“Can she not?” said the kelda.
“She’s nae a pictsie, mother!”
“She’s a bit on the large side, aye,” said the kelda. “Dinna fret, Tiffan. It willna be for long. I just need ye to mind things for a wee while. Mind the land like yer granny did, and mind my boys. Then when yer wee boy is back home, Hamish’ll fly up to the mountains and let it be known that the Chalk Hill clan has want o’ a kelda. We’ve got a good place here, and the girls’ll come flockin’. What d’ye say?”
“She disna know our ways!” Fion protested. “Ye’re overtired, mother!”
“Aye, I am,” said the kelda. “But a daughter canna run her mother’s clan, ye know that. Ye’re a dutiful girl, Fion, but it’s time ye were picking’ your bodyguard and going awa’ seeking a clan of your own. Ye canna stay here.” The kelda looked up at Tiffany again. “Will ye, Tiffan?” She held up a thumb the size of a match head and waited.
“What will I have to do?” said Tiffany.
“The thinkin’,” said the kelda, still holding up her thumb. “My lads are good lads, there’s none braver. But they think their heids is most useful as weapons. That’s lads for ye. We pictsies aren’t like you big folk, ye ken. Ye have many sisters? Fion here has none. She’s my only daughter. A kelda might be blessed wi’ only one daughter in her whole life, but she’ll have hundreds and hundreds o’ sons.”
“They are all your sons?” said Tiffany, aghast.
“Oh aye,” said the kelda, smiling. “Oh, dinna look so astonished. The bairns are really wee when they’re borned, like little peas in a pod. And they grow up fast.” She sighed. “But sometimes I think all the brains is saved for the daughters. They’re good boys, but they’re no’ great thinkers. You’ll have to help them help ye.”
“Mother, she canna carry oot the duties o’ a kelda!” Fion protested.
“I don’t see why not, if they’re explained to me,” said Tiffany.
“Oh, do you not?” said Fion sharply. “Weel, that’s gonna be most interesting!”
“I recall Sarah Aching talkin’ aboot ye,” said the kelda. “She said ye were a strange wee one, always watchin’ and listenin’. She said ye had a heid full o’words that ye ne’er spoke aloud. She wondered what’d become o’ ye. Time for ye to find oot, aye?”
Aware of Fion glaring at her, and maybe because of Fion glaring at her, Tiffany licked her thumb and touched it gently against the kelda’s tiny thumb.
“It is done, then,” said the kelda. She lay back suddenly, and just as suddenly seemed to shrink. There were more lines in her face now. “Never let it be said I left my sons wi’oot a kelda to mind them,” she muttered. “Now I can go back to the Last World. Tiffan is the kelda for now, Fion. In her hoose, ye’ll do what she says.”
Fion looked down at her feet. Tiffany could see that she was angry.
The kelda lay back. She beckoned Tiffany closer, and in a weaker voice said: “There. ’Tis done. And now for my part o’ the bargain. Listen. Find…the place where the time disna fit. There’s the way in. It’ll shine out to ye. Bring him back to ease yer puir mother’s heart and mebbe also your ain head—”
Her voice faltered, and Fion leaned quickly toward the bed.
The kelda sniffed.
She opened one eye.
“Not quite yet,” she murmured to Fion. “Do I smell a wee drop of Special Sheep Liniment on ye, kelda?”
Tiffany looked puzzled for a moment and then said: “Oh, me. Oh. Yes. Er…here….”
The kelda struggled to sit up again. “The best thing humans ever made,” she said. “I’ll just have a large wee drop, Fion.”
“It puts hairs on your chest,” Tiffany warned.
“Ach, weel, for a drop of Sarah Aching’s Special Sheep Liniment I’ll risk a curl or two,” said the old kelda. She took from Fion a leather cup about the size of a thimble and held it up.
“I dinna think it would be good for ye, mother,” said Fion.
“I’ll be the judge o’ that at this time,” said the kelda. “One drop afore I go, please, Kelda Tiffan.”
Tiffany tipped the bottle slightly. The kelda shook the cup irritably.
“It was a larger drop I had in mind, kelda,” she said. “A kelda has a generous heart.”
She took something too small to be a gulp but too large to be a sip.