Raetian Tales 1: A Wind from the South by Diane Duane Read Free Book Online

you could imagine long sorrowful stories being told, a voice like her mother’s saying “Su, su, su....” about something that couldn’t be helped.
    This time, she heard the wind say “Su, su....” ...in her mother’s voice.
    At first, it didn’t seem odd that the wind should sound like her mother. But slowly, in the dark, Mariarta realized the wind had never talked about this kind of thing before.
    “We’ve got to start thinking of it, Cilgia.”
    “It’s too early.”
    “It’s not. Look at the way she’s gone up, this past year!”
    It was her bab’s voice. Mariarta lay wide-eyed in the darkness. Voices could not be heard clearly through these walls—
    “It is. But, Fadri, the body may be old when the heart’s still young.”
    “I know.... It still has to be thought about. And the prospects aren’t good around here.”
    “But there are plenty of likely young men—”
    “They’re none of them likely, Cilgia. Don’t think I haven’t seen Urs chasing after her. The boy has no hope of finding a trade. All he’ll ever have is someone’s hay to sleep in, and a penny or two from his share of the cheesemaking each year. No. There are only three serious possibilities. Duri—I won’t have it—you see the way the father works himself at the mill, and the son doesn’t work unless he’s beaten. Mati would wind up being miller and mother both, and die before her time. Flep di Plan—”
    Her mother’s voice sounded alarmed. “That I won’t have. The father never lifts his eyes from counting his money, but he hasn’t a crust for a poor man. And his son’s cruel: did you see what Flep did to dil Curtgin’s cat, as a joke?  Or he called it a joke. I won’t see Mati married into that place.”
    Her bab snorted. “I can’t say I disagree with you, but we’ve still her bodily comfort to think of. That would be taken care of, even if the son never did another lick of work—”
    “So that’s two. But who else—”
    “Well.” Her father sounded uneasy. “I haven’t had her schooled for nothing. I want her... I want her to get out . Have a better chance, somewhere else.”
    Now her mother sounded really shocked. “Not in Selva, surely!  You know how those people are!”
    Her bab sounded reluctant again. “I had been thinking...well, if Reiskeipf—”
    “Fadri. He’s an Austriac .”
    “Cilgia, if she married him, she’d be mistress of a big house  in Ursera. She would meet fine people, not just peasants.”
    “Like us, you mean.”
    Her father spoke softly. “Like us, yes. What is there for us here?  We hang onto life—for what?  To do it next year, and the next. And to pay taxes, and taxes, to one prince or bishop or another, and get no good of it—”
    “But Reiskeipf — ! ”
    “Cilgia, it wouldn’t have to be forever. When he dies—”
    “She’s not even married yet and already you’ve got her widowed!”
    “It’s not unlikely. Have you seen the way he gasps when he’s here?  He’s the kind to die young. He’ll leave an educated young widow with money, who’ll be in a position to pick a second husband she likes—some well-off merchant. It won’t matter if she doesn’t marry at all; she’ll have her inheritance from him.”
    The wind hissed softly to itself in the pines, then rose again. “Have you seen him look at her, Fadri?”
    “I have.” Her bab’s voice was heavy. “At least he would be willing. And she’s a maid, Cilgia, she’s going to find out about it sooner or later: how do we know she would find out less kindly from him than from one of the cowherds in someone’s shed?...”
    A long silence. “If your mind is set on this, Fadri, I don’t want her wed until she’s old enough to take care of herself alone with such a man.”
    “But the agreement will have to be made soon. Otherwise he may lose interest. Remember, it’s her the match is good for. From his point of view, she’s just another Urner peasant’s daughter.”
    “Su, su....”