Bravely(57)

“I assume they have a god of their own they’d rather talk to.”

They rode due south until the landscape became a gentler one than that around DunBroch. Merida was unsurprised when their destination turned out to be a town just about as lovely as Keithneil, all the thatched cottages leaning in like good friends. There was farmland here, richer than around rocky DunBroch, and the prosperous village showed how much easier the fertile ground made life. Each little cottage had its own goats and ducks and herb gardens.

“I suppose now you’re going to show me the time you killed everyone’s children here,” Merida said.

Feradach shot her a rueful look and instead guided her to a cottage that sat a little apart from the others. It was not quite the same as the others they’d passed. It was not that the cottage was fancier, it was just…as if the owner of it cared about it just a bit more deeply than everyone else cared about theirs, which was saying quite a lot, because the other houses were all quite tended. But the garden out front was larger, with more flowers, and the road leading to it was more meandering and bright, with stones intentionally placed all along the borders, and there was a martin house in the front yard for the birds, and the cottage’s front door was painted red and had wind chimes hanging next to it. There was a hitching post cleverly shaped to look like two pigs tugging on an iron circle, which Merida and Feradach tied their horses to.

It was a very pleasant place indeed, and part of Merida wished she’d been told to investigate this place for possible joining as kin, because it all made her ache with its sweetness. But another part of her knew her feet would feel just as itchy after some time here.

At the front door, Feradach started to knock, but Merida said, “With hands like those, maybe I should do the knocking.”

The door opened. On the other side was a man with an enormous head of white hair that was teased very high, and no beard, which made him seem a little like a very tall child. He eyed his visitors with both disbelief and humor. Who knew what he saw Feradach as, but Merida knew what he saw her as: the princess of DunBroch. Even her riding-out clothes were finer than most people’s finest.

“Cennedig of Fife?” Feradach asked. “I have brought the princess of DunBroch for a meeting with you. Do you have the time for it?”

“A princess and a dwarf wasn’t what I was expecting today,” Cennedig said, adding, with amusement, “Who among us is allowed to not have time for the princess of anywhere?”

“The princess,” Merida answered at once.

“Oh, you’re witty,” Cennedig said, with respect. “Come in, Your Highness.”

The very first thing Merida saw inside his home was a beautiful harp that Hamish would have given his back teeth to play. The sound box was massive and gnarled, like a living tree, like a crouching animal. The strings were glittering and inviting, even to Merida, who could only pluck out a few pathetic dance numbers at her mother’s long-ago insistence.

The rest of the cottage was not quite as impressive as the harp, but it was still homely and clearly loved upon. The walls were hung with carved spoons like the one Brionn had eaten back at Christmas, and everything that could be painted brightly had been painted brightly. Children had drawn big swirling patterns like those on Feradach’s stone on the dirt floor; both Feradach and Merida were careful not to disturb them. In the backyard, Merida could see a group of youngsters tousling with a dog and—she had to squint a bit to confirm—a pig.

“Does the princess require a meal?” Cennedig asked, again sounding amused, and also directing the question to Feradach rather than Merida. He seemed to be both comfortable with Merida’s being royalty but also well versed in the rules of royalty; he was not self-conscious in her presence, but he knew to give her some deference. This was someone who had not always been in this village, Merida decided. He had spent time in court.

Feradach said, “The princess enjoys berries of all kinds.”

“How wise the princess is,” Cennedig said, “considering my garden is overfull of them right now. Give me a moment to fetch some.”

“Take your time,” Feradach said. “We imposed.”

As soon as Cennedig had gone out, Merida whispered, “The princess doesn’t care one way or another about berries!”

“I know,” Feradach said. “I needed him out of the house. Quickly, come to the harp.”

Together they returned to the harp. Feradach leaned it over and gestured to the bottom. “Look down there.”

Merida gathered her skirts and knelt, but she already suspected what she was going to see. Sure enough, on the bottom of the harp’s sound box was a handprint.

“Quickly,” Feradach said again.

Merida was too curious to even hesitate this time. She spread her fingers in that handprint, noting with interest that this one fit hers almost perfectly; whose face had Feradach been wearing when he put this print here?

“Harp,” Feradach whispered, “show her what you’ve seen.”

Merida just had time to think, Oh, that is why I couldn’t tell what Feradach’s stone had seen, and then she was taken through a life, all seen through the lens of this harp. First she saw a much younger Cennedig acquire this harp and learn the tunes he would play all over the land on it. It required many hours of lessons with an older harper and then even more hours of quiet study, but Cennedig didn’t seem to mind. He practiced over and over again without tiring.