“Padera wouldn’t have let Konniger take one of her daughters into the forest.”
“Is Shayla Konniger’s daughter, then?”
Maeve looked up with an expression somewhere between appalled and the brink of laughter. “By Mari, no! Konniger was…well, much younger. And if it had been his child, if it had been anyone else’s…” She looked back down at the dirt. “Konniger was kind about it. Might not think it seeing him today, but back then he was a decent lad. He took Shayla gently. Said he would find a pretty place. A place where the gods would surely find her and keep my baby protected from harm. He did a good job. I owe him for that kindness. When he came back, he told me that after he’d set her down in the forest he’d only taken a few steps, and when he looked back, my sweet little girl was gone and in her place sat a bear cub.”
Suri was surprised. She’d never heard of a morvyn possessing and transforming a body so quickly. Her understanding was that it took days.
“When he told me, I went right out and looked. Weeks I hunted. Every day rooting through every miserable thicket, but I finally found her. The gods turned Shayla into a beautiful bundle of brown fur, but I could still tell she was mine. So cute, so perfect. And she needed someone to take care of her. I fed her. Milk at first, then I took some meat from the feasts. Just a little. But then she got bigger. I stole a goat, then another.”
Maeve wiped her face and squeezed her nose. “Soon Shayla learned to hunt on her own. That was a huge weight off my shoulders, but then…the Long Winter and the Great Famine came. There wasn’t any food, not for us on the dahl or for her in the forest. Everyone was thin; walking dead, we used to say. When people started to die, we stopped saying it. Even Padera’s children died. But I wasn’t going to let my baby perish, not after all I’d gone through, after all she’d gone through. My baby needed meat to live. All the goats were gone. And the sheep were guarded.”
Maeve stopped talking and just stared at the ground as if seeing ancient snow.
“You found meat?” Suri asked.
“Yes. I found meat. Frozen meat, but Shayla didn’t mind.” Maeve brought the cloth to her face again but this time wiped tears from her eyes. “They were just lying there, stacked in the hut near the south wall, near the gate. The ground was too frozen to bury the dead, so they just packed them in the snow to wait for the thaw. When spring came, everyone thought animals had stolen the missing bodies.” Maeve’s voice cracked and hitched. She held the cloth to her lips. “Padera’s children kept my Shayla alive.”
“As the morvyn’s strength grew, she craved more human flesh,” Suri said.
Maeve nodded, “I didn’t know. I didn’t…” She was crying too hard then to speak anymore.
“Let’s just hope Shayla still remembers the sound of her mother’s voice.” Suri held out Tura’s staff for Maeve again, and without another word the old woman got to her feet and began to climb once more.
—
That morning when Persephone entered the Great Hall to take her shift watching Arion, she was surprised to find Konniger. She hadn’t seen him in the lodge since Arion had moved in, and so it was odd seeing him in the First Chair, leaning slightly forward, staring out the door. He wore the chieftain’s fur over his shoulders but his leigh mor was wrapped in the summer style, pinned and belted at the waist, forming a skirt that revealed pale, hairy legs. The fire burned low; the room was quiet; Konniger was alone. This concerned Persephone. Konniger was never alone.
Since becoming chieftain, he traveled with an entourage. His drinking friends, cronies, and the growing number of men from Nadak were always around.
“Konniger,” she said, trying not to sound like a guilty kid caught coming home too late.
“Persephone,” he replied, slouching a bit to one side and resting his chin on a hand.
He knew she came there every morning to take over the next shift from Suri. No other reason for him to be sitting in that chair all alone. This was to be a showdown of sorts. He would chastise her for causing trouble, seek to bring her in line. She decided to get her words in first, state her case before the conversation got ugly.
“We’ve never really had a chance to talk since Reglan died,” she began in a gentle, empathetic tone. Although not exactly friends, they’d known each other for years, and she knew this was her best chance to reason with him. “I, well, I’m sorry if I’ve made things harder for you. I was only trying to help. It’s just that after twenty years of sitting up there, I guess it’s hard to let someone else take over—hard to stand by and watch rather than do. I want you to know I’m going to try to be better. You’re chieftain now. I respect that. I just hope you’ll let me contribute—that we can work together in some way. I mean, I have done this job for a long time, and I think I have some knowledge you could benefit from. It seems stupid to be at odds the way we’ve been.”
Konniger cleared his throat and took a breath. “You know, Tressa had been so excited to move in here.” Konniger pointed at the rafters with a lazy finger. “She’d dreamed of it all her life. That woman knew I’d be chieftain one day, believed it even when I didn’t. That’s what a good wife does, keeps your dreams alive even when you don’t believe anymore.” He pulled himself up a bit in the chair, a seat in which he didn’t look comfortable.
“All this heavy timber, solid roof, and this fine fire was so much nicer than the dumpy roundhouse we shared with my mother, my sister, and her husband, Fig. Can’t forget old Fig. Bastard snores as loud as a thunderstorm. I swear he was the cause of the thatch coming off the roof each spring. And, of course, their brood of kids: four god-awful brats who are always crying or shouting. All of us crammed in on top of one another, which wasn’t so bad in winter. Cold blew right through that thatch, you know? But in the heat of summer—brutal.” He shook his head with a you-have-no-idea expression.
“I slept outside most nights starting around this time of year. Sometimes Tressa joined me.” He smiled then and looked into the glowing coals before his feet. “We rarely slept those nights. She likes it outside. Enjoys the freedom that lying on grass gives. I couldn’t wait to see what it’d be like here in the lodge surrounded by thick log walls, the comfort of fur, and the warmth of our own private fire.”
Persephone nodded. “It’s a grand house, this is. I remember being shocked when Reglan first showed me the bedroom. I thought so much luxury was obscene. I figured no one could ever be unhappy living in such a place, sleeping on a fancy bed all to ourselves, but I cried rivers within these walls.”
A breeze blew in through the open door, stirring the flames between them. Konniger sat up fully and pulled the black bear fur tighter over his shoulders. From overhead came the faint sound of intermittent scratching accompanied by an occasional doglike whimper.
Minna, Persephone thought. Why is she scratching?
“I always thought I was destined for greatness,” the chieftain said. “Out of eight kids I was the only one to survive to adulthood.”
“Your sister Autumn is—”
“My sister Autumn isn’t worth mentioning. I’m talking about men. She’s only good for churning out—well, I mentioned the screaming brats already, didn’t I?” He sighed and shook his head. “Eight kids. It was easy to believe that the gods had chosen me for some greatness. Why else did they send sickness, famine, and in the case of my brother Kerannon a gust of wind to kill them while sparing me? As I got older, I realized I was wrong. It wasn’t that I was being spared; they just did a piss-poor job of slaughtering us. Gods can be just as lazy and sloppy as anyone else, I suppose. When Wogan dropped that tree on my father, I knew the gods didn’t care for us. The man was a warrior—Shield to the chieftain—and he died crushed by a lousy tree. No, the gods don’t like me and mine. Honestly, I don’t think they like any of us. But look who I’m talking to.” He laughed.