“For the first job,” Kalfr continued, “we yet need a watcher.”
A watcher. Which was… what? But surely Kalfr had followed Raye’s confusion, his eyes holding hers. “In days long past,” he explained, “each Bautulbyrgiwas held by a watcher. This was oft thevörður’s mate, and it was almost always a human woman. For a woman could keep and guard thebyrgi, and hide its true purpose amongst the other humans, in a way an orc could not.”
That made sense, and perhaps Raye had already known as much, from those mercenaries’ accusations against her. “So this role is just… a cover, then?” she asked, feeling inexplicably disappointed. “A convenient caretaker, available to manage whatever mercenaries and magistrates happen to drop by?”
But Kalfr shook his head. “No, not only this,” he said. “The watcher thus became the guard of thebyrgi, and all the band. She would work closely with thevörðurand his battle-captain to help gird thebyrgiand its defenses. She would watch for weaknesses, raise alarms, and call the band to her side whenever she needs this. She is thebyrgi’s second-in-command, after thevörður, and the band will honour her as such.”
Oh. Rather more than just a caretaker, then, and Gaelfr’s head tilted, his eyes thoughtfully flicking between Kalfr and Raye. “This is much like what you have done all this time at your own home, is it not?” he pointed out. “I am sure you can well do this here, also, most of all with more help.”
Well. Raye still felt caught in the surprise of it, the awareness that Kalfr wanted to give her a job like that. That he would let her guard hisbyrgi. Manage its defenses. Monitor its weaknesses. Serve as his second-in-command. As if… he trusted her, too.
But then again, maybe it was only another test. Another challenge. Or, perhaps — Raye’s stomach sank — it was another part of the show. A way to establish her place here, and with the band, so they would support her in return, and thereby keep Svein safe.
“And what’s the second job you had in mind?” she asked, though her voice sounded uncertain. “Is it something I could still do, together with all of that — and with being present for Svein, too?”
Kalfr nodded, and the small smile on his mouth was warm, and again… hopeful. As if this, too, was something he was looking forward to. “I ken you could,” he said. “Shall you show her, Gael?”
Raye blinked, her heart skipping, while Gaelfr strode over toward the door, to where some of the packages the orcs had brought were still stacked haphazardly on top of each other. And when he snatched up the biggest, most awkward-looking package, and set it on the table with athunk, Raye already knew what it was, even before she tentatively reached to open a corner of the paper.
It was — the loom.
41
They’d brought her the loom.
It was the tabletop loom Raye had admired in Orc Mountain’s shop. The one she’d told Gaelfr not to purchase. And now — it washere.
And gods, it looked even lovelier than before, with its solid maple frame, its sturdy shafts, its shiny metal reed comb. There was a warping board as well, and scissors, and a set of tapestry needles, and Raye only vaguely noticed Gaelfr bringing over yet more packages — until he began tearing them open, and her eyes caught on something bright. The yarn from the shop, in all those beautiful colours. Not just the gold, but the red, and the blue, and yellow, and purple, too. There was so much she could do with this, so many things she would love to make, and they couldn’t really mean this… could they?
“You,” she began, though her voice broke, and she shook her head. “How did you…”
She couldn’t finish, reaching out to stroke a shaky, reverent finger against the golden yarn. While Gaelfr cleared his throat, and patted her firmly on the back. “I spoke to Kalfr upon this yesterday,” he said, “and he welcomed this, as I knew he would.”
Raye darted a searching glance at Kalfr, who was gazing back at her with surprising intensity in his eyes. “Your weaving is a great gift, and part of your bond with your forebears, also,” he said. “I was most sorry to hear you had stopped making your tapestries, and should be honoured if you would begin these again, whilst you are here.”
Whilst you are here. But a detailed tapestry like the ones Raye had used to make would take weeks,months, and surely Kalfr knew that, didn’t he? And they only had two weeks before Sybil arrived. Not only that, but Raye was still supposed to leave here at some point, and go back to her cottage… right?
But that intensity kept glimmering in Kalfr’s eyes, and again, maybe, that — hope. As if this was also something he would look forward to. But that didn’t make sense, did it? Because when they’d been speaking with Olarr, it hadn’t seemed like Kalfr had cared about her weaving… had he?
“But,” Raye began. “You… weren’t interested in me weaving here, before. Were you?”
She grimaced as she spoke, glancing sideways at Svein, and Kalfr grimaced too. “I was only… surprised, when you first spoke of this,” he replied, his voice low. “I did not know you had stopped making your tapestries, for all that time. Had I known, I would have…”
His voice faded, his mouth thinning, and Raye could almost feel his helplessness, his defeat. Because how could he have known? And what could he have done, after she’d barred him from their lives? But now — now he was giving her weaving back to her, here in his home, wanting it for their future. And that was crucially important. It was.
“Well, this is a truly lovely gift,” Raye said, her voice wavering. “From both of you. I’d be honoured to start weaving again here.”
Kalfr’s expression slightly cleared again, and he gave her a halfhearted smile. “You must not feel as though you need to toil your days away upon it,” he said. “But I thought, if you yet wish to be our watcher, these callings will go well together, ach? Much of your work as watcher will be guarding, and planning, and listening — and there will yet be times of quiet, also. So mayhap amidst this, you might welcome a return to your great art, also.”
Your great art. It swallowed Raye’s breath for an instant, because he still couldn’t really mean that, could he? Was it another test? Or maybe — a distant awareness flailed — maybe he was just saying it for Svein?
But there wasn’t a trace of distance or hesitation on Kalfr’s face, and he glanced toward the loom. “And in my research of thebyrgis,” he added, “I found traces of weaving amongst the Bautul, also. I know not what this looked like, nor what they made, but mayhap” — he offered her another careful smile — “mayhap you could find a way back to this for us.”
Raye’s heartbeat stuttered, while an overpowering longing bloomed in her chest. Gods, she wanted to believe all this. She wanted to help. She wanted to weave again, to be creative again. She wanted to be part of this, valued in this, not just for her penance, or for Svein’s safety, but for… for herself.
“Y-yes, then,” her hoarse voice said, too quickly. “I would be — honoured, Kalfr. To be your band’s watcher, and your weaver. Thank you.”
Her hand even raised instinctively to her heart, as though she were really a Bautul, too — and though she quickly thrust it down again, Kalfr’s eyes followed the movement, glinting with something she couldn’t quite read. “I am honoured, also,” he replied, as he raised his own hand to his heart, and bowed his head toward her. “I ought to return to my band, but please, set up your weaving wherever you see fit. I am sure myástvinurshall help as you need.”
