Jared came forward and offered the wrapped present to Kriessa. When her fingers brushed his, he hid his revulsion with iron control. Then he stepped back behind Pasha s chair.
“Kalda!” Kriessa cawed. Look at this! Have you ever seen such a beautiful tapestry?” But her hands were busy, greedily unfolding the wrapping. When the bowl was revealed, however, her irritating voice was stilled. The room was well-lit with sunshine through the windows. The nalsha gleamed its hypnotic colors into the silence.
“Pasha Sands,” Kalda breathed. “But this is—what is it? I’ve never seen anything like it! Your other bowls don t look like this.”
Kriessa shifted uneasily in her chair. Her piggy eyes darted to her husband. Jared could almost read her thoughts: Witchcraft. He wasn’t sure himself that she wasn’t right.
“It is made in much the same way as my others,” Pasha said. “But with a fully-equipped workshop I can add a few nice touches now. I’ll be making more of them. Not many,” he added, and Jared saw Kalda s eyes register something; relief? Then he realized it was greed in Kalda s face. He waited, and the expected came.
“Pasha,” Kalda said, his voice now smooth as water, “will you be selling these special bowls? I have many contacts in other cities . . . perhaps we could make a business arrangement . . .”
“Oh, I probably won t be making them for sale. They re a great lot of work, you know, though their beauty makes it worth while. But they re really for gifts.”
Kalda subsided, and Jared thought he sensed disappointment. It only lasted a second, though. Kalda s gaze went back to the bowl and his face lit up again. “This is truly the best gift we have received, my friend. Never could we thank you enough.”
Just then Jared noticed a shadowy form in the parlor door, behind Kalda and Kriessa. He averted his glance so they wouldn’t know Anna was there. “The best gift,” he thought, “those ungrateful shits . . .”
“Your continued happiness will be more than sufficient thanks,” Pasha said, and it stood up. They were shown out amid cries of gratitude. Pasha paced rapidly back to its house, and Jared trotted along behind, puzzled at the haste.
His puzzlement grew when Pasha went to the little blue nalsha in the sitting room window, took it, and said, “Come with me to the workshop.”
Once seated at the table in the windowless workshop, Pasha placed the nalsha on the table and bade Jared pull up the other stool.
“Now we will see how our gift is really appreciated,” it said, and resting its hands on the table either side of the nalsha, it closed its eyes. A dim hum issued from somewhere in Pasha’s chest, and the little bowl began an answering hum. Jared felt goose-bumps break out on his arms when the bowl began to glow.
Then an unpleasant noise burst from the bowl. “—see the get-up he’s got that slave in? It was Kriessa s harsh rasp. A pair of unnaturals, that’s what they are.”
Jared gasped. “That’s Kriessa s voice!”
Pasha nodded and smiled, and put a finger to its lips.
“Never mind that,” Kalda’s voice said. “Look at this bowl! If we could get him producing these for sale we d make a fortune! ”
Pasha smiled to itself and nodded again.
“But he won’t! He said so. Don’t waste your time. What worries me is how he coddles that boy of his. I’m telling you, it’s trouble. This bitch of ours sees that, it’ll give her ideas.
Jared went still.
“That’s easily squashed,” Kalda again dismissed her agitation.
But she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s not right, treating ‘ un like an equal. Besides, he’s far too good-looking anyway. Even my friends have noticed. Altra only last week was teasing me about mating him with Anna.”
Jared s face went rigid. Pasha stopped smiling, watching his reaction. There was a pause in the other house, then Kalda said slowly, “It’s not Anna who’s bothered by the pretty boy, is it? It s you.”
Kriessa blustered, but he cut through. “No chance you’ d give Anna something you want for yourself, is there, my dearest?”
“How dare you—”
“Now Pasha Sand’s got his workshop done, maybe he’ll sell the bastard to us, eh? Give you something to do besides stuff your face all day?”
Jared turned appalled eyes to his master. “Master, you wouldn’t—”
Pasha put a mollifying hand on his arm and shook its head. “Never. Let’s just listen.”
Kalda’s voice seemed to come nearer. “If we could get him to make enough of these, my sweet social queen, we could buy all the pretty boys your appetite desires.” He paused again and there were faint sounds—he was handling the bowl. “I don t think they’ re lovers. Pasha’s a strange one but I don’t think his tastes run that way. But I’m glad you brought up Anna. Maybe there’s another way she could be useful to us . . .”
“What do you mean?”
“Pasha’s the right age to make a fool of himself for a young girl. Feed her up a little, lay off the beating so she’s not all marked up . . . put something fetching on her—he obviously likes pretty things. I bet he’d churn out the bowls all right if she wanted them, and made it worth his while.”
New interest sharpened Kriessa’s tone. “He’d never know, if we sold them in other cities. But he’ d want to just buy her outright.”
Kalda chuckled. “So what? We need her here. No, we’ll just be good, generous neighbors and let him amuse himself in the evenings. Go get the girl, my dearest. She ought to be happy with the new plan. It’ll be spoiling her but the rewards . . .”
Pasha stood up abruptly and the nalsha’s glow ceased, with the sounds. Eyeing Jared with a wry grin, it murmured, “Lovely neighbors I’ve got, no? Well, at least she’ll be better treated, sounds like. And you’ll be seeing more of her. This will be interesting, my friend, won’t it?”
For the next two weeks Jared kept busy learning the skill of glassblowing. Sweat and frustration. He felt like a fool; manipulations that Pasha Sands performed as easily as breathing seemed as far beyond Jared as flying. Half the time they spent cleaning up his messes in the workshop.
“I’m sorry, master,” he said for the hundredth time, when a deformed glob of half-cooled glass hit the floor and sagged into shapeless inutility.
Pasha merely scooped up the mess with a ceramic paddle and plopped it back into the clay pot for remelting. “It is only to be expected, when you are learning,” it said. “This is not an easy art. Believe me, Jared, if I didn’t think you had the talent I wouldn’t waste our time. Now, shove the pot into the oven and let’s try again.”
Jared appreciated his master’s patience, but started to wish it wasn’t quite so persistent. They worked from dawn until late at night. When at last they’ d close down the kiln for the night, Pasha would take him to the pump room and pour cool water over him, and continue with the encouragement.
“Your hands are getting much quicker, didn’t you notice? Really, Jared, give yourself credit, each day you’ re getting a little farther along in the process. You’ll have your first bowl before you know it.”
Jared shuddered with pleasure as the water cooled his over-heated hide. “I feel like I’m delaying your progress,” he said. “I know you’ d hoped I could help you get home faster, but I’m so clumsy and stupid. Maybe you should find another slave, trade me for someone more skilled. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve shown me, you know that.”
“Nonsense. I mean, yes, I know you’ d keep my secrets, but nonsense on trading you for someone else. I’m telling you, you’ re doing quite well! Trust me. I,” it added with an elegant flourish, “am the expert.”
In the evening of the fifteenth day after Pasha had planted the eavesdropping nalsha in Kalda’s house, they had a visitor. They were, as usual, in the workshop. Jared worked the blowpipe with increasing confidence, watching with pounding heart as the bleb of viscous glass expanded with his forceful but controlled blowing. Pasha stood next to him, keeping very still, smiling at the young man’s excitem
ent as it began to look like his first successful bowl would soon be coming off the pipe. Over the hiss of the oven they heard a knocking at the front door up on the street level.
“Don’t stop, don’t break concentration—” Pasha fled up the ladder to answer the door. The nascent bowl on the end of the tube wobbled, sending Jared’s adrenaline surging, but he managed to control it with a couple of lucky nudges of the paddle. He blew; it grew. Daringly, he reheated it at the oven door, and continued blowing; it grew, and its walls thinned, making it look more like Pasha’s quality. His eyes blurred with joy. Where was Pasha?
Pasha was coming down the ladder, after Anna. It held its finger to its lips and positioned her off in the corner where Jared couldn’t see her, and resumed its place next to its student.
“Look, Jared, you’ve done it!” Pasha cried. “I told you! Your very first! It’s lovely! Now, very carefully and smoothly, let’s take it over here above the plate . . . that’s a boy. Now, let it down on its bottom, gently, gently. Good! Now hold the tube still, and with your other hand—you’ re way ahead of me, that’s right, the sharp spatula, don’t be timid now, just cut it where you want the rim to be. Don’t be tentative, okay, there’s one, now another cut, another . . . and look at your bowl! Look, Anna, he’s just made his first bowl!”
Jared spun around, shocked. The young woman stood back in a corner, wide black eyes uncertain and serious. Too afraid to join in the celebration.
“Anna,” Jared said, and stepped closer. She moved back, and he stopped. “Hello. I didn’t know you were here,” he added, and turned and hissed at Pasha, “Did you have to let her watch? I’m a clown down here, compared to you.”
Completely oblivious to a young man’s ego, Pasha merely beamed. “You’ d better smooth that rim while the glass is still hot and plastic,” it said.
Jared jumped back to it, already too late. The glass had hardened, with the raw slashes of separation still bumpy. “Don’t worry,” Pasha told the crestfallen apprentice. “Tomorrow when we work on the next one, you can learn to drip small amounts of glass on the rim and make a beaded lip. They’ re lovely, too. Now, let’s be good hosts, shall we? And see what our delightful visitor came for.”
It led them back upstairs. “Jared, make a pot of tea will you? You can clean up a bit while you’ re in the pump room,” it added. Jared winced, stung again. But he was glad of the chance to wash away the sweat. He dodged out the rear door of the pump room to go put on a clean tunic, then returned to the others with the teapot and cups. Pasha had given Anna the most comfortable seat, which also just happened to be the only one long enough for two people. It lounged across from her in its usual chair. Jared placed the tea things on the low table between them, and stepped back to wait further orders. Pasha glanced from Jared to Anna, who still looked frightened.
“Jared, please pour our guest’s tea. She seems a little nervous, and I think you could put her at ease better than I.”
Jared knelt by the table and smiled at Anna. “Please don’t be nervous. Do you want sugar? One? Two? Try two, you’ll like it.” He chastened himself, “This is insane, she’s lucky to eat let alone know how she likes her tea.” He handed her the cup. Her fingers trembled as she took it.
“He’s a wizard,” Jared said smiling.
She gasped.
“Not really!” Pasha protested.
“Close enough,” Jared said. He gestured at his master. “He doesn’t look like that at all, really. He’s got magic to make him change shapes.”
Anna’s eyes were globes of horror.
“But he’s a good wizard,” Jared rushed on. “He likes you, and he’s good to me, Anna. He means no harm. Really.” The young man and the alien smiled at her, friendly, expectant.
“What does he look like?” she said faintly. The shadow of Kalda’s orders haunted her face.
“Quite different,” Pasha said, when Jared looked uneasy. “But you won’t see me, until you’ re quite comfortable with us. Maybe not at all, or not until it’s time for me to leave.”
Jared knew what she was afraid of. “You don’t have to—you know—do what they said. He’s not like that.”
This frightened her even more. “How did you know?” She glanced at Pasha, and it shook its head. Seeing its kindly expression, she relaxed slightly. “You won’t tell, will you?”
“You know we wouldn’t—”
And Pasha at the same time said, “Don’t be silly. Drink your tea, my dear. Let’s sit back and have a good long chat.” That night Pasha learned much to grieve it. How Anna, sold into slavery as a child by parents with too many mouths to feed, had labored in fields until she became a young woman. Then sold as household slave to Kriessa’s friend, trained and doing quite well until her mistress noticed her husband casting too-appreciative glances in Anna’s direction. Kalda’s and Kriessa’s wedding couldn’t have come at a more opportune time, as far as her mistress was concerned. But of her life with her new master and mistress, Anna would say nothing. Her hosts knew enough anyway.
And how Jared as a small boy was abducted and dragged into slavery after his remote inland village had been overrun, burned to the ground, and all the adults slain. He barely remembered his mother. For Anna’s sake, he made them laugh with some comical stories of misadventures with a particularly cunning donkey, and pranks executed at the expense of a ridiculously inept, impotently furious master.
But Pasha listened, and heard what they didn’t say. Powerless to direct their own fates, between their stories yawned dark crevasses hiding despair. It saw Jared trying to put the girl at ease, to forget for awhile her own miserable present. It saw her warm to Jared’s efforts, saw her allowing herself to laugh at him even while tears misted her dark eyelashes.
And it saw Jared losing himself in those dark eyes. Pasha sighed inwardly. It marked each nuance of posture and inflection for future use in its pose as a besotted lover. They would be useful, but it could only wish for Jared’s sake that the demonstration was not so real.
When Jared poured the last cold dregs of tea into his master’s cup, the evening’s spell was broken.
“How long do you suppose she should stay for this first visit?” Pasha wondered.
Jared thought, “Forever.” But he regretfully admitted, “For this first time, it’s probably late enough.” Sundown had passed two hours ago.
Her face an impassive mask, she let them take her to the door. Jared hovered just inside the house, out of sight of the spice store.
“You should see her outside,” he told Pasha, “Hold onto her hand,” he instructed, cursing the strange thickness in his throat. “That’s enough. Now, stand there and watch her until she’s—until she’s settled.”
A moment later he heard the distant harshness of Kalda’s sour greeting, and her quiet reply. Hatred boiled in his stomach. When there came the faint clinking of chains, he sagged against the door-jamb, eyes squeezed shut, and said, “That’s good, Pasha. Better come in now.”
He heard Pasha’s soft footsteps and the gentle closing of the door. Then a hand on his shoulder.
“Better to bed, now, Jared, don’t you think?”
He couldn’t look at his master as he went off to his room.
If he’ d seen sympathy in Pasha’s face, he couldn’t have borne it. As it passed Jared’s room, Pasha reminded him, “She’ll be back again, you know. Many times, if I can arrange it.” There was no answer.
While Jared lay sleepless in his own room, Pasha sat downstairs in the nalsha workshop, ramrod-straight on the stool. Its feet were flat on the floor, its hands symmetrically cupping the little blue nalsha, its bald head erect on its morphed body. It sat like a statue, staring sightlessly at the opposite wall. Jared, had he seen it, would have thought it praying. In fact it was doing quite the opposite. Watching the two young humans that evening had set distressing, conflicting emotions churning in Pasha Sand’s frombur. It knew that wisdom could be tapped by harmonizing with Geilsharah’s nalsha. But it already k
new what that Wisdom would say: “Leave it alone. You’ re a chance stranger here and have no right to alter this world’s story.”
Pasha didn’t want to hear that. So it sat, not harmonizing, with only the familiar feel of the nalsha between its hands, and not its resonating spirit, for comfort.
Deep in the night, Jared was awakened from his long-delayed sleep by a tug on his arm.
“Whassit? Fire?” He sat up and rubbed his eyes. Then his manners returned and he added, “Master Pasha?” He squinted in the light of Pasha’s lamp.
“I’ve had a wonderful idea,” Pasha whispered.
“Huh? No fire?”
“When little Anna next comes to visit, instead of sending her back to the cold planks and Kalda’s chains for the night, I’ll go!”
Jared’s sleep-laden head spun. “You! You can’t!”
“Yes, I can! I’ll make my morph look just like her. Kalda will never know the difference.”
Jared gaped at him. “Why?”
“Why? You have to ask? Did you think I liked sending her back over there? This is in my power to do for her, to give her at least a night’s respite whenever he sends her to us.”
“But—you’ d be chained. How could you get loose? And what if Kalda came out when there were two Annas, in the morning before you got back home?”
Pasha scowled. “Getting loose would be no problem. But you have a good point, with the two Annas. She couldn’t stay until dawn, that’s all. We’ d switch, here, before the shopkeeper stirs. At least she’ d have a few hours, safe and warm.”
“If you got caught, they’ d burn you for a sorcerer,” Jared said. And me, too, he thought.
Pasha smiled. “They’ d find that harder than they’ d expect. But we’ll just make sure we’ re not discovered.”
Jared stared at his master. Such a mixture of strange powers, generous heart, and foolishness. “You’ re a marvel,” he murmured.
“You’ll help me then? You’ll do it?”
“What do I have to do? You’ re the one with the—the magic body. I’ll do whatever you want, Pasha. But what?”
The Strangers of Kindness Page 10