he was sure there would be more speaking.
Instead, Fluvio turned and struck him, and the blow was so hard that Bosk did not even feel himself fall. When he came to his senses, head spinning and sour bile filling his nose and throat, he found himself slung over something that moved, and for a moment he thought the Deodand had him once more. He coughed the bitterness away and clutched at his captor’s back. It seemed to be covered with cloth, and he was certain that was wrong; the Deodand’s back should be naked. Then reality returned, and he knew Fluvio was carrying him.
He had written the Spell of the Omnipotent Sphere on his arm in indelible ink, but he was too dizzy to read it. Dozens of repetitions, however, had engraved themselves on his memory. He began to murmur the spell, and by the time Fluvio did as he expected, the Sphere was springing into being around him, and instead of falling, he floated into the gorge of the Derna light as dandelion fluff, rebounding gently from the near wall as the Sphere repelled anything that might harm him. For the first few seconds, he could see Fluvio standing at the verge, staring, and then all he could see was rock and sky.
The dizziness had passed by the time he settled beside the river. By then his jaw had begun to ache fiercely, and he had been forced to press his sleeve into his mouth to stop the bleeding of his bitten tongue. He opened the Sphere and knelt to scoop up some water to rinse his mouth. There was no easy returning to Boreal Verge from this location. Upriver, though, at the mines, at least one of the green serpentine trails extended all the way to the bottom. It would take him two days of walking to reach it.
He was tired and hungry when he arrived at the mines, so hungry that he was glad to eat mushrooms. A few days later, three miners escorted him back to Boreal Verge, where he told his father only that he had decided to visit them before returning to Miir. He made no reference to the unpleasantness with Fluvio, nor to the bruise so evident on his jaw. For his part, Fluvio stayed well away from his brother and spoke little, though Bosk fancied he saw fear in Fluvio’s eyes every time their gazes met. That seemed like a very good thing to Bosk.
His father had the silver ready, as well as a suggestion for a good location in Kaiin. As expected, Mazirian’s spells worked as well on the coins as they had on Bosk, and he returned to Miir wealthier than he had left. No one asked where he had been, though Rianna did look long at the bruise, nor did they question his new enterprise.
“I thought you might find some simpler bargain,” said Turjan, “but you are, after all, a Septentrion. Does this mean your apprenticeship has ended?”
“That is not my intention,” said Bosk.
“So we speak of compromise. You will serve both your father and me.”
“As I hope.”
Turjan shook his head. “She does not deserve all of this.”
“I am doing it for myself and my family, not for her.”
Turjan’s expression was enough to show his doubt.
Once the shop was secured, a dozen Twk-men became mushroom haulers. Bosk had already dispatched a gaudily wrapped packet of fresh mushrooms to the Prince, and now he posted a notice on the shop door that the goods would be available on a certain date. That morning, when he restored himself to his proper size on the premises, a crowd of satisfying proportions was already waiting outside the door. Many coins changed hands before the stock was exhausted, and Bosk noted all in a small account book. He closed the empty shop at noon, and after locking the door, he went back to Miir and shared the midday meal with Turjan, Rianna, and T’sain.
The next morning, the mushrooms haulers carried one silver coin each through the Eye, and Bosk helped Dandanflores unwind the golden thread from his hammock.
“I understand you have no intention of visiting her,” said the Twik chieftain, “but you might find it interesting that Lith has established herself in Thamber Meadow.” Casually, he suggested a route to the place.
“It is unlikely that she and I will ever meet again,” Bosk agreed. He coiled the golden thread and slung it over his shoulder. It was quite heavy. He considered using Mazirian’s spell to shrink it, but decided that he would not chance the effect on its intrinsic magic.
Back at Miir, he regained his true size, and the rope became a glittering thread. He looped it about his neck and tucked it under his shirt.
His horse was saddled and waiting at the gate. A brief sortie, he had told his master’s family, though he had known from their faces that he was not deceiving them. He had left a sealed envelope on his pillow, with instructions for his father, for Fluvio, for Turjan, to continue the commerce with the Twk in his absence. As he rode away, he looked back more than once and saw Rianna watching from the tower garden. The last time, distance made her seem small enough to visit her own doll house, and he almost went back to thank her because everything he had accomplished would have been impossible without her. But he did not.
He found Thamber Meadow easily enough, on the second day of travel, near dusk. The house was small, with a thatched roof and ivy-covered walls, and it stood close beside a brook. Lith was in the water, her gown gathered up around her knees, and as he approached, she scooped up a fish, which struggled vigorously until she gave it a quietus with her fist.
She looked up as he dismounted, and her beauty was all that he remembered and more. “The boy from the north,” she observed.
“I brought you gifts.” He drew a sack of mushrooms from one of his panniers. “The finest the north has to offer. And bread fresh from the kitchens of Castle Miir.” Another sack.
“You are kind. With such additions, I would be inhospitable if I did not share my supper with you. Bosk, was it not?”
He nodded, and his heart quickened at the sound of his name in her mouth.
As he helped her prepare the fish and the mushrooms, they exchanged scant information — he had begun his apprenticeship, and she had traveled a trifle, but nowhere that mattered. When their meal was finished, he did not wait for the dishes to be cleared away to show his other gift.
At the sight of the thread, her hand went to her mouth, and her cheeks paled. Her fingers trembled as she accepted it. “How?” she whispered.
“Too long a tale,” he said. “Let it be enough that you have it back.”
She bowed her head then, and her shoulders shook with weeping.
He reached across the table and touched her arm gently. “This should be a happy time for you.”
She covered her face with her hands. “You don’t understand. Leave me, please. Please.”
Uncertainly, he stood, not knowing what to say. She did not look up at him. Finally, he went outside, led his horse some distance from the house, and tied it where the grass was plentiful. With the saddle for a pillow, he curled up in his blanket and watched the stars until he fell asleep.
In the morning, the hut still stood in Thamber Meadow, but when he called her name, she did not answer. He tried the door. It was not locked, and so he went in. The supper dishes were still on the table, and he took them to the brook to wash, dried them with a cloth from the cupboard, and put them away. He saw that the golden tapestry was complete, and he leaned close to peer at the village, the mountains, the river. From one angle, the golden sunlight seemed to glint on the water as if the current were actually moving within the weave.
At the couch, he stacked all the cushions atop one another, pushing them hard against the tapestry, and they reached as high as a tiny path just visible in the gold. He knelt on them and spoke the First Evolution of Mazirian’s Diminution, but doll-size he was still too large and had to use the spell a second time. This time, the cushion was a vast plain stretching behind him, and he could leap from its edge to the path, through a membrane thin as a soap bubble.
Ariventa surrounded him, bathing him in golden light. The village was farther off than he expected, but he reached it at last and marveled at its dwellings, every one as small as Lith’s own but made of precious metal, reflecting the golden light with dazzling intensity.
Among the closed doors and shuttered windows was not a single sign of life.
He found Lith in the village square, sitting on a golden bench, her hands folded on her knee. He sat down beside her.
“They are all gone,” she said. “Everyone I knew, everyone who called me family. Everyone who lived here. Gone.” She was staring down at her hands.
“Perhaps they are farther down the river. Or in the mountains.”
She shook her head.
“How can you be certain?”
“This is my land. I am very certain.”
