THE SOUL WEAVER by Carol Berg

Author:Carol Berg [Berg, Carol]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: sf_fantasy

CHAPTER 18

We stayed. The princess was livid when she heard it was to be another three months until she could go home, and she told me I was still the stupidest boy in the world who would take the word of a bowl of water for anything. She didn’t speak to me for three days, and then decided maybe it was more of a punishment to make sure I heard her complaining all the time.

I couldn’t argue with Roxanne’s premise. I certainly needed to learn more about the Source. But a number of things had to come first.

Paulo’s condition improved every day, and soon we were able to send Nithea home. I made sure she had a supply of all the medicinal plants I found in the garden and that she knew as much as I about what to do with them. Her eager questions made me wish I had listened closer to Kellea.

As the Singlars seemed inclined to listen to me, I spent the days trying to untangle the mess the Guardian had created, dealing with their disputes and petitions. I remembered how my mother had treated the tenants at Comigor with honesty and respect, and how she had spent most of her time listening rather than talking. Those principles seemed to carry me pretty well.

“You must do something! You’re forcing me to stay in this desolation, so it’s your responsibility!”

I had never expected to find the Crown Princess of Leire in the queue of petitioners that jammed the audience hall as happened one morning a week or so after my visit to the Source. The Singlars watched in awe and fascination as she rattled the walls with her yelling. She stamped her foot and pointed her finger as if it were a crossbow aimed at my chest.

“I’ve no idea how you might amuse yourself,” I said. “And I don’t care. I’ve more important things to worry about.” What did she think I was?

“You’ve no horses, no dogs, no music, no dancing, no bow hunting, no books, games, lessons, or conversation… nothing. If I lose my mind from boredom, you’ll have a larger problem than this fellow’s collapsing wall.” She jerked her head at the Singlar just behind her. “One of his neighbors has been launching boulders at him, an amusement I might take up if you don’t give me something to do.”

“Go away.” At least twenty petitioners stood in the queue, and each one was going to use up two hours or more explaining who he was or where she was from, the history of every day since becoming “real,” and the particular circumstances of today’s need or grievance. Some of these people would still be here three days from this one, and twenty new ones would join the queue in between. “It’s hard enough to sort out these people’s actual problems.”

“Well then, I’ll help you. I’m no stranger to assizes. At least I won’t rot from disuse.”

“No.” Leiran laws and customs were not my idea of reasonable. “Go away.

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