know how great a risk it might turn out to be.
Brede was profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of handling Tegan’s body in the course of her nursing. She coped by being as impersonal as she could. She did not want to be close; she did not want to have this intimate knowledge of Tegan’s body. She tried to tell Edra that she couldn’t do it, a muttered comment as Edra was leaving the forge.
Edra turned back and stared at Tegan’s huddled form, not caring whether she heard or not.
‘Then let her die.’
Brede backed away. Edra went out into the first fall of snow, impatient with Tegan and with her unwilling assistant.
Tegan covered her face with her arm. Brede stood above her, silent and uneasy. At last Tegan uncovered her face, and looked up at her, unable to make out her expression.
‘There’s a knife within arm’s reach. I’d rather you finished me quickly than be left with this wound festering from my own filth until fever takes me.’
‘No.’
‘No to which?’
‘No, I’ll not cut your throat. No, I’ll not leave your wound to fester.’
Tegan took a deep, steadying breath.
‘Why not?’
‘It would be harder than the alternatives.’
‘Then why did you say you would no longer look after me? If it’s not my death you want?’
‘I don’t want to be the one who allows you back out there to kill more of my people. But I can’t take a step to prevent you either.’
‘That is not a weakness, Brede.’
‘Of course it is. Stop being so reasonable, I can’t match it.’
Tegan was abruptly reminded of Maeve.
Brede pulled her day’s work down from the rafters. She set the bellows, and began the slow process of building the heat in the fire to the temperature she wanted. She fetched more charcoal, sorted her tools and put the ones she needed within reach. Tegan followed her movements, trying to see her face, waiting for the frozen immobility to soften. It was a long time before she dared speak again. Brede was standing over the fierce heat of the fire, watching the metal bar change from darkness to red heat, when Tegan at last broke the silence.
‘Maeve has never liked my attempts at reason. She always fights to have her way. But you don’t do that. If your wants are not met, you pretend they don’t exist. I don’t understand. If you hunger you eat; if you are tired you sleep. Why pretend any other need is less important?’
Brede clenched her hands into fists.
‘If your needs injure others, do you still follow them? If satisfying your hunger took food from the mouths of your loved ones, would you still eat?’
‘Ah, philosophy.’
‘No. Reality. This village hasn’t starved, through twenty years of drought and bad harvest, through as many years of war, although we’ve come close. Now the rains have finally come, they have washed away what little there was. We don’t help our starving neighbours; we congratulate ourselves on the quality of the grain we have stored, and the fact that we got our harvest in on time.’
Tegan flinched, aware that her position in such a culture was precarious.
‘I was thinking of less basic needs,’ she said, wondering what Brede might say if the dam of her silence truly broke.
‘Such as?’
‘Companionship. You’ve not hand-fast, have you?’
Brede turned back to the fire, and took the metal bar from the heat. She steadied the metal against the anvil, and took up the hammer.
Tegan studied Brede’s profile, sharply defined in the firelight. She was beginning to appreciate the curve of Brede’s nose; it fit well under her broad brow, and balanced the width of her mouth. In profile it was almost elegant.
‘Well, I won’t ask,’ she said into Brede’s half mocking silence, ‘but you can’t tell me you aren’t lonely.’
Brede brought down the hammer, a light touch.
‘There was someone, once. Not here.’ She smiled and set the metal ringing under a volley of blows that prevented Tegan from saying more. She rested for a moment.
Brede was profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of handling Tegan’s body in the course of her nursing. She coped by being as impersonal as she could. She did not want to be close; she did not want to have this intimate knowledge of Tegan’s body. She tried to tell Edra that she couldn’t do it, a muttered comment as Edra was leaving the forge.
Edra turned back and stared at Tegan’s huddled form, not caring whether she heard or not.
‘Then let her die.’
Brede backed away. Edra went out into the first fall of snow, impatient with Tegan and with her unwilling assistant.
Tegan covered her face with her arm. Brede stood above her, silent and uneasy. At last Tegan uncovered her face, and looked up at her, unable to make out her expression.
‘There’s a knife within arm’s reach. I’d rather you finished me quickly than be left with this wound festering from my own filth until fever takes me.’
‘No.’
‘No to which?’
‘No, I’ll not cut your throat. No, I’ll not leave your wound to fester.’
Tegan took a deep, steadying breath.
‘Why not?’
‘It would be harder than the alternatives.’
‘Then why did you say you would no longer look after me? If it’s not my death you want?’
‘I don’t want to be the one who allows you back out there to kill more of my people. But I can’t take a step to prevent you either.’
‘That is not a weakness, Brede.’
‘Of course it is. Stop being so reasonable, I can’t match it.’
Tegan was abruptly reminded of Maeve.
Brede pulled her day’s work down from the rafters. She set the bellows, and began the slow process of building the heat in the fire to the temperature she wanted. She fetched more charcoal, sorted her tools and put the ones she needed within reach. Tegan followed her movements, trying to see her face, waiting for the frozen immobility to soften. It was a long time before she dared speak again. Brede was standing over the fierce heat of the fire, watching the metal bar change from darkness to red heat, when Tegan at last broke the silence.
‘Maeve has never liked my attempts at reason. She always fights to have her way. But you don’t do that. If your wants are not met, you pretend they don’t exist. I don’t understand. If you hunger you eat; if you are tired you sleep. Why pretend any other need is less important?’
Brede clenched her hands into fists.
‘If your needs injure others, do you still follow them? If satisfying your hunger took food from the mouths of your loved ones, would you still eat?’
‘Ah, philosophy.’
‘No. Reality. This village hasn’t starved, through twenty years of drought and bad harvest, through as many years of war, although we’ve come close. Now the rains have finally come, they have washed away what little there was. We don’t help our starving neighbours; we congratulate ourselves on the quality of the grain we have stored, and the fact that we got our harvest in on time.’
Tegan flinched, aware that her position in such a culture was precarious.
‘I was thinking of less basic needs,’ she said, wondering what Brede might say if the dam of her silence truly broke.
‘Such as?’
‘Companionship. You’ve not hand-fast, have you?’
Brede turned back to the fire, and took the metal bar from the heat. She steadied the metal against the anvil, and took up the hammer.
Tegan studied Brede’s profile, sharply defined in the firelight. She was beginning to appreciate the curve of Brede’s nose; it fit well under her broad brow, and balanced the width of her mouth. In profile it was almost elegant.
‘Well, I won’t ask,’ she said into Brede’s half mocking silence, ‘but you can’t tell me you aren’t lonely.’
Brede brought down the hammer, a light touch.
‘There was someone, once. Not here.’ She smiled and set the metal ringing under a volley of blows that prevented Tegan from saying more. She rested for a moment.
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