by Jeff Wheeler
“I think that he made some interesting observations,” Novan said carefully.
“So you have read it?”
He nodded.
“Such observations leave you wondering how Alaiht managed to acquire such knowledge. The Magi keep their own records. Could Alaiht actually have accessed the Magi archives?”
“Where did you study?” Novan suddenly pieced together why the woman would know so much.
She laughed. Her voice sounded rich and melodic. “Many places. Though lately I would call Vasha my home.”
Vasha. That meant the university in Vasha, so different from the one in Thealon. More selective. More secretive. Even Alaiht hadn’t managed to learn much about the university, or if he had, he hadn’t documented it.
“I have not known many scholars to travel so much.”
“Then you must not have known many scholars.”
Novan did not take the bait. The skiff had reached well over halfway across the river. Novan watched the riverman working his oar, swirling it in the water as he worked rather than lifting it with each stroke. He wondered how deep the water ran there. Many deep-keeled boats traveled the river, though most kept to the middle as they made their way down toward Riverbranch before it let out into the sea.
As the shore of Thealon loomed closer, the woman seemed tenser. Rather than flowing with the surging changes in current, she rocked more.
“Where are you traveling to?”
Her eyes looked toward the shore. “Thealon, same as you.”
“The city?”
She nodded.
Novan wondered what would draw a scholar of Vasha to Thealon. “I haven’t thanked you for paying my transport.”
She smiled. “Oh? I thought the terms of transport were clear.”
“You want the book.”
She shrugged. It was the barest movement of her slender shoulders. “I would like to see the original.”
Novan felt another moment of surprise. How could she have known that he carried the original work rather than a copy? “I assumed that you had read Alaiht’s work on Vasha.”
“I have.”
“Then you would not find anything of value from the copy I carry. Let me repay you once we reach Thealon.”
“We travel together now?”
Novan noted that she had not argued with him, wondering if she would still demand the book as payment. Would he agree to the demand if she did?
“We travel the same direction. The road can be lonely, and I think that I would find your company enlightening.”
She turned away from staring at the shore and met his eyes. “Should I not fear traveling with a stranger?”
“I am a historian of the guild.”
She studied his face, considering for a moment. “So you are. Then should you not fear traveling with a stranger?”
Novan laughed. “You said you were from Vasha. A scholar. What would I have to fear?”
She laughed and turned away. “What indeed?”
* * *
He did not learn her name until that evening.
They camped on the edge of the road. The woman showed surprising skill lighting a fire, twisting a small bundle of twigs together that seemed far too green to Novan before tapping on her flint. The small flame crackled softly, and she let it grow slowly. Once satisfied, she knelt across from him and pulled a few strips of jerky from a hidden pack and handed them to Novan.
“I am Lilliana,” she said between bites.
Novan didn’t say anything at first, trying to determine if he recognized the name. It didn’t trigger anything for him and he knew of no scholars by that name, though he would not, especially from Vasha. “Just Lilliana?”
She smiled. “For now.”
“Why do you travel to Thealon?”
“I imagine the same reason as you.”
Novan clutched his pack close, careful to keep it next to him. He didn’t distrust Lilliana, but she hadn’t given him any reason to trust her either. And he did not want to lose the book before learning what the runes meant. “As a historian, I travel frequently.”
She nodded, taking another slow bite. The firelight reflected off her hair and seemed to dance. “I imagine that is normally true. But you seemed in a particular hurry to reach the other side of the Rondal. Either you run toward something, or away.”
“Which is it for you?”
She smiled and shrugged, shifting her cloak to keep her shoulders covered. The night felt chill, not as warm as they had been while in Gomald. “Both.”
Novan laughed lightly and leaned back. He debated how much to share with her, but needed to establish some trust if they were to travel together to Thealon.
A gust of wind sent the fire dancing. Lilliana shivered and pulled her cloak around her, covering the necklace. She fingered the ring hanging from the chain as she ate, a distant look painted on her face.
“When were you last in Lakeliis?” he asked, considering her necklace.
Her eyes focused on him, and a slight smile played across her face. “Long enough that I suspect much has changed. What was it like when last you visited, Novan?”
“I haven’t been to the south in many years,” he admitted. “Though Lakeliis always welcomes those of the guild.”
“Only because they don’t know how to tell the difference.”
Novan laughed. The guild had problems with imposters claiming membership, some even brazen enough to flash a forged mark to take advantage of the freedoms the guild offered. “And do you?”
“I have known enough historians to recognize when someone is not who they claim.” She watched him as she spoke.
Novan shrugged. “With the abundance of imposters, it seems we are at an impasse.”
“You think so? You think I doubt that you are of the guild?”
“Do you not?”
“You carry a book by Alaiht. Your pack is waxed, presumably to protect the contents from the elements. You make reference to works that only a few have seen. Either you are of the guild—and highly placed at that—or you are a skilled imposter.” She smiled and laughed softly. “Either way, I think that it does not matter.”
She fell silent and Novan didn’t comment. Lilliana had sharp eyes and he wondered what else she had observed. A part of him wondered if she could help with the book he’d stolen from Gomald. A scholar from Vasha would be a useful resource in decoding the runes, but he didn’t know if he dared allow the university access to it until he knew what it meant. Clearly Nils had felt it important enough to copy. Had Novan been thinking more clearly, he would have taken the copy as well.
Thealon. He could find answers in the capital. Another few days and they would reach the city of Chrysia. From there it would only take a week more. If he could manage to secure a horse, he could make it in less time, but he had nothing to sell or bargain, at least nothing that he dared lose.
Novan watched Lilliana. She leaned back, away from the fire, her eyes drifting closed as the wind swirled around. It caught on her hair and pulled it briefly up and away from her neck, revealing a dark line, like ink tattooed onto her skin. Then the wind died and her hair fell back into place, covering her neck again and leaving Novan wondering if he’d only imagined it.
* * *
Lilliana spoke little the next few days. Occasionally she would ask him questions, first about his apprenticeship and then about his travels. After the first morning of such questioning, he realized that she was testing him, trying to determine if he really was a guild historian.
“I was first apprenticed to Bilnat. She preferred the southern lands and our travels took us from Voiga to Lakeliis and sometimes to the far east, beyond the mountains. I spent three years with her before her passing.”
Lilliana nodded. “It is said that she fell to a wasting sickness.”
Novan nodded, remembering the way that her once thick arms and legs had wasted away over several months, her eyes seeming to become more and more withdrawn. Even her gray hair thinned over ti
me, leaving her looking aged well beyond her years. “After she passed, I had to find another apprenticeship.”
“Is such a thing easy?”
They passed a copse of trees. The open grasses began to thin as the ground became rockier. A stream burbled in the distance, and they left the road to fill their waterskins. Both drank deeply. Novan spied a small village through the trees not far from the stream.
“Not easy,” Novan admitted. He didn’t recognize the village, though he had not traveled through this part of Thealon enough that he should. There were parts of the north, especially around Boastiin, where he expected to know every village. “Members of the guild are not required to take on an apprentice, and in fact, few ever do. I was the first that Bilnat had taken in twenty years. I do not think she cared for the disruption in her work.”
Lilliana took a long drink of water and then crouched to refill her waterskin. “You were a disruption?”
She had turned to look up at him. Novan watched, hoping for her hair to shift so he could catch another glimpse of her neck, but it did not move.
“I don’t think that I was any more of a disruption than an apprentice in general. There is a certain amount of teaching required when working with an apprentice. Some enjoy it and constantly have an apprentice. Others, only rarely.” He took a long drink and wiped his sleeve over his mouth. “What is it like at the university?”
Lilliana splashed water across her face and wiped down her arms, throwing her cloak back over her shoulders after she finished. The early morning air still had a bite to it, not quite cold, but the occasional gusts of wind made it feel colder. She stood and wiped her hands on her skirt, smoothing it down. “As you can imagine, there is an expectation of teaching at the university. Each student is assigned a mentor who guides them through the early stages.”
Novan could not imagine how there would be enough instructors for all the students. “How many students do you have each year?” he asked. In Thealon, the university took several dozen each year, but the classes were well structured, and the scholars were asked to speak to students no more than once a week.
“We can take three.”
Novan blinked. “Three?”
“Some years there are fewer. The selection process is vigorous, not at all like Thealon.”
Novan laughed. “You don’t think that Thealon employs a vigorous screening process?”
She frowned at him and stepped away from the stream. “I think that Thealon is less selective. We allow only the brightest minds to enter the university in Vasha.”
Novan knew not to argue, but he had seen the process in Thealon in person. Lines hundreds deep lasting all day for one of several dozen spots. He could not imagine Vasha was any more selective than Thealon.
He followed her back to the road. For a while, he thought he had managed to upset her, but she eventually turned and smiled at him.
“You never told me who you were apprenticed to after Bilnat.”
“After Bilnat, I had to ask permission of the guild to seek a second historian. Such a thing is rarely done. Some who lose their apprenticeship fade away from the guild. Such is the risk of the apprenticeship.”
Lilliana looked bothered. “That sounds as if the guild intends to prevent access.”
“No more than the university in Vasha.”
She did not look over. “And how many are apprenticed at any given time, Novan?”
“No more than six or seven, I would imagine. As I said, there are not many historians who take on apprentices.”
“Yet you managed to secure not one but two apprenticeships,” she commented. “You still have not said who the second was with.”
“I did not,” he agreed.
Lilliana smiled and said nothing more.
* * *
They spent that night in a small village. Lilliana seemed to know one of the families from the village and managed to secure them a place to sleep in a barn on the outskirts. Novan didn’t argue, preferring the warmth of the barn to the chill of the night air.
The barn was simple. Five stalls. A small loft. Hay stacked in one corner and the air stinking of manure. But the walls kept back the blowing wind. Novan crawled into the loft, ignoring the soft whinnying of the three horses in their stalls. He considered stealing one of the horses and making his way more quickly to Thealon, but decided against it. As much as she had helped him so far, Lilliana did not deserve that.
As Lilliana spoke to the woman of the house—a thick woman with a severe jaw and jet-black hair—Novan made himself comfortable near the back of the loft. The boards were thick and rough but otherwise clean. A small lantern had been loaned to them, and he used it to give the loft a little more light. He pulled the stolen book from his pack and thumbed through the pages. Did he dare begin work on translating the writing? He had some skill with the language, but it would be tedious work and time consuming.
Then there was the matter of the runes. Scrawled across each page in different diagrams, some looking like nothing more than a string of words, others looked more complex, bound together as if creating a drawing. Something about the more complex pages pulled at him, as if he should remember why but could not.
When he saw Lilliana making her way up the ladder to the loft, he stuffed the book back into his pack and hurried to help her. She smiled at him and shooed him away.
“You know them?”
“I know many people.”
“But here? How is it that you know someone here?”
She only shrugged and did not answer that question. “We have a warm place to sleep and food. You should not question the how.”
“I always question.”
Lilliana laughed. “In that we are similar.”
They ate in silence the fresh bread and cheese given to Lilliana. When she finished, she claimed fatigue and rolled onto her side to sleep, placing her pack beneath her head and using her cloak for a blanket. Novan considered flipping through the book a little longer while she slept, but wasn’t prepared for questions about the book were she to awaken and see him working through it. Giving it his full attention would have to wait until he reached Thealon. Then he would have access to the library and would be able to work on deciphering the runes. A nagging part of him told him they were important.
They left the village the following morning, rejoining the road with pockets stuffed with fresh loaves of bread and as much dried meat as the family could spare. Lilliana took a moment to say good-bye to the family, and the severe-looking woman gave her a tight hug before glaring at Novan as if to warn him from harming Lilliana. He did his best to smile as widely and warmly as he could, but her expression did not change.
Back on the road, the wind gusted with renewed urgency, blowing in from the south and east and carrying with it the scent of rain. The sky was a solid sheet of gray clouds spreading across the horizon. Novan worried about keeping the books dry. The pack had been freshly waxed before he departed, but there had been too many instances while still in Gomald where he had been forced through water that he worried the waxing would no longer hold.
As the day went on, one particularly strong gust of wind sent Lilliana’s hair fluttering. Novan made an effort to look for the marking on her neck that he had barely glimpsed in the firelight. In the muted daylight, he saw the marking again, just as a flash of darkness, but enough that he swore it resembled one of the runes he had seen in the book stolen from Nils.
Lilliana caught him looking and pulled her cloak up around her shoulders. She remained quiet for most of the day, offering little more than a few words when they camped that night. They ate of the gifted food in silence.
In the morning, he awoke before her. The sun had already started cresting the horizon, sending orange slivers of light across the sky. The gray clouds had broken and with them the sense of the coming rain.
Novan stretched and saw that she lay on her side with her neck exposed. He leaned over her and stared at the marking on her neck. Definitely a t
attoo of some sort. Set just below her left ear, the shape looked like interlocking triangles worked into a circle. He felt a sense of familiarity as he looked at it.
Lilliana opened her eyes then and saw him looking. “You could have asked.”
He straightened quickly and took a step back. “Would you have told me?”
“Probably. When did you first notice?”
“As we were crossing the river, I think.” She nodded, eyes drifting back as if she were remembering. “What does it mean?”
She frowned at him. “You do not know?” She seemed surprised that he did not.
He shook his head. “I feel like I’ve seen something like this somewhere. There aren’t too many people with markings tattooed on them, at least not here.” In the far southwest, such tattoos were more common, but even there he had never seen anyone with one on their neck.
She seemed to consider her answer for a long moment. “You might be surprised at how many are tattooed like this. But this,” she said, placing a hand to her neck, “this was my test.” Lilliana shifted her hair so that it fell back down over her shoulder, covering her neck. The necklace dangled across her chest, and she fingered the ring hanging from the chain.
“What kind of test?”
“One that I needed to take,” was her only answer.
When Novan saw that she would not say more, he pressed. “Did you pass?”
She smiled bitterly. “I still live.”
He felt taken aback by the comment. “There was a risk of you dying?”
“Others were at greater risk if I did not attempt it. That is why I took it.”
“What does it mean?”
She pushed herself to stand, dusting off her dress, and swung her cloak up and over her shoulders. She slipped her tan pack back around her waist and buttoned her cloak. “I do not yet know,” she finally answered.
Novan laughed, but realized she did not share in his laughter. “Why risk such a thing if you didn’t know?”
She did not look at him when she answered. “Because I was the only one who could.”
She started away from where they had camped and continued onto the road. Novan watched her, wondering what secrets she hid from him. He had thought her only secrets were about the university. The scholars in Vasha did not welcome outsiders, and he thought she simply protected the university, but there was something else there he didn’t understand. And that made him uncomfortable.