Magesong (10 page)

True, Tolan kept his distance from them, issued no
challenges, did nothing vengeful, only tried to regain his old status with the
more surly of the crew by working harder than any other crewman.  Yet to Reyin
it seemed that Tolan never stopped spying on them.  Although he never looked
them in the eyes, Reyin often spotted him keeping a surreptitious watch on
Farlo.

Each afternoon lingered longer and hotter than the last as
the ship stayed on a long southern tack.  As
Tarradid
crossed into
Syrolian waters, the wind fell and the sails wavered on the lightest of airs,
the ship nearly becalmed.  The word around the scuttlebutt was that Captain
Eltas would make an unscheduled stop at Kandin.

That night, even with the door and ports open, the
forecastle was hot and stuffy, and Reyin couldn't sleep.  He walked the deck in
search of a breeze, and at length settled down in a coil of rope near the jib
boom.  He was awakened there by the midnight watch and sent back to his own
hammock.

Farlo tossed as Reyin approached their niche.  By the
lantern that provided a dim light for the changing watches, Reyin saw him
clearly.  In the throes of heated sleep, Farlo had stripped off his shirt.

Reyin suddenly felt hollow.  The sweat-stained cloth Farlo
used to wrap his forearm had slipped down a little, revealing half of what
Reyin already knew to be there — the mark of the brandsman.

"Farlo," he hissed, "Farlo, wake up."

"What is it?"

Reyin pointed.  "Your arm."

Farlo quickly found a fresh handkerchief and replaced the
binding.  "Did anyone see?"

"I don't know, but half the midnight watch had to pass
you to get out on deck."

"What time is it now?"

Reyin fished for his pocket watch.  "A quarter to
one."

"If anyone had seen it, I'd be under arrest by now.  All
is well; go back to bed."

Reyin slept by fits.  When he dreamed, it was of being
chained below in the darkness of the hold.

The next day did nothing to relieve his apprehension.  A
light wind rose from the southwest, and the ship began a long, slow reach
toward the roads of Kandin, with all the topmen going aloft to set the royals
and trim the topgallants.  Tolan appeared to be in a jovial, almost playful
humor.  When he met Reyin's eyes, his gleamed as if he were savoring a fine
meal, with something satisfyingly left unsaid.  With an ill feeling, Reyin went
to Haffi, who had been officer of the midnight watch, and asked if Tolan had
stood that watch.  He had.  And Tolan's hammock hung in the most forward niche,
where the air was best.  He would have passed Farlo on his way out.  But if he
had seen, why would he not tell?

That night, Reyin dreamed black cacophony, hearing the
vibration of jackboots on stone, the syncopation of lashing cat-o'-nine-tails,
the clanging percussion of chains and locks. 

In the forecastle, Tolan smirked as Farlo came and went. 
Did Tolan know, and mean to torment Farlo with blackmail?  Perhaps Tolan didn't
trust the captain of an Orianan vessel, who had no obligation to Syrolian law,
and meant to report Farlo to the constables of Kandin.  Reyin had no doubt that
Eltas would surely arrest any escaped convict aboard Tarradid.  Maybe it was
something else.  Maybe Tolan planned to push Farlo overboard on the next stormy
night.  In any case, Tolan should be spied upon.

Now, what should he tell Farlo?  Nothing.  Farlo might do
anything.  Most likely he would walk up to Tolan, goad him into a knife fight,
and kill him.  Or get killed.  No, Reyin had to handle this himself.

So, for two days Reyin pretended to walk, to play the flute,
to read one of the Captain's books, while all the time he watched Tolan.  He
saw nothing damaging, only Tolan's knowing smile to Farlo each time they
passed.  Farlo noticed it, but passed it off as cowardly arrogance.  On the
second evening they sighted the lights of Kandin and jibbed toward them, the
order to drop anchor coming just before midnight.  At daybreak the captain
would send the longboat in to fetch a pilot.

The men of the lower deck, anticipating some hours ashore
the next day, did not so much sleep as lounge in the rhythmic sway of shadows
cast by the single lantern, trading talk of the pleasures of the Kandin
waterfront.  Tolan lay strangely silent about what he would do with his free
time in port.  Reyin took a bulging wineskin from his sea chest and went
forward.

"Excuse me, Mr. Tolan.  I wanted to say that I'm sorry
for how Farlo behaved last week.  He and I have made a pact not to drink on
this voyage, so we've saved our grog rations in this."  He held up the
skin.  "I'd like to give it to you, as a peace offering."

Tolan looked him up and down, like a captain inspecting a
midshipman, one lip slightly curled in distaste.  Then he laughed, reaching for
the wineskin.

"Sure buffo, I'll drink your old grog."  He opened
it, sniffed, and took a sip.  "There, that's it then," he said
merrily.  "All's forgotten."

"Thanks.  That's big of you."

Tolan said nothing, but simply looked inquiringly at him
with a blank grin.

"Well, um, I guess I'll let you get some shut-eye, busy
day tomorrow, huh?

Nodding, Tolan showed him his teeth.

"Goodnight," Reyin said as he backed away. 
"Enjoy the drink."

Tolan mimicked a salute with the skin of grog and took a
long pull at it.

Reyin passed his hammock and headed for the forecastle
door.  As Farlo had said, Tolan was indeed a liar.  Outside, the deck lay
empty, the sea quiet, the stars shining in a flawless night sky.  He climbed to
the deck that roofed the forecastle, following the rail until he stood above
the most forward porthole on the starboard side.  Tolan swung in his hammock
directly below.  Reyin, through his feet, could feel the vibrations of a basso
profundo voice — that would be Reime, one of Tolan's cronies.

Looking around for watchmen, and feeling a little childish,
he lay face down on the deck, inched forward between the rail supports, and let
his head hang over the side.  He could hear Tolan and Reime through the open
porthole.

They talked, more loudly as they drank, about places to game
in Kandin, about women they had met there, and argued over who was getting the
best share of the grog.

"It doesn't matter now," Tolan said, "there's
only one good snort left and I'm taking it."

"Go ahead, you bastard," Reime said in his booming
voice.  "It was good while it lasted.  Say, why is the buffo trying to get
on your good side all of a sudden?"

"I dunno, but he sure needs to, his friend the topman
leaving tomorrow and all."

"The topman is getting off the ship?  How do you
know?"

"You'll see."

Reyin needed to hear no more.  He eased himself back and
stood upright.  So he had been right about Tolan.  Now what?  He silently
cursed Farlo.  His skewed sense of justice had caused all this.

Reyin began pacing the circumference of the ship.  The wind
was calm, the night warm, and Tarradid rode its anchor with stillness.  Farlo
could jump ship as soon as they docked the next morning, and Reyin could meet
him later with all their goods, providing Farlo hadn't been caught, for Tolan
would surely inform the constabulary in any case.  If Farlo was caught while
they were together, Reyin might be charged with aiding an escaped criminal. 
And even if Farlo managed to avoid capture in the city, getting out under the
eye of the port authority would be very risky.  He needed to shut Tolan's
mouth.  He knew what Artemes would do — he would touch the sailor's mind and cloud
his thoughts so that he wouldn't remember his own name for days.

Reyin removed his left boot and
pried open the well-worn heel.  From a hollow place there, he took out the
Heartleech.

The bosun's forehead shone with sweat as he stood on the
steps to the quarterdeck addressing the crew.  Reyin looked out on the familiar
waterfront streets, the outlines of the palaces of state rising in the
distance. 

"Seein' how we did such a fine and sprightly job of
taking water aboard this mornin'," the bosun bellowed, "the Captain
is allowing a four-hour liberty this afternoon.  That don't mean you can take
five hours.  And there ain't no excuses 'cause of that great big clock tower
you can see from anywhere on the waterfront.  Any man returning late will be fined
two kandars.  Now mark this well:  we sail on the evening tide.  Any man not
aboard by then will be left behind, and he will forfeit all shares and wages
for the entire voyage.  Understand?"  The crew grumbled and nodded. 
"One last thing.  Everyone is on the evening watch tonight, so don't
forget the penalty for being drunk on duty.  Now go wash your ugly faces and
get some shoes on — liberty commences in ten minutes!"

A short whooping sound, then the crew swarmed the forecastle
in a flurry of hands and feet, shirts being thrown on, combs getting stuck in
thickly-matted hair, cries of, "Where's my stockings?" or, "Can
you loan me a few coppers?"  Farlo stayed out on deck, with no intention
of going ashore.  Reyin took a position near the forecastle door, a place where
anyone leaving would have to brush past him.  No one saw him prick his finger
with a sewing needle.

Tolan was one of the first.  He elbowed his way through the
crowded quarters.  When he ducked under the door jam, Reyin stopped him with a touch
on the arm.  Tolan turned, as if to throw a back-handed slap, stopping,
suddenly frozen as he locked eyes with Reyin.

With his other hand, Reyin pressed the Heartleech against
his own chest.

For a brief moment, he held Tolan with his gaze.

"It's easy to get lost in the city," he said
quietly.  He said it in the Essian Tongue, but Tolan understood.  The tall
seaman drifted away from Reyin, toward the gangplank where a few men were
already waiting.  He seemed to take no notice of anyone, not answering those
who spoke to him.  The ship's bell rang the start of liberty, and then they
were gone.

Reyin staggered to his hammock, sweating freely from every
pore.  His heart beat too fast; his head was on fire.  He struggled to breath. 
He climbed into his hammock, crying aloud from a pain that seared his inner
being, as if part of his life was being torn away.  Shaking uncontrollably, he
curled into a ball, wishing for sleep or death.  Neither would come.  Later, he
became vaguely aware of darkness and motion as the ship sailed out of Kandin
harbor.

The alley ended in a stone wall.  Tolan turned around and
went the way he had come.  Someone was speaking to him and pointing.  He pushed
on.  He had to get to . . . a place.  The alley spilled out onto a cobbled thoroughfare. 
Should he go left or right?  The sun had slipped out of sight behind the
rooftops.  He should go in the direction he last saw it.  Which way was that? 
Keep going left.  If you get lost, just keep going left — someone had told him
that.  Would that get him to . . . a place?

He saw a man in uniform.  He ought to talk to that man.  He
had something to tell him about . . . a person?  He felt hungry.  Was that
important?  No.  What was important?  Left — that was vital — keep going that
way.

So Tolan walked on as night fell upon the city.  He did not
remember the name of that city, but he remembered to always turn left.

It was Shali, the black and white female, that came
scrambling over the low stone wall and into the barnyard to tell Syliva that Aksel
and the goats had returned.  The small shepherd ran in circles, raising dust
off the dry, hardened yard, darting to Syliva, sniffing at her hands, darting
away yelping and barking.

A few weeks before, Aksel had talked the Svorden boy into
looking after the goats for a day so he could walk home to fetch the dogs.  He
had stayed the night, going back to the upper valley the next morning, saying
he would be gone for a month.

Syliva went to the gate, glad that he was home early because
tomorrow was a festival day.  He wore the broadest smile she had seen on him
since Jonn was born, and the sight of fallow fields and the bare, empty garden
plot didn't sour his mood.  He kissed her over the gate, a kiss that promised
passion of the youthful sort.

"You look a little thin," she said.

"So do you."

"Its only noontime.  Start out before dawn?"

"Yes, I missed you," Aksel said.

"You must be tired."  She smiled playfully. 
"Are you in need of a lie-down?"

"A bath first."

"Shall I heat some water?"

"Don't bother.  I'll just go down to the stream."

"Oh my, you must be in a hurry."

She giggled and he laughed with her.  Later, as they lay
quiet in a tangle of bedding, she saw the purple welt on his leg.

"Oh, look at you.  I knew you wouldn't take care of
yourself up there.  How did you get that?"

"It's nothing."

"It looks unclean.  Has it been festering?"

"No, but I'm sure you will want to massage ointments
into it, bind it with poultices, force me to inhale foul-smelling tinctures —
"

"You're making fun of me."

" — and pour medicinal teas down my throat for days. 
Do what you will, my wife, my cure-giver, for I am all yours."

She tried to pout, but that only made her laugh aloud. 
"You should go away more often, it seems to agree with you."

He brushed away the hair from her forehead.  "Yes.  I
feel more like fifteen than fifty-two.  Roughing it, sleeping under the stars,
it invigorates a man, turns him into an animal.  Grrr!"

"So I've seen," she murmured, snuggling close to
him.

"Say, where is Jonn?"

"He's helping Lovisa today.  Why?"

"No reason.  I need to make it up with him, thought I'd
take him to the lake on the other side of the east ridge and try to catch some
fish.  Is Lovisa alright?

"She's terribly big."

"When is she due?  About a month?"

"A month and a half."

He let out a long breath.  "Do you think Farlo will
really come back to her?"

Syliva lay quiet for a time.  "Yes," she said. 
"If she lives."

"You mean
he
."

"Yes, that's what I
meant."

The Summer Soon festival lasted from noon until past
midnight, but it was a minor holiday, nothing like the Solstice Day festival at
midsummer.  Summer Soon was more of a long picnic, with lots of games and
singing and the young folks' dance after dark.

Aksel competed with the older men at pebble tossing and
played unusually well, remaining undefeated until the final throw against
Celvake, the reigning champion, where he almost upset the old carpenter.  Jonn
easily won the stone-lifting game, and everyone was happy for him.  Even Farlo
would have been hard-pressed to lift the boulder that Jonn raised triumphantly
over his head.  This made up for his poor showing at all the other games.  He
could have won the stick wrestling, Syliva thought, but he was trying not to
hurt anyone and couldn't understand why the other men used painful holds on
him.

As it had been for many years now, Syliva was asked to be
the judge of the games.  She remembered that in her youth she had liked being
in the girls' upside-down race.  Grandpa Jofin had been the judge back then. 
He hadn't been her blood relation; all the young people had called him
Grandpa.  Everyone had gone to him with their problems, from business arguments
to questions about spiritual matters, and he had tried to give them the best
answers he could.  Good answers, most of them were.  After so many years of
living, he seemed to know things without trying.  Syliva knew that many of the
folk wanted her to be like that, be mayor and priestess to the village, to lead
them out of this crisis, but she knew nothing of how to organize the resources
of an entire valley, and of the spiritual, all she knew was that it seemed far
away, elusive and untouchable, but a few rare people were somehow connected to
it.

Twilight came just two hours before midnight on Summer Soon
Day.  When it was time for the evening song, everyone gathered at the fire
pit.  They stood in the same circle as always, rocking uneasily, looking at one
another.

Someone called out, "What song shall we sing?"

"Brother Sun — that's the song for Summer Soon,"
said Ulrika Monjor, who had seen three generations of festivals.

All of them looked at Syliva.

"Yes, that is the song, and we should sing it."  Everyone
waited, still listening.  They needed her to say something about what was
happening, but she didn't know the right thing to say.

"The birthing months of spring have ended, and so has
the time for singing the Song of Returning," she said hesitantly. 
"But I will still sing it in my heart.  And I believe that at this time
next year we will all be here to sing it again."

A deep voice called out, "We will have no harvest in
the fall.  Shouldn't we do something about that?"

"Yes.  We should band together, help one another, do
what needs to be done.  But we must also go ahead with our lives.  Summer is
long and no one knows what is to be."

"What of those of us who aren't farmers?" Celvake
asked.  "We don't have a harvest to last us the whole year.  Already our
larders are empty, and the things we make for our livelihood are nearly
worthless now."

"Why you're my friend, Celvake.  You can come sup at my
house any night you wish — every night, if you wish."

"And what about Vessin the stonecutter, or Plinna the
glassblower?"

"Have they no friends?"  She had not said it in
jest, but it drew a laugh from some of the onlookers.

"We should take all the food that we have,"
Celvake said loudly, "gather it in one place, and divide it equally."

"Who shall decide what is equal?" Syliva asked.

"It's not fair," Kurnt Monjor said.  Last year,
the Monjors had celebrated the best harvest in the valley.  "We who worked
harder to have more food should not be forced to give it away."

Her face aflush with sudden anger, Syliva spoke quickly. 
"How can you possibly know who has worked harder than who?  You have been
blessed with healthy children and fertile goats and you take this as proof that
you are smarter and better and more deserving than anyone else.  It only proves
that you're lucky."  She turned to the circle of villagers.  "It
shames me that we are speaking like this.  We are valley folk.  We were born to
be better than this."

Many of them looked away, plainly shamed.  "And on a
festival day, of all days," Ulrika added.

"Yes," Aksel said, coming to Syliva's side,
"this is not the proper time for debate."  His voice had a strange
edge to it.  She knew that speaking to a crowd was difficult for him.

"Each one of us," he said, "will do what he
must to make it through this hard time."  An unusually large grin spread
across his face.  "We should think of the young folk here, and not spoil
their dance night.  Come, let's have the song now."

Without another word they sang Brother Sun, many of the
voices subdued or unsure.  Aksel sang loudly, almost lustily, a great deal of
relief evident in his tone, as if the nearness of summer had changed
everything.  After the singing, one person after another engaged Syliva in talk
about ailments, or the festival, or old times — they just seemed to want to be
near her for a moment, to look at her and touch her on the hand and know that
all was well.

That night the young men jigged, slapping their
freshly-oiled boots in time with the drums and the clapping of the children and
the elders.  The young women laughed as they swung on the arms of their
partners, using a free hand to wave their bright skirts.  Harps sounded a long
chorus as a promenade began, a few young dancers taking rest on the sides
shouting encouragement to the others.  Light flickered across the faces of
toddlers, sleeping soundly in spite of the din.  Syliva wandered through the
crowd, stopping to pet Celvake's dog, smiling when little Sipi Barlsen waved at
her.

"Have you seen my husband," she asked Kestrin.

"I did a little while ago," she answered, looking
into the deep shadows cast by the nearest trees.

"Are you not dancing tonight?"

"I had the first dance with Kevas, just for old times
sake, but he took it to mean something, so I decided to sit the evening
out."

"That's foolish," Syliva said, "have some fun
and dance while you can.  Trust me."

Kestrin looked at her father.  "Are you alright?"

"I want to go home," he croaked.  "I'm
tired."

"Did you remember to eat this afternoon when the games
were over?"

He shook his head.  "I felt too queasy."

"No wonder you're tired."  She smiled and ruffled
his hair.  "Okay," she said, taking his arm, "I'm going to take
you home and put some food into you."  Turning to Syliva she said,
"I'll be back soon.  After all, I don't want to miss all the
dancing."

"Take a lantern.  There's no moon tonight."

She watched them walk away into the darkness, then she edged
along the circle of light to the other side of dancing ground.  Aksel found her
there.

"Where have you been?" he said, laughing between
heavy breaths.

"Talking to everyone in the valley — are you winded? 
Don't tell me you've been dancing with the youngsters."

"Just by myself in the shadows."

"Well, if you have so much vigor, why don't you take
your old wife for a swing.  Look how tuckered the children are.  Let's show 'em
how the old folk dance."

"You pick the ground, old woman, and I'll take the
lead."

Kurnt and Elge Monjor had already joined the thinning ranks
of teenagers on the hard-pounded dance ground.  This was the way it usually
went on Summer Soon night.  After the fast jigs had been played out, the
rhythms slowed and everyone joined in, the couples with children sometimes
bringing their young into the bright light to teach them their first steps. 
All seem seemed to have forgotten the evening argument.

Aksel perspired freely in the heat of the bonfire, and swung
her a little too hard, smiling nervously as way of an apology.  Very much like
our first dance on this same festival night over thirty years ago, Syliva
thought.  She remembered how he could never look long into her eyes when they
met and spoke at the song fires, or in the village on market days.  It wasn't
until he stole his first kiss from her in the freezing dark of Winter's Eve,
behind a great fir tree, that he could meet her gaze evenly.  She could see it
clearly, as if it had just happened, and her heart winced briefly for the time
that had passed in the blink of an eye.

"Syliva!"  The scream came from the shadows behind
her, in the direction of the village.

"Syliva!"  It was Kestrin, breaking through the
circle of onlookers, some still clapping time to the dying music.  She paused
at the edge of the firelight, then came quickly forward, her arms shaking with
anger.

"What is it, child?"

Kestrin wiped an errant tear from her cheek and cried no
more, but her voice quavered as she spoke.  "It's gone.  A yeggman came
and took it away while we were here at the dance.  Gone — all of it. 
Stolen."

"Stolen?  What are you talking about?"

"A thief in the night.  Our cheese barrel is gone.  So
is our barley meal, and the last of our flatbread."  Her voice rose to a
fierce shriek.  "All our food has been taken!"

The fire popped and crackled in the following silence.

"That can't be," Syliva said.  "There hasn't
been robbers in this valley since the Cycle of Ice."

"Then it is one of us," Kestrin shouted, turning
full circle to glare at each face in turn.  The weight of her own words struck
her, and she stopped, her voice dropping to a whisper.  "Then it is one of
us."