Plain Kate

So Plain Kate got up, and followed Drina into the redvardo, where the younger girl perched on the bunk and brushed Kate’s hair, and then plaited it. She was singing as she did it, something tuneless, her breath warm on Kate’s scalp. Kate promised herself that no matter what happened, she wouldn’t forget this: having her snarly hair brushed slowly smooth, feeling the warm fingers on her scalp and then the shifts and tugs as Drina made up the braid.

Taggle, all the while, insisted he should be next when it came to fussing over fur.

When they were done, Plain Kate had a small braid, the width of a finger, dangling over each ear. Drina tucked them up on the crown of her head and covered them with one of her own scarves: a bright bit of blue rag with a pattern of stars. She arranged it over the tips of Kate’s ears and tied it at the nape of her neck. “There. Now you look like a Roamer.”

“Not especially,” said Taggle.

They both ignored him.

“Let it dry there,” said Drina. “Keep it covered. Don’t let my father see.”

Then she turned to chase the cat with the comb, threatening to braid his tail. The pair of them romped off, leaving Kate standing very still under the rain-hissing canvas. She could feel her shadow lifting and twisting away.

***

When they were breaking the morning camp, Plain Kate went to Daj to explain that she was out of wood.

Daj looked around at the trees, the charcoal burner’s woodpile. She said nothing, eloquently.

Kate winced.“Cured wood, I mean. Green wood—living wood—shrinks when it dries. If you carve green wood your work will crack.”

So Daj rumbled and bumbled, and took Kate off to the men’s fire, where she found Stivo hunched up over tea while the other men oiled harnesses and tack. She dragged him up by the ear.

“Take this little one into the forest,” she ordered. “She needs wood.”

Stivo looked around.“She’s knee-deep in wood.”

“Different wood,” said Daj. “Show manners and mind your mother.”

So Stivo got up, hoisted the camp hatchet, and slouched off, leaving Kate trotting after him.

“You don’t need to come,” she said, once they were away from the others. “I’ve looked after myself a long time.”

“You go the Roamer way,” he answered. “We do not go alone.”

“And there are wolves,” piped Drina, appearing with a pail half full of blackberries.

“Aye, a few.” Stivo swung the hatchet idly, the way Drina swung her pail. “And so you’ll stay in the camp,cheya.”

“Plain Kate is going.”

“She needs the wood,” Stivo said. “For some reason the wood we have is not good enough.”

Plain Kate thought of explaining, but stayed silent.

“Daj said I could go,” said Drina.

“And I say you can’t, daughter. Be off.”

Drina slinked to a stop. Plain Kate hung back with her and Stivo strode on toward the woods, still swinging his axe.“Stivo is your father?” She had never had anything but gentleness from her own father, and found the idea of Stivo being a father unimaginable.

Drina shrugged.“Daj looks after me.” But of course it was true. Behjet had told her that Stivo’s wife had been burned as a witch—Stivo’s wife and Drina’s mother were the same person. And that made Stivo Drina’s father. And Daj her…grandmother? Once again Plain Kate gave up on trying to sort out who among the Roamers was related to whom. It did not seem important to them. They were all family,mira, clan.

Stivo, ahead, had turned.“Come along,gadje!”

A family she was not part of. At least not in Stivo’s eyes. Plain Kate gave Drina’s arm a quick squeeze, then hurried after Stivo and his axe.

Around the abandoned hut, the wood was thick. Blackberry brambles hid under the skirts of the trees, growing across a forgotten wall of loose stones. Stivo was sitting on a big rock, eating blackberries.

Plain Kate looked around.“It’s a bit drier, anyway,” she offered. The thick trees were keeping off some of the drizzle.”

“This rain’s a curse. The horses are all chewing their feet and stinking with the thrush. Go through the whole herd, if this wet won’t stop.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, is it. Unless you can work the weather.” Stivo got up. “Off with you then. Find your different wood.”

It was dark beneath the big trees, and the brambles gave way fast to ferns. Plain Kate moved into them slowly. They rubbed around her waist, dripping and rustling. She heard something big moving behind her and shot a look over her shoulder. Stivo was following her, though not close. They went on without speaking.

Finally she found the right tree. A toppled walnut. Bolt struck, half-scorched, a year dead. It would be dense-grained and dry; it would take a knife.“This one,” she said. As she said it the drizzle broke again, and suddenly the fallen tree was struck by a finger of light. Plain Kate was startled for a moment, then saw that of course the tree’s fall had left a hole in the forest’s ceiling, just enough for the light to slant through. It struck her too, and for a moment she could see how what was left of her shadow spun around her like ripples of water.