Chernevog by C.J. Cherryh Read Free Book Online Page B

that or entertain suspicions: a wizard was so liable to wish completely crazy things— as apt to self-delusion as not, even about what his interests really were, and having an old man's memories tumbling around i n his head, mixing with his own...
    In Vojvoda, patrons in The Cockerel had looked askance at him: That's the witch listening, they would say, nudging each other with their elbows. Be careful what you say...
    Or the baker's daughters, whispering to each other in the corner, Don't look in his eyes, he can't bewitch you if you don't look in his eyes-Aunt Ilenka, when a dish broke: I know who's the jinx around here. . .
    Maybe there was truth in that, after all.
    Certainly Eveshka wanted what she thought was right for Pyetr: that was one c onstancy he could believe in; that was, perhaps, part of the trouble with all of them. And perhaps, he reasoned, if he could only retrace not only the business with the horse, but a number of small quarrels, and recover the kind of (twice with Eveshka he had had at first, if he only could get her to trust him and if he could avoid making some other foolish, selfish mistake to make her angry with him, Eveshka knew him In ways even Pyetr did not—being a wizard and knowing in her very bones what he meant when he said certain things, which Pyetr might well hear completely differently.
    If, he thought, if he could get Eveshka to sit down and listen to him, really listen, just once, and listen—if that was truly what she was worried about—as if it was only himself who was talking to her, and nothing to do with her father and his advice ... If, please the god, he could know that himself, and be sure his thoughts had no one else's wish behind them—including hers.
    He lay abed until the birds nesting in the eaves began to stir, then quietly got up, built up the fire from last night's coals and started breakfast with as little noise as possible, a special breakfast, as he intended, cakes of the sort aunt Ilenka had used to make, the best flour, sweet dried berries ... Sun rising beyond the branches, dew gathering on thorns-Reddening with the dawn-He chased meandering, chaotic thoughts away with the soft rattle of the spoon against the bowl, one of Uulamets' wooden ones, pinch of spice, pinch of salt, a recipe against unwanted memories ... spice and salt and grain they got from a freeholder downriver, an old man who had trouble, Pyetr said, in recalling it was no longer Chernevog or Uulamets living in the woods upriver—an old man who wanted mushrooms, simples, medicines for a cough and a good wish or two in the bargain, which Sasha gave whenever he thought of it.
    So much the world knew of their doings: the old man felt safe from wizards and their doings, and had no notion what had happened up here in the woods, except herbs grew in the woods again.
    That was all it meant, all that they had ever done, wizards had changed, the dreadful rusalka was gone, and herbs helped an old man's cough.
    River water, dark and deep ... Eveshka's ghost drifting above the waves, part of them ...
    Eveshka had so much skill with growing things, she always had had: she could wish a garden to perfection, protect the seeds they planted, the creatures that ventured back into this woods She had all this love of life—even when foxes by their nature preyed on rabbits and on fieldmice. And she was wise about nature. He got attached to the mouse, he thought about foxes and he wanted it safe—because it was one particular mouse. But Eveshka had said to him, quite soberly, If you do that, he won't be free.
    He thought about that. He told himself he should have listened to Eveshka long since, that she had given him good advice, over all, much of which counseled him plainly to want as little as possible and to ignore her father.
    He heard voices from the bedroom, people he loved, people who did truly, in differing degrees and to their own capabilities love him: “ Tie that, will you, Pyetr? ”
    We'll be all right,