Magesong by James R. Sanford Read Free Book Online Page B

winds,
unable to shake the feeling that he had lived this moment many times.
    With the hiss of water meeting red-hot coals, the fire at
last went out.  The voices of the boys seemed loud in the sudden dark.  Someone
came near, a slender shadow against the night sky full of stars.  "Good
night, Reyin," came a voice, a young woman speaking in Pallenor.
    He reached down for his walking stick and began to hoist
himself up, but she was already gone. "Good night, Kestrin," he said.
    Then the weird came unexpectedly, quick, jolting in its
clarity, and he saw all the folk around him as skeletal shapes amid the
flurries of the winter yet to come, people emaciated beyond recognition, the
living too weak to bury the dead.
    At that moment, he wished to be just a young musician in a
smelly roadhouse again, playing for his dinner and the few pennies the drunken
patrons might toss.  He wished it very hard.

CHAPTER 4:  A Message for the Stranger
     
    His discolored ankle returned to its natural hue within a
week, and the stranger called Reyin began limping to the nightly gathering
without the aid of a walking stick.  In another ten days he would be well
enough to go on his way, and Syliva was sorry for that.  She had quickly grown
rather fond of him.
    Kestrin visited daily, for fabricated reasons such as
checking to see if Syliva's garden had sprouted or asking how Lovisa's
pregnancy was coming, which was funny to Syliva because Kestrin spent more time
with Lovisa and Farlo than anyone.  Lovisa had mentioned that Kestrin stopped
at her house each morning to ask Farlo how to say a new word in Avic.  And,
perhaps by like impulse, Reyin pestered Syliva with questions of the names of
things in her own language, sometimes having to perform silly pantomimes that
would make her laugh.
    The first day of the week usually saw Syliva pay call on
those with continuing ailments, and she liked to see Lovisa in the morning
while they were both fresh and had a spare moment to talk.  This morning,
though, Syliva didn't like what she wanted to say.
    The dirt streets of the village had grown hard as stone in
the drought, and as Syliva walked to the young woman's house, the rough ground
jabbed at the tender places on her feet.  She would have to leave her soft
shoes at home and begin wearing field boots on her rounds.  Squalls had passed,
out on the ocean, and thunderheads had risen in the distant mountains, but no
rain had fallen in Lorendal since before winter.
    Thankfully, Lovisa was alone.  “How do you feel today?”
Syliva asked.
    "It's beginning to feel like I'm carrying the stone
instead of a baby."
    "Sickness this morning?"
    "A little."
    "Hmm.  You're too far along to be getting that."
    "Didn't have much to throw up really.  My stomach
turned after the first few bites of supper last night."
    "Oh, I know how it is.  While I was preggers with Jonn
I would get sick whenever I cooked meat.  I'd get a good whiff and have to duck
out the back door and let fly.  And when I ate, no matter what it was, the
heartburn would soon follow."
    "Yes, I get that too."
    Syliva pulled up a stool and opened her satchel.  "Well,"
she said, taking out a tiny wooden box, "this mixture might help.  Make a
tea from it — one big pinch is enough for a cup — and drink a little before
each meal.  It doesn't taste half bad if you hold your nose."
    "Thanks."  Lovisa opened the box.  "Why so
much?  This looks like enough to last months."
    Syliva busied herself with closing the satchel.  "I
didn't see Farlo outside.  Is he alright?  Aksel would always worry and get
fidgety my last few months.  I often wanted to send him away until it was time."
    "He was in one of his moods this morning, still a
little worried about the stranger.  He reminded me that he does have a price on
his head.  I hate it when he talks of that.  He told me that he was going down
to Siadal to see if they would trade for nails and iron spikes, but I have a
queer feeling he's up to