Pattern

Chapter Seven

The cinderfall stopped quite suddenly; and when the sun broke through they could see the mountain clearly, without any veils of smoke or steam. True, the landscape was an even dull black as far as the eye could see in every direction, but at least they could tell where it ended and the sky began. Things were looking up.

The first consideration, ahead of the house or even the barns and stores, was the livestock. The news wasn't good; a third of the sheep were dead, a quarter of the heifers, the horses had broken out of the stables in panic and bolted, and there hadn't been time to get the milch herd in, so God only knew what sort of a state they were in. The poultry and the pigs were all right, singed and distinctly offended at being cooped up for a day and two nights but still alive and productive. The bees had swarmed and cleared off, but that could happen at any time, end of the world or not.

Once the stock had been fed and secured, the next priority was patching up the buildings. When the drifts of cinders had been cleared away, the damage proved to be far less than anybody had any right to expect, in most cases little more than scorch marks and the filthy mess brought about by the hasty addition of water to piles of ash. Ugliness could wait for another day, however. Next on the list was clearing the yard, so people could get around the place without having to wade. Shovelling cinders into neat heaps wasn't exactly skilled work, and even Poldarn was allowed to join in (which, since it meant a holiday from the forge, he was delighted to do, until his grandfather spoiled it all by asking for more nails).

A day and a half of intense activity broke the back of that job; and, since the mountain was quiet and the farm now just looked scruffy instead of doomed, Halder convened a general meeting to decide what to do next.

Understandably, full household meetings were extremely rare events at Haldersness. This time, however, nobody knew what was going on or what would happen next or what they were supposed to be doing, so there really wasn't any option but to talk to each other.

'It's obvious what we've got to do,' Halder said. 'It's going to be one hell of a job, but I can't see as we've got any choice in the matter. Right now, all the grazing and the plough is a foot deep in this shit; the animals can't feed, nothing's going to grow, and the bloody stuff isn't going to shift itself. It'll take us months, maybe even years, but it's got to be done, and the sooner we make a start, the sooner we'll finish.'

Someone at the back stood up. Poldarn was sitting near the front and couldn't get his head round far enough to see who it was. 'That may not be the case,' this someone said. 'Remember what Rook here told us, about what happened at Lyatsbridge when it rained.'

'Bloody hell,' Raffen interrupted, 'don't wish that on us, it's bad enough as it is.'

'Let me finish, will you? All I'm saying is, what happened at Lyatsbridge proves one thing. When it rains, this stuff melts, like snow. Sure, it turns into filthy black mud and we really don't want to be around when that happens; but we can plan for that, we can figure out where these mudslides are going to go just by looking at the contours, and we can get the stock and our stuff well out of harm's way. What's the worst that can happen? The buildings could get washed away or buried in shit or whatever. So what? Big deal. We build new ones. So long as we're alive and safe and we've got our tools, we can do that, easy. Anyhow, it's not as if it's up to us, the mudslides'll happen whether we like it or not. All I'm saying is, rather than kill ourselves shovelling the stuff into big heaps and then seeing it turn into mud at the first drop of rain, we'd be better off spending our time getting ready, making sure we don't cop it like Lyatsbridge did; and when the rain's come and gone and it's all over, the grass and the plough'll still be there and we can get back to normal.'

A soft buzz of approval ran round the hall. Halder stood up again.

'Fine,' he said, 'assuming it's going to rain in the next few days. If it doesn't, what're the stock going to eat? And what are we going to eat in four months' time, when the crop's failed because we left it lying under a bloody great load of ashes?'

Someone else at the back-it might have been Seyward, or Torburn-called out, 'It'll rain, count on it. You looked at the mountain? All the snow's gone. I'm no weather expert, but it stands to reason that the snow turned to steam and it's up there somewhere right now, waiting to come down in a damn great flood. It'll rain all right, you'll see, and then we'll have rivers of mud, just like they did at Lyatsbridge. And I for one don't want to be here when that happens.'

It's not just me, Poldarn thought, it's all of them, they're shocked. Hardly surprising. All the time he'd been there, he'd never once heard anybody deliberately separating himself from Halder's viewpoint like that. He could see it in their eyes, a definite spark of panic as they realised what the mountain could do to them, over and above burning, burying and killing.

'All right,' Halder said, raising his voice even though the hall was deathly quiet, 'it isn't going to come to that, and yes, you've got a very good point there, something we've definitely got to bear in mind. But we've got to think about all the possibilities.'

'I agree.' This time it was one of the women-Aldeur, he was fairly certain, Scaptey's daughter; a tall, spare, gaunt-faced woman who washed clothes. 'And there's one we haven't even mentioned yet, though if you ask me it's the best idea of the lot. Look, this is a huge island, it's so big there's a lot of it nobody's even been to yet. Who says we've got to stay here? After all, what's here? It's just a house, and feeling comfortable because we know every stone and blade of grass in the valley. What've we got here that we wouldn't have if we upped sticks and went somewhere else? I'll tell you what, shall I? A horrible bloody great fire-breathing mountain, that's what, and you know, I think we'd be better off without it. After all-no offence, Halder, but it's got to be said-it won't be all that long before we're pulling this house down and building another one anyhow; so why the hell build it here, up to our necks in hot ashes, never knowing from one day to the next if we aren't going to wake up one morning cooked like a chicken in a crock? I'm telling you, I don't think I'll ever feel safe again so long as we're here, I'll spend all day long looking over my shoulder to see if the mountain's on the go again. It's a nice place, but it's just a place. I've got kids to consider, and I think their lives are more important than a few old traditions.' She paused, and frowned. 'There was more stuff I was going to say but I can't remember what it was now. Anyhow, that's what I think, and I'll bet you I'm not the only one.'

Poldarn felt sorry for Halder; he looked like he was having a long, hard day. 'Well,' he said, 'there's definitely something to be said for that. Let's see who agrees with her. Right, anybody who thinks we should leave here and go somewhere else, stick your hand up.'

Aldeur's hand shot up straight away. Nobody else moved.

'That's that settled, then,' Halder said. 'It's a good idea, but let's try and come up with something else. Anybody?'

Nobody. Poldarn wriggled uncomfortably on his bench. He'd come very close to putting his hand up when Halder called the vote, but he'd been waiting for someone else (apart from Aldeur) to go first. By the looks of it, he hadn't been the only one to do that.

'Fine,' Halder said. 'So, basically we've got two options. One is to get stuck in and start clearing away this ash, the other is to wait and let the rain do it for us, assuming there's going to be any more rain-and yes, I grant you, it looks like it'll come tipping down any day now. The question is, do we all really want to bet our livelihood and our lives-same thing, really-on a weather forecast. Because you know what rain's like, it's an evil bugger; pisses down for weeks on end when you don't want it to, but when you need it desperately, it stays up there and will it hell as like come down. A week, we could probably manage. Three weeks, we're looking at losing the stock and next year's crop. It's a simple bet. Personally, if I was going to put everything I've got on a wager, I'd rather stick to the horse racing. It's easier to gauge form.'

Perhaps, Poldarn thought, I ought to form an opinion on this; after all, I'm part of this household, I should act like one and care. Of course, that would constitute getting involved 'Halder's right.' Eyvind was on his feet, and everybody was looking at him, for a change. It occurred to Poldarn, for the first time, that Eyvind was an outsider too, he didn't belong to Haldersness, he had his own house on the other side of the mountain. In which case, he asked himself, what's he doing here? Shouldn't he be back home scraping ash off his own fields, or packing up his own pots and pans? What's keeping him here?

'Sure,' Eyvind was saying, 'we've got to think about mudslides. The worst thing anybody can say in a crisis is, I never thought of that. But sitting tight and doing nothing, or going and camping out while the sun shines, that doesn't make sense either. I say we've got to get the ash off the pasture and the ploughed ground first-keep an eye on the weather, I agree, but while we're waiting for it to rain, let's for God's sake do something useful.'

People were nodding their heads, muttering approval; even Aldeur, who'd wanted to leave the farm altogether just a moment ago. It was good to see the joint mind gradually coming back together, after the disconcerting spectacle of so many component parts starting to think for themselves. However-To his surprise, Poldarn found he was on his feet and about to say something.

'All due respect,' he heard himself say, 'but I'm not sure you've thought this thing through, either of you. You're saying, let's go and rake up the ash, like we raked up the yard. All right, now ask yourselves, how long did that take? All of you, working together, very hard? Now then. Any one of you knows a damn sight better than I do how large this farm is, how many head of cattle you're grazing, how many acres you've got ploughed and planted, so I'm not going to try and come up with any figures. You can do that for yourselves. How long's it going to take to clear the ash off enough ground to make doing the job worthwhile? A month? A year? Ten years? All right, you do the figuring. While you're doing that, ask yourselves this. If the whole household's out there dawn to dusk shovelling cinders, what about all the other work that needs to be done around the place? I've been watching ever since I got here, it takes all of you all of your time just to keep things running normally. That's fine; everybody's got work, everybody knows what to do, there's no waste of time or effort or materials. But everything's changed now-you can't just carry on doing what you've always done, you've got to deal with this new situation. And, to be honest with you, I don't see how any of the ideas that've been put forward is going to be enough, except maybe what she said just now: packing up and going somewhere else entirely. But you all agreed you didn't want to do that.'

They were all staring at him, of course; but this time there was something radically different in their faces, and he couldn't work out what it was. So he kept on talking instead.

'All right,' Poldarn went on, 'that's fine, we stay here. So let's see if we can't figure out how we can do that, without starving to death or drowning in mud. Anybody?' Nobody moved or made a sound; he really wished he could read what they were thinking. 'All right, then, how about this? We can't feed the stock here, so we drive them inland, as far as it takes to find empty country where there's enough grazing. Obviously, it's going to take a lot of manpower to do that, but the stock have got to be a priority: it'll take far longer to build up the herd from scratch than it would to get the arable side of things going again if we lose the crop. But I don't see why that's got to happen, either. If we're only talking about clearing the ash off the ground that's already been planted, I don't see why that shouldn't be possible, even with, say, a third of our people away with the livestock. After all, we don't have to get it all done in a week, it'll take a while for the crop to go bad under the ash, far longer than it'd take for the animals to starve to death. As for everything else that we do around here-well, we're going to have to look at that pretty carefully and see what we can cut out, if only for the time being. We don't need beer or cider, for one thing; we don't need the forge-sorry, Asburn, but that's two of us spending all day making stuff that's nice to have but not absolutely essential. Same goes for washing and mending clothes, all that sort of thing-I can't be specific about every single thing, because I haven't sat down and thought it all out, I'm just trying to put across the general principle; basically, if we don't need it for bare survival, it doesn't get done till the planted ground's clear. Now I'm sure there's a whole load of other things I haven't considered, because I don't know what they are yet. We can't think of everything right now, there's bound to be problems cropping up that we can't possibly foresee. But we'll just have to deal with them as we come to them, it's something you learn to do when you're living hand to mouth and on the fly, like I was doing back in the Empire before Eyvind here rescued me. As for the mudslides and whether it's going to rain or not; same thing goes for that, I think, as for the workload. We've got to be prepared to get out of the house and onto the higher ground literally at a moment's notice, so here's what I think we should do. Each of us wants to pack a bag-just a small cloth bag you can grab in a hurry, with just the things you absolutely need and no more-and we take that bag with us everywhere we go, sleep with it within arm's reach, so that as and when the mudslides start, we can grab it and run without even stopping to think. Anything too big to go in a bag, that we absolutely can't do without and can't readily make from scratch if we have to start all over again-I suggest that each of us is assigned one essential household item, and it'll be our job to rescue that one thing. It takes all the thought out of it, really; you don't have to stop and figure out what to take, you just get hold of your stuff and the thing you're responsible for, and hit the ground running.'

Poldarn paused for breath, then went on: 'I'm not saying I've got the answer to every damn thing we might have to face, because that'd be stupid. I'm not saying you can't think of better ways of dealing with specific problems, because I'm absolutely certain you all know far more about your particular job or function than I ever will, and so it makes much more sense for you to work out the details, rather than me. What I'm asking you to go along with is the general idea. First things first, get the stock safe, and then the planted crop. Be ready in case we get the mudslides, yes, but don't let them paralyse you with fear, like a mouse cornered by a weasel. Really, it's just common sense.'

That appeared to be all he had to say, so he sat down again. For what seemed like a very, very long time, nobody moved or spoke. Bloody hell, he said to himself, I've really done it this time. Then, just as he was wondering how he should set about apologising, Halder got up and looked round.

'Well,' he said, 'that's what we'll do, then. After all, you're the one who knows about these things.'

For a moment, Poldarn thought the old man was being funny. But if he was, nobody had got the joke. They didn't look particularly happy, but Poldarn could recognise resigned acceptance when he saw it. Amazing, he said to himself, I never knew I had such eloquence and leadership skills. Come to think of it, I'm not sure that's something I want to know about myself. Chances are if I've always had these qualities, I haven't done nice things with them.

Then he noticed the expression on Eyvind's face, and wondered what on earth was going on. He had no idea why, but Eyvind was scowling at him with genuine anger. What did I say? He wondered. He's glaring at me like I just set light to his beard.

'Right,' Halder went on, with an audible sigh, 'no use sitting here, we've got work to do. If anyone wants me, I'll be in the trap-house.'

A few moments later, the hall was empty, except for Poldarn and Eyvind; and Eyvind hadn't shifted or changed the expression on his face.

'Well,' Poldarn said, trying to keep the tension out of his voice, 'I didn't expect that.'

'Really?' Eyvind's voice was unusually quiet and flat; usually, he didn't just talk, he performed. 'Seems to me it all went off exactly the way you'd have wanted it to. I mean, they're all out there doing as they're told, aren't they?'

Poldarn shrugged. 'I suppose so,' he said. 'Though if they are, it beats me how. I mean, I was expecting we'd be here till midnight sorting out the details, like who's going with the herd, who's staying here, which jobs are essential and which ones we can put on hold for the time being. Instead-'

'Not what you wanted, then.' Eyvind sounded like a man who was barely in control of his temper, words leaking out of him involuntarily. 'I can see that.'

Poldarn knew it would have been better to let that go, but he was curious. 'What do you mean?' he asked.

'You know perfectly bloody well.'

'No.' Poldarn shook his head emphatically. 'I don't know, that's the point. Come on, you know as well as I do, I haven't got a clue how their minds work.'

'Our minds, you mean. And it doesn't look that way to me.'

Poldarn could feel an argument closing in, maybe even a fight. The question was whether he'd be able to get out of the way in time. 'Suit yourself,' he replied (and he knew at once that he'd used entirely the wrong tone). 'I'm just telling you, that's all. Really, I didn't mean to, well, take charge or anything. We were discussing what would be the best thing to do, and I gave my opinion. Honestly, I didn't mean anything by it.'

'Sure.' Eyvind jumped to his feet, every aspect of the movement suggesting that he couldn't stand being in a confined space with Poldarn for one moment more. 'That's all right, then. I believe you. Now I think I'll go and get my horse saddled. Time I was going home, I reckon.'

'Oh.' Poldarn hadn't been expecting that. 'I can understand you wanting to,' he went on. 'It's just that-well, you've been here ever since I arrived, I guess I've got used to depending on you-to explain things, tell me what's going on, let me know when I've done something ignorant or offensive. It'll be hard having to cope on my own.'

'Really' Eyvind had his back to him now. 'Well, I'm sure you'll manage. After all, you've got them eating out of your hand, which suggests you're more or less settled in, doesn't it?'

This is ridiculous, Poldarn thought. 'Look,' he said, 'I've obviously done something wrong. Would you mind telling me what it is?'

He heard Eyvind sigh, though he couldn't see the other's face. 'It's not about right and wrong, you should know that by now. There's no such thing as wrong, standing all by itself, not connected to anything. You did what you felt you had to do. That's not wrong.'

'But?'

'I wouldn't have done it. Nor would anybody else, in your shoes. It's not how we go about things here.'

Now Poldarn was starting to get angry. 'What isn't?' he insisted.

'Forget it, will you? I mean,' Eyvind added quietly, 'that's what you're good at, forgetting things. Must be a wonderful knack to have, that.'

More than anything, Poldarn wanted to hit him for that; he could feel how much satisfaction it would give him to drive his fist into the back of Eyvind's head. If anything ever seemed to be the right thing to do at a particular moment, that was it. Instead, he deliberately unclenched his hands. 'You may well be right,' he said. 'For some time, I've had this feeling that the reason why I can't remember anything is that deep down, I don't really want to; because whoever I used to be, I don't want to be him any more. I've got no idea if that's a sensible attitude or not. Really, all I can do is try and get along without hurting myself. Or anybody else, for that matter.'

(That last bit hadn't been there in his mind, he'd had to add it deliberately and it hadn't sounded at all right. Not so good.)

'Sure,' Eyvind said again, somehow contriving to bleach any hint of expression out of the word. 'Look.' He turned round, and Poldarn could see the strain in his face. 'Let me give you a bit of advice, just to show there's no ill feeling. Halder knows he's going to die soon; he was only hanging on because there wasn't anybody to take over from him, and then you turned up and he's been waiting to see if you'll shape up. But he won't last much longer, this bloody business with the mountain is going to kill him any day now; he knows it, everybody knows it-apart from you, apparently. When he dies, you'll be the farmer here, it'll be your house and your farm. Everybody knows that, too. So, if you start telling people what to do, naturally they're going to do it, because this is all new to us-I'm not just talking about the volcano, I mean this business of having to cope with things we don't know about or understand. But you-well, I don't think you really know any more about us than you did when you arrived. Oh, you've picked up a whole bunch of details, like a ball of wet dough picking up dust, but you've positively refused to join in or act like this is where you belong. Until now; and suddenly you're in charge, you're giving orders. Damn it, if I'd known you were going to do that, I'd have left you behind at Deymeson.'

Poldarn could feel anger building up inside him, a massive force of rage and fury pressing against his chest, making it hard for him to breathe. 'I'm really sorry you feel that way,' he said, 'and if I'd known, of course I wouldn't have said anything. I promise you, I won't do it again if it bothers you so much. Does that make it any better, or are you still mad at me?'

Eyvind shook his head. 'I don't know about you, really,' he said. 'First time we met, remember, I tried to kill you. And you killed Cetel, my best friend who I'd known since I was a kid-in self-defence, sure, and neither of us had a clue at the time who you were, so I'm not blaming you or anything. But at the time I had a feeling that we weren't going to turn out to be lucky for each other, one way or another. Oddly enough, it was you I felt sorry for. I got the impression you'd come out worse for us having met. But then again, I get these feelings every now and again, and nineteen times out of twenty they're just plain wrong.'

Poldarn wanted the anger to go away, but it wouldn't. 'One in twenty,' he said. 'That's a lousy average. In fact, it means that when you get one of these premonitions, there's a ninety-five per cent chance it isn't going to come true, so it looks like the best odds are that neither of us is going to come to a bad end. Excellent. You've cheered me up no end.'

Eyvind's face cracked into a smile. 'That's certainly one way of looking at it,' he said. 'But I really do think it's time I went home, just to have a look, see how they're getting on. Soon as I'm sure they're all right I'll come back. Will that do you?'

Poldarn nodded. 'That'll be fine,' he said. 'And I'm sorry I freaked you out like that. I just didn't know, that's all-which is why I need to have you around, to warn me about all this stuff. Otherwise, God only knows what damage I could do without realising.'

'You'll be fine, trust me,' Eyvind said, slapping Poldarn hard on the shoulder. It was, of course, the friendliest of gestures, but all Poldarn wanted to do was hit back, hard. He had just enough self-control to keep his hands by his sides. 'And anyway, I was wrong, probably. After all, that plan you came up with is pretty good-better than the alternatives, at any rate. That's the trouble with us all thinking basically the same way, we don't have the capacity to come up with original ideas. Not that we need them in the usual course of things; they only make life difficult.' He laughed. 'You know, I bet you think we're all weird.'

'Yes,' Poldarn said. 'Almost as weird as me. Mind you, I didn't find the Empire was all that rational, if you see what I mean.'

Eyvind stifled a yawn, and Poldarn realised that he hadn't had more than a few hours' sleep over the past few days. 'Maybe there's a place somewhere where everybody acts in a sensible, logical fashion and everything's just fine as a result. Let's just hope they never get it into their heads to invade, because we wouldn't stand a chance.'

The livestock was gone by next morning, along with a third of the men and most of the boys. Rook said they were headed north-west into the open country beyond the Tabletop mountains. 'Good grazing land out that way, I've heard,' he said. 'Better than these parts, by all accounts. Never been that way myself, but I once met a man who had. He liked it out there, reckoned that if he ever branched out on his own, that's where he'd probably go. Big plains, low hills, lots of woods, plenty of water. I've always had a fancy to see it, but the chance never came up.'

Poldarn nodded. 'So who lives there?' he asked.

'Nobody.'

'Oh.' That seemed strange. 'Why not?'

Rook shrugged. 'We haven't got there yet,' he replied. 'In a hundred years, maybe, when we've used up all the space between here and there.' He grinned. 'I heard an old boy say once, this island is so big you'd be an old man before you walked from one side to the other. He reckoned he'd talked to a man once who tried to sail all the way round it, just to see how big it is. He was gone for six months, and when he came back he said he'd just carried on going north until his crew reckoned they'd had enough, so he turned round and came back. Wonderful country up north, he said, bloody great big forests of cedar and maple, and grapevines growing wild with grapes on 'em the size of duck eggs. Makes you wonder why we stick around here, with that thing-' he nodded at the mountain '-breathing fire and shitting ash on us. Still, I'm in no hurry to move on, not just yet. Around here suits me fine.'

Scraping up the ash proved to be harder than anyone had imagined. Asburn vanished into the forge and came out a day later with a massive iron rake-head, twice the size and weight of the regular farm version, which had proved to be far too flimsy and small for the job. His next effort was a third wider again, and was declared satisfactory by Halder and the raking crews. Poldarn, who'd never been so tired in his life after a day behind a farm rake on the lower home meadow, was actually glad to be back in the forge, swinging the big hammer for Asburn as he struggled to meet the demand for his new invention.

'Very simple, really,' Asburn said, when Poldarn asked him how the things were made. 'Take a good heavy bar, about three fingers wide; good steel if we've got it, something like a mill spindle or a waterwheel axle. First, make your socket; then take a good yellow heat about a forearm long, split the bar with the hot sett, bend the legs out at right angles and twist 'em half a turn, put the flatter on 'em and punch your holes for the tines; ordinary chain stock for the tines, a little finger long and thick, just draw 'em out, swage down a tenon to fit the hole, then rivet 'em in hard. Harden and temper, and that's all there is to it.'

Poldarn had come to dread that last phrase; but all that was asked of him was to hit the hot metal as hard as he could, so he didn't really care. For once, Asburn was working hard and fast, not stopping to measure up every five minutes or to agonise over a slightly asymmetrical taper or a tiny ding from a misplaced hammer strike. In this mood, he worked so fast that Poldarn's arms started to hurt and the side of his right little finger chafed into a long, fat blister; but it was better than standing around. What mattered was that he was working, helping, contributing, earning his keep 'Are you sure you don't mind doing this?' Asburn said, as they waited for the steel to get hot. Asburn was working the bellows with his left hand, making it look as easy as swishing a fan on a pleasantly warm day. Poldarn had had to give up that duty on grounds of exhaustion. 'I mean, it's very kind of you, but don't they need you in the fields, or in the house?'

'Need me for what?' Poldarn replied, as he bound his blistered finger with a piece of rag.

'Well, to sort things out, make sure it's all being done right. After all, it's all your ideas, surely you should be there.'

Poldarn sighed. 'They seem to be getting on just fine without me,' he said. 'In fact, nobody's asked me about anything since the meeting. Which is good,' he added, 'because they know what needs to be done and I don't. I really wish I'd kept my face shut at that meeting-all I did was give people the wrong idea about me. I think Eyvind was ready to smash my face in at one point.'

Asburn frowned. 'I don't understand,' he said. 'What, do you mean he was angry or something?'

'You could say that, yes.'

'But why? What was there to be angry about?'

Poldarn laughed. 'Pretty much everything I said, I think. And, looking back, I can see his point. After all, it's not for me to come in here telling everybody what to do. God only knows what got into me.'

Asburn shook his head. 'That's not how it was,' he said. 'After all, you're Halder's next of kin, when he's gone you'll be the farmer. Of course it's your place to speak for us. I mean,' he went on, drawing the billet out an inch or so to check on its colour, 'it's not like you were ordering us about; and even if that's what you were trying to do-well, it'd never work, it'd be like trying to harden soft iron, it simply wouldn't take.'

Poldarn raised an eyebrow.

'I guess it's a bit like this,' Asburn said. 'And I'm really not sure if this makes any sense, because to tell you the truth I've never really had to think about this sort of thing before, like you don't have to think about how to breathe, you just do it. But anyway; suppose Haldersness is a man's body. We're all the different parts of it-hands, feet, joints, bones, muscles, lungs and so on. Halder's the head, and you'll be the head when he's gone. The head doesn't tell the feet what to do, it's just the part of the body where the command comes from. Otherwise it'd be like saying that if you punched someone, it was your hand's fault, not yours. Oh shit,' he added, jerking the billet out of the fire; there were tiny white sparkles dancing on the extreme end, where the steel was thinnest. 'Serves me right for chattering,' he added, swinging the billet through the air and laying it across the beak of the anvil at precisely the right angle. 'When you're ready.'

Poldarn lifted the hammer and struck; and by the time he'd beaten the bar from white through yellow and dull red into scale grey, the subject had gone cold as well, and he didn't try to raise it again. But that didn't stop him thinking about it; particularly the references to when Halder was gone, when Poldarn would take over and become the farmer. Very bad idea, he couldn't help feeling, because he'd be a head that couldn't communicate with the rest of the body, and Haldersness would become one of those people who end up paralysed because of some horrific accident, and all they can do is move their eyes. If that happened, it'd be a worse disaster than the volcano. Maybe the best thing would be if I just went away one night and didn't come back. So, what would happen if he did that? Either they'd have to choose someone else to be the farmer, or they'd all split up and go their separate ways; Rook would go north to the wonderful empty pastures he'd always wanted to see, Asburn could build his own forge and actually be the smith instead of a caretaker-impostor, things would get back to normal and Poldarn-I'd be free again, he heard himself think, just me to think about, and nothing but what I can carry. I don't suppose I can go back to the Empire; but why shouldn't I go north and build my own farm there, just me and an axe and a scythe and a bag of seedcorn Ridiculous. Sooner or later, of course, he'd be doing all that right here-building his house, sowing his first crop, shearing his own sheep and raising his own calves; and the house would be called Ciartanstead, and you can't own a farm more emphatically than by giving it your own name. Running away from Ciartanstead, from the wood his grandfather had planted for him on the day he had been born, was nothing more or less than running away from himself; and that, it went without saying, would be just plain impossible.