I will not marry a blessing priest,
I will not marry a blessing priest,
In his devotions I’d be least.
Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!
Step on out . . .
THEY WERE CLOSE ENOUGH so that Savn could identify some of the people below, more by how they dressed and moved than by their features. There were a few whose names he knew, but he knew none of the people well, and for the first time he wondered why that was. Smallcliff was closer to Bigcliff than to either Whiterock or Notthereyet, but those were the places he had visited, and from a little traveling and from his work with Master Wag, he knew a few people who lived in each of those villages; but the dwellers below were strangers, even those he could identify and had spoken with.
Mae and Pae hardly ever mentioned them at all, except for an occasional reference Pae made to its being filthy to bathe in the same place that you wash your clothes. Yet when those from below came to visit Master Wag, they seemed pleasant enough, and Savn didn’t see any difference.
Odd, though, that he’d never thought about it before. Next to him, Vlad was watching them with single-minded concentration that reminded Savn of something he’d seen once, long ago, but couldn’t quite remember. He felt something akin to fear as he made the comparison, however.
“Vlad?” said Savn at last.
“Yes?”
“Those people are . . . never mind.”
Savn haltingly tried to tell the Easterner what he’d been thinking about them, but he couldn’t seem to find the right words, so eventually he shrugged and fell silent.
Vlad said, “Are they also vassals of Baron Smallcliff?”
“Yes. He’s also the Baron of Bigcliff.”
Vlad nodded. “What else?”
“I don’t know. I know that someone else is lord over in Whiterock, though. A Dzurlord. We hear stories about him.”
“Oh? What kind of stories?”
“Not very nice ones. You have to work his fields two days of the week, even in the bad years when it takes everything to keep your own going, and he doesn’t care how hard that makes it for you, or even if you starve, and sometimes he does things that, well, I don’t really know about because they say I’m too young to know about them, but they’re pretty awful. His tax collectors can beat you whenever they want, and you can’t do anything about it. And his soldiers will kill you if you get in their way, and when the Speaker tried to complain to the Empire they had him killed, and things like that.”
“Things like that don’t happen here?”
“Well, the tax collectors can be pretty mean sometimes, but not that bad. We’re lucky here.”
“I suppose so.”
They fell silent again. Vlad continued staring down at the River Flats. Eventually Savn said, “Vlad, if you aren’t enjoying nature, what are you doing?”
“Watching the people.”
“They’re odd,” said Savn.
“So you said. But you didn’t tell me in what way they’re odd.”
Savn opened his mouth and shut it. He didn’t want to pass on what Mae and Pae said about them, because he was sure Vlad would just think he was being small-minded. He finally said, “They talk funny.”
Vlad glanced at him. “Funny? How?”
“Well, there used to be a tribe of Serioli who lived down there. They only moved away a few hundred years ago, and until then they lived right next to the people from Bigcliff, and they’d talk all the time, and—”
“And the people from Bigcliff use Serioli words?”
“Not when they talk to us. But it’s, that, well, they put their words together different than we do.”
“Oh, sure. But it sounds strange.”
“Hmmm,” said Vlad.
“What are you watching them for?”
“I’m not certain. A way to do something I have to do.”
“Why do you always talk that way?”
Vlad spared him a quick glance, which Savn could not read, then said, “It comes from spending time in the company of philosophers and Athyra.”
“Oh.”
“And having secrets.”
“Oh.”
A strange feeling came over Savn, as if he and Vlad had achieved some sort of understanding—it seemed that if he asked the Easterner a question, he might get an answer. However, he realized, he wasn’t certain what, of all the things he wondered about, he ought to ask. Finally he said, “Have you really spent a great deal of time around Athyra nobles?”
“Not exactly, but I knew a Hawklord once who was very similar. And a drummer, for that matter.”
“Oh. Did you kill them, too?”
Vlad’s head snapped up; then he chuckled slightly. “No,” he said, then added, “On the other hand, it came pretty close with both of them.”
“Why were they like Athyra?”
“What do you know of the House?”
“Well, His Lordship is one.”
“Yes. That’s what brought it to mind. You see, it is a matter of the philosophical and the practical; the mystical and the mundane.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know that,” said Vlad, still staring out at the River Flats.
“Would you explain?”
“I’m not certain I can,” said Vlad. He glanced at Savn, then back out over the cliff. “There are many who are contemptuous of the intellectual process. But those who aren’t afraid of it sometimes discover that the further you go from the ordinary, day-to-day world, the more understanding you can achieve of it; and the more you understand of the world, the more you can act, instead of being acted upon. That,” he added, almost as an afterthought, “is exactly what witchcraft is about.”
“But you said before you ought to get involved, and now you’re saying you should stand apart.”
Savn waited for him to continue. After a moment Vlad seated himself on the cliff.
“Not stand apart in actions,” he said. “I mean, don’t be afraid to form general conclusions, to try to find the laws that operate in the actions of history, and to—”
“I don’t understand.”
Vlad sighed. “You should try not to get me started.”
“But, about the Athyra . . .”
“Yes. There are two types of Athyra. Some are mystics, who attempt to explore the nature of the world by looking within themselves, and some are explorers, who look upon the world as a problem to be solved, and thus reduce other people to either distractions or pieces of a puzzle, and treat them accordingly.”
Savn considered this, and said, “The explorers sound dangerous.”
“They are. Not nearly as dangerous as the mystics, however.”
“Why is that?”
“Because explorers at least believe that others are real, if unimportant. To a mystic, that which dwells inside is the only reality.”
“I see.”
“Baron Smallcliff is a mystic.”
“Oh.”
Vlad stood abruptly, and Savn had an instant’s fear that he was going to throw himself off the cliff. Instead he took a breath and said, “He’s the worst kind of mystic. He can only see people as . . .” His voice trailed off. He looked at Savn, then looked away. For a moment, Savn thought he had detected such anger hidden in the Easterner that it would make one of Speaker’s rages seem like the pouting of a child.
In an effort to distract Vlad, Savn said, “What are you?”
It seemed to work, for Vlad chuckled slightly. “You mean am I a mystic or an explorer? I have been searching for the answer to that question for several years now. I haven’t found it, but I know that other people are real, and that is something.”
“I guess.”
“There was a time I didn’t know that.”
Savn wasn’t certain how to respond to this, so he said nothing.
After a moment, Vlad added, “And I listen to philosophers.”
“When you don’t kill them,” said Savn.
This time the Easterner laughed. “Even when I do, I still listen to them.”
“I understand,” said Savn.
Vlad looked at him suddenly. “Yes, I think that you do.”
“You sound surprised.”
“Sorry,” said Vlad. “You are, I don’t know, better educated than most of us from the city would have thought.”
“Oh. Well, I learned my ciphers and history and everything because I filled the bucket when I was twenty, so they—”
“Filled the bucket?”
“Don’t they have that in the city?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never heard of it, at any rate.”
“Oh. Well, I hardly remember doing it. I mean, I was pretty young at the time. But they give you a bucket—”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“Mae and Pae and Speaker and Bless.”
“I see. Go on.”
“They give you a bucket, and tell you to go out into the woods, and when you come back, they see what’s in the bucket and decide whether you should be trained for apprenticeship.”
“And you had filled yours?”
“Oh, that’s just a term that means they said yes. I mean, if you come back with water, then Bless will try you out as a priest, and if you come back with sticks, then, well, I don’t really know how they tell, but they decide, and when I came back they decided I should be apprenticed to Master Wag.”
“Oh. What did you come back with?”
“An injured daythief.”
“Oh. That would account for it, I suppose. Still, I can’t help wondering how much of that is chance.”
“What do you mean?”
“How often a child picks up the first thing he sees, and ends up being a cobbler when he’d be better off as a weaver.”
“That doesn’t happen,” Savn explained.
Vlad looked at him. “It doesn’t?”
“No,” said Savn, feeling vaguely annoyed.
“How do you know?”
“Because . . . it just doesn’t.”
“Because that’s what you’ve always been told?”
Savn felt himself flushing, although he wasn’t certain why. “No, because that’s what the test is for.”
Vlad continued studying him. “Do you always just accept everything you’ve been told, without questioning it?”
“That’s a rude question,” said Savn without thinking about it.
Vlad seemed startled. “You’re right,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
“Some things,” said Savn, “you just know.”
Vlad frowned, and took a step away from the cliff. He clasped his hands behind his back and cocked his head slightly. “Do you?” he asked. “When you ‘just know’ something, Savn, that means it’s so locked into your head that you operate as if it were true, even when you find out it isn’t.” He knelt down so that he was facing Savn directly. “That isn’t necessarily a good idea.”
“I don’t understand.”
“You’re so convinced that your Baron Smallcliff is invincible and perfect that you’d stand there and let him kill you rather than raising a finger to defend yourself.”
“That’s different.”
“Is it?”
“You’re changing the subject. There are things that you know way deep down. You know they’re true, just because they have to be.”
“Do they?”
“Well, yes. I mean, how do you know that we’re really here? You just know.”
“I know some philosophers who would disagree with you,” said Vlad.
“The ones you killed?”
Vlad laughed. “Well taken,” he said. He stood and walked over to the cliff again, and stared out once more. Savn wondered what he was trying to find. “But sometimes,” continued the Easterner, “when it’s time to do something, it matters whether you know why you’re doing it.”
“What do you mean?”
Vlad frowned, which seemed to be his usual expression when he was trying to think of how to say something. “Sometimes you might get so mad that you hit someone, or so frightened you run, but you don’t really know why. Sometimes you know why you should do something, but it’s all in your head. You don’t really feel it, so you have trouble making yourself do it.”
Savn nodded. “I know what you mean. It’s like when I’ve been out late and Maener asks what I’ve been doing and I know I should tell her, but I don’t.”
“Right. It isn’t always easy to act on what’s in your head instead of what’s in your heart. And it isn’t always right to. The whole trick to knowing what to do is deciding when to make yourself listen to your head, and when it’s okay to just follow your feelings.”
Vlad shook his head. “I’ve been trying to figure that one out myself for the last few years, and I haven’t managed. But I can tell you that it works best when you understand why you feel a certain way, and to do that, sometimes you have to take things you know and question them. That’s one of the good things Athyra and philosophers do.”
“I see what you’re getting at,” said Savn slowly.
Vlad looked at him once more. “Yes? And?”
“Some things you just know.”
Vlad seemed about to say something, but evidently decided to let the matter drop. They fell silent, and Vlad went back to scanning the area below them.
After a while the Easterner said, “Who’s that lady wearing the green hat, talking to everyone in sight?”
“I don’t know her name, but she’s their priestess.”
“Of?”
“What do you mean, ‘of’? Oh, I see. Of Trout.”
“Hmmm. No help there.”
“No help for what?”
“Never mind. Do you, also, worship Trout?”
“Worship?”
“I mean, who do you pray to?”
“Pray?”
“Who is your god?”
“Bless seems to be on good terms with Naro, the Lady Who Sleeps, so that’s who he usually asks things of.”
Vlad nodded, then pointed once more. “Who is that fellow walking down toward the water?”
“I don’t remember his name. He makes soap and sells it.”
“Where does he sell it?”
“Just there, along the river. Most of them make their own, I think, the same as we do, so he doesn’t get much business except from those who are washing clothes and didn’t bring enough.”
“There’s nowhere else he sells it?”
“No, not that I’m aware of. Why?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“We don’t wash at the river; we have wells.”
“You wash in your wells?”
“No, no, we—”
“I was kidding.”
“Oh. We go to the river to swim sometimes, but only upstream of them. You can’t swim in the Upper Brownclay; it’s too cold and fast.”
“Who’s that, just going beneath the scatterbush?”
“There? That’s Fird. He came in to see Master Wag once with some sort of awful rash on his hand, and Master Wag rubbed it with rose leaves and it went away.”
“What is he doing?”
“Selling fruit.”
“Fruit? You have fruit around here?”
“Fird brings it in from upriver. We don’t have very much. It’s expensive. We get mangoes, though, and ti’iks, and oranges, and—”
“Doesn’t Tem sell them?”
“He can’t afford it. Fird is the only one.”
“I’ll have to meet him.”
“He’s by the river just about every day. We could go down if you want to.”
“Not just yet. Where else does he sell this fruit?”
“Just here. And at the castle, I think.”
“Really? He serves Smallcliff?”
“No, just those who serve His Lordship.”
“That’s interesting.”
“Is it? At first that’s all he did—bring in fruits and vegetables to feed His Lordship’s staff, but then he found that if he went down to the river everyone wanted to buy something, so now, I think, he has more customers on the beach than in the servants, although I don’t know if that matters—”
“His name, you say, is Fird?”
“Yes.”
“Very well.”
Vlad watched a little longer, then grunted and turned away from the cliff.
“Are we going to the caves again?” said Savn.
“No, I was thinking of going back to Tem’s, for a glass of wine.”
“Oh.”
As they walked back along the slip, it seemed to Savn that the feeling had passed—that something which had been open within the strange man who walked next to him had shut again. Well, he thought. Now that it’s too late, I wonder what I should have asked him.
As they reached the top of the hill and found the road once more, he said, “Uh, Vlad?”
“Did you, um, do something to Mae and Pae last night?”
Vlad frowned. “Do something? You mean, cast a spell of some sort? What makes you think so? Are they acting strange?”
“No, it’s just that I don’t understand why they weren’t angry with me for staying out so late.”
“Oh. I took responsibility for it, that’s all.”
“I see,” said Savn. He wasn’t convinced, but then, he had trouble believing that the Easterner had really put a spell on them to begin with. Because he didn’t want to leave that question hanging between them, he said, “What are your parents like?”
“They’re dead,” said Vlad.
“Oh. I’m sorry.” He thought for a moment of what it would be like to be without Mae and Pae, then decided not to dwell on the thought. He said, “Are they the ones who taught you?”
“No, my grandfather did that.”
“Is he—?”
“No, he’s still with us. Or, at any rate, he was a few years ago. He’s an old man, but witches, like sorcerers, tend to live a long time.”
They came to the widening of the road that wagons used when they had to turn around, which was located just west of where the road began its twisting way into town. The forest still rose high on either side of them.
Savn said, “Were you going to show me some more witchcraft today?”
Vlad seemed to shrug without actually moving his shoulders. “What would you like to learn?”
“Well, I mean, I don’t know. I’d like to learn to do something interesting.”
“That’s one approach.”
They walked back along the road, passing the place where Savn had first seen Vlad, and started up the gentle slope that lead to the last hill before town.
“What do you mean?” said Savn.
“The Art can be approached from several directions. One is learning to do interesting things, another is the search for knowledge, yet another, the search for understanding, or wisdom, if you prefer, although it isn’t really the same—”
“That’s what you were talking about before, isn’t it? I mean, about witchcraft, and understanding.”
“Yes.”
“But isn’t knowledge the same as understanding?”
Savn waited for the Easterner to explain, but he didn’t. Instead he added, “And yet another way is the search for power.”
“Which way did you go?”
“Like you. I wanted to learn to do interesting things. I sort of had to.”
“Why?”
“It’s a long story.”
“Oh. Well, what about me?”
“You should think about which direction you want to take.”
“I know already.”
“Oh? Tell me.”
“Like I said, I want to do interesting things.”
“Hmmm.”
“Like you.”
“Why is that?”
“To impress girls.”
Vlad looked at him, and Savn had the feeling that the Easterner was, somehow, seeing him for the first time. After a moment, a smile came to Vlad’s mouth and he said softly, “Well, why not? Let’s step off the road a ways. Forests and jungles always feel right for this sort of thing.”
“What about a place of power?”
Vlad chuckled. “Unnecessary—for this stage.”
“All right. I suppose I’ll understand eventually.”
“Yes, chances are you will, but we won’t worry about that for now.”
“Here?”
“A little further, I think. I don’t want to be distracted by the sounds of horses and wagons.”
Savn followed him around thick trees, over low shrubs, and under hanging boughs until he seemed to find what he was looking for, whereupon he grunted, settled down against the wide base of a sugar maple, and said, “Get comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable,” said Savn, seating himself. Then, realizing that he wasn’t, really, adjusted himself as best he could. He began to feel excitement, but he shook his shoulders back and waited, trying to remember the relaxed state he’d been in before. Vlad looked at him carefully, smiling just a little beneath the hair that grew about his lip.
“What is it?” asked Savn.
“Nothing, nothing. What do you know of psychic communication?”
“Well, I know people who can do it, a little. And I know that sorcerers can do it.”
“Me? Well, no.”
“Why not?”
“Well, I, uh, I have no reason to think I can.”
“Everyone can. You just have to be shown how.”
“You mean, read minds?”
“Not exactly. It’s more like speaking without making a sound. It is possible to read minds, but that is far, far more difficult, and even then you might be caught at it.” Vlad paused, and seemed to be remembering something, to judge by the distant look in his eyes and the half-smile on his face. “Many people become annoyed if you attempt to penetrate their thoughts.”
“I would think so,” said Savn.
Vlad nodded, then reached for a chain that hung around his neck, hesitated, licked his lips, and removed it. On the end was a simple setting which held what appeared to be a piece of black rock.
“What is—?”
“Don’t ask,” said Vlad. At the same time, there was a sudden flapping sound overhead, as if two or three very large birds had been disturbed. Savn jumped, startled, but Vlad shook his head, as if to say that it was nothing to worry about.
“Remember how we relaxed before?” he said. “Well, we’re going to do it again, only this time the experience will be rather different.”
“In what way?”
“You’ll see. There will be a disorientation in time, but that is nothing to worry about.”
“All right.”
Once more he closed his eyes and allowed Vlad’s voice to lead him through each muscle in his body, letting the tension leave, letting it flow down, down, into the ground below him, until he felt the now-familiar sensation of floating, as if he were no longer part of his body—as if he stood apart from it, distant and unconcerned. Then Vlad said, “You are feeling very warm, and light—as if you are nothing but a bubble of air, and you can go anywhere. Yes. Think of yourself as an air bubble that moves where you will. You are surrounded by nothing, and you are empty. Feel that you can move however you please. You are relaxed and confident.”
Yes, Savn agreed. I will feel that way. I choose to, and so I do. Isn’t that remarkable?
“Now,” said Vlad, “picture yourself, a bubble of nothingness, floating down through the ground, down through layers of stone, meshing with it, and, with each layer, you will fall more deeply asleep.”
Yes, I will picture that; I will do that, he thought, and it seemed as if his body were far away.
“Now very slowly, open your eyes, and look at me, but do not rise up. Look at me, and imagine that I am there with you—we are together, two bubbles of air beneath the earth. With the eyes of your body, you see me holding a small piece of fabric. Now you imagine yourself a wind, and you brush against the fabric. There, you see how it flutters? Touch it again, and again. Don’t push; will it to happen. Do you feel the texture of the cloth, smooth, slightly cold, the veins of weave distinct beneath the fingertips of your mind? Once more, a little push. Yes, that was you, you felt it.
“Now we, as two bubbles of air, will touch. Do you now hear my words, as if they were echoed, once spoken aloud, once whispered softly? One coming just ahead of the other, as if you were aware of the time it takes for the sound to pass your ears, because you are now aware of that time, and you choose to ignore it, so these sounds, both my voice, both identical, come together; they are strong, reinforcing each other. And now you hear only the whisper, and without making a sound, whisper back to me with only your thoughts—you form words, and you give them to me, as if you were placing a feather in my hand, but your mouth and tongue do not move. Tell me, in this way, that you can hear me.”
“I can hear you,” Savn said, feeling awe, but a distant, vague sort of awe, the reverse of a dream, as if it were normal and nothing special, but he knew, somewhere, that it would be remarkable when he awoke.
“And I can hear you,” said Vlad. “You will remember that feeling, of touching my mind with yours, and you will always be able to call it back.”
“Yes,” said Savn. “I will remember it.”
“Now, you begin to rise back through the ground, and with each layer, you begin to awake. You are coming back, closer and closer; you feel your limbs again, and know them as part of you, and you hear my real voice in your real ears, and with this sound, you awake, remembering everything that has happened, feeling rested, alert, and confident.”
Savn blinked, and felt as if he were opening his eyes, although they had been open. He said, “I feel . . . funny. How much time has passed?”
“About half an hour.”
“Half an hour?” Savn took a moment to see if this was true, then said, “Did I really move that piece of cloth?”
“You moved it,” said Vlad.
Savn shook his head, but found no words to say.
“How do you feel?” said Vlad.
“Fine. A little tired, I guess.”
“It’ll pass. You’ll have some trouble sleeping tonight. I’d suggest a great deal of physical exertion.”
“All right. I’ll run all the way home.”
“Good idea.”
They stood up. Vlad picked up his pendant and put it around his neck again. They walked slowly back to the road and started in toward town again. Savn couldn’t find anything to say, and he was too lost in wonder and confusion to try very hard. He shook his head. Even now, he seemed more aware of the breeze against his throat, of the sharp outline of the trees against the twilit sky, and the sounds of the birds coming from all around him. They had always been there—why had he chosen not to hear them, and why was he hearing them now?
Such were his thoughts until he realized that they were walking through the town, and, in fact, had arrived in front of Tem’s house. They stopped, and he said, “When will I see you again?”
“I’m not certain, my friend. Perhaps tomorrow.”
“All right.”
He did, indeed, run all the way home, relishing the way the air flowed through his lungs, the pounding of his feet along the road, the darkening sky, and the breeze, just getting chilly, biting at his face.
He made it on time for the evening meal, which prevented Mae and Pae from questioning him. Polyi, as usual, chattered throughout the meal, but Savn, who wasn’t really listening, caught a few pointed remarks about himself. Fortunately, Mae and Pae didn’t pick up on them.
That night, Savn fell asleep at once and while he slept, he dreamed that he stood in the street in front of Tem’s house, while Lova stood in the middle of a faceless crowd and looked at him adoringly as he made the ground open and close, and made fire fall from the sky. When he awoke, he remembered the dream, and remarked to himself, “That’s odd. I hadn’t even known I liked her.”
* * *
What now?
She flew down toward the little structure where the Provider dwelt, knowing that her mate was already there. And, even as she cupped the air to light on the roof, and was reaching with her feet for a grip on the soft wood, he took to the air once more, passing directly in front of her.
She hissed, and followed.
A soft one? Her mate was thinking about a soft one. But how to tell one from the others?
She tried to understand what her mate was asking of her. She understood something about fruit, or the smells of fruit, but when she tried to find out what sort of fruit, her mate became agitated.
At last, she understood what her mate wanted, and thought, if it must be, it must be. And at least it was flying.
Now up, out, upon the currents, treading them, through the overcast, careful not to breathe. Then up higher, higher, and, for the sheer pleasure of it, diving, falling like a stone past the cliff, to catch the air and drift, and glide.
Something like a laugh came from her thoughts, and echoed from her mate.
He found the one they were to watch, and she followed the path he indicated. Yes, that was the one. So be it. A long, dull time would follow, she thought.
She hoped she would be able to stay awake.