She looked at the half-mushroom engraved on her token piece, and nodded. He drew her to him then, and they slowly ambled through the oblivious crowd, moving closer to inevitability--and Bren's grandmother.
***
The old woman hadn't moved from her seat by the fire--the seat of honor. Magda sat close watching the fire. Alina wondered whether Magda's admiration for Bren wasn't simply an extension of her admiration for his grandmother, who was, indeed, an admirable woman. She had, in her youth, been apprentice to the storyteller, and fell in love with her fellow-apprentice, who was two years older. They had pledged to marry although it was forbidden, but the summer that she turned 16, the old storyteller died, and her beloved was chosen to replace him. For a year, she was his apprentice, and helped him to assume the role for which he was chosen. He had died several years ago, and she mourned for him as if he had, indeed, been her husband.
She married at 18 to the master carver, who was, himself, a prodigy. He was fair-haired and ruddy-cheeked, and many believed that he was decended from a wild race from over the eastern sea. In Bren, both his looks and his talent were reborn, and his grandmother demanded more from him in return. She bore him seven sons, and meanwhile, studied healing. She was forty when her husband fell ill, and she was able to ease his pain and keep him with her for longer than others with the same malady. When he died, she would not remarry, but was welcomed as one of the healers. As a healer, and one who had been a storyteller, she also taught the children of the village. Her family home was converted to accommodate the ill in one wing, and a library and schoolroom in another.
For many years now, she had been an elder, and for several years, the oldest of the elders--the Matriarch. Bren estimated that she was eighty-six years old. She had seven sons, four of whom were still living, and from the 5 sons who had married, had 14 grand-sons. It could have been argued that Bren was her favorite, but her favor and her scorn were often difficult to distinguish.
Except that she did seem to favor Magda--who, conspicuously, was a girl, and had talent. Alina had no particular reason to be ingratiated to her or to fear her, so she was polite and mild, which was her way with most people.
Alina approached now with some apprehension. The Presentation of the youth would begin soon, and after the announcement and welcoming, other announcements would be made, including weddings and engagements. It was for Alina, now, to approach, and tell her of their arrangement. Magda drew away as Alina approached, and the old woman looked up. Her eyes were bright, and though her cheeks were soft and withered, her strength was still apparent in her bearing, and the line of her jaw. Alina approached, and took the mushroom-shaped seat next to the high seat.
"My Mother."
"Child. Do you have something to ask me?"
Alina glanced at Bren, standing a few feet behind her. "I would like to be married, and I ask the blessing of the village on my arrangement."
The Matriarch's eyes twinkled, though her mouth remained grave--a trait she passed to her offspring, Alina had often noted. "You are a clothier and dye-master, are you not?" Alina inclined her head. "Then you are free to marry." Alina nodded again. The examination continued. "And you ask the blessing of the community?"
"Yes."
The old woman looked thoughtful. "Have you been married before?"
"No."
"Have any others claim to you?"
"No."
"Do you have any reason to believe that you might be with child?"
Alina blushed furiously, and nearly whispered, "No."
"It is not an indictment on you. Will you stand by that answer?"
Alina lifted her head, and spoke proudly. "Yes."
"Good girl. Answer with pride! Now... when will you marry?"
Alina shifted uncomfortably, and glanced to the ground. "We cannot yet marry, but would like to be betrothed."
The white brows drew together. "No?" She lifted her head slightly, and saw her grandson. Alina swallowed hard, but the lump threatened to choke her. "Brencis. Will you approach me?"
He stepped into the firelight at her bidding. Alina pressed her lips together.
"Will you be betrothed to this young woman."
"It is my wish, grandmother."
"When will you marry her?"
"When I have something to offer to her."
The fire crackled behind them. The old woman glowed orange in its light. She pressed her fingertips together, and simply sat. Alina looked between Bren and his grandmother. He shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. The old woman sat, staring past him to the fire. Several minutes passed with only the barest hint of movement. Finally, Alina broke the silence.
"I wish to be betrothed, Mother."
The steely gaze turned to her. Her eyes did not twinkle.
"I cannot do this, child. I cannot bind a woman of the community to a man who will not marry. You know the stories."
Bren spoke quietly, but firmly. "There is one way--if an elder will vouch for the man. Will you vouch for me?"
She regarded him dispassionately. "What assurance can you offer me of your return? And how can I announce your betrothal and your departure in the same Gathering? I can't--in part for her safety." She gestured to Alina, who flinched.
"You must--for her safety."
"You should stay. If you cared about her--if you cared about me--you would stay."
Bren shook his head. Alina wondered to see him so determined. She made a decision. "You must permit this." The old woman's brows raised. "If you do not, I will go with him. Then you will lose a gatherer and a clothier."
For a moment, the old woman looked amused, though she didn't betray it when she spoke. "There will be more to replace you. Your sister, for example." Alina glanced to Magda, who had retreated a distance away, and now stood with Steppan and the other thirteens. She was surprised to hear a cold, strong voice close to her ear. "But I will grant this. But you must try to persuade him to stay in the three weeks until his departure."
Alina turned to the woman, now, and kissed her withered hand. She glanced at Bren, and he watched the tears trace paths down her cheeks. He wanted to dissolve into the woods, or to become dust. He was tired. He was desolation. He bowed low to his grandmother.
"Thank you."
"You have no reason to thank me. Return, instead, to your intended. You are hers. But you have no claim on her. If she chooses to marry while you are away, you must be content with another."
"Yes. I know our laws."
"Then go. And celebrate her. You are both dismissed."
Magda glanced over to the high seat as Alina rose, joined Bren, and walked away from the council circle.
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