Free Taminy by Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff Page B

this one’s awe and that one’s astonishment that someone they
knew could have possibly seen the Meri. His eldest sister’s jealousy cut
through all, tormenting him; her pledge-bond’s amazement was tinged with
disbelief. Neither of them, he realized, had expected him to come home an
Osraed. As for his mother ...He looked at her beaming face with its glittering
eyes and marveled at how pride and grief could dwell together behind that
facade. He had won her an honor; he had lost his family an heir.
    “Oh,
do come join us, dear Wyth!” she gushed, tugging at his arm. “Do tell us all
about it.”
    “Yes,
indeed,” agreed one of the male guests—the Eiric of Cinfhaolaidh. “It’d be a
rare experience to hear of a Pilgrimage from the lips of the newly chosen! Was
it near as magical as they say, or is that all myth?”
    Wyth’s
sister, Brann, laughed brittlely. “Myth, I’d wager. What of it, Wyth? What’s
the Meri like?”
    Gazing
around at the circle of expectant faces, Wyth was torn. For several of his
mother’s guests this was a matter of faith, for others it was merely a matter
of entertainment.
    “Come
Wyth,” said his sister, her eyes over-bright. “Come, boast to us of your
exploits along the Pilgrim’s path.”
    Rousing
from what must seem to all like a stupor, Wyth smiled at her, ignoring the acid
in her voice. “I’ve nothing to boast of, Brann,” he said. “But I would gladly
answer your questions were I not so weary. I give the Pilgrim’s Tell with
Lealbhallain-mac-Mercer next Cirke-dag at Halig-liath.”
    “What?
You’d make us wait? How terribly rude.”
    “I’m
merely tired, Brann. Please, return to your supper. I crave rest more than food
right now.”
    Brann,
on her betrothed’s arm, laughed and tossed black curls. “Yes, do sleep, Wyth.
You look that ragged. Perhaps you’ll be up for it tomorrow and can tell us all
at breakfast. I suppose the rest of you will have to be content with seeing the
Kiss.” She bobbed her head toward the others, then drew her pledge-bond away,
jealousy passing as she began to consider what advantage might come to the
sister of an Osraed.
    The
other guests followed.
    Wyth
felt his spirit sag, pulling his shoulders and the corners of his wide mouth
down with it.
    “Well.”
The Moireach, his mother, still stood beside him. “I am disappointed that you
couldn’t be persuaded to give a special Tell to our dear friends. But I suppose
if you’re that tired ...” She shrugged, her eyes searching his face with an odd
mixture of hope and reproach.
    “Thank
you, for being so understanding, mother. I’ll no doubt see you in the morning.” And by then I’ll have decided how much
not to tell you.
    Hefting
his pack, he started for the stairs, wondering at how heavy it suddenly seemed.
    Adken
was at his side in an instant. “Do let me carry that for you, Master. Are you
hungry? Shall I bring you up a tray? I’d be most happy if you’d allow me that.
Oh, and some hot tea. That’ll be wanted, I’m sure. Nothing like hot tea to
soothe the wearies. Oh, it’s good to see you, Master, and none too soon. We
knew you’d make it this time, the wife and I. Surely we did. Said some special
prayers at Cirke, too. Oh, it’s a great day, it is. A great day! Those who didn’t
believe, sir, they’ll swallow a bitter pill, indeed.”
    A
great day, thought Wyth, as Adken prattled on about their faith in him. It was
a real faith, the new Osraed marveled. He could put out mental fingers and
touch it, hold it, feel the strength and weight of it. A great day, yes. But
still, a day he wished, desperately, would end.
    Alone
in his room, he lit a candle and sat on the bed to meditate. He did not think
about how different he felt from the last time he’d sat in this room. He did
not think about how different his homecoming had been from the way he’d
imagined it.
    He
did not ponder his time with Osraed Bevol in the dark aislinn chamber. Instead,
he stared at the dancing