by DAVID B. COE
Yet, at the same time, she thrilled to the thought that this was the world in which she would soon find herself. In just a few more days, she and Grinsa would cross into Qirsi land and, she hoped, quickly find a settlement in which to build a new life. Bryntelle, awake now, her eyes wide as she watched D'Chul, would grow up thinking it normal to live among only Qirsi, without the hostility and mistrust of the Eandi. No doubt she would take such a life for granted. Cresenne could think of no greater gift for her child.
Yes, she had Eandi friends, though not many of them. Once, when she had allied herself with Dusaan jal Kania, the Weaver who had sought to overthrow the Eandi courts in the Forelands and create a new Qirsi empire, she had believed that she hated all Eandi. She knew now that she didn't. Some among Ean's children had been kind to her in the days leading up to the Weaver's war, kinder than she'd had any right to ask or expect, given her role in the Qirsi conspiracy. But she had to admit that she longed to live the rest of her days free from prejudice and the constant tension that seemed to pervade the cities of the Forelands. And though she would have had trouble admitting as much to Grinsa, who counted an Eandi noble among his closest friends and who once even loved an
Eandi woman, she believed that the only way to find such peace was to live apart from all Eandi.
D'Chul proved to be a fine companion for such a grey day. After he'd talked about his home for some time, he began to sing for them, or more precisely for Bryntelle, who laughed and squealed each time he began a new song. Eventually, the young man's singing even drew Grinsa out of his dark mood. As was the case with the songs he had played the night before, Cresenne didn't know any of the ones he sang. They sounded like children's songs, and she had the sense that they would have been as familiar to a Qirsi child in the Southlands as "Four Tired Lambs" or "Moons and Stars" had been to her when she was a girl.
One song in particular delighted Bryntelle and caught Cresenne's ear, though probably not for the same reason. She couldn't follow the verses, which made little sense, but after a few rounds, she was able to piece together the refrain:
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye,
Run away back home;
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye, '
Tis not your land to roam;
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye,
Run away and hide;
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye,
No one's on your side.
It seemed that Grinsa also was struck by the lyric. When D'Chul finished singing, he asked, "What was that one called?"
" 'Little Dark-Eye,' " the man answered, grinning. "It's a grim song, eh?"
"I couldn't make out most of it," Grinsa said.
"That's because most of ifs been changed. It was a Qirsi war song; dates back to the first of the Blood Wars. You can probably guess what it's about."
"The last line of the refrain was changed, too, wasn't it?" D'Chul looked at Cresenne. "You could tell that, could you?"
She nodded.
"It was originally 'All your friends have died,' but that was changed long ago. Better for the little ones this way."
"How did you know?" Grinsa asked her, smiling slightly, but also looking annoyed, as if angry with himself for not figuring this out as well.
She shrugged. "It just didn't sound right. 'Died' is the natural rhyme there."
"You've got an ear for music," D'Chul said.
Cresenne laughed at that. She was just about the least musical person she knew. She couldn't even sing in tune. "No," she said. "I think I just have a dark humor."
"There's no escaping it, is there?" Grinsa asked, still looking troubled, his voice grim.
D'Chul frowned. "What do you mean?"
"This feud between Eandi and Qirsi. The Blood Wars. These songs you sing. The Eandi villages that won't give a room to Qirsi travelers. It's everywhere."
Cresenne feared that the lutenist might take offense, but instead, he regarded Grinsa for several moments and then began to nod slowly.
"It must seem that way to you," he said. "I don't think we give much thought to how our land might be perceived by strangers." He seemed to consider this for several moments. At last he nodded again. "Yes, I guess it is everywhere. The wars have been over for some time now, but the fighting didn't end because we suddenly stopped hating one another. I'm not sure people can do that."
"Then why did the wars end?"
He shook his head. "Neither side had the stomach for them anymore. The clans decided that the wars were costing too many lives, even as they continued to take land from the dark-eyes. Already there are more Eandi in the Southlands than there are Qirsi. Not by a lot-not the way we hear Qirsi are outnumbered in the Forelands. But enough to scare our leaders. And the Eandi sovereignties made no effort to continue the fighting. Every time a war was fought they lost land. It's not really surprising that they'd welcome a truce."
"So the two sides never really forged a peace," Grinsa said. "They just stopped killing each other."
D'Chul raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. I don't think there's much danger of the wars starting up again, if that's what concerns you."
"No," Grinsa said. "It's not that." "Then what?" Cresenne asked.
He looked at her, their eyes meeting. "I don't know, really. I just find it all… unsettling."
She should have understood. In a way she did, though only vaguely. But mostly, Cresenne felt herself growing impatient with him. Of course
the Southlands weren't perfect. What place was? Everyone they'd talked to had said the same thing: The wars had been over for more than a century. The various realms of the Forelands had battled one another as recently as that, and he wouldn't have thought anything of living there, had that been a choice.
He appeared to read the annoyance in her glance, because he forced a smile and shook his head.
"I'm just being foolish," he said. "I suppose it'll take me some time to grow accustomed to this place." He turned to D'Chul. "Forgive me."
The young man shrugged and grinned again. "There's nothing to forgive."
Cresenne thought he was being more generous than she would have been.
They rode with D'Chul for the rest of that day and for two more before finally coming within sight of the Silverwater Wash. By the third morning, the skies had cleared, though the air remained cold.
"This feels like the Harvest," D'Chul said as they rode that third day, turning his face up to the sky and closing his eyes, as if savoring the touch of the sun on his ghostly skin. "I expect we've seen the last of the warmer days until next year's Planting."
Fine, lacy clouds drifted above them, pure white against the deep blue sky, reminding Cresenne of Harvest days in the Forelands. Some things, it seemed, were the same everywhere.
Late that day, D'Chul guided them to a shallow part of the river where they were able to cross into Qirsi land without first entering an Eandi village. They made camp together one last time, joined this time by several other Qirsi peddlers who were on their way into Stelpana. D'Chul played his lute for them again, and by now Cresenne had learned enough of the songs to join in the singing, which she did without hesitation, despite her poor voice.
Grinsa, as usual, had moved off a short distance with one of the older merchants, with whom he spoke in low tones, looking intent and smiling only occasionally. No doubt he was learning all he could about the Fal'Borna-the man with whom he was sitting had darker skin than any Qirsi Cresenne had ever seen, and she recalled hearing R'Shev say something about the Fal'Borna being a dark-skinned clan. This was one of the things she had come to love about Grinsa: his sense of duty, the determination with which he took care of those he loved.
But she wished that he'd allow himself to have fun, just this once. They were in Qirsi land now, and though she wasn't foolish enough to believe that this simple fact was the answer to all their worries, she couldn't help but feel that the most difficult part of their journey was over. Surely that was cause for celeb
rating, for taking this one night to be at ease and enjoy their new friends.
Then again, she knew that Grinsa would only rest easy when he had convinced himself that he could keep her and Bryntelle safe. That was his way. Cresenne forced herself to ignore him and trust that he was enjoying himself in his own manner.
The following morning, D'Chul left them. He intended to follow the river southward toward the inland sea, stopping at villages along the way. He recommended that they continue toward the west.
"You're better off now that you're in Qirsi land," he told them, solemnly. "But R'Shev was right when he said that the Fal'Borna are hard. You'll be better off among the J'Balanar. You'll stand out a bit." He grinned. "Unless you have yourselves marked as they do. But they're more likely to welcome you into their settlements. Better still, you could go on to the forest and join the A'Vahl or my people."
"I thought R'Shev said the A'Vahl were arrogant," Grinsa said, smiling.
"They're not as bad as he made out. He did that mostly for my benefit. There's a belief among the other clans that the M'Saaren and the A'Vahl are rivals, probably because we share the woodland, and we fought a couple of wars several centuries ago. The truth is we get along well enough now. The A'Vahl are good people; most of them at least. You could do far worse."
Grinsa stepped forward and embraced the man. "Thank you, D'Chul. You've been a fine guide and a good friend."
"Good luck to you," the lutenist said, smiling broadly.
Cresenne kissed his cheek, surprised once more by how sad she felt to be leaving someone who had been a stranger only days before.
"I'll remember your playing for the rest of my days," she said. "And I'll sing the songs you taught us to Bryntelle. She'll know the words at least, even if I give her only a poor sense of the tune."
D'Chul climbed back onto his cart and picked up the reins. "Farewell," he said. "May there always be open roads before you and kin at your back." He grinned at them one last time. "That's an old Qirsi blessing."
He clicked his tongue at his horse and started away, turning one last time to wave good-bye.
Grinsa and Cresenne watched him go for several moments. Then they climbed onto their horses and began to ride westward. During the time they'd been with D'Chul they'd spoken little to each other. Now that they were alone together, except of course for Bryntelle, Cresenne found that she wasn't certain what to say. She hadn't felt this way around him in a long time, and it made her uneasy. For his part, Grinsa seemed no more inclined to start up a conversation than she was.
Eventually, however, he glanced her way, his expression revealing little. "You've been angry with me," he said.
A faint smile touched her lips and was gone. He knew her so well; better, she sometimes believed, than she knew him.
"I wouldn't say angry," she answered, an admission in the words. "Then what?"
She considered this. "Frustrated," she finally said.
He didn't look at her, and his expression didn't change, but he nodded once, acknowledging what she'd said. She would have preferred it if he'd gotten angry with her. That's probably what she would have done had their roles been reversed. But he always found a way to control his emotions. It was something else that she admired in him, and that she also occasionally found… well, frustrating.
"Are you going to tell me why?" he asked at length.
"I want this to work, Grinsa. I want us to find a home here, somewhere we can be happy, where Bryntelle can grow up proud of who and what she is."
He looked at her. "I want that, too."
She exhaled and ran a hand through her hair. "I know that. But it seems like you're always looking for the next thing that's going to go wrong."
"That's not true."
"Isn't it? D'Chul sings us a song, and all you can think about is how the Blood Wars haven't really ended. Last night all of us were laughing and singing songs, but you spent the entire night huddled with that old Fal'Borna peddler talking about who knows what." She shook her head.
"It seems to me that you refuse to be happy."
He smiled sadly. "I'm happy with you and Bryntelle."
Cresenne smiled in return. "I know that. I love you, Grinsa. You know I do. But I'm tired of carrying the weight of the world on our shoulders. We did that in the Forelands, and I've had enough of it. I just want to live a quiet life here. Can't we do that?"
"I want to," he said. "But it's not quite that simple. There are matters here that you and I need to discuss, things we have to be ready for." "See?" she said. "This is what I mean. Maybe you and I are just different in this way. I know there are going to be problems, but we can deal with them as they arise. We don't have to let them occupy every waking thought."
He frowned. "I think some problems can be handled that way, but
I'm not certain this is one of them."
"Are our lives at stake?"
Grinsa's eyebrows went up. "Our lives? No, I don't suppose they are."
Cresenne shrugged. "Then, it can wait."
Again, she expected him to get angry. Instead he laughed. "All right," he said. "But don't forget that I warned you."
"Fair enough."
They rode on, once more saying little. Every now and then, however, Grinsa would chuckle to himself, until at last Cresenne demanded to know what he found so funny.
He merely shook his head. "You don't want to know," he said, sounding as close to coy as she'd ever heard him.
Darkness fell before they reached a settlement. They passed another night under the stars and resumed their travels with first light of morning. By midday, they were several leagues into Fal'Borna land, and had yet to see any villages or towns.
"I'm beginning to think there aren't any villages here at all," Cresenne said at last, raising herself up out of her saddle and scanning the horizon.
"There aren't," Grinsa said mildly. "What?"
He looked at her, smiling slightly. "The Fal'Borna have established towns along the Silverwater and the other rivers in their territory-the Thraedes and the K'Sand-and also on the shores of the Ofirean Sea. But away from the water, they're nomads. They follow wild herds of what they call `rilda,' which I gather are like the highland antelope of the Forelands."
"So, we're not looking for a settlement. You've known this all along." "It didn't seem like the type of thing you'd want to hear about."
She gave him a sour look, though it was all she could do not to laugh. "Is there anything else I should know?" Before he could say anything she raised a hand and shook her head. "No, don't answer. I said that I didn't want to hear."
Perhaps two hours later, they came within sight of what looked to Cresenne to be a settlement of some sort. As they drew nearer, though, she realized that all the structures she saw were temporary, fashioned from animal skins, cloth, and wooden poles. Still, she could see a good many people-as many as she would have expected to see in a country village in the Forelands. A narrow stream wound past the shelters, and then by a large paddock in which grazed at least two hundred horses of various colors. Smoke rose from a dozen small fires and near the paddock children ran and laughed.
Cresenne and Grinsa had halted upon seeing the structures. Now Grinsa glanced at her.
"Are you ready to meet the Fal'Borna?"
For several days, she'd been looking forward to doing just that, but faced with the prospect of riding into this odd-looking village that stretched out before her, Cresenne realized that she was more than a bit intimidated.
"I think so," she said. "Are you?"
"As ready as I'm likely to be."
They looked toward the village again, and saw four riders coming toward them, their hair gleaming white in the sun, spears held ready.
"Seems we'd better be ready," Cresenne said. "If there's anything I really need to know, you should tell me right now."
She glanced at him. He was sitting straight-backed and tall atop his mount, his eyes alert, the muscles in his jaw bunched.
"No time
now," he said, his voice low and tight. "Let me do the talking. They're a patriarchal clan-more so than most, at least here on the plain. Only speak to them if they ask you a question."
She nodded, feeling foolish for ever having been impatient with his precautions.
The Fal'Borna rode swiftly, and as they came closer Cresenne noted that all four of the riders were men, and all of them rode without saddles.
They stopped a short distance from where Cresenne and Grinsa waited. Cresenne wondered if they should dismount, or bow, or show in some other way that they meant the men and their people no harm. But Grinsa remained motionless in his saddle, and she thought it best to follow his example.
"You're on Fal'Borna land," one of the men said, his voice sharp. He was a young man, powerfully built, with a square face and skin that was almost golden, like the color of freshly baked bread. Cresenne couldn't help noting that he was remarkably handsome. Indeed, so were his companions. They were dressed in loose-fitting pants and shirts that appeared to have been made from animal skins. Their shoes were of dark leather. The man who had spoken wore a thin black necklace from which hung a single white stone. Otherwise the men were unadorned. "Who are you?" the man asked. "What clan?"
"My name is Grinsa jal Arriet. This is Cresenne ja Terba and our daughter, Bryntelle ja Grinsa. We're not from any clan of the South- lands. We've come from the Forelands."
The man showed no surprise at this last bit of information, but merely asked, "Why are you on Fal'Borna land, Forelander?"
"Our ship made land in Aelea. We had no choice but to cross Eandi land as quickly and directly as possible. That brought us here."
This seemed to satisfy the man, at least for the moment. "You ride proud animals," he said. "You got them from the Eandi?"
"Yes, we did."
