I supposed I gawked.
Ravd said, “Who are these friends of yours, Able?”
“I think …”
“The outlaws?”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Couldn’t it be the Aelf?”
Ravd looked thoughtful. “Svon, did you intend Abie’s death?”
“Yes, I did.” There were no tears now; he drew his dagger and handed it to me. “I was going to kill you with this. You may keep it if you want to.”
I turned it over in my hands. The tip was angled down to meet a long straight edge.
“It’s a saxe.” Svon sounded as if we were sharing food and passing the time. “It’s like the knives the Frost Giants carry. Of course theirs are much bigger.”
I said, “You were going to kill me with this?” and he nodded.
Ravd asked, “Why are you telling us this now, Svon?”
“Because I was told to give their message to him as soon as he woke up, and I think they’re listening.”
“So you said.”
“I was hoping you’d go to sleep. Then I could have awakened him, and whispered it. That was what I wanted.”
“You’d never have had to tell me what happened.”
Svon nodded.
“I don’t want it,” I said. I gave him his dagger back. “I have a knife of my own, and I like mine better.”
“You may as well tell us everything,” Ravd said, and Svon did.
“I didn’t run into them like I said. I ran into a tree, and hit it hard enough that I fell down. When I could I got up again and circled around your fire, keeping it only just in sight. When I was on the side where Able was, I got as close as I dared, and that was pretty close. You said you would have heard me if I had found my sword. I don’t think so, because you didn’t hear that. I was waiting for you to go to sleep. When I was sure you were sleeping, I was going to kill him as quietly as I could and carry his body away and hide it. I wouldn’t come back until tomorrow afternoon, and you’d think he had simply run away.
“They grabbed me from behind, making less noise than I had. They had swords and bows. They took me to a clearing where I could see them a little in the moonlight, and they told me that if I hurt Able I’d belong to them. I’d have to slave for them for the rest of my life.”
Ravd stroked his chin.
“They gave me that message and made me say it seven times, and swear on my sword that I’d do everything exactly the way they said.”
“They had your sword?”
“Right.” The kind of sarcasm I was going to get to know a lot better crept into Svon’s voice. “I don’t know how they got it without your hearing, but they had it.”
Recalling things Bold Berthold had told me, I asked whether they were black.
“No. I don’t know what color they were, but it wasn’t black. They looked pale in the moonlight.”
Ravd said, “Able thinks they might be Aelf. So do I. I take it they didn’t identify themselves?”
“No, but—it could be right. I know they weren’t people like us.”
“I’ve never seen them. Have you, Able?”
I said, “Not that I remember, but Bold Berthold has. He said the ones who bothered him were like ashes or charcoal.”
Ravd turned back to Svon. “You must tell me everything you remember about them, just as truthfully as you can. Or did they caution you not to?”
Svon shook his head. “They said to give Able their message when he woke, and never to hurt him. That was all.”
“Why is Able precious to them?”
“They wouldn’t tell.”
“Able? Do you know?”
“No.” I wished then that Ravd had not seen I was awake. “They want me to do something, but I don’t know what it is.”
Svon said, “Then how do you know they do?”
I did not answer.
“Our king was born in Aelfrice,” Ravd told me, “as was his sister, Princess Morcaine. Since you didn’t recognize his face on a scield, I doubt that you knew it.”
“I didn’t,” I said.
“I don’t believe my squire credits it—or at least, I believe he did not until now, though he may have changed his opinion.”
Svon told me, “People talk as if Aelfrice were a foreign country, like Osterland. Sir Ravd says it’s really another world. If it is, I don’t see how people can come here from there. Or go there either.”
Ravd shrugged. “And I, who have never done it, cannot tell you. I can tell you, however, that it’s not wise to deny everything you can’t understand. How were your captors dressed? Could you see?”
“They weren’t, as far as I could see. They were as naked as poor children. They were tall, though—taller than I am, and thin.” His breath caught in his throat. “They had terrible eyes.”
“Terrible in what way?”
“I can’t explain it. They held the moonlight and made it burn. It hurt to look at them.”
Ravd sat in silence for a minute or two after that, his hand stroking his chin. “One more question, Svon, then we must sleep. All of us. It’s late already, and we should be up early. You said that there were four or five of them. Was that the truth?”
“About that many. I couldn’t be sure.”
“Able, put a little more wood on the fire, since you’re up. How many could you be sure of, Svon?”
“Four. Three were men. Males, or whatever you call them. But I think there may have been more.”
“The fourth was female, I take it. Did she speak?”
“No.”
“How many males did?”
“Three.”
Ravd yawned, which may have been playacting. “Lie down, Svon. Sleep if you can.”
Svon spread a blanket for himself and lay down on it.
Ravd said, “I believe you will be safe, Able. From Svon, at least.”
I suppose I nodded, but I was thinking how another world might seem like it was just another country, and about yellow eyes that burned with moonlight like a cat’s.
SEEING SOMETHING
We reached Glennidam about midmorning, and Ravd called the people together, all the men and all the women, and some children, too. He began by driving Battlemaid into a log Svon and I fetched for him. “You are invited to swear fealty to our liege, Duke Marder,” he told them. “I won’t make you swear—you’re free to refuse if you wish to refuse. But you should know that I will report those who do not swear to him.”
After that they swore, all of them, putting their hands on the lion’s head and repeating the oath after Ravd.
“Now I would like to speak with some of you, one at a time,” he said, and chose six men and six women, and had Svon and me watch the rest while he talked to the first one in the front room of the biggest house in the village. An hour went by while he was talking to that first one, and the ones who were waiting got restless; but Svon put his hand to his sword and shouted until they quieted down.
The first man came out at last, sweating and unable to meet the eyes of the waiting eleven, and Ravd called for the first woman. She went inside, trembling, and the minutes ticked by. A shiny blue fly, big with carrion, buzzed around me until I chased it, then around Svon, and at last around a little black-bearded man the rest called Toug, who seemed much too despondent to chase anything.
The woman appeared in the doorway, her face streaked with tears. “Able? Which one is Able? He wants you.”
I went in, and the woman sat down on a little milking stool in front of Ravd.
He, seated on a short bench with a back, said, “Able, this is Brega. Because she is a woman, I permit her to sit. The men stand. Brega tells me there is a man called Seaxneat who is well acquainted with the outlaws and entertains them at times. Do you understand why I asked you to come in?”
I said, “Yes, sir. Only I don’t think I can help much.”
“If we learn nothing from you, you may learn something from us.” Ravd spoke to the woman. “Now, Brega, I want to exp
lain how things are for you. In fact, I must explain that, because I doubt that you understand it.”
Brega, thin and no longer young, snuffled and wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron.
“You are afraid that Able here will tell others what you’ve told me about Seaxneat. Isn’t that so?”
She nodded.
“He won’t, but your danger is much greater than that. Do you two know each other, by the way?”
She shook her head; I said, “No, sir.”
“You have told me about Seaxneat, and of course I will try to find him and talk to him. Those people outside will know you’ve talked to me, and the longer we’re together the more they will think you’ve told me. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“Y-yes.”
“Have you yourself, or your husband, ever been robbed?”
“They knocked me down.” The tears burst forth, and flowed for some minutes.
“Do you know the name of the outlaw who knocked you down?”
She shook her head.
“But if you knew it, you would tell me, wouldn’t you? It would make no sense for you to keep it from me when you have told me as much as you have. You see that, don’t you?”
“It was Egil.”
“Thank you. Brega, you’ve taken an oath, the most solemn oath a woman can take. You’ve acknowledged Duke Marder as your liege, and sworn to obey him in all things. If you break that oath, Hel will condemn your spirit to Muspel, the Circle of Fire. The sacrifices you’ve offered the Aelf can’t save you. I take it you know all that.”
She nodded.
“I am here because Duke Marder appointed me. If it were not for that, I would be sitting at my own table in Redhall, or seeing to my horses there. I speak for Duke Marder, just as if he were here in person. I am his knight.”
She sniffled. “I know.”
“Furthermore, the outlaws will avenge themselves upon you and your whole village, if they are left free to do so. Egil, who knocked you down, will do worse. This is your chance to avenge yourself, with words worth more than swords to Duke Marder and me. Do you know of anyone else here who is on good terms with the outlaws? Anyone at all?”
She shook her head.
“Only Seaxneat. What is his wife’s name?”
“Disira.”
“Really?” Ravd pursed his lips. “That’s perilously near a queen’s name some men conjure with. Do you know that name?”
“No. I don’t say it.”
“Does she? I will not use her name. The woman we are speaking of. Seaxneat’s wife. Has she alluded to that queen in your hearing?”
“No,” Brega repeated.
Ravd sighed. “Able, would you know Seaxneat if you saw him? Think before you speak.”
I said, “I’m sure I would, sir.”
“Describe him, please, Brega.”
The woman only stared.
“Is he tall?”
“Taller than I am.” She held her hands a foot apart to indicate the amount.
“A dark beard?”
“Red.”
“One eye? Crooked nose? Clubfoot?”
She shook her head to all of them.
“What else can you tell us about him?”
“He’s fat,” she said thoughtfully, “and he walks like this.” She stood up and demonstrated, her toes turned in.
“I see. Able, does this square with your recollection? Fat. The red beard? The walk?”
It did.
“When we spoke earlier, you did not name Seaxneat’s wife. Was that because you didn’t know her name, or because you were too prudent to voice it?”
“Because I didn’t know it, sir. I’m not afraid to say Disira.”
“Then it would be wise for you not to say it too often. Do you know what she looks like?”
I nodded. “She’s small, with black hair, and her skin’s very white. I didn’t think her a specially pretty woman when Seaxneat was cheating Bold Berthold and me, but I’ve seen worse.”
“Brega? Does he know her?”
“I think he does.” The woman, who had been wiping her eyes, wiped them again.
“Very well. Pay attention, Able. If you will not listen to me about that woman’s name, listen to this at least. I want you to search the village for these people. When you find either, or both, bring them to me if you can. If you can’t, come back and tell me where they are. Brega will be gone by then, but I’ll be talking to others, as likely as not. Don’t hesitate to interrupt.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I want Seaxneat, of course. But I want his wife almost as much. She probably knows less, but she may tell us more. Since she has a new child, it’s quite possible she’s still here. Now go.”
At the outskirts of Glennidam, I halted to search its sprouting fields with my eyes. I had looked into every room of every one of the village’s houses, and into every barn and shed as well, all without seeing either Seaxneat or his wife. Ravd had said I was to interrupt him if I found them, but I did not think he would like being interrupted to hear that I had not.
And Ravd had been right, I told myself. A woman with a newborn would not willingly travel far. There was every chance that when she heard a knight had come to Glennidam she had fled no farther than the nearest trees, where she could sit in the shade to nurse her baby. If I left the village to look there … Trying to settle the matter in my own mind, I called softly, “Disira? Disira?”
At once it seemed to me that I glimpsed her face among the crowding leaves where the forest began. On one level I felt sure it had been some green joke of sunlight and shadow; on another I knew that I had seen her.
Or at least that I had seen something.
I took a few steps, stopped a minute, still unsure, and hurried forward.
DISIRI
“Help …” It was not so much a cry as a moan like that of the wind, and like a moaning wind it seemed to fill the forest. I pushed through the brush that crowded the forest’s edge, trotted among close-set saplings, then sprinted among mature trees that grew larger and larger and more and more widely spaced as I advanced.
“Please help me. Please … ”
I paused to catch my breath, cupped my hands around my mouth, and called, “I’m coming!” as loudly as I could. Even as I did it, I wondered how she had known there was anyone to hear her while I was still walking down the rows of sprouting grain. Possibly she had not. Possibly she had been calling like that, at intervals, for hours.
I trotted again, then ran. Up a steep ridge crowned with dreary hemlocks, and along the ridgeline until it dipped and swerved in oaks. Always it seemed to me that the woman who called could not be more than a hundred strides away.
The woman I felt perfectly certain had to be Seaxneat’s wife, Disira.
Soon I reached a little river that must surely have been the Griffin. I forded it by the simple expedient of wading in where I was. I had to hold my bow, my quiver, and the little bag I tied to my belt over my head before I was done; but I got through and scrambled up the long, sloping bank of rounded stones on the other side.
There, mighty beeches robed with moss lifted proud heads into that fifth world called Skai, and there the woman who called to me sounded nearer still, no more (I thought) than a few strides off. In a dark dell full of mushrooms and last year’s leaves, I felt certain I would find her. She was only on the other side of the beaver meadow, beyond all question; and after that, up on the rocky outcrop I glimpsed beyond it.
Except that when I got there I could hear her calling still, calling in the distance. I shouted then, gasping for breath between the repetitions of her name: “Disira? … Disira? … Disira?”
“Here! Here at the blasted tree!”
The seconds passed like sighs, then I saw it down the shallow valley on the farther side of the outcrop—the shattered trunk, the broken limbs, and the raddled leaves that clung to them not quite concealing something green as spring.
“It fell,” she told me when I reached
her. “I wanted to see if I could move it just a little, and it fell on my foot. I cannot get my foot out.”
I put my bow under the fallen trunk and pried; I never felt it move, but she was able to work her foot free. By the time she got it out, I had noticed something so strange that I was certain I could not really be seeing it, and so hard to describe that I may never make it clear. The afternoon sun shone brightly just then, and the leaves of the fallen tree (which I think must have been hit by lightning), and those of the trees all around it, cast a dappled shade. Mostly we were in the shade, but there were a few splashes of brilliant sunshine here and there. I should have seen her most clearly when one fell on her.
But it was the other way: I could see her very clearly in the shade, but when the sun shone on her face, her legs, her shoulders, or her arms, it almost seemed that she was not there at all. At school Mr. Potash showed us a hologram. He pulled the blinds and explained that the darker it was in the room the more real the hologram would look. So when we had all looked at it, I moved one of the blinds to let in light, and he was right. It got dim, but it was stronger again as soon as I let the blind fall back.
“I do not think I should walk on this.” She was rubbing her foot. “It does not feel right. There is a cave a few steps that way. Do you think you could carry me there?”
I did not, but I was not going to say so until I tried. I picked her up. I have held little kids who weighed more than she did, but she felt warm and real in my arms, and she kissed me.
“In there we will be out of the rain,” she told me. She kept her eyes down as if she were shy, but I knew she was not really shy.
I started off, hoping I was going toward the cave she knew about, and I said that it was not going to rain.
“Yes, it is. Haven’t you noticed how cool the air has gotten? Listen to the birds. To your left a trifle, and look behind the big stump.”
It was a nice little cave, just high enough for me to stand up in, and there was a sort of bed made of deer skins and furs, with a green velvet blanket on top.
“Put me on that,” she said, “please.”
When I did, she kissed me again, and when she let me go, I sat down on the smooth, sandy floor of the cave to get my breath. She laughed at me, but she did not say anything.
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