Out of the Darkness

“It’s all right,” Conberge said. “I’m in no hurry.” She set a hand on her belly. “I feel so big and slow already, but I know I’m going to get a lot bigger. I’ll be the size of a behemoth by the time I finally have the baby, won’t I?”

“No, not quite. But you’re right-you’ll think you are,” Vanai answered.

A squad of Unkerlanter soldiers patrolled the market square. Vanai was finally used to men who shaved their faces, though the smooth-faced Unkerlanters had startled her the first few times she saw them. They didn’t give her cold chills, the way Algarvian troopers would have. For one thing, they didn’t despise her people in particular. For another, they didn’t leer the way the redheads did. When they stared around, it seemed much more like wonder at being in a big city. She couldn’t know, but she would have guessed they all came from villages far smaller than Oyngestun had ever been. And they all looked so young: she doubted any of them could have been above seventeen.

When she remarked on that, Conberge nodded. “Unkerlant had to give sticks to boys,” she answered. “The Algarvians killed most of their men.” Vanai blinked. In its bleak clarity, that sounded like something Hestan might have said.

They bought olive oil and raisins and dried mushrooms-summer wasn’t a good season for fresh ones, except for some that growers raised. When they put parcels in the carriage, Saxburh started to fuss. “What’s the matter with you?” Vanai asked. “You don’t want to use it, but you don’t want anyone else using it, either? That’s not fair.” Saxburh didn’t care whether it was fair or not. She didn’t like it.

Vanai picked her up. That solved the baby’s problem, and gave Vanai one of her own. “Are you going to carry her all the way home?” Conberge asked.

“I hope not,” Vanai answered. Her sister-in-law laughed, though she hadn’t been joking.

“Do we need anything else, or are we finished?” Conberge said.

“If we can get a bargain on wine, that might be nice,” Vanai said.

Conberge shrugged. “Hard to tell what a bargain is right now, at least without a set of scales.” Vanai nodded. A bewildering variety of coins passed current in Forthweg these days. King Beornwulf had started issuing his own money, but it hadn’t driven out King Penda’s older Forthwegian currency. And, along with that, both Algarvian and Unkerlanter coins circulated. Keeping track of which coins were worth what kept everybody on his toes.

Conberge coped better than most. “I’m jealous of how well you handle it,” Vanai told her.

“My father taught me bookkeeping, too,” Conberge answered. “I’m not afraid of numbers.”

“I’m not afraid of them, either,” Vanai said, remembering some painful lessons with Brivibas. “But you don’t seem to have any trouble at all.”

“He gave me his trade,” Conberge replied with another shrug. “He didn’t stop to think there might not be anyone who’d hire me at it.”

“That’s not right,” Vanai said.

“Maybe not, but it’s the way the world works.” Conberge lowered her voice.

“Going after Kaunians isn’t right, either, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I wish it did.”

“Now that you mention it, so do I,” Vanai said. She pointed across the market square. “Look-there’s someone else with dried mushrooms. Shall we go over and see what he’s got?”

“Why not?” Conberge seemed content; perhaps even eager, to change the subject, too. “I’m not going to go in the other direction when someone has mushrooms for sale.” Forthwegians and Kaunians in Forthweg shared the passion for them.

“I wonder what he’ll have,” Vanai said eagerly. “And I wonder what he’ll charge. Some dealers seem to think they’re selling gold, because there aren’t so many fresh ones to be had.” She would have hurried to the new dealer’s stall, but no one with a toddler in tow had much luck hurrying. Halfway across the square, she started to notice people staring at her. “What’s wrong?” she asked Conberge. “Has my tunic split a seam?”

Her sister-in-law shook her head. “No, dear,” she answered. “But you don’t look like me anymore.”

“Oh!” Taking Saxburh off her shoulder, Vanai saw the baby looked like herself, too, and not like a full-blooded Forthwegian child any more. I forgot to renew the spell before we went out, she thought. I never used to do that. I must be feeling safer.

Now, though, she was going to find out if she had any business feeling safer. How long had it been since these people had seen a Kaunian who looked like a Kaunian? Years, surely, for a lot of them. How many of them had been hoping they would never see another Kaunian again? More than a few, no doubt.

Vanai thought about ducking into a building and putting the spell on again. She thought about it, but then shook her head. For one thing, too many people had seen her both ways by now, and seen her change from one appearance to the other. For another.

Her back straightened. All right, by the powers above, I am a Kaunian. My people were living in Forthweg long before the Forthwegians wandered up out of the southwest. I have a right to be here. If they don’t like it, too bad.

Conberge walked along at her side as naturally as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. That steadied Vanai. Her sister-in-law wasn’t ashamed to be seen in public with her, no matter what she looked like. But how many people are going to wonder whether Conberge’s a Kaunian in disguise now? she wondered, and hoped Ealstan’s sister wouldn’t think of that.

Nobody shouted for a constable. Being a Kaunian wasn’t against the law in Forthweg anymore. But laws had only so much to do with the way the world worked. Vanai feared people would start shouting curses or throwing things. If they did, would the Unkerlanter soldiers on patrol try to stop them? She supposed so. Even if the soldiers did, though, the damage would still be done. She would never again be able to show her face as a blond in Gromheort, and maybe not in Forthwegian disguise, either.

No one threw anything. No one said anything. No one, as far as Vanai could tell, so much as moved as she came up to the Forthwegian who was selling dried mushrooms: a plump fellow somewhere in his middle years. Into that frozen silence-it might have sprung from a wizard’s spell rather than from one wearing off-she spoke not in Forthwegian but in classical Kaunian: “Hello. Let me see what you have, if you please?”

Even Conberge inhaled. Vanai wondered if she’d gone too far. Using her birthspeech wasn’t illegal any more, either, but when had anyone last done it in public here? Would the mushroom-seller try to shame her by denying that he understood? Or would he prove to be one of those Forthwegians who’d either never learned or who’d forgotten his classical Kaunian?

Neither, as it happened. Not only did he understand the language she’d used, he even replied in it: “Of course. You’ll find some good things here.” He pushed baskets toward her.

“Thank you,” she said, a beat slower than she should have-hearing her own tongue took her by surprise. Around her, the market square came back to life. If the dealer took her for granted, other folk would do the same. Now I have to buy something from him, she thought. No matter how much he charges, I have to buy. I owe it to him.

But the fellow’s prices turned out to be better than the ones Vanai and Conberge had got from the man on the other side of the square. He wrapped up the mushrooms she bought in paper torn from an old news sheet and tied it with a bit of string. “Enjoy them,” he told her.

“Thank you very much,” she said again, not just for the mushrooms.

“You’re welcome,” he answered, and then leaned toward her and lowered his voice: “I’m glad to see you safe, Vanai.”

Her jaw dropped. Suddenly, she too spoke in a whisper: “You’re someone from Oyngestun, aren’t you? One of us, I mean. Who?”

“Tamulis,” he said.

“Oh, powers above be praised!” she exclaimed. The apothecary had always been kind to her. She asked, “Is anyone else from the village left?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “You’re the first one I’ve seen with nerve enough to show your true face. More than I’ve got, believe you me.”

It hadn’t been nerve. It had been a mistake. But I got by with it, Vanai thought. If I want to, lean do it again. Maybe lean do it again, anyway. Somehow, that maybe felt like victory.

Garivald had thought he would forever hate all Algarvians and the men who’d fought for the redheads. Now he found himself swinging a pick beside one of Mezentio’s men while a former soldier from Plegmund’s Brigade