“Good morning,” Mother said as she came over with a bowl of hot oats. “Though there's nothing good to be found in it, for sure.” Her voice was cheerless, her eyes ringed with dark circles. She handed him the bowl and turned back to the fire. “You’ve slept long enough,” she said over her shoulder. “Go and get dressed and help your brother outside. There’s plenty of work to be done today, and more than enough mourning to be done besides.”
Banac bit back the protest that came all to easily to his lips: Mother’s face told him today was not a day for argument. It was a day for doing what he was told, and for not answering back, and for hard work and comfort for those who grieved.
He looked over at Father, and some glimmer of worry must have shown in his eyes, for Father smiled weakly and winked at him.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” he said. “Just cuts and scratches mostly. Nothing broken.”
Comforted, Banac smiled back. Father shifted to one side and patted the bed.
“Come on,” he said. “A word before you leave.”
Banac brought the bowl of oats with him, dipping his finger into the hot slops and licking it appreciatively. He was amazed at how hungry he was — but after all, he had eaten hardly anything for the whole of yesterday.
Father watched him for a moment, then said in a low voice, “I know what happened the other day.”
Immediately Banac froze, his finger half-way to his mouth. Guilt flared up, hot in his cheeks. “I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I didn’t mean to. It just happened. It was an accident, I promise ...”
“An accident?” Father chuckled, then coughed. “So running away from school with your brother is an accident, now? I suppose you were walking to the long-hall and you got lost? Is that it?”
For a moment Banac was confused. Then he realised: of course Father knew nothing of what had happened. He looked down, his cheeks flushing to think that he had almost given his secret away. He shrugged.
“Dunno,” he said.
Father reached over and lifted his chin so that their eyes met. His laugh had faded, and now his face was grave.
“You know,” he said. “As my eldest son I expect you to set a good example for your brother.”
Banac shrugged again and looked away, squirming uncomfortably. He hated these kind of talks. “That’s what Mother said.”
“I know. And do you know why she said it? Because it’s true. Banac, look at me.” When Banac raised his eyes he was surprised to see Father’s face had softened.
“I understand,” Father said. “I was the same at your age — maybe you get it from me, whatever it is that makes you do these things. Your mother’s more cautious, like Balor; and both of these spirits are good in their own way. But you must be careful, Banac! Balor sees you avoiding school and running off on adventures, and he thinks this is what life is all about; but it isn’t! Life is about what it going on out there right now — hard work, honest work.”
Banac looked at the door-curtain. The sounds of hammering and sawing continued unabated. He tried to decide which was worse: a lecture from Father or chores from Mother. He could not make up his mind, and in any case Father had not yet finished.
“Do you think I enjoy having to go out on that Sea every day?” he said. “Do you think your mother enjoys it, knowing that at any time a storm could come and I could be wrecked or worse? Last night I was kept by Cafan’s hand — there may come another time it is not His plan that I should live. But I go anyway, because I must feed my family. There’s a time and place for lightness and laughter — but it’s not always and everywhere. While we’re on this earth we must work; and to work you must learn; and to learn you must go to school.”
Father put his hand on the side of Banac’s face. He smiled at him in a way that made Banac feel strangely ashamed of himself, ashamed for running off, ashamed for keeping secrets.
“I’m proud of you, my strong boy.” Father’s voice was low and tender. “Soon you’ll become a man, and you too will have a wife and children who will rely on you for everything. What that happens I want to see a man who is like a rock in the middle of the Sea, against which the waves may beat but which they cannot move.”
Banac nodded. But in his mind was a picture of a clearing in the forest littered with tall stones, and a hollow in the trees where something that should not exist lay dead, and a hole beneath the hen-hut where a golden thing lay hidden in the mud. He thought for a moment of telling Father the truth, but again he was reluctant. He knew Father would not approve, and if Father did not approve he would take the whole thing away from him. No. It was still his secret.
Father patted him on the cheek again.
“Go on,” he said. “As your mother says, there’s work enough to be done today. Go and find Balor and help him out. And remember: he looks up to you, Banac. Be a worthy example to him, eh?”
Banac nodded, and Father smiled and drew him close, kissing his hair.
“You’re a good lad,” he said. “Now run along and make me proud of you.”
*
Banac found Balor on the other side of the village, repairing a collapsed fence with Elred the blacksmith. All around them people were hard at work, their faces grim as they set about repairing thatching, cutting timbers, and collecting debris. The village was in ruins: he could see where many houses had been stripped bald by the wind, their thatching torn away and scattered to the hills. He felt a brief pang of sympathy for the families in those houses, but at the same time he was glad his family was not one of them. Already he had forgotten much of the fear and doubt of the night before.
* * *
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