K Parker - Pattern

'I'm Geir.' The man hesitated for a moment, as if he was about to say something rude. 'Truth is,' he went on, 'we're in a bit of trouble. Have you heard of our place, Geirsdale, about six days west?'

Poldarn shook his head. 'Can't say I have,' he replied. 'What sort of trouble?'

'That.' Geir nodded resentfully towards the mountain. 'Cut a long story short, our house is somewhere under a bloody great big pile of ash. There used to be seventy-two of us, but the rest are still in the house.' He grinned painfully. 'That's about it,' he said. 'Except that we're off-relations of Bolle-that's Eyvind's uncle, if you didn't know already.'

'Off-relations,' Poldarn repeated. 'How off, exactly?'

'Oh, a long way, something like fifth cousins on his mother's side. Is that good or bad?'

'Could be worse,' Poldarn said. 'You'd better come in and have something to eat.'

They ate like crows on sprouting corn, finishing everything, taking whatever was offered, gazing warily at their hosts while they ate, just in case it turned out to be a trap. Eventually, Poldarn figured out that the only way to stop them eating was not to provide any more food.

'So,' he said, when he reckoned he had their attention. 'What are your plans?'

Geir shrugged. 'Plans are for people who know where their next meal's coming from. I suppose what we're aiming to do is head out into the new territories, stake out some land, start over. But obviously we won't be in a position to do that any time soon, with no stock or gear. Till then, we'll go where we can, stay as long as we're allowed, and do whatever we have to do to earn our feed.'

'Well, that's putting it straight enough,' Poldarn said. 'Sounds like you haven't got your hearts set on getting your own place; at least, not at the moment. Am I right?'

Geir smiled wanly. 'Going hungry is a pretty good cure for ambition,' he said. 'You look a bit short-handed here, if you don't mind me saying so.'

'That's no lie,' Poldarn replied. 'What you see is all of us. I think we can quit treading carefully and say it out loud. If you want to stop here, you're welcome, for as long as you like. But you'll have to work, and you're not much use to us if you're planning on moving on in a week or so.'

'Not much chance of that,' Geir said.

'That's all right, then. But there's one thing we need to get absolutely straight. If you want to stick around here, that'd suit both of us. But I'd better warn you, we had a bad falling-out with Eyvind and his people, and it's just got a whole lot worse. If you're relations of his, you'd probably be better off carrying on to where he's living now; it's only a day or so further on, and you'll be more comfortable there for sure-they've got far more of everything than we have and there's a whole lot more of them than there is of us. If things get any worse it could easily come to fighting. You don't want to find yourselves up against your own family, or on the losing side.'

For a moment, Geir had that bewildered look on his face; but it came and went quickly, and he shook his head. 'I'll be honest with you,' he said, 'I don't know cousin Bolle from a pile of dirt, let alone cousin Eyvind, and we only came here because the relationship gave us a tiny scrap of a claim on his hospitality. You've said you'll take us in, and we're kin to your enemy, so I get the feeling we'll be better suited here. Besides, it looks like you could use us.. If Eyvind's house is as big and prosperous as you say it is, there's no place for us there and sooner or later we'd have to go. We're outsiders now, offcomers, and we're coming to terms with that: it's the worst thing anybody could ever be, though I don't suppose you can begin to imagine.'

Poldarn smiled. 'Well,' he said, 'I might; but that's a long story, and there's plenty of time for it later. Just remember, that's all. This is more likely to be the start of all your troubles than the end.'

The new arrivals couldn't have shown up at a better time. Eyvind had planted fine and extensive crops of wheat and barley, which stood up'well and ripened quickly, untroubled by blight or crows, in a flurry of late sunshine. If Poldarn and the others had had to try getting it in with just ten men, they'd have been forced to leave at least a third of it to wilt and rot. As it was, they stood a reasonable chance of making a decent harvest of it; which would mean a substantial surplus over and above what they'd need for themselves, something they could trade with other farms for things they needed but didn't have the time or the materials to make. From what they gathered from such contact as they'd had with other farms in the area, the volcano had done serious damage in many places, so that quite a few houses would be only too glad to buy in food, if they could find anyone to buy it from. This was, of course, an unfamiliar, unheard-of concept, the idea of not being able to provide for all one's needs from one's own resources, and it was taking people a long time to get used to it. Ironically, there was a strong possibility that Eyvind would be a customer. Halder had planted his usual quantities of wheat and barley at Haldersness and it had done reasonably well, though not as well as usual; the Ciartanstead crop had more or less failed, after the overlay of ash had poisoned the ground. Since Eyvind had more mouths to feed than either Halder or the Ciartanstead people had contemplated when they planted, he was facing a serious problem in the not too distant future. Poldarn's heart bled for him.

Grandiose plans for a far-flung commercial empire all depended, of course, on being able to get the crop cut and threshed, and that was no foregone conclusion, even with six more scythes and four more binders and gleaners.

The first day of the cut dawned bright and clear, with a mild breeze to keep the workers cool. They started early, leaving the house before sunrise, so as to get as much as possible done before the sun came up and the heat slowed them down and wore them out. Poldarn couldn't see any reason why they shouldn't start with the nearest parcel and work their way out, so they didn't have far to walk that first morning, with their scythes balanced on their shoulders, the blades pointed carefully down so as not to maim anyone walking behind. It occurred to Poldarn as they reached the field that he might not know how to cut corn; fortunately, this turned out not to be the case.

They started with the headlands, clearing a swathe round all four sides. Then they lined out and moved forward, like well-drilled heavy infantry following up the skirmishers in an attack that was actually going according to plan. At first Poldarn made the mistake of trying to make the scythe cut, instead of lifting it and letting its own weight do the work. Once his shoulders and back started to ache, however, he stopped putting effort into it and found he was making much better progress, letting the scythe hang off his right hand and lightly guiding it with his left, with a slight flick up and back at the end of the stroke to make good use of the full length of the blade. The shearing click of the corn against the steel reminded him of many things, some of which he decided he could do without remembering, but once he'd got the hang of the job he found it came easily, as easily as killing crows. As the day wore on and the sun started to chafe his skin he found himself stopping to whet his blade rather more often than it needed. But he wasn't the only one by any means; he reckoned it'd be safe to bet that by the time the scythes were put away for the night, they'd be considerably sharper than they'd been when they started work.

After the midday break, Poldarn handed his scythe over to Raffen and took his turn at stacking and binding; it was harder work, but simpler, and he decided that on balance he preferred it. Not only that; but it gave him a chance to watch a true artist at work, and that was something he enjoyed.