Master Zist said with a sigh.
“I know,” Kindan protested, “I’m just trying to think—”
“I see,” the Harper said. “Well, this is taking too long and we’ve both work to attend. So, to help you think, in addition to your other chores, you will go down to Tarik’s every evening after you’ve done your usual chores and wash all their clothes for them. You will continue doing this until you can report to me three virtues of Cristov. And you will apologize to Cristov for your behavior.”
“But—but—” Kindan spluttered. “How will I get Cristov’s mother to let me do their laundry? I can’t imagine her being too eager to let me do it.”
“How you get her to do it will be up to you,” Master Zist told him. “But do it, you will.”
Kindan rolled his eyes.
Master Zist wagged his finger at him. “I don’t think that rolling your eyes will work with Dara,” he said. He rose from his seat. “Get going; there might be a bite to eat left in the kitchen if you run.”
“What about you, Master?”
“I,” Master Zist stretched to his full height and assumed a lordly pose, “have a date with a young lady.” Catching Kindan’s surprised look, he added with shushing motions, “Go on! Off with you!”
It took Kindan two grueling days to come up with three virtues Cristov possessed: honesty; loyalty; integrity. He managed to ingratiate himself with Dara by explaining that he had fond memories of doing laundry in his old house and could he please do a few loads for them to relive the memory? Cristov looked ready to die of laughter at the question and Tarik looked sour, as always, but Dara relented after giving Kindan a long, searching look.
All the same Kindan was delighted when he reported his findings to Master Zist and got out of his extra chore.
“Describe the house to me,” Master Zist ordered then.
Kindan started to run down the layout of the house from memory, but the Harper stopped him with an upraised hand.
“No, not how you remember it, how it
is
.”
Kindan struggled to find words, fumbled, and shook his head.
“A harper must learn to observe,” Master Zist said. “Wherever you go, you must be observant.” Under the Harper’s questioning, Kindan slowly recalled all the details of Tarik’s house and the items inside it. He was surprised to discover how much he knew of the state of the house, even though he had not consciously set out to learn it.
“Good,” Master Zist said at last. “It is late—you’d best get to sleep.”
Kindan looked rebellious.
“Tomorrow, we shall meet at the Hold for the evening,” Master Zist said. “We’ll celebrate winter’s end, and I’ll need you to have your wits about you and help on the drums.”
Kindan was surprised. Master Zist had started him working on the drums almost as soon as Kindan had moved into his cottage, but he had never suspected that the Master, always short of praise, would let him perform with him.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Master Zist said. “I can’t play all the instruments by myself, you know. Now, to bed with you. Tomorrow will be long enough without the evening’s festivities at the end of it.”
The next day Dalor had morning watch on the cliff heights. Kindan, woken up well before dawn by the Harper, had as his duty the setting of the watchers. After a hasty cup of
klah
—breakfast would come later—he set off in the dark looking to meet Dalor at the bottom of the path up to the cliff heights.
The winter snow was still on the ground, but there had been no new snow for over a sevenday and much of it had turned to slush with the warming weather. Kindan walked carefully, enjoying the crunch as each of his steps broke through the thin layer of ice that had formed over the snow during the cold night.
There was no sign of Dalor. He waited a few moments and then, aware that he had other duties, he set off for the hold.
The instant he opened the door, he
“I know,” Kindan protested, “I’m just trying to think—”
“I see,” the Harper said. “Well, this is taking too long and we’ve both work to attend. So, to help you think, in addition to your other chores, you will go down to Tarik’s every evening after you’ve done your usual chores and wash all their clothes for them. You will continue doing this until you can report to me three virtues of Cristov. And you will apologize to Cristov for your behavior.”
“But—but—” Kindan spluttered. “How will I get Cristov’s mother to let me do their laundry? I can’t imagine her being too eager to let me do it.”
“How you get her to do it will be up to you,” Master Zist told him. “But do it, you will.”
Kindan rolled his eyes.
Master Zist wagged his finger at him. “I don’t think that rolling your eyes will work with Dara,” he said. He rose from his seat. “Get going; there might be a bite to eat left in the kitchen if you run.”
“What about you, Master?”
“I,” Master Zist stretched to his full height and assumed a lordly pose, “have a date with a young lady.” Catching Kindan’s surprised look, he added with shushing motions, “Go on! Off with you!”
It took Kindan two grueling days to come up with three virtues Cristov possessed: honesty; loyalty; integrity. He managed to ingratiate himself with Dara by explaining that he had fond memories of doing laundry in his old house and could he please do a few loads for them to relive the memory? Cristov looked ready to die of laughter at the question and Tarik looked sour, as always, but Dara relented after giving Kindan a long, searching look.
All the same Kindan was delighted when he reported his findings to Master Zist and got out of his extra chore.
“Describe the house to me,” Master Zist ordered then.
Kindan started to run down the layout of the house from memory, but the Harper stopped him with an upraised hand.
“No, not how you remember it, how it
is
.”
Kindan struggled to find words, fumbled, and shook his head.
“A harper must learn to observe,” Master Zist said. “Wherever you go, you must be observant.” Under the Harper’s questioning, Kindan slowly recalled all the details of Tarik’s house and the items inside it. He was surprised to discover how much he knew of the state of the house, even though he had not consciously set out to learn it.
“Good,” Master Zist said at last. “It is late—you’d best get to sleep.”
Kindan looked rebellious.
“Tomorrow, we shall meet at the Hold for the evening,” Master Zist said. “We’ll celebrate winter’s end, and I’ll need you to have your wits about you and help on the drums.”
Kindan was surprised. Master Zist had started him working on the drums almost as soon as Kindan had moved into his cottage, but he had never suspected that the Master, always short of praise, would let him perform with him.
“Don’t be so surprised,” Master Zist said. “I can’t play all the instruments by myself, you know. Now, to bed with you. Tomorrow will be long enough without the evening’s festivities at the end of it.”
The next day Dalor had morning watch on the cliff heights. Kindan, woken up well before dawn by the Harper, had as his duty the setting of the watchers. After a hasty cup of
klah
—breakfast would come later—he set off in the dark looking to meet Dalor at the bottom of the path up to the cliff heights.
The winter snow was still on the ground, but there had been no new snow for over a sevenday and much of it had turned to slush with the warming weather. Kindan walked carefully, enjoying the crunch as each of his steps broke through the thin layer of ice that had formed over the snow during the cold night.
There was no sign of Dalor. He waited a few moments and then, aware that he had other duties, he set off for the hold.
The instant he opened the door, he
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