Энн Маккефри - Dragon’s Kin

As he pondered the notion, another voice joined in. Kindan immediately recognized the voice as Miner Natalon’s. It seemed as though Natalon was not pleased about something. He heard the youngster’s voice, as well, and Master Zist’s. Judging by the rise and fall of the voices and their tones, Kindan was certain that whoever owned the younger voice was someone well known to Natalon. So it was probably Dalor, Kindan decided. Maybe Natalon was annoyed to find Dalor bothering the Master, Kindan guessed.

The voices rose in parting and Kindan heard two sets of feet walk to the front door and leave. A while later Master Zist walked into the hallway and knocked on Kindan’s door.

Having never been afforded such a courtesy, Kindan didn’t know how to respond.

“May I come in?” Master Zist asked after a short wait.

Kindan opened the door. “Of course, Master Zist.”

Master Zist entered the room and looked around. “All settled, then?”

“Yes, thank you,” Kindan replied.

“Good,” Zist said, nodding emphatically. “Come along, we’ll eat in the kitchen.”

Kindan smelled the hearty beef stew before he saw it bubbling on the hearth in a pot he recognized from Jenella’s kitchen. He looked around for the dishes and cutlery and set the table.

Master Zist served them and they ate in an awkward silence. Kindan finished his stew quickly and waited politely to see if he could have seconds. Master Zist noticed this but continued to eat in slow, deliberate bites. By the time the Master was finished, Kindan was squirming in his chair.

“Dessert?” Master Zist inquired.

“Well,” Kindan began, then blurted, “I was wondering if I could have some more stew.”

Master Zist gestured to the pot. “There’s only you and me here, Kindan. You may have what you want.”

As Kindan refilled his plate, Master Zist regarded him thoughtfully. When Kindan returned to the table, the Harper said, “When we are alone, Kindan, you may always help yourself. You just have to ask.”

Kindan, mouth full of stew, smiled and nodded.

“You had a lot of older brothers and sisters, didn’t you?”

Kindan nodded again.

Master Zist sighed. “I was the eldest in my family. I can’t quite imagine how it must have been for you. But I can guess that you were probably the last to get seconds ... or dessert.”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Kindan said. “Sis made sure that I always got to eat something.” He made a face. “But Kaylek always tried to steal my desserts, when we had them.” His face took on a sadder, more introspective look.

“You didn’t get along with Kaylek, did you?” Master Zist inquired gently.

Kindan shook his head. “No, not until just before—” He looked troubled. “Zenor, my friend, he told me that Kaylek saved his life.” Tears formed in Kindan’s eyes. “He was always mean to me, but he saved Zenor’s life.”

“It’s a bit hard to grasp, isn’t it?” Master Zist commented. “I have been surprised how often people who only seem to be bad have turned out to be selfless when it really matters.”

Kindan nodded in wordless agreement.

“Kindan, do you know what harpers are supposed to do?”

“They’re supposed to teach, and to sing songs at gathers, and play instruments,” Kindan said, not quite sure he had the right answer.

Master Zist nodded. “That’s part of their job. Harpers also gather information and pass it along. We preserve knowledge. We help with the healers.”

“My sister did some healing,” Kindan offered.

Zist nodded acknowledgment. “And we also try to smooth things over.”

Kindan looked puzzled. Master Zist sighed. “We listen to everyone and try to help when we think it’s appropriate.”

Kindan tried hard to look as though he understood, especially because he’d finished his stew and his mouth was watering for dessert and he knew that Master Zist would keep on talking until Kindan showed that he understood what he was saying.

Master Zist smiled in wry amusement. “We are trained to be good observers, too. Sometimes we don’t pay attention, but we’re trained.” He rose, taking Kindan’s dish with him, and served them the dainties that the baker had sent over.

“A harper’s trained to watch and listen, as well as to play and sing,” Master Zist said after he’d had a bite of the dainty.

Kindan nodded, his mouth full.

“And a harper’s trained to keep secrets,” Zist added.

“I can keep a secret,” Kindan said.

Master Zist wagged a finger at him. “Ah, but there are some times when you have to let others keep secrets, too. Can you do that?”

Kindan looked doubtful.

“Well, we’ll see,” Master Zist said. “For now, I expect that you won’t try to overhear any conversations I have in my study or kitchen. If you hear something and you want to talk about it, you come to me. I’ll tell you whether it’s a secret or not. Can you do that?”

Kindan nodded.

“Good lad.” Master Zist finished his dainty, saw that Kindan had finished as well, and stood up. “You do the dishes and get some sleep. Tomorrow we’ll start with your lessons.”

“Lessons?” Kindan repeated.

Master Zist nodded. “Lessons,” he repeated. He nodded toward his study. “Harpers also take notes. Jofri left me his. And he noted that a certain son of Danil’s was not only good at singing but showed an interest in becoming a Harper.”

Kindan’s eyes lit with astonishment. “He did?”

Master Zist nodded solemnly, but his eyes were twinkling. “He did,” he affirmed. He waggled a finger at the door. “Now finish up and off to bed with you.”

It seemed to Kindan that his new life was far more strenuous than his old life. And sadly, very different. He still had duty on the watch up the cliffside hundreds of meters above the mine entrance with its splendid view of what most folk simply called “the valley,” but which he and the Harper had started to call “Natalon’s Valley.” Now, however, he was not just one among the many but the lad placed in charge of all the younglings on watch duty. That job might have been Tofir’s or Jakris’s had they remained, but Kindan was shocked to realize that he was the oldest boy in the camp who wasn’t working in the mine itself.

The first day he’d looked down from his perch and had seen Zenor, dressed in overalls cut down from a pair of his father’s, Kindan had felt a mixture of shame, awe, and sorrow. Shame that he wasn’t going down into the mine, as well; awe that his best friend Zenor was doing such a grown-up job; and sorrow to see the bitter proof of the disaster that had claimed not only the lives of his own father and brothers but also Zenor’s father and his childhood.

But Kindan found that his new duties left him with little time to reminisce—whether on purpose or just because the camp was so short of able bodies he could not guess. When he was sure the watch was set up properly for the day and runners had been arranged to be ready at all the usual spots, he found himself in charge of a group of sturdy boys and girls nine and ten Turns old helping to trim the branches from trees felled the day before by the Camp’s adults.

Zenor’s mother, Norla, found that her years of dealing with younglings were put to good effect as she found herself in charge of a daily crèche of all the Camp’s infants while their mothers helped out planting the fields below or working the herb gardens or helping cut trees into timber for the mine. It was, Master Zist had suggested, a good way to immerse her in activity while keeping her close to her youngest children. Before, the task had been rotated amongst all the women with infants, but now Norla’s cottage was filled with diapers in various stages of use, and mothers stopped in whenever they could to check on their babies, giving the widowed Norla more contact with the rest of the Camp than she would have had otherwise.