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She said that when Gilead’s Covenant Man is not at his hobby of collecting taxes—a job that comes down to licking the tears from the faces of
poor working folk—he’s an advisor to the palace lords who call themselves the Council of Eld. Although it’s only themselves who claim they have
any blood connection to the Eld. ’Tis said he’s a great mage, and there may be at least some truth in that, for you’ve seen his magic at work.”
“So I have,” Tim said, thinking of the basin. And of the way sai Covenant Man seemed to grow taller when he was wroth.
“My correspondent said there are even some who claim he’s Maerlyn, he who was court mage to Arthur Eld himself, for Maerlyn was said to be
eternal, a creature who lives backward in time.” From behind the veil came a snorting sound. “Just thinking of it makes my head hurt, for such an
idea makes no earthly sense.”
“But Maerlyn was a white magician, or so the stories do say.”
“Those who claim the Covenant Man’s Maerlyn in disguise say he was turned evil by the glam of the Wizard’s Rainbow, for he was given the
keeping of it in the days before the Elden Kingdom fell. Others say that, during his wanderings after the fall, he discovered certain artyfax of the Old
People, became fascinated by them, and was blackened by them to the bottom of his soul. This happened in the Endless Forest, they say, where
he still keeps in a magic house where time stands still.”
“Doesn’t seem too likely,” Tim said . . . although he was fascinated by the idea of a magic house where clock hands never moved and sand never
fell in the glass.
“Bullshit is what it is!” And, noting his shocked look: “Cry your pardon, but sometimes only vulgarity will serve. Even Maerlyn couldn’t be two
places at the same time, mooning around the Endless Forest at one end of the North’rd Barony and serving the lords and gunslingers of Gilead at
the other. Nay, the tax man’s no Maerlyn, but he is a magician—a black one. So said the lady I once taught, and so I believe. That’s why you must
never go near him again. Any good he offers to do you will be a lie.”
Tim considered this, then asked: “Do you know what a sighe is, sai?”
“Of course. The sighe are the fairy-folk, who supposedly live in the deep woods. Did the dark man speak of them?”
“No, ’twas just some story Straw Willem told me one day at the sawmill.”
Now why did I lie?
But deep in his heart, Tim knew.
Bern Kells didn’t come back that night, which was for the best. Tim meant to stay on guard, but he was just a boy, and exhausted. I’ll close
my eyes for a few seconds, to rest them, was what he told himself when he lay down on the straw pallet he made for himself behind the door, and it
felt like no more than a few seconds, but when he opened them again, the cottage was filled with morning light. His father’s ax lay on the floor
beside him, where his relaxing hand had dropped it. He picked it up, put it back in his belt, and hurried into the bedroom to see his mother.
The Widow Smack was fast asleep in the Tavares rocker, which she had drawn up close to Nell’s bed, her veil fluttering with her snores. Nell’s
eyes were wide open, and they turned toward the sound of Tim’s steps. “Who comes?”
“Tim, Mama.” He sat beside her on the bed. “Has your sight come back? Even a little?”
She tried to smile, but her swollen mouth could do little more than twitch. “Still dark, I’m afraid.”
“It’s all right.” He raised the hand that wasn’t splinted and kissed the back of it. “Probably still too early.”
Their voices had roused the Widow. “He says true, Nell.”
“Blind or not, next year we’ll be turned out for sure, and then what?”
Nell turned her face to the wall and began to cry. Tim looked at the Widow, not sure what to do. She motioned for him to leave. “I’ll give her
something to calm her—’tis in my bag. You have men to see, Tim. Go at once, or they’ll be off to the woods.”
He might have missed Peter Cosington and Ernie Marchly anyway, if Baldy Anderson, one of Tree’s big farmers, hadn’t stopped by the pair’s
storing shed to chat as they hitched their mules and prepared for the day. The three men listened to his story in grim silence, and when Tim finally
stumbled to a halt, telling them his mother was still blind this morning, Square Peter gripped Tim by the upper arms and said, “Count on us, boy.
We’ll rouse every ax-man in town, those who work the blossies as well as those who go up the Ironwood. There’ll be no cutting in the forest today.”
Anderson said, “And I’ll send my boys around to the farmers. To Destry and to the sawmill, as well.”
“What about the constable?” Slow Ernie asked, a trifle nervously.
Anderson dipped his head, spat between his boots, and wiped his chin with the heel of his hand. “Gone up Tavares way, I hear, either looking for
poachers or visiting the woman he keeps up there. Makes no difference. Howard Tasley en’t never been worth a fart in a high wind. We’ll do the job
ourselves, and have Kells jugged by the time he comes back.”
“With a pair of broken arms, if he kicks up rough,” Cosington added. “He’s never been able to hold his drink or his temper. He was all right when
he had Jack Ross to rein ’im in, but look what it’s come to! Nell Ross beaten blind! Big Kells always kept a warm eye for her, and the only one who
didn’t know it was—”
Anderson hushed him with an elbow, then turned to Tim, bending forward with his hands on his knees, for he was tallish. “’Twas the Covenant
Man who found your da’s corse?”
“Aye.”
“And you saw the body yourself.”
Tim’s eyes filled, but his voice was steady enough. “Aye, so I did.”
“On our stake,” Slow Ernie said. “T’back of one of our stubs. The one where the pooky’s set up housekeeping.”
“Aye.”
“I could kill him just for that,” Cosington said, “but we’ll bring him alive if we can. Ernie, you n me’d best ride up there and bring back the . . . you
know, remains . . . before we get in on the search. Baldy, can you get the word around on your own?”
“Aye. We’ll gather at the mercantile. Keep a good eye out along the Ironwood Trail as you go, boys, but my best guess is that we’ll find the
booger in town, laid up drunk.” And, more to himself than to the others: “I never believed that dragon story.”
“Start behind Gitty’s,” Slow Ernie said. “He’s slept it off there more than once.”
“So we will.” Baldy Anderson looked up at the sky. “I don’t care much for this weather, tell ya true. It’s too warm for Wide Earth. I hope it don’t bring
a storm, and I hope to gods it don’t bring a starkblast. That’d cap everything. Wouldn’t be none of us able to pay the Covenant Man when he comes
next year. Although if it’s true what the boy says, he’s turned a bad apple out of the basket and done us a service.”
He didn’t do my mama one, Tim thought. If he hadn’t given me that key, and if I hadn’t used it, she’d still have her sight.
“Go on home now,” Marchly said to Tim. He spoke kindly, but in a tone that brooked no argument. “Stop by my house on the way, do ya, and tell
my wife there’s ladies wanted at yours. Widow Smack must need to go home and rest, for she’s neither young nor well. Also . . .” He sighed. “Tell
her they’ll be wanted at Stokes’s burying parlor later on.”