Yet, at the same time, she thrilled to the thought that this was the world in which she would soon find herself. In just a few more days, she and Grinsa would cross into Qirsi land and, she hoped, quickly find a settlement in which to build a new life. Bryntelle, awake now, her eyes wide as she watched D'Chul, would grow up thinking it normal to live among only Qirsi, without the hostility and mistrust of the Eandi. No doubt she would take such a life for granted. Cresenne could think of no greater gift for her child.
Yes, she had Eandi friends, though not many of them. Once, when she had allied herself with Dusaan jal Kania, the Weaver who had sought to overthrow the Eandi courts in the Forelands and create a new Qirsi empire, she had believed that she hated all Eandi. She knew now that she didn't. Some among Ean's children had been kind to her in the days leading up to the Weaver's war, kinder than she'd had any right to ask or expect, given her role in the Qirsi conspiracy. But she had to admit that she longed to live the rest of her days free from prejudice and the constant tension that seemed to pervade the cities of the Forelands. And though she would have had trouble admitting as much to Grinsa, who counted an Eandi noble among his closest friends and who once even loved an
Eandi woman, she believed that the only way to find such peace was to live apart from all Eandi.
D'Chul proved to be a fine companion for such a grey day. After he'd talked about his home for some time, he began to sing for them, or more precisely for Bryntelle, who laughed and squealed each time he began a new song. Eventually, the young man's singing even drew Grinsa out of his dark mood. As was the case with the songs he had played the night before, Cresenne didn't know any of the ones he sang. They sounded like children's songs, and she had the sense that they would have been as familiar to a Qirsi child in the Southlands as "Four Tired Lambs" or "Moons and Stars" had been to her when she was a girl.
One song in particular delighted Bryntelle and caught Cresenne's ear, though probably not for the same reason. She couldn't follow the verses, which made little sense, but after a few rounds, she was able to piece together the refrain:
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye,
Run away back home;
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye, '
Tis not your land to roam;
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye,
Run away and hide;
Little Dark-Eye, Little Dark-Eye,
No one's on your side.
It seemed that Grinsa also was struck by the lyric. When D'Chul finished singing, he asked, "What was that one called?"
" 'Little Dark-Eye,' " the man answered, grinning. "It's a grim song, eh?"
"I couldn't make out most of it," Grinsa said.
"That's because most of ifs been changed. It was a Qirsi war song; dates back to the first of the Blood Wars. You can probably guess what it's about."
"The last line of the refrain was changed, too, wasn't it?" D'Chul looked at Cresenne. "You could tell that, could you?"
She nodded.
"It was originally 'All your friends have died,' but that was changed long ago. Better for the little ones this way."
"How did you know?" Grinsa asked her, smiling slightly, but also looking annoyed, as if angry with himself for not figuring this out as well.
She shrugged. "It just didn't sound right. 'Died' is the natural rhyme there."
"You've got an ear for music," D'Chul said.
Cresenne laughed at that. She was just about the least musical person she knew. She couldn't even sing in tune. "No," she said. "I think I just have a dark humor."
"There's no escaping it, is there?" Grinsa asked, still looking troubled, his voice grim.
D'Chul frowned. "What do you mean?"
"This feud between Eandi and Qirsi. The Blood Wars. These songs you sing. The Eandi villages that won't give a room to Qirsi travelers. It's everywhere."
Cresenne feared that the lutenist might take offense, but instead, he regarded Grinsa for several moments and then began to nod slowly.
"It must seem that way to you," he said. "I don't think we give much thought to how our land might be perceived by strangers." He seemed to consider this for several moments. At last he nodded again. "Yes, I guess it is everywhere. The wars have been over for some time now, but the fighting didn't end because we suddenly stopped hating one another. I'm not sure people can do that."
"Then why did the wars end?"
He shook his head. "Neither side had the stomach for them anymore. The clans decided that the wars were costing too many lives, even as they continued to take land from the dark-eyes. Already there are more Eandi in the Southlands than there are Qirsi. Not by a lot-not the way we hear Qirsi are outnumbered in the Forelands. But enough to scare our leaders. And the Eandi sovereignties made no effort to continue the fighting. Every time a war was fought they lost land. It's not really surprising that they'd welcome a truce."
"So the two sides never really forged a peace," Grinsa said. "They just stopped killing each other."
D'Chul raised an eyebrow. "I suppose that's one way of putting it. I don't think there's much danger of the wars starting up again, if that's what concerns you."
"No," Grinsa said. "It's not that." "Then what?" Cresenne asked.
He looked at her, their eyes meeting. "I don't know, really. I just find it all… unsettling."
She should have understood. In a way she did, though only vaguely. But mostly, Cresenne felt herself growing impatient with him. Of course
the Southlands weren't perfect. What place was? Everyone they'd talked to had said the same thing: The wars had been over for more than a century. The various realms of the Forelands had battled one another as recently as that, and he wouldn't have thought anything of living there, had that been a choice.
He appeared to read the annoyance in her glance, because he forced a smile and shook his head.
"I'm just being foolish," he said. "I suppose it'll take me some time to grow accustomed to this place." He turned to D'Chul. "Forgive me."
The young man shrugged and grinned again. "There's nothing to forgive."
Cresenne thought he was being more generous than she would have been.
They rode with D'Chul for the rest of that day and for two more before finally coming within sight of the Silverwater Wash. By the third morning, the skies had cleared, though the air remained cold.
"This feels like the Harvest," D'Chul said as they rode that third day, turning his face up to the sky and closing his eyes, as if savoring the touch of the sun on his ghostly skin. "I expect we've seen the last of the warmer days until next year's Planting."
Fine, lacy clouds drifted above them, pure white against the deep blue sky, reminding Cresenne of Harvest days in the Forelands. Some things, it seemed, were the same everywhere.
Late that day, D'Chul guided them to a shallow part of the river where they were able to cross into Qirsi land without first entering an Eandi village. They made camp together one last time, joined this time by several other Qirsi peddlers who were on their way into Stelpana. D'Chul played his lute for them again, and by now Cresenne had learned enough of the songs to join in the singing, which she did without hesitation, despite her poor voice.
Grinsa, as usual, had moved off a short distance with one of the older merchants, with whom he spoke in low tones, looking intent and smiling only occasionally. No doubt he was learning all he could about the Fal'Borna-the man with whom he was sitting had darker skin than any Qirsi Cresenne had ever seen, and she recalled hearing R'Shev say something about the Fal'Borna being a dark-skinned clan. This was one of the things she had come to love about Grinsa: his sense of duty, the determination with which he took care of those he loved.