The ending note of wisdom on this page-every page had one-went, "In the peace and solitude of the water, do we see ourselves."
"Re-re-reflec…reflecti…ti…tion."
"Yes," said Garibond. "Reflection. Like when you look into the lake with me. You see what you look like."
Bransen began shaking his head. "Nnnnnnno. No," he said, and he poked a finger at the text. "Innnn wa-wa-water…" The boy gave a great sigh and closed his eyes. He seemed deep in thought for a moment, looking inside himself, and then, in the clearest statement Garibond had ever heard him utter, he said, "In water we see ourselves."
So shocked was Garibond by the clarity of the words, that it took him a long moment to realize that Bransen was poking at the book, bidding him to look.
He read the indicated passage, and in light of what Bransen had just said, something dawned on him. The purpose of the Jhesta Tu test of water was to measure the inner calm of a student. All the students had been shown how to extricate themselves from the binding weights; at issue was whether or not they could do it under the extreme pressure of being underwater. This test was of a person's inner strength, his calm under duress. Garibond had always seen that, somewhat, of course, but the revelation here was not what was on the page in the Book of Jhest, but rather, the reasoning power of Bransen!
That, and the fact that the boy could read! How could that be possible?
Garibond looked at him, and wanted to say something, wanted to pour out all of his amazement and joy. Never before had he looked at Bransen in quite this way, and he wanted nothing more than to shout with happiness.
But he couldn't. He felt the lump welling in his throat and he could force no words past it. He reached out and tousled Bransen's hair, and managed to motion toward the boy's bed.
Then he gently closed the book and blew out the candle and waited for Bransen to settle onto his bed, which was really just a cot piled with dry hay, before blowing out the other candles in the room.
Garibond didn't go straight to his own bed. He went to the window and stared up at the sky, which was caught in the last moments of twilight. In a patch where some of the clouds had cleared, he could see the first twinkling stars, framed by the rolling dark edges of the overcast.
It was a long, long time before Garibond managed to get to bed, and the room was beginning to brighten in predawn glow before he finally managed to fall asleep. Garibond heard the knocking, but it didn't register in his mind, as if it were coming from far away, perhaps, or as if it were part of another world.
Even the loud crash that followed merely made him blink once and roll over.
But when he heard Bransen cry out, "Nnnnnnnno!" his eye popped open and he rolled quickly out of bed to his feet.
He took in the scene immediately: there was Prince Prydae and his companion, the warrior of note named Bannagran. Bannagran held Bransen by the shoulders, his great strength keeping the poor boy almost completely still.
"When your laird comes knocking, you would do well to open the door for him," Bannagran said to Garibond.
"I-I was asleep," the man stammered. "My liege, is there a problem?"
"No problem," Bannagran answered. "We came for the boy and now we have him." The large man wheeled about, jerking poor Bransen so forcefully that his legs swung out wide.
Garibond, dressed only in his flimsy nightshirt, rushed to the door before them. "What are you doing?" he cried. "You cannot take my boy!"
"Cannot?" Prydae said, holding a hand up to silence Bannagran.
"But, my liege-"
"Exactly," Prydae interrupted. "Your liege. Your laird."
"But why would you wish to take him? He is just a child. He has never harmed anyone. Please, my liege, I beg of you to leave him alone. Mercy, my liege. Sweet mercy."
"Oh, shut up, you babbling fool," said Bannagran. "And get out of the way before I throw you through the door. The Prince of Pryd is in need of your son, and so your son will come to his service."
"What can he do? He is just a child, and infirm-"
"Not infirm for our needs, I pray," said Bannagran. He wrapped one arm around Bransen's chest and leaned back, holding the boy easily from the floor, then reached his other arm around and down the front to the boy's crotch and gave a squeeze that brought a squeal from poor Bransen.
"Yes, he is secure."
Garibond's eyes widened with horror, and he charged forward-or started to, for before he got a single step, Prydae had his sword out, its tip against Garibond's chest.
"I will forgive you that," Prydae said, "just once."
"Ah, I see that you have secured our sacrifice," came a voice behind Garibond, from the open doorway, and he turned around to see Bernivvigar standing there.
"S-sacrifice?" Garibond stammered, and then he steeled himself and straightened his shoulder. "You old beast! Begone from my home!"
"The boy will not be killed," Prydae assured Garibond, and there was something in the prince's voice, some bit of remorse perhaps, that made Garibond look back over his shoulder.
"He is needed," Prydae went on. "Take pride that this crippled creature will restore the line of Pryd."
Garibond's expression was one of pure incredulity. "What will you do to him? He's just a boy."
"The Ancient Ones oft accept such sacrifices," Bernivvigar said.
"You just said…" Garibond protested to Prydae.
"That he will not be killed," Prydae repeated.
"His life is not the sacrifice," Bernivvigar said, and there was obvious amusement in his tone. "This wretched little creature will restore to the new Laird of Pryd that which the powries took away."
Garibond's eyes widened, and he inadvertently dropped his gaze to Prydae's groin.
"If you utter a word of this, I promise that I will cut your face off," Prydae warned. "That for all of your life you will suffer the screams of revulsion, of children and women, and even men, who cannot withstand the horror of your ugliness. And if you utter a word of this, you will watch your wretched little boy die slowly and painfully."
Garibond hardly heard the words, his thoughts careening as he came to understand exactly what the old Samhaist had in mind. "You c-cannot," he stammered. "He is just a boy."
"The line of Pryd must continue," Prydae said.
Garibond's eyes darted all around, like a cornered animal. All the revelations of the previous day, all the wonderful realizations that there was actually some measure of intelligence within the stuttering Bransen, played in his mind, demanding an end to this sudden and unexpected tragedy. "Take me instead."
"Do not be a fool," Bannagran answered. "The boy is damaged and infirm."
"You should beg us to kill him when we are done removing his genitals," Bernivvigar said smugly. "He will have no need for his own virility, obviously. He should have been killed at birth-you know this to be true! So be satisfied that perhaps the little wretch will do some good with his miserable existence."
Bransen made a little mewling sound.
It was more than Garibond could take, and he wheeled around, fist flying, and connected squarely on the old Samhaist's jaw, sending him back hard against the doorjamb. As he started forward, Garibond heard Bransen cry out, and he turned about just in time to see Bannagran wading in.
The big man hit Garibond with a thunderous jab that straightened him and dazed him so that he could not even react to the wide-arcing left hook that caught him on the side of the face and sent him flying away to the floor.
Again he heard a voice, Bernivvigar's voice, as if it were far, far away, much like what he had heard before he had fully awakened that morning.