She came across a nice patch of meadow mushrooms, and put some in her basket--Ealstan’s basket, actually--to make sure she wouldn’t go back to Oyngestun empty-handed. A little later, she clapped her hands in glee when she found some chanterelles, yellow and vermilion growing together. She like the yellow ones better--vermilion chanterelles tasted acrid to her--but gathered some of each.
And then, at the edge of an almond grove, she almost stepped on some bright orange imperial mushrooms. They were still small, but unmistakable because of their color. As she plucked them from the ground, she recited a snatch of ancient poetry: they’d been favorites back in the days of the Kaunian Empire.
But her pleasure at picking them evaporated a moment later. The mushrooms remained, but the Kaunian Empire was only rubble. Even the Kaunian kingdoms of the east had fallen into the Algarvians’ hands these days, and as for Forthweg .. . The Forthwegian majority despised the Kaunians still living among them, and the Algarvians delighted in showing the Forthwegians the Kaunians were even worse off than they.
After Vanai discovered the imperial mushrooms, she had no luck for quite a while. She saw three or four Forthwegian men down on their hands and knees in the middle of a field, but did not go over to them. They were unlikely to be willing to share whatever they’d found, and not so unlikely to try to make sport with her as the Algarvians might have done. She put some bushes between herself and them and went on her way.
The sun was nearing its high point in the north when she came into the oak wood where she and Ealstan had accidentally exchanged baskets--and where they’d met the year before that, too. With her grandfather miles away, she could at last admit to herself that she hadn’t come there altogether by accident. For one thing, she did want to give him his basket if she saw him again. And, for another, he’d been a sympathetic ear, and she hadn’t had many of those lately.
She walked among the trees. Her muddy shoes scuffed through leaves and acorns. Some of the oaks’ gnarled roots lay close to the surface. She wondered if she ought to try digging for truffles. In the days of the Kaunian Empire, rich nobles had trained swine to hunt the precious fungi by scent. Without such aid, though, finding them was a matter of blind luck. She shook her head--she didn’t have time to waste, and not much in the way of luck had come her way lately.
She wandered through the wood, finding a couple of puffballs, which she picked, and quite a few stinkhorns, which she avoided with wrinkled nose. She saw no sign of Ealstan. She wondered if he was out hunting mushrooms at all. For all she knew, he could have been back in Gromheort or out searching in a different direction. It wasn’t as if she could make him step out from behind a tree by wishing.
No sooner had that thought crossed her mind than Ealstan stepped out from behind a tree--not the one she’d been looking at, but a tree nonetheless. Her eyes widened. Had she turned into a mage after all?
If Ealstan had been conjured up, he didn’t realize it. “Vanai!” he exclaimed, a grin stretching itself across his face. Instead of using Forthwegian, he went on in his slow, careful Kaunian: “I had hoped I would see you here. I am very glad to see you here. And look--I remembered your basket.” He held it up.
Vanai laughed. She did that so seldom these days, each time stood out as an occasion. “I remembered yours, too,” she said, and showed it to him.
“Now my family can wonder at me if I bring back my own basket, as they did when I brought back yours last year,” Ealstan said with a chuckle. But the good humor quickly slipped from his face. “I am very glad to see you here again,” he repeated. “The Algarvians took many Kaunians out of Gromheort and sent them west. I was afraid they had done the same in Oyngestun.”
“They did,” Vanai answered, “but my grandfather and I were not among them.” She remembered how close they’d come to being chosen. “For his sake, I’m glad; he couldn’t have done the work.” She’d seen he couldn’t do it. That made her think of Spinello again, and then wish she hadn’t.
“In Gromheort, they did not seem to care,” Ealstan said. “They scooped up young and old, men and women, till they had enough to satisfy them. Then they herded them into caravan cars and sent them west with only the clothes on their backs. How can they hope to get any proper work from anyone like that?”
“I don’t know,” Vanai answered in a small voice. “I’ve asked myself the same question, but I just don’t know.”
“I think they are lying about what they want. I think they are doing something. ...” Ealstan shook his head. “I do not know what. Something they do not want to talk about. Something that cannot be good.”
He kept on using Kaunian. Because it was not his birthspeech, he paused every now and then to search for a word or an ending. To Vanai, that deliberation made him sound more impressive, not less. And he sounded more impressive still because he obviously did care about what happened to the Kaunians in Gromheort and Oyngestun.
Vanai wasn’t used to sympathy from Forthwegians. Vanai, lately, wasn’t used to sympathy from anybody, though her own people were less harsh to her now than when Spinello had been visiting Brivibas rather than her. Tears stung her eyes. She looked away so Ealstan wouldn’t see. “Thank you,” she whispered.
“For what?” he said--she’d startled him into Forthwegian.
How was she supposed to answer that? “For worrying about my folk when you don’t have to,” she said at last. “Most people these days have all they can do to worry about themselves.”
“If I do not worry about anyone else, who will worry about me?” Ealstan said, returning to Kaunian.
“When you speak my language, you sound like a philosopher,” Vanai said; she meant his delivery as much as what he said. Whatever she meant, she made him laugh. She laughed, too, but persisted: “No, you truly do.” To emphasize the point, she reached out with her free hand and took his.
Only after she’d done it did she realize she’d astonished herself. Since Spinello began taking advantage of her, she hadn’t wanted anyone male, even her grandfather, to touch her. And now she’d touched Ealstan of her own accord.
His hand closed on hers. That was almost enough to make her pull away--almost, but not quite. Even if she didn’t finish the motion, though she must have begun it, for he let go at once, saying, “You must have enough things to worry about without putting a Forthwegian you scarcely know on the list.”
Vanai stared at him. They were much of a height, as was often true of Kaunian women and Forthwegian men. Slowly, she said, “You care what I think.” By the way she said it, she might have been announcing some astonishing discovery in magecraft.
He heard her surprise. “Well, of course I do,” he said, surprised in turn.
Plainly, he meant it. Having been used and scorned and condescended to so much, Vanai hardly knew what to make of caring. She astonished herself again, this time by leaning forward and brushing her lips across Ealstan’s.
He wasn’t too swarthy to keep her from watching him flush. Something sparked in his eyes. He wants me, she thought. Seeing that should have disgusted her. It always had with Spinello. Somehow, it didn’t. At first, she thought that was because Ealstan didn’t forthwith try to grope her, as Spinello would have. Then, belatedly, she realized the warmth inside her had nothing to do with the weather, which, was on the chilly side. I want him, she thought, and that was most astonishing of alclass="underline" she’d been sure Spinello had curdled desire within her forever.
“Vanai. . .” Ealstan said in a hoarse voice.
She nodded and, much later than she should have, set down her basket of mushrooms. “It will be all right,” she said, not pretending she didn’t know what he had in mind. Then she found something better to add: “We’ll make it come out all right.”