Crown of Renewal(48)

She led them into the High Lord’s Hall; they stopped, once inside, and gaped at the colored light, the height of the interior.

“It’s … really big,” Salis said. “And beautiful. And to think Gird was here. Himself.”

“Yes,” Arianya said. “Come see where he was buried.”

They stared at the stone she pointed out, the letters blurred with all the hands that had touched them. After a long silence, one of the women sighed.

“An’ he had no childer …”

“He had one who lived,” Arianya said. “His daughter Rahel.”

“But no one after.”

“No. She could not have children; she had been hurt by the magelords.”

“‘Tis sadder that way,” the woman said. “Marshal says we’re all Gird’s childer in a way, but I wish … it doesn’t feel the same.”

“There’s a scroll Paksenarrion brought us,” Arianya said. “It records a dream Gird said he had before the Battle of Greenfields. He thought he was being told he would die in that battle but it would bring peace for his people … and he accepted that. But he did not die then. He felt he’d done something wrong. Dreams are not always about what we think they’re about. I believe his dream was about what was coming later, not what came then. He gave his life to bring peace to his people, and for a time it did. But people do not always want peace as much as they want their own way.”

“That be true, Marshal-General,” Salis said. “And that’s why I made Gird’s Cow to remind them. Quarrelin’ and hatin’ don’t help none, but carin’ for a cow or a person’s much alike.” He looked around. “But … tell you true, I didn’t imagine this … Would Gird’s Cow be better outside?”

It would be better unmade and something more cowlike made instead, Arianya thought, but Salis’s earnest goodwill kept her from saying that. The thought lingered—she’d never seen a life-size statue, but could someone make a cow? Of what—of clay? Carved in a block of stone? Something more like a cow? Would Salis mind?

“I think this may not be the best place for it,” she said. “We should pray about that, don’t you think?”

He nodded. “That be right, Marshal-General. That’s what we should do.”

Together, the little group moved to the far end of the Hall, where light shone through the round window. Arianya knelt, as she had so often. In the still air, the smell of sweaty human and cow grew stronger … the cow smell gradually predominating. What could that mean? The smell diminished, vanished, replaced by the fragrance of a forest. She didn’t understand that, either. But questions she could ask Salis rose in her mind and some ideas about Gird’s Cow—in this or another form.

When she stood, the forest scent vanished. In silence, she led Salis and his followers back outside. The cowhide-covered shape on the wagon looked even more ridiculous now. Salis stopped, staring at it. “Marshal-General … it’s not right.”

“Salis?”

He shook his head. “I’m sorry. I’m just an old farmer … I was stupid.”

“No,” she said. “You were not, and are not, stupid. Please tell me what troubles you.”

“That’s … I wanted it to be Gird’s Cow, but it’s not. That—in there—praying—I saw it.”

“What?”

“I saw Gird’s Cow. A dun cow, just like I always heard, and there was Gird, plain as day, with his hand on her neck.”

The hair stood up on Arianya’s arms. “You … saw Gird?”

“Yes.” The battered hat came off again, and he rubbed his head with his other hand. “Didn’t you?”

“Not like that,” Arianya said. Should she say she smelled it? Probably not.

“So this—” Salis gestured at his wagon. “This is just a cowhide over some sticks and straw.” He paused, glaring at it. “I thought it was enough—but I kept having to tell people what it was. If it was really Gird’s Cow, they’d know right off, wouldn’t they?”

There was no other way; she had to tell him. “I smelled Gird’s Cow,” Arianya said. She tried not to see the look on Marshal Celis’s face. “In the High Lord’s Hall, just now—that’s what I was granted, to smell it and know that Gird approved.”

Salis looked worried. “You’re sure it wasn’t just us?”

“Yes,” Arianya said. “And I think your idea—of reminding people that Gird was about caring for people first, not hating and killing—was good. I think your idea of an image that would remind them of that was good. We have so many stories of Gird fighting—Gird Strongarm, Gird’s Club, and so on—that the Gird who loved cows and cared for cows and his family—isn’t that much in mind.”