then the memories began to fade. Now when I look back, it's like searching for a dream I dreamed years ago."
"You don't remember anything?"
"I remember odd things. I remember the northerners cooking their meat with strange-smelling herbs. I've never tasted anything like it since. I remember the sound of their strange talk. Their speech had a sharp sound and a choppy cadence to it. I never understood it very well, but I did grow to like the sound of it. And I remember the day I saw the sea."
"What was it like?"
"It was vast," she said. "Nothing but grey-green water everywhere, constantly in motion. Watching it made me dizzy. It curled up onto the land as if it would devour the earth from under our feet, and the sound as it beat against the shore was deafening."
"Why did the northerners keep you?" Maara asked.
"I have no idea. They may have thought I would be useful as a hostage. In any case, I went with them willingly. If my husband was alive, I hoped I might find him a captive among their tribes."
"Did they mistreat you?"
"No," said Namet. "They thought I was a witless fool. I certainly acted like one. Going alone into their territory was a foolish thing to do, but grief can make us do very foolish things."
"Why were you grieving?" I asked her. "I thought you believed your husband was alive."
"I hoped," she replied, "but I don't think I believed. A kind of madness had come over me. I had been so happy, and like all young people, I thought I had a right to my happiness. I told the Mother that I would refuse to live if my husband were no longer living. It seemed such a small thing then, to throw my life away."
Namet's talk of the sea and the northerners and the painted people had distracted me. Now I knew that soon we would hear the story of her loss. She must have loved her husband very much to leave her child to go in search of him. What must it be like to lose someone so beloved? My heart ached for the young woman she had been.
Namet leaned toward me and brushed a tear from my cheek. "Why are you crying?"
"For your grief, Mother."
"And last night?"
"Last night?"
"Whose grief caused your tears last night? Was it the Lady's?"
By then I was convinced that Namet must know everything that happened under the sun. I nodded.
"You brought her into Maara's room with you last night," she said. "I felt her there as if she'd followed you and was standing by the door. Did you know she was still with you?"
"Yes," I said. "No. I don't know."
"What did Merin say to you that hurt you so much?"
"Nothing." Then I remembered. "She said the night was full of ghosts."
Namet thought that over for a while. "Is that all?"
"Yes."
"What do you know of the Lady's grief?"
"Nothing, Mother, unless you're speaking of the grief that comes to everyone in time of war."
"Surely that's grief enough," said Namet.
She reached for me and lightly touched my cheek. "You have a gift. You have compassion for others because you have the gift of understanding how life feels to them. If the world were filled with more joy and less pain, I would envy you." She smoothed the hair away from my face and smiled. "I'm teasing you a little, but yours is a gift you must learn to master or the pain may overwhelm you."
"Will you teach me, Mother?"
"My dear," said Namet, "you already have a teacher."
I looked at Maara. Her eyes went from Namet's face to mine.
"How can I teach her?" Maara said. "I know nothing about this gift of hers."
"You know enough to let it be," Namet told her. "And you're the one she chose, so you will teach her well enough, whether or not you understand what that teaching is." She turned to me. "All I can tell you is this. Some hearts break from grief and some from joy. Some even break from love. But hearts break because they are too small to contain the gifts life gives us. Your task will be to let your heart grow large enough not to break."
Namet leaned back against the stone. She folded her hands in her lap and waited,
"You don't remember anything?"
"I remember odd things. I remember the northerners cooking their meat with strange-smelling herbs. I've never tasted anything like it since. I remember the sound of their strange talk. Their speech had a sharp sound and a choppy cadence to it. I never understood it very well, but I did grow to like the sound of it. And I remember the day I saw the sea."
"What was it like?"
"It was vast," she said. "Nothing but grey-green water everywhere, constantly in motion. Watching it made me dizzy. It curled up onto the land as if it would devour the earth from under our feet, and the sound as it beat against the shore was deafening."
"Why did the northerners keep you?" Maara asked.
"I have no idea. They may have thought I would be useful as a hostage. In any case, I went with them willingly. If my husband was alive, I hoped I might find him a captive among their tribes."
"Did they mistreat you?"
"No," said Namet. "They thought I was a witless fool. I certainly acted like one. Going alone into their territory was a foolish thing to do, but grief can make us do very foolish things."
"Why were you grieving?" I asked her. "I thought you believed your husband was alive."
"I hoped," she replied, "but I don't think I believed. A kind of madness had come over me. I had been so happy, and like all young people, I thought I had a right to my happiness. I told the Mother that I would refuse to live if my husband were no longer living. It seemed such a small thing then, to throw my life away."
Namet's talk of the sea and the northerners and the painted people had distracted me. Now I knew that soon we would hear the story of her loss. She must have loved her husband very much to leave her child to go in search of him. What must it be like to lose someone so beloved? My heart ached for the young woman she had been.
Namet leaned toward me and brushed a tear from my cheek. "Why are you crying?"
"For your grief, Mother."
"And last night?"
"Last night?"
"Whose grief caused your tears last night? Was it the Lady's?"
By then I was convinced that Namet must know everything that happened under the sun. I nodded.
"You brought her into Maara's room with you last night," she said. "I felt her there as if she'd followed you and was standing by the door. Did you know she was still with you?"
"Yes," I said. "No. I don't know."
"What did Merin say to you that hurt you so much?"
"Nothing." Then I remembered. "She said the night was full of ghosts."
Namet thought that over for a while. "Is that all?"
"Yes."
"What do you know of the Lady's grief?"
"Nothing, Mother, unless you're speaking of the grief that comes to everyone in time of war."
"Surely that's grief enough," said Namet.
She reached for me and lightly touched my cheek. "You have a gift. You have compassion for others because you have the gift of understanding how life feels to them. If the world were filled with more joy and less pain, I would envy you." She smoothed the hair away from my face and smiled. "I'm teasing you a little, but yours is a gift you must learn to master or the pain may overwhelm you."
"Will you teach me, Mother?"
"My dear," said Namet, "you already have a teacher."
I looked at Maara. Her eyes went from Namet's face to mine.
"How can I teach her?" Maara said. "I know nothing about this gift of hers."
"You know enough to let it be," Namet told her. "And you're the one she chose, so you will teach her well enough, whether or not you understand what that teaching is." She turned to me. "All I can tell you is this. Some hearts break from grief and some from joy. Some even break from love. But hearts break because they are too small to contain the gifts life gives us. Your task will be to let your heart grow large enough not to break."
Namet leaned back against the stone. She folded her hands in her lap and waited,
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