Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

I see you don’t understand. You know only that a holder is free to do as he will. And he is; the God made that clear long ago. But the God lives in His Heaven, with only His one Goddess. I have four wives, and Latya is first among them. She oversees the work of hearth and hall, waking before dawn to do much of that work herself. I value my firstwife, and I would not have her think otherwise.

So I decided I would be more careful. But my gaze drifted to Nara again before I left the room.

And again, it was Latya, not Nara, who saw.

Nara’s Voice

One stormy afternoon, Latya changed all the tasks she set before me.

She did it abruptly, without warning or reason. At once my work was entirely indoors: scrubbing rooms, tending the fire (but not gathering the wood), mending clothing (but not mending tack). I saw Latya’s displeasure clearly enough, though I did not know what I had done to earn it and she did not explain.

I did not complain of this. Instead, I turned to my new work and to a song, determined to regain the firstwife’s favor. I sang of how the Goddess urged the sun to rise, in the God’s realm, of how she coaxed golden wheat from the hard soil, to ease her loneliness far from home.

For the first time, Latya frowned at my song. “Dear Nara,” she said, “I know you’ve been lonely, away from your home, and so I’ve not spoken of your singing until now. But in truth, it is not proper, and it disrupts the work. I must ask you to stop.”

I opened my mouth to protest; closed it again. I was a new wife, a young wife. I’d vowed before the Goddess to obey my elder wives, as surely as I’d vowed to obey my husband.

You look troubled by that. Is it true that in the north, a woman has only her one husband to obey, and no other wives?

In truth, I was troubled, too. I had not understood that obeying my other wives—obeying other women—might be harder than obeying my husband.

I told myself there was time enough for things to change. Latya’s displeasure—whatever its cause—would wane, and I would be assigned other duties, performed in places where I could sing unheard, and trouble no one. I told myself I could wait. I reminded myself that the Goddess never gives us tasks we cannot handle.

Yet as the weeks went on, I felt as if my unsung words were choking me. My only comfort came the nights Garen visited my room, but that was a fleeting thing, gone once we parted, leaving me alone in a room that felt smaller every day.

Garen’s Voice

Nara stopped working outside. She stopped singing inside. I didn’t know why; I knew only that the days felt longer, without her voice. And the nights I went to her room, she seemed far away from me, even when I drew her close.

I asked if anything troubled her, more than once, but she just shook her head. Yet I knew something was wrong, knew it in a way that went deeper than reason.

Fall gave way to an early winter, though not before we got the harvest in. Silence and cold settled over my Steading. I had good offers on the geldings I brought to saddle, not only from Holderkin, but also from the villages to our north, who are learning that Holderkin horses bear work and bad weather with less complaint than their own.

I offered you one of those horses, but you wanted this story instead. A holder would have taken the horse and been long gone.

But what you need to know is, my Steading was prospering. Yet my fourth wife was not content, and I did not know why. I knew only that because of this, I was not content either.

It was with these thoughts that I set out with my oldest son, Ari, to fix fences on Midwinter Day. Understand that. I was worried about my wife.

Not about myself.

Nara’s Voice

No one knows when the world will change—when an offer of marriage will come, or a woman grow heavy with child, or an early frost damage the crops and turn an easy year into a hard one.

I was uneasy all Midwinter Day. Once, I stopped at a jabbing pain in my leg, and nearly dropped the mugs I was carrying to the table. Latya asked if I was well, and I assured her I was, but my uneasiness grew even as the pain faded. I knew something was wrong.

So I was the only one not surprised, when the pounding came at the doors. I think I even shouted Garen’s name—before those doors were opened. I don’t remember clearly.

What I do remember is that Ari and a stranger in white carried Garen inside. Garen’s clothes were splattered red; a raider’s arrow jutted from his thigh.

Later I would realize that you were a Herald, and a woman, and that though you came upon the raiders by chance, you fought alongside my husband and his son. You broke three ribs doing it; you were injured, too, and would need time here to heal. Later, it would surprise me that a Herald would fight for Holderkin.

But just then, I knew only that I ran with the others to Garen’s rooms. I kept thinking about the brothers I’d lost to raiders, and of how losing Garen would be so much worse. It would be like—like losing wind and sky.