by M. M. Perry
Ivan stopped talking and began poking at the fire absently. He was lost in thought. Cass grabbed the empty wooden bowl Gunnarr was holding and stood. She approached the fire place and gestured toward the pot.
“May I?”
Ivan broke from his reverie and looked up into her grey eyes.
“Oh yes, of course. And anyone else who wants more, don’t feel bad if you take the last. I can make more if I need.”
As Cass ladled bean soup into her bowl she casually prodded Ivan about the scholar.
“Must have been some friend.”
“Oh,” Ivan cleared his throat remembering what he had been talking about. “Oh yes. I cared for him far more than any other in the village. Aside from my family, of course. The people in my village, they don’t really care about anything that doesn’t have to do with dragons. I don’t know why. I sometimes wonder if it is the way we are brought up or if there’s something else at play... I think it more likely it’s the burden of caring for our secrets. It’s so much, you see, so much you must keep from the world. It makes it hard to think about anything else when you are away from the village. You are always fearful of what you might accidentally say or how you might seem to the outsiders. Is what you are doing or saying suspicious, suspicious enough for the people to investigate you or worse yet, the village? It’s very heavy, the burden of it. It squashes all desire for exploration or even conversation with anyone that isn’t in on the secret.
“But the scholar, he made me feel differently. He made me feel free of the burden. This is, of course, what got me into trouble. The elders feared it would happen. Warned me many times. Sometimes I wish they just would have forbidden me talking to him again, or from leaving the village anymore. One evening it got too late to head back to the village. My scholar friend invited me to stay in the room he was letting. I agreed. Happily so. I even bought us a huge jug of winter wine, a special item here on Arless. Very heady stuff.
“It wasn’t long before I told him about the dragons. We were both so drunk, he didn’t even scoff at the story. Of course there were still dragons, he’d said. Why not? The next morning there was a knock at his door. He opened it and two elders and two guardians were standing there. They took one look at me and that was enough for their verdict. I never did see my scholar friend again. I hope they took him to Dyim and let him live out his life there. Anya never told me. I was exiled. I was not even allowed to say goodbye to my family. I was told I could not interact with anyone, that they would be watching me. I was given what I thought at the time was the small mercy of being allowed to live here instead of being executed. I have come to realize since that is was not a kindness on their part. That it would have been kinder to just kill me. You are right, young man,” he looked to Nat again, “this place really was a prison. They wanted to keep me close enough to watch but far enough away to frighten all the other villagers. The prospect of death is bad enough, but to people who have known nothing but their life in Dyim, exile proved a far more frightening punishment than death. I suppose that’s why they kept me alive, as an example of what would happen to anyone what gave up our secrets. Anya was my only contact with the village.”
Ivan finished speaking. He wiped at his eyes though no tears were there. Time had worn down the sharp edges of his memories year ago. He smiled bitterly at the lack of dampness on his fingers.
“Aren’t they afraid that in exile you’ll do exactly what you did already? Tell everyone about your village? Seems a foolish and dangerous punishment to exact,” Suman smirked.
“Oh, they made it very clear that my family still lived in Dyim. My wife. My three children. As it turns out, exile was an amazingly effective punishment. I was crippled without access to my family. Before, I would have said it was impossible to make the burden of that secret heavier, but the elders found a way. I am crushed by it, more now than ever before.”
“But,” Patch eyed the old man carefully, “you’ve told us now.”
Ivan looked over at Patch curiously.
“I did. You have him with you,” Ivan pointed at Manfred. “I know what the Djinn are and what they mean when they come calling. And Anya putting you here for the night… I have a suspicion of what that means. About what she intends to do. Strange, but I always thought it would happen someday. And I suppose Anya, well, I suppose it was fate it was to be her.” Ivan spoke cryptically.
“It doesn’t bother you? That Anya faces the fate same as you, or perhaps worse?” Patch prodded.
“The burden of the secret. I mentioned it was heavy, have I not? Maybe Anya can lift it from us all. Maybe now is no longer the time for secrets. That is why I suddenly feel so free. I think, very soon, there will be no more secret for me to have to keep. No more secret to hold me here just out of reach of my family.”
Ivan’s eyes locked with the Djinn. Manfred nodded his head subtly, approving of the old man’s words.
“You should rest, travelers. You have, I suspect, many dangers ahead of you. I expect tomorrow will be something new for all of you, even the most adventurous among you.”
Chapter 12
When Gunnarr awoke in the morning, the first of the group, he was warm but stiff from the uncomfortable positions he had been forced to sleep in. His elbow greeted him with an uncustomary pain as he flexed his arm, stretching his muscles to be rid of the aches caused by the cramped sleeping arrangements. He was still rubbing it absently when Cass suddenly stirred, awoken by his stretching. She woke like a startled beast, Gunnarr noted, something unusual for her. As she transitioned almost instantly from deep sleep to fully awake, her leg kicked out and thumped into the small cupboard in the corner of the room. That woke the rest of the group, except for Ivan, who was nowhere to be seen. He had managed not only to rouse himself without waking them, but amazingly to leave the little house as well.
“Ivan,” Cass said rubbing her eyes, “how’d he manage to sneak off?”
“Better yet,” Manfred said suspiciously, “why did he go?”
“Afraid you won’t get your dragon?” Viola asked as she stood up. Manfred looked at her, the slight frown on his face all the answer he offered.
“Well, Anya said she wouldn’t be back until early afternoon. Maybe Ivan is getting things for lunch. He’s started more beans, from what I can see,” Cass said. She had moved closer to the pot to inspect it as soon as she’d dusted the sleep off her eyes, her stomach demanding it be the next focus of her attention. Since Ivan had told them to help themselves the night before, she took him at his word and picked up a bowl, quickly ladling some of the bean stew into it. She helped herself to one of the wooden wedges that stood in for spoons and began eating. Everyone else followed her lead, most having to wait until someone else had finished with one of the few bowls Ivan owned.
They were quiet as they ate, all unsure of what would happen next. Suman had felt out of place since they had joined with the other group of travelers from Cass’ past. He had tried to strike up conversations with Viola, but found her replies, though polite, cool and succinct, and never inviting additional conversation. He was slowly beginning to realize that this group of Cass’ old friends was rotten with envy. Suman tried his best to understand and empathize. They were, he told himself, risking everything to help a woman who treated them as strangers all while she shared friendly jokes with him.
In the end he decided he was glad for the company, regardless of whether or not they welcomed him with open arms. Even their tepid acceptance of him was far more inviting than the typical disregard people of the Golden City had for each other. Suman welcomed even Patch’s clear dislike of him as better than indifference. At least, he mused, it was an emotional connection, even if it was a negative emotion.
Patch had finally stopped hoping to find an angle he could exploit to extricate himself from the hopeless situation he now found himself in. He had taken as his new pastime the silent cursing of the gods, Oshia in particular, of humans, all of them, and even the little blue Djinn, though on
the last he would be hard pressed to explain his anger, apart from the fact that he was in a foul mood. He was beginning to feel as if this whole adventure was one big thorn in his foot. The best he found himself hoping for from this particular thorn in his life was more pain, but what he was beginning to expect was a slow, gangrenous death, especially with deathsglove likely playing a big part in his very near future.
Nat was doing his best to keep Viola’s spirits up. She was always up for an adventure, her previous life as an enchanter having given her plenty of opportunities to brush up against the odd harrowing situation. But Nat could see the lack of progress, coupled with the daunting new challenges they faced, was weighing on her and he was frustrated that he could think of nothing to do or say that would help.
Viola, for her part, felt worthless and out of sorts. For the hundredth time she wished she still had her abilities to enchant. She had been going over all the spells and wardings that would have helped them so far. She was pleased to find that she still remembered all seventeen of the ingredients required for a protection against deathsglove, despite not having practiced enchanting for years now. That sense of pride quickly evaporated though, when her own treacherous mind also yielded up the fact that even if she had all the ingredients with her they would still be useless without the ability to magically weave them into something useful. She knew mulling all this over would do nothing to improve her mood, but she couldn’t shake the thoughts.
Manfred was not eating. He paced as best he could in the cramped quarters. Concern knitted his brow and he moved about nervously. The old man Ivan had seemed harmless enough to him at first, but since he’d woken, Manfred had begun to imagine scenarios where Ivan tried to get back into the good graces of his village by turning Anya in.
Cass watched the Djinn. She carefully stepped over and through the party to get at the hearth, where she ladled more bean stew into the bowl before handing it to Gunnarr. Then she placed both hands firmly on Manfred’s shoulders to halt his pacing.
“You should come with me to take a stretch. We’ll see if we can’t find Ivan poking around in that sad looking garden I saw last night,” Cass said.
Manfred looked up at her and nodded curtly.
It had been difficult to tell just how stuffy it had gotten inside the hut until they stepped outside into the cold morning air. Cass welcomed the cool fresh air into her lungs even as her body rebelled, shivering mightily. She rubbed her arms and stamped her feet to get her circulation going in an attempt to stave off the cold. The temperature didn’t faze the Djinn at all.
“I wouldn’t worry. He seemed to be done with them. His people I mean. His… revelation I guess you could call it, it didn’t seem to be that he thought he could suddenly bribe his way back into his village. Quite the opposite really. He seemed to suddenly realize how wrong he had been to cling to the hope he might be invited back in,” Cass said. She surprised even herself with the observation. She had felt calm enough the night before to carefully evaluate the old man. She realized now that her thoughts were increasingly less fearful and less focused on how little she knew, and steadily growing calmer, more collected and focused on the task at hand. She wondered if what was happening to her wasn’t perhaps that she was beginning to feel more like herself, or at least her old self. Perhaps, she considered, being around all her old friends was fraying away at the edges of the god’s curse on her. It was a pleasant thought, in particular because it meant the power of the gods was not absolute and uncontested. It had weaknesses which meant, she realized, that by extension the gods themselves had weaknesses. With that revelation, her outlook brightened considerably.
Manfred looked up at Cass and smiled, his demeanor again that of a waggish Djinn.
“You are feeling better, it seems,” he said.
“Yes. I’m kind of hoping it isn’t your magic that did it. I’d like to think the curse is just weakening, since I don’t expect to have any Djinn magic on hand to protect me from Oshia’s wrath if he discovers me. My only hope is that something mundane is undoing what he’s done,” Cass replied ruefully.
“Well, I can tell you my magic has nothing to do with how you feel. I only was able to unlock the memories I locked all those years ago,” Manfred said. He sunk into thought for a moment, scratching his thin blue beard.
“I think we really should start moving along soon though. I don’t imagine that whatever has been distracting Oshia so far can possibly continue much longer,” Manfred said, “given the magnitude of what he’s lost.”
They both turned with a start at a sudden sound behind them, which turned out to be Ivan shuffling toward them, his arms full of vegetables. Cass could only guess that Ivan must have been in some hidden corner of his garden because she could see no signs of disturbed earth in the overgrown patch she had previously taken for his garden, since Ivan’s fingers bore the unmistakable remnants of dirt caked under his fingernails. He smiled at them as he approached.
“I don’t normally harvest this stuff. Technically the garden belongs to the village. But I figure I won’t be here long enough for them to find out I’ve pilfered a carrot or two,” Ivan said with a chuckle.
“Didn’t take you long to turn on them. And after all these years too,” Manfred said, his words dripping with unveiled suspicion, “some might find your sudden conversion absolutely unbelievable.”
Ivan stared down at the small blue man, his gaze neither friendly nor hostile. Even Cass found his demeanor inscrutable.
“I should hate you, Djinn. You are part of the reason I am where I am. Your people sniffing around here has made my people…” Ivan struggled with what he wanted to say, “they do things I don’t think they’d do otherwise. They are paranoid, wary of the world in ways that can’t be overcome with reasoned argument. Every time another Djinn visited it just made things worse.” Ivan stared hard at Manfred for a few moments before his face softened. “But it was my people that did whatever they did to that scholar, not yours. And it was my people, not yours, who threw me out here to grow old and die, alone.”
Ivan sighed.
“And I think what Anya is about to do is going to make anything I did seem small potatoes in comparison. I don’t honestly believe my family will be in any danger anymore. Not after this.”
“And you aren’t going to try to stop us?” Manfred pressed.
“Why should I? I’m a prisoner. You… Well, what Anya is helping you do, is the only way for me to escape. If you bring the dragons back out into the world, there will be no more secrets to protect. My people will be free, for better or worse. I suspect better. This,” he gestured vaguely in the direction of the village with his chin, “that’s no way to live, no matter how noble they think their cause is.”
Ivan started toward the door, and Cass hurried ahead of him to open the door.
“I’ll start a new stew. I think I’ve got enough here to make something special for you before you leave. I suspect Anya will be here shortly and if my hunch is right, in a considerable hurry. You’ll want to be well fed before you venture into the caves. There isn’t much to eat that can be easily harvested or caught once you are in the valley,” Ivan said.
Manfred watched them disappear into the hut. He looked from the door to the road up into the village. He knew he’d be fretting until Anya finally reappeared. So much could go wrong and there was nothing he could do to alter it. That feeling of impotence was unpleasant and one he was unused to, though he knew he’d feel it more often in the future if everything went as planned.
After eating lunch, the group moved outside to wait for Anya. The hut had become too stuffy, while the chill outdoors had been thawed a bit by the sun. Before anyone had a chance to transition from relishing the bracing air to shivering, Anya appeared. She came trundling down the hill at the front of a smaller wagon than the one she had left in, this one being pulled along by a pony instead of a team of razorbacks. Cass could see a range of goods, definitely more than just blankets this time, piled in the b
ack. It wasn’t until the wagon came to a rest in front of Ivan’s hut that Anya was close enough for Cass to notice the dour look on her face.
“Everything okay?”
Anya locked eyes with Cass, but her stern expression didn’t slip. Cass did not have enough time to plumb her grim, unblinking gaze for more meaning before Anya looked away, addressing the group.
“We should move. Now. I was expected to be returning with a wagon laden with much needed goods. When I showed up with a nearly empty wagon, the elders were confused. I told them none of our usual merchants were in town, and the only person I could find interested in trading was a local fisherman who was willing to trade me for some warm clothing,” Anya was silent for a few beats before continuing. Cass finally realized that what she’d read in Anya’s face as austerity was actually guilt. “They wanted to know, of course, why he needed warm clothing. They do not want to outfit mountaineers; that would be too dangerous. Mountaineers might get into the valley. I told them that he and his crew wanted to fish off the southern coast and had filled their hold with food for the long journey to Arless. That they planned to buy gear in Gull’s Port, but this time of year no one is selling cold weather gear. They believed me. Reluctantly.”
“What does that mean?” Cass asked.
“It means that they have no reason, yet, to doubt my word so to insinuate I might be lying publically would be crude. So they had to take me at what I said and let me go. It also means I am likely to be followed up on. Our elders may be decorous, but they are not stupid. I would lay odds that not thirty minutes after I left another rider was sent after me. So we have about twenty minutes before he catches up enough to see that my cart has stopped here. That, of itself, will not raise his suspicion overmuch. I usually stop to talk to Ivan when I pass by, as I am the only one allowed to do so. But the wagon must still look full from a distance and everyone will obviously need to be gone from here before then for this to work. If he sees any of you, he will race back up to the village and guardians will be swarming the caves and the valley before we get halfway to the other side. We need to lull him into believing all is normal so he will hold off, watching from a distance, waiting for me to come out of Ivan’s hut and move on to Gull’s port. If we are very lucky, it may be an hour that he will wait before he decides he needs to come down and inspect Ivan’s hut. What that means is we do not have time to lure the deathsglove into another system. We must just take our chances.”
