Autumn
harvest, and it was time for the queen's tax assessor to come around.
It
was time for Meg to stand outside the gates, and look down the road
where the tax man would come from, and fear for the coming days.
In
those moments, Deirdre stood beside her, for Deirdre was always beside her
these days. It was…not annoying. If she had acted like this last
year, back in Cymru, then Meg might have been annoyed. But Meg was
coming to understand that she had specifically sought this situation,
for whatever reason, and she was quite inclined to agree with her old
self. There was a light in Deirdre that would not go out for long.
Thus
it was that Deirdre rarely had to tap Meg on the shoulder to catch
her attention – Meg always had at least half an eye on Deirdre, no
matter what the circumstance. Sometimes it meant she missed things,
like a fish slipping past her, or a deer bounding away, or the small
whuff that told her Fia had come running up behind.
Maybe
Deirdre’s presence was annoying after all, if it led to such
embarrassment. But Meg couldn’t bring herself to object.
As
for Deirdre herself, here and now, she had a look in her eyes that
she often had these days – a faraway look, as if her thoughts were
ranging all over the wide world, and she wasn’t paying much
attention to anything just before her.
Thus
it was that Meg had to tap her on the shoulder. "What’s
up?"
"Thinking,"
signed Deirdre. "If we can teach everyone in the area to read,
then maybe we can organize our villages to break away from the
Queen."
"You
want a separate kingdom?"
Deirdre
shook her head. "No kings," signed Deirdre. "No
queens, nothing like that."
"What
would that even look like?" Signed Meg. "And what does
reading have to do with it?"
Deirdre
made the sign that Meg had not understood before.
"I'm
sorry," signed Meg. "Look. These…letters. Can you tell me
what they even are? How do they work?"
"Simple,"
signed Deirdre. "Each letter represents a sound we make while
speaking. One sound, separated out from the rest, like a grain
selected from a bag of grain."
"And
yet you can't make any of those sounds."
"Indeed
not. I still haven't figured out how to get past that barrier."
"One
sound," signed Meg. "Like…" She hummed a bit, then
sang, "Eeeeeeeeee."
"That's
it," signed Deirdre. "Here." She held up her left hand, and curled her fingers into her palm, with her thumb under them. "This is…that
sound you just made."
Meg
sang again. "Eeeeeeee."
"Shorten
it," signed Deirdre.
"Eeee,"
sang Meg.
"Say
it," signed Deirdre.
"Ee,"
said Meg.
"That's
it," signed Deirdre, her face breaking into a wide grin. "Pick
another one."
"Aaaaah,"
sang Meg.
Deirdre held up her left hand again, curling her fingers into her palm, but with the the thumb held parallel beside them. "This is that sound."
"Right," said Meg. "So, ah -- " she made the ah sign -- "and ee --" she made the sign for ee. And then she sang again, a little nonsense tune of those two sounds, as best she could.
"You're a quick learner as ever." Deirdre gave Meg a peck on the cheek.
And
then a memory came to Meg, from some place she could not know. It was
the memory of a sweet voice singing. A voice she found familiar. "You
sang," signed Meg, her eyes wide. "I remember how you sounded. My god, you
have lost so much."
"It
was the price," signed Deirdre. "The price to meet you in
life again. Small price compared to you. Do you want to know how I
know?"
"Tell
me."
"Now
that you have realized what silence means for me, the first thing you
think of is what I lost, not what you did. Everyone else in the
village is sad that they cannot hear me sing anymore, but they are
sad for themselves, not so much for me. All you have done, all the
miles you went that you do not remember, all the defiance you would
give the gods…it was all for my sake. I confess, I am even slightly
disturbed. What do you do for yourself?"
"What
could I do for myself?" signed Meg. "What am I without
you?"
"What
you were before me," signed Deirdre. "Do you remember that,
at least?"
Meg
thought, and thought. She had indeed been a bold warrior, apparently
of renown. She had been good enough that the queen had begged her to
swear a more binding fealty to her service. And then…there was
little in her memory, until but a year ago.
"Tally
says we fought side-by-side," signed Meg. "How many years?"
"I
recall at least ten," signed Deirdre.
"And
in those ten years, were we ever separated?"
"Not...in battle, no." Deirdre's expression became faraway again. "Not in battle. But we had our disagreements, and went our separate ways, from time to time."
Deirdre frowned. "I can't imagine wanting to go a separate way from you. I must have been foolish." Brief memories of the past came to her, of marching up the high hills alone, under cloud and sun. "Ten years, most of it missing. You must have been there with me for almost all of it, if it's all missing. So what am I without you? Not much,
as far as I can tell."
"If
that be so," signed Deirdre, "then let the next ten years
be years in which you can understand what you are for yourself, with
or without me."
Meg
felt a sudden chill, as of the breeze that warns of the first frost.
"Does that mean – "
"I'm
not going away again!" signed Deirdre. "Never again. I
swear to you, I will never again abandon you by any design of mine. But
Tally tells me you nearly decided to follow me to the underworld. I
am very glad that you two came up with a more constructive way to
reach me again. I don't want you to depend upon me entirely."
She moved a little closer to Meg, and the movements of her hands
became small and timid. "You know what happened to you when I
was lost."
Meg
frowned. "Do you not want me to be for you? Is that it?"
"Look."
Deirdre gestured to the village. "Think of this place and Fia.
It takes a village to raise a child, right? Now think of this place
and you. Maybe it takes many people to keep someone sane. Are they
not also for you? Are you not also for them? There is such a thing as
being able to depend on the people who depend on you. Let it not be
one-sided. Let it not be two-sided, or three. If I should die early
again…please, do not follow me downward too soon. Love your people
as they love you, the way you love me. Do not abandon them again."
"I
– " but Meg could find no signs to answer this. And for a
while she kept her arms crossed, wondering what she could possibly
say.
Until
at last, she signed, "I would like to do at least one nice thing
for you."
Deirdre
looked intrigued. "And that is?"
Meg
cupped her hands around her mouth and called, "Where, oh where,
is that little man?"
"You
called?" said Tally's voice behind Meg.
She
whirled around, a wry grin on her face. "I called. Would you
play us a merry jig on the lyre?"
"Not
very easy on a lyre," said Tally. He put the lyre behind his
back. Then from behind his back he pulled a small drum and a stick.
"This will do better."
There
was a small whuff of air, and Fia appeared beside Tally. "I
want to play the drum."
"I'll
handle the lyre then," said Tally, as he handed the drum to Fia.
Then he pulled the lyre out from behind his back again. "Get a
beat going, my girl."
So
Fia struck up a beat, and Tally followed on the lyre.
In
the midst of this music, Meg signed to Deirdre, "Did you ever
dance, in the years I knew you?"
Deirdre
shook her head.
"Would
you like to learn?"
Deirdre
raised an eyebrow.
"You
wish to have music," signed Meg. "Maybe this time, you can
embody it."
Deirdre's
smile was bright enough to rival the sun. "It seems you know me
well, memory or no. Teach me, my dear."
So
Meg taught Deirdre the steps of the jig, and soon enough the two were
dancing merrily. One by one, the people of the village turned out to
see what the noise was about, and joined in, until most everyone was
dancing there beyond the gates.
Nobody
saw the man with the queen's colors on his sleeve until he coughed
loudly.
There
he was, looking entirely unimpressed. "Look at that," said
the man. "You're all fit to be fairies. Ah, but the Good Folk
have their own king, and who knows what taxes they pay. As for you, I
have observed that you have had a bountiful year. I trust that you
will not have trouble paying your tax, this time around?"
Everyone
looked nervously at each other.
"I
had hoped he wouldn't notice how well we were doing," signed old
Boann.
"We
couldn't hope to withhold everything," signed Bleiz.
"Last
year your reluctance was out of necessity," signed Meg. "This
year it would not be. Let's just pay the Queen what she wants and
she'll leave us alone." Then she said aloud, "Ah ha, yes,
taxes. Yes. Ten bags of grain and four calves, as per usual?"
"Twenty,"
said the tax man.
"That
might be more grain than we can bear," said Meg.
"Twenty
calves," said the tax collector.
All
the villagers gasped.
"You
expect anyone to have that many calves in one year?" said
Mochán.
"The
queen expects everyone to have that many in one year," said the
tax man. "If you cannot pay that many, she is willing to accept
three hundred head of sheep in its stead – "
"That's
nearly all our sheep!" said Conall.
"Or
fifty bags of wheat," said the tax man.
"That's
nearly all our wheat!" said Conall.
"Very
well!" said the tax man. "Let us say fifty sheep and ten
calves, and ten bags of wheat?"
Meg
grunted. "Sounds like the queen is looking to pay someone a
large debt. We should help her?"
"It
involves a matter of war," said the tax man. "Ah, and the
queen also demands ten of your best young strong adults, to serve her
army. She needs all the fighting strength she can get for the spring
campaigning season."
Meg
loomed over the tax man. "Tell her that price is too high."
The
tax man, far from quavering in fear as Meg had hoped, was unmoved.
"You would try to intimidate a representative of your queen?"
Deirdre
stood behind the tax man and loomed over him. When she tapped him on
the shoulder, and he spun around, she grinned widely, showing her teeth.
Now
the man looked nervous.
"Hey,"
said Bleiz, "wasn't Meg the one who threw the Hound through a
wall?"
"And
Deirdre wrestled a boar and won," said Aoife.
"And
Meg fought a water giant and survived," said Bébinn.
"And
Deirdre came back from the dead," said Mochán.
"I
was wondering about that," said the tax man. "Good to see
you again, Deirdre, and I think the queen may have to send her Hound
to settle this matter after all. Have your taxes ready in a week's
time." Then he darted out from between Meg and Deirdre and
scurried away.
There
was not much merriment left in the gathered villagers. They shuffled
back through the gate. But Meg and Deirdre hung back.
"I
think I know what you are without me," signed Deirdre.
"Oh?"
"Stalwart,"
signed Deirdre, "and maybe a bit reckless."
Meg
laughed. "Maybe we can help each other keep our heads on our
shoulders."
And
then they, too, returned through the gate.