Stonefather

“Now it happened that the stonemages had foreseen this, and raised stone on the other side to reduce the outflow there, so the lake level was unchanged. The watermages knew this, for the water told them so, but they feared the power of the stonemages to steal their water. ‘Today they were our friends,’ said the watermages. ‘But tomorrow, what if they remember that Mitherhome was once Mydderstane, built by stonemages and conquered by latecome watermen? They will say, “It is ours by right,” and they will destroy us as they destroyed the Verylludden.’

“So in fear of the power of the stonemages, the rulers caused great heaps of wood to be piled all round the solid living temple that contained the great mages who had saved them, and they lighted the fire, which heated the temple until the stone glowed red. Nothing could live inside it. For two days the fire burned, then it died, yet for five more days no man could touch the stone.

“When the rock at last was cool, the rulers of the city caused the dome to be broken open, and inside were found ashes in the shape of each of the stonemages; even their bones were ash. The watermages called water up through the rock and it flowed from the center of the temple, so it became a spring, holy to Yeggut, and not an outcropping of stone.

“Then the temple was broken entirely apart and the pieces carried down and cast into the cleft. The bridge of living stone was broken apart, for it was said that the stonemages had done this to turn the new channel into a tunnel, with living stone all around it. It was decreed that forever no bridge would span that cleft.” She broke off the narrative. “That’s why Hetterferry came to exist.”

“It’s a sad story,” said Runnel. “And it doesn’t make the watermages of the city sound very noble, to murder the very folk who saved them.”

“That’s not how the tale is told in Mitherhome, I’m sure,” said Lark. “But it’s how I learned it, back in the—”

“It’s a pack of lies,” said Demwor.

Runnel whirled to look at him. He was very angry.

“She only told it as she learned it, sir,” said Runnel.

“She doesn’t need you to defend her,” said Demwor. “I see now why she came to work at a stonemage’s house.”

“No, sir,” she said. “I came because the work was good and safe. I learned this story as a child, it’s a children’s tale.”

“Then listen to me well, children. 

Tell this tale no more, not to anyone. It’s a slander of the stonemages against our city. They were traitors, that’s the truth, in league with our enemies.”

“Then why would they make the cleft that keeps the city safe?” asked Runnel.

“They didn’t!” shouted Demwor. Then, more softly: “It has always been there. Their plot was to deepen it until it drained the lake and our enemies could get through on dry land. They were barely stopped in time.”

“Thank you for telling us the truth, sir,” said Runnel. Well he knew that the only way to stave off a beating was to agree quickly with the man who was raging. “We’ll never tell it the other way again. Forgive us for being ignorant children from far away, where truth disappears inside extravagant tales.” It was something his mother had once said, that bit about truth disappearing inside tales — only she had said it about gossip that had a village girl pregnant by a god, instead of by a traveler who gave her a golden fruit that was full of sweet water.

Demwor peered into Runnel’s face, and then Lark’s, looking for something — defiance, perhaps. But both of them looked as abject as any ruler could ask, and finally he said, “Your chatter has made you late to bed. I’ll have you up as early as ever tomorrow, you understand? And still you must finish washing and wringing and hanging the master’s linens.”

“Almost done,” said Lark. “I kept working while I talked.”

“I saw you from the second story of the house, and you were working slowly. That’s why I came out here.”

Runnel said nothing more, only bowed. He half expected Demwor to cuff him once or twice, just because he had been angry — that was what Father did. Runnel even placed himself between Demwor and Lark, so that if he was one who struck out in his wrath, the blows would fall only on Runnel.

But there were no blows. Demwor walked away, and Runnel and Lark hurriedly finished the rinsing and wringing and hanging. Then Runnel carried what was left of the water back to the cistern, where he poured it back into the top, where it could join the water yet to be filtered. Nothing wasted… only the soapy water had been poured out onto the stones; the rinse water was cast into the vegetable garden. “We grow the cleanest radishes and yams,” said Lark, but her smile was wan.

“We’ll speak no more of your tale,” said Runnel. “Your malicious, false, and unbelievable slander. Except to say that I looked down into the crevice, and some malicious, false, and deceptive slanderer has cast stones into the canyon and created the ruins of a nonexistent bridge, just so people will think your version of the tale is true.”