Athyra (10 page)

Vlad walked over to her. Savn stood up and followed.

“Good evening, my lady,” began Vlad.

The minstrel frowned at him briefly, but said, “And a good evening to you as well.”

“My name is Vlad. May I join you for a moment?” As he spoke, he seemed to show her something in his hand. Savn looked at her face in time to see her eyes widen very briefly.

Then she recovered and said, “By all means. Please sit down. It is a pleasure indeed to meet you, Vlad. Who is your friend?”

“My—” Vlad turned, and Savn realized that the Easterner hadn’t known he’d been followed. For an instant he seemed annoyed, but he only shrugged and said,

“His name is Savn.”

“How do you do, Savn?”

Savn found his voice and made a courtesy. “Very well, m’lady.”

“Would you both do me the honor of sitting with me?”

They sat. Vlad said, “Please accept my compliments on your performance.”

“Thank you,” she said. And, to Savn, “You seemed to be enjoying the music a great deal.”

“Oh, I was,” said Savn, while he wondered if the Issola’s remarks contained a hint that she had noticed how little attention Vlad had actually been paying to the music. If so, Vlad gave no sign of it.

“First things first,” said Vlad. He handed her a small piece of paper, folded so that Savn couldn’t read it.

The Issola opened it up, glanced at it, put it into her pouch, and smiled. “Very well, my lord,” she said. “Now, what can I do for you?”

“My lord’? thought Savn, startled. How can an Easterner be ‘my lord’?

“I have a few questions for you. Perhaps you can answer them, perhaps not.”

“I will certainly try,” said the minstrel. “Do you know Baron Smallcliff?”

“Indeed, yes. I gave him a performance yesterday.”

“Excellent.” He paused, thinking, then glanced at Savn. “I wonder,” he said, “if you would be so good as to return to the table, Savn. I’d really rather make this private, if you don’t mind.”

“I don’t mind,” lied Savn. He stood and gave the minstrel another courtesy. “It has been an honor to meet you, my lady,” he said.

“And a pleasure to meet you, Savn,” said the minstrel.

As Savn walked back to the table he felt that everyone was either staring at him or pointedly not staring at him. He glanced at his friends, and this time there was no mistake; Coral, who was speaking to the others, was at the same time directing a look of unconcealed hatred at Savn.

The feeling of being the center of hostile attention suddenly became so strong that before Savn could reach his seat, he found that he had turned and begun walking toward the door.

And by the time he reached it, he was running.

How long he ran or where he went he did not know, but at last he found that he was lying on the soft grass of a hill, staring up at the dead night sky, breathing in the smell of autumn leaves.

He tried to account for his friends’ behavior, but he couldn’t. He tried to understand his own reaction, his panicked flight, but his mind shied away from the subject.

He thought about going back to Tem’s house and asking his friends to tell him what the problem was. But what if they did? What if, as they were almost certain to do, they berated him for associating with the Easterner? What would he say? And, for that matter, why was he spending so much time with the Easterner? He stood up and looked around. He was west of town, not far from Master Wag’s, and quite near the road. The way home would take him past Tem’s house. He thought of taking a long way round, but chided himself for cowardice. He climbed up to the road and turned toward town. It was late; Mae and Pae would be starting to worry about him soon. He broke into a jog. He passed Tem’s house. It was quiet, and he thought about going in, but quickly rejected the idea; he had no intention of confronting his friends tonight—not until he knew what to say to them.

His lengthening shadow, cast by the lamp from Tem’s, preceded him down the road out of the cluster of buildings he thought of as “town.” As it disappeared, he nearly ran into an indistinct shape that appeared in front of him. He stopped, and the shape resolved itself into several, he thought three or four, individual areas of darkness darker than the night around them. It took the length of two breaths for Savn to realize that they were people.

The panic that had gripped him before was suddenly back, but he resolved not to give in to it. If it was only his imagination at work, he’d look ridiculous if he ran away. And if it wasn’t, running probably wouldn’t help.

“Hi,” he said. “I can’t see who you are.”

There was the sound of soft laughter, and he knew, with stomach-dropping certainty, that his fear was not misplaced.

“Who are you?” he said, trying to think of something to say that might get him out of this.

“We’re your friends,” said a voice he recognized as Coral’s. “We’re your friends, and we want to know why you don’t introduce us to your new buddy?”

Savn found that he had some difficulty swallowing. “You want to meet him? Sure. I mean, he’s just a guy. You’d like him. Why don’t we—”

“Shut up,” said Coral, and, at the same time, someone pushed Savn. He said, “Coral? Look—”

“Shut up,” repeated Coral.

He was pushed again, this time so hard that he fell over. His fall was cause for more laughter. He wondered who else was there. He thought uncomfortably about how big Lan was.

He thought about trying to run, then, but one of the three was bound to catch him, and it would probably make it worse if he tried to run. He stood up slowly, trying to think of something to do, and not succeeding.

Coral called him a name and waited. Savn didn’t do anything. He was sent sprawling once more, and once more he got up. He thought about charging them, but he couldn’t make himself do it; some part of him kept hoping that they’d be satisfied just to push him around a bit, although he knew the hope was vain. Then the boy next to Coral called him another name, and Savn recognized Lan’s voice. He guessed the third to be Lan’s brother Tuk, and this was confirmed in a moment.

Savn stood and waited, feeling as if none of this could really be happening. Someone pushed him yet again; then someone else pushed him, and this continued for a dizzying time until he fell to the ground again. He wondered what would happen if he just lay there, and decided they’d probably kick him. He stood up slowly, wondering in a distant way if they could see him well enough to hit him. Then someone punched him in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him and doubling him over. Answers that question, he thought, beginning to feel as if he were somewhere else.

“Here, let me,” said Lan, and Savn waited.

* * *

Her mate was trying to tell her there was a problem, and she didn’t understand what he meant-. Well, she understood the part about there being a problem, but not what it was. She tried to tell her mate this, and he, in turn, got confused. They wheeled about in the sky.

After a time, he managed to convey what he wanted, if not why he, or, rather, the Provider, wanted it done. She didn’t have any real objection, but she didn’t understand how they were to tell one of them from the others. Her mate seemed to think that this didn’t matter, that things would work out anyway. This was somewhat puzzling, but she trusted him.

He led her through the sky, below the overcast.

On the ground, a grey wildcat prowled the night, leaving her nest briefly unattended. She called her mate’s attention to this, but he insisted that this other matter, whatever it was, should be attended to first.

They came to a place, and through the darkness, she became aware of a group of animals, much like the Provider himself, huddled together as if in a herd. They circled, and, after a time, it began to look as if one was being singled out by the others, either to be driven off, or to be mated with, or for some other reason. Was that the one? she wondered. No, all of the others.

Very well, then. Now?

Now.

They flew down together. She felt her wings cup the air, and she was suddenly very close to one of them, his face white and ugly in front of her—

And, her mate insisted in her mind, they were not to bite. How could she not bite? How?

Very well, she would do her best for him.

She hissed and veered away, looking for another, but the others were already running away. Would her mate allow pursuit? Yes, he would allow pursuit. A little, at any rate. She set off after them.

When her mate thought they had frightened them enough, she pulled up, swirled around her lover, held her breath, and they climbed above the overcast once more, taken again by the sudden beauty of the countless stars. They danced there for a while, laughing together, then turned to where the Provider waited for them with, her mate told her, his thanks.

Just his thanks? Wasn’t there, something tasty to go along with his thanks? Of course. Wasn’t there always?

Chapter Eight

I will not many a guzzling drinker,

I will not marry a guzzling drinker.

He’d be no lover and no thinker.

Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!

Step on out ...

Savn stepped into the house, shutting the chill out behind him. The fire on the hearth had died down to coals, but the stove was still giving off heat. It seemed very safe; but he didn’t feel any sense of relief. This was strange, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t felt frightened—that he hadn’t felt much of anything.

“Where have you been?” said Mae, in a dim, distracted sort of way, as if she expected a reasonable answer, and would be satisfied with almost anything. Even while Savn was wondering what to say, he heard his own voice explaining,

“A minstrel showed up at Tern’s house, so I stopped and listened to her.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” Mae said. “Perhaps tomorrow, after the harvest is done, we’ll all go together. Was she good?”

“Yes, Mae,” said Savn, wondering how he was managing to answer.

“Well, go to bed now. Your sister’s already asleep, and we have a big day tomorrow.”

“I will, Mae.”

Pae listened to this mild interrogation with abstracted interest, and made no comment.

There is much that I do not understand, thought Savn, looking at Mae and Pae. Everything has changed somehow, and nothing makes sense anymore. Why don’t I care? What is happening to them? What is happening to me?

Savn found his place next to Polyi, who was already asleep. He got into his nightclothes and crawled in among the furs, warmed by the low fire in the stove. It was starting to get chilly at night. Funny he hadn’t noticed it earlier this evening. Or maybe not; he’d been occupied with—with other things.

He lay back and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts running in circles like mating tsalmoth.

Tomorrow morning would see the end of the harvest. Then would come the Festival. Then would come ... what?

He didn’t want to stay in Smallcliff anymore, but the idea of leaving was dim, impossible, unreal—as unreal as the experience outside the house, as unreal as those things he’d learned from the Easterner, as unreal as what had happened that night. He was caught between leaving and staying, but the choice was somewhere off in the distance. The idea of the morning was also dim, impossible, and unreal. And the day that was ending could not have happened. Maybe it was a dream. He’d have to tell Coral about it....

Coral ... the jhereg ... the same ones? Vlad ... What do you do when nothing makes sense? Stare at the ceiling and watch it dissolve into wavy lines, and wonder if your future is engraved therein.

Savn slept, and if he dreamed, he had no memory of it. The next thing he knew it had become morning, and with the morning came the familiar sounds of everyone stirring around and the smell of the tea that Pae, always the first one up, brewed fresh for the family every morning. Savn’s arms were stiff and sore; he had fallen asleep with them locked behind his head. He made fists and shook his arms, then stared at his hands as if they were not part of him. He remembered that Vlad had looked in the same way at his maimed hand.

Everything had an odd, ethereal feel, as if time had become disconnected. Savn stood outside the house and realized that he didn’t remember breaking his fast, yet he felt the warmth of the bread in his stomach. Later he stood behind Polyi, holding a sack, and didn’t remember getting there, nor how the sack had become so full. Pae was in the bins, already beginning to seed and strip the plants, preparing to send them off to town, while Mae was counting and weighing the sacks in order to make the account, so Savn and Polyi were alone in the field. Occasionally Polyi would say something, and Savn would realize a little later that he had answered, but he had no memory of the conversation.

They finished the harvest, and he hardly noticed. Polyi cut the last plant, Savn put it in the half-full sack, tied it, and hauled it in to Pae. There had been no need for such caution; it hadn’t rained. But then, if they’d neglected to store everything in the bin, it probably would have. Was that really true? Was anything really true? Savn set the sack next to the full ones. He felt Polyi standing behind him. Pae looked at the sack, and gave Savn a smile which he felt himself responding to.

“That’s it,” said Polyi.

“Well,” said Pae, standing, his knees cracking. He wiped his hands on his leggings, and said, “Fetch the bottle, then. You know where it is.”

He’s an old man, thought Savn suddenly. But that thought, too, was distant.

“Mae’s getting it already,” said Polyi. “Are we going to drink it here?” She looked around the bin, full of sacks. The smell of linseed oil seemed to hang in the air.

“Why not?” said Pae. “Well, perhaps we can step out into the air.”

It’s odd, thought Savn, that none of them think I’m acting strange. Even Polyi didn’t notice while we were working. Maybe I’m not acting strange at all. Maybe I just feel funny, and no one can tell.

Mae came in with the bottle and four of the special mugs, set on the silver tray. She unwrapped the top, pulled the wax from the bottle’s mouth, and handed it to Pae to pour. Savn was keenly aware of the faded black lettering against the green label, and found himself wondering who had written that label—Was it done where the wine was made? Who made the bottle? Did he live in a big city somewhere? Did he ever wonder who would buy the bottle, and what would go in it, and who would drink from it? For that matter, Savn thought, where does all of this flax go? That last plant we cut down, what will happen to it? Will the fiber be thrown away, or turned into linen? What will the linen be used for? Sheets? Perhaps a gown for a lady? Who will wear it? The seeds will be turned into oil blocks, and then it will be put in the coolhouse, and then packed into barrels and sent somewhere. Who will use that bit of oil? And for what? Probably it will be made into linseed meal to feed the livestock. Or maybe given to His Lordship to sell. His Lordship ... Could he really be undead? Savn shuddered, and became aware that he was now back in the house, standing in a huddle with Mae, Pae, and Polyi, and that the ritual wine-drinking had ended, and he felt a dim sadness that he hadn’t been aware of it—he only knew he had participated from the sting on his tongue, the cool ceramic in his hand, and the faint ring of half-remembered words in his ear. He recalled the end of harvest from all the other years, and the memories blended together as tears threatened to come to his eyes, but even this sadness was far removed from where he drifted, in the center of his emotions but not part of them. “I can’t believe it’s over,” he said. “Hunh,” said Mae, who was drinking while sitting on the cushions below the loft. “It’s over for you, perhaps, but we still have to—”

“None of that, Mae,” said Savn’s father. “The hard part is over, and the children can enjoy themselves today.”

Savn wondered if they’d still be “the children” when they had survived a millennium and had children of their own. Probably. He made a note to himself, for the hun—

dredth time, not to refer to his own children that way after they reached their sixtieth year. Well, seventieth, maybe. On reflection, he had been pretty young at seventy.

After eating, for which they allowed a good, long time, and after the dishes had been cleaned, Savn and Polyi took a slow walk around what had been the garden, jumping from stone to stone and playing sticks and bricks. Polyi chatted about how sore she was, and how she hadn’t even noticed at the time, and about how it was such a shame that by the time harvest was over it was too late to swim, and did he remember the sweater she’d been working on all summer, and did he think the color was right for her. Savn said that this was the first harvest he remembered where he wasn’t sore afterwards, and attributed it to the way he’d spent most of the summer rearranging Master Wag’s house, and that he, too, would enjoy swimming, and did Polyi know a girl named Lova and what did she think of her. It was, in all, one of the most pleasant mornings Savn had had since summer, and he felt sad that he wasn’t really there to enjoy it.

He heard Polyi suggesting that they go to Tern’s house early; she had heard that a minstrel had arrived last night. Savn heard himself agreeing. Tern’s house? Yes, there will be a minstrel. And Vlad will be there, and perhaps Coral and Tuk and Lan. Why aren’t I afraid?

Mae and Pae didn’t mind their leaving early.

What had Pae said? Something about having done well this year. Savn put the big kettle over the fire to prepare bath water for himself and Polyi, then stood in the door, looking out over the stubble of the harvested fields, and a little later he realized that he was now wearing clean clothes, and his hair smelled of soap. Polyi was saying that she was ready to go, and asking if Savn was.

He shook his head, as if he could clear it of whatever strange mood had fallen upon him, then nodded to Polyi. She looked slightly puzzled, then seemed to forget about it as they set off for town.

The morning was still bright around them, the air cool with the promise of autumn. The red, yellow, and gold of the leaves, already starting to fall, exploded all about them as they walked. Polyi sang “Dung-Foot Peasant,” and didn’t seem to notice that Savn wasn’t joining in.

They passed the place where, as near as he could guess, he had been attacked the night before by his best friends. Why aren’t I afraid?

As they came into town, Savn noticed Bless on the other side of the street, along with his apprentice, Ori. Ori was looking at them, but then he looked away and said something to Bless, who glanced at them quickly, took Ori by the shoulder, and turned him in the other direction while saying something in his ear. Why don’t I care? Polyi had not noticed them, which seemed odd, too; Polyi, like all the other girls in town, always noticed Ori.

Maybe it’s a disease, and I’ve given it to Mae and Pae and Polyi. I could ask Master Wag. Only I won’t. Perhaps I

should ask Bless, but I don’t think he wants to talk to me. Tern’s house was empty except for Tern and Vlad, the one behind his counter, the other at the far end of the room. The minstrel was not in sight. Savn looked at the Easterner, and found that he had begun to tremble.

“What is it, Savn?” said Polyi.

So, she’s noticing something, he thought. “Nothing. I don’t feel well.”

“Here, sit down.”

“Yes.”

Vlad was not looking at him.

He realized, and wondered why it had taken him so long, that the Easterner had, somehow, been responsible for the two jhereg who had chased Coral, Lan, and Tuk away last night. Yes. It had really happened. They were going to beat him—had actually hit him—and then there was the flapping, and the small, horrible shapes, wings dark in the darkness. It had been real. It had all been real. And, somehow, the Easterner had done it. Polyi went to fetch ale for him and watered wine for herself while Savn sat and trembled. To have such power ...

He glanced at Vlad, but the Easterner was sitting back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if deep in thought. Savn’s intention had been to ignore Vlad; and if Vlad had even looked at him, he would have been able to do it. But it was as if Vlad, by ignoring him, was saying, “I understand that you don’t want to be seen with me, and it’s all right.” And that was something Savn would hate.

Polyi came back and set a glass down in front of him. He stood up and said, “I’ll be back in a minute,” and walked over to Vlad’s table. The Easterner glanced up at him, then looked away as if he didn’t recognize him.

Savn hesitated, then sat down.

Vlad looked at him again. “Good morning,” he said. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

“Harvest is done,” said Savn. “We finished early.”

“Congratulations. I suppose there will be a festival before too long.”

“Yes.”

“You’ll enjoy that, I think.”

“Yes.”

Vlad looked at him closely, his eyes narrow. “What is it?” he said.

“Nothing.”

“Crap. What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. I feel funny.”

“Funny, how?”

“Disconnected.”

“Mram. How long have you had this feeling?”

Savn suddenly wanted to laugh, because Vlad was sounding like Master Wag. He did not laugh, however. He said, “I guess since this morning. No, last night, I suppose.”

Vlad nodded, slowly, still watching Savn’s face. “It’ll pass,” he said. “I know the feeling. Believe me, I know the feeling.”

Savn whispered, “Why did you do it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

He cleared his throat. “Why did they do it?”

“Do what?” said Vlad.

Savn tried to find some indication in the Easterner’s face that he knew what Savn was talking about, but Vlad seemed to be frankly inquiring. “My friends tried to be beat me last night.”

“Oh,” said Vlad. “I’m sorry.”

“But why?”

“I don’t know,” said Vlad. “Fear, perhaps.”

“Of me?”

“Of me.”

“Oh.” Savn could feel Vlad’s eyes on him. He looked back, then said, “What did you do?”

“I?” said Vlad. “Nothing.”

“But I would have been beaten if—”