choose, where and when. When-where-she’d be safe.” His grip tightened. “I don’t know enough!”
“You are aware,” said Arkady carefully, “nine out of ten women sail through this without special problems. Lakewalker, farmer, or half blood.”
Dag brooded. “Those used to sound like good odds.”
Arkady gazed out over the lake. “New Moon Cutoff would be about the safest place you could find for this, you do realize.”
“That thought had crossed my mind,” Dag admitted. “Maybe even safer than with her own kin. Certainly safer than somewhere in the north with just me, trying to figure out how to go on.”
“Then it might be time for a slightly more, ah, conciliating approach to people around here, do you suppose?” Arkady suggested mildly.
“More adaptive? ”
“What a delicate tongue you have, Arkady.” Dag sighed and turned to lean sideways, watching his profile. “Reckon you could near make lace with it.”
“I’d be satisfied if I could make a good groundsetter.” Arkady tilted his tea mug in toast to Dag, and drank. “But I think you know that by now.”
Dag stood silent for a while, letting the balmy air caress his winter skin. “You could find another apprentice. You always have. Where is the north going to find another Dag ’n Fawn? ”
“Service is service. One man can only do his day’s work no matter where he is.”
“True enough.” So much rode on this pivot point of their lives, so unexpectedly aimed at Dag’s heart. Strange for such a tiny spark to weigh so heavily; it might move worlds.
Yet it all could still prove in vain. Dag reconsidered Arkady with new respect. How many times had he gone through these same gyrations, only to have his hopes wash away in sorrow? Dag felt abruptly ashamed. “Sorry to be dithering like this. It’s my first time, see.” It was surely as profound a ground transformation as any he’d experienced this punch-drunk year, when he’d become first Fawn’s patroller, then Fawn’s husband, then captain, makeshift mage, then not a patroller at all. An uprooted seeker… a new maker. And now, once again, Fawn remade him. Fawn’s child’s father. When this is over, I will be a different man.
How agonizing was it, to begin such a transformation and then have it break off, incomplete? Fawn would know, he realized. He added, “Challa told me about you and Bryna.”
“Ah,” said Arkady. “Good.” And after a moment, “Then you’ll understand.”
Dag nodded. “Well… some.” Better than those two giggling louts indoors.
Arkady rubbed his chin and stared out at the morning light, eyes like two new copper coins. And then he said a strange thing: “Don’t let fear swallow all your happiness. Don’t forget to take joy.”
Dag gulped. Both of their grounds were nearly closed; it was Arkady’s voice alone that hinted how hard- bought this bit of wisdom might have been, yet the words had been nearly toneless.
Dag considered his most secret fear. If Fawn dies of this, I will have killed her, sure as if I’d led her out to battle on a ridge against impossible foes. So was that fear for her, or for himself? He’d known a couple of men whose wives had died in childbed; it wasn’t something a man got over, despite how time wore away all things. His remorse would be no novelty. But I have a new bonded knife, now. I wouldn’t have to get over this one. Not for long.
It was a peculiar enticement to courage.
Gods, he was getting morbid. He’d better tell Fawn soon just so she could give him a dose of her calm good sense and cheerful optimism. He could almost hear her voice: Stands to reason, Dag!
Well, once she got over being mad at him. With justice. If she threw things, he wouldn’t duck, he decided gallantly.
“I’ll tell her tonight,” he said. “We have a lot to talk about, I reckon.”
“Good,” said Arkady.
–-
An hour into the farmers market, the medicine table had already enjoyed a fair sprinkling of trade. With the bright weather, and several days for the roads to dry since the last rain, Nola and Cerie thought it might be busy enough for them to sell out early and take a few hours off in the sunshine. Fawn made cordial hellos to their regular customers, smiling at faces starting to be familiar. She’d even begun to recognize folks’ rigs, spotting Finch what’s-his-name in his open cart as he drove in. His mare was dark with sweat, and stood quietly when he dropped his reins and vaulted down.
He strode quickly to the medicine table, eyes seeking, to her surprise, Fawn. “You’re here, you’re here, oh thanks be! Can I talk to you privately, Missus Bluefield? ”
“Well, sure, I suppose so.” Fawn looked around. “Would over by the trees be private enough? ”
“Yes, anything.” His hand stretched and clenched, as if he wanted to grab her arm and hurry her along, but didn’t quite dare. They came to a halt at the fringe of the woods, in sight of the market but out of earshot.
Not out of groundsense range, naturally, but she doubted groundsense could make anything more of the agitated farm youth than she did.
Finch’s tense face was damp with perspiration and flushed with exertion, making his blue eyes look incongruously bright.
“Is your husband still of a mind to treat farmers? ” he asked abruptly.
He watched her mouth with painful intensity, as if expecting his heart’s salvation to issue from her lips.
“Well… in the north, in due course, sure. But he’s just an apprentice here. He’s not allowed.”
His hand swept this aside as if he barely heard her. His words fell out in a breathless tumble. “It’s my nephew Sparrow. My brother’s little boy. He’s barely five. He’s got the lockjaw. And it’s all my fault! I let him run barefoot in the barn. There was this nail, went halfway though his poor little foot. I was supposed to be watching him! He cries and cries, when he can. The fever came on first. The straining started last night. The screams are bad, but the silences are worse, oh gods.”
“Yeah, I know lockjaw,” said Fawn slowly. “Violet Stonecrop’s little brother died of it, oh, years back. They were neighbors of ours, when I was growing up in West Blue. I didn’t see, but Violet told me all about it, later.” Horrifying descriptions.
“Can he come? Can your Lakewalker husband help? ” Finch clutched her sleeve. “Can you ask-him, whatever his name is? Please? My sisterin- law cries, and Mama’s so mad she won’t even look at me. Please, can you ask him?” The clutch became a shaking grip, painful. “It’s all so awful!”
“Dag,” said Fawn, answering his least question while trying desperately to think. “Dag Bluefield. He insisted on taking my name when we were wed, the way Lakewalkers do. Took a farmer name to be more Lakewalker. ’S funny.” She would have to catch Dag alone, not in front of everyone in the medicine tent. She glanced at the sun. Near noon- he might be back to the house for lunch.
Or she could spare Dag the decision. Because this one was going to be hard no matter what way it played out, though with a youngster involved, she didn’t have a lot of doubt which way Dag would jump. She knew the camp rules as well as he did. She could send Finch packing, back to his daylight nightmare, and never share the dilemma. It wasn’t a good time for Dag. He’d seemed so strained since the pig roast. Constantly looking at her, as if wondering-what? As if regretting how his farmer bride divided him from his people?
Out in the wide world, there were any number of folks sick or dying right this minute, and what was one more? Arkady would surely forbid it, if he caught even a whiff of the plan. Fawn wasn’t even sure Lakewalkers could do anything for lockjaw; she hadn’t seen a case since she’d started work in the medicine tent. This could cost Dag his training. And how much would that cost others, down the line?
She let out her breath in a slow trickle, knowing her choice was no choice at all. “I can’t promise he’ll come. But I can ask him. Come along.”
Finch exhaled in a long huff, nodded, seemed to realize at last that his grip was hurting her, and let her go. She looked up and gave a wave to Cerie and Nola, watching her dubiously across the grass, which didn’t explain a thing but at least made it look like she wasn’t sneaking. There was a path over the wooded ridge that went nearly straight to Arkady’s place, much quicker than going around by the gate. The camp’s perimeter, she had learned, wasn’t as tightly guarded as that gate made it appear.
Nevertheless, she’d better not push their luck. When they were almost in sight of the water, she told Finch, “Stay here, down in this little hollow. Arkady’s place is just a couple hundred paces farther on. I’ll bring back Dag, or… or his word. I might be a little while.”
