The Tale of Oriel Read Free

Damall’s house was of stone and had many rooms—a great hall with a fireplace so large a boy could stand upright in it, with his arms spread out, and touch the fireplace stones only with the soles of his feet; the master’s bedroom with its own fireplace and a carved bed hung with heavy curtains; a kitchen; three rooms for the boys, one for the littlest, one for the middling, and one for the oldest. All around the yard the Great Damall built a stone wall, with two wooden barred gates in it, to keep the animals in, or to keep the boys in, or to keep the house and those living in it safe. For pirates roamed the islands, hiding during the day and attacking at night with fire and sword. The towns and cities of the coast were too well fortified and defended, so the pirates preyed on the islands. The Great Damall built a house that could be sealed up as safe as a castle against pirates. It had cellars for storing food and a deep well in the center of the walled yard.
    Only once had pirates attacked the island. They had come by day when the gates were open, when they weren’t expected. They had heard of the treasure. They held the fifth Damall’s hand in fire, until it burned off. But he didn’t tell them where the treasure was. He died three days later in a fever, but he hadn’t told. The treasure was safe and the island was safe. As long as one of the green stones remained on the island, as the story was told, no harm would come to the grassy, forested island that rose up above its circling base of boulders. The Damall’s island was too small, and townless, for the pirates to come back to—or so the boys hoped.

    IN WINTER, THE BOYS WERE kept inside, under the glittering eye of the Damall. They were taught to read, the older teaching the younger. The quickest boys also learned to write, which would make them more valuable as slaves in the market. The Damall told them the numbers, and what he knew of how they worked, but only Griff needed to remember that because it was Griff who kept the books of records—household income and expenses; where boys had been found and, if purchased, how much had been paid for them and, when sold, how much had been gotten; the yields of field and fowl and pigs, the catch of fish and gostas and skals; the records of deaths, by drowning, by fever, by coughing, by infected wounds, by wasting away. There were some boys who came to the island only to die, pale and listless, and they were poor weeping things whom nobody grieved over. Their bodies were wrapped in an old blanket, with three stones at the head and three at the feet; they were taken out to sea and set down upon the water. There were other boys who came to the island and it seemed nothing could kill them. Nikol had fevers and infections, and once he was swept out to sea in one of the boats. Nikol always got better, however, and he’d been blown back to the island by a friendly wind. Nothing could kill Nikol.
    Nothing could kill him, either. He had never been sick, except once. Once, when he was little and Griff had just been given the job of cooking for the boys and the Damall, too, Griff gathered some wild onions in spring, to put into the soup. Griff chopped up the onions and cooked them in with the turnips and fish bones, and that night the whole house fell ill—the boys went outside to vomit, many had the shits, all had sore and swollen throats. Even the Damall was struck down, lying on his carved bed and calling for pots to be brought to him by whoever was on his feet at the time. The illness lasted all the night long, and it was two days before anyone felt well enough to wonder about it; one of the littlest boys died but everyone else recovered. The Damall asked Griff what went into the soup, and then he went out to the woody edges of the meadow on a damp morning to dig up one of the plants. He took it to the market town and one of the old women told him its name, naked lady, and its poison.