by DAVID B. COE
He knew he was being a fool, and he tried to force thoughts of Lici and the daybook out of his mind. He needed to sleep. In the morning he'd speak with Pyav and together the elders would decide what to do.
After lying still for what seemed the better part of an hour, he gave up on trying to sleep. Now that he had started to imagine what might be in the book, he couldn't stop. He rose, dressed, and took his pipe, smoking weed, and flint out into the chill air. The last of the rain clouds had moved off, leaving a clear sky. It was past midnight, but this late in the waning the moons were just rising, glowing brightly enough to cast pale shadows across Elica's yard and the lane beyond it.
He filled the pipe bowl, but then laid it on Sirj's stump. Taking a deep breath, he gazed up at white Panya, who shone through the trees, gleaming like fresh snow.
"Gods forgive me," he said. And he began to walk south, toward the old woman's hut.
There would be a guard there-hadn't Besh himself recommended to the eldest that they continue to keep watch on Lici's home?-but Besh was an elder. The guard might think it odd that he would come to the house at such a late hour, but he wouldn't hesitate to let Besh enter.
"I have no right to do this," he told himself, remembering how self- righteous he had sounded denouncing those who wanted to divide up her gold. "I'm no better than they are." Still, he kept walking.
Ojan, the village miller, lay on the steps leading up to Lici's door, snoring softly. He was a big man, heavy as well as tall, with a round, fleshy face and jutting brow. Certainly he looked the part of a night watchman. When standing, he cut an imposing figure; anyone from outside the village who came to steal from the old woman's house would have fled at the mere sight of him. Those who lived here, however, knew him to be a gentle man who was no more dangerous awake than he was asleep. He'd been asked to guard the house by Korr, his father, who was also a member of the Council of Elders. Despite the thoughts churning in Besh's mind, the old man smiled to see Ojan sleeping so soundly on his guard duty. Not wishing to startle him, Besh cleared his throat and stepped farther into the circle of light from a torch burning at the top of the stairs.
The miller opened one eye, then sat up and scratched the side of his face. "That you, Besh?"
"Yes, Ojan. Sorry to disturb you."
"Not at all." He frowned. "What's the hour?"
"I don't know. It's late."
"Is something wrong?"
"No," Besh said. He started to say more, then stopped himself. Now that he was here at Lici's house, he wasn't certain how to proceed. He decided, though, that he wouldn't compound his sins by lying about why he had come. "There's nothing wrong. I saw something today when Pyav and I were searching through Lici's things. A daybook. I wanted to take another look at it."
The miller's frown deepened, making him look fierce in the dim light of the moons. "Now?"
"I know it seems strange. But I wasn't able to sleep, so I thought…" He trailed off with a small shrug.
Ojan answered with a shrug of his own. "All right." He stood and took the torch out of the makeshift sconce that had been fashioned on one of the beams of Old Lici's porch. "You'll need this," the miller said.
"Won't you?"
Ojan glanced up at the moons. "I daresay there's enough light without it." He shrugged again. "No one ever comes anyway. You're the first in all my nights here."
Besh smiled. "All right then. My thanks."
He took the torch and climbed the stairs to the house. He almost raised his hand to knock, just out of habit. Instead, laughing at himself, but also wiping a sweaty palm on the leg of his trousers, he pushed the door open.
The inside of the house looked just as it had earlier that day. Of course. But somehow the darkened corners and the shifting yellow glow of the torch made the mess Lici had left seem even more menacing than it had in the light of morning. Shadows lurked along the walls. Light reflected oddly off windows and kitchen pans. He almost backed out of the house-better to leave this until morning.
But again the daybook called to him. He made a point of leaving the door ajar and started toward the back room. Before he was halfway across the house, a small gust of wind made the door slam. Abruptly his heart was racing, like a horse that bolts at a sudden flash of lightning.
"Damn," he muttered, taking a breath.
He continued to the back room and quickly found the journal in that same crate below Lici's sack of coins. He lifted it out and carried it back into the main room. After setting the torch in a pot, he brushed bark cuttings off a chair, sat down, and began to leaf through the volume.
There was much he wanted to look for in the book-information about his parents, about a flood he remembered from his childhood, about the deliberations of the Council of Elders during Sylpa's tenure as eldest. But he remained uncomfortable with what he was doing, and so resolved to look only for information about Lici.
He thumbed through to the middle of the book, and began to scan the pages for any mention of the orphaned girl who came to Kirayde so unexpectedly. Besh knew his letters well enough, but he was not nearly as learned as some, and at first he had some difficulty reading Sylpa's hand. But after some time, he found what he sought.
".. She can barely speak of the tragedy," Sylpa wrote. "Nor does she cry anymore. She merely stares silently, her expression utterly blank, only the twisting of her pale hands revealing something of the workings of her mind."
Besh turned back a page, and then another, searching for the date of the first entry that mentioned Lici. When he found it, the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end. "Thunder Moon, twelfth day of the waxing, 1147."
It wasn't just that Sylpa had written this sixty-four years ago. That he had expected. But the day: the twelfth of the Thunder Moon's waxing. That day in this year had to have been around the time Lici disappeared from the village. He'd seen her earlier in that turn, but he couldn't remember seeing her since the full of both moons. Was it possible that she vanished sixty-four years to the day after arriving in Kirayde? If so, was it mere coincidence? Looking around the house, seeing the filth she had left behind, he found it hard to imagine that Lici could track the days so closely.
And yet somehow he knew that she had. For all her odd behavior, which bordered even on madness, Lici was not one to let an anniversary of such significance go unnoticed. If she left Kirayde on the same day she arrived here, she did so with purpose. But what purpose? What might this mean?
He heard a noise outside, like the scuffing of a shoe on wood, and for just an instant he wondered if Lici had returned. But after staring at the door for several moments, waiting for it to open, his expression, no doubt, like that of a child caught stealing a sweet before mealtime, he realized that it was just Ojan shifting his position on the stairs. Turning his attention back to the book, Besh began to read again, starting this time from the beginning of the entry.
Thunder Moon, twelfth day of the waxing, 1147.
It seems the last of the storms has passed. We've had no rain now for three days, and the wash begins to recede from the top of its banks. The flooding was worst at the north end of the village, but even there the damage is only slight. We've been fortunate.
But already, the gods have found a new way to test us. Near midday, a girl wandered into our village from the south. She looks to be eight or nine years old, perhaps ten. She has long limbs and is tall for a girl of that age, but her face still has the delicacy of a young child. In truth, though, it hard to set her age with any certainty, for she looks a mess and has yet to speak a word to anyone.
Upon her arrival, her clothes were in tatters, her hair was tangled and matted with burrs, leaves, and all manner of filth, and her body and face had not been washed, it seemed, in half a turn, perhaps more. She is painfully thin. Her ribs show plainly through her skin and her arms and legs look like mere sticks. Well fed and healthy, she would look lank. As it is she appears on the edge of starvation. Her cheeks are sunken, her eyes look overlarge in her pinched face.<
br />
Yet, for all this, one need only glance at her to see that she is a beautiful girl, a fact confirmed for us after a few of the women managed to get her bathed down at the river. Her hair is raven black and her eyes are brilliant green. Her skin is brown, and though the sunburn on her face tells me that she has been wandering in the wilderness for some time, I believe that the darkness of her skin comes naturally to her If I had to guess, I'd say that she, too, is Mettai.
For now, however, her appearance and even her ancestry are secondary. Some tragedy has befallen the child. I'm certain of it, and others among the elders agree. She doesn't cry. As far as we know, she's mute. She bears no sign of injury or abuse, save the scrapes and bruises one might expect a child so young to acquire while venturing alone in the wild. But there is something in her eyes, in the way she flinches away from any direct gaze. This girl has wraiths hovering at her shoulder.
The one thing she does do is eat, and it gladdens my heart to see it. Trenna started her on some thin broth, thinking it might take the girl some time to work up to more substantial fare. But she made quick work of the first bowl and then a second. We gave her bread then, and she devoured that as might a wolf We dare not give her anything more difficult than a bit of fowl, but for now that seems to content her Broth, bread, and fowl. At least we can sleep tonight knowing that we have done well by the girl, even if the rest of the world has not.
Trenna has offered to take the girl in, but with her three, and Branz away trading with the Fal'Borna, she has her hands full. She will sleep here tonight, and with time maybe she can communicate enough to help us find her way home.
Thunder Moon, thirteenth day of the waxing, 1147.
The girl slept late, as I suspected she would. I can only imagine how terrified she must have been at night in the wild, taking refuge in what shelter she could find, braving the storms that have just recently passed through the highlands. It makes me shudder just to think of it. No doubt it's been an age since last she had a decent night's sleep.
Needless to say, I did nothing to disturb her slumber. I lit a fire outside and took my breakfast in the cool morning air It's something I should do more often. How strange that this child should come into our lives, and in this very small way force me out of habits I didn't even know I'd acquired. How long has it been since I did something-anything-different? Too long, by the feel of it. I'm too young to have grown so set in my ways. It makes me wonder if the gods have some other purpose in sending this girl to Kirayde, aside from the obvious, of course: that of healing whatever wounds lurk in the mind of this poor creature.
She awoke a bit before midday and called out. I didn't recognize a word in her cry, but it was the first sound she had made since her arrival, and even as I hurried into the house, I took it as a sign of some progress. She was sitting up in her bed, looking around, as if she had no memory of how she had gotten there. Upon seeing me, however, she must have recalled some of yesterday's events, because she immediately calmed down, and actually favored me with a smile. It lasted just a moment, but again, it gave me some hope.
I asked her if she was hungry, and she nodded. Something else I've noticed about her-she says nothing, but she has no trouble hearing and understanding all that we say. This leads me to think that her silence is a response to all she's been through and that her voice will come back to her once she has had time to heal.
After she had eaten again as much as she had the night before, I sat her down outside on the stairs to the house and sat beside her I took her hand, which she suffered me to hold, and I looked her in the eye.
"You've been through a difficult time, haven't you?" I asked.
She shrank away from me, and even pulled her hand away. For a long time, she wouldn't even meet my gaze.
"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry for what you've been through, whatever it might be, and I'm sorry for asking you about ft. I should have begun differently." I waited for her to face me again. When she didn't, I went on anyway. "My name is S:ylpa," I said. "I told you that yesterday, but with all that happened, I thought maybe you had forgotten."
At that, she did turn, and after some hesitation, she shook her head. "You mean you remembered?" I said.
She smiled again and nodded.
"Well, I'm glad," I told her "Are you ready to tell me your name?" Her smile vanished, and she shook her head.
"Can you tell me where you're from?"
Again she shook her head.
"Is it that you don't remember?"
No, she indicated, that wasn't the problem.
"Can you not speak?"
She hesitated again, and then nodded, her face brightening. I knew right off that she was lying to me, but I didn't press the matter When she's ready to tell me these things she will. I'm more sure of that now than ever In the meantime, she spent the day as my companion, more like a dog than a girl to be sure, but a companion nevertheless. She came with me to the garden, and even helped me weed a bit, after I showed her what I wanted done. She helped me clean my clothes, needing so little instruction that I'm sure she had done as much before.
We ate a quiet supper and even before we'd finished, she was yawning, her eyes drooping as if she could barely keep herself awake. Still, she helped me clear the table and heated water for the dishes before I said that she should get herself to bed and that I would come to her presently to make certain that she was all right. By the time I did as I promised, she had fallen asleep.
Thunder Moon, fourteenth day of the waxing, 1147.
This day began much as yesterday did, with the girl crying out in fear at finding herself in a strange home. I wonder if she awakens from dark dreams, stark visions of whatever horrors have afflicted her I had hoped that the pleasant day we spent together might start to rid her of such terrors, but I realize now that I was foolish to think it possible. Such things take time.
And, as matters now stand, I realize that I have been fortunate to have made as much progress with her this day as I did. After we had eaten and were on our way to the garden, the girl actually spoke.
"I lied to you," she said suddenly, her eyes trained on the road as we walked. "I know." I tried to keep any rebuke from my voice, and I believe I succeeded.
"You knew?" she asked.
"Perhaps not for certain, but clearly you heard everything we said to you, and I had the sense at times that you wanted to speak, but were afraid."
She walked for some distance without answering, as if considering what I had said. At length, she looked at me again. "My name is Licaldi."
I stopped and proffered a hand. "Sylpa," I said. "Pleased to meet you."
She shook my hand, then giggled. We resumed our walk to the garden plot, and she said nothing else. I think she was merely relieved to know that she could speak, if she so wished. I made no effort to engage her in conversation, nor did I ply her with questions. At least I didn't then.
As we were on our way back home, I heard my name being called from the marketplace. Looking that way, I saw Trenna waving to me. I told Licaldi to wait for me, but she seemed reluctant to be left alone. Seeing no harm in taking her with me, I started toward the market with my companion in tow.
Much of what transpired in the marketplace is recorded now in the records of the council, and I won't bother with details here, except to say that two peddlers were in dispute over one woman's interest in buying a bolt of Aelean wool. Both claimed that she had promised to buy their cloth; the woman swore that she had made no such promise to either man, but rather intended to look at the wares of all the other peddlers in the marketplace before making her decision. Trenna, of course, had no intention of making the woman buy from either of them. Rather, she remembered a similar matter coming up several turns before, involving the same two men, and she was now convinced that the two were swindlers working in common purpose.
Reminded of the earlier incident I remembered it clearly, and agreed with her. I ordered the men out of the village, threatening to draw upon my magic if th
ey refused. The pair complained loudly, protesting their innocence and vowing never to set foot in Kirayde again, but all the while they were packing their wares and making a most careful count of what gold they had already made that day. In a short while they were gone, and Licaldi and I started once more to make our way home.
"You're the village eldest," she said, as we walked.
At first, still thinking of those men, I answered absently that I was. Then the import of what she had said reached me.
"Did your village have elders as well?"
She nodded, staring straight ahead. It occurred to me that I had said "did" rather than "does," and that the girl hadn't corrected me.
"You're Mettai, aren't you?"
Again she nodded. I could see the color fleeing her cheeks and lips. Her hands trembled and her jaw quivered.
"Can you tell me the name of your village?"
Suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears. "It doesn't matter;" she whispered.
I stopped, gently taking hold of her shoulders and making her face me. "Why doesn't it matter? Did you run away? Was someone there cruel to you?" "No, it wasn't that."
"Then what, Licaldi? Please tell me."
But she wouldn't say more and I knew better than to push her I'm anxious to know what's befallen the child, not merely because of some dark curiosity, but because I expect the sooner she can speak of it, the sooner she can move beyond it. And, of course, the sooner we know where she belongs, the sooner we can try to reunite her with her family. That last strikes me as being most important, and yet something tells me that it will prove the most difficult. The question in my mind is no longer where her family might be, but rather how many of them have survived whatever tragedy the girl witnessed.
