Work Text:
Wind rattled the windows in their frames and rain dashed against the roof. Yarrow, alone in the house but for the harrekki clinging to her shoulder, shivered and fed the fire with wood it didn’t yet need. It was warm near the fire but cold elsewhere, and the house felt very empty. Vetch was attending to wizard’s work at the northernmost point of Iffish, Murre was training under a woodworker on Holp, and the servants had gone home.
Uncharacteristically, she felt restless. Yarrow paced about the house, feeling like a small lonely thing within it, beginning and abandoning tasks and pursuits. She played a few chords on the great Taonian harp, but it echoed strangely and the rain clashed with its sound. She wove for a while, but her work lacked its usual fineness and she stopped before she could spoil her tapestry. She wasn’t yet hungry and the dinner she’d planned needed little preparation and would cook very quickly.
Yarrow went to a window seat and watched the rain fall. It was a hard, heavy rain that battered at the plants in the garden, bending the softer ones and beating at the harder ones. She shivered, glad she was warm and dry inside.
Something fell past the window and struck the ground, sending up a shower of mud. Yarrow peered at it, wondering what it was. She hoped it wasn’t a tile from the roof, but it was hard to identify a dark lump on dark mud on a dark day.
The lump moved. Yarrow gave a start; it hadn’t occurred to her that it might be a living thing. It stretched out wings and flopped miserably against the ground. It was a bird, then, injured or too wet to fly. She set the harrekki on its kettle-hook perch, threw on an oiled rain cloak and jammed her feet into boots, and went out.
She pulled her cloak and hood close, but freezing rain beat against her face and hands. Mud and rain worked their way inside her boots, making her regret not having taken the time to put on socks. The rain blew sideways, getting inside her hood and trickling unpleasantly down her back. Within a very short time, she was as wet and cold as if she’d run out without any protection at all. It was unexpectedly difficult to find the bird, so much so that she began to wonder if had managed to fly away. Perhaps it had needed no help, and she’d soaked herself for nothing.
It was hard to believe that a bird could fly in this storm, though, especially one that had already brought it down. Her teeth chattering, Yarrow got down on her hands and knees to check under the bushes. The bird was there, its wings folded and its body a sodden lump half-covered in mud and dead leaves, so far back that she had to crawl on her belly to reach it. She seized it in a practiced grip, thumb and forefinger curled around its neck so it couldn’t turn and peck her.
Yarrow felt wet fur, not feathers. The wings, which it unfolded and flapped in fright, were membranous. The creature was a bat, not a bird, but far larger than the mouse-sized creatures that flitted about Iffish. This bat was big as a crow and with a broader wingspan.
The bats of Earthsea carry no illnesses that humans can contract, so Yarrow had no fear of contagion. Its size and sharp teeth were another matter. Still, she was already holding it so it couldn’t bite, which wouldn’t be true if she let it go. And it was drenched and cold and surely lost, for she’d never seen its like before.
Yarrow slithered out from under the bushes, clutching the bat, and squelched her way back to her house. When she was at the door, she adjusted her grip on the bat so she held it under one arm like a chicken, still keeping her grip on its head. She squirmed out of her boots and raincloak at the threshold, then padded dripping and barefoot to the hearth. After the pounding of rain and frequent crack of thunder outside, the house seemed very quiet.
Her harekki took one look at the flapping creature in her hands and flew off into her bedroom. Yarrow was relieved, for her harrekki was very small compared to the bat.
“Though not as small to you as it is to a dragon,” she remarked aloud. “Are there bats somewhere on Earthsea as large to you as a dragon is to a harrekki? My brother would know.”
The bat stopped flapping and folded its wings. It twisted its head around and regarded her with shining black eyes. Yarrow wondered if she could trust it not to bite if she let go. More importantly, could she trust it not to panic and go flapping about the house? She was very quick with her hands and could probably avoid a snap from those small jaws, but the house had high ceilings and would not be an easy place to capture anything that flew.
She found a lidded basket that she used for picnic lunches, lined it with a soft cloth, and transferred the bat into it, ready to slam the lid if it tried to fly out. The creature lay still on its soft bed, gazing up at her as if in curiosity, and made no effort to escape.
Yarrow set the basket near the hearth, leaving the lid open so the warmth would get in. She poured water into a saucer and set it inside the basket. The bat lapped at it with a small pink tongue.
The bats she was familiar with ate insects, as did her harrekki. But harrekki ate other things as well, so she tried offering the bat a bit of oatcake and a piece of dried apple, both of which the harrekki would have taken. The bat sniffed at, then ignored them.
Sighing to herself, for she had no wish to once again go outside in the storm, Yarrow closed the basket lid and opened the door. As she was already drenched, she left her boots and rain cloak where they lay. Shivering and half-wishing she’d never found the creature, she fetched a spade from the shed and dug in the mud until she uncovered a handful of fat earthworms, then replaced the spade and went back inside.
Triumphantly, she opened the basket and dangled a worm for the bat to snap at. The bat gazed up at her with an expression so full of reproach and disgust that Yarrow couldn’t help laughing. “And after I got wet and cold all over again to get you these! I was so sure you’d want them. Well, your loss is the harrekki’s gain. And thus is Equilibrium maintained, as a friend of mine once said.”
The bat cocked its head and opened its mouth, but no sound came out.
“I’ll find something you can eat, if I have to lay out a bite from everything in the pantry,” Yarrow promised it. “But not just yet. I need to attend to myself first.”
She took the earthworms and fed them to her harrekki, who was delighted with the unexpected feast, then heated a bucket of water over the hearth for a bath. When the water was hot, she lugged it into the bathing room and mixed it with cold water until she had enough to bathe with.
If Vetch has been there, he would have heated all the water exactly to her liking with a murmured word. He would have known where the bat was from, too, and what it ate; he could have warmed the air around it and dried its fur in an instant. He could have done the same to her hair, for that matter, which she hadn’t planned to wash again that week. But it had gotten dirty when she’d crawled around in the bushes, so she picked out the leaves and twigs, washed it, and rubbed some oil into it so it wouldn’t get brittle and break.
Once she was dry and dressed in clean clothes, she cleaned up the water and mud she’d tracked in, then checked on the bat. It had drunk the rest of the water in the saucer and pulled the cloth into a loose nest. Its fur had dried out and it had groomed off the mud. Yarrow could see its color now, a deep red-brown. The bats on Iffish were gray.
She refilled and replaced the saucer, and offered the bat a fragment of dried meat and a scrap of leftover baked potato. It drank more water, but disdained the food.
Yarrow was beginning to worry. Some animals had very specialized diets. Might this bat only eat something that wasn’t found in Iffish at all? Hoping it just wasn’t hungry, she took out the makings of her own dinner. She had a fish that she’d intended to stuff with herbs and roast, but she stopped after cleaning and gutting it. It was hard to imagine how a bat could acquire a taste for fish, but perhaps it scavenged from tidewrack. It was worth a try.
She put the entrails in another saucer and offered it to the bat. The little creature sniffed, then lunged forward and gulped them down with a speed that made her realize how hungry it must be. With a wistful thought for her lost dinner, for she’d chosen that fish to exactly suit her own appetite, she cut up half of it and fed it to the bat, roasted the other half with an herb rubbing for herself, and made up the lost half with cheese and oatcakes.
Yarrow went to sleep with the harrekki curled up against her neck, and awoke to a world of white. The storm had ended in the night, turning to a gentle but still-falling snow. She dressed, shivering a little, and went to the hearth to check on the bat. The fire had died down to coals but the room was warm enough. Yarrow fed the fire and opened the basket. The bat blinked up at her with its gleaming black eyes and wrinkled its nose as if in greeting.
“I didn’t think,” she said aloud. “I should have saved you all the fish.”
“Indeed you should have,” said a cheerful voice. Vetch came in, stamping his boots to shake off the snow. He hung up his cloak and leaned his staff in a corner.
“I wasn’t talking to you,” said Yarrow. “I wouldn’t have saved you anything, because I didn’t know when you’d be back. I was talking to the bat.”
“Oh?” Vetch strode over, eyeing the basket with interest.
“I found it in the storm,” said Yarrow, opening the basket. “It’s not from the East Reach. You’ll know where it’s from, and its name.”
Vetch, kneeling on the floor, became very still. Quietly, he said, “No. I don’t know her name. But I’ll have to find out.”
“Her?” Yarrow asked.
Vetch looked up at her, his expression very solemn. “Yes. When did you find her, Yarrow?”
“Last night,” she said. “In the storm. She was soaking wet. I saw her fall, and then she crawled under a bush. She eats fish. I didn’t know there were any bats that did that.”
“They’re from the South Reach,” Vetch said absently, gazing down at the bat. “They swoop down upon the sea at twilight and give a cry that lures the fish to the surface, then they dive and snatch them. Humans can’t hear it, but they say that dragons can. Diving bats, they’re called. Kenneric, in the Old Speech.”
“You said you didn’t know her name,” said Yarrow.
“I don’t.” He sighed and sat back on his heels. “She’s not a bat, she’s some half-trained witch, or girl with power who listened to a sorcerer’s spell. To set her right, I’ll need to find her own name. And that’s very difficult, Yarrow.”
“But you can do it. That’s why you went to Roke.” She had absolute confidence in her brother, who could heat water and cool fever and who knew the names of bats from a place he’d never been.
But Vetch shook his head. “The Masters of Roke could find it, and I think Sparrowhawk could. Something like this happened to him once, and only his old master could return him to his true form. And his master already knew his name, for he was the one who gave it to him. From what Sparrowhawk told me, he was farther gone than this girl. But I don’t know her name, and that’s not something I have special skill with.”
“Could you send for Sparrowhawk?” Yarrow spoke with hopeful anticipation, not because she believed Vetch unequal to the task, but because she wished to see Sparrowhawk again.
“I could, but I doubt that he could come in time. He could be anywhere. He’s a great sailor, you know. And the longer one stays in beast’s form, the more one forgets oneself, until one becomes the beast completely.” Vetch sighed again, gazing down at the bat.
“I’ll make you breakfast,” said Yarrow. “It’s easier to do difficult things when you’ve eaten and have a mug of hot tea.”
She made the tea first, steeping his favorite mix of herbs, so he could drink it while he thought. She placed the mug in his hand, then chopped potatoes and herbs, using her sharpest cleaver and pressing slowly so as not to disturb him. When it was all sliced into thin pieces that would cook quickly and not need a knife to cut, she fried them, then poured beaten eggs and milk over them. By the time the omelette was ready, he’d taken the bat from the basket and set her in his lap.Wizard and bat gazed at each other with dark, intent eyes.
Yarrow set the plate down on low table and carried it to him. He ate with one hand, not paying much attention. When he was done she took the plate away and refilled his mug with hot water. The scents of herbs and fried potatoes mingled pleasantly in the warming air.
She took the harrekki from her bedroom, for it liked the snow, found another covered basket and a heavy coat, and started for the door.
“Wait,” called Vetch. “Tell me more about the bat, and how you found her.”
She returned and sat cross-legged by the hearth. The bat turned her head and gazed at her, its dark eyes curious. The harrekki seemed to have lost its fear of the bat, for it stayed on Yarrow’s shoulder rather than flying away. She recounted the story again, but with more detail this time. Vetch smiled when she mentioned the earthworms, then grew solemn again.
“What did you think of her?” Vetch asked.
“I felt sorry for her. She was so cold and alone, so far from her home.”
“That was only her situation,” said Vetch. “What did you think of her?”
“She was frightened when I grasped her, or maybe only surprised. She struggled at first, but she calmed when I brought her inside… No, she calmed when I spoke to her.”
“What did you say?”
Slowly, Yarrow said, “My harrekki flew away, and I thought that it was very small compared to the bat. I said…” She frowned, trying to recall the exact words. Vetch laid two fingers on her forehead, and they came back to her. “I said, ‘Though not as small to you as it is to a dragon. Are there bats somewhere on Earthsea as large to you as a dragon is to a harrekki? My brother would know.’”
She glanced doubtfully up at Vetch. “Does that help?”
“It might. There could be some sound in the words in Hardic that’s like a sound in the Old Speech, or some similar meaning. Or it may only be that your voice soothed her. Tell me more.”
“When I offered her earthworms, she looked at me like a child does when you offer them something in play that you know they don’t like.” Yarrow went on, telling him every impression she could remember. With Vetch’s help, she recalled the exact words she’d spoken in the bat’s presence, but all her other recollections were hers alone. Finally, she came to the end of them. “I can’t think of anything else. Is that enough?”
“I hope so. You can go out now. Take your time.”
Yarrow left them there by the fire. She stopped at a friend’s home and had a hot drink and a long chat, helped an elderly neighbor break up ice on his steps, and only then went to the market. She bought more fish in case the bat was still a bat when she returned, and bought extras of everything else in case it wasn’t. The snow crushed into satisfyingly crisp shapes under her boots, and the harrekki licked up snowflakes with its forked tongue.
When she returned, she found that Vetch had made up a pallet by the fire. A girl was sleeping on it, wrapped in a blanket. All Yarrow could see of her was short, rumpled black hair.
“You did it!” Yarrow cried, delighted. “I knew you would.”
“Hush,” said Vetch. “Let her sleep. Make her some broth for later, and maybe she’ll speak by evening.”
Yarrow made the broth from smoked meat and vegetables, for she thought the girl might be tired of fish, but Vetch gave it to her, speaking to her softly. She drank it, then slept again.
Yarrow roasted a chicken over root vegetables for dinner. When it was almost done, the girl awoke and sniffed the air and stretched. The blanket fell from her shoulders, revealing that she wore strange clothes, a long tunic belted with a scarf over loose pants, all of very light cloth that fluttered even in the gusts of heated air from the fire. The girl shivered and pulled the blanket back around her.
Yarrow looked at her curiously, then felt shy and hid her eyes. When she peeked out, the girl was watching Vetch, so Yarrow felt free to look some more. The girl had short black hair, wavy rather than tightly curled like that of the folks of the East Reach, and warm brown skin. Her nose was broad, her eyes big and brown, and she wore elaborate earrings of carved shell. She was a few years younger than Yarrow, but she was already taller, not to mention broader about the hips and shoulders.
“I’m called Vetch,” he said. “That’s my sister Yarrow. What do they call you?”
“Intar.” She made a hopping gesture with one hand. “It’s a little jumping shrimp.”
Intar spoke Hardic with a strong accent, putting the emphasis in odd places. She smiled at them both. “Thank you for rescuing me. I was very lost.”
Yarrow offered her a coat from the rack—one of Murre’s, for though it would be long on Intar, she wouldn’t fit into one of Yarrow’s and one of Vetch’s would swallow her up. Intar pulled it on and smiled again. “Is that a harrekki? I’ve heard of them, but we don’t have them where I come from.”
Yarrow nodded.
Intar held out her hand. Her fingernails shimmered, and Yarrow saw with delight that she had cut paper-thin pieces of abalone shell and glued them to her nails. “Greetings, harrekki, dragon-kin. I’m sorry I frightened you earlier. I wouldn’t have eaten you, even if I had been a true diving bat. They eat only fish.”
The harrekki scurried down Yarrow’s arm and flew to Intar. It perched on her hand and looked up at her curiously.
“How did you come to be a diving bat?” Vetch asked.
“Ah. Well.” Intar made a gesture with both her hands that Yarrow recognized a moment later as a version of eye-covering, but it came only halfway up. “I wished to impress my master with my studiousness. So I borrowed one of her books and studied ahead of the class.”
Vetch’s brow furrowed. “Her book? A witch with a book of spells of true Change—more than one such book? A witch teaching a class?”
Intar’s gaze flickered to the staff leaning against the wall. “There are schools other than Roke.”
“I see,” said Vetch. “And you borrowed her book. And studied ahead.”
Intar’s hands came up and down frantically, dislodging the harrekki. It flew across the room and perched atop the harp. “I’ll never do it again! I’ve learned my lesson!”
“And what lesson was that?” asked Vetch.
“Not to cast any spells on myself I’m not certain I can undo,” Intar said earnestly. “And if I do, to fly straight back to my master so she can undo them, instead of panicking and flying out to sea.”
Yarrow knew her brother well enough to know he was trying not to laugh, though he probably looked stern to Intar. “And not to ‘borrow’ any books? And not to attempt spells you’ve never been taught? You could have died, you know.”
“I know,” said Intar. She glanced out the window at the snow falling and shivered. “So that’s snow. We don’t get it on Wellogy. Even our rain falls warm.”
Yarrow put a mug of tea into her hand, and Vetch said, “Come and eat with us. You must be glad to have something other than fish.”
“I may never eat fish again,” said Intar.
Vetch made Intar promise to take passage on a boat rather than attempt to fly back home, and she meekly agreed. But it was some time before any boats were to depart in her direction, so she stayed with them for several weeks, sharing a room with Yarrow.
Yarrow enjoyed her company. Once Intar was dressed in warm clothing borrowed from a neighbor, she was so delighted with snow that it made Yarrow see it through new eyes. She taught Yarrow how to cook in the style of Wellogy, and Yarrow taught her how to cook in the style of Iffish. Vetch refused to teach Intar any spells, saying that he wasn’t her master and she’d learned more than was wise already, but he was willing to talk about the principles of wizardry. Yarrow enjoyed listening to them talk about Equilibrium and powers and the Old Speech, though she knew she’d never understand it the way they did.
The night before Intar set sail, she gave them gifts that she’d been making in secret: shell earrings for Yarrow and a roughly carved bat for Vetch, which made him laugh.
“I owe you my life,” Intar said, serious for once. “I would have died had Yarrow not found me before the snow came. I had forgotten myself, forgotten my name. But I came here to this house, out of all the homes on Iffish. I must have been drawn to your magic, Vetch.”
He shook his head. “There’s no magic in this home. If you’d been drawn to magic, you’d have come to me, where I was.”
“Chance, then,” said Intar, but she seemed doubtful.
“There is no chance with wizards,” said Vetch. “You came to a place where there was one who would notice you, one who would brave the storm for you, one who would crawl on her belly through mud for you, even when she didn’t know what or who you were.” He looked at Yarrow, his brown eyes warm. “One who would see you well enough to lend her insight to my wizardry, so I could find your name.”
“Insight and wizardry,” said Intar thoughtfully. “Such large gifts for a little bat.”
“And earthworms,” said Yarrow. Her hands came up to hide her eyes, but they didn’t hide her smile.