Chapter 42
Maylie
SHE STOOD IN the doorway of the workshop.
The broad expanse of her husband’s back faced her, bent over a table, hammer in hand.
There were swirls of silver in Chrisanie’s light brown hair and the skin above the tattered edge of his collar was loose and slightly puckered.
Once it had been smooth and tanned, but seasons had slipped by and they had both changed.
Chrisanie raised his arm, the muscles in his shoulder flexing as he brought the hammer down with a thwack, striking a nail into a wooden frame. After three more strokes he stood back, panting.
‘The boys are asleep,’ she said.
He jumped at her voice. ‘Oh, ’tis you, May.’ He wiped one hand across his damp brow. ‘I came out after dinner to finish up. I must’ve lost track of time.’
‘’Tis no matter.’
She stepped into the workshop and closed the door. Harie and Rozowie were tucked into their beds and it was unlikely that Maylie would be overheard except perhaps by the hens, but she took the precaution all the same.
‘I need to speak to you,’ she said. ‘’Tis important.’
If Chrisanie thought her visit unusual, he did not show it. He gestured to a bench. After a pause, he asked, ‘What did you want to say?’
Maylie opened her mouth, but then closed it again. She had been planning how she would explain it all day, preparing for this moment, but now that she was here, the words seemed to have disappeared.
She looked at the tools hung on the far wall instead.
A bundle of posieous – mountain breath – had been tucked behind the handle of a saw.
These days intricate carving sometimes gave Chrisanie headaches and Maylie supplied him with mountain breath to chew while he worked.
There were only three sprigs left. He needed more.
‘Do you think Gredie’s all right?’ she asked. ‘He’s never spent a night away from home before.’
‘He’ll be fine. ’Tis good for him to have a little freedom and Bosiccie’s family will see that he’s safe. No need to worry about that.’
Maylie nodded. She opened her mouth again to begin saying what she had come here to tell her husband – finally, after all these winters – but still the words escaped her. Instead, she asked, ‘What’s that you’re making?’
Chrisanie glanced behind him in surprise. ‘A table for the butcher’s family. Their daughter’s had a baby and they want to give her a gift.’ He bent and blew on the wooden frame, sending a spray of chippings into the air.
Maylie nodded again and took a deep breath, feeling her heartbeat quicken. She must say it. ‘Chrisanie, I need to speak to you about …’ She swallowed, almost choking her throat felt so tight. ‘About the Maiden Sacrifice.’
Chrisanie placed his hammer carefully on the table.
Then they were both silent.
‘What do you already know?’ she asked.
‘I know that you hate it – everyone does, of course – but ’tis different for you. ’Tis like you mourn it each spring. Like the families that lost a girl to the Great Dragon.’
Outside geese honked as they flew overhead. Maylie imagined their curved, graceful forms swooping down the mountainside in the fading light.
‘You’ve never demanded I tell you what happened to me in Tormale. I thank you for that.’
Chrisanie shrugged. ‘I was just happy you came back. I told you that when we wed, remember?’
She nodded, smiling despite herself. When she had returned to Silicia eighteen winters ago, Maylie had not expected to find Chrisanie waiting for her.
Most Mountain folk wed at nineteen – when a Mountain girl knew for sure that she would not be a Maiden Sacrifice – and Maylie had assumed that, since he was a little older than her, Chrisanie would be married with at least one babe in arms. It had been almost more shocking to discover that Silicia’s carpenter was still single than to learn of the death of her father in her absence.
‘When we finally wed,’ Chrisanie added. ‘You made me ask you enough times.’
‘I thought you deserved better.’
‘What foolishness.’
‘You might not think that when you hear what I have to say.’
They stared at one another. Chrisanie’s eyes were the warm, deep brown they had always been, steady and comforting. Maylie could not bear the thought of hurting him, but she knew that she must.
‘Why do you need to tell me all this now?’ he asked.
‘Because the Hidden People have sent a warning. I need to go to Tormale.’
Chrisanie’s brow creased, his eyes widening. ‘To Tormale? The Hidden People? What do you mean?’
‘I can … I can speak to them in their own tongue.’ She paused and took a deep breath. ‘I’ve always done so. ’Tis my Gift.’
Shock rippled across Chrisanie’s features. ‘But the Sight fades after childhood. I don’t understand. I thought your Gift were healing?’
‘No, my Sight has never faded. Healing’s what I learnt from my aunt. It were her Gift and I’m not as accomplished as she, though I’ve been good enough to serve Silicia.’
‘You’re a brilliant healer, May.’
‘I’ve been doing my penance, I suppose.’ She swallowed and fiddled with the cuff of her homespun dress. ‘I’ve a tale to tell you and I’d best start at the beginning.’
Chrisanie leant against his workbench. ‘Whatever you say won’t change anything.’
‘We’ll see.’
Maylie forced herself back into the knotted recollections of her past. Those terrible memories that she always tried to repress.
‘I left someone behind in Tormale.’
An old wound inside Maylie’s chest ripped open. It was so painful that for a moment, she did not think she would be able to breathe. Suddenly she was back there, eighteen winters ago, in the squalor of the Pits, downing in guilt and grief.
‘You mean Esmelie?’ said Chrisanie. ‘But … but you always said she were dead. She died from a sickness in Tormale. That’s why you returned.’
Maylie shook her head. ‘My sister is dead,’ she replied, her voice thick with tears. ‘’Tis not Esmelie I speak of. ’Tis someone else.’