He nodded.
"Then what—oh." It took me a moment, but I got it; first one piece, then the other. "In the first place, why did she use her full name when writing a thank-you note? In the second, why write a thank-you note in an ancient runic script?"
He nodded. "I still wonder."
I said, "Do you remember the dinner?"
"Oh, yes. Not often did your father visit me at that time."
"Noish-pa?"
"Hmm?"
"Was my mother pregnant when she wrote that?"
He frowned and his eyes narrowed and shifted up and to the right as his memory worked. After a moment he nodded.
I smiled. "It was meant for me, Noish-pa. To answer my questions, in case I lived and she died. She knew my father—"
He was grinning and nodding. "Yes. It must be!"
"I wonder where she was from." I said.
He shrugged. "Merss, it is not a common name. Do you know its meaning?"
I shook my head.
"Pulper," he said. "And what is a pulper?"
"Um, it has something to do with wood. With making paper out of wood, I think."
He nodded and frowned. "I know of a town where much paper came from, in the west of Fenario where the River of Faerie is young and strong. Burz, it is called."
I laughed. "Burz? They named their town Burz?"
"Eh, perhaps making paper makes not such a pretty smell?"
"Maybe," I said.
A town called Burz with a paper factory and a bad smell, on the River—that was where my mother might have come from. And me with nothing to do except stay out of the clutches of the Jhereg. There would be all sorts of advantages to going east to the homeland of my mother and father. For one thing, a Dragaeran would stand out there even more than I stood out among the Dragaerans. For another, I had the strong feeling that they were going to use a Morganti weapon on me. And bringing such a weapon in among a group of witches would alert every one of them within a quarter of a mile. There are special sheaths made to conceal the effects of such a blade from a sorcerer—I knew, I'd used them a couple of times. But even if it were possible to construct a sheath to hide the psychic emanations a witch would feel, the Jhereg wouldn't know how to go about it. In fact, they might well not even be aware they needed to.
No question, it would be safer for me in the East.
And I could find my mother's family.
The conversation passed on to other things, and I never told him I was going East, but over the next several days I received lectures, in the same tones I remembered from when I was studying the Art, about Eastern customs, the political structures of Fenario, and the culture. He also began speaking Fenarian and demanded I did, too. He was very picky about my pronunciation, and even pickier about my accent.
Guilds and Covens.
We talked a lot about Guilds and Covens, and it was good that we did, because—but no, I'm getting ahead of myself. But I'll tell you some of it now, so that later you'll understand. Well, understand at least as well as I did, which wasn't very.
Guilds, I was told, were for trades—craftsmen—and were a means to have some way of defending themselves against the merchants who often sold their goods as middlemen. In some parts of Fenario, the craftsmen sold things directly, so there were fewer Guilds. In other parts, there were Guilds that took in large areas (well, relatively large; Fenario itself is a pretty small kingdom by my standards).
And nearly every town, no matter how small, had its Coven, occasionally open, but more often with its members secret. The Coven functioned as a Guild for witches, sometimes combining their powers into common spells, sometimes simply using the threat of their abilities to look out for the members' interests.
I asked him, "Are all witches usually members?"
"Vladimir, in Fenario, there are, ah, well, nearly all peasants know some little spell or another."
"Then who joins a Coven?"
"Those who use the Art a great deal. Many will sell their services, you know. And others, who gather and prepare the herbs."
"Like you. You'd be in a Coven if you were back there."
He nodded. "Many places, you can't help it. Those who do not join, but should . . ." He trailed off, leaving to my imagination what a Coven might do to an individual witch they didn't like.
"Is there ever more than one Coven?"
"Not for long," he said.
Guilds and Covens, Covens and Guilds. Yeah, it's a good thing he took the time to explain those to me.
We drank more brandy and ate more food, and finally, the day after Spring Balance day, I embraced him and said good-bye, which was how it came to be that I stood in the pass of Saestara, looking behind me into the future and before me into the past.
Below, at some vague point, was the end of the Empire and the border of Fenario, land of ignorance and knowledge, superstition and science. Okay, well, maybe not so much with the science. But what do you call it when the superstitions might be true?
Loiosh on my right shoulder, Rocza on my left, I started down the mountain.
Part Two
apoptera
This stage will last from the moment of hatching until the layer of fat has been
entirely consumed—usually four to five weeks. During this period, the apoptera, its fins fully grown by the time it has hatched, will remain entirely in the water while its basic organs develop. Curiously, the last of these is sight; the apoptera is blind until nearly the moment of transformation. Indeed, it is speculated by some natural philosophers (cf. Hidna, Corventra) that it is the first sensation of light that triggers its metamorphosis…
Much remains unknown about the memory of the apoptera. Most of the assumptions in previous work about the "astonishing memory" at this stage are based on Leroni's work documenting its determination to explore every corner of its limited world. While its inquisitive nature cannot be denied, it has never been positively established that there is any memorization as such that carries on to later stages. Indeed, there is some indication to the contrary (see Appendix D this volume).
—Oscaani: Fauna of the Middle South: A Brief Survey, Volume 6, Chapter 16
1
Boraan: A candle! As you love the Gods, a candle! Nurse: But we have no candles! Boraan: How, no candles? Nurse: They were all burned up in the flood. Dagler: Permit me to sell you this beeswax.
[Boraan strikes Dagler with candlestick]
[Exit Dagler, holding his head]
—Miersen, Six Parts Water, Day One, Act IV, Scene 4
The transition from mountain to forest was so gradual, I wasn't entirely sure I was out of the mountains for a while even after I had turned north; and this in spite of them towering over me to my left. But eventually, I became convinced that I wasn't getting much lower, and soon enough, there was no question that I was in deep woods, with trees I can't name so close together I sometimes had to squeeze past them and with branches so low I had to duck to avoid getting hit in the face. The combination seemed unfair.
After that I felt more confident as I headed north, giving thanks for the occasional clearing, even though in the clearings I could see the Furnace, and it hurt my eyes.
I don't like forests. I hate the trees, and I hate the bushes, and I'm not even that fond of the paths, because they have a way of either suddenly heading off in directions you don't want to go, or just stopping without giving you any explanation for their conduct. When I was running my territory for the Jhereg, if any of my people had acted like that I'd have had their legs broken.
In the Pushta, you can usually see a good distance around you; you just have to keep an eye on what might be moving through the grasses. In the mountain, at least the mountains I've been on, you can see for miles in at least a couple of directions. In the city, you might not be able to see very far, but you can identify where anyone who might want to do you harm could be lurking. Forests are thick, and anything can come from anywhere; I never feel safe.