whose offices I accepted unthinking. Sitting here, I contemplated again what life with Rwyan might have been like, had we not been born with our respective talents. I began to feel nostalgia for a life I had never known, nor likely ever should. Melancholy threatened-I pushed it back: there were far greater events afoot.
I watched Pele’s deft movements, thinking how graceful she was. I thought she could not know of Changed dealing with the Sky Lords, for if she did, surely she would not make me so welcome. Unless … an ugly notion imposed itself … she sought only to lure me into a false sense of security. And then? Would Maerk appear, and others, and look to slay me? I shook my head: what I had seen and what I had failed to do surely seduced me into mistrust where only honest welcome was offered. These people could not know my secret. Nor were they likely to consort with the Sky Lords-Changed and Truemen living together in harmony, wed in all eyes save those of the Church? No, surely they would not. Rather, this was an idyll of a kind, an indication of how things could be, were inbred prejudice denied.
I grew the more convinced of this when Maerk appeared. He was a blunt-featured man, swarthy and hairy as any other westcoaster but with a ready smile that lit his face as he came in.
He cried, “Day’s greetings, Storyman,” as he crossed the room to plant a resounding kiss on Pele’s flour- smudged cheek, holding her close a moment before drawing himself a mug of ale and pulling up a chair. I saw that his forearms were corded with such muscle as a carpenter or a forester develops, and his shoulders were wide. When he took my hand, his grip was powerful.
“I found Tyr and Alyn amidst the wreckage of a chicken,” he explained, “and they told me we’d a visitor. Pele’s made you welcome, I trust?”
“Most welcome.” I flourished my mug. “My thanks to you both.”
Maerk made a dismissive gesture. “The God knows, we see few enough strangers here that we’d turn a man away,” he said. “And a Storyman, to boot? No, never. But you’ll earn your bread, I warn you.”
I said, “Gladly.” I felt my random suspicions dissipate.
“No doubt you’ve tidings aplenty,” said Maerk, but when I began to speak, he hushed me, telling me to save word of the greater world for later, when all might gather to hear it. “We manage well enough without,” he said, “that I can wait awhile; and you not delay your storytelling with twice-told news.”
I agreed. He said to Pele, “We took a deer. We’ll dress the meat tomorrow.”
She nodded, smiling at him, and in both their eyes I saw a devotion warm as any hearthfire. She went outside then, to check her children’s labors, and Maerk grew serious awhile.
“You understand our situation here?” he asked me. “Pele’s explained things?”
“She has,” I said.
“And you’ve no”-he paused, shrugging his broad shoulders so that I feared his tunic might burst-“objections?” “None,” I assured him.
He said, “Good. Then we speak of it no further.”
Nor did we. Instead, he brought me to their well, where we washed, and then sat down to drink more ale as Pele set the chicken to roasting. She was an excellent cook: I ate well that day.
When we had finished, it was twilight, and with replenished mugs we quit the cottage for the square outside. Maerk shouted that the evening’s entertainment began, and from the other buildings folk brought out chairs and blankets, setting them in a circle, at the center of which I stood. I spoke first of events in the world beyond, which produced some grunts of surprise and some of alarm. I thought these lonely folk had very little commerce with the rest of Dharbek, that they knew so little of the Sky Lords’ activities. I mentioned the little airboats and several shouted that they had seen the craft, but none in a way that suggested more than curiosity. I watched their faces and the way their bodies moved, and I decided there was not one here had any truck with the Kho’rabi. These people wanted only to be left alone. I could not help wondering how they should act did it come to war. Did the Great Coming we Mnemonikos and the sorcerers feared descend on Dharbek, what would these folk do? I hoped, did that Coming materialize, they would be left in peace. I thought it a vain hope, for should that invasion commence, I did not think there would be any corner of Kellambek or Draggonek left untouched.
Such fears I hid. I told them stories as the moon climbed above us and the surrounding forest filled with night sounds. I used all my skill, for I wanted badly to repay their hospitality, and I had sooner entertained them than any aeldor in his tower.
And as I recounted my tales of greatness and glory, I thought that were I to fulfill the duty laid on me by Durbrecht, I must at the year’s end send word to the College of this village and its folk. It was a thing I had not encountered before-Changed and Truemen living in such equality-and I did not think the College knew of such a thing. I was by no means sure I would. They appeared to me so happy, so contented with the life they had made for themselves, I felt loath to make public their existence. I thought that they should likely find that censure that had driven them into isolation returned, did I speak of them. Some disapproving aeldor would visit them, or a zealous mantis. I thought them better left alone. I already had one great secret: I thought this should be another, smaller confidence.
I spoke to the best of my ability and should cheerfully have continued (aided by the mugs Maerk passed me) all night, had the children not begun to yawn. As it was, I reached the conclusion of Daryk’s tale, and Pele announced it time to halt. Alyn was asleep in her arms, and Tyr, for all he fought to hold his eyes open and protested the curtailment, lay curled kittenish and sleepy at her feet. I promised more on the morrow and bade my newfound friends goodnight, going with my hosts to their cottage.
I slept the night by their hearth, and the next morning aided Maerk in dressing the deer (of which he promised me a portion when I left). I passed a pleasant day in his company and spent a second night storytelling. I was invited to remain as long as I wished, and I was greatly tempted to linger. But I steeled myself and refused: there were matters I must investigate that, for the sake of my conscience, I could not ignore. I thanked them and, my saddlebags bulky with good venison, prepared to leave.
I chose to continue inland. Maerk had pointed me to a trail he assured me would eventually lead to a village named Dryn, some five days’ distant on horseback. He and Pele and all their kindly neighbors walked with me to the trail’s beginning. They wished me good journey, but it was Pele’s parting words impressed me most.
She set a hand upon my knee and tilted back her head to look me in the eyes. “I hope you find your Rwyan again,” she said. “Your friend Urt, too. Perhaps then you’ll find what you seek.”
I started at that, prompting the mare to toss her head and stamp. Even as I gentled the restive horse, I wondered what Pele meant, what she saw in me, or guessed; what she knew. Pele stepped back, but her green feline eyes remained intent on my face, and I felt she looked deep inside me, into the places I held closed and hidden. I frowned and asked her, “What do I seek, then?”
“Peace?” She shrugged, the single word more question than statement. “I know not, Daviot; only that there
I swallowed, confused. Did this cat-bred woman possess the talent for magic, that she could discern my innermost doubts? I met her clear gaze and said, “How do you know that, Pele?”
She smiled, and waved a careless hand, and said, “Sometimes it is in your eyes, sometimes in your voice. I’d not pry, but I see it there. And I hope you find whatever it is.”
There was such kindness in her voice, I felt my eyes moisten. I nodded and smiled, and then I rode away.
I felt I had learned something there that would aid me when the time came that I must decide what to tell and what to hold back. Those folk were, though they knew it not, pivotal to the world’s future. I think had they known it, Pele would have nodded sagely and Maerk would have laughed; and both told me they sought only to live their lives in peace, not shift the course of Dharbek. Still, I felt gifted as I left them. I thought they had showed me an unsuspected road, confirmed my own feelings about Changed and Truemen, and for that I was truly grateful.
I still, however, did not know which course I should eventually take. But now I felt somehow better equipped to make that decision when the time came.
I continued inland as the year aged and autumn came aknocking on summer’s door, on to Dryn, on to the wild places where the land rose up to join the foothills of the massif. Often as not I slept rough; the villages were few and scattered here, towns a rarity, keeps scarcer still. I was greeted with enthusiasm-these places had not seen a Story-man in years. And everywhere I went, I watched and listened and asked questions, but I learned no more than I already knew. There were fewer Changed in these isolated places than were found on the more populous coastal plain, and those I encountered seemed content enough. I could not believe they took any part in
