‘Who’s Old Twister?’
So, while Darral was furiously chopping firewood, I told her about Gelane’s years-long campaign to catch that wily old trout in the stream outside Emgaard. It passed the time, and it put Alara in a much better humor. Alara was a serious young lady, and laughing was good for her. Darral finished with his firewood, cut himself and his son some willow saplings to use for poles and went off to entertain the fish. ‘Oh, one thing, dear,’ I said to Alara. ‘Don’t, whatever you do, reach for a knife if they happen to bring home some fish.’
‘Why would I reach for a knife, Aunt Pol?’
‘Exactly. That’s the fundamental rule you’ve always got to keep out in plain sight. You’ve got to establish it right from the start.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘Look him right in the face, cross your arms, and say, “You caught them, so you clean them.” Never deviate from that, even if he’s managed to fall and break his arm. He cleans the fish. You don’t. He may pout about it, but don’t weaken. If you relent even once, you’ll betray all of womankind.’
She laughed. ‘You’re joking, aren’t you, Aunt Pol?’
‘Not even one little bit. Don’t ever clean a fish. Tell him that it’s against your religion or something. Believe me, dear, if you ever clean so much as one fish, you’ll be doing it for the rest of your life.’.
Darral and his little son Geran actually caught fish in that small stream – enough at any rate to still the yearning almost all men fall prey to when they happen across fast water. It took them two days to do it, though, which is a fairly standard period of time for it. Then we moved on, plodding through the mountains toward our destination.
The mountain gorge where Annath lay ran from north to south, and we reached it about mid-afternoon on a glorious summer day. I was struck by the similarity of the village to Emgaard. Mountain towns are almost always strung out along the banks of a stream, and that puts them at the bottom of a gorge. I suppose you could build a village on a hilltop, but you won’t be popular with the women of the town if you do, since the chore of carrying water inevitably falls to the women. Women like to be close to a stream, and most women would be happier if the stream ran through the kitchen.
I liked what I saw about the village, but I did feel an apprehensive chill the first time it came into view. Something rather dreadful was going to happen here in Annath.
Virtually everyone in town turned out when our wagons rolled down the single street. People in small towns do that, you know.
‘Where wuz it y’ wuz a-goin’, stranger?’ a grizzled old codger with a woodsy dialect asked Darral.
‘Right here, friend,’ Darral replied, ‘and I think we can drop that “stranger”. My family and I’ve come here to settle permanently, so I’m sure we’ll all get to know each other.’
‘An’ whut might yer name be?’
Darral grinned at him. ‘Well, it might be “Belgarath” or maybe “Kal Torak”. Would you be inclined to believe me if I offered you one of those?’
‘Not hordly,’ the old fellow chuckled.
‘Oh, well,’ Darral sighed. ‘It was worth a try, I guess. Actually, my name’s Darral, and this is my wife Alara. The lady driving the other wagon’s my Aunt Pol, and the little boy sleeping beside her is my son, Geran.’
‘I’m proud t’ make yer acquaintance, Darral,’ the old fellow said. ‘My name’s Farnstal, an’ I’m usual th’ one as greets strangers – mostly on accounta I’m a nosey old coot. Th’ inn’s on down th’ street a piece, an’ y’ kin settle in thar till y’ makes more permanent arrangements. What might be yer trade, Darral?’
‘I’m a stone-cutter – from over near Sulturn. I used to spend all my time chiseling tombstones, but that’s gloomy work, so I decided to find something more cheerful to do.’
‘If y’ knows yer way around a hammer an’ chisel, y’ve come t’ th’ right place, Darral. Th’ menfolk hereabouts bin choppin’ stone blocks outta that mounting over thar since about three weeks afore th’ earth wuz made, an’ we’ll prob’ly keep on achoppin’ until a couple months after it comes to an end. Why don’t we drift on down t’ th’ inn an’ git you folks settled in? Then we kin all git acquainted.’
Darral was very smooth, you’ll note. His easy manner slipped us into the society of Annath with scarcely a ripple. You’ll also note that he was just a little imprecise about our point of origin. It wasn’t exactly an out and out lie. Medalia and Sulturn aren’t really too far apart – ninety miles or so is about all – so you might say that Darral was only ninety miles from the truth.
We went on down to the tiny inn with most of the townspeople following along behind us. Small towns are almost always like that. We took rooms, and several of the townsmen helped Darral unhitch the horses. The women of the town, of course, homed in on Alara and me, and the children immediately absconded with Geran. By the time the sun went down, we weren’t strangers any more.
Nobody owned the mountain where the local stone-quarry was, so the villagers had formed a ‘share and share alike’ cooperative venture to gouge granite blocks from its side. Farnstal told Darral that ‘a stone-mason feller from Muros comes by in th’ fall t’ take ‘em off our hands every year – which sorta keeps ‘em from pilin’ up an’ gittin’ underfoot. That way we don’t hafta build no wagons er feed no oxen t’ haul ‘em all down t’ civilization an’ git rid of ‘em. I ain’t never bin real close friends with no ox, personal.’
‘You know, I feel much the same way,’ Darral agreed. ‘To my way of looking at it, the proper place for an ox is on the supper-table.’
‘I’ll float my stick alongside yers on that score.’
Darral took his tools to the quarry the next morning and started cutting stone blocks almost as if he’d always lived there, and the women of the town took Alara and me to the upper end of the single street and pointed out a vacant, seriously run-down house.
‘Who does it belong to?’ I asked a plump lady named Elna.
‘Why probably to whoever moves in and fixes the roof,’ Elna replied. ‘The family that owned it all died of the pox about ten years ago, and it’s been standing empty ever since.’