The farmer's name turned out to be Sporo and he was not happy to be included in the trip to Widow Caera's farm.  But as the elders of Har-Tor implied that he would have to help them if he wanted their help he reluctantly agreed.

The widow Caera was out behind her house feeding her chickens when they arrived.  She was an older, grandmotherly type of person with a shapeless farm dress and a shapeless face from which a small round nose and a small round chin protruded.  When she realized they had come to speak to her, her thin lips stretched into a wide smile and she invited them inside and offered them drinks and some snacks of sweet-bread of which she took three for herself.  They spoke of the weather and of conditions back at Har-Tor.  They spoke of the neighbors and the success of Karux's carved wooden poles before Jomel was able to turn the conversation over to the subject of the bwcca.

"Well, they're very shy creatures," she replied to his questioning.  "If they see or hear you, they won't come out, especially if they don't know you.  But that doesn't mean they're not there.  If you have any water on your property, you probably have some.  If you have a stand of trees with an odd number of trees—especially if one is a shepherd tree—I can almost guarantee you have them."

"But how do you get them to help you in the fields if you can never see them?" Sporo asked.

"First you have to call them."  The widow Caera demonstrated by singing a short repetitious tune whose unintelligible words could have been another language or could have just been sounds.  "That'll get their attention.  They're curious creatures and imitative by nature.

"Once you've called them, just go about your work while they watch from their hiding places.  Leave the tools they need out at night and they'll do what they saw you doing during the day.  Leave a large bowl of milk and a few slices of bread and they'll keep coming back.  Put a drop of honey in the milk and you won't be able to get rid of them.

Sporo shook his head in disbelief.  "You make them sound like children imitating their adras."

Caera nodded.  "Much like, yes."

Jomel stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "I wonder if they could be trained to do other tasks."

"You'd have to find a way to get close to them first," Karux said.

Jomel looked to Karux.  "Will you need to see them to determine if they are n'phesh, or have some connection to the elementals?"

"I will have to know where they are.  It would be best if I could see them with my own eyes," Karux said.

"Is there any way we could see the bwcca?" Jomel asked Caera.

"I have sometimes seen the brownies at dusk when they come out of hiding," Caera said.  "If we are quiet, we might be able to see them tonight."

"I think we'd like to do that," Jomel said.

"So much for a quick little trip," Sporo muttered.

"Well," Caera stood with a sigh.  "There's still plenty of light left.  Best if we go spend some time working in the field so the bwcca can get used to your presence."

Sporo muttered something under his breath about learning how the widow Caera managed the farm without help as they followed her out into the field.  She worked them hard all afternoon then took them back to the house and fed them.  Afterwards, she put several bowls of milk and some sliced loaves of bread outside her back door, then led them out the front, downwind to the neighbor's property, and then back along a line of brush bordering the two fields where they hid.

"Lie absolutely still," she whispered.  "If we are lucky, they'll choose to ignore us."

Karux lay on his stomach amid the bushes watching the empty fields fade in the growing dusk.  The longer he waited, the more uncomfortable he grew as every rock and twig on the ground pressed themselves into his body.  He had nearly surrendered to the screaming urge to slap at the mosquitoes biting his face and neck, when he saw the first sign of furtive movement in the shadows at the edge of the field.

First one bwcca appeared, walking on two legs in a crouch.  Then two more joined it, pausing out in the field to sniff the air and peer around into the surrounding darkness.  Four more joined them as they crept along the field and finally five more made it an even dozen.  The creatures, about the size of small children, cautiously approached the house and took turns sipping at the milk and eating the bread.  They sat for a moment in the deeper shadows of the back porch before taking up the sickles and haying forks in their small hands.

They worked slowly but steadily only pausing erratically to listen to the night or sniff the air.  When the moons rose, Karux was able to get a better look at them.  They had short thin arms and legs and round little bodies all covered in fur.  The fine pale tan fur on their abdomens turned a darker mottled gray brown on their backs.  The back fur also grew coarse like spines, forming a rough mane on their backs and around their necks.  Large round felt-like ears with just the suggestion of pointedness poked out of the fur high on the sides of their heads.  They had large round black eyes that sat further apart than on a human's.  They each also had a long thin straight nose, squished down on their faces ending in a small mouth and almost no chin, as if the whole lower part of their face had been pulled down and stretched.

Karux shifted his awareness to the world of schemas, half afraid of seeing the too familiar spinning maelstrom, like some great mouth trying to suck everything into the Void.  Instead he saw the ordinary ribbons of coiled spiral patterns such as he saw with other living things.  He expanded his awareness outward, detecting an owl, some mice and a cat prowling between the fields.  He thought if he compared the patterns of the animals, the bwcca and the people lying beside him, he might be able to tell if the bwcca were intelligent or not.  But, though the bwcca's patterns were more complex than the animals, he couldn't tell if that were not simply because they were bigger.

After watching the bwcca working in the fields, the spies went back to the widow Caera's house to sleep until sunup.  She would have been happy to let them stay longer, but Jomel was disappointed that the brownies, as the widow Caera liked to call them, didn't appear to be inhabited by n'phesh or have any special connection to them.  On the way back to Har-Tor, Jomel asked Sporo if he intended to make use of the bwcca.  He allowed as it wouldn't hurt to try and walked back home humming the tune widow Caera had sung.

 -=====|==

Amantis thought he detected the first effects of the poison just as the guests were leaving.  The final toasts had been made and the chatting guests were starting to leave when Corago pressed a hand to his belly, a pained expression on his face.  He staggered, sat back down on his couch, and let out a slight groan.  Ponta rushed to his side and the nearest of his friends stayed to help him to his bed.  A minute later, another friend came rushing out and left the house running for a healer.

Careful to show normal concern, Amantis visited Corago who lay in his bedroom in a thick atmosphere of tension, surrounded by family and a few of his closest friends.  He wondered briefly how he'd feel speaking to the dying man whom he had just killed and was surprised to find that his biggest concern was that Corago might recover.

"What are you doing here?  Don't you know it's your birthday?" Amantis said attempting to interject some humor.

"Oh!" Corago groaned, as a new spasm of pain stabbed through him.  "You'd think I'd learn not to eat this much!"

"Try to relax," Amantis said.  "They've sent for a yotare."

"It's a waste of time.  I'll be better by morning."

It was a long slow painful death.  Sometime before dawn Corago breathed his last.  Ponta collapsed, sobbing, on his shoulder.  The healer assured them all that Corago's death was caused by the rich meal.  This seemed to heap an extra layer of guilt on those guests who still remained, but Amantis relaxed and had to remind himself to not smile.  He found himself saying inane and trite clichés about Corago's pain having now ended, how he was now in a better place and generally spoke on the subject of the brevity of life and the frail nature of man.  He wasn't entirely sure what all he said as he tried not to babble gleefully, but he was later grateful that everyone's grief was so great that no one really paid much attention to his words.

He was asked to speak at Corago's funeral and spoke so glowingly of his kindness and generosity that he almost convinced himself it was true.  Ponta increasingly leaned on him to make decisions as if he truly were her long lost son, which he endured patiently.  He waited a whole sennight before moving his household to Corago's enormous house where there were so many rooms that everyone could have a separate sleeping chamber.

Charissa moved baby Garanth from Amantis' bedroom to the room next door saying both he and the baby would sleep better that way.  Then she moved in with the baby.  When he confronted her, she would always claim that she had simply fallen asleep while trying to get the baby to go to bed, but he was certain she intended to never share his bed again.

Amantis permitted this for a time, though he burned with anger and shame.  He bought her dresses and jewelry with his new-found wealth, determined to win her over.  He spoke kindly to her and even took an interest in the baby which only ever earned him sullen and suspicious looks.  Finally, Amantis determined that he had done all he could to win Charissa's heart and it was now time for her to do her part. 

After bathing, perfuming himself and even burning incense in his room, Amantis put on an expensive new white silk robe.  He found more of that very rare faeyn wine in Corago's extensive cellar and had a skin of it brought up.  He lay out a bowl of fruit and lit a number of wax candles before sending Troekis out to bring her to his bedchamber.

Sitting on his bed he waited patiently for her arrival, picturing the moment she stepped through the door, reserved, perhaps even sullen.  He'd ply her with wine to loosen her up.  He'd apologize from taking her from her home (though it wasn't really his fault).  He'd proclaim his love for her, remind her of all he'd done for her and tell her all he had planned to do for her.  He'd turn her thoughts from her grievances to the wonderful future he would provide her and then, when she'd been softened up, he'd drop his big surprise.  He'd offer to bring her parents to Nur to live near her.  He'd provide them a small house or, if she insisted, provide them with a room in his house.  He could even add on to the house.  He immediately thought of a spot on the east side where he could take out a wall—"

A soft knock came from his bedroom door.

"Enter!" he called out, his heartbeat accelerating in anticipation.

The door cracked open and Troekis poked his head inside.  "She won't come."

"Won't come?  Why won't she come?  Is it her time of the maht?"

"She didn't say.  She won't say anything to me."

Amantis leaped to his feet.  How dare she, he thought.  How dare she, after all he'd tried to do for her.  "Thank you," he growled through clenched teeth, watching Troekis slip out and close the door behind him.  This will not continue, he vowed to himself.  Was he not her husband?  It was time she learned her place!

With cold rage, Amantis took a candle and went next door to Garanth's room.  He jerked the door open and stepped inside.  "Why do you continually insult me?" he hissed.

Charissa lay on the bed, eyes closed, with one arm around the baby.

"I put a roof over your head.  I provide you with choice foods and expensive clothes.  I treat you with nothing but kindness, but you treat me with nothing but contempt!"  Amantis paused, fist clenched, breathing heavily.  He pictured beating her until that stubborn will of hers broke.  The satisfaction he anticipated nearly provoked him to do it.  Only the certainty that it would forever close her heart to him gave him pause.  "Answer me woman!  I am your husband!" 

Baby Garanth stirred and began to cry in a sleepy way.  Charissa rose on one elbow, shushing the baby and stroking it.  "You are not now, you have never been, nor will you ever be my husband," she said coldly.

Amantis nearly laughed in disbelief.  "How can you say that?  You were there!  Vows were made and received.  Your own parents were witnesses."

Charissa picked up the fussing baby and began to rock him.  "I never made any vows.  I merely repeated meaningless words my parents gave me to say.  I never wanted to be your wife.  If you had not forced yourself upon me and put a child in my belly, I would not be here now."

"Forced you?  But you wanted—"

"What I wanted had nothing to do with you!" she snapped.

Amantis' mind whirled.  How could he have so misunderstood her?  It suddenly seemed as if the Charissa he knew had been replaced with a different person.  He knew she had been unhappy with him, but he had never guessed at the calcified hatred she bore him.  "It seems, then, that we shall both be disappointed.  However, regardless of the past, we are man and wife now and it is time you lived up to your obligations."

"I will never be your wife!  And you will never touch me again as long as I live!"  Baby Garanth began crying again.  "Now go away!  You're making the baby cry."

"That is my child too.  I should take it away from you."

"You wouldn't dare!"  Charissa looked up at him, her eyes flashing red as they caught the candlelight.  Her voice came out slow and cold like a blade's edge sliding over a whetstone.  "If you so much as touch him, you will awake one night to find a knife in your throat."