Page 3 of Circle of Days

They came to a strange edifice, concentric rings of tree trunks. It was obviously a holy place. They walked around the circle. “People come here just to be quiet and reflect,” Neen said. “Or to talk, like us. And the elders meet here.”

“I remember you said your mother was an elder.”

“Yes. She’s really good with disputes. She gets people calmed down and thinking logically.”

“My mother was like that. She could get my father to be reasonable, sometimes.”

“You told me she passed away when you were ten midsummers old.”

“Yes. She conceived a baby late in life, and she and the baby died.”

“You must miss her.”

“I can’t tell you how much. Before she died, my father had nothing to do with us three boys.

Maybe he was scared to pick up a baby, or something.

He never touched us, never even talked to us.

Then when Mamma died, he suddenly had to look after us.

I think he hated taking care of children, and hated us for making him do it. ”

Neen said quietly: “That’s awful.”

“He still never touches us—except to punish us.”

“He hits you?”

“Yes. And my brothers.”

“Didn’t your mother have any kinfolk who could have protected you?”

That was a big part of the problem, Seft knew. A woman’s parents, siblings, and cousins were supposed to take care of her children if she died. But his mother had had no living relatives. “No,” he said, “my mother had no kin.”

“Why don’t you just leave your father?”

“I will, one day, soon. But I have to figure out how I can make a living alone. It takes a long time to dig a pit, and I’d starve to death before I came up with any flint to trade.”

“Why don’t you just collect flints from streams and fields?”

“That’s a different kind of flint. Those nodules have hidden flaws that cause them to break often, either while they’re being shaped or when they’re in use as tools. We mine the floorstone, which doesn’t break. It can be used to make the big axe-heads people need for chopping down trees.”

“How do you do that? Dig a pit?”

Seft sat down, and Neen did the same. He patted the grass beside him. “The earth here is not very deep. When we dig down we soon come to a white rock called chalk. We dig up the chalk with pickaxes made from the antlers of the red deer.”

“It sounds like hard work.”

“Everything to do with flints is hard. We smear clay on the palms of our hands so they don’t blister. Then we dig down through the chalk—it can take weeks—and sometimes, eventually, we come to a layer of floorstone.”

“But sometimes you don’t?”

“Yes.”

“So you’ve done all that for nothing.”

“And we have to start again somewhere else and dig a new pit.”

“I never even thought about how people dig for flint.”

Seft could have told her more, but he did not want to talk about mining. He said: “What was your father like?” She had told him before that her father was dead.

“He was lovely—handsome and kind and clever. But he wasn’t cautious, and he was trampled by a maddened cow.”

“Are cows dangerous?” Seft did not tell Neen that he was scared of them.

“They can be dangerous, especially when they have young. It’s best to be careful around them. But my Dadda just wasn’t the careful type.”

Seft did not know what to say.

Neen said: “I was heartbroken. I cried for a week.”

Seft tried: “How sad.”

Neen nodded, and he felt he had said the right thing.

“I’m still sad about it,” she said. “Even after all these years.”

“What about the rest of your family?”

“You should meet them,” Neen said. “Do you want to come home with me?”

“I’d love to.”

They left the holy place and made their way through the village.

Seft had accepted the invitation eagerly, because it was a sign that Neen really liked him, but he worried whether he would give her family a good impression.

They were sophisticated village dwellers—they washed their shoes!

He lived a rough life with little social contact.

His family had never stayed anywhere long: they built a house near the pit they were currently working, and left it behind when they moved on.

Now he would have to talk to Neen’s mother, clearly a distinguished person.

She in turn would be appraising him as a possible father to her grandchildren. What would he say to her?

Outside Neen’s family’s house a pot nestling in the embers of a fire gave out an aroma of beef and herbs.

The woman stirring the pot was an older version of Neen, with lines around her eyes and silver strands in her black hair.

She gave Seft a welcoming smile that was just like Neen’s, only with more wrinkles.

Neen said: “Mamma, this is my friend Seft. He’s a flint miner.”

Seft said: “May the Sun God smile on you.”

“And on you,” she said. “My name is Ani.”

Neen said: “And this is my little brother, Han.”

Seft saw a fair-haired boy of eight or nine midsummers sitting on the ground beside a sleeping puppy. “Smile on you, too,” Seft said, using the short form of the greeting.

“And on you,” Han said politely.

There were two other children. A little girl was sitting with Han, stroking the puppy. Neen said: “And this is Han’s friend Pia.”

Seft did not know what to say to a little girl, but while he was thinking about it she spoke to him, revealing herself to be socially adept beyond her years.

“My kin are farmers,” she said. “I live in Farmplace, I’m here for the Rite.

” She paused, then said confidingly: “My Dadda doesn’t let me play with herder children, but he isn’t here today.

” She was smaller than her playmate, Han, but her self-assurance made her seem older.

She added: “I’m looking after my cousin Stam. He’s nearly four.”

Stam looked sulky and said nothing.

Ani said interestedly: “Tell me, Pia, why did your Dadda not come to the Rite this year? He usually does.”

“He had to stay behind. All the men did.”

Ani said musingly: “I wonder why.”

Clearly she saw some significance in this that escaped Seft.

He was distracted from this line of thought by Han, who looked at him with a mixture of awe and curiosity and said: “Can anyone be a flint miner?”

“Not really,” said Seft. “It’s usually done by families. Young people are taught by their parents. There’s a lot to learn.”

Han looked crestfallen. “That means I have to be a herder.”

Han looked as if he was not too keen on that. He wanted to get away, Seft guessed, and see something of the rest of the world. He would probably grow out of it.

Seft said: “What’s your dog’s name?”

“She hasn’t got one yet.”

Pia said: “I think she should be called Pretty.”

“Nice name,” Seft commented.

Without waking, the puppy farted loudly. Han roared with laughter and Pia giggled.

“She doesn’t like the name Pretty,” Ani said with a smile. “Sit down, Seft. Be comfortable.”

Seft and Neen sat on the ground. Seft thought this was going quite well. He had chatted to Neen’s mother and her little brother, and had not yet embarrassed himself. He felt they liked him. He liked them, too.

Neen’s younger sister, Joia, appeared, carrying her shoes. “You found Neen, then,” she said to Seft. She put her shoes near the fire to dry.

“Yes—thanks for your help.”

“Do you like being a miner?”

It was a direct question, and Seft decided to give a direct answer. “No. And I don’t like working for my father. I’m going to leave as soon as I can figure out how to make a living on my own.”

Ani said: “That’s interesting, Seft. What might you do instead of mining?”

“That’s the problem—I don’t know. I’m a good carpenter, so I might make disc shovels, hammers, or bows. Do you think I could trade them for food?”

“Certainly,” said Ani, “especially if they were better than what people could make for themselves.”

“Oh, they would be that,” Seft said.

Joia commented: “You’re very confident.”

She was a challenging person, Seft noted. But she could also be kind. A person could be both. Thoughtfully, he said: “Isn’t it important to know what you’re good at and bad at?”

Joia said mischievously: “What are you bad at, Seft?”

Neen protested: “Unfair question!”

“I’m not good at making conversation,” Seft admitted. “In the pit we hardly say three words all day.”

“You talk very nicely,” Neen said. “Take no notice of my little sister—she’s mean.”

“Dinner is ready,” Ani said, averting a sisterly spat. “Joia, fetch bowls and spoons.”

The daylight dimmed as they ate. The air became pleasantly mild, and the sky took on the soft grey hue of twilight. It was going to be a warm night.

The food was delicious. The meat had been cooked with wild roots. He tasted silverweed, burdock, and pignut. They had softened and soaked up the flavor of the beef.

Seft reflected on the contrast between this family and his own. Neen’s family were all nice to one another. There was no hostility here. Joia was combative, but nothing serious. He felt sure they never hit one another.

He wondered what was going to happen when night fell. Would he have to return to his father and brothers? Or would he be allowed to sleep here—perhaps next to Neen? He hoped that somehow he and Neen would spend the night together.

When they finished supper, Ani told Neen to take the bowls and spoons to the river and wash them, and Seft naturally went with her. As they dipped the dinnerware in the water, Neen said: “I think Pretty would be a good name for a puppy.”

Seft said: “I’ve never had a dog. But when I was a boy I longed for one, and I wanted to call it Thunder.”

Neen chuckled. “She’s too cute to be called Thunder.”

“Han can say it’s because of the way she farts.”

Neen laughed. “That’s perfect! He thinks farting is hilarious—he’s at that age.”

“I know. I was that age once. I remember it well.”

Walking back, Seft heard a man’s voice from behind say: “Hello, Neen.” The tone was warm. He turned to see a tall man of about twenty midsummers.

Neen turned and smiled. Seft reluctantly felt obliged to stop too. Neen said: “Hello, Enwood. Are you all ready for the Rite?”