same thing as making him welcome. Farewell, Lady Maeve.”
I grabbed his arm as he turned his face away from me. My outburst of temper had exhausted itself. I realized I’d had no reasonable cause for lashing out at this gentle boy and I was ashamed. “Wait, Odran, please. I shouldn’t have been so rude. It’s inexcusable to break the bond of hospitality.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell Lord Eochu that his daughter forgot her manners. The ‘bond of hospitality’—what a hollow eggshell that is!”
“You don’t mean that. It’s sacred!” I cried, repeating what I’d been taught since I was old enough to understand.
My protest struck the back of Odran’s head. He would not look at me, and when I tried to step in front of him, he pivoted so that I was staring at his back once more. “If it were truly a sacred thing, it would mean something,” he replied. “It would come from the heart, not from habit. My father and I have stayed with many kings on our travels. All of them honored the ‘sacred’ bond, but for most of them welcome was only a word. For some, it was an inconvenience. For many, it was a burden.” He glanced at me over one shoulder. “Father loves himself too much to believe he’s not a cherished guest everywhere he goes,but I’ve been unwanted often enough to recognize when ‘Must you go so soon?’ means ‘Why didn’t you leave sooner?’ ”
“Oh.” I laid one hand on his shoulder in spite of the chance that the stoat might see it there. “That isn’t my way. I do believe in the guest-bond, but that’s not the only reason I’m asking your forgiveness. I spoke hot words in a bad temper. If I’ve hurt you, that’s worse to me than breaking the pact of travelers’ welcome. I’m very sorry.”
The hardness in his eyes and in the deep creases framing his mouth began to soften. “I’m sorry too. I should never have insulted you like that.”
“By calling me ignorant?”
“By saying you sound like my father.” He lowered thick-lashed eyelids. “He’d never apologize for hurting me. He says, ‘Hard speech is a blacksmith’s hammer and anvil. It shatters useless metal, pounds out weakness and imperfection, and shapes the finest sword, the spearhead that flies truest to the target.’ ” Odran looked up at me again. “Those are his exact words. Kind, aren’t they?”
“His exact words?” I was skeptical. I could accept that Master Íobar would speak so loftily, for druids and bards were often touched by Lugh, the god of poets. I could not believe Odran would remember them perfectly.
“Believe it,” Odran said. “Father’s spent years training me to remember things precisely as I hear them. When I was little, I thought it was a game and I enjoyed it. It was the only time he’d share my company outside of meals, good morning, and good night. The better I became at memory tricks, the longer we stayed together.” A rueful memory stole the light from his eyes. “Then I found out there was no affection behind it. It wasall part of his plan for me. Why ask me what I might want to do with my life? It was decided for me on the day I was born: I’d grow up to be a druid like my father.”
“You sound as if you don’t want that,” I said.
He scratched the stoat’s white belly. “There are parts of his calling that I do like. I could see myself as a healer. I just hate being told what I must do, be, and become. It was bad enough at home, hearing him lecture me every day. If I did poorly at my lessons, he’d either skin me alive with sarcasm or threaten to take Muirín and Guennola away from me. I’d hoped to have a break from that when we started on this journey, but he’s made me recite lore and rites and history every step of the way.”
“Is that why you came here?” I asked, indicating the willow’s sheltering leaves. “To get away from him?”
“From him and from the lads your father’s fostering.” Odran clicked his tongue and the stoat
I grabbed his arm as he turned his face away from me. My outburst of temper had exhausted itself. I realized I’d had no reasonable cause for lashing out at this gentle boy and I was ashamed. “Wait, Odran, please. I shouldn’t have been so rude. It’s inexcusable to break the bond of hospitality.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I won’t tell Lord Eochu that his daughter forgot her manners. The ‘bond of hospitality’—what a hollow eggshell that is!”
“You don’t mean that. It’s sacred!” I cried, repeating what I’d been taught since I was old enough to understand.
My protest struck the back of Odran’s head. He would not look at me, and when I tried to step in front of him, he pivoted so that I was staring at his back once more. “If it were truly a sacred thing, it would mean something,” he replied. “It would come from the heart, not from habit. My father and I have stayed with many kings on our travels. All of them honored the ‘sacred’ bond, but for most of them welcome was only a word. For some, it was an inconvenience. For many, it was a burden.” He glanced at me over one shoulder. “Father loves himself too much to believe he’s not a cherished guest everywhere he goes,but I’ve been unwanted often enough to recognize when ‘Must you go so soon?’ means ‘Why didn’t you leave sooner?’ ”
“Oh.” I laid one hand on his shoulder in spite of the chance that the stoat might see it there. “That isn’t my way. I do believe in the guest-bond, but that’s not the only reason I’m asking your forgiveness. I spoke hot words in a bad temper. If I’ve hurt you, that’s worse to me than breaking the pact of travelers’ welcome. I’m very sorry.”
The hardness in his eyes and in the deep creases framing his mouth began to soften. “I’m sorry too. I should never have insulted you like that.”
“By calling me ignorant?”
“By saying you sound like my father.” He lowered thick-lashed eyelids. “He’d never apologize for hurting me. He says, ‘Hard speech is a blacksmith’s hammer and anvil. It shatters useless metal, pounds out weakness and imperfection, and shapes the finest sword, the spearhead that flies truest to the target.’ ” Odran looked up at me again. “Those are his exact words. Kind, aren’t they?”
“His exact words?” I was skeptical. I could accept that Master Íobar would speak so loftily, for druids and bards were often touched by Lugh, the god of poets. I could not believe Odran would remember them perfectly.
“Believe it,” Odran said. “Father’s spent years training me to remember things precisely as I hear them. When I was little, I thought it was a game and I enjoyed it. It was the only time he’d share my company outside of meals, good morning, and good night. The better I became at memory tricks, the longer we stayed together.” A rueful memory stole the light from his eyes. “Then I found out there was no affection behind it. It wasall part of his plan for me. Why ask me what I might want to do with my life? It was decided for me on the day I was born: I’d grow up to be a druid like my father.”
“You sound as if you don’t want that,” I said.
He scratched the stoat’s white belly. “There are parts of his calling that I do like. I could see myself as a healer. I just hate being told what I must do, be, and become. It was bad enough at home, hearing him lecture me every day. If I did poorly at my lessons, he’d either skin me alive with sarcasm or threaten to take Muirín and Guennola away from me. I’d hoped to have a break from that when we started on this journey, but he’s made me recite lore and rites and history every step of the way.”
“Is that why you came here?” I asked, indicating the willow’s sheltering leaves. “To get away from him?”
“From him and from the lads your father’s fostering.” Odran clicked his tongue and the stoat
Similar Books
