The Book of Athyra, Page 2

  Savn cleared his throat and said, “Did I, um, interrupt something?”

  The other smiled, but it wasn’t clear what sort of thought or emotion might have prompted that smile. “Are you familiar with witchcraft?” he said.

  “Not very.”

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  “I mean, I know that you, um, that it is practiced by—is that what you were doing?”

  The stranger still wore his smile. “My name is Vlad,” he said.

  “I’m Savn.”

  He gave Savn a bow as to an equal. It didn’t occur to Savn until later that he ought to have been offended by this. Then the one called Vlad said, “You are the first person I’ve met in this town. What is it called?”

  “Smallcliff.”

  “Then there’s a small cliff nearby?”

  Savn nodded. “That way,” he said, pointing back the way he’d come.

  “That would make it a good name, then.”

  “You are from the south?”

  “Yes. Does my speech give me away?”

  Savn nodded. “Where in the south?”

  “Oh, a number of places.”

  “Is it, um, polite to ask what your spell was intended to do? I don’t know anything about witchcraft.”

  Vlad gave him a smile that was not unkind. “It’s polite,” he said, “as long as you don’t insist that I answer.”

  “Oh.” He wondered if he should consider this a refusal, and decided it would be safer to do so. It was hard to know what the Easterner’s facial expressions meant, which was the first time Savn had realized how much he depended on these expressions to understand what people were saying. He said, “Are you going to be around here long?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps. It depends on how it feels. I don’t usually stay anywhere very long. But while we’re on the subject, can you recommend an inn?”

  Savn blinked at him. “I don’t understand.”

  “A hostel?”

  Savn shook his head, confused. “We’re mostly pretty friendly here—”

  “A place to spend the night?”

  “Oh. Tem lets rooms to travelers.”

  “Good. Where?”

  Savn hesitated, then said, “I’m going that way myself, if you would like to accompany me.”

  Vlad hesitated in his turn, then said, “Are you certain it would be no trouble?”

  “None at all. I will be passing Tem’s house in any case.”

  “Excellent. Then forward, Undauntra, lest fear snag our heels.”

  “What?”

  “The Tower and the Tree, Act Two, Scene Four. Never mind. Lead the way.”

  As they set off along the Manor Road, Vlad said, “Where did you say you are off too?”

  “I’m just coming home from my day with Master Wag. I’m his apprentice.”

  “Forgive my ignorance, but who is Master Wag?”

  “He’s our physicker,” said Savn proudly. “There are only three in the whole country.”

  “A good thing to have. Does he serve Baron Smallcliff, too?”

  “What? Oh, no,” said Savn, shocked. It had never occurred to him that the Baron could fall ill or be injured. Although, now that Savn thought of it, it was certainly possible. He said, “His Lordship, well, I don’t know what he does, but Master Wag is ours.”

  The Easterner nodded, as if this confirmed something he knew or had guessed.

  “What do you do there?”

  “Well, many things. Today I helped Master Wag in the preparation of a splint for Dame Sullen’s arm, and reviewed the Nine Bracings of Limbs at the same time.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “And, of course, I learn to tell stories.”

  “Stories?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Savn frowned, then said, “Don’t all physickers tell stories?”

  “Not where I’m from.”

  “The south?”

  “A number of places.”

  “Oh. Well, you tell stories so the patient has something to keep his mind occupied while you physick him, do you see?”

  “That makes sense. I’ve told a few stories myself.”

  “Have you? I love stories. Perhaps you could—”

  “No, I don’t think so. It was a special circumstance. Some fool kept paying me to tell him about my life; I never knew why. But the money was good. And he was able to convince me no one would hear about it.”

  “Is that what you do? Tell stories?”

  The Easterner laughed slightly. “Not really, no. Lately I’ve just been wandering.”

  “To something, or away from something?”

  Vlad shot him a quick glance. “An astute question. How old are you? No, never mind. What’s the food like at this place you’re taking me to?”

  “Mostly salad this time of year. It’s the harvest, you know.”

  “Oh, of course. I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Vlad looked around as they walked. “I’m surprised,” he remarked a little later, “that this has never been cleared for farming.”

  “Too wet on this side of the hill,” said Savn. “The flax needs dry soil.”

  “Flax? Is that all you grow around here?”

  “Almost. There’s a little maize for the stock, but it doesn’t really grow well in this soil. It’s mostly flax.”

  “That accounts for it.”

  They reached the top of the hill and started down. Savn said, “Accounts for what?”

  “The smell.”

  “Smell?”

  “It must be flax oil.”

  “Oh. Linseed oil. I guess I must be used to it.”

  “That must have been what they served the last place I ate, too, half a day east of here.”

  “That would be Whiterock. I’ve been there twice.”

  Vlad nodded. “I didn’t really notice the taste in the stew, but it made the salad interesting.”

  Savn thought he detected a hint of irony in the other’s tone but he wasn’t certain. “Some types of flax are used for cooking, some we use to make linen.”

  “Linen?”

  “Yes.”

  “You cook with the same stuff you make clothes out of?”

  “No, not the same. It’s different.”

  “They probably made a mistake, then,” said Vlad. “That would account for the salad.”

  Savn glanced back at him, but still wasn’t certain if he were joking. “It’s easy to tell the difference,” he said. “When you make the seedblocks and leave them in the coolhouse in barrels, the true, true salad flax will melt—”

  “Never mind,” said Vlad. “I’m certain you can tell.”

  A pair of jhereg flew from a tree and were lost in the woods before them. Savn wondered if they might be the same pair he had seen earlier.

  They came to the last hill before Tem’s house. Savn said, “You never answered my question.”

  “Question?”

  “Are you wandering to something, or away from something?”

  “It’s been so long, I’m not certain anymore.”

  “Oh. May I ask you something?”

  “Certainly. I might not answer.”

  “If you don’t tell stories, what do you do?”

  “You mean, everyone must do something?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “I’m not too bad a hunter.”

  “Oh.”

  “And I have a few pieces of gold, which I show around when I have to.”

  “You just show them around?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What does that do?”

  “Makes people want to take them away from me.”

  “Well, yes, but—”

  “And when they try, I end up with whatever they’re carrying, which is usually enough for my humble needs.”

  Savn looked at him, again trying to decide if he were joking, but the Easterner’s mouth was all but hidden beneath the black hair that grew above
his lip.

  Savn tore his eyes away, lest he be thought rude. “That’s it below, sir,” he said, wondering if he ought to say “sir” to an Easterner.

  “Call me Vlad.”

  “All right. I hope the house is to your liking.”

  “I’m certain it will be fine,” he said. “Spend a few weeks in the jungles and it’s amazing how little it takes to feel like luxury. May I give you something?”

  Savn frowned, taken by a sudden suspicion he couldn’t explain. “What do you mean?”

  “It is the custom of my people to give a gift to the first person we meet in a new land. It is supposed to bring luck. I don’t know that I believe it, but I’ve taken to following the old customs anyway.”

  “What—?”

  “Here.” He reached into his pouch, found something, and held it out.

  “What is it?” said Savn.

  “A polished stone I picked up in my wanderings.”

  Savn stared at it, torn between fear and excitement. “Is it magical?”

  “It’s just a stone.”

  “Oh,” said Savn. “It’s a very nice green.”

  “Yes. Please keep it.”

  “Well, thank you,” said Savn, still staring at it. It had been polished until it gleamed. Savn wondered how one might polish a stone, and why one would bother. He took it and put it into his pocket. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”

  “Maybe you will,” said Vlad, and entered the house. Savn wished he could go in with him, just to see the look on Tem’s face when an Easterner walked through the door, but it was already dark and his family would be waiting for him, and Paener always got grumpy when he didn’t get home to eat on time.

  As Savn walked home, which was more than another league, he wondered about the Easterner—what he was doing here, whence he had come, whither he would go, and whether he was telling the truth about how he lived. Savn had no trouble believing that he hunted—(although how could he find game? Easterners couldn’t be sorcerers, could they?), but the other was curious, as well as exciting. Savn found himself doubting it, and by the time he reached the twinkling light visible through the oiled window of home, he had convinced himself that the Easterner had been making it up.

  At dinner that night Savn was silent and distracted, although neither Paener nor Maener noticed, being too tired to make small talk. His sister kept up a stream of chatter, and if she was aware of Savn’s failure to contribute, she didn’t say anything about it. The only time he was spoken to, when Mae asked him what he had learned that day from Master Wag, he just shrugged and muttered that he had been setting bones, after which his sister went off on another commentary about how stupid all the girls she knew were, and how annoying it was that she had to associate with them.

  After dinner he helped with some of the work—the little that could be done by Paener’s feeble light-spell. There was wood to be broken up into kindling (Paener and Maener chopped the big stuff—they said Savn wasn’t old enough yet), there was clearing leftover feed from the kethna pens so scavengers wouldn’t be attracted, and there was cleaning the tools for the next day’s harvest.

  When he was finished, he went out behind the small barn, sat down on one of the cutting stumps, and listened to the copperdove sing her night song from somewhere behind him. The copperdove would be leaving soon, going south until spring, taking with her the sparrow and the white-back, the redbird and the daythief. But for the first time, Savn wondered where they went, and what it was like there. It must be too hot for them in the summer, or they’d remain there, but other than that, what was it like? Did any people live there? If so, what were they like? Was there a Savn who watched the birds and wondered what happened when they flew back north?

  He had a sudden image of another Savn, a Savn naked to the waist and damp with sweat, staring back.

  I could just go, he thought. Not go back inside, not stop to get anything, just walk away. Find out where the copperdove goes, and who lives there, and what they’re like. I could do it now. But he knew he wouldn’t. He’d stay here, and—

  And what?

  He suddenly thought of the jhereg he’d seen on Tem’s roof. The flying reptiles were scavengers, just as, in another sense, were those of the House of the Jhereg. Savn had seen many of the animals, but none of the nobles of that House. What would it be like to encounter one?

  Why am I suddenly thinking about these things?

  And, What is happening to me? There was a sudden vertigo, so that he almost sat down, but he was afraid to move, for the instant was as wonderful as it was terrifying. He didn’t want to breathe, yet he was keenly aware of doing so, of the air moving in and out of his lungs, and even filling his whole body, which was impossible. And in front of him was a great road with brick walls and a sky that was horribly black. The road went on forever, and he knew that up ahead somewhere were branches that could lead anywhere. And looming over them was the face of the Easterner he had just met, and somehow the Easterner was opening up some paths and closing others. His heart was filled with the joy of loss and the pain of opportunity.

  With some part of his consciousness, he knew what was happening; some had called it Touching the Gods, and there were supposed to be Athyra mystics who spent their lives in this state. He had heard of such experiences from friends, but had never more than half-believed them. “It’s like you’re touching the whole world at once,” said Coral. “It’s like you can see all around yourself, and inside everything,” said someone he couldn’t remember. And it was all of these things, but that was only a small part of it.

  What did it mean? Would it leave him changed? In what way? Who would he be when it was over?

  And then it was over; gone as quickly as it had come. Around him the copperdove still sang, and the cricket harmonized. He took deep breaths and closed his eyes, trying to burn the experience into his memory so he’d be able to taste it again. What would Mae and Pae say? And Coral? Polyi wouldn’t believe him, but that didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if anyone believed him. In fact, he wouldn’t tell them; he wouldn’t even tell Master Wag. This was his own, and he’d keep it that way, because he understood one thing—he could leave if he wanted to.

  Although he’d never thought about it before, he understood it with every sense of his body; he had the choice of the life of a physicker in Smallcliff, or something unknown in the world outside. Which would he choose? And when?

  He sat and wondered. Presently, the chill of early autumn made him shiver, and he went back inside.

  * * *

  Her name was Rocza, and sometimes she even answered to it.

  As she flew upward, broke through the overcast, and began to breathe again, the sky turned blue—a full, livid, dancing blue, spotted with white and grey, as on the ground below were spots of other colors, and to her there was little to choose among them. The dots above were pushed about by the wind; those below by, no doubt, something much like the wind but perhaps more difficult to recognize.

  She was not pushed by the wind, and neither did it carry her; rather, she slipped around it, and through it. It is said that sailors never mock the sea, yet she mocked the winds.

  Her lover was calling to her from below, and it was that strange call, the call that in all the years she had never understood. It was not food, nor danger, nor mating, although it bore a similarity to all of these; it was another call entirely, a call that meant her lover wanted them to do something for the Provider. She didn’t understand what bound her lover to the Provider, but bound he was, and he seemed to want it that way. It made no sense to her.

  But she responded, because he had called, and because he always responded when she called. The concept of fair play did not enter her brain, yet something very much akin whispered through her thoughts as she spun, held her breath, and sliced back through the overcast, sneering at an updraft and a swirl that she did not need. Her lover waited, and his eyes gleamed in that secret way.

  She saw the Provider before she scented hi
m, but she wasn’t aware of seeing, hearing, or smelling her lover; she simply knew where he was, and so they matched, and descended, and cupped the air together to land near the short, stubby, soft neck of the Provider, and await his wishes, to which they would give full attention and at least some consideration.

  2

  I will not marry a serving man,

  I will not marry a serving man,

  All that work I could not stand.

  Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

  Step on out . . .

  THE NEXT DAY WAS Endweek, which Savn spent at home, making soap and using it up, as he wryly put it to himself, but he took a certain satisfaction in seeing that the windowsill and the kitchen jars sparkled in the blaze of the open stove, and the cast-iron pump over the sink gave off its dull gleam. As he cleaned, his thoughts kept returning to the experience of the night before; yet the more he thought of it, the more it slipped away from him. Something had certainly happened. Why didn’t he feel different?

  He gradually realized that he did—that, as he cleaned, he kept thinking, This may be one of the last times I do this. These thoughts both excited and frightened him, until he realized that he was becoming too distracted to do a good job, whereupon he did his best to put it entirely out of his mind and just concentrate on his work.

  By the time he was finished, the entire cold-cellar had new ratkill and bugkill spells on it, the newer meal in the larder had been shuffled to the back, the new preserves in their pots had been stacked beneath the old, and everything was ready for the storebought they’d be returning with in the evening. His sister worked on the hearthroom, while Mae did the outside of the house and Pae cleaned the sleeping room and the loft.

  His work was done by the fourteenth hour of the morning, and everyone else’s within half an hour thereafter, so that shortly before noon they had a quick lunch of maize-bread and yellow pepper soup, after which they hitched Gleena and Ticky up to the wagon and set off for town. They always made the necessary stops in the same order, generally spiraling in toward Tem’s house where they would have the one bought meal of the week, along with ale for Mae, Pae, and, lately, Savn, and beetwater for Polyi while they listened to the farmers argue about whether the slight dry spell would mean lower yields and poorer crops, or would, in fact, tend to make the flax hardier in the long run. Those of Savn’s age would join in, listen, and occasionally make jokes calculated to make them appear clever to their elders or to those their own age of the desired sex, except for those who were apprenticed to trade, who would sit by themselves in a corner exchanging stories of what their Masters had put them through that week. Savn had his friends among this group.