Athyra (7 page)

“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 Tern 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 Tern’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, 1 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?”

“Yes?”

“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?”

“No.”

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.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“Mel 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 mem, and why was he hearing them now?