Magesong (16 page)

"Lovely," Farlo said.  "Lead on."

They spent the afternoon wandering the crowded market
streets near the waterfront.  Reyin played on the street for an hour and made
one more penny.  When the bakeries started to close they went in and bought the
old bread.

"Find us a place to sleep now," Farlo said, taking
a bite of stale bread as they walked.

"I was thinking about the palm grove.  We can get water
there for free, too.  Let's go take a look."

When they arrived there, Reyin thought it looked good. 
Plenty of low brush lay between the palms to shield them from anyone who passed
with a lantern.  He worried for a moment that the well would attract other
indigent people, but no, they would be at the entrance to The Barrel.

They sat by the street until long after dark, the thick air
clinging hotly to them in the windless night.  They said little, and Reyin
mostly looked skyward, first watching the moon set, then seeing the familiar
constellations of the southern summer sky grow to full brilliance.  When all
the lights in the surrounding houses had been put out, and a distant watchman
called the ten o'clock hour, they crept into the grove of palms, feeling their
way in the blackness.  The place where Reyin lay proved hard and uneven.  He
crawled around on his back and finally found a crease that fit his bones.  He
was tired but not sleepy, and he felt that his destiny was to lie awake half
the night, but when he closed his eyes he fell asleep in three breaths.

He opened them to the painful glare of a lantern only inches
from his face.  It seemed that no time had passed, only a few seconds, and now
a big fellow with a handlebar moustache stood over him, an iron-shod quarterstaff
in one hand.  Another man with a heavy baton in his belt held the lamp.  They
both wore red sashes over their shoulders — the night watch.

"If yer going to sleep in public, you ought to teach
your friend not to snore," moustachio said.

The one with the lantern stepped back, and Reyin saw Farlo
standing between a third and fourth watchman.  One shouldered a very short
pike.  The other wore a short sword scabbarded at his belt.

Reyin climbed slowly to his feet.  "Did we break some
sort of local custom?" he said, trying to sound foreign and ignorant.

"We allow no vagrants in Mira-Delvin," said the
one with the lantern, apparently the head watchman.  "If you don't have a
place to stay, you'll have to come with us."

"But we do have a place to stay.  The Topmast Inn.  We
were just too tired to walk all the way back."

"Nice try, but I know every inn and hotel in the city.  There's
no such place.  Come along now."

"To jail?"

"What happens," Farlo said quickly, "in the
morning."

"You'll be sent somewhere to work off your fine,"
the lead watchman said as he pushed Reyin closer to Farlo and the others took
position to escort them.

"How long do we have to work?" Farlo said, looking
directly at Reyin.

"It's not up to me," the watchman said, raising
his lantern for a last look around.

At the same time, the swordsman took Farlo's upper arm to
guide him along, saying, "Don't worry.  It's usually not more than three
days.  You get fed and the work's not hard."

Farlo nodded in acquiescence, apparently put at ease, and
shifted his body as if to go along quietly.  Reyin had a sick premonition just
as it happened.

Farlo spun with stunning quickness, his elbow slamming hard
into the back of the swordsman's head.  The man fell forward, limply, without a
sound.

By the time the unconscious man hit the ground, Farlo had
taken two steps toward the watchman holding the spear, meeting him as the man
brought the weapon down into both hands.  All in one motion, Farlo twisted the
spear away and threw the man to the ground.  He hit hard, on his face, and did
not get up quickly.

Seeing that he faced a skilled fighter, the big fellow with
the moustache advanced deliberately, his quarterstaff held en garde.  The lead
watchman, who had been looking elsewhere when Farlo made his move, now recovered
his wits and drew his baton, coming at Reyin quickly.

Reyin raised his hands but the man kept coming, his face
clinched in anger, the baton raised to strike.  He was going to make sure Reyin
stayed out of the action by beating the fight out of him.

Reyin instinctively began to step back, but suddenly came up
against the low adobe wall guarding the open well.  In his panic, he spoke a
command of halt in the Essian tongue.

"
Evald
!"

The word stood sharply between them.  The watchman froze.

Reyin had no time to call up memories of what Artemes had
told him years before, but it rose from his depths unbidden when he spoke the
word of power.  Artemes had said that commands used to invoke the Powers at
times worked on those in the grip of some kind of passion, but it had to be
something that could be done quickly, without thinking.  A risky move when in
danger, but it had already worked once with this watchman — one more try.

Less than a second passed before Reyin spoke again.

"
Ano
!" the command for obedience. 
"Throw me the lantern."  He held out his hand, and to his amazement
the watchman did as he commanded.

The toss came a little high, (the sharp bark of wood
striking wood — Farlo and the quarterstaff man), and Reyin saw that he would
not even have to catch it (a strangled cry of pain, the dull thud of someone
landing hard in the dirt).  He simply stepped aside and watched the lamp sail
over the retaining wall and into the open well.  A hissing splash, then they
all stood blind in the darkness.

But for one schooled the in the secret ways of power, the
black of night veiled only the eyes.  Reyin knew where Farlo stood.  He knew
the trees and stones which lay in his path.  He sprinted to Farlo's side while
the watchmen groped and stumbled and called out to one another.

"Let's go," he whispered into Farlo's ear, pulling
him toward the street.

"I can't even see my hands."

"I will guide you."

Once they made it to the open street, they began to run, the
watchmen behind them cursing and calling for help.  Farlo ran slowly,
hesitantly, afraid of falling.  Feeling more free than he ever had, Reyin
closed his eyes and let his spirit carry them down the empty streets.

Syliva walked through the village thinking that she should
have told them yesterday, as soon as she had been able to leave Aksel alone
with Jonn, but her trembling and faintness hadn't stopped until today.  If she
had gone ahead and told them, then this idiotic meeting would not have been
called.  Then again, perhaps this was best, to tell everyone at once and have
no one hearing rumors thrice told.  Certainly no one would blame Aksel as a
criminal.  Everyone knew about the madness that came with fenwolf fever, but
there hadn't been a case like this since the year she got married.  Half of the
adults in the village were not even old enough to remember it.  She wondered if
they would really believe her.  She could also see Taila Keyvern smiling
triumphantly, and she remembered what Taila and that fisherman had planted in
everyone's minds:  there was no one so ill that he did not know right from
wrong.  Yet if the truth did not make it obvious, Syliva didn't know what
would.

Of course they would never treat Aksel the same.  Oh, folk
would talk to him politely in public, but he would never again be invited to
toss pebbles with the Monjors.  It wasn't fair.  The whole mess was her fault,
her responsibility.  At least Farlo would be his friend.  Farlo would
understand, if he came back.  If they didn't all die next winter.

No!  Mustn't think that way.
  They would find a way
to live.  She was just tired; she had slept only a couple of hours in the last
two nights.

She turned the corner at the Barlsen house, coming to the
clear area around the touching stone, and stopped and saw and felt her inner
light go dim.  Most of the villagers stood in front of the meeting hall staring
at what had been roughly carved into the stained pinewood in letters a foot
tall:  KILL THE THIEF.

Standing at the touching stone, his head bowed in deep
thought, Kurnt Monjor looked up as she passed then moved to join her.

"No one knows who did it," he said, "probably
a hot-headed kid."  He saw the look on her face and tried to make a joke. 
"I'm pretty sure that it wasn't the one who is stealing."

They walked a few steps in silence, then Syliva suddenly
found herself saying, "Oh, Kurnt, I discovered what happened to your
missing goat.  It seems that my husband found him scavenging deer-moss on the
west ridge."

She felt like she had a silly look on her face.  Certainly
it would be clear to Kurnt that something was wrong with her.  "This is a
little embarrassing, but Aksel hadn't heard about him being missing and thought
he was wild.  The short of it is that he butchered the little thing before talking
to me and we owe you a goat.  Come by anytime and take one."  The lie had
come so easily that it was like someone else had said it.

Kurnt broke into a grin of amazement.  "You mean he
wasn't stolen?  He just got loose and wandered off?  Thank the Spirit for
that.  My mind has been so full of suspicion that I could hardly reason.  Well
that teaches me a lesson."

She couldn't believe it.  One word from her carried the
weight of an ancient truth.  There was not the slightest doubt in Kurnt's
voice, and guilt rose up in her with a blackness.

"At least you didn't go around accusing honest
folk," she said, smiling weakly.

"Now don't let Taila get you down.  Everyone knows how
she is."

"Well, I have a feeling that we're going to discover
the truth of that here tonight.  This was her idea, wasn't it, calling a
village meeting?  It's after suppertime, and I should be home with my
husband."

"How is Aksel, anyway?" he asked.  "I heard
that he has taken ill."

"Yes.  A sudden fever."

"Maybe I should come by tomorrow and try to cheer him
up a — "

"No, Kurnt," she said quickly.  "It's a bad
one."

That at least was true.  Although Jonn had done Aksel no
serious injury, the fever and insanity had risen so high by that night that
Syliva had feared her husband would die there tied to his own bed.  The extract
of sestarian root that she was giving him seemed to be lowering the fever, and
his eyes looked clear now.  But he still raved quietly at times and had to
remain strapped down.

"Syliva," he said softly, touching her shoulder,
"I'm sorry.  I didn't know it was serious.  If you need anything, just ask. 
I'll send one of my boys over there tomorrow morning to help with the yard
chores."

"Thanks Kurnt, but there's really very little to do. 
Unless you want to send him out to collect birch branches."

"For your livestock?"

"Yes, we've been mixing it with deer moss.  The goats
seem to like it."

"Hmm.  I'll have to try that when I run out of the
aspen leaves we gathered last summer."

"Kurnt," she said, stopping just out of earshot of
the wood-timbered hall where everyone now shuffled inside.  "I do need
your help, in there when the meeting starts.  I think most everyone has already
decided that one of their neighbors is a thief, and I think that Taila is ready
to turn their anger into something ugly, something we might regret for the rest
of our lives.  I think, Kurnt," she said, pointing to the scrawl,
"that my heart is near to breaking.  If we turn against ourselves, if
someone gets hurt, I think something inside me will simply die."

Kurnt swallowed hard.  "Syliva, I've never seen you
like this."

"I want you to stand with me Kurnt.  Help me remind
these folk who we all are.  They are suffering enough, and we can't let the
evil that is about to take place in there happen."

She felt her face go hot.  "Listen to me.  If you never
do again, listen to me now and believe me.  No one here is a thief.  No one
here is stealing from his friends.  There is some other reason for the missing
food.  Don't ask me how I know, but I know.  I know it, Kurnt."

She sensed that she had crossed a line now, and there was no
turning back.  She told herself that if deception could repair the damage her
insane husband had done to the spirit of these people, then she could stand the
loss of self-respect.  But the truth, the truth that lurks in the darkness
after all other truths have passed whispered softly to her that it knew what
she did not.  For the first time in her life, she was afraid.

"You're sure?" he asked in the smallest of voices.
 When she nodded, he took in a new breath.  "Of course I'll stand with you
Syliva.  If I can admit to being a fool, maybe others will too."

The great hall of Lorendal was little more than a large
one-room house with a dirt floor.  Its stone-hard timbers were older than any
house in the valley.  Almost everyone in the village was there.  Old farmers,
with stiff backs and stern faces set in resolve, perched on long benches in the
middle.  Young mothers with sleeping infants sat on the back row while the
teenagers lounged along the side walls.  Some of the middle-aged children
stayed outside playing hide-and-seek.

The hushed babble of more than fifty voices fell into
silence and nervous coughs as Syliva and Kurnt made their way to the place
Lovisa had saved for them on the front bench next to Kurnt's wife.  Almost
everyone looked a little thinner, a bit more gaunt.  Although none of the
families had come close to exhausting their stores, like Syliva they had been
going a little hungry now so that they could eat a few weeks longer in the
winter.

Taila went and stood on the wide, flat stone at the end of
the room.  "We all know why we are here," she said.  "Uh, why
don't we have all the children go outside."

Kurnt leaped to his feet.  "Why don't we let them stay
and see what kind of folk their parents are."

Taila looked at him as if he had just betrayed her.  "Are
you sure you want your kids to hear what we have to say tonight?"

Kurnt returned her glare.  "I insist on it."

"Very well," Taila said, "we have a thief,
and everyone knows that."

"No we don't," Syliva said quietly, not looking at
anyone.

"I stand on the speaking stone.  That gives me the
right to talk without interruption," Taila said.  "As I was saying,
we have a thief.  He could be from another village, but I suspect that it is
someone here.  I say to whoever is stealing our food that this is your last
chance to come forward and return it.  And if you think, Mr. Yeggman, that you
are very clever and you try to steal again, I invite you to read what is on the
wall outside."  Many of the adults and most of the children looked at each
other.  "Your punishment will be lighter if you admit it to us now before
we catch you.  And we
will
catch you."  She waited, scanning the
stony faces of her neighbors.  For a moment the hall lay quiet.

"Very well," she said, as if she had expected the
lack of response, "in that case I say that we pick a group of men to arm
themselves and search every house in the village starting tomorrow morning. 
And they can start with my house because I have nothing to hide.  There, that
is my say.  And if no one else wishes to speak, I think we should decide
now."

Kurnt quickly stood and crossed to the stone in three long
strides.  Taila went back to her bench and sat down.

"You all know that I'm not very good at speeches.  I
just wanted to tell you that the goat I thought was stolen turned out to be a
runaway, and I can't believe I thought one of you might have taken it.  And I'm
sorry.  Now if I can make a mistake, any one of you can — "  He stopped,
suddenly aware of what he had just said.  A ripple of laughs ran through his
audience.  "Wait a minute, I didn't mean it that way."

"Yes you did, Kurnt," Celvake called out, and all
the men roared.

Oh thank the Spirit, Syliva thought.  Maybe Kurnt would
disarm their anger and carry the day for her.  Her whole body ached and fatigue
had numbed her mind.  She felt spent, and sore of heart.  All she wanted to do
was go home.

"Anyway," Kurnt said after the chuckling quieted,
"I'm ready to believe that fenwolves took the food.  Why not?  Does anyone
remember about twenty years ago there was this fenwolf we called The Daylight
Robber?  Remember how he went into all the houses to steal honey?"

"Fenwolves don't eat turnips," old Plinna said in
his high thin voice.

"And what about the fish?" Celvake echoed.  "Fenwolves
wouldn't have picked only the cured ones, and they sure wouldn't have carried
them away in a basket."

"I'm not saying that fenwolves took the fish, Cel.  I'm
just saying that it could be something like that.  We shouldn't be suspicious,
that's all.  And by the way, Plinna, fenwolves might not eat turnips, but
they'll steal anything that has a smell just to tear it up.  If you search the
bushes, you might find what's left of the sack."  He looked around and
shrugged, then returned to his seat.  Syliva patted him on the knee.

Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that they were all
looking at her. 
They still haven't decided
.  She had to say something. 
How could she say anything meaningful when she was so empty?  She pulled
herself to her feet, remaining in place, declining to stand on the stone.

"Do you know what Taila and a few of you others here
are doing?  You are creating a
them
.  Right now, we are still us, but if
you do what Taila wants, this village and this valley will forever be divided
into us and them — a
them
that does not even exist.  And you will still
not have your thief.  What you will have instead is fear.  Fear of the neighbor
that might steal from you, and fear of the neighbor who comes armed to look for
thieves.  And never again will we join hands to sing the song of the season.  I
know you all.  I've been in each of your homes, shared your tables, tended your
babies.  I know that everyone here deserves each other's trust.  No one here is
stealing.  Most of you, like my friend Celvake, are a little too honest." 
She saw a few smiles, but could not tell what they thought.  "Please, have
the courage to trust one another.  That way, at least, we can go home and get
some sleep."

More smiles broke out now, and one of the men who had been
ready to go along with Taila suddenly couldn't look at anyone.  Celvake stood
and began edging toward the door.

"Good idea," he said loudly.  "I'm not voting
for this sort of thing.  And if anyone wants to come over to my house in the
morning, I'll be there.  With my dog."

Then all the Monjors were up, and suddenly everyone was on
their feet crowding the aisles, some heading straight for the door, others
pausing to say goodnight.  Taila stared in disbelief, as if they were doing the
stupidest thing she had ever seen.

Syliva slumped to the bench and let out a long breath.  She
had been able to turn them aside only because they trusted her.  Strange, she
thought, because now she had proved untrustworthy, the most dishonest person in
the valley.  Taila Keyvern was a vindictive troublemaker trying to be a big
wheel in a small village, but even she was more honest.

Syliva watched the faces of
those who remained for a few quiet words with their friends.  She had diverted
only their anger, not their suspicion.  Taila and those who had been with her
would not let this rest until they had their thief.  Syliva thought about the
words carved into the wall.  If starting this deception was wrong, then she
would make it fully wrong in order to satisfy them all.  Yes.  She would give
them a death.

Another day had passed and Syliva stood at her bedroom
window, watching the houses fade to dim silhouettes of deep grey.  Everyone
should be in bed now, but the older teenagers kept odd hours in the summer. 
She would wait till it was fully dark.

Aksel lay sleeping unrestrained on their bed, the fever of
madness having broke that morning.  He had no memory of trying to kill her, and
if she could remind Jonn not to speak of it maybe he never would.  He did
remember stealing the food.  In his weakened and confused state, he had been
willing to believe that it was feverish dreams he remembered.  He would, in
time, come to know it as the truth, but for now she wanted him to rest
untroubled.