Many Roads Home (12 page)

Chapter Fourteen

The man was likely to drive him insane. One minute he sounded almost reasonable, and the next he bit Yveni’s head off for something completely trivial. Maybe
he
was insane. Maybe being a slave had made him unstable. There was that remark about slaves being the first suspect in a master’s murder, too. Maybe there was a darker reason for that comment.

Shame, because being a healer’s assistant until he reached his majority wouldn’t only be a good cover, it would also be interesting. Working with Raina had been fascinating, and he hadn’t lied about Sofia and her medicines.

As he watched the man chop wood, prepare vegetables for supper, shake out the bedrolls—chores Yveni would have been happy to help with—he considered what to do. He was in no position to make a run for it, and being a slave would keep the scrutiny of the authorities away from him for now. Maybe in time, he could win the man’s trust and even enlist his help. Nothing would be gained by antagonising him, even if Yveni simply existing did that.

He could easily give the man a year. He still had Gil’s letter and pendant. Arriving in Horches even after all that time would do him no harm if he had this proof. Konsatin couldn’t declare him dead for years, even with the consent Serina would never give.

How could Yveni make the experience endurable for both of them? Maybe the man’s anger would diminish—he had good reason to be upset right now. Yveni would try to be as open as he could, share what was safe. If he showed him Gil’s letter, as he had done to Raina, it might convince the man, but he didn’t want to risk it yet. They were too close to the border and to Kivnic. For all he knew, this fellow might decide to turn Yveni over to the authorities for whatever reward Konsatin offered, as a way to win back his lost money.

He leaned back against the tree. He ached all over, and a persistent fatigue headache hovered behind his eyes. Tilin’s miserable face kept coming into his thoughts. Gerd’s advice applied here, but it was very hard not to worry about the children, however useless it was. He needed a distraction.

The man returned from collecting firewood, dumping it near the wagon. He spent some time inside the wagon, emerging with a collection of bottles and pots in two crates apparently constructed specially to hold them, and a little folding table and chair. He sat down near the fire with an oil lamp and began to set out the bottles. Medicines, Yveni guessed.

“Sir, may I help?”

The man looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Come over here.”

There was just enough play in the chain to obey, and the man told him to sit. “Do you know how to use a mortar and pestle?” Yveni nodded. “Then pound this as fine as you can.” He placed leaves and dried berries into the mortar and handed it to Yveni.

While Yveni worked, the man went to the wagon and returned with a delicate set of scales, along with a number of paper wallets. He began to measure out small amounts of this or that powder into the wallets, sealing them with a dab of glue and writing on them with a surprisingly elegant hand. Where had he learned to read and write? And who had taught him the Uemi he spoke so badly? It was more than a four-year-old would know, but hardly fluent. Yveni found himself very curious to know more about this man, so contradictory in so many ways.

“What’s this used for?” He nodded at the leaves he was grinding. The mixture gave off a pleasing rich odour he didn’t recognise.

“Cough.”

“And it works?”

“I’m not a thief, boy. I don’t dispense what doesn’t work.”

“I meant no offence.”

The man grunted, still not looking at him. But he answered Yveni’s other questions civilly enough, without offering anything unprompted. The range of conditions he prescribed for wasn’t vast—he made no claims to cure serious illness, at least not from what he prepared this evening. Most were minor but troubling ailments, or the chronic conditions of the elderly.

“You must come through these places all the time.”

“No.”

Yveni waited, rather than risk angering him again. Eventually the man spoke, his voice low and polite. When he spoke like that, he sounded quite pleasant.

“Mostly I leave prescriptions. I offer diagnosis through my gift, and drugs to try, with a script they can fill with their local healer or herbalist. If I discover a serious ailment, I work with their regular healer. Some prefer what I dispense, some have tried everything else and want something new. If I’m there when someone’s ill at the time, I can offer some relief. A proper healer can do surgery, offer full facilities, but they cost more, and the older people liked…like me. I treat the poor too, when I can.”

“You’ve been doing it a long time?”

“Ten years.”

“So what did you do before?”

The man sat back. “Nosy, aren’t you? For someone so close-mouthed about his own background.”

“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you as much as I can, but it won’t be enough.”

The man made a face. “Give me that.” He took the mortar, examined the contents, which appeared to meet his requirements, and started to measure it out the same as he had with the others. Yveni could only watch.

“I could do that,” he offered. “Measure things, if you gave me instructions.”

“No thanks. I won’t have a patient made ill by your mischief.”

“Did you ever play a trick like that?”

The man glared. “Of course not.”

“Then why would I? I can’t believe you were happy to be a slave either.”

“I never lied to anyone.”

“Never? And what secrets could a child have? Did you have anyone to protect?”

“Are you trying to anger me, boy?” The man’s voice hadn’t risen, but he managed to convey his anger in his tone, making it clear that he could back it up with a body much larger and heavier than Yveni’s, so he’d better watch his mouth.

“No. I’m trying to make this work, sir. If you believe I’d hurt you or anyone else, then take your knife and cut my throat, since you won’t sell me. A thief, which I’m not, isn’t a murderer, which I’m not either.”

The man pretended to ignore him as he continued to measure out the leaf powder into precise amounts and seal the wallets with care. Yveni waited. Somehow he had to get through to him.

The man collected all his sealed wallets up, put them in the wagon and tidied his other equipment away. By now it was full dark, and Yveni was cold. He didn’t dare ask for a coat or a blanket, but he wondered where he would sleep since the man was so protective of his possessions.

The man said not a word as he built up the fire and stirred the bean stew. He stared into the pot for a long time, his eyebrows drawn together as if he had a headache. What was he thinking? Yveni wished he could read his mind.

The man rose, fetched two metal bowls and doled out a generous portion for Yveni. The smell was delicious, but even if it had been horrible, he would have eaten it gladly. The slavers hadn’t been generous with their food, and being cold made him even hungrier.

The man didn’t touch his own portion. He left it on his lap and looked up at Yveni. “What’s your real name?”

Could he tell him this? Was the risk worth it? He decided it was. “Yveni. Of Sardelsa. But I beg you, don’t use that name in public.”

The man’s gaze drifted away, as if he turned this information over in his mind and needed to consider the implications. Then he looked at Yveni with unerring intelligence in his sharp eyes. “If you’ve never been a slave, what’s the mark on your arm?”

“My family does that to all its members when they turn fourteen. It’s their symbol, their sign.”

“Never heard of the practice before.”

“No. It’s only the highborn who do it.”

“So you’re some fancy lord or something.”

“Something, yes. Please don’t endanger my sisters by spreading it around.”

The man lifted his spoon, but still didn’t eat. “If you played me false over the drugs, and someone took ill or died, we’d both swing.”

“I understand. I truly do. But since you have the cost of feeding me, and you paid so much money, why not put me to work?”

The man shook his head. “I wanted an apprentice, someone I could train and pass the practice over to. Half the work is training. It’d be wasted on you. You have no interest in healing, and if you’re freed or escape, you won’t even use it. The knowledge will be gone, lost.”

“Then sell me. I don’t see how my telling you the truth would change things. You’d let me go and you’d be no better off.”

“Tell me now and we can save ourselves the wasted time.”

Yveni drew himself up and gave the man his haughtiest look—the one Lady Surenyev would use on him when he spoke too loudly at a court function. “I know you no better than you know me, master. I can trust you no more than you can me. You want to know out of injured pride. I can’t tell you because it could mean my life and harm to others.”

“So you say.”

“And I’ll keep saying it because it’s the truth. The decision’s yours, isn’t it? You have a willing assistant if you want one, but I can’t give you my parole because at some point I need to reach Horches. Unless you set me free, I have to try and escape.”

The man frowned. “You argue like a lawyer.”

“I was raised to run an…estate. A big one. I’ve had to learn many things, including the law.”

“I see.” He ate a little, his mind clearly running over all Yveni had said.

Please
, he begged the man silently as he ate his own meal.
See reason, for both our sakes.

The man set his bowl down. “It changes nothing. You’ll need to be chained, or you’ll run. I won’t take a chained slave with me to the town. I can give you tasks here, and you can read my books, but what good will it do?”

“Be company? Be some help? Is it not a lonely life, master?”

The man jerked and stared at Yveni who looked back as calmly as he could. “My father always told me that no teaching is wasted, and no knowledge is lost in passing it on. If you find an apprentice, on that day I’ll tell you my secret and you can let me go. But whatever I learn from you, I wouldn’t consider it a waste of time, sir.”

“Then learn it and do what you will with it, boy. I’ll keep your name safe, if it means so much. But you’re still Tueler and no friend of mine. Remember that.”

“I will. Thank you.”

The decision eased some of the tension in the man, for he tidied up without the grim expression of before, and answered with more than bare civility when Yveni asked where he should relieve himself and if he could help with setting up for the evening. Yveni probably wouldn’t make a friend of him as he had out of Raina, but maybe he’d learn something useful and hopefully be of some help. All in all, things could have been worse, considering how the day began.

Paole lay in the tent, listening to his unwanted possession breathe deeply in sleep. He simply didn’t know what to make of the boy at all. He could ask no one for advice, not here, and it would be months before he reached Dadel.

All he could do was try to make this work and keep searching for an apprentice. The boy had given him a graceful out there. More than Paole expected, to be honest. If it took a year to find a real assistant, then it was no great matter to either of them. The puzzling thing was that Yveni—or Gaelin as he should keep calling him, he supposed—was in no hurry to leave. What could be so important that he had to reach Horches at all costs, but apparently be of little enough consequence that it didn’t matter
when
?

He had to admit the boy had kept his mind busy today. Strange that one so young should think of company as a benefit of having a slave. The boy was strange in almost every way. Pity he was Tueler. The people of Tuelwetin probably didn’t take slaves because it was too much trouble. They had no better morals than the Karvi.

He rolled over. Needed to sleep. He had a long day ahead of him and a slave with a wit sharp enough to cut meat. Mathias never had to deal with this kind of thing.

Chapter Fifteen

The chain complicated everything, but his owner approached the problem with a better will after they’d reached their uneasy agreement. He left Yveni with food, water, reading material and tasks that didn’t require him to go into the wagon or use tools like the axe. He trusted Yveni with a knife, probably because he could damage Yveni far worse with his big fists before Yveni came close to seriously injuring him, and so the cooking and food preparation fell to Yveni entirely. He didn’t mind being left in the camp—it meant not having to avoid the authorities in town or maintaining a Karvin accent he was by no means sure would pass close inspection. The less curiosity concerning him, the better.

He had plenty to do once the man decided to trust him with chores. Yveni quickly realised the man had little skill at living off the land and spent money on food from the towns they passed through rather than catching or collecting it. He didn’t even make his own bread, apart from a tasteless flat kind that was more like punishment than food. A week after their ill-fated meeting, Yveni surprised him with a loaf cooked in a tin among the ashes. The man stared at it in amazement, and his eyes lit up when he tasted a still-warm slice. “This is good.”

“Yes. And easy too. Why don’t you trap gaete? Or rabbits? Or catch your own fish?”

The man looked at the ground and mumbled, “Never learned how. None of my masters lived in that way.”

“I could show you. I don’t even have to be unchained.”

“Why?”

“Because I can show you how to make the—”

“No, why show me? Why bother?”

Yveni sat back. “Because gaete and rabbits taste good, and they’re free. You’re teaching me things, so let me teach you too.”

“I’m keeping you prisoner.”

Yveni sighed. “I have to eat, don’t I? Besides, I don’t hold it against you. I told you that. I want to be free, but you’re not my enemy.”

“You’re strange.”

Yveni grinned. “Raina said that too. Now, want to learn how to make a gaete trap?”

The man’s big, nimble hands meant making the trap from green twigs and twine was child’s play for him. It took two days before his efforts bore any result, but on the last evening before he planned to move on to the next town, he checked the trap and came back to the camp with a fine male gaete kicking and squealing in the cage.

“Well done!” Yveni greeted him. “But you don’t look very pleased.”

The man thrust the cage towards him. “Take it. I don’t know what to do with it.”

He was in such a hurry to be rid of the trap into Yveni’s hands, Yveni nearly dropped it. “We have to kill it. Do you object to that?”

“I don’t know how. And I don’t want to watch.”

“I could set it free…”

“No. Do it. I’ll…go get some wood.”

Breaking the animal’s neck was the work of a moment, and something Yveni had done dozens of times. It didn’t bother him the way killing the sickly calf had done. He’d seen gaete hunted by birds of prey killed in much crueller ways.

But as he slit the gaete’s throat to let the blood drain, he wondered if the problem had been the cage, more than the killing. Yveni was new to this, but the man had been a slave all his life, more or less. Damn, he should have thought of that.

The man came back nearly an hour later, his arms full of wood, his expression unsmiling. “All dealt with,” Yveni said. “Do you want to eat it tonight?”

“Uh…will it keep a day?”

“If it’s hung up, certainly. Um, I could teach you another kind of trap. Not using a cage, if you like.”

The man stiffened. “It’s not that…or maybe it is. The trap works, that’s all that matters. I know killing it was necessary. I didn’t know how… I’ve never killed anything before. I didn’t want to make it suffer.” As he spoke, his eyes kept shifting from Yveni’s bloodied hands, to the discarded cage and to the dead animal. The distress was clear, but Yveni couldn’t fathom the cause, if it wasn’t about the cage.

“I can show you that knack. For when I’ve gone.”

“Fine. Yes, do that. I’ll bring you some water to wash up in.”

With the chain, Yveni couldn’t reach any place to hang the beast. The man would have to deal with it, if he could.

He returned with a pail of water and a cloth, and left Yveni to it while he heated up the remains of last night’s stew. With fresh bread, it was fine, and Yveni had made some little cakes with nuts and berries garnered from near the camp.

“I’m not a very good cook,” the man confessed.

“My friend Sofia taught us all. And Gil taught me more about field cooking.”

The man hunched over his food, his green eyes sad and distant. “When I saw you with the gaete…I had a memory of someone…someone from my clan, I suppose. Holding a dead animal like that. No faces, no names.” He looked up. “If I’d been left to grow up with them, I’d know how to trap and kill and prepare food.”

“Do you have no idea what the clan was?”

“None. I was the only child taken that day, and the other captives were too young to talk about it. All I knew was my name. Paole.” He said it firmly, fixing Yveni with his eyes.

Yveni bowed his head, appreciating the gesture. “Thank you for telling me. If you returned to Uemire—”

“What good would it do? I speak little of the tongue, I know almost nothing of their ways.”

“You’re one of their own. Wouldn’t someone in your family remember a child with that name, taken that way?”

“For all I know, my family are dead.”

“Not for sure, though. If you found them…would you go home?”

“I don’t know. I remember crying for my mother, but I can’t remember her face.”

“I only remember mine a little. Have you been treated badly all this time?”

Paole’s expression hardened, closed in. “Not all. Best not to talk of it.”

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to offend.”

“You didn’t. But you’ll start imagining things about those children and you don’t want that. Not all masters are cruel. My last one was fair and kind.”

Of course now Yveni wanted to know about the less kind ones, but Paole was right. He could do nothing for Tilin and the others, except worry. “I don’t know how men could do this to children. Men with wives and maybe children of their own.”

Paole grimaced and tossed his crumbs away into the darkness with unnecessary force. “They see Uemiriens as animals. They think we’re uneducated savages, that we’re witches and thieves and put curses on their livestock. Happy enough to use our gifts when it suits them and to train our children to do the dirty, hard work, or to—” He stopped suddenly, as if realising he’d gone too far. “Our country’s poor and our people may not have all the fancy tools the Karvi make, but I’ve never met a Uemirien who’d steal a child or do what some here will do to their slaves.”

“My father was very fond of your people. He appointed Gil to his…estate, even though many grumbled about him hiring a foreigner.”

“You hold him in high regard.”

“I miss the two of them so much. All my life they’ve been there to help. And I
will
see them again.”

Paole’s eyes went straight to the chain around Yveni’s waist. The regret was clear, yet he said nothing. One day, maybe sooner than Yveni had hoped, Paole would set him free and be happy to do so. Nothing would be gained by pushing the man.

Yveni stood. “I’ll clear up.”

“Right.” Paole smiled a little. “Early start tomorrow. Moving on to the next town.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thanks for the cakes. I didn’t know you could cook those on a campfire.”

“They’re easy. I’ll show you.”

“You do that. And I’ll show you how to make a drawing paste for boils and splinters. Even the Karvin king can get a boil on his arse.”

“He
is
a boil on an arse, everyone says.”

Paole laughed. “So he is. But mind your tongue. They say he has eyes everywhere.”

“Everyone says that too. I’ll be careful.”

Paole grunted and stood. Yveni started to clear up, and set water on to boil up the utensils.

As he waited for the water to heat, and Paole went off to use the latrine, Yveni thought about what he’d learned—and what he hadn’t. He’d thought Paole possibly a little mad—now he wondered how he’d managed to stay so sane, with all he’d lost. Yveni’s childhood had been happy and surrounded by love from parents and foster parents alike. Had anyone ever read Paole a story at night? Cuddled him until he slept? Taught him something for pleasure and not for use? Sofia had taught Yveni how to cook as a way of cheering up a little boy who missed his mother. No one would do that for Tilin, and no one had done it for Paole.

He felt himself becoming quite emotional about the lost childhoods, old and new, and forced back both feelings and rising tears. He had to be strong. Pity for something he couldn’t change, and which wasn’t even wanted, took energy he needed to get through this. Paole’s situation was not of Yveni’s making, and now he’d been freed, the man could do whatever he wanted with his life. He hadn’t asked for and didn’t need Yveni’s help.

Yveni still hoped that somehow all the children would go home. Maybe one day Paole would too.

The next town was three days’ driving. On the way, Paole occasionally broke into conversation. Never about his past, not specifically, though some of what he spoke about was from his slave days. He talked freely about his patients and his work, what he could do and what his limitations were. When he fell silent, Yveni talked of Sardelsa, but also of Raina and her clan, and of Gil’s tales from his childhood. Paole never spoke or asked questions of Yveni about these things, but his eyes were intent, and he listened with concentration. Yveni didn’t doubt that his every word was filed away in Paole’s memories.

Hunting edible plants and small animals formed his other entertainment. Yveni knew some of the creatures and bushes only from his studies, but Paole showed him which of the plants were toxic or medicinal, though it hadn’t occurred to him to eat them as food. Paole knew little of preparing meat to keep over the winter, drying, smoking and salting, or how to treat hides. Gil had taught Yveni some small-goods leatherworking, including the making of shoes and gloves. Yveni promised Paole’d have a new pair of driving gloves made from gaete hide before the month was out. The flush of pleasure this promise gave the big man made Yveni’s heart lift in a way it had not since he’d lost contact with Raina. He
liked
making Paole’s life better. Little things meant a great deal to the healer. For Yveni, he felt less like he was kicking his heels until he attained his majority and could actually
do
something with his life.

They arrived at Paole’s favoured camping spot just before sunset, and Paole set off for the town just after dawn. He’d be gone all day, so Yveni had time to work on the glove leather as well as on the other chores that fell to him, and the exercises he carried out to keep some semblance of fitness. The weather was warm, the day bright and clear, and Paole had chosen a lovely spot to pitch camp, on the banks of a pretty stream, the grass lush and the plants and bushes all in flower. Were it not for the chain, Yveni could consider it as a welcome break from his duties. Pretend it was a day out in the ducal forests, with his father and Gil and the court, hunting, and practicing the art of woodcraft.

But his father was dead, and he would not see those forests for years. He had to be content with what he really had, and his enslavement. He felt Paole was edging closer to freeing him. The man hated the situation and he only needed a way out of it that satisfied his curiously strong sense of honour, even if he had to consider the slave price lost for good. Yveni took great care not to say anything that might sound impatient on the subject. Paole had to reach that decision himself.

The leather tanning and working was a messy job, but once the gaete skins had been prepared, he could put them to all kinds of uses. Something else to show Paole. Yveni looked forward to that. But when he finished fiddling with the skins, he could turn his mind to breadmaking and the night’s supper. He smiled to think what Serina would say if she could see him. Their father had never made bread. If the duchy were ever in financial difficulties, maybe he could set up a bakery to supplement the ducal incomes.

But then his thoughts turned to what state the duchy would be in after Konsatin had finished with it, and his mood darkened. He had to make himself stop dwelling on it. He wished Paole would return and distract him. Much easier when there was someone else around to avoid such thoughts.