They wheeled about in the sky.
After a time, he managed to convey what he wanted, if not why he, or, rather, the Provider, wanted it done. She didn’t have any real objection, but she didn’t understand how they were to tell one of them from the others.
Her mate seemed to think that this didn’t matter, that things would work out anyway. This was somewhat puzzling, but she trusted him.
He led her through the sky, below the overcast.
On the ground, a grey wildcat prowled the night, leaving her nest briefly unattended. She called her mate’s attention to this, but he insisted that this other matter, whatever it was, should be attended to first.
They came to a place, and through the darkness, she became aware of a group of animals, much like the Provider himself, huddled together as if in a herd.
They circled, and, after a time, it began to look as if one was being singled out by the others, either to be driven off, or to be mated with, or for some other reason. Was that the one? she wondered. No, all of the others.
Very well, then. Now?
Now.
They flew down together. She felt her wings cup the air, and she was suddenly very close to one of them, his face white and ugly in front of her—
And, her mate insisted in her mind, they were not to bite. How could she not bite? How?
Very well, she would do her best for him.
She hissed and veered away, looking for another, but the others were already running away. Would her mate allow pursuit? Yes, he would allow pursuit. A little, at any rate. She set off after them.
When her mate thought they had frightened them enough, she pulled up, swirled around her lover, held her breath, and they climbed above the overcast once more, taken again by the sudden beauty of the countless stars. They danced there for a while, laughing together, then turned to where the Provider waited for them with, her mate told her, his thanks.
Just his thanks? Wasn’t there, something tasty to go along with his thanks?
Of course. Wasn’t there always?
I will not many a guzzling drinker,
I will not marry a guzzling drinker.
He’d be no lover and no thinker.
Hi-dee hi-dee ho-la!
Step on out ...
Savn stepped into the house, shutting the chill out behind him. The fire on the hearth had died down to coals, but the stove was still giving off heat. It seemed very safe; but he didn’t feel any sense of relief. This was strange, and it occurred to him that he hadn’t felt frightened—that he hadn’t felt much of anything.
“Where have you been?” said Mae, in a dim, distracted sort of way, as if she expected a reasonable answer, and would be satisfied with almost anything.
Even while Savn was wondering what to say, he heard his own voice explaining, “A minstrel showed up at Tern’s house, so I stopped and listened to her.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Mae said. “Perhaps tomorrow, after the harvest is done, we’ll all go together. Was she good?”
“Yes, Mae,” said Savn, wondering how he was managing to answer.
“Well, go to bed now. Your sister’s already asleep, and we have a big day tomorrow.”
“I will, Mae.”
Pae listened to this mild interrogation with abstracted interest, and made no comment.
There is much that I do not understand, thought Savn, looking at Mae and Pae. Everything has changed somehow, and nothing makes sense anymore. Why don’t I care? What is happening to them? What is happening to me?
Savn found his place next to Polyi, who was already asleep. He got into his nightclothes and crawled in among the furs, warmed by the low fire in the stove. It was starting to get chilly at night. Funny he hadn’t noticed it earlier this evening. Or maybe not; he’d been occupied with—with other things.
He lay back and stared at the ceiling, his thoughts running in circles like mating tsalmoth.
Tomorrow morning would see the end of the harvest. Then would come the Festival. Then would come ... what?
He didn’t want to stay in Smallcliff anymore, but the idea of leaving was dim, impossible, unreal—as unreal as the experience outside the house, as unreal as those things he’d learned from the Easterner, as unreal as what had happened that night. He was caught between leaving and staying, but the choice was somewhere off in the distance. The idea of the morning was also dim, impossible, and unreal. And the day that was ending could not have happened. Maybe it was a dream. He’d have to tell Coral about it....
Coral ... the jhereg ... the same ones? Vlad ... What do you do when nothing makes sense? Stare at the ceiling and watch it dissolve into wavy lines, and wonder if your future is engraved therein.
Savn slept, and if he dreamed, he had no memory of it. The next thing he knew it had become morning, and with the morning came the familiar sounds of everyone stirring around and the smell of the tea that Pae, always the first one up, brewed fresh for the family every morning. Savn’s arms were stiff and sore; he had fallen asleep with them locked behind his head. He made fists and shook his arms, then stared at his hands as if they were not part of him. He remembered that Vlad had looked in the same way at his maimed hand.
Everything had an odd, ethereal feel, as if time had become disconnected. Savn stood outside the house and realized that he didn’t remember breaking his fast, yet he felt the warmth of the bread in his stomach. Later he stood behind Polyi, holding a sack, and didn’t remember getting there, nor how the sack had become so full.
Pae was in the bins, already beginning to seed and strip the plants, preparing to send them off to town, while Mae was counting and weighing the sacks in order to make the account, so Savn and Polyi were alone in the field. Occasionally Polyi would say something, and Savn would realize a little later that he had answered, but he had no memory of the conversation.
They finished the harvest, and he hardly noticed. Polyi cut the last plant, Savn put it in the half-full sack, tied it, and hauled it in to Pae. There had been no need for such caution; it hadn’t rained. But then, if they’d neglected to store everything in the bin, it probably would have. Was that really true? Was anything really true?
Savn set the sack next to the full ones. He felt Polyi standing behind him. Pae looked at the sack, and gave Savn a smile which he felt himself responding to.
“That’s it,” said Polyi.
“Well,” said Pae, standing, his knees cracking. He wiped his hands on his leggings, and said, “Fetch the bottle, then. You know where it is.”
He’s an old man, thought Savn suddenly. But that thought, too, was distant.
“Mae’s getting it already,” said Polyi. “Are we going to drink it here?” She looked around the bin, full of sacks. The smell of linseed oil seemed to hang in the air.
“Why not?” said Pae. “Well, perhaps we can step out into the air.”
It’s odd, thought Savn, that none of them think I’m acting strange. Even Polyi didn’t notice while we were working. Maybe I’m not acting strange at all. Maybe I just feel funny, and no one can tell.
Mae came in with the bottle and four of the special mugs, set on the silver tray. She unwrapped the top, pulled the wax from the bottle’s mouth, and handed it to Pae to pour. Savn was keenly aware of the faded black lettering against the green label, and found himself wondering who had written that label—Was it done where the wine was made? Who made the bottle? Did he live in a big city somewhere? Did he ever wonder who would buy the bottle, and what would go in it, and who would drink from it? For that matter, Savn thought, where does all of this flax go? That last plant we cut down, what will happen to it? Will the fiber be thrown away, or turned into linen? What will the linen be used for? Sheets? Perhaps a gown for a lady? Who will wear it? The seeds will be turned into oil blocks, and then it will be put in the coolhouse, and then packed into barrels and sent somewhere. Who will use that bit of oil? And for what? Probably it will be made into linseed meal to feed the livestock. Or maybe given to His Lordship to sell. His Lordship ... Could he really be undead?