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  A meeting was called.

  Chapter Two

  Shallah knew the meeting would be held at Old Brice Blighton’s place. Trallee had no official leader, but Old Brice headed the village council, and his opinion held the most sway. When a family came upon hard times, they always went to Old Brice for advice, and more times than not they came away feeling better about their woes. Most importantly, Old Brice’s home was the largest in the village, the only one to boast a second storey, for he’d seven children still living at home. His table was large enough to seat a dozen adults, and there would be plenty of seats for the crowd, though many would bring their own stools and line them along the walls, pressing close so none would be left without a place.

  Normally Shallah abhorred attending such events, but she found herself considering the prospect as Raulf slurped his ale. Something about his description of the child intrigued her.

  “His skin is entirely brown,” Raulf said, “quite a bit darker than yours or mine. And he has the strangest eyes, like little flames peering out at you. Some are saying he’s a sign of good times to come. Do you think that’s so?”

  She smiled and patted the boy on the arm. “I don’t think I know enough to be making any assumptions, Raulf,” she confessed.

  “You’ll come tonight, won’t you, Miss?” he asked as he rose to leave. “It’s sure to be quite an affair. You wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Shallah wasn’t so sure about that, but she smiled at Raulf as she saw him off, and promised to consider it. It amused her to notice that Raulf, who usually preferred playing pranks on his sisters during town meetings, had taken such an interest. But then, the situation did seem to have the whole village stirred up.

  Shallah wiped her fingers on her apron as she thought about the mysterious child. It surprised her that Maude hadn’t mentioned a word about him when she’d stopped by, for what a juicy bit of gossip it was to tell. But Maude had always been offended by Shallah’s reluctance to mingle with the villagers, and never hurried to bring her news, as though she hadn’t the right to hear it. Likely more than one villager would think her similarly unwelcome at the meeting tonight. Nevertheless, she found herself lacing up her shoes and catching up her walking stick from behind the woodpile. She was nearly out the door when she remembered her apron, and paused to untie it.

  In that moment she felt herself hesitate. She’d made no commitment, and could easily stay home, avoiding the drama and noise of the meeting. She wouldn’t be wanted there anyway, and she’d have to suffer through their whispers, their silent stares. It would be so much easier to stay away. Then the urgency in Raulf’s voice came back to her and she recalled how, at another town meeting, Malcol Klink had accused his neighbour of stealing three of his chickens and they’d nearly come to blows.

  Someone’s got to keep an eye on things, she thought to herself as she closed the door behind her. There’s no knowing what they might get up to.

  The room was near to bursting when Shallah arrived. Raulf ran forward to greet her, finding place enough for them both on a bench near the window. All the chairs around the table were filled, and there were people milling about at the front door and on the cobbled pathway. The loft above was full of children, their chubby faces peeking down at the crowd. Rikild Blighton and two of her girls were passing a jug of ale around, and a few of the older men had already lit their pipes. All through the house there was a buzz of excitement.

  “It’s quite a sight, Miss,” Raulf said, leaning in to whisper in her ear. “Rab Hale is here, of course, and Amaria has a seat at the table. That’s Isemay Wray sitting on your right, she’s hardly left her house once in the last year. I know because my Mam brings food over to her.”

  Though young Raulf had failed to notice it, the attention of the room had shifted somewhat when Shallah entered. More than a few faces were turned their way with interest, and a great deal of whispering was going on. To be fair, many hadn’t seen Shallah’s face in years, for she seldom worked in the fields, and if she had to come into the village she usually did so when few were about – which is not to say she didn’t make a contribution to the town.

  In their isolation, the villagers were forced to rely on one another for all the things they couldn’t make themselves, and like the rest, Shallah had her tasks. While others tended her strip of land, she spun wool, mended clothing, baked bread and oat cakes, and cared for their children – though in actuality the Guerins alone called on her for this service, as many of the other families wouldn’t entrust their children to a blind girl. In short, she was a member of the village as much as any other. Still, to a good number of the farmers she was a phantom girl, sometimes glimpsed out of the corner of an eye as they drove their oxen or carted their grain. She’d not been to a town gathering since childhood.

  One man told his son she was a wild woman. “Stay away from that one,” he whispered. “She might be blind, but she’s got some odd ways. I tell ya, she’s not right.”

  Shallah showed no sign that she was aware of this attention. She sat quietly in her corner, feeling the warmth of the room and listening to Raulf’s lively prattling, until Old Brice got to his feet and a hush fell over the crowd.

  “Well, it seems we’re all here, so I’ll begin,” said Old Brice, his voice clear and strong – the voice of a man used to speaking to a crowd. “This meeting was called to address the issue of the child found by Amaria Hale. She took notice of him in the early hours and brought him directly to the Carberrys to be cared for. We’re told he’s quite a sweet lad, isn’t that right, Betta?”

  Betta Carberry stood up and nodded her head with great enthusiasm, her ample bosom nearly bursting the laces of her brown kirtle.

  “Oh, he’s just the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen,” she said. “So soft and quiet. He must be almost five years old but he never says a word, not a peep, and no crying either. Just sort of looks at you with those strange eyes and smiles and sits and plays. The best boy I’ve ever cared for, if I do say so.”

  “What was that about his eyes?” asked Kimbery Klink, who stood just to Betta’s left. “It’s said demons have peculiar eyes, you know. I heard that somewhere.” Many of the villagers nodded their heads.

  Betta seemed taken aback, and put her hand to her chest.

  “But he’s no demon, Kim,” she said, looking about the room for reassurance. “It’s just that his eyes are a tad golden, is all. Makes ‘em quite pretty in my opinion. He’s a beautiful lad. There’s no harm in him at all.”

  “Now let’s not jump to any conclusions on that one,” Rab Hale leaped in. “You may think he’s sweet as pie and innocent as a lamb, but we none of us can see into his heart. A pretty face can easily hide a foul soul, for good looks lead to cosseting, and cosseting to conceit. I’d just as soon trust the ugliest maiden as the beauty with the flowing hair, for I’ll never have it said Rab Hale was taken in by a pretty face.”

  Shallah had to bite her lip to stop from letting out a derisive laugh. Rab Hale was so full of himself it was a wonder he wasn’t bloated. She knew the bit about the flowing hair was a jab at her, for no other woman in the room was without a kerchief. Rab had never liked her, for he knew her to be unimpressed with his wit, and because she aligned herself with the Guerins, whom he disdained above all others. In Rab’s eyes, being treated by a woman healer was like taking marital advice from a cow.

  Raulf leaned over to whisper into Shallah’s ear. “You should see the look on my Mam’s face; she’s about ready to pounce. She says it’s a travesty that so many are taken in by Mr. Hale and his fine words, for it only makes him think more of himself and gives him leave to order us about in the fields. He just about yelled himself hoarse when he saw Edid Olney setting off for home early yesterday, when everyone knows she’s a sick baby at home, and only little Averill watching over him. He’s about as sincere as a fox, if you ask me, and he looks like a toad whose eyes have grown too big for his head.”

  Shallah burst out laughing.


  “Now hold on,” Old Brice said, raising his voice to be heard over the din. “We’ve no reason to distrust this child, and I think we should listen to Betta’s opinion, for she’s always been as good as her word.” Before anyone had the chance to object, he went on. “I think we should stick to the matter at hand: to decide what ought to be done with the boy. Now I’ve discussed this with the village council –”

  “Bah! You and your council,” interrupted Malcol Klink from his seat by the hearth. Malcol had been a member of the council until he grew too argumentative for their taste and was asked to step down. “All you lot ever do is discuss. There’s a time to talk and a time to act. I’d say this is a time to act!”

  “Klink, you old fool, shut your mouth before they throw you out again,” said Thurstan Turvey, Malcol’s longtime friend. “Let the man speak.”

  “So it’s only the council that can have a say, is that it?” asked Edid Olney, her eyes on Rab Hale, little Wylf on her hip. “I want to know about this child. I want to know what we aren’t being told!”

  “Nothing is being kept from you, Edid,” Old Brice began. “I can assure you not one thing –”

  “Hasn’t he got dark skin?” a voice called out from the back of the room.

  “Yes,” Gemma Goss responded, “I’ve heard that as well. Perhaps he’s been burned.”

  “But where did he come from?” somebody else asked. “And what shall we do with him?”

  “It’s as though his skin was tinted by the sun,” came the call of another. “He’s not from these parts.”

  “Maybe he came from the sky,” Raulf cried out suddenly, jumping to his feet. “Maybe he was sent from the land beyond to give us hope!”

  This statement was met with much enthusiasm and the crowd grew louder as Old Brice tried desperately to regain control of the talk.

  “Now, please don’t all speak at once,” he warned.

  “Is he an orphan?” someone asked.

  “Why doesn’t he speak?” Maude Quigg called out.

  “Where is he now?” Gamelin Turvey asked. “Can we see him?”

  “Why is he being hidden?”

  “Where are his parents?”

  “What if he brings disease?”

  “How did he arrive?”

  “Why has he come here?”

  “Something’s not right here,” a young man called out. Shallah couldn’t place his voice, but thought he might be the Fleete boy who’d married one of Old Brice’s older daughters. “You’re hiding something. Where is the child?”

  A great murmur ran through the crowd and the room fell quiet. Old Brice, looking considerably perturbed, responded slowly. “The boy is asleep at the Carberry house, Petyr. That’s no secret. I don’t see why you’re getting so worked up.”

  Now that she thought about it, Shallah seemed to recall that some tragedy had befallen the Fleete boy, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. As always, Raulf put an end to her confusion.

  “That one hasn’t been the same since his wife died, or so my Mam says,” Raulf whispered. “She often goes to see how his girls are coming on, for she worries he isn’t equipped to care for them. Old Brice feels the same, and told him so, and they haven’t exchanged two civil words since, not until this moment.”

  Of course, Shallah thought to herself. Sweet Marion, the beauty of the Blighton clan. She’d taken to her bed with a fever, and perished within a month. Not more than half a year had passed since her death.

  “He’s been a right pain ever since,” Raulf said. “My Mam says it’s simply the way of grief for some, but I think he’s just hateful. Every time I speak to him he snaps my head off. Alys used to lend him a hand, keeping watch over Katie and Lilly while he worked the fields, but she’ll not go over there anymore. It’s Catin Carberry who took her place, but I’ve heard she’s near her wits end.”

  Petyr Fleete strode forward to address the council, but turned his back on them instead and faced the crowd. Old Brice folded his arms at this defiance, but said nothing.

  “My family’s seen hard times these past months,” Petyr said. A couple of women standing to Shallah’s left clucked sympathetically. “You all know of our loss. But of late the hardships have been mounting, and I know we’re not the only ones to feel it. I lost a calf last month, and this morning one of my lambs perished.” He stopped and looked around at the crowd. “It was just about the time that boy was found.”

  The silence that followed was deafening.

  “Here it comes,” Raulf whispered breathlessly.

  “Do you think?” one person said.

  “Can it be?” said another.

  “I lost a lamb last night,” Syward Olney said.

  “I’ve lost two in the past week,” said Botulf Quigg.

  Amaria Hale got up from the table, knocking her stool backwards. “He was in the light!” she cried. “I found him sitting right in it. He’s brought the light with him. There’s something not right with him. He’s not right!”

  Old Isemay Wray raised a shaking hand and pointed at Amaria.

  “He’s a monster!” she said loudly, so none could be mistaken. “He’s withered our trees and done in our cattle. He brings disease, I tell you. It’s in the eyes. He’s evil. Turn him away. Send him off. Drive him out before he ruins us all!”

  Chapter Three

  Young children buried their heads in their mothers’ laps at the riotous noise that followed. Half the crowd was on its feet, pointing fingers at one another, banging their fists on the table, denying, proclaiming, yelling to be heard. Raulf ran off amidst the excitement, but Shallah remained seated.

  “We should just send him away,” a woman nearby said. “It’s the only way.”

  Shallah closed her eyes.

  At length, Old Brice’s voice could be heard over the rest. “Please,” he pleaded, “let me speak.”

  Some of the villagers took their seats again, though others, Petyr among them, remained standing.

  “I realize many of you feel strongly about this,” Old Brice said. “It seems the wise course is to send the child away. Keeping him here is too great a risk.”

  Shallah sat very still as the meeting rolled on. The villagers seemed relieved that a decision had been made. It was the right choice, they all proclaimed. This choice would keep them safe. Shallah’s blind eyes searched the ground as she listened to their words, and all the while she thought of Amaria Hale’s claim about the child. She’d said he wasn’t right.

  They say the same thing about me, she thought.

  Rab Hale was speaking when she got to her feet. He was caught up in his own fantastic wordplay and didn’t notice the hush that fell over the room. Rab had always loved the sound of his own voice best of all.

  Shallah hadn’t planned to speak that night. It occurred to her, as the room waited expectantly, that she’d never spoken in front of a large crowd before in her life. Instantly, her palms began to sweat, and she had an urge to flee the house at a run. What had possessed her to get to her feet? It was unnerving to know that all eyes were on her, every pair in the room, yet she couldn’t tell if the looked on her kindly, or with disdain.

  “How can you be so cruel?” she asked softly, though none strained to hear. The room had gone so quiet you could hear a mouse squeak.

  Somebody said, “It’s that blind girl talking.”

  “You’ve no evidence linking this child with the deaths of the cattle,” Shallah went on. “You’ve nothing but your own fears to guide you. You’ve no solid proof.”

  “Now hold on, young lady,” Rab said in an effort to silence her.

  “No,” Shallah responded, holding up her hand. From across the room Raulf was astonished to see that Rab didn’t attempt to continue. Shallah had silenced him with her hand, a feat heretofore accomplished by none but his wife and Old Brice himself.

  “He’s only a little boy,” she said. “How can you send him away? Where will he go?”

  “Into the woods,” said Old Brice.
A few of the villagers gasped, as though they hadn’t quite realized what would happen.

  “A death sentence, in your mind at least,” Shallah said, voicing their thoughts. “You would have this child’s death on your conscience? For what reason? We don’t know anything about him.”

  “We know he came from the light,” Amaria said fervently.

  “I’ve been in the light,” said Shallah. “It took away my sight years ago. Do you wish to send me away as well?” Amaria did not reply.

  “What harm is there in keeping the child here?” Shallah asked, turning her head to address the whole room, hoping one person would hear the sense in her words.

  Naught but quiet greeted her. Her resolve began to buckle.

  “It is a grave risk, my dear,” a voice finally spoke. It was Joscelin Guerin, Raulf’s father. Shallah was surprised he too had bought into the suspicion.

  “Where is the risk?” she asked in exasperation. “Is anything out of the ordinary to be suspect of evil and devilry now? If your cows gave double the normal amount of milk tomorrow, would you throw it away for fear it was cursed?”

  “You don’t think it odd that just as we’re in a crisis this child arrives out of nowhere, his eyes golden as though flecked by the very light that plagues us?” said Leland Goss, a young man, newly married.

  Shallah was unimpressed. “I think it odd that a child barely old enough to feed himself is being blamed for the troubles of an entire village,” she responded steadily. “How do you suppose he managed it, Leland? Or did he have help in this dark business? Should we begin to name names?”

  The villagers stirred and glanced at one another uncomfortably. Old Brice stepped forward. “Now Shallah,” he said, “that’s quite enough. I won’t have you working everyone up in this way.”

  “Sometimes it’s necessary to get worked up,” she said. “I won’t stand by and let this child be condemned. He must be allowed to remain in Trallee.”

  Old Brice Blighton looked over the faces before him. He’d known these people all his life. He’d watched them grow from children to adults, had witnessed the births of their own children, had advised them in difficult times. Now the village itself had fallen on difficult times and he’d be damned if he would allow it to worsen.