Magesong (4 page)

Kestrin seemed not to notice him, though he sat no more than
twenty feet away.  What was it about her that drew him so readily?  She was
pretty, and a little exotic, but he had met a hundred young women as beautiful
as this freckle-faced redhead.  And what did he know of her?  Nothing.  He
simply needed to speak to her and this enchantment would pass. He had learned
six new words of Pallenor in one day.  Within a fortnight he would be able to
hold a pidgin conversation.  Yet in a fortnight wouldn't his ankle be healed
and he on his way to Noraggen?

Greetings done with, everyone seemed to be waiting now, some
glancing skyward as if expecting a sign from the heavens.  The sun had sunk
well behind the western ridge.  It was almost twilight.

Then Kestrin was standing next to him.  "Good
evening," she said in Avic, unsure of her pronunciation.

"Good evening," he returned in Pallenor. 
"You know some of the Avic tongue?"

"A very little."  She smiled.  "Farlo
divias," she said as if to explain, pointing to the other Syrolian.  Farlo
now circled the small pyramid of dead wood checking its structure, making sure
it would not topple over when lit.

He thought that if he just sat there staring at her she
would become uncomfortable, so he tried to think of something he could say. 
All that leapt to mind was traveller's phases such as "I would like a
private room", or "How much for the soup?"

"Tell me, please," he ventured, "the words
for the song."

"I do not to know," she said, still trying to
speak Avic.

He smiled.  "No, no, tell me in the Pallenor
tongue."

She laughed at the misunderstanding.  She leaned close to
his ear and spoke softly.  The words had the rhythm of days following nights,
the timbre of spring showers, the silences of melting snow.

It was a simple song.  The second verse had the same meter
as the first, and the lyrics changed in the second chorus, but then it was
done.  That was it, the whole song.  Reyin figured, the words being foreign,
that he would have to hear it sung through twice before he got it down. 
Remembering other folks' songs was what he did best.

"Very pretty," he said

“The words?"

He looked at her.  "This place."

A women silenced her children with a loud shush.  Kestrin
looked up, and Reyin saw that the first star of twilight had blinked open. 
Everyone quietly formed a circle around the fire pit.

They sang a simple melody to the simple lyrics, the sound of
bright sunlight on a sea of ice.  Someone, somewhere in the circle, a woman or
a boy, sang a harmony pure as a waterfall.  He listened to them as a whole, and
it was sublime in its simplicity, its cheerful austerity, the verse echoing the
silence between the words as an eye opening in the darkness of a deep cave sees
colors.

The fire, having been built of kindling only, flared up tall
and bright for a time and burned out quickly.  Deepest dusk had fallen.  A
gentle breeze drifted down from the upper valley with the night, and people
began leaving in small groups amid the goodnights of their neighbors.  A few of
the oldest boys had brought buckets of water to quench the flickering coals,
and they stood near the fire pit, chatting, in no hurry to douse the embers and
be gone.

When Aksel and Syliva stepped aside to speak to Kestrin and
the older man that seemed to be her father, Reyin slipped away from the ring of
light, finding the stump he had sat on earlier.  The cold hard wood felt
comforting somehow, like it was the right place to sit.  The silhouette of a
man, Farlo, came at him in long strides from out of the dying light, holding
out his hand in greeting, not quite the same man he had been that day.  But
Reyin could not see his face in the darkness.  And he wanted to look into those
eyes.

"Thank you," Farlo said, shaking his hand as if
they were old friends, "thank you for coming.  I thought you might like
the song more if you knew what it meant."

Reyin thought it was not possible to love the song better
than he did right then.  He said, "Of course I would like to know what the
words mean."

"Well, if I say it word for word in Avic, it'll sound
sort of backward in some places, and some of the words I only have the gist of,
but in short it says that the returning time of the spirit of spring is here,
and we are waiting.  You see, everyone here thinks that it's a magic song.  It
calls the springtime spirit down from heaven to renew the land."

Reyin looked at him without blinking.  "A magic song?"

"A rune, as they say."  Farlo looked out into the
night.  "I suppose you don't believe in such things."

"To tell you the truth, I do."

"That's unusual."

Reyin shrugged.  "So why isn't the magic working?  You
sing the song every night and still nothing is growing."

"That's why everyone is afraid.  Winter here is very
harsh.  The snow gets so deep that you can't even hunt or trap.  The seasons
here are very different from each other, not like back in Syrolia.  In one
year, we pass through four worlds."

Reyin looked past Farlo to where Kestrin stood.  Wood smoke
clung to her as the last flames from the fire died.  She was laughing, touching
Syliva lightly on the arm.

"Did you grow up in the country, Farlo?"

"No, spent my younger days in Port Rascina."

"Do you like it here?"

"It's the best place I've ever been.  I'd have to be
mad to leave it."

"If nothing grows here, might it not be that everyone
will have to leave?"

"There's really nowhere to go."

"What about another town, another valley?"

Farlo sat down on his haunches.  "To the north there's
nothing but barren mountains and ice fields.  A strong man travelling light and
moving fast can make it across, but it's dangerous.  To the east there's the
highland forest, but the hunting is sparse these days, and no grass is growing
in the summer pastures.  And if you go past that you'll run into the mountain
nomads."

"Could you ask them for help?"

"They're not truly savage, but they are barbarians and
they don't tolerate outsiders — just going into their territory would be a
mistake.  No, no help from them.  There's no civilized place until you get
close to Noraggen.  And besides, there isn't a single pack animal in this whole
valley."

Reyin didn’t know what to say.  Farlo rose to his feet. 
"Well I'm off to find my wife, and then my home.  I'll see you tomorrow."

Reyin watched him go.  He sat alone on the old dead stump. 
The night veiled him from the others.  Then the breeze changed in a way Reyin,
over the years, had come to recognize.  He listened to the shifting of winds,
unable to shake the feeling that he had lived this moment many times.

With the hiss of water meeting red-hot coals, the fire at
last went out.  The voices of the boys seemed loud in the sudden dark.  Someone
came near, a slender shadow against the night sky full of stars.  "Good
night, Reyin," came a voice, a young woman speaking in Pallenor.

He reached down for his walking stick and began to hoist
himself up, but she was already gone. "Good night, Kestrin," he said.

Then the weird came unexpectedly, quick, jolting in its
clarity, and he saw all the folk around him as skeletal shapes amid the
flurries of the winter yet to come, people emaciated beyond recognition, the
living too weak to bury the dead.

At that moment, he wished to be just a young musician in a
smelly roadhouse again, playing for his dinner and the few pennies the drunken
patrons might toss.  He wished it very hard.

His discolored ankle returned to its natural hue within a
week, and the stranger called Reyin began limping to the nightly gathering
without the aid of a walking stick.  In another ten days he would be well
enough to go on his way, and Syliva was sorry for that.  She had quickly grown
rather fond of him.

Kestrin visited daily, for fabricated reasons such as
checking to see if Syliva's garden had sprouted or asking how Lovisa's
pregnancy was coming, which was funny to Syliva because Kestrin spent more time
with Lovisa and Farlo than anyone.  Lovisa had mentioned that Kestrin stopped
at her house each morning to ask Farlo how to say a new word in Avic.  And,
perhaps by like impulse, Reyin pestered Syliva with questions of the names of
things in her own language, sometimes having to perform silly pantomimes that
would make her laugh.

The first day of the week usually saw Syliva pay call on
those with continuing ailments, and she liked to see Lovisa in the morning
while they were both fresh and had a spare moment to talk.  This morning,
though, Syliva didn't like what she wanted to say.

The dirt streets of the village had grown hard as stone in
the drought, and as Syliva walked to the young woman's house, the rough ground
jabbed at the tender places on her feet.  She would have to leave her soft
shoes at home and begin wearing field boots on her rounds.  Squalls had passed,
out on the ocean, and thunderheads had risen in the distant mountains, but no
rain had fallen in Lorendal since before winter.

Thankfully, Lovisa was alone.  “How do you feel today?”
Syliva asked.

"It's beginning to feel like I'm carrying the stone
instead of a baby."

"Sickness this morning?"

"A little."

"Hmm.  You're too far along to be getting that."

"Didn't have much to throw up really.  My stomach
turned after the first few bites of supper last night."

"Oh, I know how it is.  While I was preggers with Jonn
I would get sick whenever I cooked meat.  I'd get a good whiff and have to duck
out the back door and let fly.  And when I ate, no matter what it was, the
heartburn would soon follow."

"Yes, I get that too."

Syliva pulled up a stool and opened her satchel.  "Well,"
she said, taking out a tiny wooden box, "this mixture might help.  Make a
tea from it — one big pinch is enough for a cup — and drink a little before
each meal.  It doesn't taste half bad if you hold your nose."

"Thanks."  Lovisa opened the box.  "Why so
much?  This looks like enough to last months."

Syliva busied herself with closing the satchel.  "I
didn't see Farlo outside.  Is he alright?  Aksel would always worry and get
fidgety my last few months.  I often wanted to send him away until it was time."

"He was in one of his moods this morning, still a
little worried about the stranger.  He reminded me that he does have a price on
his head.  I hate it when he talks of that.  He told me that he was going down
to Siadal to see if they would trade for nails and iron spikes, but I have a
queer feeling he's up to something else.  Yesterday he was mumbling about
wanting to know if there was really a wrecked boat on the other side of the
inlet.  I think he's going to get a fisherman to take him over there to
look."

"I wouldn’t worry about Reyin."

Syliva looked around the large one-room house, at the
assortment of iron tools hanging from the walls.  Farlo had built the huge
fireplace in one corner with a flue and chimney.  The house was never smoky.

"Your husband really is clever, in his own way."

"Sometimes, when left to himself.  I only wish that he
didn't have these strange days when he's so . . . oh, I don't know."

"A few years of happiness can't take away all the
torment he's been through, a little more time maybe.  Listen, I have a
thought.  Why don't the two of you come for a visit tonight after the singing? 
Reyin will play his strings and sing some of the Southern songs.  It might do
your man good to hear something of his old home.  I'm sure he misses it."

"He says he doesn't."

Lovisa took the little box and put it away in her cupboard. 
"What can I give you for the tea?"

"Nothing," came the absentminded reply.  Then she
smiled thinly.  "Don't you know?  We're rich now."

Lovisa cocked her head.  "Eh?"

Syliva took a yellow coin from her apron pocket.  "Reyin
gave us a solid gold ounce as thanks for his room and board — in secret of
course — hid it in my flour crock.  He didn't know that Jonn was watching him. 
You know, Jonn said that he cut it from a hidden pocket in his coat
lining."

"Farlo told me about this.  It's hard to believe, but
the Southerners don't mean this as an insult.  In the southern lands everyone
is very greedy, and you have to give money when you stay with someone."

"Yes," Syliva said.  "I understand that even
in Noraggen it is that way."

"People of the Pallenborne?"

"In the city, yes."  She turned her face away from
Lovisa.

"Farlo said that it is much like the southern —  Syliva,
what's wrong?"

She breathed out heavily, "I believe that the land is
blighted, that there will be no crops or grazing this year."

"It is true then?"  Lovisa pulled herself to the
edge of the bed and sat upright.  "What are we going to do?"

"Most of us will go on with our lives as well as we
can.  And I think you should too, but in a different place."

"What are you saying?" "I want you to
consider giving this gold piece to your husband, so he can take you
south."

Lovisa stared at her open-mouthed.

"And you should go now, in the next week or two, while
you still have food to take with you.  It'll give you time to find a place to
have your baby.  Yothan has an old rowboat.  He'll most likely give it to you
if you ask him.  It will be hard on Farlo, but I'm sure he can get you to
Drendusia."

"Why?"

"Because things might get bad here.  And I want one of
us to be alright."

"Don't worry, Syliva, all will be well."

"That may be, but it is not well now.  The land is very
ill, and I don't have a cure for it."

"Isn't that why we sing the song?"

"No, dear.  We sing the song so that we won't be
afraid."

Lovisa looked hurt. "Why do you want me to go?"

Syliva took her wrist firmly in one hand.  "Because you
and Farlo have a chance out there.  He's travelled in the wide world; he knows
its ways.  He knows how to protect you from the dangers of a city."

"City?  No, I won't do it.  I was born in this valley —
I'm not leaving.  And Farlo can't leave, north or south.  Not ever."

Syliva spoke softly now.  "Listen to me.  I don't believe
that Spirit has abandoned us.  But if there is no harvest this year, only the
fittest of us will live out the winter."

She let go of her wrist and placed her hand on Lovisa's
stomach.  "Do you understand?"

Lovisa went to the east window, opened the shutters.  She
stood there facing the morning light for a long time.

"You're very kind, Syliva,
but my husband and I will be staying for whatever comes to pass."

The night was barely cool,  but Syliva had Aksel build a
fire while she served august-root tea with a slice of dried apple, noticing
that Farlo slipped his piece of fruit into Lovisa's cup.  He sat staring at the
floor when Reyin played, a narrow smile crossing his face when a certain short
lively tune caromed off the strings.  Syliva was glad that Farlo seemed at ease
that night, that he shook Reyin's hand in their foreign way and did so
earnestly.  All that suspicion did no good.

After an hour of playing, Reyin asked, through Farlo,
"Do you have any common songs that you could sing now?  I would really
like to hear a true song of the Pallenborne, even if I don't understand
it."

Kestrin answered for them.  "We only have songs at
festival time and weddings and such.  At times like this we tell stories.  Most
everyone knows a few, but Syliva is the only one who knows them all.  All the
stories together and in proper order we call the Poem of the Great Circle,
because each story has a connection with the one before it as well as the
following one.  You see?  There is no beginning or end to the poem."

They all asked Syliva for a story then, and she told the Tale
of the Fire Giant.  That story called for rhythm and heat, unfolding into
something like a chant.  When it was done Reyin nodded solemnly, as if he had
understood every word.  His manner with her changed after that night, as if he
were suddenly less than her equal. 

The week passed quickly, the
mornings brisk, the afternoons warm and slow, a simple dinner, the evenings
graced by Reyin's mandolin while they waited for the song at twilight.  His
limp fading at length to a steady stride, the man seemed to regain his health
despite the poor diet she offered him, mostly flatbread with butter and aged
goat-cheese.  Farlo told her that in his native land the guest ate with family,
not alone in a separate house or room as is the custom in the Pallenborne, and Reyin
accepted happily when she invited him to sit at their table in the main house.

Syliva walked between Reyin and her husband in the warmth of
early evening.  Sunset is a little later every week, she thought, as they
approached the dusty circle of trampled ground.  They had come early.  Celvake
and his brother were the only ones there, laying quartered logs as a foundation
for the fire.  The two nodded a greeting and went back to their work.  Reyin
took Aksel's bundle from him and dragged the sticks to the fire pit.

"I woke up early this morning," Syliva said to her
husband, "and I couldn't stop thinking about Jonn.  It's just a strange
feeling.  Maybe you should go see if he's alright."

"That's a lot of walking for these old bones,"  Aksel
said with a smile, the playful, teasing sort of smile he had given her every
day when they were newlywed.  "You're a much better hiker than I."

"But the dogs would be happier to see you," she said
pointedly, joining in the game.  "They all like you better than me."

"Yeah.  I guess so.  Okay, I'll go tomorrow."

She took his arm and laid her head against it.  All things
seemed so simple right then.  Her husband was a simple man with a dry easy
humor.  He had a good soul and would be alright.  They would simply do what
they knew how to do.

The people of Lorendal came two and three abreast down the
footpath.  Nodded greetings, low talk — everyone waited for the first star.

Reyin stood silent, as if listening to something distant. 
More and more heads tilted skyward.  Syliva looked back toward the village. 
Someone was late.  A running man, tall and broad shouldered, dashed out between
two houses, slowed to a jog at the end of the lane, found the footpath, and
letting out a yell of distress and triumph began to sprint down the gentle
incline.  He tripped, tumbled, got to his feet again and loped on doggedly
toward the group, waving and shouting.

Syliva reached for her husband's hand.  "It's Jonn,"
she gasped.

Her son ran staggering to them, then bent forward on wobbly
legs, his lungs billowing too much for him to talk.  Aksel had run out to meet
him, and now held him up, speaking gently to him.

"Easy, easy.  It's alright son, you're here now.  Catch
your breath before you tell us."

Syliva looked at Jonn closely.  A purple knot stood high on
his forehead.  A trace of dried blood clung to his upper lip — a bloody nose,
staunched hours ago.  The elbows of his shirt were torn away, revealing skin
freshly scraped to the pink, and he looked as if he had been whipped by pine
switches from shoulder to ankle.  A large thorn lay embedded in the heel of one
hand.

Everyone perched in a half-circle around him, watching
silently.  Still breathing hard, he exhaled words.  "Do you remember . .
."

"What, son?" Syliva asked.

"The sky boat."

Aksel and Syliva looked at their son and then each other.

"Here," Aksel said, "sit down and rest a
moment, then you can tell us the whole story."

"Hey," called a woman from the back of the crowd,
"the first star is out now.  Are we going to start singing?"

Farlo had crept forward, his dark eyes fixed in a sidelong
stare at Jonn.  He slowly lowered himself to one knee beside the young man.

"Everyone give us some room," Aksel said.

"No," Syliva said to Taila Keyvern, the woman in
the back, "I think the song should wait."

Aksel waved Farlo aside and crouched directly in front of Jonn. 
"Who did this to you?  Was it someone from Hyerkin?"

Jonn looked at him in innocence.  "Who did what?"

"Who beat you?" Aksel said impatiently.  Jonn was
still stunned by what had happened, and the hubbub around him didn't help.  Aksel
spoke more evenly.  "Jonn.  You're hurt.  Who did it?"

"I did," he said.

Everyone fell quiet at this, except for a few snickering
young boys.  Syliva took note that Jonn's complexion wasn't pale, nor did his
eyes appear too large or black.  He was not in the midst of a fit.

"After the dream had gone, I got up and started to
run.  I didn't mean to; I just couldn't help it.  The sun wasn't up yet, but
all I could think of was to get here as soon as I could.  I got lost in the
dark and ended up in the east woods.  I think I ran into a tree.  Anyway, the
next I knew, I was in the woods, pretty deep I think because it took me hours
to find my way out, and by that time the sun was past noon."

Syliva pulled the thorn from his hand.  He didn't seem to
feel it.  "Tell us from the beginning."

Someone had brought Jonn a skin full of water.  He took a
long drink.  "It was about midnight last night.  It's still cold at night
in the upper valley, but I felt really hot and couldn't sleep, so I just lay
there looking up at all the stars.  I guess I fell asleep then because that's
when I dreamed about the Spirit.  She showed me her face in the sky and spoke
to me.  I couldn't hear the words, but I knew what She was saying.  She told me
that the sky boat had taken Her away.  And She said that I should come and tell
him
."