Steven Brust - Jhegaala

"What became of him?" I asked.

"There was a great battle between the Count and the Baron, and in the end the Count dragged him down to Hell."

"Where is Hell, exactly? I've often wondered."

He looked at me to see if I were mocking him, which I was, but I felt bad about it so I kept my face straight and looked sincere.

"Under the ground," he finally said.

"It must have been some battle."

He nodded eagerly, as if he'd been there. "The Baron summoned demons and devils, and all the witches of light gathered together to banish them."

I made a noncommittal sound, wondering if there were any shades of truth anywhere in it. "This must have been a long time ago."

"Oh, yes. It was in my great-great-grandfather's time."

Of course it was.

"I see. That must have been about the time the paper mill was opening."

He nodded. "I think so. It was the Count who opened the mill, you know. My brother and my uncle work there."

"The old Count. Back then. Not the same man."

"Oh, no! He'd be over a hundred years old."

I nodded. "His grandson, then?"

He frowned. "I think so." I guess he wasn't used to keeping track of progressions of his overlords.

"So then, there was a great battle of good magic and evil magic and the brave Count banished the foul Baron and took over his holdings and opened a paper mill and all was well."

"Um, I guess so."

By this time I was back on the bed, but my mind was working so hard I hardly noticed my body. "Who would know the details about this?"

"Details, Lord Merss?"

"Yes. Your story interests me. I'd like to learn more. The names of everyone involved on both sides, and how the battle was fought, all of it. Perhaps I'll write a history."

He looked awestruck. "A history? You'll really write a history?"

"I might. But to do that, I need to know someone who knows all about it. Who would that be?"

"Father Noij."

"Right. Of course. Father Noij. Would you be good enough to ask Father Noij to come and visit me when he gets the chance?"

"All right, I will!" he said. I think he was excited to be part of someone writing a history.

"Don't tell him what it's about. I'd rather introduce the subject myself."

He nodded enthusiastically and dashed off, leaving me to my contemplations. I didn't have time for a lot of them before he returned, somewhat breathless and beaming. "He said he'll stop by this evening."

"Good," I said, and realized that I was now, without effort, speaking in an almost normal tone of voice. I was getting better. Perhaps in a year or two I'd even be able to walk.

I'm going to stop mentioning being hit with waves of frustration, or misery, or anger. You can just figure that they happened, one after the other, quicker or longer, weaker or stronger, and plug them in where you want to. They don't matter. When you have to do something, it doesn't matter how you feel when doing it, it matters that you do it.

"So, Meehayi, how is it you were picked for this?"

"For what, Lord Merss?"

"For taking care of me. Why you?"

"Oh. I don't know. I'm strong, I guess that's why."

"You are that."

"And I think he wanted someone stupid, too."

"Stupid," I repeated stupidly.

"Well, I'm strong, so they think I must be stupid."

"Ah," I said. "I see. Yes."

He flashed me a grin. "Oh, I know. You think I'm stupid too. That's all right, I don't mind." He frowned suddenly. "Maybe not minding is why I was picked, come to think of it."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I didn't say anything. He gave me a little bow and said, "Ring the bell if you need anything, Lord Merss."

"Call me Vlad," I said. When he was gone, I watched the ceiling for a while to see if it would do anything interesting. It didn't.

Loiosh reported in that he had nothing to report, and then I slept some, and then ate some more bread and broth; this time I was given more brandy with it, for which I was disgustingly grateful. There came a sort of tap at the door, and evidently I said "Come in" loud enough, because the door opened and there was Father Noij. He came in, and lost his smile when he saw me.

"Oh," he said. "I didn't know." For no reason I can place, he suddenly reminded me of Noish-pa. I told myself sternly not to rely on that feeling.

"Sit down," I told him. He did, looking at me. I couldn't identify all the emotions that passed over his face, but he was, at least, upset. That could mean anything.

He sat down and folded his hands in his lap. "What is it you wish of me, Lord Merss?"

"You talk, I listen."

"Talk about..."

"History, Father. Not so ancient history."

"History of—?"

"When a Count and a Baron went to war over whether peasants would be working land, or working in a paper mill."

His eyebrows went up. "You would seem to know a great deal about it already."

"You mean, more than those who believe stories of demons being summoned, and the ultimate war of good and evil, and barons who bathe in the blood of virgins?"

"Well, yes." He smiled a little. "Didn't quite buy that, eh?"

"I don't believe in virgins."

"Yes, I guess that is a bit hard to take, isn't it?"

"So, what really happened?"

"You have most of it."

"What's the rest, Father Noij?"

"Well, no demons were summoned."

"Yes, I'd suspected that."

"It's pretty simple. Old Saekeresh—the grandfather of the current Count Saekeresh— found a process for making paper and wanted to open a mill."

"Go on."

"In order to work, it needed to be run on a large scale. That meant he had to find workers for it, not to mention loggers. Lots and lots of loggers. We call them favagoti."

"All right."

"So he moved to this area, because—"

"Wait. Moved here? From where?"

"I'm not sure exactly. Back East somewhere."

"All right."

"He moved because there was the river right here, and the forest."

"Yes. Though I'm surprised the forest is still left."

"Old Saekeresh was something of a witch, and, as I understand it, very concerned about preserving nature. He made sure new trees were planted as he cut the old ones down."

"I see. How noble of him."

He shrugged. "So he came here, and, well, made his preparations, then in the course of a week he had slaughtered Baron Neeyali and all of his people."

"All of them?"

"Nearly."

I said, "A few witches who were loyal to the old Baron escaped."

He nodded.

"Most of the survivors left," I said. "Why not the others?"

"Your family."

"Yes."

"I don't know exactly. I know old Saabo was—"

"Saabo?"

"That was what the family was called, then. I know he had a small piece of land that he wanted to keep. I think he looked at it as one, ah, one . . ."

"Bastard?"

Nodded. "...had replaced another, and so three of his sons went to work in the mill. The oldest agreed with him enough to change his name. I guess he was thinking to leave the past behind."

"So, the old Baron, as you call him, was no one especially deserving of loyalty?"

He spread his hands. "I've heard nothing about him to say he was better or worse than any others of his kind."

I nodded. "What of the other sons? Are there more Saabos in the area?"

"There is one family, yes."

"And I imagine they'd just as soon I stayed far away from them."

He looked down. "I don't think they are aware of you, Lord Merss. It has been several generations. They know they are related in some way to the family who was, that is, to those who were, ah—"

"Slaughtered," I said.

"Yes. Miki mentioned it to me. He said, 'Father, did you know we were related to the Merss family? A terrible thing, that was.'" He spread his hands. It seemed to be a favorite gesture. "They do not understand."