smelled bad . . . not anymore. I said you had a distinct scent.”
“What does that mean?”
“Every living thing has its own fragrance, some more marked than others, but a scent is impossible to hide. I am not around people often enough to identify regions, though I suppose I could do that based on my knowledge of the flora and fauna from whence they came. I have been to all the lands of the clans—Berne, Leok, Adyar, Ebba, Joran, and even Dolphys—though I have been to Adyar and Leok most. They are closest. Each land and each people have a scent, and the scents merge from border to border, some notes fading, some strengthening.”
“What do I smell like?”
“You smell of grain and grass and berry juice, though those smells are hidden beneath that moldering rag.”
It was a rag . . . but she had nothing else to wear.
“You smell clean,” she said.
“I cannot abide the smell of my skin or perspiration in my robes or mud or filth if it clings to my shoes,” Hod said. “Those smells . . . blind me . . . to the scents around me. So I am always clean. It is for my own safety. We will have to find you something else to wear.”
He sounded as if he meant for her to stay, and something eased in Ghisla’s chest.
“Did your family till the earth and plant seeds?” he asked.
“Yes. Why?”
“You smell like the earth too.”
“That is where I want to be.”
“In the earth?”
“Yes. That is where my family is.”
“You are not funny today,” he sighed.
“I do not mean to be funny ever. There is nothing to laugh about.”
“Are you sure you are a child? You sound like an old woman. You don’t speak like a child . . . not any child I’ve ever heard. And you don’t sing like one. Maybe you are really an old woman. An old witch, wearing the skin of a child to trick me.” He frowned, but his voice was light with teasing. “Did Arwin send you? Is this one of his tests?”
“How am I testing you?”
“You have given me pictures . . . and now I want to do nothing else but see. My ears are dull, my nose too. It is like I am deep in the cave, all alone.” He was not teasing anymore.
“I will not sing to you again,” she promised.
“But I want you to,” he whispered, the sound so mournful that tears pricked the backs of her eyes. She had thought her tears were all used up.
“Mayhaps it was too much at once. Too many songs,” she said.
“Mayhaps.”
“The songs have made you sad,” she said. “They make me sad too.”
“No. They do not make me sad. They make me . . . aware. They make me want to see.”
“Did you not want to see before?”
“I did not miss what I never had. Now I know what I do not have.”
“It is like having a family . . . and having them ripped away. I think it would be easier if I had never known them either.”
“What were their names?”
“My mother was Astrid. My father was Wilhem. Morgana was my sister. She was the oldest. Abner and Gilbraig were my brothers.”
“Were they older than you too?”
“I am—I was—the youngest. Abner was a man . . . Father always treated him like a man. Gilly was your age. But he was smaller than you are.”
“Your people grow slowly,” he said, remembering what she’d told him.
“Yes.” And now her people did not grow at all.
“Gilly?” he pressed when she grew quiet. “Is Gilly . . . Gilbraig?”
“I could not call him Gilbraig. It did not fit. I called him Gilly, and he called me Ghissy.”
“It is a sign of affection to alter the name like that?” he asked.
“Yes. I suppose it is.”
“Then . . . will you call me Hody?”
“Hody?”
“Yes. To show . . . affection.”
“It is still a terrible name.”
“It is just a name,” he said, repeating the sentiment of the day before. “It means little.” But it clearly meant something to him.
“All right, Hody.”
3
RUNES
“I have a pair of hose that rise too high on my legs, and a tunic that pulls across my back. They are well worn, and I do not know if they will fit. But I’ve a length of rope to keep the trousers up if they don’t, and they are clean.”
She took the items from his outstretched hand. When she did, he stood by, waiting for her to