyes on the mountains rearing in the distance.
Lifting his arms to the sky he shouted at the top of his voice. Echoes drifted back to him, and tears coursed from his eyes. He had never heard an echo, and he felt the mountains were calling to him.
“I am going home!” he had shouted.
And they had answered him.
“HOME! HOME! HOME!”
Far down the slopes Caswallon heard the echoes and smiled. The boy had a lot of learning to do, and even
