Elica glared at him. "Then you're fools. Now, if you've finished your supper go fetch some water."
He stood up slowly. "Yes, Mama."
"Two buckets, Mihas. One for the dishes, and one for you and the young ones."
"But, Mama-"
The expression on Elica's face would have frightened Lici herself. The boy wisely fell silent and did as he was told.
Besh finished his meal while Elica and Sirj cleared the rest of the dishes from the table. When he'd finished, he took his pipe outside and smoked a bit while he watched stars emerge in the night sky. After a time he heard footsteps behind him and felt Elica lay a hand on his shoulder.
"Do you remember some time ago when we last talked about Lici?" she said, her voice barely more than a whisper. "It's been nearly a turn now. I said that she'd be dead soon."
"I remember," he told her. "I also remember saying myself that maybe her death would be for the best."
"Do you think that… that maybe the gods heard us?"
"If the gods heeded what I said to them on matters of life and death, your mother would be sitting by my side." He looked up at her and reached for her hand. "Whatever has become of Lici, it had nothing to do with us. Unless you conjured something without telling me."
She smiled and shook her head, glancing up at the stars. "No." She kissed his cheek. "Good night, Father."
"Good night."
He sat a while longer, waiting for the owl to call. It often did this time of year, usually from up in the hills, its voice carrying down through the village.
"Where are you, Lici," Besh whispered. "Maybe I'm a fool, but I think that if you were dead, I'd know it. So where are you? What is it you're up to?"
He heard no answer, of course, save for a few crickets and the soft gurgle of the wash. Eventually he did hear the owl, although it seemed farther off than usual, its cries thin and mournful, like some wraith summoning the old and infirm to Bian's realm. Besh shivered.
"Do you hear that, Lici? Do you hear the Deceiver's call?"
Standing, he stretched his back and then walked inside. But even after he lay down in his soft bed, Besh couldn't sleep. After a time, he stopped even trying. He merely listened to the owl and stared up into the darkness. And he wondered what he would find in the old woman's hut.
Besh woke up to dark grey clouds that hung low over the hills, faint tendrils of mist nearly brushing the treetops. By the time he dressed, ate breakfast, and checked on his garden, a steady rain had begun to fall. He walked to Pyav's forge and the two of them made their way to the old woman's hut. Despite the rain, the dirt track in front of the but was choked with townspeople. Besh saw many of the same faces he had seen outside the sanctuary the day before, but this crowd was even bigger than the previous evening's had been.
The townspeople said nothing as Besh and the eldest approached the house, and though Pyav eyed them as the two men walked past, he kept silent as well. Besh followed him to the door. There was no lock and so they simply pushed the door open and stepped inside. Besh took care to close the door behind them, and so he had his back to the main room when he heard the eldest give a low whistle.
"Blood and earth!" Pyav muttered.
Besh turned in time to see the eldest tap two fingers against his lips four times-the warding against evil. An instant later, Besh did the same.
The but had been left a mess. Flies buzzed around uncleaned pots of stew and dirty bowls that had grown rank with the passage of so much time. Tattered clothes lay in a pile near the unmade bed, and a washbasin stood half empty in the far corner, a thick grey film floating on the water.
And covering it all, scattered as if they had fallen from the sky in place of rain or snow, were small clippings of willow and rush, cedar bark and vine. They were everywhere, in every corner of the room. In some places they had gathered in small mounds, like drifts of snow on a windy day. A few floated in the basin, others lay on the eating table. The floor, bed, and chairs were all littered with them. They were of different hues, and yet they were all oddly similar. One end of each scrap was untamed, while the other had been cut at a precise angle. Some were as long as a man's finger; others were barely longer than a baby's toe. But all had been sliced at that same angle. A craftswoman as skilled as Lici would never have varied such a thing.
Besh could hardly imagine the frenzy of basketweaving that had created such a sight. She must have worked on the baskets for turn upon turn; it might even have been years. He took a tentative step forward, his foot making a crunching sound, as if he were walking on a forest path covered with dried leaves.
Pyav seemed to start at the sound, as if awakened from some odd trance.
"Are you all right, Eldest?"
"Yes. Yes, I'm fine." He rubbed a hand over his broad face. "From the looks of things I'd say that she was taken against her will."
Besh frowned. "You believe so?"
"You don't? Look at this place."
The old man shook his head slowly. True, the but was in such disrepair that a person could easily draw such a conclusion. But Besh couldn't imagine Lici being made to do anything against her will. On the other hand, he had no trouble imagining that she lived in this sort of filth, like a wild creature of the wood.
"I think maybe she simply lived this way," he finally said.
Pyav started to answer, but then stopped himself. Clearly he didn't know what to believe.
Besh began to walk around the room, as did the eldest, their steps making a good deal of noise.
Besh didn't touch anything, feeling that it wasn't his place to do so. Pyav was a bit bolder, but not much. It almost seemed that they both expected the old witch to walk in the door at any moment.
"I thought she had stopped making baskets," Besh said after some time.
"Clearly not."
"But have you seen her sell any?"
"Not in many years, no."
Besh opened his hands, indicating the room. For all the cuttings strewn about on the floor and furniture, there wasn't a single basket in sight. "Then what has she done with them all?"
Pyav just stared at him. "You think she took them with her," he said at length.
Besh nodded. "In which case, she might have just gone to trade with the Qirsi clans, or to sell them in one of the five sovereignties. She could be coming back."
Pyav looked around again, a look of disgust lingering on his features. "But even if she lived this way from day to day, don't you think she would have taken a bit more care before leaving for so long? At least to clean up her cooking, or to throw out her wash water. Something."
"Certainly you and I would do so, my friend. Most people would. But Lici… she's never been like other people. At least not in all the years I've known her."
The eldest nodded. "You may be right." But Besh could see that his thoughts had already gone in another direction. "You won't approve, Besh, but even knowing that she may be alive, that she could return any day now, I want to search this but a bit more."
"To what end?" Besh asked, doing his best to keep his face and tone neutral.
"For too long, people in this village have been spinning yarns about Lici's treasure. I think it's time we put those stories to rest."
"But what if they're true?"
"Do you really believe they are?"
"I don't know." How many times had Besh said that about Lici in the past few days?
Pyav stood chewing his lip for several moments. "If we find gold," he finally said, "we'll leave it where it is and simply tell everyone that we found nothing. But I fear that eventually those people outside will take matters into their own hands, come in here, and take whatever they can find. And I want to know exactly what's at risk."
"All right," Besh said with a small shrug. He gestured toward the far side of her room, where the bed and washbasin stood. "I'll start over here."
In truth, there weren't many places to look. Lici had little furniture and few belongings of any sort. There was an old wooden chest at the foot of her bed that was covered with scuffs and burn marks, as if it had once stood near a hearth. It had a rusted lock on it, but the lock seemed to have stopped working long ago; Besh had no trouble getting the chest open. Inside he found clothes and a few old bound books that might well have belonged to Sylpa, who used to trade for volumes with the peddlers who came through Kirayde. He found as well several pieces of parchment-letters from the look of them. They were tied together with a yellowed piece of twine; Besh left them as they were.