'"M-more l-likely to b-bear fruit,' he said," Kestrel agreed. "I d-don't know whether he m-meant the Abbey or G-Gradford, b-but I th-think we n-need to s-stop at the Abbey."
"It's a start," Gwyna replied, popping the last of her breakfast into her mouth, and licking a crumb of cheese from her thumb. "You know the proverb. 'Soonest begun, is soonest done.' Right?"
Kestrel kissed her nose, and gave her a playful shove in the direction of the drivers seat. As she crawled over the bed, she saw that he had already harnessed the horses, and turned the wagon so that it faced down the hill.
"Right" he agreed. "And y-you d-drive! I w-was up early, and I n-need a n-n-nap!"
Jonny had learned long ago the art of sleeping in odd places and under adverse conditions. A swaying, jostling wagon was no impediment to his drifting off to sleep. He had expected nightmares, or at the least, dreams troubled by the Ghost, but he slept deeply and soundly, and there was nothing to trouble his sleep. He woke shortly before suppertime.
He exchanged places with Gwyna, driving while she rummaged around in their stores for something for them both to eat that was not bread-and-cheese. While he recalled only too well the days when he would have been happy to eat bread-and-cheese for a month running, those days were in the past, and if he had a choice, well, the same food for three meals in a row was not going to be his choice.
This was true wilderness, except for the occasional sheep-farm, and by the rocky condition of the hillsides, he wasn't too surprised. Soil here was too thin to farm or graze; basically the only growing things keeping these hillsides from being completely barren were specialized plants suited to driving their roots into rock and holding tight. Two or three kinds of trees, wiregrass, lichen, moss, and some tough bushes; that was about it. Small wonder there were no people out here_the Ghost was hardly to blame for the condition of the land.
Funny, he thought. Somehow, though, this looks like land that's been worn out, as if people were here a long time ago, but exhausted the soil so much that it couldn't support anything but this wilderness again.
Well, that could be. Alanda was a strange world, and there were places in it like this, side-by-side with rich and virgin land, or a place like the stronghold of the Deliambrens. Maybe there had been people here, just after the Cataclysm_and maybe they had depended heavily on things coming from far outside because they had depleted their own land so much. And after the Cataclysm, when "outside" wasn't there anymore_they had died off, or gone elsewhere, leaving behind the land to recover on its own.
He shook himself out of his reverie as Gwyna reappeared with dinner for both of them. Speculation about the past was all very well, but at the moment he was perfectly willing to put such thoughts aside to concentrate on driving and dinner.
It was to be bread again, but this time with sausage, and an apple apiece. They thriftily saved out the seeds to be given to the owner of the next Waymeet; every Waymeet had some sort of orchard, planted from the seeds the Gypsies brought with them. So you might find apple trees growing side-by-side with Deliambren pares, Mintak tiers, and Likonian severins. Quite often fruits thought to be delicate turned out to thrive in unlikely climates, at least under the careful tending of the Gypsies.
"That's the last of the loaf," Robin told him, as she handed him his dinner through the hatchway. "At least we ate it before it went dry. How's the road?"
"Interesting," he replied, taking a bite. "W-well k-kept."
It was, too; one of the reasons why Gwyna hadn't been tossed all over the wagon while he negotiated potholes and pits. The road had been very carefully patched and graded, and that recently.
She poked her head out, then clambered over the ledge into her seat. "You're right!" she exclaimed. "Now why keep up a road that only leads to a dangerous pass and a nothing little village?'
Kestrel shrugged. "D-don't r-read t-t-too much into it," he cautioned her. "C-could j-just b-be the S-Sire d-doing his r-r-road d-duty r-right. After all, w-we w-were j-just c-complaining that th-the last S-Sire wasn't d-doing his d-duty on the r-roads. So n-no p-point in r-reading something into it wh-when th-the S-Sire's a g-good one."
"It could be, you're right." She settled beside him with her arm around his waist, and smiled up at him. He smiled back and caught her hand in his; a small hand, but very strong, with callouses on the fingers where only a musician would have them. A proper hand, to match the proper lady. Just being with her made him feel so warm_needed and wanted.
Being best friends is the only way to be lovers, he decided, as she rested her head against his shoulder. Staying best friends is the only way to be married.
"I th-think the Abbey isn't t-too far," he said, as shadows deepened under the trees, and the skies above the branches turned crimson and gold. "The n-next v-valley, m-maybe."
His guess was correct; as they topped the hill and looked down into the shallow valley stretching below them, it was obvious that they were back in some vestige of civilization. The leafless trees of an orchard lined both sides of the road, immaculately tended. And as the horses stretched their necks out with interest, the sound of bells ringing for evening services drifted clearly up the road.
He flicked the reins to get the horses moving again, for at the sound of the bells they stopped, their ears flicking forward nervously. Long shadows already filled the valley, and as they moved down the hill and went from the last light into evening's mist and blue dusk, the temperature dropped perceptibly. Gwyna huddled against him for warmth as well as companionship, and he shivered as a chill breeze cut through his shirt.
Once they were beneath the trees, they saw the lights of the Abbey shining up ahead of them, at the side of the road. There didn't appear to be any activity at all around it, which was a little odd.
Well, their harvest is obviously over. There's no real reason for anyone to be moving around at sunset, not when they just rang the bells for evening prayers.
The Abbey was fairly small, a complex of two or three buildings surrounded by a stone wall with a heavy wooden gate in the front. Trees grew right up against it, however, and Kestrel could only look at them wryly and remember a certain small boy who had found walls to be no hindrance as long as there were trees nearby. Presumably many generations of novices here had discovered the same truth.