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Authors: Laura Anne Gilman
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travel, then our road is yours, at least for a while.”
“T HERE IS FEAR in the ground.” The solitaire’s name was Keren, and if she noted that she was kept away from the wagon, with its casks and boxes, it did not seem to bother her. She hailed from the Northlands, further north even than Caul, and claimed to have traveled all over the Lands Vin in her years on the road. Mahault was tempted to brag in return that she had gone even farther south than Keren could imagine, but something held her tongue. No, not something; the knowledge that they were all being watched, that the wrong word or move might draw disaster down on them before they could reach shelter. Keren might not be a threat—but she might meet up with someone, later, who was.
“Fear, how?” Ao joined in the conversation, his natural curiosity closing in on that word like a hound to hare. “How can dirt be afraid?”
Mahault shook her head in exasperation. “Keren, may I formally introduce you to Ao, Trader of the Eastern Wind Clan, endless asker of questions, and my third travel companion.”
The two of them exchanged formal bows, as best they could as the wagon continued to rattle along. “Forgive me for not standing, as isproper,” he said. “I am a trifle indisposed.” Ao’s voice was wryly amused, but gave no further information, and Keren took it in stride, literally. The solitaire had likely seen enough in her travels to assume what was and wasn’t hidden under the rough brown cloth.
“It is my honor to share the road, Trader Ao. And no, I do not mean . . .” She hesitated, clearly sorting through her own cautions. “There are some things of which I may not speak.” Oaths of loyalty ended with the end of a contract-hire, but a solitaire who spoke too much was one who would not be hired again. “This I can and will say: beware any who ask your help.”
“You mean, like the villagers?” That made no sense: Keren had been there; she had helped them as well. “You think that Jerzy should have left them to suffer?”
Keren glanced at Jerzy, who met her look evenly, until she turned away. “I think that what he did was the act of a good man, a caring man, a Vineart. These are his people, yes? His yard is within these hills? Then he was within his rights to act as he did. But these days are not as old, and there are those who would see that, even
that,
as provocation. As overstepping what is allowed, what is proper behavior.”
“To heal?” Ao’s voice ended in a squeak, the way it sometimes did when he was particularly outraged.
“He did more than ease their pain,” Keren said. “He gave them solace.”
The thought was absurd, and yet the look on the woman’s face when she woke and realized it did not hurt to move . . . the moan of relief as a man sat up in bed for, Justus said, the first time in a week . . . those things came back to Mahault, and her forehead creased as she looked at the events the way Keren had seen them.
“Solace is the purview of the Washers. Jerzy would never . . .” Mahault’s voice trailed off, reigning in her horse to keep pace with the wagon and the walker. “A Washer came, and left, and people fell ill. Jerzy came, and they became healthy again.”
The solitaire did not speak, then: “Yes. It could look . . . bad, if onewere inclined to look that way. There is fear in the land,” she said again. “Anything that might feed that fear . . . is dangerous.”
“And doing nothing is not equally dangerous?” Jerzy’s voice, coming from the front of the wagon, sounded not angry or argumentative, but tired. As though he had already thought this through and come to no useful conclusions.
Mahault suspected that was exactly what he had done. Jerzy thought almost as much as Kaï, and twice as much as Ao.
The solitaire simply shrugged. She had clearly said what she meant to say, and the conversation moved on to less worrisome topics, Jerzy quietly driving the wagon, while Kaïnam rode on ahead,
“T HERE IS FEAR in the ground.” The solitaire’s name was Keren, and if she noted that she was kept away from the wagon, with its casks and boxes, it did not seem to bother her. She hailed from the Northlands, further north even than Caul, and claimed to have traveled all over the Lands Vin in her years on the road. Mahault was tempted to brag in return that she had gone even farther south than Keren could imagine, but something held her tongue. No, not something; the knowledge that they were all being watched, that the wrong word or move might draw disaster down on them before they could reach shelter. Keren might not be a threat—but she might meet up with someone, later, who was.
“Fear, how?” Ao joined in the conversation, his natural curiosity closing in on that word like a hound to hare. “How can dirt be afraid?”
Mahault shook her head in exasperation. “Keren, may I formally introduce you to Ao, Trader of the Eastern Wind Clan, endless asker of questions, and my third travel companion.”
The two of them exchanged formal bows, as best they could as the wagon continued to rattle along. “Forgive me for not standing, as isproper,” he said. “I am a trifle indisposed.” Ao’s voice was wryly amused, but gave no further information, and Keren took it in stride, literally. The solitaire had likely seen enough in her travels to assume what was and wasn’t hidden under the rough brown cloth.
“It is my honor to share the road, Trader Ao. And no, I do not mean . . .” She hesitated, clearly sorting through her own cautions. “There are some things of which I may not speak.” Oaths of loyalty ended with the end of a contract-hire, but a solitaire who spoke too much was one who would not be hired again. “This I can and will say: beware any who ask your help.”
“You mean, like the villagers?” That made no sense: Keren had been there; she had helped them as well. “You think that Jerzy should have left them to suffer?”
Keren glanced at Jerzy, who met her look evenly, until she turned away. “I think that what he did was the act of a good man, a caring man, a Vineart. These are his people, yes? His yard is within these hills? Then he was within his rights to act as he did. But these days are not as old, and there are those who would see that, even
that,
as provocation. As overstepping what is allowed, what is proper behavior.”
“To heal?” Ao’s voice ended in a squeak, the way it sometimes did when he was particularly outraged.
“He did more than ease their pain,” Keren said. “He gave them solace.”
The thought was absurd, and yet the look on the woman’s face when she woke and realized it did not hurt to move . . . the moan of relief as a man sat up in bed for, Justus said, the first time in a week . . . those things came back to Mahault, and her forehead creased as she looked at the events the way Keren had seen them.
“Solace is the purview of the Washers. Jerzy would never . . .” Mahault’s voice trailed off, reigning in her horse to keep pace with the wagon and the walker. “A Washer came, and left, and people fell ill. Jerzy came, and they became healthy again.”
The solitaire did not speak, then: “Yes. It could look . . . bad, if onewere inclined to look that way. There is fear in the land,” she said again. “Anything that might feed that fear . . . is dangerous.”
“And doing nothing is not equally dangerous?” Jerzy’s voice, coming from the front of the wagon, sounded not angry or argumentative, but tired. As though he had already thought this through and come to no useful conclusions.
Mahault suspected that was exactly what he had done. Jerzy thought almost as much as Kaï, and twice as much as Ao.
The solitaire simply shrugged. She had clearly said what she meant to say, and the conversation moved on to less worrisome topics, Jerzy quietly driving the wagon, while Kaïnam rode on ahead,
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