Steven Brust - Athyra

The Easterner did not appear to notice. He made a sign for Savn to approach, and when he was there, he clenched his fist, screwed his face up, and Savn found himself once more in Smallcliff, on the north side of town, barely able to make out his surroundings in the faint yellow radiance that Vlad continued to produce.

“You teleported us!” he cried.

“I know you live out somewhere in this direction, and this is the only place I knew well enough to—”

“But you teleported us!”

“Well, yes. You said you were late. I hope you don’t mind.”

“No, no, but I don’t know anyone who is good enough to do that.”

“It isn’t all that difficult.”

“You’re a sorcerer.”

“Well, yes, among other things.”

Savn stared at him, his eyes wide, until he realized that he was being rude. Vlad just smiled back at him, then said, “Come. I don’t know where you live, so we’re going to have to walk the rest of the way.”

Stunned, Savn set off along the deserted road. He said, “How do you teleport? I’ve heard of it—”

“It isn’t that hard; you just have to be certain you know exactly where you’re going. The tricky part is not getting sick afterwards, and for that there is witchcraft.”

“But how do you know where you’ll end up?”

“You have to remember it very well—perfectly, in fact. It’s the remembering that allows the journey to take place.”

“What if you can’t remember it that well?”

“Then you’re in trouble.”

“But—”

“Sometimes you can prepare a place to teleport to. It limits you, but it’s good if you’re in a hurry.”

“Can you teach me all this?”

“Maybe. We’ll see. Where is your house?”

“On the other side of this hill, but we should take the road around, because the flax here hasn’t been harvested yet.”

“Very well.”

Vlad seemed to have no trouble finding the road up to the house, though whether this was because Easterners had better night vision, or because of his magical powers, or for some other reason entirely, Savn didn’t know and couldn’t decide on a good way to ask, so he ended by saying nothing, and they spoke no more until they stood before the one-room house, with its single door held on with straps, and two windows covered with oiled paper. There was a pale yellow light from the lamps and the stove.

“Nice place,” said Vlad.

“Thank you,” said Savn, who had been thinking how small and plain it must look to someone who had lived in Adrilankha.

They had, evidently, been seen, because just before they reached the door it flew open so hard that Savn thought it would tear off its leather hinges, and there were Mae and Pae, silhouetted in the soft glow of the stove. They stood almost motionless, and while Savn couldn’t see the expressions on their faces, his imagination had no trouble supplying Mae’s wide-eyed anger and Pae’s annoyed confusion.

As they stepped forward, Mae said, “Who are you?” which puzzled Savn for a moment, until he realized to whom she was speaking.

“Vlad. You saw me earlier today, at Tern’s house.”

“You. What have you been doing with my son?”

“Teaching him,” said Vlad.

“Teaching him?” said Pae. “And what is it you think you’ll be teaching my boy?”

Vlad answered in a soft, gentle voice, much different than Savn had ever heard him use before. “I’ve been teaching him to hear the voices of the stones,” he said, “and to see prophecy in the movement of the clouds. To catch the wind in his hand and to bring forth gems from the dunes of the desert. To freeze air and to burn water. To live, to breathe, to walk, to sample the joy on each road, and the sorrow at each turning. I’m sorry if I’ve kept him out too late. I shall be more careful in the future. No doubt I will see you again. I bid you all a good evening.”

Mae and Pae stood there against the light, watching the Easterner’s back as his grey cloak faded into the night. Then Pae said, “In all my life, I never—”

“Hush now,” said Mae. “Let’s get this one to bed.”

Savn wasn’t sure what Vlad had done, but they didn’t say a word more about the hour, or about what he’d been doing. He went over to his corner under the loft, spread his furs out, and climbed in underneath them without saying another word.

That night, he dreamed of the cave, which, upon waking, he did not find surprising. In the dream, the cave was filled with smoke, which, at least as he remembered it, kept changing color, and a jhereg kept flying out of it and speaking in Vlad’s voice, saying, “Wait here,” and, “You will feel well-rested, alert, and strong,” and other things which he didn’t remember.

The dream must have had some effect, however, for when he did wake up he felt refreshed and ready. As he prepared for the day he realized with some annoyance that he would have to spend several hours harvesting, and then several more with Master Wag, before he had the chance to find Vlad again and, he hoped, continue where they had left off.

He forgot his annoyance, however, after the morning harvest, when he arrived at the Master’s, because the Master was in one of his touchy moods, and Savn had to concentrate on not giving him an excuse for a tongue-lashing. He spent most of the day listening to an oft-repeated rant to the effect that no one dies without a reason, so Reins couldn’t have, either. Apparently Master Wag had been un—

able to find this reason, and was consequently upset with himself, Savn, Reins, and the entire world. The only time he seemed pleasant was while scratching Curry’s left arm with the thorn of the blister plant to treat his fever, and even then Savn knew he was in a foul temper, because he simply did it, without giving Savn the lecture that usually accompanied treatment.

After the fifth rant on the subject of causeless death, Savn ventured, “Could it have been sorcery?”

“Of course it could have been sorcery, idiot. But sorcery does something, and whatever it did would leave traces.”

“Oh. What about witchcraft?”

“Eh?”

“Could a witch—”

“What do you know about witchcraft?”

“Nothing,” said Savn honestly. “That’s why I don’t know if—”

“If a witch can do anything at all beyond fooling the gullible, which I doubt, then whatever he did would leave traces, too.”

“Oh.”

Master Wag started to say more, then scowled and retreated into the cellar, where he kept his herbs, splints, knives, and other supplies, and where, presumably, he kept the pieces of Rein’s skin, bone, and hair that he had preserved in order to determine what had happened. Savn felt queasy considering this.

He looked around for something to do in order to take his mind off it, but he’d already cleaned everything in sight, and memorized the Tale of the Man Who Ate Fire so well that the Master had been unable to do anything but grunt upon hearing Savn’s recitation.

He sat down next to the window, realized it was too cold, discovered that he still had at least another hour before he could go home, and put some more wood onto the fire. It crackled pleasantly. He walked around the room, looking over the Master’s collection of books, including On the Number of the Parts of the Body , Knitting of Bones , The Sorcerer’s Art and the Healing of the Self, The Remembered Tales of Calduh , and the others which the Master had consulted from time to time in healing patients or instructing Savn. One book that he had never seen the Master consult was called The Book of the Seven Wizards , a thick, leather-bound volume with the title in gold lettering on the spine. He took it down, went over by the fire, and let it fall open.