by Steven Brust
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?
8
I will not marry 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 Tem’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 hundredth 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 Tem’s house early; she had heard that a minstrel had arrived last night. Savn heard himself agreeing. Tem’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.
Tem’s house was empty except for Tem 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.”
“Mmm. 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 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—”
“If something happened that prevented a beating, consider yourself lucky and don’t ask any questions.”
Savn watched him for a while. “You’ve been beaten before, haven’t you? I mean, when you were younger.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Because you were an Easterner?”
“Mostly.”
Savn felt himself smiling a little. “Well, you survived; I suppose I will too.”
“Very likely,” said Vlad. “Only . . .”
“Yes?”
“Nothing.”
“Did you have a friend who helped you?”
The familiar enigmatic smile came and went. “Yes, I did.”
“Did he ever explain why he helped you?”
“No,” said Vlad slowly, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “No, she never did.”
“Did you ever wonder?”
“I still do.”
“Maybe I always will, too, then.”
“No,” said Vlad. “I suspect one day you’ll know.”
Savn nodded, and decided that this was all the information he was likely to get. “How was your talk with the minstrel?”
“Satisfactory. I got some of what I was after; I’m hoping to get more.”
“Then I don’t doubt that you will,” said Savn. “I’ll see you later,” he added, standing.
“Are you certain?”
“Oh, yes.” Savn felt a small smile come to his lips and wondered if he was starting to copy Vlad’s mannerisms. He said, “I still want to impress girls.” He walked back to the table where he’d left his sister, and discovered that she was watching him.
“What were you talking to him about?”
“Just passing the time,” said Savn, picking up his ale. As he sipped, he realized that whatever mood or spell had been on him had broken; he was himself again.
He finished his drink in silence, then announced, “It’s time for me to go.”
“Already?”
“Yes.”
“
All right. I’ll wait here for the minstrel.”
“Your friends will probably be joining you.”
“Maybe,” said Polyi, as if she couldn’t have cared less.
Savn looked at her for a moment, then leaned over and kissed the top of her head.
“What was that for?” she said.
“Because,” he said. “Not everyone has a sister.” He stood up and headed for the door. Just before he walked out, he turned and looked at Vlad, who was watching him. Savn inclined his head toward Vlad, and set off to spend the day with Master Wag.
He stopped about twenty paces outside the door, just to take in the day—doing what Master Wag called “Enjoying the now of it all,” though Savn thought that was a silly way of putting it.
The row of thin maples that marked the Manor Road wagged in the odd dance of mildly windswept trees, looking as if there were an entirely different breeze for each one. The sky had greyed, covering the overcast and hinting at the rain that Savn had been expecting each day of the harvest. Polite of it, he decided, to wait until they were done.
There was almost no one in sight, perhaps because of the threatening weather. Savn rather enjoyed being rained on, unless it was also cold and windy, but most people seemed not to like—
His meditations were interrupted by the odd sight of six or seven strangers walking around from behind Plaster’s hut, just across the way from Tem’s. They were all armed with long, heavy swords, and dressed in black, and Savn fancied he could see that above each breast was the Athyra crest of His Lordship.
What would seven of His Lordship’s men-at-arms be doing here, now?
He didn’t consciously answer his question, nor did he consciously decide to do anything about it, but he turned at once and went back to Tem’s to find Vlad.
When he entered once more, Polyi, who was still seated near the door, said, “What is it, Savn?” which was the last clear thing he remembered; all the rest of it he reconstructed afterwards from what Polyi told him and the fragments of memory that remained.
He shook his head and walked over to Vlad’s table, according to Polyi. Savn remembered how the Easterner was staring off with a distracted look on his face. Before Savn could say anything, however (Savn was never certain what he was going to say, in any case), Vlad rose abruptly to his feet; the table at which he had been sitting tipped over, landing on its side with a loud thunk. Vlad moved so quickly, Savn could hardly see him, which Savn later remembered as being the point at which he realized that Something Was Wrong.
