Tattered Souls - Part 6

Ceolfred watches Rastellion dashing away toward the Esteldin road. He glances at the sun: a bit past mid-afternoon; should leave time enough for his nephew to get back before full dark. Whatever Zandrianna had said to the lad – Ceolfred hadn’t listened in on what passed between them – she seemed to convince him, and he was ready to start out for Bree that same hour.

Ceolfred held him back. “Not so fast. We’ve got arrangements t’ make, and horses t’ borrow.” Then he gave instructions for what the young man was to tell the rangers at Esteldin.  “Dúrlammad still owes me more than one favor. You tell ‘im to bring up, first thing tomorrow, along with Whitey and a horse for that Zandrianna, my two as well. I’ve a mind t’ go wit’ you back t’ Bree an’ see this girl of yours home safe. For the rest, Dúrlammad’ll know what else t’ do while I’m away. Jus’ tell him we’re aimin’ t’ leave close after dawn.”

Rastellion stared. “You’re … you’re comin’? What ‘bout pa?”

“You leave him t’ me. Off wit’ ya.”

Now Ceolfred takes a deep breath. Time to break the news to his brother-in-law. Easier said than done. He turns and walks the several paces back to the porch. Cuthberd slumps in his chair, glaring west, where Rastellion has just vanished among the sparse trees.

“No good’ll come o’ it,” Cuthberd grumps. “Boy had his fun in Bree, playin’ at bein’ a townsman. Time for him t’ come home.” He glares at the other man. “Should’ve let well ‘nuff alone, Ceol, not encouraged him t’ run off an’ get his heart broke all over ‘gain.”

Ceolfred scowls back. “Wha’s wrong wi’ you?” he demands. “Yer son deserves a chance at happiness. I ‘member how you were wit’ Ellanah all those years ago. Even gave up your ‘prenticeship for her. Don’t Rast deserve th’ same?”

A spasm crosses Cuthberd’s face and he raises his walking stick in a trembling hand to point it at Ceolfred. “Don’ you dare talk t’ me about her. Was your family as disowned ‘er. Things might’ve been different if she’d had kin about to help when her … when our daughter …” His face crumples and the stick drops to the porch. He turns away. “No, Rast don’t need that kinda heartbreak. Ain’t nothin’ worth it.”

Ceolfred takes a deep breath, then steps up to stand beside the chair. “Mebbe,” he says, in a softer voice. “But you saw ‘im this past week, how wretched he was. He’ll be mis’rable like that ‘til he sees this matter through, one way or t’other. Best we can do is make sure he don’t do sommat too foolish, down there in Bree. ‘Sides, I’d give it even chances that this Zandrianna’s right, an’ tha’ girl Immalaine didn’ leave willingly.”

Cuthberd scowls, still looking away. “An’ how’re we going t’ keep ‘im from whatever fool thing he sets ‘is mind to?” he demands.

The other’s mouth quirks. “Easy. We go wit’im back t’ Bree.”

At this, Ceolfred does turn about, his mouth gaping for a long moment. “Go t’ Bree? Pah! Easy for you, mebbe, with your ranger friends an’ two good legs.” He gestures at his own maimed limb under the blanket. “What ‘bout me? Who’s going t’ look after me while yer away. I…”

Ceolfred interrupts, his voice suddenly harsh. “And that’s ‘bout enough whining from you! Think your son’s been bad wit’his mopin’ about? He ain’t got nothin’ on you fer that.” Cuthberd draws a breath to object, but Ceol talks over him. “I’ve had t’ put up wi’ yer self-pity long enough now. Done it for Ellanah’s sake – aye, and I’ll speak ‘er name. She was my little sister afore she was your wife.

“So, you got wounded and lost yer farm. ‘Tweren’t fair by any reckoning. But there’s folks up here as have had worse: lost life, not just land and limb. ‘Sides, I’ve seen you get about on that crutch o’ yours when you’ve a mind to, like when you chased that peddler off last week. No reason for you t’ spend yer days sulkin’ by my hearth like a useless lump when you could be up an’ doin’.”

Cuthberd stares at his brother-in-law for a long moment, then turns and spits into the long grass beside the porch. “An’ just how am I suppos’d t’ get back t’ farmin’ like this?” he demands, moving his stump under the blanket again.

“Yer not,” Ceolfred answers bluntly. “I figgered you’d have that sussed by now. Yer farmin’ days are over. An’ you’ve no right t’ force yer son into it in yer place, like he weren’t nothin’ but a pair o’ spare legs.”

Cuthberd struggles upright in his chair, his face going red with anger as he tries to splutter a reply but Ceolfred leans toward him, face hard, and Cuthberd snaps his mouth shut.

“Now you listen here an’ listen well. You keep sayin’ y’ want th’ farmin’ for th’ security it brings. Well if you’d actually talk to that boy o’ yours, stead of beratin’ him all th’ time, you’d know he’s made more coin in th’ last half year than you made any two on th’ farm, combined.”

Cuth shakes his head doggedly. “But I don’t know nothin’ ‘bout tradin’,” he objects.

“And ya don’t need to. Boy’s got a knack. You told me yerself how you’d always let ‘im do th’ tradin’ on market days. You were happy ‘nuff t’ leave it t’ him then; leave it to ‘im now.

“But this mill he’s mentioned. Now that you should  know sommat about. An’- wi’ a bit o’ help – it’s somethin’ you could manage, too, leg or no leg. So at least see th’ place, b’fore you reject th’ idea.”

“But my family’s always farmed th’ downs!” the other retorts.

Ceolfred sighs. “Always? Not hardly. An’ look at these hills now. Orcs everywhere; farms abandoned. Things change.” His voice softens. “As you should know.”

Cuthberd looks away at this, face tightening in misery. “But how can I go elsewhere?” he says, almost whispering, as he stares westward, toward the sinking sun and his old farm. “Our farm was here. Her … her bones are here.”

“Aye,” says Ceolfred, relentlessly, and points off south, towards the Esteldin road. “An’ her flesh and blood is there. Which matters more?”

A long silence stretches, then Cuthberd jerks his head. “Seems t’ me Rastellion’s been larkin’ down there in Bree long enough, away from my eye. Got me my money, mebbe, but he ain’t found me a farm yet. Guess th’only  way t’ get th’ job done right’s t’ do it m’self.” He nods again. “Past time I got him sorted.

“’Sides,” he continues after a moment, rubbing his chin; “boy said somethin’ about that girl havin’ a farm of her own.” His expression grows thoughtful. “We ought t’ see ‘bout getting’ her home safe. Mebbe she’s not a bad catch after all.” He pushes up against his chair. “Here then, help me up, why don’ ya? If yer draggin’ us all off soutward on th’ morrow, there’s no time t’ be jawin’ away.”

Ceolfred shakes his head slightly, suppressing a wry smile, and leans down to offer the lamed man a hand.

A few hours later, after dinner, Ceolfred brings a mug of tea out to Zandrianna, where she sits on the porch, waiting for Rastellion's return from Esteldin. The setting sun casts a lilac glow across the downs, softening its barren lines, and the lynx cubs chase each other on the far hillside.

"He'll be back afore full dark, like as not," the man says, sitting on the porch steps. "An’ th' moon'll be up early tonight, an’ near full."

As she watches the setting sun, Zandrianna reaches up to accept the mug with a nod and murmur of thanks. "And he's coming back to Bree – that’s a good sign, isn't it?" She looks up at Ceolfred with a question in her eyes, before turning her head towards the horizon and sipping her tea.

Ceolfred shrugs and sips his own tea. "As I said, he's been up here a week, thinkin' th' worst. Can't say I blame him, from what 'e told me. I'd've thought the same, 'til I heard yer words." He turns and fixes Zandrianna with a keen stare. "She honest, this Immalaine? Not likely t' spin tales?"

"As honest as I've known a person to be. She's rather plainspoke, and I've never heard her embellish a tale. Though," Zandrianna frowns, as she chews her lip for a moment, "I'm not sure she's told me the whole of what happened to her. Still, what she told rings true."

Ceolfred turns back to watch the road, satisfied. "Aye, well, I figgered you'd not come this whole way if she weren't honest. It’d be hard on th' boy, getting’ his hopes up only t’ find that she did leave him for 'nother, willin’ly. Then again, I hate t' think of what she’s goin’ through if she didn’t." He shakes his head. "Seems like least one o' the young folks is going t' be sufferin', whatever's the case." He blows onto his tea, then takes a long sip.

Zandrianna nods at him, drinking from her own mug in silence for a moment. "It's hard to see, no matter which way I look. If the girl had only told Rastellion, like I asked her to. But she was insistent, convinced he'd not love her anymore. And even I practically had to drag it from her." Sighing, she turns to Ceolfred, worry in her eyes.

Ceolfred nods. "Guess there’s only one way t’..." He breaks off and rises as he sees Rastellion's head emerge above the low ridge to the west. "Here he is."

Rastellion looks up, sees them waiting, and raises a tired hand in greeting as he starts down the slope toward the cabin.

Zandrianna stands up to greet him. "Everything settled for the travel? The rangers in Esteldin seemed most helpful to me when I was there. I can't imagine they weren't able to help you as well."

"All set," he says, as he mounts the first step. "Told 'em it was for you… an' that was all it took.  Dúrlammad said he or one of his fellow'll be up here at dawn with th' horses. Even going t' loan Zandrianna one of their own for th' ride back." He looks up at his uncle quizzically

Ceolfred shrugs. "Helpful folk, them rangers," is all he says to that. "Now go on in... there's water in th' basin, an' food set aside fer you. Your pa's gone t' bed already."

At the mention of Rastellion's father, Zandrianna thinks back to the bits of conversation she overheard between Cuthberd and Ceolfred, and mentally shakes her head. She briefly places her hand on Rastellion’s shoulder as he passes. "Thank you for going to arrange the horses." she says, her voice tinged with tiredness.

Rastellion pauses at the top step, biting his lip. He half-turns to Zandrianna. "Yer .. yer sure she didn’t want t' go back to that man?" he asks, expression troubled. "Just... I've known some farmwives as have wanted t’ stay with a cruel man and... well, I started thinking on the way back just now that mebbe she..." He trails off.

"Rastellion, I've heard of such things myself. In Rohan, I had to tend such a woman. Her husband beat her, yet she refused to leave him. This, however," Zandrianna shudders, "what she told me ... this was much worse than a mere beating. No woman would return willingly to a man this cruel. Certainly not Immalaine."

Rastellion nods. He doesn't look completely convinced, but he squares his shoulders. "I'd best get my saddle bags ready then," he says, and goes on inside.

Ceolfred sits back down and drinks more of his tea. "Best we all get some sleep," he says. "Early start an' a long ride ahead of us." He looks at Zandrianna. "You'll be okay? A hard ride back after less than half a day o' rest?"

“I'll have to be," Zandrianna replies, stretching her shoulders and letting out a yawn. "Besides, I'm a woman of Rohan. Being in the saddle is something we learned early." She looks back toward the house and  frowns once more. "This other woman, the one before Immalaine... she hurt him pretty bad, didn’t sehe? Immalaine’ a sweetheart. She'd not hurt anyone even unintentionally. She'd not do this to Rastellion on purpose."

Ceolfred nods. "I only heard about it second hand, but, aye, that Giselle fair broke his heart. Her affections vanished soon as th' farm was lost. T' tell th' truth, I'm supprised th' boy grew fond o' someone else so quick, down in Bree. But I saw how she looked at him when she was up here last fall. I jus' hope she's come t' no real harm… for her sake and his."

He sighs. "They've not had the best o' luck, those two, father nor son," he says, musingly. "Me, now, there's never been anyone for me, not even for a handful o' years. Can't rightly say if that's better or worse."

Zandrianna blows out a breath, considering Ceolfred's last words. "My first marriage was arranged. There was certainly no love there. My husband now ... he's away. I've not seen or heard from him in some time. It's lonely, especially raising our daughter alone. I can't say whether that is better or worse." She gives him a shrug and a wry smile.

Ceolfred returns a gaze that's half-sympathetic, half-impressed. "Rasin' a child alone and running that Association. Dare say there ain't that many menfolk as could do it, let alone women. I can see why my nephew speaks so highly o' you."

Zandrianna blushes at the praise, turning to stare out into the distance as she scuffs her small shoes against the porch boards. "Really, it's nothing. I only do what needs done and ..." Grasping for a way to turn the topic, she thinks back to Rastellion's family. "How did his mother die?" she asks, abruptly.

Ceolfred leans back and looks back over the downs. "My sister, Ellanah,” he says. "It was childbirth, bringing a daughter into the world. The babe survived but she..." He shakes his head. "Pa wouldn't even let us go to th' funeral," he adds in a low voice, expression bleak. "Cuthberd took it hard, by all accounts. Poured the affection for her into that daughter o' his. An' when she died..." Another sigh. "Well, you'd not know it t' look at him now, but Cuthberd used t' be a friendly sort, much like Rastellion. Before losses turned all his love to bile."

"Rastellion had a sister?" Zandrianna asked. "Immalaine didn't mention ... did she? And she died? .." Zandrianna pauses, letting the sentence drop off as she looks up at the dusky sky.                                                                          

Ceolfred nods. "Aye. Lost her not a year before they lost the farm. She..." He breaks off and pushes himself to his feet. "But it's not my place t' tell."

He drinks off the last of his cooling tea and steps up to the door, which he holds open for her. "Come along. Light’s failin’, and we’ll be up early." He follows her inside and points to a mattress by the hearth. "'Fraid there's just the two rooms, but I brought my mattress out for you t' sleep on, there where it'll be warmer."

He holds up a hand as Zandrianna takes a breath. "An' no argument. Y' had a hard ride gettin' up here, an' we got two more days o' it comin'. I'll bed down in some blankets an' still be more comfortable than many a night on tree roots, or up in some mountainside camp to th' north, with nothin' but a cloak t' keep me warm. B'sides, I'll need t’ be up right early t' finish settin' things in order afore we depart."

For a moment, Zandrianna's jaw works; she clenches her teeth, an argument on the tip of her tongue. Finally, she composes herself and turns to Ceolfred, looking at him in the light provided by the last rays of light and the hearth. She nods and smiles - or perhaps it’s a stifled yawn. "Thank you," she says, "I believe I wouldn't win that argument right now anyways."

Ceolfred chuckles. "You wouldn't've won that argument now or later, Lady Zandrianna. Seein' as I've had years more o' practice at bein' stubborn than you have. An' don't you forget it." He points to a basin. "Water there is for washin', an' for drinkin's in the jug."

She turns and sits on the side of the mattress to remove her shoes. "Will you wake me when you get up? I'll help with the preparations. And there'll be no argument about that" she adds, looking up at him, this time genuinely grinning.

Ceolfred starts for the back room. "Wake you in th' morning?... well, mebbe. We'll see. G'night." He shuts the door softly behind him.

Ceolfred rises well before dawn and moves softly through the front room to see to preparations outside. He glances toward the hearth, and the pallet where Zandrianna is nestled among deep furs, and smiles to himself, then reaches for the door.

The floor creaks as Ceol steps toward the threshold, the small sound causing Zandrianna to open her eyes. She takes stock of where she is and why. She turns her head and watches him for a moment, then yawns and stretches. "If you need any help with breakfast before we go, I'm a fair cook."

Ceolfred looks back from the half open door and purses his lips. "Blasted floorboard," he mutters. Then, to Zan, he says, softly, "Back t' sleep wi' you. Don' need t' be rising for another hour or so. I'm jus' off t' bring in my traps and set things in order afore we go." He holds up his hands in surrender. "But I promise I'll let y'see to th' cookin' on my return.”

Zandrianna shakes her head and sits up. "If it's all the same, I can get started now. I'm quite used to rising early. My daughter is often awake by now, wanting to be fed." Zandrianna slips her legs out of the furs, setting her feet on the round as she prepares to rise.

Ceol waves her back down. "Horses won't be here 'til dawn, an' th' others are set to go near as soon as they wake. No point fixin' food an' then just sittin' around waiting. Take th' extra hour to doze, an' I'll rouse you when I come back." He nods, the matter settled, and turns to step quietly through the open door into the pre-dawn grey. Moonlight silvers the porch and stars still show in the west.

With a sigh, Zandrianna watches Ceol step out the door. Despite her long trip, she’s hardly tired and reaches for her bag near the end of the pallet to pull out a parchment and charcoal. Looking down at it, she begins to write.

Ceolfred’s just finishing the last preparations outside when the sounds of distant hoofbeats filter through the stillness of the dawn air. A few minutes later, Dúrlammad crests the small rise, leading four horses. Whitey whineys as she sights the cabin; Ceolfred’s roan and bay keep quiet until they reach him, then each whickers and nuzzles him. He hands them each half a dried apple pulled from his coat pocket.

Dúrlammad swings down from his saddle to clap Ceolfred on the shoulder. “So somethin’s finally rousted you from your hideout, you old wreck? Past time, too.” He meets the others eyes. “You know you’re always welcome back among…” He breaks off as the cabin’s door bangs open and Rastellion emerges. “Always welcome,” he repeats in a low voice before the young man gets within earshot.

Rastellion comes down the stairs, holding up a silver fox. “Uncle found it in th’ traps this mornin’. You should take it.” He hands off the small body to the ranger and goes to pet Whitey’s nose. She nuzzles his hair for a moment, then sniffs at his pockets. “No, no sugar,” he apologizes, and she wuffles her disappointment as he takes the reins. “Come on,” he says, leading her toward the porch. “I’m just about to fill the trough.”

Ceolfred chuckles. “Started talkin’ like a townsman again jus’ as soon as he decided t’ head back.” Dúrlammad gives the older man a quizzical look, but Ceolfred waves the implied question away. “Long story. Step inside an’ I’ll show ya where I’ve put things away.” He sniffs the air then starts back toward the cabin, leading his two horses. “Eggs an’ rashers. Seems that Zandrianna’s as good as her word. So there’ll be a plate for ya, too.”

Less than an hour later, the sun still not risen over the eastern mountains, the four set out from the cabin. Ceolfred leads the way, guiding his horse with knees and light touches on its neck. Zandrianna follows, riding tall on her borrowed mare and looking about the downs with interest. Behind her, Ceolfred’s bay trots dutifully; on its back, Cuthberd slumps in his saddle, gripping the pommel and already muttering about aches and pains.

Last comes Rastellion. He pauses at the lip of the sheltered dell and looks back at his uncle’s cabin, nestled between the forest’s protective arms. It’s been simpler here these past weeks. Maybe not safer than Bree, but more straightforward. And no heartaches – just the warm ache of muscles after a day’s hard work.

The moment stretches, and the other horses trot on. Whitey shakes the harness and stamps. Rastellion pats her neck and takes a deep breath. Then he turns away from the refuge and follows the others, back towards Bree.