Wizard and Glass

Roland shook his head at once—they were ka-tet, for good or ill. He took hold of her fingers, and yes, they were cold.

'Susan?'

'Aye, dear.'

'I'm going to say a rhyme. When I finish, you'll remember everything, as you did before. All right?'

She smiled and closed her eyes again. 'Bird and bear and hare and fish. ..'

Smiling, Roland finished, 'Give my love her fondest wish.'

Her eyes opened. She smiled. 'You,' she said again, and kissed him. 'Still you, Roland. Still you, my love.'

Unable to help himself, Roland put his arms around her.

Cuthbert looked away. Alain looked down at his boots and cleared his throat.

9

As they rode back toward Seafront, Susan with her arms around Roland's waist, she asked: 'Will you take the glass from her?'

'Best leave it where it is for now. It was left in her safekeeping by Jonas, on behalf of Parson, I have no doubt. It's to be sent west with the rest of the plunder; I've no doubt of that, either. We'll deal with it when we deal with the tankers and Parson's men.'

'Ye'd take it with us?'

'Take it or break it. I suppose I'd rather take it back to my father, but that has its own risks. We'll have to be careful. It's a powerful glam.'

'Suppose she sees our plans? Suppose she warns Jonas or Kimba Rimer?'

'If she doesn't see us coming to take away her precious toy, I don't think she'll mind our plans one way or the other. I think we've put a scare into her, and if the ball has really gotten a hold on her, watching in it's what she'll mostly want to do with her time now.'

'And hold onto it. She'll want to do that, too.'

'Aye.'

Rusher was walking along a path through the seacliff woods. Through the thinning branches they could glimpse the ivied gray wall surrounding Mayor's House and hear the rhythmic roar of waves breaking on the shingle below.

'You can get in safe, Susan?'

'No fear.'

'And you know what you and Sheemie are to do?'

'Aye. I feel better than I have in ages. It's as if my mind is finally clear of some old shadow.'

'If so, it's Alain you have to thank. I couldn't have done it on my own.'

'There's magic in his hands.'

'Yes.' They had reached the servants' door. Susan dismounted with fluid ease. He stepped down himself and stood beside her with an arm around her waist. She was looking up at the moon.

'Look, it's fattened enough so you can see the beginning of the Demon's face. Does thee see it?'

A blade of nose, a bone of grin. No eye yet, but yes, he saw it.

'It used to terrify me when I was little.' Susan was whispering now, mindful of the house behind the wall. 'I'd pull the blind when the Demon was full. I was afraid that if he could see me, he'd reach down and take me up to where he was and eat me.' Her lips were trembling. 'Children are silly, aren't they?'

'Sometimes.' He hadn't been afraid of Demon Moon himself as a small child, but he was afraid of this one. The future seemed so dark, and the way through to the light so slim. 'I love thee, Susan. With all my heart, I do.'

'I know. And I love thee.' She kissed his mouth with gentle open lips. Put his hand on her breast for a moment, then kissed the warm palm. He held her, and she looked past him at the ripening moon.

'A week until the Reap,' she said. 'Fin de ano is what the vaqueros and labradoros call it. Do they call it so in your land?'

'Near enough,' Roland said. 'It's called closing the year. Women go about giving preserves and kisses.'

She laughed softly against his shoulder. 'Perhaps I'll not find things so different, after all.'

'You must save all your best kisses for me.'

'I will.'

'Whatever comes, we'll be together,' he said, but above them, Demon Moon grinned into the starry dark above the Clean Sea, as if he knew a different future.

CHAPTER VI CLOSING THE YEAR

1

So now comes to Mejisfin de ano, known in toward the center of Mid-World as closing the year. It comes as it has a thousand times before … or ten thousand, or a hundred thousand. No one can tell for sure; the world has moved on and time has grown strange. In Mejis their saying is 'Time is a face on the water.'

In the fields, the last of the potatoes are being picked by men and women who wear gloves and their heaviest scrapes, for now the wind has turned firmly, blowing east to west, blowing hard, and always there's the smell of salt in the chilly air—a smell like tears. Los campesinos harvest the final rows cheerfully enough, talking of the things they'll do and the capers they'll cut at Reaping Fair, but they feel all of autumn's old sadness in the wind; the going of the year. It runs away from them like water in a stream, and although none speak of it, all know it very well.

In the orchards, the last and highest of the apples are picked by laughing young men (in these not-quite- gales, the final days of picking belong only to them) who bob up and down like crow's nest lookouts. Above them, in skies which hold a brilliant, cloudless blue, squadrons of geese fly south, calling their rusty adieux.

The small fishing boats are pulled from the water; their hulls are scraped and painted by singing owners who mostly work stripped to the waist in spite of the chill in the air. They sing the old songs as they work—

I am a man of the bright blue sea,
All I see, all I see,
I am a man of the Barony,