Crossroads and Other Tales of Valdemar

She loved apples sliced and dried and hoped she’d be able to buy some of last year’s if they had a moment before they left town.

Her grandfather used to carve apples and dry them whole and they turned into the most cunning old men and women dolls’ heads.

Just when Jors was about to suggest she stop talking, she finished her story about how an apple peel taken off in one unbroken spiral would give the initial of true love when tossed over a shoulder and fell silent, straightening in the saddle and transforming from girl to Herald.

:Neat trick.:

:Why does she need to be anything but what she is when she is with you?: Gervais asked reasonably.

:She doesn’t.:

:And why do you . . . :

:Because I’m her teacher!:

:Herald Jennet was also her teacher. Do you think Herald Jennet behaved differently than herself?:

:Herald Jennet has had more time to be herself!: Jors pointed out.

Gervais tossed his head, setting his bridle bells ringing as they passed the first of the buildings. :You are not Herald Jennet,: he said as the first wave of laughing children broke around them.

:That’s what I keep saying!:

The Companion carefully sidestepped an overly adventurous and remarkably grubby little boy. :Maybe you should try listening.:

And that was all he was willing to say.

Go not to your Companion for advice, Jors sighed. For they will tell you to figure it out for yourself.

Judgments in Appleby were, not surprisingly, mostly about apples. More surprisingly, Jors found Alyise to be an attentive listener—both to the petitioners and to him. Although she deferred to Jors as the senior Herald, she expressed her opinions clearly and concisely when asked for them and in turn asked intelligent questions when she needed more information. Having been more than a little afraid of what the day would bring, Jors was impressed and grateful that he could set aside personal doubts and concentrate on the job at hand.

Late that afternoon, when they’d finished with official business and had moved on to the more social aspects of being a Herald—trading the gossip that kept the far-flung corners of the kingdom telling the same stories—Jors glanced over at Alyise within a circle of teenage girls and wondered if it counted as a conversation when everyone seemed to be talking at once.

“Herald Jors.”

He turned to see the eldest of the village councillors holding out a cup of cider.

“Don’t worry, it’s one of this year’s first pressings. Windfall from the early apples. It has absolute no trade value, so you needn’t fear you’re being bribed.”

A tentative sip curled his tongue. “Tart,” he gasped.

“A little young,” the councillor admitted, grinning. “And if you don’t mind my saying, you seem a little young yourself to be teaching the ray of sunshine there.”

“I’ve been doing this for a while, Councillor.” On the outside, Jors remained calm and confident. Inside, a little voice was saying, Oh that’s just great. It’s obvious to everyone. “And Alyise is a trained Herald. I’m only here to help guide her through her first Circuit.”

“Oh, I’m not criticizing, lad. And given that one’s energy, it’s probably best you’re no graybeard. I imagine she’d be the death of an older man.”

The councillor obviously believed he was sleeping with Alyise. That was a belief he’d have to nip in the bud. “Heralds aren’t in the habit of taking advantage of their Interns.”

“Advantage?” The elderly councillor glanced over at Alyise and began to laugh so hard he passed a mouthful of cider out his nose. “Oh, lad,” he gasped when he had breath enough to speak again. “You are young.”

There wasn’t a lot Jors could say to that.

:You seem fine in the villages,: Gervais pointed out as they headed toward the Border.

:It’s different in the villages.: Jors told him. :We have well-defined roles and I know what I’m supposed to do.:

:You’ve always known what to do in a Waystation before. You’ve always know what to do with another Herald before.:

He glanced over at Alyise who’d turned to check on the mules. :I’ve never been responsible for another Herald before.:

His Companion sighed and raised his head so Jors could get at an elusive itch under the edge of his mane. :You’re beginning to worry me.: