Steven Brust - Jhegaala

He nodded.

"Tell me about them."

He did, but a lot of it I'm not sharing with you, whoever you are. Some things should stay private, and it wouldn't help you understand what happened anyway. He talked, mostly about Vilmoth, whom he described as sour and stubborn, but a loving father. As he spoke, Vaski's son looked through one of the outbuildings and found another shovel.

The digging went faster with three of us.

When Father Noij had at last finished, he said, "What of the stock?"

"Who inherits?" I said.

He shrugged.

Vaski said, "If there were a will, it's burned up by now."

"No other family?"

"There were once; they've moved away to get away from—" He broke off and glanced at Father Noij. "—from things," he concluded. "Or changed their name."

"Changed their name?"

"That means they disinherit themselves."

Yeah.

"You may be the nearest relative," said Father Noij. "Perhaps you should decide what to do with what is left."

"Pretty casual about this stuff, aren't you?"

"Anyone who wants to object can always see the Count."

"Not the Guild?" I said.

He stiffened a little, then relaxed. "It would fall under the purview of the county, not the town."

"All right. I'll look things over; see if there are any documents or keepsakes that have survived. Other than those, if it's up to me, these people can have the stock."

Vaski grunted a thanks.

It turned out there needed to be seven holes, not six; one of them very, very small. It made me sick. If I had still had my Organization, it would have been the work of a day to confirm that the Guild was behind it, and two more days to demolish the Guild so that no trace of it remained. I thought about that as I worked my shovel and sweated.

The shadows had grown short and then long again when all the holes were dug; neat rectangles, each with a pile of dirt next to it.

"All right," said Vaski. "Let's get the bodies."

That's something else you don't need to hear about. Let's just say that most of them were no longer recognizable, and it was as bad as you'd think. I'd spent a lot of my life around death, and seen my share of corpses, also your share, and your uncle's share; but Vaski handled it better than I did. By the time we were done, it was all I could do not to show how badly shaken I was.

We filled in the holes one at a time, while Father Noij intoned softly in a language I didn't know, but from which I could occasionally pick out a name; usually Verra's but sometimes that of a corpse. He passed his hands over the holes, making cabalistic gestures, and from each picked up some dirt which he whispered over before replacing. I didn't feel any magic, but with the amulet I was wearing, I probably wouldn't. I wondered if the Demon Goddess was actually paying attention.

Partway through the service, we were joined by three more people, who proved to be Vaski's wife, daughter, around twelve, and youngest son, I'd guess at six or seven. His wife was carrying a basket, which made me realize that I hadn't eaten since I broke my fast that morning, and it was now late afternoon. With everything, all the different emotions warring in my skull, my stomach was still demanding attention. It's enough to make you laugh or cry or something.

Eventually, the last hole was filled in, the last of the rituals completed. It was still late afternoon. It seemed like it should have been much later.

Vaski and I went through the charred remains of the house, then briefly through the outbuildings, but didn't find anything of interest. When it was time to eat, Father Noij insisted we draw water and carefully wash our hands. There was a touch of ritual about that, I guess because we'd been handling dead people. There was still some light when the basket was opened, and we ate chewy, sweet dark bread, a harsh goat cheese, dried kethna, and a white liqueur that tasted of cherries but was oddly refreshing. I found I was eating slowly, in spite of my hunger. No one spoke while we ate; it was like that was part of the ritual, too. Maybe it was.

It had become pretty dark by the time we finished. I nodded to Vaski. Father Noij said, "I can drive you to your inn, if you wish."

"I'd like that," I said. "Ah, is it customary to pay you for such services?"

"The burial or the ride?" he asked, then chuckled. "A pittance as a gesture would not be improper."

I gave him a few copper pennies, and he nodded. He went over and said a few words to Vaski and his family, then climbed into the wagon. The horse shook its head and made some sort of horse sound as I climbed up next to Father Noij. He turned the wagon around and started us back to town. I'm no judge, but it seemed that he knew how to handle the horse and the wagon.

It was a long ride back to town after a long day. I started to drowse off, and I might have fallen asleep if he hadn't said, "Feel free to rest; I will wake you when we reach your inn." I hadn't told him which inn I was staying at. No, that didn't really mean anything, but it made me nervous enough that I stayed awake for the rest of the journey.

"Thank you for the ride," I told Father Noij as we reached my inn.

"You are welcome, Merss Vladimir," he told me. "And I am sorry that this happened."

"Thank you," I said. "Someone else will be, too."

He shook his head. "That is no way to think."

I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

"Revenge is self-destructive."

"I thought you were a priest of Verra."

"And if I am?"

"When has the Demon Goddess frowned on vengeance?"

"I do not speak for the Goddess, Merss Vladimir. Though I serve her, and the people of this town through her, I cannot make such a claim. I speak as one man to another. Your desire for vengeance will—"

"You're bloody serious, aren't you?"

"Yes," he said.

"Amazing."

He said, "I once knew a man who spent thirty years— thirty years, attempting to—"

"Feh. That's not about vengeance, that's obsession."

"Nevertheless—"

"Thank you for the ride, Father," I told him. I hopped down from the wagon and entered the inn, Loiosh hissing laughter in my ear.

What surprised me when I walked into the Pointy Hat was how busy it was; I guess it was only then I realized that, by most standards, it was still early in the evening. I took a quick look to see if Orbahn was in. He wasn't. If I wanted to, I could decide that was suspicious, but it was too much work just then.

I took myself up to my room, removed my boots and cloak, and stretched out on the bed.

A part of it hadn't hit me until that moment: the realization I hat I wasn't going to be able to speak to them, to get to know them, to ask them who my mother was, and why she had left. A big piece of my past had just been lopped off. I was going to find who had done it, and I was going to find out why, and I was going to hurt somebody very, very badly.

"Loiosh?"

"Yes, Boss?"

"We need to find a safe place tomorrow to take the amulet off long enough for me to do something about these blisters."

“Safe? Boss—"

"Safer. Sort of safe.”

"There is no such time or place."

"Think it's safe for me to be wandering around with my hands blistered?"

"Aren't there other ways to cure it that don't involve letting the Jhereg find you?"

"Sure. That should only take a week or so.”

"We can hide for a week."

"Yes, but we aren't going to."

"Okay, Boss."

He fell silent, and I stared up the ceiling for a long time, remembering the bodies in the ruins the house, and wrapping sheets around them so we could drag them to the holes we'd dug. Oddly, my dreams weren't about that, they were about digging the holes; I dug them over and over in my sleep.