Magesong

by James R. Sanford

  Farlo nodded in acquiescence, apparently put at ease, and shifted his body as if to go along quietly. Reyin had a sick premonition just as it happened.

  Farlo spun with stunning quickness, his elbow slamming hard into the back of the swordsman's head. The man fell forward, limply, without a sound.

  By the time the unconscious man hit the ground, Farlo had taken two steps toward the watchman holding the spear, meeting him as the man brought the weapon down into both hands. All in one motion, Farlo twisted the spear away and threw the man to the ground. He hit hard, on his face, and did not get up quickly.

  Seeing that he faced a skilled fighter, the big fellow with the moustache advanced deliberately, his quarterstaff held en garde. The lead watchman, who had been looking elsewhere when Farlo made his move, now recovered his wits and drew his baton, coming at Reyin quickly.

  Reyin raised his hands but the man kept coming, his face clinched in anger, the baton raised to strike. He was going to make sure Reyin stayed out of the action by beating the fight out of him.

  Reyin instinctively began to step back, but suddenly came up against the low adobe wall guarding the open well. In his panic, he spoke a command of halt in the Essian tongue.

  "Evald!"

  The word stood sharply between them. The watchman froze.

  Reyin had no time to call up memories of what Artemes had told him years before, but it rose from his depths unbidden when he spoke the word of power. Artemes had said that commands used to invoke the Powers at times worked on those in the grip of some kind of passion, but it had to be something that could be done quickly, without thinking. A risky move when in danger, but it had already worked once with this watchman — one more try.

  Less than a second passed before Reyin spoke again.

  "Ano!" the command for obedience. "Throw me the lantern." He held out his hand, and to his amazement the watchman did as he commanded.

  The toss came a little high, (the sharp bark of wood striking wood — Farlo and the quarterstaff man), and Reyin saw that he would not even have to catch it (a strangled cry of pain, the dull thud of someone landing hard in the dirt). He simply stepped aside and watched the lamp sail over the retaining wall and into the open well. A hissing splash, then they all stood blind in the darkness.

  But for one schooled the in the secret ways of power, the black of night veiled only the eyes. Reyin knew where Farlo stood. He knew the trees and stones which lay in his path. He sprinted to Farlo's side while the watchmen groped and stumbled and called out to one another.

  "Let's go," he whispered into Farlo's ear, pulling him toward the street.

  "I can't even see my hands."

  "I will guide you."

  Once they made it to the open street, they began to run, the watchmen behind them cursing and calling for help. Farlo ran slowly, hesitantly, afraid of falling. Feeling more free than he ever had, Reyin closed his eyes and let his spirit carry them down the empty streets.

  CHAPTER 14: A Brief Darkness at Midnight

  Syliva walked through the village thinking that she should have told them yesterday, as soon as she had been able to leave Aksel alone with Jonn, but her trembling and faintness hadn't stopped until today. If she had gone ahead and told them, then this idiotic meeting would not have been called. Then again, perhaps this was best, to tell everyone at once and have no one hearing rumors thrice told. Certainly no one would blame Aksel as a criminal. Everyone knew about the madness that came with fenwolf fever, but there hadn't been a case like this since the year she got married. Half of the adults in the village were not even old enough to remember it. She wondered if they would really believe her. She could also see Taila Keyvern smiling triumphantly, and she remembered what Taila and that fisherman had planted in everyone's minds: there was no one so ill that he did not know right from wrong. Yet if the truth did not make it obvious, Syliva didn't know what would.

  Of course they would never treat Aksel the same. Oh, folk would talk to him politely in public, but he would never again be invited to toss pebbles with the Monjors. It wasn't fair. The whole mess was her fault, her responsibility. At least Farlo would be his friend. Farlo would understand, if he came back. If they didn't all die next winter.

  No! Mustn't think that way. They would find a way to live. She was just tired; she had slept only a couple of hours in the last two nights.

  She turned the corner at the Barlsen house, coming to the clear area around the touching stone, and stopped and saw and felt her inner light go dim. Most of the villagers stood in front of the meeting hall staring at what had been roughly carved into the stained pinewood in letters a foot tall: KILL THE THIEF.

  Standing at the touching stone, his head bowed in deep thought, Kurnt Monjor looked up as she passed then moved to join her.

  "No one knows who did it," he said, "probably a hot-headed kid." He saw the look on her face and tried to make a joke. "I'm pretty sure that it wasn't the one who is stealing."

  They walked a few steps in silence, then Syliva suddenly found herself saying, "Oh, Kurnt, I discovered what happened to your missing goat. It seems that my husband found him scavenging deer-moss on the west ridge."

  She felt like she had a silly look on her face. Certainly it would be clear to Kurnt that something was wrong with her. "This is a little embarrassing, but Aksel hadn't heard about him being missing and thought he was wild. The short of it is that he butchered the little thing before talking to me and we owe you a goat. Come by anytime and take one." The lie had come so easily that it was like someone else had said it.

  Kurnt broke into a grin of amazement. "You mean he wasn't stolen? He just got loose and wandered off? Thank the Spirit for that. My mind has been so full of suspicion that I could hardly reason. Well that teaches me a lesson."

  She couldn't believe it. One word from her carried the weight of an ancient truth. There was not the slightest doubt in Kurnt's voice, and guilt rose up in her with a blackness.

  "At least you didn't go around accusing honest folk," she said, smiling weakly.

  "Now don't let Taila get you down. Everyone knows how she is."

  "Well, I have a feeling that we're going to discover the truth of that here tonight. This was her idea, wasn't it, calling a village meeting? It's after suppertime, and I should be home with my husband."

  "How is Aksel, anyway?" he asked. "I heard that he has taken ill."

  "Yes. A sudden fever."

  "Maybe I should come by tomorrow and try to cheer him up a — "

  "No, Kurnt," she said quickly. "It's a bad one."

  That at least was true. Although Jonn had done Aksel no serious injury, the fever and insanity had risen so high by that night that Syliva had feared her husband would die there tied to his own bed. The extract of sestarian root that she was giving him seemed to be lowering the fever, and his eyes looked clear now. But he still raved quietly at times and had to remain strapped down.

  "Syliva," he said softly, touching her shoulder, "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was serious. If you need anything, just ask. I'll send one of my boys over there tomorrow morning to help with the yard chores."

  "Thanks Kurnt, but there's really very little to do. Unless you want to send him out to collect birch branches."

  "For your livestock?"

  "Yes, we've been mixing it with deer moss. The goats seem to like it."

  "Hmm. I'll have to try that when I run out of the aspen leaves we gathered last summer."

  "Kurnt," she said, stopping just out of earshot of the wood-timbered hall where everyone now shuffled inside. "I do need your help, in there when the meeting starts. I think most everyone has already decided that one of their neighbors is a thief, and I think that Taila is ready to turn their anger into something ugly, something we might regret for the rest of our lives. I think, Kurnt," she said, pointing to the scrawl, "that my heart is near to breaking. If we turn against ourselves, if someone gets hurt, I think something inside me will simply die."

  Kurnt swal
lowed hard. "Syliva, I've never seen you like this."

  "I want you to stand with me Kurnt. Help me remind these folk who we all are. They are suffering enough, and we can't let the evil that is about to take place in there happen."

  She felt her face go hot. "Listen to me. If you never do again, listen to me now and believe me. No one here is a thief. No one here is stealing from his friends. There is some other reason for the missing food. Don't ask me how I know, but I know. I know it, Kurnt."

  She sensed that she had crossed a line now, and there was no turning back. She told herself that if deception could repair the damage her insane husband had done to the spirit of these people, then she could stand the loss of self-respect. But the truth, the truth that lurks in the darkness after all other truths have passed whispered softly to her that it knew what she did not. For the first time in her life, she was afraid.

  "You're sure?" he asked in the smallest of voices. When she nodded, he took in a new breath. "Of course I'll stand with you Syliva. If I can admit to being a fool, maybe others will too."

  The great hall of Lorendal was little more than a large one-room house with a dirt floor. Its stone-hard timbers were older than any house in the valley. Almost everyone in the village was there. Old farmers, with stiff backs and stern faces set in resolve, perched on long benches in the middle. Young mothers with sleeping infants sat on the back row while the teenagers lounged along the side walls. Some of the middle-aged children stayed outside playing hide-and-seek.

  The hushed babble of more than fifty voices fell into silence and nervous coughs as Syliva and Kurnt made their way to the place Lovisa had saved for them on the front bench next to Kurnt's wife. Almost everyone looked a little thinner, a bit more gaunt. Although none of the families had come close to exhausting their stores, like Syliva they had been going a little hungry now so that they could eat a few weeks longer in the winter.

  Taila went and stood on the wide, flat stone at the end of the room. "We all know why we are here," she said. "Uh, why don't we have all the children go outside."

  Kurnt leaped to his feet. "Why don't we let them stay and see what kind of folk their parents are."

  Taila looked at him as if he had just betrayed her. "Are you sure you want your kids to hear what we have to say tonight?"

  Kurnt returned her glare. "I insist on it."

  "Very well," Taila said, "we have a thief, and everyone knows that."

  "No we don't," Syliva said quietly, not looking at anyone.

  "I stand on the speaking stone. That gives me the right to talk without interruption," Taila said. "As I was saying, we have a thief. He could be from another village, but I suspect that it is someone here. I say to whoever is stealing our food that this is your last chance to come forward and return it. And if you think, Mr. Yeggman, that you are very clever and you try to steal again, I invite you to read what is on the wall outside." Many of the adults and most of the children looked at each other. "Your punishment will be lighter if you admit it to us now before we catch you. And we will catch you." She waited, scanning the stony faces of her neighbors. For a moment the hall lay quiet.

  "Very well," she said, as if she had expected the lack of response, "in that case I say that we pick a group of men to arm themselves and search every house in the village starting tomorrow morning. And they can start with my house because I have nothing to hide. There, that is my say. And if no one else wishes to speak, I think we should decide now."

  Kurnt quickly stood and crossed to the stone in three long strides. Taila went back to her bench and sat down.

  "You all know that I'm not very good at speeches. I just wanted to tell you that the goat I thought was stolen turned out to be a runaway, and I can't believe I thought one of you might have taken it. And I'm sorry. Now if I can make a mistake, any one of you can — " He stopped, suddenly aware of what he had just said. A ripple of laughs ran through his audience. "Wait a minute, I didn't mean it that way."

  "Yes you did, Kurnt," Celvake called out, and all the men roared.

  Oh thank the Spirit, Syliva thought. Maybe Kurnt would disarm their anger and carry the day for her. Her whole body ached and fatigue had numbed her mind. She felt spent, and sore of heart. All she wanted to do was go home.

  "Anyway," Kurnt said after the chuckling quieted, "I'm ready to believe that fenwolves took the food. Why not? Does anyone remember about twenty years ago there was this fenwolf we called The Daylight Robber? Remember how he went into all the houses to steal honey?"

  "Fenwolves don't eat turnips," old Plinna said in his high thin voice.

  "And what about the fish?" Celvake echoed. "Fenwolves wouldn't have picked only the cured ones, and they sure wouldn't have carried them away in a basket."

  "I'm not saying that fenwolves took the fish, Cel. I'm just saying that it could be something like that. We shouldn't be suspicious, that's all. And by the way, Plinna, fenwolves might not eat turnips, but they'll steal anything that has a smell just to tear it up. If you search the bushes, you might find what's left of the sack." He looked around and shrugged, then returned to his seat. Syliva patted him on the knee.

  Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that they were all looking at her. They still haven't decided. She had to say something. How could she say anything meaningful when she was so empty? She pulled herself to her feet, remaining in place, declining to stand on the stone.

  "Do you know what Taila and a few of you others here are doing? You are creating a them. Right now, we are still us, but if you do what Taila wants, this village and this valley will forever be divided into us and them — a them that does not even exist. And you will still not have your thief. What you will have instead is fear. Fear of the neighbor that might steal from you, and fear of the neighbor who comes armed to look for thieves. And never again will we join hands to sing the song of the season. I know you all. I've been in each of your homes, shared your tables, tended your babies. I know that everyone here deserves each other's trust. No one here is stealing. Most of you, like my friend Celvake, are a little too honest." She saw a few smiles, but could not tell what they thought. "Please, have the courage to trust one another. That way, at least, we can go home and get some sleep."

  More smiles broke out now, and one of the men who had been ready to go along with Taila suddenly couldn't look at anyone. Celvake stood and began edging toward the door.

  "Good idea," he said loudly. "I'm not voting for this sort of thing. And if anyone wants to come over to my house in the morning, I'll be there. With my dog."

  Then all the Monjors were up, and suddenly everyone was on their feet crowding the aisles, some heading straight for the door, others pausing to say goodnight. Taila stared in disbelief, as if they were doing the stupidest thing she had ever seen.

  Syliva slumped to the bench and let out a long breath. She had been able to turn them aside only because they trusted her. Strange, she thought, because now she had proved untrustworthy, the most dishonest person in the valley. Taila Keyvern was a vindictive troublemaker trying to be a big wheel in a small village, but even she was more honest.

  Syliva watched the faces of those who remained for a few quiet words with their friends. She had diverted only their anger, not their suspicion. Taila and those who had been with her would not let this rest until they had their thief. Syliva thought about the words carved into the wall. If starting this deception was wrong, then she would make it fully wrong in order to satisfy them all. Yes. She would give them a death.

  Another day had passed and Syliva stood at her bedroom window, watching the houses fade to dim silhouettes of deep grey. Everyone should be in bed now, but the older teenagers kept odd hours in the summer. She would wait till it was fully dark.

  Aksel lay sleeping unrestrained on their bed, the fever of madness having broke that morning. He had no memory of trying to kill her, and if she could remind Jonn not to speak of it maybe he never would. He did remember stealing the food. In his weakened and confused state,
he had been willing to believe that it was feverish dreams he remembered. He would, in time, come to know it as the truth, but for now she wanted him to rest untroubled.

  She went downstairs and found Jonn.

  "You can start bringing those things I showed you up from the cellar now." When he had assembled all the stolen foodstuffs in the kitchen, she divided them into two groups.

  "There," she told her son, "I think we can carry it all in two trips. You must remember that this is a special secret, the same as the one about how sick your father was."

  He nodded solemnly.

  "We have a lot of secrets now between the two of us, don't we?" she said softly. "I'm sorry, Jonn."

  "It's alright, mother. I don't mind."

  Jonn had been a wonder for the last few days. Once he had been assured that he hadn't hurt his father and she had explained that Aksel was ill and not in his right mind, Jonn began doing everything she needed done without her saying a word. He had attended his father that first night when Syliva, completely exhausted, had to throw herself down for one hour of chill-wracked sleep. She had awakened at first light to find him dripping water into Aksel's mouth with his little finger and talking to him quietly, and for all she knew, she couldn't be sure that he did not save his father's life.

  It seemed to her that he had lived all these years in the wilderness, and now having come out, had no need to tell of what he had seen there.

  "I know that you know about secrets. I'll bet you have secrets you haven't told anyone, even me." A little worry passed across his forehead. Did he wonder if he had hurt her feelings? "That's okay, Jonn. You're not keeping something from me — you're merely keeping it for yourself and there is a difference. Everyone should keep something just for themselves."

  When full darkness came she lit a lantern then shuttered it. "We have to keep this closed until we get to the woods," she told him. "I'll carry the sack of turnips and the lantern. You take the flour and the cheese." Jonn lifted the barrel to one shoulder then scooped up the smaller keg to hold it under the other arm. "Can you carry them all the way?"