Reyin fished for his pocket watch. "A quarter to one."
"If anyone had seen it, I'd be under arrest by now. All is well; go back to bed."
Reyin slept by fits. When he dreamed, it was of being chained below in the darkness of the hold.
The next day did nothing to relieve his apprehension. A light wind rose from the southwest, and the ship began a long, slow reach toward the roads of Kandin, with all the topmen going aloft to set the royals and trim the topgallants. Tolan appeared to be in a jovial, almost playful humor. When he met Reyin's eyes, his gleamed as if he were savoring a fine meal, with something satisfyingly left unsaid. With an ill feeling, Reyin went to Haffi, who had been officer of the midnight watch, and asked if Tolan had stood that watch. He had. And Tolan's hammock hung in the most forward niche, where the air was best. He would have passed Farlo on his way out. But if he had seen, why would he not tell?
That night, Reyin dreamed black cacophony, hearing the vibration of jackboots on stone, the syncopation of lashing cat-o'-nine-tails, the clanging percussion of chains and locks.
In the forecastle, Tolan smirked as Farlo came and went. Did Tolan know, and mean to torment Farlo with blackmail? Perhaps Tolan didn't trust the captain of an Orianan vessel, who had no obligation to Syrolian law, and meant to report Farlo to the constables of Kandin. Reyin had no doubt that Eltas would surely arrest any escaped convict aboard Tarradid. Maybe it was something else. Maybe Tolan planned to push Farlo overboard on the next stormy night. In any case, Tolan should be spied upon.
Now, what should he tell Farlo? Nothing. Farlo might do anything. Most likely he would walk up to Tolan, goad him into a knife fight, and kill him. Or get killed. No, Reyin had to handle this himself.
So, for two days Reyin pretended to walk, to play the flute, to read one of the Captain's books, while all the time he watched Tolan. He saw nothing damaging, only Tolan's knowing smile to Farlo each time they passed. Farlo noticed it, but passed it off as cowardly arrogance. On the second evening they sighted the lights of Kandin and jibbed toward them, the order to drop anchor coming just before midnight. At daybreak the captain would send the longboat in to fetch a pilot.
The men of the lower deck, anticipating some hours ashore the next day, did not so much sleep as lounge in the rhythmic sway of shadows cast by the single lantern, trading talk of the pleasures of the Kandin waterfront. Tolan lay strangely silent about what he would do with his free time in port. Reyin took a bulging wineskin from his sea chest and went forward.
"Excuse me, Mr. Tolan. I wanted to say that I'm sorry for how Farlo behaved last week. He and I have made a pact not to drink on this voyage, so we've saved our grog rations in this." He held up the skin. "I'd like to give it to you, as a peace offering."
Tolan looked him up and down, like a captain inspecting a midshipman, one lip slightly curled in distaste. Then he laughed, reaching for the wineskin.
"Sure buffo, I'll drink your old grog." He opened it, sniffed, and took a sip. "There, that's it then," he said merrily. "All's forgotten."
"Thanks. That's big of you."
Tolan said nothing, but simply looked inquiringly at him with a blank grin.
"Well, um, I guess I'll let you get some shut-eye, busy day tomorrow, huh?
Nodding, Tolan showed him his teeth.
"Goodnight," Reyin said as he backed away. "Enjoy the drink."
Tolan mimicked a salute with the skin of grog and took a long pull at it.
Reyin passed his hammock and headed for the forecastle door. As Farlo had said, Tolan was indeed a liar. Outside, the deck lay empty, the sea quiet, the stars shining in a flawless night sky. He climbed to the deck that roofed the forecastle, following the rail until he stood above the most forward porthole on the starboard side. Tolan swung in his hammock directly below. Reyin, through his feet, could feel the vibrations of a basso profundo voice — that would be Reime, one of Tolan's cronies.
Looking around for watchmen, and feeling a little childish, he lay face down on the deck, inched forward between the rail supports, and let his head hang over the side. He could hear Tolan and Reime through the open porthole.
They talked, more loudly as they drank, about places to game in Kandin, about women they had met there, and argued over who was getting the best share of the grog.
"It doesn't matter now," Tolan said, "there's only one good snort left and I'm taking it."
"Go ahead, you bastard," Reime said in his booming voice. "It was good while it lasted. Say, why is the buffo trying to get on your good side all of a sudden?"
"I dunno, but he sure needs to, his friend the topman leaving tomorrow and all."
"The topman is getting off the ship? How do you know?"
"You'll see."
Reyin needed to hear no more. He eased himself back and stood upright. So he had been right about Tolan. Now what? He silently cursed Farlo. His skewed sense of justice had caused all this.
Reyin began pacing the circumference of the ship. The wind was calm, the night warm, and Tarradid rode its anchor with stillness. Farlo could jump ship as soon as they docked the next morning, and Reyin could meet him later with all their goods, providing Farlo hadn't been caught, for Tolan would surely inform the constabulary in any case. If Farlo was caught while they were together, Reyin might be charged with aiding an escaped criminal. And even if Farlo managed to avoid capture in the city, getting out under the eye of the port authority would be very risky. He needed to shut Tolan's mouth. He knew what Artemes would do — he would touch the sailor's mind and cloud his thoughts so that he wouldn't remember his own name for days.
Reyin removed his left boot and pried open the well-worn heel. From a hollow place there, he took out the Heartleech.
The bosun's forehead shone with sweat as he stood on the steps to the quarterdeck addressing the crew. Reyin looked out on the familiar waterfront streets, the outlines of the palaces of state rising in the distance.
"Seein' how we did such a fine and sprightly job of taking water aboard this mornin'," the bosun bellowed, "the Captain is allowing a four-hour liberty this afternoon. That don't mean you can take five hours. And there ain't no excuses 'cause of that great big clock tower you can see from anywhere on the waterfront. Any man returning late will be fined two kandars. Now mark this well: we sail on the evening tide. Any man not aboard by then will be left behind, and he will forfeit all shares and wages for the entire voyage. Understand?" The crew grumbled and nodded. "One last thing. Everyone is on the evening watch tonight, so don't forget the penalty for being drunk on duty. Now go wash your ugly faces and get some shoes on — liberty commences in ten minutes!"
A short whooping sound, then the crew swarmed the forecastle in a flurry of hands and feet, shirts being thrown on, combs getting stuck in thickly-matted hair, cries of, "Where's my stockings?" or, "Can you loan me a few coppers?" Farlo stayed out on deck, with no intention of going ashore. Reyin took a position near the forecastle door, a place where anyone leaving would have to brush past him. No one saw him prick his finger with a sewing needle.
Tolan was one of the first. He elbowed his way through the crowded quarters. When he ducked under the door jam, Reyin stopped him with a touch on the arm. Tolan turned, as if to throw a back-handed slap, stopping, suddenly frozen as he locked eyes with Reyin.
With his other hand, Reyin pressed the Heartleech against his own chest.
For a brief moment, he held Tolan with his gaze.
"It's easy to get lost in the city," he said quietly. He said it in the Essian Tongue, but Tolan understood. The tall seaman drifted away from Reyin, toward the gangplank where a few men were already waiting. He seemed to take no notice of anyone, not answering those who spoke to him. The ship's bell rang the start of liberty, and then they were gone.
Reyin staggered to his hammock, sweating freely from every pore. His heart beat too fast; his head was on fire. He struggled to breath. He climbed into his hammock, crying aloud from a pain that seared his inner bei
ng, as if part of his life was being torn away. Shaking uncontrollably, he curled into a ball, wishing for sleep or death. Neither would come. Later, he became vaguely aware of darkness and motion as the ship sailed out of Kandin harbor.
The alley ended in a stone wall. Tolan turned around and went the way he had come. Someone was speaking to him and pointing. He pushed on. He had to get to . . . a place. The alley spilled out onto a cobbled thoroughfare. Should he go left or right? The sun had slipped out of sight behind the rooftops. He should go in the direction he last saw it. Which way was that? Keep going left. If you get lost, just keep going left — someone had told him that. Would that get him to . . . a place?
He saw a man in uniform. He ought to talk to that man. He had something to tell him about . . . a person? He felt hungry. Was that important? No. What was important? Left — that was vital — keep going that way.
So Tolan walked on as night fell upon the city. He did not remember the name of that city, but he remembered to always turn left.
CHAPTER 10: The Yeggman
It was Shali, the black and white female, that came scrambling over the low stone wall and into the barnyard to tell Syliva that Aksel and the goats had returned. The small shepherd ran in circles, raising dust off the dry, hardened yard, darting to Syliva, sniffing at her hands, darting away yelping and barking.
A few weeks before, Aksel had talked the Svorden boy into looking after the goats for a day so he could walk home to fetch the dogs. He had stayed the night, going back to the upper valley the next morning, saying he would be gone for a month.
Syliva went to the gate, glad that he was home early because tomorrow was a festival day. He wore the broadest smile she had seen on him since Jonn was born, and the sight of fallow fields and the bare, empty garden plot didn't sour his mood. He kissed her over the gate, a kiss that promised passion of the youthful sort.
"You look a little thin," she said.
"So do you."
"Its only noontime. Start out before dawn?"
"Yes, I missed you," Aksel said.
"You must be tired." She smiled playfully. "Are you in need of a lie-down?"
"A bath first."
"Shall I heat some water?"
"Don't bother. I'll just go down to the stream."
"Oh my, you must be in a hurry."
She giggled and he laughed with her. Later, as they lay quiet in a tangle of bedding, she saw the purple welt on his leg.
"Oh, look at you. I knew you wouldn't take care of yourself up there. How did you get that?"
"It's nothing."
"It looks unclean. Has it been festering?"
"No, but I'm sure you will want to massage ointments into it, bind it with poultices, force me to inhale foul-smelling tinctures — "
"You're making fun of me."
" — and pour medicinal teas down my throat for days. Do what you will, my wife, my cure-giver, for I am all yours."
She tried to pout, but that only made her laugh aloud. "You should go away more often, it seems to agree with you."
He brushed away the hair from her forehead. "Yes. I feel more like fifteen than fifty-two. Roughing it, sleeping under the stars, it invigorates a man, turns him into an animal. Grrr!"
"So I've seen," she murmured, snuggling close to him.
"Say, where is Jonn?"
"He's helping Lovisa today. Why?"
"No reason. I need to make it up with him, thought I'd take him to the lake on the other side of the east ridge and try to catch some fish. Is Lovisa alright?
"She's terribly big."
"When is she due? About a month?"
"A month and a half."
He let out a long breath. "Do you think Farlo will really come back to her?"
Syliva lay quiet for a time. "Yes," she said. "If she lives."
"You mean he."
"Yes, that's what I meant."
The Summer Soon festival lasted from noon until past midnight, but it was a minor holiday, nothing like the Solstice Day festival at midsummer. Summer Soon was more of a long picnic, with lots of games and singing and the young folks' dance after dark.
Aksel competed with the older men at pebble tossing and played unusually well, remaining undefeated until the final throw against Celvake, the reigning champion, where he almost upset the old carpenter. Jonn easily won the stone-lifting game, and everyone was happy for him. Even Farlo would have been hard-pressed to lift the boulder that Jonn raised triumphantly over his head. This made up for his poor showing at all the other games. He could have won the stick wrestling, Syliva thought, but he was trying not to hurt anyone and couldn't understand why the other men used painful holds on him.
As it had been for many years now, Syliva was asked to be the judge of the games. She remembered that in her youth she had liked being in the girls' upside-down race. Grandpa Jofin had been the judge back then. He hadn't been her blood relation; all the young people had called him Grandpa. Everyone had gone to him with their problems, from business arguments to questions about spiritual matters, and he had tried to give them the best answers he could. Good answers, most of them were. After so many years of living, he seemed to know things without trying. Syliva knew that many of the folk wanted her to be like that, be mayor and priestess to the village, to lead them out of this crisis, but she knew nothing of how to organize the resources of an entire valley, and of the spiritual, all she knew was that it seemed far away, elusive and untouchable, but a few rare people were somehow connected to it.
Twilight came just two hours before midnight on Summer Soon Day. When it was time for the evening song, everyone gathered at the fire pit. They stood in the same circle as always, rocking uneasily, looking at one another.
Someone called out, "What song shall we sing?"
"Brother Sun — that's the song for Summer Soon," said Ulrika Monjor, who had seen three generations of festivals.
All of them looked at Syliva.
"Yes, that is the song, and we should sing it." Everyone waited, still listening. They needed her to say something about what was happening, but she didn't know the right thing to say.
"The birthing months of spring have ended, and so has the time for singing the Song of Returning," she said hesitantly. "But I will still sing it in my heart. And I believe that at this time next year we will all be here to sing it again."
A deep voice called out, "We will have no harvest in the fall. Shouldn't we do something about that?"
"Yes. We should band together, help one another, do what needs to be done. But we must also go ahead with our lives. Summer is long and no one knows what is to be."
"What of those of us who aren't farmers?" Celvake asked. "We don't have a harvest to last us the whole year. Already our larders are empty, and the things we make for our livelihood are nearly worthless now."
"Why you're my friend, Celvake. You can come sup at my house any night you wish — every night, if you wish."
"And what about Vessin the stonecutter, or Plinna the glassblower?"
"Have they no friends?" She had not said it in jest, but it drew a laugh from some of the onlookers.
"We should take all the food that we have," Celvake said loudly, "gather it in one place, and divide it equally."
"Who shall decide what is equal?" Syliva asked.
"It's not fair," Kurnt Monjor said. Last year, the Monjors had celebrated the best harvest in the valley. "We who worked harder to have more food should not be forced to give it away."
Her face aflush with sudden anger, Syliva spoke quickly. "How can you possibly know who has worked harder than who? You have been blessed with healthy children and fertile goats and you take this as proof that you are smarter and better and more deserving than anyone else. It only proves that you're lucky." She turned to the circle of villagers. "It shames me that we are speaking like this. We are valley folk. We were born to be better than this."
Many of them looked away, plainly shamed. "And on a festival day, of all days," Ulrik
a added.
"Yes," Aksel said, coming to Syliva's side, "this is not the proper time for debate." His voice had a strange edge to it. She knew that speaking to a crowd was difficult for him.
"Each one of us," he said, "will do what he must to make it through this hard time." An unusually large grin spread across his face. "We should think of the young folk here, and not spoil their dance night. Come, let's have the song now."
Without another word they sang Brother Sun, many of the voices subdued or unsure. Aksel sang loudly, almost lustily, a great deal of relief evident in his tone, as if the nearness of summer had changed everything. After the singing, one person after another engaged Syliva in talk about ailments, or the festival, or old times — they just seemed to want to be near her for a moment, to look at her and touch her on the hand and know that all was well.
That night the young men jigged, slapping their freshly-oiled boots in time with the drums and the clapping of the children and the elders. The young women laughed as they swung on the arms of their partners, using a free hand to wave their bright skirts. Harps sounded a long chorus as a promenade began, a few young dancers taking rest on the sides shouting encouragement to the others. Light flickered across the faces of toddlers, sleeping soundly in spite of the din. Syliva wandered through the crowd, stopping to pet Celvake's dog, smiling when little Sipi Barlsen waved at her.
"Have you seen my husband," she asked Kestrin.
"I did a little while ago," she answered, looking into the deep shadows cast by the nearest trees.
"Are you not dancing tonight?"
"I had the first dance with Kevas, just for old times sake, but he took it to mean something, so I decided to sit the evening out."
"That's foolish," Syliva said, "have some fun and dance while you can. Trust me."
Kestrin looked at her father. "Are you alright?"
"I want to go home," he croaked. "I'm tired."
"Did you remember to eat this afternoon when the games were over?"
He shook his head. "I felt too queasy."
"No wonder you're tired." She smiled and ruffled his hair. "Okay," she said, taking his arm, "I'm going to take you home and put some food into you." Turning to Syliva she said, "I'll be back soon. After all, I don't want to miss all the dancing."
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