by Henry Thomas
“Joth, it’s about bloody time.”
“Happy to see you, Wat. They treat you all right?”
“Their women are a bit rough, but I always liked that anyhow.”
Joth smiled. He took his friend’s hand. “I’m glad you pulled through.”
Wat wrinkled his nose. “You reek of fish.”
They spoke at length about the events of the days before, about the standoff in the pass and about the quest that Joth had agreed to undertake in exchange for Wat’s life. Wat nodded gravely.
“Not that you had much of a say in it, but for what it’s worth, I thank you for not just leaving me there.”
“Never was a question in my mind.”
“Course not, Joth, you’re a bloody idiot.”
They laughed tersely, briefly.
“I am afraid of her, Wat. I can’t get my head around it.”
He nodded. “Be wary, but to be honest, Joth, these people have something in them I never saw before.”
“You mean about the way they treated us?”
“I mean they have honor. Real honor to them.”
He was right. Joth had always been taught that the Dawn Tribe were savages who lacked any sense of honor and who would lie at every turn to press an advantage, but his experience was completely contrary to that. It was confusing him more with each passing day.
“Yes, but what if we are wrong?”
“About being wrong?” Wat raised one eyebrow.
“I don’t know, Wat. I don’t know what to think.”
“Stop thinking, Joth. You’re not very bloody good at it anyway.”
Wat’s humor was good to encounter but it rang hollow in Joth’s ears. He nodded. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to get an audience with the High Mage. Can’t get my head around that one either. I’ll probably be locked in a box as soon as we get to Immerdale, then what?”
Wat shook his head once. “Don’t go to Immerdale. Go straight to Twinton.”
“Seriously? What about the company? Protocol?”
“Glorious Lord Uhlmet already stuck that pig, my lad. You go to Borsford and catch a bloody airship to Twinton and report to the Magistry.”
“Airship? How am I supposed to pay for that?”
Wat looked at him long and hard. “You ask the old man for a quill and some parchment for me. Lord bloody Uhlmet is going to pay for it, or at least that’s what it’ll look like.”
Joth spoke with Wat until one of the village women came into the hut and ran him out, chattering away as she did.
Once outside the hut he found that night was falling so he hurried to the washtub and began the daily ritual of bathing he had become accustomed to. The People kept themselves very clean and bathed often, a strange custom by Oestern standards. The Oestermen washed their faces and hands daily, but most common folk only bathed fully perhaps once every season, and rarely in winter. Now that Joth had begun to bathe everyday he looked forward to his evening bath. At first it had seemed an extreme idea to him, unnecessary. The old hens had insisted that he do it, though. After wagging their fingers and scolding him on the second day, Joth had realized that he would know no peace until he had reported to the washtub every evening as the sun fell.
After he had emerged clean and fresh and smelling of herbs he made his way to the roundhouse by the light of a beautifully full, rising moon. As he stopped to gaze up at the shimmering sky and the pale stars that shone above him, he realized that he did not want to leave the village. He had begun to feel at home here; it had warmth and a familiarity that he had grown to love. Bloody fool, Joth, he thought, you’ve only been here a week, and as a prisoner no less. Still he could not deny that he felt at home there, that he would be a happy man if his life was a routine of fish weirs and compost heaps, washtubs and evening meals. It was simple and it was easy, this kind of life; it was, to Joth, how a life should be. The language was a difficulty; he had learned a few words, but not being able to express himself and or be understood was frustrating. I could learn their tongue over time, I am sure of it, he thought. He was an outsider though, and in many regards he might always be. He had spent his years growing up in Oesteria and he was an Oesterman; nothing would ever change that. But Joth realized for the first time that he was looking through a window into another world that he had never known before. Yet he had discounted it without realizing that its simplicity and its alien qualities held many wondrous treasures, and in appreciating this view as it stood before him then and there beneath the moon, he wondered how many other worlds were out there to explore and enjoy; how many opportunities were there for him to find in the world? It was a little overwhelming for him under the night sky just then, that shrinking feeling that he had. He was suddenly very small and full of wonder at what possibilities existed over all the lands and days and nights of the world. As his belly rumbled he broke from his reverie, his hunger affirming that he was but an animal and subject to all the laws of nature and sustenance, so he made his way to the Roundhouse for what he knew would be his last evening meal in the village. The village by the river would be left behind him in the morning, and he hoped that he might one day see it again, but he had his doubts.
Joth ignored his hunger and took in the night sky for a longer moment, soaking in as much of its peace as he could. He hoped that some of that peace would shadow him in the coming weeks, or at least as far as Twinton.
Seven
It was dawn when they rode out of the village. Eilyth said some words and the People repeated them, then she kissed her father and her brother and mounted her gray mare swaddled in her silvery cloak. Traegern clasped Joth on the shoulder once and bid him a safe journey. Joth was given the horse he had stolen for Wat to ride, and the dish-faced bay he ponied behind him as a packhorse. The villagers had laden the horse with bedding and food for their journey as well as a small bronze cooking pot and a waxed linen tarpaulin that could be used as a shelter. Joth was given back his helm and soldier’s gear as well, tied up in a bundle on the packsaddle. The notion of wearing his soldier clothes seemed strange to him after being accustomed to the comfortable and practical dress of the People. It was strange that the week he had spent in the village seemed like a lifetime to him, especially now that he was leaving it behind.
Many of the villagers embraced him and looked sad to see him go. Joth found himself moved by their displays of friendship, especially when one of the old hens bid him a tearful farewell. The young warrior, Traegern’s son and Eilyth’s brother, whom he had learned was called Eilorn, only acknowledged him with a hard stare and an almost imperceptible nod that said less of “farewell” and more of “watch yourself.” But Joth nodded back anyhow and he told Traegern that he would keep his word and conduct his daughter to Twinton as he had said he would: safely. He let Eilorn stare his daggers and mounted his horse. Traegern went to Eilyth and put his hand on her knee and said a word, handing her his staff. She smiled at him kindly and lay it across her lap and set her horse into a traveling pace out of the village, Joth following. When he caught up to her he saw tears on her face and suddenly she seemed very young and frail to him, like his own sister.
“Are you all right, lady?”
She did not look at him. “I do not like farewells.”
They rode in silence and made the pass by mid-morning. The sky was overcast, and Eilyth and her mount almost seemed to blend into the horizon except for the red shock of hair and her golden ornaments. She rode easily and spoke to her horse often, sometimes chiding the mare if she took a misstep, petting her neck and soothing her like a child. Joth had never seen anyone treat a horse in such a way, and he suspected that Eilyth spent more time with her horse than she did with people. She called out to him once to point at a flock of birds flying overhead in the same direction as they were going.
“Look! A good sign for us,” she said. She seemed very happy to have seen it.
Joth nodded, but he did not trust in such things.
They traveled through the pass and cleared it with a few hours left in the day. The low rolling hills were somehow different on this side, as though the land itself had defined where the border lay between Osteria and the People. Somehow it seemed less wild here, less alive. When he stopped and looked back at Eilyth she seemed to be thinking the same thing, but her face bore a look of concern as she regarded it.
“Is all of your land like this?”
“No, lady,” he said. “But there aren’t as many mountains as there are in your lands.”
“I mean how it feels.”
“Lady?”
She smiled resignedly. “The horses are thirsty, let us find a place to water them and stop our travels for the day.”
Joth nodded. His thoughts were jumbled and his heart was confused. Ever since she got into my head, he thought, ever since I was bewitched. It was part of his being now, a kind of extra sensory awareness that was just beyond his reach; it was palpable and real, yet elusive. It left him bewildered and feeling small, unsure of whether or not he had a grasp on his own sanity. To make matters worse, Eilyth seemed to know he was confused. She was always regarding him like some wounded animal. He would find her staring at him in that way she had, hairs on the back of his neck standing up, and it was always Joth who looked away first. Somehow he could not bring himself to ask her about it, but he knew that she had the answer to his dilemna.
He kicked his horse up a bit and rode ahead of the strange girl on the gray horse. His uneasiness did not abate, but he felt a little better having her behind him where he was not catching her eyes every five minutes. Joth continued on over the rolling hills for another few miles until they found a small stream where they could water the horses. The sun was sinking low in the sky, and amidst the low hills Joth hobbled the horses and made camp.
Eilyth filled the cook pot with water from the stream and set it on some coals she had separated from the fire and with a small knife she cut some root vegetables and added them to the simmering water. She produced some dried blackish green leaves and added them to the pot as Joth sat down and unrolled his bedding near the small fire.
“This grows in the sea,” she answered his unspoken question. “It is very nutritious.”
Joth felt like if he nodded any more his head might fall from his neck. He studied the thongs in his shoes instead as though they needed replacing. The People had replaced them a week before. Eilyth sang softly to herself as she stirred the soup and covered the small cooking pot, then got up and went to see to her mare in the fading light. Joth watched her go and cursed under his breath.
He had no idea how he was supposed to get through the journey. The girl was a beauty and pleasant as a summer’s day or a fine spring rain, but how she unnerved him. She carried herself with a natural grace born of her station, for she was the equivalent of an Oestern lady at the very least, probably higher born in the eyes of her people; even though Joth had learned that the People held not to titles and pomp like the Oestern people did, her father was greatly revered and respected, and that respect transferred to his children as well. Eilorn, her brother, was young yet held in utmost esteem by the People as a warrior and a leader. Eilorn bore him no love, that much was obvious to Joth, yet Traegern had treated him well, going so far as to compliment him and clasping him on the shoulder like a friend. The more he thought on it, the worse it became for young Joth Andries; he was more confused than he had been that first day with Dierna by the salmon weirs, struggling to come to grips with the aftermath of their spent passions and the consequences he knew would befall him sooner or later, despite his denial of the inevitability of it all. Suddenly and uncharacteristically, Joth buried his head in his hands and began to weep. He wept for the poor lad that he and Wat hanged in the ash grove, for the horrors of battle that he had witnessed. He wept for Dierna and his father and his shame, for his mother and his sister. More than anything else Joth wept for his fear and for his ignorance. He did not know how long he wept, but he could not stop when he became aware of Eilyth standing nearby quietly watching him.
He wiped at his eyes and choked back his sobs, but he could not stop no matter how hard he tried.
“Forgive me, lady.” He sounded like a broken-throated boy.
Eilyth spoke to him in soft tones in her own tongue, and Joth felt like she was speaking to him in the same way that she used to soothe her mare when it stumbled. Her words were sweet to his ears, but he was suddenly and superbly aware of the insurmountable barrier of language between them.
“I don’t understand,” he wept. “I’m sorry but I can’t understand!” It was all he could seem to croak out.
Then she was pressing a hot bowl into his hands and stroking his hair, her voice like music. It calmed him, but it was not like the voice she had used in the pass; it was her kindness that pacified him and slowed his grief. She was touching his hair and speaking to him like a mother to a son, and at last his tears stopped and he noticed that the fire was dying and the soup had gone lukewarm in his hands.
She looked at him and smiled, and Joth found himself smiling back at her through his glistening eyes. She put her hands around his and lifted the bowl to his lips and he drank in the broth and thought that it tasted strange, like the oceans he had never laid eyes upon must taste. Eilyth produced some cold flat bread from a leathern bag and handed him a loaf and he hungrily sopped up the rest of the broth. Then she shared with him a skin full of good mead like that he had grown a fondness for in the village. When he took another long pull on the skin of mead Eilyth warned him that it was the last they would taste of her homeland for a time, and Joth handed it back to her feeling admonished. He knew better than to think that mead could wash away his shame. She put more of the wood Joth had gathered earlier on the smoldering coals and then sat beneath the tarpaulin Joth had set up for her to shelter in, cross-legged on her bedding.
“Sleep well, Joth Andries. Let your worries be no more.”
With that she closed the flap to her tent and left him to the night sky.
“Thank you, lady,” he said softly, as much to the night as to Eilyth.
He listened to her stir in her bedding and settle before he too drifted off to sleep. He awoke in the predawn, dew faced with his breath frosting. The morning was cold and he arose stiff legged and yawning. The fire was a smoldering pile of ash that glowed patchily with red every time the wind tore through the shallow valley between the low hills where they had made camp. Joth walked past the waxed linen tent where Eilyth lay sleeping within and made his way to gather the horses. He carried with him a canvas feed bag with some sweet oats to lure them in, but the hobbled horses had not wandered very far and he caught them quite easily. Their legs and backs were wet with dew and they whinnied to him as he approached. They know me now, he thought. He untied the hobbles and led them back to the camp in time to see Eilyth emerging from the tent wrapping her silvery cloak about her. Joth was surprised to feel unashamed by his outburst the previous evening when their eyes met and she acknowledged him with a kind smile. It seemed to him that somehow he felt lighter in that moment, as though the shedding of his shame through the tears had left him cleansed and refreshed in a way that he had not known for a long while. Eilyth took up her father’s staff, regarding him with her stern yet compassionate gaze.
“The night has left you feeling better?”
“Yes, lady.” She was still unnerving to him, no matter how hard he tried.
She gave a satisfied nod.
Joth broke the camp and loaded everything back onto the packsaddle while the dish-faced gelding tossed his head impatiently and Eilyth chattered to her horse and fussed with its headstall. The People had packed everything so efficiently that Joth had a difficult time mimicking the job. He thought his arrangement seemed a bit lopsided after the first attempt, so he set about refolding the canvas tarpaulin and cinch
ing it back down again as Eilyth spoke to the pack horse and calmed its jitteriness.
“What’s his problem this morning?” Joth asked offhandedly.
“He is a warrior’s horse. He does not like this job.”
She spoke a few more words to the dish-faced bay and trained his mane to lie uniformly on the right side. The gelding had stopped his head tossing and was now gently nuzzling against her. A warrior’s horse, and he had stolen it. How many of the People wished him dead beside her brother, he wondered?
“Does this warrior wish to have his horse back? Does he wish me ill?” Joth asked as the horse regarded him with his one odd pale eye.
“Yes,” she said, flashing one of her strange smiles. “You know him, my brother Eilorn.”
Many things began to make sense to Joth at that moment.
“Understand also that we are the same, my twin and I.”
“Twin?”
“Yes, and a sister besides. There are three of us. Twins, yet different in many ways. I believe in peace, and my brother has chosen the way of war. “
Joth did not know how to respond, so he said nothing. Was this why Traegern had complimented him on his choice of mounts? Perhaps the old man saw the irony in the situation and had chosen to highlight it for that reason. Perhaps he had never meant it as a compliment in the first place and had rather said it to accent his own son’s ire. He knew less and less the more he thought on it. She regarded him evenly as he self-consciously gathered the gelding’s lead in his hands.
“We take the color of horses as having meaning; the shapes of them, their faces. I don’t hate you, Joth Andries.”
There she was, reading his thoughts again. He could only nod with what he thought must be a stupid expression on his face. “What of your sister, what path has she chosen?” he finally managed to say.
Eilyth pursed her lips thoughtfully. Joth thought he saw a smile flit across her face. “Her path is her own.”
