Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"Ah. Good. I'm glad one of us recognizes them."

"You could have asked the coachman to describe them."

"I was too embarrassed."

Just past the trees was a gravel road, looking impressively well-maintained. I took it, and the thin plume of smoke was now directly in front of me, and I suddenly got a bad feeling.

" Loiosh —"

"On my way, Boss"

I tapped my rapier and kept walking.

It took him about three minutes.

"It's the house, Boss. Burned to nothing. And—"

"Are there bodies?"

" Six so far. Two of them small."

I fought back an inclination to run; I was obviously hours too late already. I also told myself to shut up because my brain was busily constructing scenarios in which this wasn't my fault. Yeah, get real.

By the time I was fifty yards away I was able to see that they'd made a proper job of it. There was a brick chimney, and smoking rubble; that's it. There was a medium-sized barn nearby, and a few smaller outbuildings that hadn't been touched, but the house itself was cinders and ash: I don't think there was piece of wood left as big as my fist.

I kept walking. I couldn't get too close—it was still bloody hot. But I saw a body. This one was whole, and unburned, just outside the scorched area. She was facedown. I turned her over, but there didn't seem to be any obvious marks on her. The expression on her face wasn't pretty. She was middle-aged. We'd been related—maybe she was my aunt, or great-aunt.

" Boss —"

" You know, I don't even know what my own people do with bodies.”

The wind shifted and smoke got into my eyes. I backed away.

"Boss——"

"Go find the direction of the nearest neighbors, Loiosh.”

"Sure, Boss," he said, and flew off. Rocza went with him.”

I'm not sure how long it was, but presently he said, "Not far, Boss. About a mile. Start west and you'll see it."

I turned my back on the Furnace—it was still morning— and started walking. My feet felt numb, which was odd.

I did, indeed, see the place—a neat little cottage; it looked cozy. Loiosh and Rocza rejoined me and we approached the place. By the time we reached it, there were two people waiting for us, one holding a scythe, the other some sort of small curved cutting implement I wasn't familiar with. One was a little older than me, the other quite a bit younger, maybe around sixteen or so.

"That's close enough," said the older one. "Another step closer and I'll—"

I kept walking. Loiosh flew into the young one's face; the older one started to turn, stopped, and by that time he was on his back with my foot on his weapon-hand. He made a pleasing "whump" as he hit the ground. The other, I assume his son, turned back toward me as Loiosh flew away, by which time I was holding a dagger at his throat. There was a stifled scream from the cottage.

"Don't threaten me," I said. "I don't care for it."

They both glared at me. The younger one did it better, but maybe that's because he was still on his feet. I took a step back and made the dagger vanish. "You can get up," I said, "but if either of you look like you're trying to hurt me, you'll both bleed. Then I'll go inside."

He stood up slowly, dusted himself off, and looked at me. Yeah, he could glare better standing. I could have given him a lesson in manners, but that wasn't what I was there for.

I gestured over my shoulder without letting my eyes leave them. I knew the smoke was quite visible from here.

"Did either of you see what happened?"

They both shook their heads.

"If you had, would you tell me?"

They glared, but gave no other response.

I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. I knew the only reason I wanted to take it out on this pair was that they were the ones in front of me; but that didn't help all that much.

Yeah, I got my temper under control.

I looked at the two of them, then finally focused on the presumed father. "My name is Merss Vladimir. You see the smoke. Someone burned that house down either before or after killing everyone who lived there. I don't know how many bodies there are, because I couldn't get close enough to count, but at least six. And at least two of them are children. They were my kin. I want to know who did it. If you know, and you don't tell me, I will hurt you badly."

He dropped his eyes, and his mouth worked. "We didn't see," he said. "I sent K—I sent my boy over to look, and he saw what you did. We were talking about what to do about it when you, when you showed up."

"All right," I said. "I'm not from here. What is customary to do with bodies, to show respect?"

"Eh?"

"What do you do with the bodies of those who die?"

"We bury them," he said, as if I were an idiot.

"What else?"

"What...sometimes Father Noij will ask the Demon Goddess to look after their souls. Sometimes not. Depends on if, well, if they were known to follow Her."

"Were they?"

He nodded.

I turned to the younger one. "Go get Father Noij. Have him meet me there. And I'll need a shovel."

The father's mouth worked again. "I have two shovels," he said. "I'll help."

"Were they friends?"

He nodded. "I heard that they, well I heard things. I didn't care. They never bothered me. And one winter—"

"All right. You can help."

"I'm sorry I—"

"Forget it."

I turned and walked the long, long mile back to the Merss place.

In what had once, I guess, been the back yard there was what I thought was a maple tree. I sat down and rested my back against it while I waited. Swirls of smoke came from the rubble of what had been the house, and I could see at least three blackened shapes that had once been people.

I sat there and tried to face it that I had almost certainly caused this. Or instigated it. Someone else had caused it. I would find out who that was and I would do bad things to him. Whatever was going on, this shouldn't have happened.

The shadow of the tree had shortened considerably when Loiosh said, " I think someone's coming" A minute or so later, I heard footsteps. I stood up and dusted myself off. The peasant had a pair of shovels over his shoulder.

He walked up to me and nodded, handed me one of the shovels.

"My name is Vaski," he said. "I'm a free farmer."

"All right," I said. "Where should we dig?"

"Under the maple. They always liked that maple."

See? I knew it was a maple.

"All right. How big should the holes be?"

"About as deep as a man's height. We lay them on their backs."

"All right," I said. I took off my cloak and folded it, then removed my shirt. He pointed to a spot and we started digging.

Ever heard someone tell you that hard physical labor can be soothing? Can take your mind off your problems? Can leave you feeling better? I'd heard that. In my opinion, hard physical labor gives you blisters, and the only real distraction I got was trying to remember the spells I'd once known for curing them. He was much better than me, by the way; turns out there is even skill involved in digging holes. Who knew?

We were partway into it when a wagon drawn by a small cream-colored horse pulled up with the son and someone who introduced himself as Father Noij. He was short and fat, with brown curly hair around his ears.

"Merss Vladimir," I told him.

"I'm sorry for your loss, sir," he said. "What, exactly, was your relationship to the family?"

"My mother was a Merss. I took her name. I'm not certain beyond that; I was young when she died."

"And your father—?"

"He's dead too." I left it at that, and he nodded.

"You came here to find them?"

"Yes. Did you know them well?"