write:
To Father, Mother, Merik and Aunt Kir, regards from Prosper.
I donât know when or how I will find a way to send word to you, but I will write this anyway.
First off, I am well and safe, and hope you are too, especially Merik. I pray to the Mother of All that he has recovered and is no worse for wear, and that you are all safe. I have not seen anything resembling a temple since I arrived here, just sometimes a little outdoor shrine to an unknown Backender god, but I watch for a place to pledge an offering to the gods for your protection.
Iâm afraid I have used up the money you gave me. But I have met up with a boy who also travels alone, a musician. Heâs not the best companyâtoo serious and silent to be much fun.
Samik paused, thinking about the strange boy heâd taken up with. So often he seemed nervous and broody, with that distracting twitch in his right eye, a repetitive fleeting half-blink. But all that melted away when he played his box, as if he threw off a load of cares just by strapping it on. When playing, Rowan was confident and cheerful, his smile so wide and unguarded that you couldnât help but return it. And he was good, bringing even the mathematical, boxed-in patterns of Backender music to life.
But heâs been very generous, giving me shelter in his caravan, teaching me to play Prosperian tunes and sharing any work and earnings we pick up. Also, heâs had troubles of his own that no doubt dampen his spirits. We are traveling together to a music festival, where I hope to find a better living and, who knows, perhaps even a way of sending this message.
Until then, I send my love and wait for the day I can rejoin you.
Samik
P.S. So far, the wine here ranges from nonexistent to abysmal.
TEN
R owanâs course, plotted day by day from his fatherâs hand-drawn map, had taken them meandering southwest along minor roads and through minor towns. At last, six days after setting out, they joined up with the Western Carriageway heading into Millerâs Falls. Here, he had decided, they would spend a few daysâand some of his precious stash of money. Thinking about the Clifton festival had made him realize how rough he had been living. His clothes were grimy, his hair an overgrown tangle. It would be an expensive stayâfor starters, thereâd be no camping at the edge of the market square in this size of town. Heâd have to pay to park the caravan and stable the mules. But it was worth it. He was a musician for hire, and he would hurt his own cause if he auditioned looking like an unwashed beggar boy.
Aydinâs eyes lit up as they entered Millerâs Falls.
âMy arse!â he marveled. âDonât tell me itâs an actual city! I was beginning to think you didnât have any.â
Rowan grinned. Aydin still irritated himâjust days ago theyâd had a testy confrontation about Aydinâs tendency to leave all the chores to Rowan, as though he were the guest at some grand manor and Rowan his personal manservant. But Rowan had got used to his new friendâs sense of humor, or perhaps had begun to regain his own. Either way, he was no longer so prickly about every imagined slight.
Millerâs Falls had a proper merchantsâ quarter bordered by a long service lane, where anything from harness mending to laundry could be purchased. Their only difficulty was with the logistics: bath first, only to climb back into their grubby clothes? Or laundry first, with an overnight wait on the bath while the clothes dried? Aydin solved the problem. âYou need new clothes to perform anyway, no?â Rowan hadnât really planned on new clothes, but once mentioned, it did seem reasonable. He had a chest full of clothes back at Five Oaks, but after months of hard wear, those he had in the caravan, even cleaned and mended, were barely presentable.
So that was it. They trooped into several tailor shops, grubby as they
To Father, Mother, Merik and Aunt Kir, regards from Prosper.
I donât know when or how I will find a way to send word to you, but I will write this anyway.
First off, I am well and safe, and hope you are too, especially Merik. I pray to the Mother of All that he has recovered and is no worse for wear, and that you are all safe. I have not seen anything resembling a temple since I arrived here, just sometimes a little outdoor shrine to an unknown Backender god, but I watch for a place to pledge an offering to the gods for your protection.
Iâm afraid I have used up the money you gave me. But I have met up with a boy who also travels alone, a musician. Heâs not the best companyâtoo serious and silent to be much fun.
Samik paused, thinking about the strange boy heâd taken up with. So often he seemed nervous and broody, with that distracting twitch in his right eye, a repetitive fleeting half-blink. But all that melted away when he played his box, as if he threw off a load of cares just by strapping it on. When playing, Rowan was confident and cheerful, his smile so wide and unguarded that you couldnât help but return it. And he was good, bringing even the mathematical, boxed-in patterns of Backender music to life.
But heâs been very generous, giving me shelter in his caravan, teaching me to play Prosperian tunes and sharing any work and earnings we pick up. Also, heâs had troubles of his own that no doubt dampen his spirits. We are traveling together to a music festival, where I hope to find a better living and, who knows, perhaps even a way of sending this message.
Until then, I send my love and wait for the day I can rejoin you.
Samik
P.S. So far, the wine here ranges from nonexistent to abysmal.
TEN
R owanâs course, plotted day by day from his fatherâs hand-drawn map, had taken them meandering southwest along minor roads and through minor towns. At last, six days after setting out, they joined up with the Western Carriageway heading into Millerâs Falls. Here, he had decided, they would spend a few daysâand some of his precious stash of money. Thinking about the Clifton festival had made him realize how rough he had been living. His clothes were grimy, his hair an overgrown tangle. It would be an expensive stayâfor starters, thereâd be no camping at the edge of the market square in this size of town. Heâd have to pay to park the caravan and stable the mules. But it was worth it. He was a musician for hire, and he would hurt his own cause if he auditioned looking like an unwashed beggar boy.
Aydinâs eyes lit up as they entered Millerâs Falls.
âMy arse!â he marveled. âDonât tell me itâs an actual city! I was beginning to think you didnât have any.â
Rowan grinned. Aydin still irritated himâjust days ago theyâd had a testy confrontation about Aydinâs tendency to leave all the chores to Rowan, as though he were the guest at some grand manor and Rowan his personal manservant. But Rowan had got used to his new friendâs sense of humor, or perhaps had begun to regain his own. Either way, he was no longer so prickly about every imagined slight.
Millerâs Falls had a proper merchantsâ quarter bordered by a long service lane, where anything from harness mending to laundry could be purchased. Their only difficulty was with the logistics: bath first, only to climb back into their grubby clothes? Or laundry first, with an overnight wait on the bath while the clothes dried? Aydin solved the problem. âYou need new clothes to perform anyway, no?â Rowan hadnât really planned on new clothes, but once mentioned, it did seem reasonable. He had a chest full of clothes back at Five Oaks, but after months of hard wear, those he had in the caravan, even cleaned and mended, were barely presentable.
So that was it. They trooped into several tailor shops, grubby as they
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