13. Yarrow Does Some Gardening and Arnica Follows a Dream

13. Yarrow Does Some Gardening and Arnica Follows a Dream

There was a brief ceremony to instate Pell as the new Yarrow. She sat on the dais at the chair's foot and Arnica had her swear a brief oath, then dressed her in gown and wimple like a real woman, and handed her the rusty Keys of Grey House. Grith, small and frightened, brought a fresh-made leather apron and tied it around the new Yarrow. In fact, so we must call her now: no longer Pell but Yarrow LXXVI, Mother of Grey House, mistress of life and death, overseer of the Thousand Cloisters. She was perhaps sixteen.

Before the ceremony, she'd thought that maybe there were secrets she would learn once she was a woman in grey. Maybe there were locked rooms deep in the house that her new keys would open, where the treasures of the Ladies lay in dingy grandeur. Maybe there were hidden practices of the slabroom that Arnica would reveal to her, or Servant would tell her of a subterranean passage to the outer cloisters. Or maybe she would finally understand the purpose of all the disused chambers in Grey Tower.

The first night she was Yarrow, she lay awake in the women's bed, smelling the faint lingering smells of the Mother's death, hearing Arnica snore, and wondering what novelties the morning would bring. The first morning she was Yarrow, she had the same chores as ever. Why had she never noticed that, by and large, the women did the same tasks as the girls, just in different parts of the house?

But then she had to discipline Ban. That was a novelty, and an unpleasant one at that.

The rules of the house said that the Mother's orders had to be obeyed unquestioningly. The girls had frequently disobeyed the old Yarrow, when they thought she couldn't see or wouldn't find out. But the new Yarrow, having been so lately a girl herself, knew all the tricks, and the lax discipline of the house would not slacken even further under her regime.

"Go check the storeroom again," she said to Ban when they finished breakfast. "I want to see what's left after we sent food to the outer cloisters."

She waited half an hour, then went to the storeroom herself. As suspected, Ban was sitting on a sack of grain and eating figs.

"How dare you?" said Yarrow. "When we have so little—!" She gave Ban a resounding smack on the ear. "Go. Go . I'll finish this myself."

Ban slunk out of the storeroom, rubbing her ear. Yarrow closed the jar of figs and replaced the sack. Her hand stung. She went and raked the garden. When doctors had lived in the house, the garden had been full of healing herbs, but now the plants were as sparse as hair on Monkshood's head. There were clumps of yarrow, arnica, lavender, rue, mugwort, betony, and a few other things used for the women's duties, as well as sometimes in the kitchen. Everything else was dry stems, leafless trees. When the cold air had numbed her hand, she went back inside.

The second day she was Yarrow, she punished Grith for lackadaisical sweeping. The kitchen floor had to be clean, as clean as Yarrow had kept it when she was Pell. When scolded, Grith muttered The old one was nicer under her breath, and Yarrow cuffed her. Another garden bed was raked, this time around the great stone half-face in the eastern corner.

The third day she was Yarrow, she called Servant to the musty washroom to steam and wind her hair. The twigs of it needed to be softened and coiled up as they grew, or they would go out straight and stiff all about her head like a thicket. Each twig bore several leaves that dried and withered as soon as they sprouted, and had to be picked out. The steaming and picking had always been Servant's job. Before, she had done it by holding Yarrow's head over a bowl of hot water and jerking the twigs about until Yarrow cried from the pain. Now she wrapped soft hot towels around Yarrow's head and waited silently for them to do their work, and when she went about the winding, she did it gently and even reverently, weaving the twigs into fine basketwork close to Yarrow's skull.

"I am not used to this," said Yarrow stiffly. It wouldn't do to im ply Servant didn't know her own work, but—why the change? Did Yarrow actually miss the roughness, because it meant she was no longer a girl?

"A Servant must never pain a Mother," said Servant. Her voice was crackly as old porcelain; Yarrow had barely ever heard her speak at all except to say Yes, Mother , or No, Mother . She took up a little jar of sweet oil (only slightly rancid) and worked it into the drying twigs with a flannel.

"A good rule," said Yarrow. There might be pleasant things to this, after all.

The fourth day she was Yarrow, she reprimanded Arnica for some slight fault, a fault she instantly forgot in the rush of having spoken harshly to a woman in grey. Would Arnica be offended? Had the new Yarrow overstepped? Memories of the schoolroom, of Arnica standing on the platform just a few weeks ago and teaching her, rose and choked her.

Arnica drew herself up to her full height, which was only an inch or two taller than the new Yarrow. She had no spines like the old Yarrow, no claws like Ban, no fur like Grith, no twigs for hair like the new Yarrow. She was simple flesh and bone, but nothing was more frightening than her anger. In a house of the old, it was the first new thing in years.

"Don't you try that on me," said Arnica. "Mother you are now, and Mother you'll remain, so you'd best learn now how far your power goes." She moved her hand up and down between her and Yarrow, as if running it over an invisible wall. "This far and no farther."

Yarrow drew herself up in turn and looked down her short nose at Arnica. The older woman was right, but if Yarrow did not insist on her authority now, it would erode away like Grey Tower itself.

Arnica only laughed. "Ain't it a sight," she said. Her anger was swallowed up in her amusement. "A girl just the other day, now she thinks she's the Lady herself. Well, Yarrow LXXVI, do you know what we are? The coals of a spent fire. That's your realm. That's all you are: a mother of ashes. Ain't any glory to be had here, nor any power neither. Grey's a heart all right, but one that don't beat, and nobody's yet put it to rest. Enjoy your rules, for soon that's all you'll have."

Laughing once more, she turned and left the room. In an hour or two, Yarrow would need to join Arnica and the girls in the refectory for dinner. A poor meal it would be: thinned-down gruel, no curds, only some dried fruit. Servant knew how to stretch out the meal and other staples, but from the schoolroom lore rose the specter of scurvy. It had not struck Grey House in decades, but the old stories kindled fear in Yarrow's stomach.

Arnica was right. But more importantly, she was wrong. This heart still beat. If the lot of Grey was to bear, then let it bear. Since stories began, the Yarrows had made sure of that. So this Yarrow, chilly with determination, went to wash for dinner. There was much to do.

Yarrow had half expected Arnica to storm off that evening, but the old woman was in the refectory when Yarrow entered. Arnica was not the sort to remember offenses very long, and seemed to have burned through all her anger simply by laughing.

When Servant brought the honey wine, Yarrow asked her to stay a moment. Then Yarrow rose. Everyone looked at her, and though she already had their attention, she rapped her spoon on the table as if to get it. Eight eyes stared at her, and for a moment her resolve wavered. But she was Yarrow, so she mastered herself.

"I shall leave in the morning," she said. "Someone must go and plead our case to the great Lady at Black Tower for the restoration of summer. Arnica has made it clear she wishes to leave our house, so I shall not burden her with the task. Girls, you will stay here in Servant's care. Ban, I will name you the temporary Yarrow, and Grith, if Arnica leaves before I come back, you will assume her place. I hope it will not take more than a week to reach Black and return, and no births are expected in that time, so you will be spared that duty. For any deaths, you both know what to do. Arnica, I do not ask you to delay your own departure, but please instruct them both as much as you can before then. Now let us drink our wine and be about our business. I have packing to do."

Arnica raised her glass to the North, then to Yarrow. "Mother," she said, and downed the wine.

Yarrow still was not used to the taste and effects of wine, but she followed suit, and Arnica laughed at her sputtering.

"Careful," said Arnica. "Don't want to find out what happens if you drink too much."

Grey House went to sleep, except for Yarrow. She found an old leather knapsack in one of the storerooms and packed it with her extra robe and wimple. In the larder, she filled a small cloth bag with dried fruit, a jar of preserved figs, and the little flat biscuits that were the only bread a Mother might eat. After a moment of thought, she added the jar of honeyed meat. It might be useful along the way, to trade if nothing else. Meat might not be plentiful elsewhere, either.

She laid her shoes and clothes out at the foot of her bed and attempted to go to sleep. There was no precedent in her emotional world for a Mother leaving Grey House. Of course it had happened, but not in decades, and the old Yarrow had told her no stories about it, only a song or two. Though it was meant to help the house, it felt like a betrayal. Forgive me, she wanted to whisper to the dark corners of the room. I'll be back. Be good. Stay alive .

But all that night the house creaked and settled, heedless of her. And Arnica snored.

In the morning, she took leave of Arnica, Servant, and the girls. They stood in the great hall and she said a few parting words. A speech seemed appropriate, but nothing grand enough came to mind, so Yarrow's chattering teeth only managed one sentence.

"I'll be back."

Arnica hugged her tightly, and she hugged Arnica back. Then she curtsied to Ban and Grith, who curtsied back after a moment. In the old days they might have hugged as well, but there was rank to be preserved, after all. Then Yarrow pulled her heavy cloak about herself, shouldered her knapsack, and was off.

A month later, with no Yarrow to be seen, Arnica left in the same way, and only two girls and an ancient handmaiden were left in the wintry darkness of Grey House.