The Way Into Magic: Book Two of The Great Way (16 page)

The man behind the counter had thinning hair and gray pouches under his eyes. His skin sagged as though he’d once been quite fat but had been starved since. Working behind him was a tall girl with frizzy hair bristling off her narrow skull. She was covered with flour and jam stains, and her work at a bench that was too low for her left her with a permanent stoop.

“Beacons!” he called with the delight of a man who sees too few customers. “How may I serve you today?”
 

“You’re old enough,” Tejohn said to him. He turned to the old woman and waved her off, driving her out of the shop. She took it as an insult, but she went. To the baker, Tejohn said, “You’re old enough to remember the last time these lands were at war.”

“I am,” he said, wiping his hands on a dirty cloth. The stooped-over young woman edged toward the counter.
 

Tejohn looked sharply at her. “I don’t like to be stared at.”

The baker shooed her back toward her bench. “Don’t mind my daughter, sir. She’s an honest girl.”
 

Daughter.
Perfect. Tejohn began to haggle.

Chapter 10

Javien was furious, of course. He was of the opinion that a beacon’s robes were sacred, and that Tejohn had blasphemed by trading his away for mundane things like loaves of meatbread and other supplies. Tejohn let him rant for a long while about trusting in The Great Way and the special significance of red and the duty every Peradaini had to lead others along the right path and priests especially so and blah blah blah. It was insufferable, really.
 

Still, Tejohn let him exhaust himself all through the long walk to the end of the market, where the king’s spears gave them a quick glance and dismissed them. If they were still looking for Tyr Tejohn Treygar, they were not much interested in a beardless man with a long, morose face being hectored by a shrill priest twenty years his junior.
 

However, the guards were very interested in a farming family heading toward the city in a hay cart. Every one of them, old woman to young child, stood in a circle of spearpoints, stripping down to their skins.

When they were well past the guard post and out into the farmlands, Tejohn laid his hand heavily on the young priest’s shoulder. “That’s enough.”

“No, it is not enough! You don’t seem to realize--”
 

“Be quiet or I’m going to cut off your ear.” That caught his attention. “Beacon Javien, what role do you think you have on this mission?”

The young man seemed a little uncertain. “Beacon Veliender put me in charge.”

“That’s not correct. Young man, you are a convenient basket. I’m going on a long trip to retrieve something of value, and you are a convenient means for me to carry it back to civilization. If you become inconvenient, I will discard you and find some other means. Your whining and hectoring were invaluable in getting us past the guards, but I’ve had enough.”
 

Javien wasn’t satisfied. “Beacon Veliender ordered me to bring this spell of yours back to the temple so we can save the people of Ussmajil. And how will we bring it into the city without robes? Do you see how this hurts us? It’s a simple task, but… She gave you your sight!”
 

“And it’s a glorious gift,” Tejohn said. “I plan to make good use of it while I try to save all our lives, but this mission came from Lar Italga, the last king of Peradain. That might not mean much out here in these splintered lands, but should mean quite a lot to his uncle, the scholar hermit we’re traveling to see.”

“But to trade away that robe!”
 

Apparently, Javien had already forgotten Tejohn’s threat, or perhaps he thought it was a bluff. Tejohn considered cutting off one of his lobes--just a little bit--to make his point. But no. It would feel good, but no.

“That robe might save that girl’s life. That’s why the merchant bargained so dearly for it. His daughter--his only child--had been barred from even the dubious safety of Ussmajil, with war coming. I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten how it felt the last time. Do you think I care about some red cloth? Do you think he cared about blasphemy? He wanted to protect his daughter, his only child, and I helped him do that. But what are you worried about? Clothes. Propriety.”

That silenced him for a time. Tejohn took advantage of the quiet to become accustomed to his new vision. The road was lined with trees that, in the growing heat of the summer morning, bristled with leaves. What had once seemed to be clouds of color was now an intricate arrangement of discrete leaves and branches. He knew all these trees had names and he resolved to learn them soon so he could understand better what he was seeing.
 

What’s more, it seemed as though he could hear better as well. When the wind rustled leaves, he could look up and see it happening. A different rustle came from a branch being shaken by a climbing squirrel. His senses were tied together now in a way he hadn’t appreciated before.
 

It astonished him. Everything did.

The road had been built well; flat stones were joined close with pulverized rock and dried mud. The ditches on either side were deep, and beyond them, the farms sloped upward gently. To the north was the Southern Barrier, as misty and beautiful as Queen Amlian had described them so many months before. To the south, the land was uneven, but he knew it would eventually slope downward to Deep Stone Lake and the Waterlands to the southeast.
 

This was wheat country, and judging by the height of the stalks midsummer had not come quite yet. The smell of dung was quite strong at some fence lines, where the farmers had let too much fertilizer run down into the roadside ditches.
 

It wasn’t an unpleasant smell for Tejohn--it reminded him of hours spent working with his father, not very far from here. It also brought back darker, less happy memories.
 

Midday came and went before they saw people. At a bend in the road, two old men with leathery skin stood at the bottom of the fence line, talking in low voices. Tejohn was startled to see that they looked like servants in better clothes. Was that how he and his father looked in their day?

“Good day, Beacon,” the skinnier old man called. The hefty one turned and waved reluctantly at Tejohn and Javien.
 

“Good day to you both,” Javien answered. “What news?”

“No news,” the skinny one said. “But we have plenty of rumor. If we could collect rumors by the bushel, we could buy the whole northern side of the valley. What news from the east?”

“The city is still closed,” the priest answered. “Have you seen refugees heading west?”

“A few, a few,” the farmer said. “But they weren’t Finshto. Our folk don’t get a warm welcome in Bendertuk lands, even still. Lots of folks seem to have fled in the night.” The old fellow cleared his throat, glanced at his companion, then glanced nervously into the hills. “Any word of...them?”

Javien turned his empty hands toward them. “Rumors. My pockets are full of them.”

“And little else, I’ll wager,” the heavier farmer said.
 

“You’d win that one,” Javien said kindly, “but the only prize would be another tall tale. Still, the walls of Ussmajil stand, and king’s spears guard the roads.”

“Aye,” said the skinny farmer.
 

“That’s a blessing,” said the heavier one.
 

Tejohn took hold of the priest’s sleeve. “It’s time we moved on. We have a long journey ahead of us.”
 

“Where are you folks heading?” the heavy farmer said. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Simblin lands,” Tejohn answered immediately. “We’re hoping to turn some rumors into actual news.” Javien looked startled by that answer, and the two farmers noticed. Tejohn bulled on anyway. “We’re hoping to go cross-country at some point ahead, roads being what they are. Do you think there’s a friendly farmer in these parts who might give us passage across his land?”
 

Both farmers snorted. The skinny one said, “If you see a piece of land without a fence on it, you give it a try.” There had been no breaks in the fences since they’d left the market.
 

Javien performed a brief prayer over them, for which they nodded their heads in thanks. The heavier farmer called, “May Fury bless you,” as they walked away.
 

“Why did you do that?” Javien snapped. They were not quite out of earshot, and Tejohn clenched his fist to urge him to silence. Unfortunately, the priest was not so easily cowed. He spoke again, his voice quieter but just as urgent. “Farmers will usually make donations to traveling beacons. If you’d given me more time, I might have gotten some eggs or flatbread out of them.”

“The Blessing says its name,” Tejohn whispered. “Didn’t you hear me explain it to Beacon Veliender? It’s not simple grunting noises that the grunts make; they’re calling out their name in their own language. When cursed humans begin to transform, they start to say it, too. ‘Bless this bless that I don’t bless what you’re blessing.’”
 

“Do you think he might be… Could the curse be so close?”

“We need to get off the road.” Tejohn started walking faster, then glanced over his shoulder. “Soon. And you need to stop giving away my lies. Cultivate some control over your expression.”

They kept going, striding down the empty road all through the middle of the day. Tejohn broke a heel of meatbread and they ate it on the move.
 

There were no people. A road like this so close to the city, even during the summer when there would be few crops to sell, should never be this desolate. Were there no vagabond musicians, no tinworkers, no young fellows crossing the valley to spy on some farmer’s daughters?
 

No refugees?
 

Tejohn heard the clack of crockery tapping together from up ahead. Javien started toward the nearest fence, but Tejohn grabbed hold of him and kept him close.
 

An okshim came plodding around the bend of the road. Its short fur was mostly gray with a few scattered patches of brown, and the curving horns above its eyes were thick and heavily ridged. It was an old beast, slow-moving and tired. The leather yoke around its neck was worn and split.
 

Behind it was a wooden cart loaded with everything a farm family might want to save from their home: folded cloths, a box of tools, a coil of rope, leather straps, cooking utensils, and more. They were common goods, but that was what they had.
 

A short, curly-haired woman sat at the front of the cart, holding the okshim’s reins. A pair of young children with pale eastern complexions sat on the back of the cart, and their father, a big, yellow-haired man who must have come all the way from Indrega, followed behind, singing quietly to them.
 

Tejohn hailed them, then moved almost into the ditch to let them pass. It was the okshim’s horny soles making the crockery noise against the stones of the road, and he’d seen the beasts lash out to the side with those big, flat feet. No okshim was ever so domesticated that you didn’t have to worry about a sudden kick.

The curly-haired woman was older than he’d first thought, just a few years younger than himself. The blond man was at least ten years her junior. “It’s a fine afternoon to be out, Beacon,” she said, ignoring Tejohn all together.
 

“Indeed it is. We’re so close to midsummer, I would have expected more heat.”
 

“Once the rains stop blowing through, we’ll have enough heat to frizz your hair worse than mine. Safe travels to you.”
 

With that, she turned her attention to the road. She wasn’t interested in any further conversation. “The roads seem unusually empty,” Tejohn said.
 

“Think so?” She glanced at him but did not slow the okshim’s slow steady pace.
 

Javien had stepped toward the woman when she spoke, but Tejohn pulled him back. “Are you heading to Ussmajil?”
 

“We are. And you should be, too.”

“It’s dangerous there.”

The young husband moved toward the back of the cart and laid his hand on a billhook.
 

“Points high,” Tejohn said, showing his empty hands. “There are king’s spears at the edge of the market who examine everyone who comes down the road. If you have any bite marks on you or patches of blue fur, you’re better off turning back.”

“If we had bites on us, there would be nowhere we could turn, but I thank you for the warning.”

“What’s happening here?” Tejohn insisted. The cart had come even with him and he walked backward to stay within the woman’s sight. “This priest and I have a long way to travel yet, but I can’t protect him if I don’t know--”
 

“Many of these farms are empty.” Her voice sounded flat. “Many of my neighbors have been carried away. If
I
were traveling westward through the Whiswal Vale, I would stay off the road, seek out no human company, cook nothing, and do no hunting. You never know what you’ll find in the heavy brush at the edge of a stream.”