Carol Berg - Son of Avonar

“They’ll arrest you if they find out, little girl. They’ll finish what they started. You can’t let him stay.”

“What they’d do to me is not half what they’d do to him, and the way he is, I’m not sure he would even know why.”

Aeren roamed restlessly across the meadow. I caught up with him, determined to get some explanation. “What was up there?” I gestured toward the hilltop.

He picked two blades of grass, one green and healthy, one brown and withered. Holding the green blade in the fingers of one hand, he passed his other palm over it, leaving only the withered blade exposed. That was clear enough. When he pointed to the trees and the cottage and folded his arms over his head, I gathered that such were places to hide. When I pressed him further, he shrugged and walked away.

The J’Ettanni language had denned no simple word for sorcery. It had been no more necessary than for other men to have a word for what it is that makes them get up in the morning, set one foot in front of the other, or inhale and exhale. But for my own safety and Jaco’s, I had to teach Aeren the difference between sorcery and other actions. He demonstrated no sense that there was anything unusual about what he had done and no understanding of the dreadful consequences if others saw such things.

I caught up to Aeren again and persuaded him to follow me. Taking a large rock from the stream, I demonstrated that I could not make my knife penetrate the stone. He was surprised. Stars in the heavens, where had he been? When I handed him the rock and my knife, and indicated that I wanted him to try it, he looked puzzled. But with a shrug, he stabbed my knife into the rock with no more effort than if it were a lump of cheese.

Though I had been prepared for it, my heart crashed against my ribs. I took Aeren’s hand and made him look at me. “Sorcery,” I said. He frowned and gestured for another word. I pointed to the rock and said its name, and I pointed to the knife and did likewise, but I pointed to them joined and said, “Sorcery.”

What else could he do? He was not a Healer; I would have seen the scars. Karon had borne so many. Lifegiver, his people had called him. I dragged Aeren to the garden and showed him the bean vines that had wilted in the heat. “Can you make them grow?” I asked, miming my words as I spoke. “Make them healthy like the rest?” He thought what I wanted was ridiculous, but I insisted that he show me. He brushed his fingers over the plant, touching leaves and stem gently. A few of the leaves took on a deeper green, and for a short distance the vine became thicker, but most of the plant remained limp and withered. After only a short time he ripped the vine out by the roots, threw it down, and ground it beneath his sandaled foot.

“It’s all right,” I said, trying to remain calm and keep him the same. I retrieved the vine and pointed to the leaves he had changed, saying again, “Sorcery.”

That piqued his curiosity. With his eyes narrowed, he bade me come to the fire ring in the dirt near the cottage. He piled up tinder and kindling in the ring of blackened stones, and then he blew softly across his palm and passed his hand over the little mound, staring at it intently. After a few moments, a smoky tendril curled upward, and then another joined it, and another until a tiny flame poked its head above the dry stuff. Though the flame went out almost immediately, Aeren looked satisfied and gestured to me that he wanted the word.

“Sorcery,” I said, and he smiled with a brilliance that dimmed the day.

So the first hurdle was done. He knew what kind of things were sorcery. Now to convince him that he mustn’t do any more of it. As I tried to explain, he acted puzzled, like a child suddenly told not to walk after being so praised for the accomplishment.

Poor Jacopo watched all these activities uncomfortably. Though they had known the crimes of which I had been accused, I had never discussed sorcery with Jacopo, Anne, or Jonah. Why distress them? I had fought my battles and lost.

But on this strange afternoon, I stepped back into the fray. I cared nothing for anyone; I would not cross a road to save a life. For ten years I had believed that human beings were the most despicable of creatures, vile, murderous hypocrites who would slaughter their own. Even the J’Ettanne, who so piously celebrated life, had taught their children that their destiny was to die, refusing to lift their hands to stop it. Yet in the end I was as bad as the rest of them, manipulating others, endangering lives to serve my own ends. I pressed a mug of ale into my only friend’s hand and told him that my curiosity and my hatred were going to put him in mortal danger. “I’ve decided what to do next,” I said, my cheeks hot, my limbs so light they might have belonged to someone else entirely. “I’m going to find this man who’s searching for him.”

I owed the J’Ettanne nothing, but Aeren was a sorcerer and Darzid was hunting him. I would kill Aeren myself before I allowed Evard to burn another man.

* * *

Though Aeren was clearly unhappy about my decision to leave the valley, and Jacopo grumbled endlessly about my decision to venture my mission alone, I bade farewell to the two of them early the next morning. Grenatte was five leagues to the south, but I had walked it before. I followed a narrow track across the meadow, and when I reached the intersection with the main road just south of Dunfarrie, I found a surprise—a skinny, grimy figure perched on a pile of boulders waiting for me.

“Paulo! What are you doing here?”

“Not my idea.”

“I wondered why Jacopo found it so urgent to go down to the village last night. How much did he pay you to tag along?”

“Secret. Promised.”

“And what are you supposed to do? Protect me from highwaymen?”

The boy straightened his back. “Might. I know a bit.”

“Of course you do, but it’s a very long way.” I didn’t want to shame the boy, but I failed to see how he could walk so far with his twisted leg.

“Done it before. Faster’n you.”

I grinned. “Think so? Well, we’ll see then.” I started briskly down the road, Paulo scampering along beside. Jacopo was no fool. Having an extra hand, a pair of youthful eyes, and a trustworthy messenger was not a bad notion.

“So Paulo, does your gram know where you are?”

“She’s down drunk again.”

“Oh.”

His father had been hanged for thievery when Paulo was small, and his mother had disappeared only months after, leaving Paulo to be raised by his grandmother when she was sober and the rest of the village when she was drunk. He had no trouble keeping up. I thought it would be exhausting to twist with each step as Paulo had to do, but he seemed tireless, and though his body was far from perfect, his hearing was excellent. After an hour of good progress, he halted abruptly. “Horses. Wagon. Behind.” He cocked an eye at me. “Jaco says maybe you want to be private.”

“That’s true,” said I, “but I don’t hear anything.”

“Four or five of ‘em. I’ll swear on horseflesh.”

He was so sure of himself that, despite feeling a bit foolish, I motioned him over behind the sprawling blackberry bushes that lined the roadway. He promptly began stuffing berries in his mouth while I crouched itching and sweating in the prickly thicket. About the time I was convinced that his warning was only a ploy to get a rest, the boy put a purple-stained finger to his mouth, and I heard the jangle of harness.

Two heavily armed men rode and two equally tough-looking women walked beside a wagon driven by a hard-faced boy about Paulo’s age. Their cargo was barrels of the type commonly used for sugar—a valuable load. Dangerous. I allowed the party to take a substantial lead before setting out on the road again.