It was dark by the time he got back; the hazy violet of twilight had faded slowly over the edge of the mountain as he drove the last hour or so, making the tiny forest paths near impossible to see. Normally, Hasil would have preferred to be back before evening, but given the choice between spending a little more time with Sally Ann and Lena and avoiding some hard driving, it hadn't been a difficult decision to make.
After parking the truck in its customary spot by the barn and throwing the keys on the seat, he grabbed the plastic bag out of the back and started making his way up the hill. There would be time later, he hoped, to give the bag to Krake, who would then distribute the provisions to those who requested them, but if not, he could always wait until morning. Everything – except what he had to do right now – could wait until morning.
The generators were running in front of the house, lighting up a thin strand of bulbs above the porch roof and a few lamps inside. That was good, at least: it meant they hadn't yet settled in for the night.
He walked up the steps leading to the porch and made his way over to the front door. The only thing left to do now was take a deep breath, which he did, trying to think only about the positive outcomes of this conversation, and then he gave a quick pounding knock on the door.
A few moments later it opened, and behind it stood Little Foster, whose size blocked out most of the soft interior light emerging onto the darkened porch.
"Cous'n," he said, and then glanced down at the bag in Hasil's hand. "How'd th' trip go?"
"Fine," Hasil replied without elaboration. "Look, I's sorry ta intrude on ya'll's ev'ning, but I need a word wit' th' Bren'in."
"From th' sound a' it, seems like ya'll need more than jus' a word." Little Foster sighed a little and then opened up the door widely, allowing Hasil to step inside. "She's over by th' fire."
Hasil could feel the room growing progressively warmer as he made his way over towards the stone hearth; it was nice, after being in the cold, dark truck, after driving through the sharp autumn winds that frequently blew down off the top of the mountain. He caught sight of G'win in a nearby armchair, her son lounging peacefully in her lap. About ten feet away, Hasil stopped, bowing forward at the waist and pressing his fingers to his lips in the customary manner. She didn't say anything at first, the light of the flames dancing along the side of her face, but then she roused her son, inching him off her lap and setting him gently on his feet.
"Go see yer fa," she said, and gave him a small push in the opposite direction.
"Bren'in," Hasil said, not moving from where he stood.
"Hasil," she replied. "Som'thin' happ'ned down there, didn' it?"
He nodded, somehow unable to start speaking. He knew he would have to eventually, but there was some part of him that didn't want to say it out loud, that wanted to keep the day's revelations for himself and himself alone.
"Som'thin' wi' th' coal comp'ny? Or th' police?"
"Nah," he said. "'S nothin' ya'd think."
"Sit," she said, her open hand directing him towards the chair besides her. It was a bigger chair than hers, bigger than any Hasil might need, and he knew it had to be Little Foster's. "Tell me."
Hasil walked over and sat down, even though he mostly just perched on the edge of his seat. The chair was altogether too large to fully sink into, and regardless, he wasn't in any kind of mood to relax. Instead, he planted his elbows on his knees and cast his gaze into the hypnotic movements of the fire. And then, after taking a moment to clear his throat, he began.
"Ya recall tha' summer when Big Foster was..." He trailed off, not really wanting to finish that sentence, or think about a time when Big Foster had been much of anything. "An' then three days 'fore th' storm, ya remember th' girl I brough' up here?"
"Mmmm-hmmm," she murmured. "She 's a pretty girl, if I remember."
"Yeah," Hasil said, his lips curling slightly with the ghost of a smile. "An' then she ran away, an' I never saw 'er again."
"Prob'ly th' only thin' tha' saved ya from th' box," G'win said, and he knew the truth of her statement. In all the chaos following the invasion and Big Foster's death and the disappearance of Asa, no one had called him to account for having brought an outsider onto the mountain. In any other time, G'win would have been forced to settle on his punishment officially, and he no doubt would have spent several months out there by himself in the cold and the wet.
"I should'a been put in there," he said, voicing a thought he had never shared with anyone before. Because he did deserve it. He deserved to be thrown in there for so many reasons: for disobeying the laws of his clan, for putting her in danger in the first place, for letting her go without truly telling her how he felt, for his complete and total failure to find her again.
"Tha' was a long time ago..."
"I know," he said, even though thinking about it now – with everything that had happened today – made it suddenly seem like no time had passed at all.
"Ya loved her," G'win said. "Ya still love her."
He turned and looked quickly at her, seeing the warmth of concern in her gaze. He sometimes forgot that G'win wasn't just the Bren'in; she was a wife and a mother, and a woman who understood the ways of people.
"Why d'ya say tha'?" he asked.
"I can see, Hasil. I got eyes." She raised her brows a little and sighed. "An' I think I know a li'l som'thin' 'bout pinin'... But wha' happened t'day? Som'thin' havin' ta do wi' this girl?"
"Yeah," he replied, running his hand through his hair. "She came back. I saw 'er."
"Oh."
"An' she weren't alone. She..." He paused, the words somehow stuck in his throat. "Well... she had my daughter wi' 'er."
"Your daughter?" G'win asked, her mouth parted slightly in astonishment.
"Yeah," he said. The room was so quiet for a moment, the only sound the soft crackle of the fire and a rough snap as a log burst in two.
"An' ya's certain she's yours?" she asked.
He must have looked at her with an uncharacteristic level of anger, because she drew back a little, her eyes focused intently on the hand that was closest to his belt. It was only after a moment, when he looked down, that he realized he had the handle of his knife fully grasped in his palm.
"Aw, I'm sorry," he muttered, immediately releasing the knife. "Please, I didn' mean nothin'... 'S jus', well, there ain't no doubt on tha' accoun'." Because it was true: he knew without any hesitation that Lena was his. Sally Ann would never lie about something as important as that, and even so, he could see with his own eyes the similarities between Lena and himself. She favored her mother in that regard, but there was some of him there, too. And then there was the strongest proof of all, at least in his mind, which was based in his instinctual – and near instantaneous – desire to protect and care for her. He could never forget the trust she had placed in him when she climbed onto his back in the middle of the store, the warmth of her tiny body pressed against his, the sheer joy that flooded over his heart when he heard her laugh. Hasil knew how strong his instincts were, and they were telling him with utter certainty that this child belonged to him, just as he belonged to her.
"Fine," G'win replied, settling back into her chair. "'S jus'... unmarried women, they don' always know."
He nodded, feeling some of the tension in the room dissipate. "I hear ya, G'win, but tha' girl, she's mine. I swear."
"Alrigh', then," she said, taking a long and heavy breath. "So wha' d'ya propose ta do?"
"Propose?" he repeated. "She's a Farrell, part a' th' clan."
"Tha' may be," she answered, "but she weren't born on th' mountain. An' her ma certainly ain't part a' th' clan."
He could hear her words and knew them – on some level – to be true, but it didn't stop the fierce, animalistic part of his heart from wanting to spring forward with bared teeth in their defense.
"Wha' are ya sayin', G'win?" he asked, his voice growing louder than it really ought to around the Bren'in. "Ya sayin' they ain't welcome?"
"Ya wan' 'em ta come up here?" she asked in confusion, tiny lines etching into her brow.
"Why not? My girl has cous'ns, a clan. Ya wan' 'er ta never know 'er people?"
At this point, it seemed entirely impossible to stay seated; the room was too small, with too many walls narrowing in on him, and Hasil felt the biting urge to release some of the frustration he felt building in his body. He rose to his feet and paced over towards the hearth, distractedly tracing the edges of the rough stones with his fingertips.
"An' wha' 'bout 'her ma?" G'win asked from her chair. "She'll let th' girl come up on 'er own?"
"Nah," he said, shaking his head. He stared down into the flames, feeling the rough blast of heat against his legs. "'S gotta be both a' 'em. Sally Ann ain't never gon' let her come up here alone. Not after wha' happened ta her tha' summer…"
He didn't have to say the rest: G'win had a good memory, and even though she rarely talked about it, Hasil knew she would have no trouble recalling the moment when Big Foster threatened his girl's life, when she was brought to see all of them being held captive in the barn and no doubt recognized the fear written across Sally Ann's face.
"Look," she said, sighing, "th' girl can come up… I don' know 'bout stayin' for a long time, but she can come up for a li'l while. But as for her ma... Hasil, ya know th' rules. Ther' ain't no outsiders allowed up here."
"Ther' 's gotta be some'thin' ya can do, G'win," he said, turning to face her. "You're th' Bren'in."
"You're right… I am th' Bren'in. An' tha' means I gotta think a' this whol' mountain, I gotta think a' all th' clans, no' jus' one man. I know ya don' like it, but these rules, they keep us safe an' alive, an' I can' change 'em jus' for th' sake a' yer heart. Wha' kind a' Bren'in woul' I be then?"
He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and took a breath, and despite the warmth of the fire, felt a chill wash over his body. He hadn't let himself imagine a scenario where the two of them would never get to come up the mountain, where Lena would never get the chance to know her kin.
"Then ther' 's gotta be som'thin' I can do…" he said.
She shrugged her shoulders gently. "Ther' 's only one thin' I can think of... only one way ta override th' law. Ya gotta call a circle. Th' Elders migh' give ya wha' ya want… or they migh' not."
"Ya think they'd allow it?" he asked, daring to let himself hope a little.
"Ya never know," G'win said. "They's unpredict'ble on matters like these. But, Hasil…" She looked at him directly, her gaze turning hard. "If they say no, tha's th' end a' it. Don' be gettin' any notions 'bout bringin' th' two a' 'em up here in secret… 'Cause if I find out ya did, ya ain't gon' go ta th' box. Ya gon' be banished from this mountain, an' ya ain't never comin' back. Ya understand?"
"Yeah, alright," he said, giving her a tiny nod. "I hear ya."
He walked back to the empty chair and dropped down into it, suddenly filled with a tiredness that stretched all the way through his bones. He would sleep soundly tonight, and no doubt dream of them both.
"I'm goin' back down t'morrow, G'win. An' I ain't askin' permission. I'd like it, a' course, but I ain't gon' ask for it."
"An' what, ya'd walk?" she asked, a tiny smile emerging on her lips.
"If I had ta," he said, without hesitation.
She laughed, a little breathy thing. "Take th' truck."
Suddenly, there was a flurry of arms and legs and red hair as the youngest Foster Farrell scampered into the room and launched himself into his mother's arms.
"Ma, ma, 's it true? Did fa kill a bear for ya?" he asked excitedly.
She looked down into her son's eyes, and with a gentle hand pushed back the hair that fell over his brow. "Wha'd he say?" she asked.
"He said he did," he answered, nodding wildly.
"Then it mus' be true…" she said, her eyes still on her son, but somehow on something else, something unseen, while a strange, secret smile began to curl around the corner of her mouth. "Your fa'd never lie like tha'." And then she wrapped her arms around the boy, pulling him against her, as she laid a tiny kiss on the top of his head.
Hasil knew it was time to go, his audience clearly over. There wasn't much more they could talk about tonight, and now he had to consider his next steps. He would have to pay a visit on the Elders soon and hope and pray that their wisdom would allow them to see the rightness of his cause. And tomorrow, of course, he would see both of them again, and just the thought of that was more than enough to cause his heart to beat a little faster.
He stood up to take his leave, but before he could utter a word, she held out her hand, indicating that she had something else to say.
"Hasil," she said, her arms still clasped around the child in her lap even as her sharp green eyes bore straight into his. "I gotta tell ya som'thin' an' ya ain't gon' like it… But ya need ta listen ta me."
He nodded, and waited for her to continue.
"I had a man tha' left me, gon' for a lon' time. An' I pined som'thin' awful. I tried ta keep goin', but part a' me was jus' missin' along wi' 'im. An' then he came back, an' I secretly hoped tha' we could go back ta bein' like we had been… But he had changed an' I had changed, an' it didn' work out too good." She glanced down absently at the floor, and then back up at him. "Ya jus' gotta be careful, alright?"
"Alright," Hasil said, not knowing what else to say that might properly acknowledge the weight of what she just told him. That was not a story, he sensed, that she had shared with many others. He wondered, in fact, if she had shared it with her husband.
"An' Hasil?" she added, with one last soft smile. "Congratulations."
He nodded and offered her final bow, and then he turned, leaving the Bren'in in the company of her child.
Outside, the night air was cold and biting, even as the sky above was illuminated by the brilliant dusting of innumerable stars.