Treysind dragged a pack from a cluster of brush into the clearing. He rummaged through it, then tossed a skin to Calistin. "Here. Have as much as ya wants ta. There's more."
Calistin uncorked the skin and poured water into his mouth. Though silty, it soothed the pain of his tongue and throat. To him, it tasted like a wave of golden honey: sweet, silken, and utterly welcome. He chugged it down, unable to stop until he had drained the contents. Only then, he lowered it. "Thanks."
"Ya's welcome," Treysind said, with far more enthusiasm than the phrase warranted. "Ya's verry verry welcome."
An awkward silence ensued. Calistin looked skyward, through the tapestry of branches, like brown knitting against the blue expanse of sky. "Ready to move on?"
"Wit' ya?" Treysind's smile grew broader, if possible. "Ready." He slung the pack across one skinny shoulder. "Where's we goin'?"
"North." Calistin started walking, then stopped. "Ultimately. For now, the nearest town." He turned to face the boy. "I don't suppose you happen to know where that is?"
Treysind's head bobbed, and he pointed westward. " 'bout a day thataway."
"Thataway it is." Calistin switched direction. "Perhaps you should lead."
"Wit' plesher, Hero." Head held high, Treysind marched in the indicated direction.
Calistin followed, silently running sword maneuvers through a brain already much clearer for nourishment. A sensation kept intruding on his thoughts, a feeling of foreboding that had nothing to do with enemies. His mind told him he had left something important undone, something of as great a significance as missing a daily practice. As much as he tried to put the feeling aside, it gnawed at him, grinding, almost unbearable. He believed it involved Treysind in some fashion, but that did not make sense. He had, after all, remembered to thank the boy.
As the two travelers moved lightly and easily through the brush, Calistin remained silent, lost in his own thoughts. Treysind stayed quiet also, apparently in deference. He frequently paused to study the Renshai, opened his mouth as if to speak, but nothing ever emerged. Their walk continued, clambering over deadfalls, shoving through overgrowth, dodging briars. Treysind occasionally paused to pluck flowers, leaves, and stems, and stuff them into his pack.
By midday, the pack seemed to have grown much heavier; Treysind fairly dragged it. And Calistin found himself assailed by hunger again.
"Time for a break," the Renshai announced, crouching against a wall of foliage that consisted of a massive fallen branch, wound through with vines and caught by bushes. "Are you tired, Treysind?"
Treysind nodded, dropping the pack. "An' hungry, too. Ya wants me ta shoot more food?"
Calistin nodded. He could think of nothing he desired more. "I'll make the fire."
Treysind removed bow and arrows from the pack. "There's more water in here, too, if ya's wants some. He'p yasself." Without waiting for a response, Treysind rushed into the woods with his weapon.
Calistin gathered twigs and branches, mouth watering with real saliva now, at the prospect of another roasted rabbit. By the time he had the fire blazing and the initial kindling charred, Treysind returned with three birds dangling from his hand: a quail, a dove, and a larger, colorful species Calistin could not identify.
Calistin had no idea what constituted a successful hunt, nor whether Treysind had real talent compared to others who made their livings catching food. He saw only a quick, satisfying meal brought by the boy he had, for so long, considered utterly incompetent.
Treysind raised his hand to display his catch.
Calistin grunted his appreciation. And smiled.
Treysind dumped the birds on the ground at his own feet, sat on a stump, and started plucking.
Leaving the fire and meal preparation to the boy, Calistin launched into life-affirming svergelse. A sword in each hand, he felt free from earthly worries, unfettered from the normal forces that bound him to the world. With movement came ultimate power. His swords sliced, jabbed, and glided through air, never in one position longer than an instant. Faster than sight, they skipped away, powered only by his arms and his imagination. For the first time in days, he felt good, his mind cleared to fully follow the lethal dance of his blades.
"Hero!" Treysind shouted, clearly not for the first time. "Hero!"
Irritated by the interruption, Calistin shoved aside the instinct to slaughter the boy. It would be so easy, barely a dip in motion; yet that thought bothered him enough to stop the practice instantly. "What is it?" He could not so easily keep the gruffness from his tone.
"Sorry if I's botherin' ya, Hero. Food's gettin' cold, though."
Calistin looked at the fire, still burning brightly, to the seared, unidentifiable meat laying nearby on beds of leaves.Tiny onions, cooked brown, surrounded the feast. He sheathed his swords. "Looks delicious. Where'd you get the onions?"
"Picked 'em while we's walkin'."
Calistin crouched in front of the food.
"Gots some sweet canes, too."
"Canes?"
Treysind handed Calistin a warm, thick stem, then dropped to the ground with one of his own. He took a huge bite off the top.
Calistin did the same. The piece was woody and tasteless. He chewed for several moments while Treysind watched in fascination.
Finally, the boy spoke. "Ain't ya gonna spit it out?"
By this time, Calistin had it ground into enough pieces he had to sweep it from his mouth with his fingers. It took more than a few tries to dig and spit out all the little bits.
"Ya don't eat canes, Hero.Ya sucks 'em."To demonstrate,Treysind put the tube up to his mouth.
Again, Calistin copied the motion. Warm, sweet sap flowed into his mouth, an unfamiliar taste for which he had no comparison. Startled, he jerked the stem away to study it.
Treysind tipped his own stalk farther and farther back, then lowered it and wiped his mouth on the back of a grimy sleeve. "Good, ain't it?"
"Very," Calistin admitted. "I've never had anything like it." He took another experimental taste. "How'd you figure it out? How to eat it, I mean. I'd have tossed it as a tasteless hunk of wood."
"When ya's hungry, ya figures out lotsa stuff."
Calistin disagreed, still staring at the cane. "I was starving. I never figured it out."
"It he'ps if ya's hungry alla time."
"Yeah." Calistin found himself staring at Treysind now, considering him in a whole new light. The boy was a survivor in a way he could barely comprehend. His torke always taught that a brave and competent man needs nothing but sword skill, and it always seemed right. Yet Calistin had learned in the past few days that the best swordsman in the world could not bully his dinner from trees. "Treysind," he started.
"Yeah?"
Calistin paused, not at all certain what he had planned to say. It seemed important, the type of thing a preoccupied father says to a son to make up for all the time he did not give the boy when it really mattered. But no further words came to him, and he managed only, "Could you pass me some meat?"
Treysind cupped his hands around the largest portion and shoved it, and its protective leaves, toward Calistin. "Try this. I don't know 'zactly what it is, but I's haded one bafore an' it tasted real good."
Calistin accepted the portion and tore off a piece of dark meat. More patient this time, he made certain it was not too hot before popping it into his mouth. It had a richer, moister flavor than most fowl, and the well-crisped skin made a pleasant contrast. He also thought he tasted some spice. "Wonderful," Calistin agreed. "Thanks."
Treysind dug into the quail, making appreciative smacking noises as he ate.
The more he ate, the more certain Calistin became that Treysind had added something savory to the meat.Yet that seemed nonsensical. Finally, curiosity got the better of him, and he lowered the bone he was stripping to ask. "Treysind, how is it that a boy who thinks moldy cheese is a prize knows how to fix food like a palace gourmet?"