Patrick Rothfuss - The Name of the Wind

“Still, et’s just a house,” I said dismissively. “Nae much harm in that.”

“Man wants his daughter tae have a fine house wit a view, that’s all tae the good,” Schiem conceded. “But when ye’re diggen the foundation an’ yeh find bones an’ such, an’ yeh don’t stop . . . that’s a whole new type of stupid.”

“He didn’t!” Denna said, aghast.

Schiem nodded, leaning forward. “An that weren’t the worst o’ it. He keeps diggen, an’ he hits stones. Then does he stop?” He sniffed. “He starts pullen ’em up, looken for more so he can use them for the house!”

“Why wouldn’t he want tae use the stones he found?” I asked.

Schiem looked at me like I was daft. “Would’e build a house wit barrow stones? Would yeh dig something out o’ a barrow an’ give it to your daughter as a wedding present?”

“He found something? What was it?” I passed him the bottle.

“Well, that’s the greet damn secret, hain’t it?” Schiem said bitterly, taking another drink. “From wot I hear, he was out there, diggen the house foundation, an’ pullen up stones. Then he finds a little stone room all sealed up toight. But he makes everybody keep mum about what he finds there on account he wants et tae be this greet surprise at the wedding.”

“Some sort o’ treasure?” I asked.

“Nae money.” He shook his head. “Mauthen’s never been quiet aboot that. Et were probably some sort o’ . . .” his mouth opened and closed a bit, searching for a word, “. . . what de ye call something old that rich folk put on a shelf tae impress all their grummer friends?”

I gave a helpless shrug.

“An heirloom?” Denna said.

Schiem laid his finger alongside his nose and then pointed to her, smiling. “That’s et. Some flash thing tae impress folk. He’s a showy bastard, Mauthen is.”

“So nobody knew what et was?” I asked.

Schiem nodded. “There was only the handful that knew. Mauthen and his brother, two o’ the sons, an’ mebbe his woife. The lot o’ them been lording the big secret over folk for half a year, smug as pontiffs.”

This cast everything in a new light. I needed to get back up to the farm and look at things again.

“ ’Ave yeh seen anyone around these parts today?” Denna asked. “We’re looken for moi uncle.”

Schiem shook his head. “Can’t say as Oi’ve had the pleasure.”

“Oi’m really worried about him,” she pressed.

“Oi won’t lie tae yeh, dearie,” he said. “Yeh’ve got reason tae be worried ef he’s alone in these woods.”

“Are there bad folk around?” I asked.

“Nae like yeh’re thinkin’,” he said. “I dan’t get down here but once a year in the fall. Forage for the hogs makes it worth moi while, but only just. There’s strange things in these woods. Especial off tae the north.” He looked at Denna, then down at his feet, obviously unsure as to whether or not he should continue.

This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to know about, so I waved his comment away, hoping to provoke him. “Dan’t go telling us faerie stories, Schiem.”

Schiem frowned. “Two nights ago, when I got up tae—” he hesitated, glancing at Denna, “—attend tae moi personals, I saw lights off tae the north. A big wash o’ blue flame. Big as a bonfire, but all o’ a sudden.” He snapped his fingers. “Then nothing. Happened three times. Sent a chill roight down the middle of my back.”

“ Two nights ago?” I asked. The wedding had only been last night.

“Oi said two nights, din’t Oi?” Schiem said. “Oi’ve been making my way south ever since. Oi want nae part of whatever it es making blue fire in the night up there.”

“Schiem, really. Blue fire?”

“Oi’m not some lying Ruh, spinning stories to scare yeh out o’ pennies, boy,” he said, plainly irritated. “I spent moi loife in these hills. Everyone knows that there’s somethen out in the north bluffs. There’s a reason folk stay away from there.”

“Aren’t there any farms out there?” I asked.

“There’s no place tae farm on the bluffs, unless yoor growen rocks,” he said hotly. “Yeh think Oi dan’t know a candle or a campfire when I see one? Et was blue, Oi tell ye. Greet billows o’ et,” he made an expansive gesture with his arms. “Loik when yeh pour liquor on a fire.”

I let it go, and turned the conversation elsewhere. Before too long Sheim gave a deep sigh and got to his feet. “The pegs’ll have picked this place clean by now,” he said, picking up his walking stick and shaking it so the crude bell clanked loudly. Pigs came trotting up obediently from all directions. “Loo pegs!” He shouted. “Pegs pegs pegs! C’man ye counts!”

I wrapped up the remains of the cooked pig in a piece of sackcloth, and Denna made a few trips with the water bottle and doused the fire. By the time we were finished, Schiem had his sounder in order. It was larger than I’d thought. More than two dozen full-grown sows, plus the young pigs and the boar with the grey, bristling back. He gave a brief wave, and without any further word headed off, the bell on his walking stick clanking as he walked and his pigs trailing in a loose mob behind him.

“Well, that wasn’t terribly subtle,” Denna said.

“I had to push him a bit,” I said. “Superstitious folk don’t like to talk about things they’re afraid of. He was about to clam up, and I needed to know what he’d seen in the forest.”

“I could have gotten it out of him,” she said. “More flies with honey and all that.”

“You probably could have,” I admitted as I shouldered my travelsack and began to walk. “I thought you said you didn’t speak bumpkin.”

“I’ve got a mimic’s ear,” she said with an indifferent shrug. “I pick up things like that pretty quickly.”

“Surprised the hell out of moi . . .” I spat. “Damn. I’m going to be a whole span of days getting rid of that accent. Like a piece of gristle in my teeth.”

Denna was eyeing the surrounding landscape despondently. “I guess we should get back to beating the bushes, then. Find my patron and find you some answers.”

“No point, really,” I said.

“I know, but I can’t give up without at least trying.”

“That’s not what I mean. Look . . .” I pointed to where the pigs had rooted around in the dirt and leaves, going after some choice morsel. “He’s been letting his pigs graze all over. Even if there is a trail, we’d never find it.”

She drew a long breath and let it out in a tired sigh. “Is there anything left in that bottle?” she asked wearily. “My head still aches.”

“I’m an idiot,” I said, looking around. “I wish you’d mentioned it was bothering you sooner.” I walked over to a young birch tree, cut off several long strips of bark, and brought them back to her. “The inside of the bark is a good painkiller.”

“You’re a handy fellow to have around.” She peeled some off with a fingernail and put it in her mouth. She wrinkled her nose. “Bitter.”

“That’s how you know it’s real medicine,” I said. “If it tasted good it would be candy.”

“Isn’t that the way of the world?” she said. “We want the sweet things, but we need the unpleasant ones.” She smiled when she said it, but only with her mouth. “Speaking of,” she said, “how am I going to find my patron? I’m open to suggestions.”

“I have an idea,” I said, shouldering my travelsack. “But first we have to head back up to the farm. There’s something I need to take a second look at.”

We made our way back to the top of Barrow Hill, and I saw how it had come by its name. Odd, irregular lumps rose and fell despite the fact that there weren’t any other rocks nearby. Now that I was looking for them, they were impossible to miss.