Page 17 of Highland Slayer
“Hjälp mig,” she whispered urgently.
Mig. Estevan knew that meant “me,” but the other word sounded suspiciously like “help.” Was it possible she was asking for help? Or thanking him for help? He tried to think back to those days when he knew the language somewhat, thinking of what to say to her. He did remember the word for name because, long ago, the lads he used to play with had asked him what his name was in their language.
He pointed at her.
“Namn?” he asked.
Her eyes widened a little when he spoke a word she understood. That seemed to excite her.
“Leonore,” she said. “Leonore Callia.”
“What did you ask her?” Mother Michael asked.
Estevan turned his head in her direction. “Her name,” he said. “It is Leonore Callia.”
A sigh of satisfaction went on among the nuns who were standing around, including Mother Michael. Now they were getting somewhere.
“God be praised,” she said softly. “We have her name.Leonore. A beautiful name. Will you ask her where she comes from?”
Estevan wasn’t sure how to do that. He crouched down, a few feet away from Leonore as she watched him anxiously. The first thing he did was put his hand on his chest.
“Estevan,” he said. “Estevan.”
Leonore stared at him a moment in confusion before realizing what he was telling her. “Leonore,” she said, hand on her own chest. “Mitt namn är Leonore.”
“Mitt namn är Estevan.”
That short exchange brought some delight. Leonore’s face lit up and she laughed, probably with relief that she was getting somewhere with the language barrier. As Estevan smiled politely at her, Mother Michael patted him on the head, as if he were a dutiful child.
“Ask her where she comes from,” Mother Michael said eagerly. “More importantly, ask her where she belongs. We must send her home.”
Estevan sighed heavily. “I’m not sure I’m skilled enough tae ask her that,” he said. “I dunna know enough of the language tae be clear, I’m afraid.”
“Let me try.”
They both looked over to see Kaladin standing there. He was sleepy, but alert, rubbing his eyes as he gazed down at Leonore. But Estevan frowned.
“What makes ye think ye can do better than me?” he said. “Ye dunna know the language either.”
Kaladin crouched down next to his brother. “I was home with Papa as he did business with the princes of the isles while ye were fostering in England,” he said. “Ye only played with some of those children when ye were very young. How much can ye know?”
Estevan pursed his lips with annoyance. “Fine,” he said. “Ye try tae communicate with her. Let’s see ye ask her where she’s from.”
Kaladin was determined to show up his brother. He looked at the woman and gestured to himself. “Kaladin,” he said. “Jag är Kaladin.”
Leonore’s features brightened again, the same way they had with Estevan. “Kaladin,” she repeated. “Kan du hjälpa mig?”
“Aye.” Kaladin nodded. “Ditt hem?”
He had only asked her where her home was. It should have been an equally short answer. But Leonore’s reply was long,painful, and complicated. No one, even Kaladin and Estevan, knew what she was talking about. She was gesturing north and south and then waving her hands about. She was also becoming more upset as she spoke, and by the time she finished, she was weeping. Kaladin and Estevan looked at each other in confusion, and concern, realizing they really couldn’t communicate with her well at all. Not well enough to truly understand her.
“Ye dunna know what she said?” Estevan asked his brother.
Kaladin was loath to admit he’d failed. “Just a few words,” he said. “I know the word for ‘home,’ and she asked about help, but beyond that… I’m afraid I only understood very few words.”
“What did she say?”
“Something about her home being in the north and she’d been brought here.”
