The Book of Athyra (11 page)

“We’re almost done,” she said.

“I know. Today, or maybe tomorrow.”

Polyi, hands on her hips and scythe leaning against her side, twisted in place a couple of times, as if to loosen muscles that were already tired. Savn rolled his shoulders and put his lyorn-skin gloves on. His hands would be hot and sweaty in half an hour, but blisters, as he well knew, would be worse.

He said, “Let’s get to it.” They headed out to the last field.

Savn collected the plants into sacks while his sister went ahead of him with the reaper. They fell into the rhythm easily—which was important. If they didn’t, Savn would have had to pick the plants up off the ground, which was hard on his back and took much longer. But by now they knew each other, so that as Polyi swung the tool for each cut, the plant would fall neatly into Savn’s gloved hand, and then he would take a half-step backward in order to miss the back sweep. He didn’t have to watch either his hands or the plants—only his sister, to be certain that if for any reason the rhythm changed he would be able to avoid the sharp blade. He knew well what could happen if he looked away at the wrong time—he had helped Master Wag patch up three people this harvest.

It was boring drudge-work, but also easy and satisfying now that they had the system worked out, and he could hear the steady
shhhick, shhhick
as Mae and Pae worked from the other end. Soon—probably tomorrow, he decided, they would meet, and that would be the end of the harvest for this year. Then Mae and Pae would prepare the ground for the winter, and next year they would start all over again, and the next year, and the next, until the day Savn would begin earning money as a physicker himself, either in Smallcliff or elsewhere. Then there would be a few lean years before he could afford to send enough money back to pay for the work he could not do, but after that Mae and Pae would be able to hire someone, and after that he could begin saving, until he had so much money that he’d be able to travel, and—

When did I decide I wanted to travel
? he asked himself.

Well, he wasn’t sure he did want to, come to that, but he remembered when he had begun thinking about it—it was while he was standing outside his house, and the night had seemed to speak to him of distant places. He remembered his own question of Vlad, which had seemed to impress the Easterner: are you running to something or away from something? If he, Savn, were to leave, would he be leaving his family, or searching for more? Would he be deserting his home, or would he be setting out to find adventure and fortune? Had the Easterner inspired all of these thoughts? Was the Easterner somehow responsible for the experience he’d had on
that strange, wonderful evening?
I don’t care what they say, I’ll bet he didn’t kill Reins.

They finished the row and began on the next, and so the morning passed. When it was nearly noon, their rhythm was broken by Pae, who whistled through his fingers to signal that Savn and Polyi were finished for the day.

As they walked back to the house, Polyi said, “Do you think they’ll finish without us?”

Savn looked back at what remained to be done and said, “I hope it doesn’t rain tomorrow.”

Polyi nodded. “Me, too. Shall we go to Tem’s house today?”

“Sure.”

“You didn’t wait for me yesterday, you know.”

“I didn’t? That’s right, I didn’t. I guess I was thinking about other things.”

“Such as what?”

“I don’t know. Things. Anyway, today we’ll go there.”

Savn bathed, and as he’d promised, waited for his sister, and the two of them set off for Tem’s house. They spoke little as they walked, although it seemed to Savn that a couple of times Polyi started to say or ask something, then thought better of it. Eventually she started singing “Dung-Foot Peasant,” and, after a verse or two, Savn joined in, changing pronouns as appropriate. He hadn’t heard it in some time, and laughed at a few of the verses that had been added since he was his sister’s age. He also sang her a few verses that had apparently been forgotten, and he was pleased that she liked them.

When they reached Tem’s house, Vlad was not in evidence, but there was the usual noon crowd, and Savn noticed that he was receiving some odd looks from many of them. Polyi noticed it, too.

“Do you see that?” she said. “The way they look at you? They’re wondering why you’ve been spending so much time with that Easterner.”

Savn quickly looked around, but no one was looking at him just at the moment. “Are they really?” he said.

“Yes.”

“Hmmm.” He shrugged. “Let them wonder, then.”

“Well, what
are
you doing?”

“I’m learning things.”

“Like what?”

“Like, um, like how to catch gems in the wind—no, I mean, catch water in, uh—oh, never mind. I’m learning stuff.”

Polyi frowned, but couldn’t seem to think of anything to say, which was perfectly all right with Savn. He quickly finished his salad, said goodbye to his sister, and headed off to Master Wag.

On the way, it occurred to him that the sharpness of sensation that he’d felt the evening before was gone. He wondered if it was something that would return as he became more adept in this strange art he had begun to study.

The Master was in better spirits today, puttering around his small house (which had seemed much larger a year before, when Savn had begun studying with him) scattering bits of history with explanations of both the general and the particular. Savn wondered if he had solved the problem of Reins’s death, but decided that, if so, the Master would speak of it in his own time, and if not, he had best not bring the subject up.

And in fact, Master Wag made no mention of it during the entire day, most of which Savn spent cleaning up the Master’s house and listening to the Master’s stories and lectures—a pastime Savn rather enjoyed, even though once Master Wag began to speak he soon lost track of his audience and went far beyond Savn’s knowledge and understanding.

He’s quite a bit like Vlad
, he thought, then wondered why the notion disturbed him.

Toward the end of the day, the Master had him recite the questions, conclusions, and appropriate cures for various sorts of stomach ailments, and seemed quite pleased with Savn’s answers, although, actually, Savn left out stabbing pains in the side, and the questions that would lead to a dose of pomegranate seeds to ease an attack of kidney stones.

Master Wag was standing in front of Savn, who was seated on the stool with his back to the hearth; there was a low fire which was just on the edge of being too warm. As the Master finished his explanation, he said, “So, what have you been thinking about, Savn?”

“Master?”

“You’ve had something on your mind all day. What is it?”

Savn frowned. He hadn’t, in point of fact, realized that he
had
been thinking about something. “I don’t know,” he said.

“Is it our friend Reins?” the Master prompted.

“Maybe.”

“Well, it’s nothing for you to worry about, in any case. I still don’t know what he died of, but I haven’t quit looking, either.”

Savn didn’t say anything.

Master Wag stared at him with his intense gaze, as if he were looking around inside of Savn’s skull. “What is it?” he said.

“How do you know what to believe?” said Savn, who was surprised to bear himself ask the question.

Master Wag sat down opposite Savn and leaned back. “That is quite a question,” he said. “Care to tell me what it springs from?”

Savn found that, on the one hand, he couldn’t dissemble when the Master was staring at him so, but on the other hand, he wasn’t certain of the answer. At last he said, “I’ve been wondering. Some people say one thing, others say another—”

“Who’s been saying what, about what?”

“Well, my friends think that the Easterner had something to do with Reins’s death, and he says—”

“Rubbish,” said Master Wag, but in a tone that was not unkind. “Your friends know nothing, and the Easterner is not to be believed.

“On the other hand,” Wag continued, “that doesn’t answer your question. The way to tell what is true is simply to keep your eyes and ears open, and to use your head. That’s all there is to it.”

Savn nodded, although he felt as if his question hadn’t really been answered. But then, was Master Wag really the person to answer the question at all? He knew about helping people who were ill, but what need did he have to wonder about what truth was? He could ask Bless, but Bless would only tell him to trust the gods, and Speaker would tell him to trust what Speaker himself said.

But then, he wondered, what need did he, Savn, have to think about any of this, either? To this there was no answer, but it didn’t help. He discovered that he wanted very badly to talk to Vlad again, although he wondered if trusting the Easterner too much would be a mistake.

He said, “Thank you, Master. Is there anything else?”

“No, no. Run on home now. And don’t worry so much.”

“I won’t, Master.”

He stepped out into the warm autumn afternoon and immediately began running back toward town, wishing he could teleport.
That would be best
, he thought.
All this time I spend getting from place to place, I could just be there.
He wondered if he could convince Vlad to show him how that was done. Probably not, he decided. Most likely it was too difficult, in any case.

Soon enough he was there, and, almost to his surprise, he found Vlad right away, sitting in Tem’s house drinking wine and watching the door, as if he was waiting for Savn, and the smile he gave seemed to confirm this. There were three or four familiar faces as well, but no one Savn felt the need to speak to.

He sat down with the Easterner and gave him a good day, which Vlad returned, and offered to buy him a glass of ale. Savn accepted. Vlad signaled Tem, and Savn couldn’t help but notice the glance the Housemaster gave him as he set the ale down. He wondered if he should be annoyed, and concluded that he didn’t really care.

When Tem had returned to his place behind the counter, Savn said, “I’ve been thinking about our lesson all day. Can you show me some more?”

“Certainly,” said Vlad. “But are you sure you want to be seen with me so much?”

“Why not?”

“Didn’t you notice the looks you’ve been getting?”

“I guess I have,” said Savn. “I noticed it earlier today, too, when I was here with my sister. But why?”

“Because you’re with me.”

“Why do they care about that?”

“Either because I’m an Easterner or because they still think I had something to do with the death of Reins.”

“Oh. But you didn’t, did you?”

“I’ve been wondering about that,” said Vlad.

Savn stared at him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I didn’t kill him,” said Vlad. “But that doesn’t mean I had nothing to do with his death.”

“I don’t understand.”

“As I said before, I doubt it’s coincidence.”

“I wish,” said Savn slowly, “Master Wag could have learned what killed him.”

“Your Master has failed?”

Savn considered the Master’s words about not having given up, and he said, “Yes. He doesn’t know.”

“Then I do.”

Savn felt his eyes growing wide. “What?”

“I know what killed him.”

“How could you?”

“Because Master Wag failed. That is all the information I need.”

“But, well, what was it?”

“Sorcery.”

Savn shook his head. “Master Wag said that sorcery leaves traces.”

“Certainly, if used in a simple, straightforward way, such as causing
the heart to stop, or inducing a hemorrhage, or in a way that leaves a visible wound.”

“But, then, what happened to him?”

“Do you know what necromancy is?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“Necromancy, in its most basic form, is simply the magic of death—those particular forces that are released when a living thing passes from existence. There are those who study ways to cheat death, ways to extend or simulate life, attempting to erase the difference between life and death. And some study the soul, that which exists after the death of the body, and where it goes, which leads to the study of other worlds, of places that cannot normally be reached and those beings who live there, such as gods and demons, and the forces that operate between worlds, places where life meets unlife, where reality is whim, and Truth dances to the drum of desire, where—”

“I don’t understand.”

“Oh, sorry. I was rambling. The point is, a skilled necromancer would be able to simply send a soul into limbo, without doing anything that would actually kill the person.”

“And the person would just die?”

“Usually.”

“Usually? What happens the rest of the time?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. It doesn’t matter in this case, anyway. A necromancer could achieve the effect you saw in Reins.”

“What about the horse?”

“What about it?”

“Well, it bolted, as if it were afraid of something.”

“That doesn’t surprise me. Animals are often very sensitive to magic. Especially the dumber beasts.” There was something odd in the way he said that, as if he were sharing a joke with himself.

Savn thought all of this over, and said, “But who—?”

“Loraan, of course. I mean, Baron Smallcliff. He is a necromancer. Moreover, he is undead himself, which proves that he is a skilled necromancer, if I hadn’t known it before.”

“Undead? You want me to believe His Lordship is a vampire?”

“A vampire? Hmmm. Maybe. Do you know of any cases of mysterious death, blood drained, all that?”

“No. If something like that happened around here, I’d have heard of it.”

“So perhaps he is not a vampire. Although that proves nothing. Sethra is a vampire, but she still eats and drinks, and requires very little blood.”

“Who?”

“An old friend.”

“I think I’ve heard of her,” said Savn. “Although I can’t remember from where.”

“Doubtless just someone with the same name.”

“I suppose. But do you really know a vampire?”

“An odd one. Never mind. Still, I wonder what he is—”

“What other sorts of undead are there?”