"And what if we're the first?"
"I'm hoping we won't be."
There was nothing she could say to that, and a few moments later the council adjourned.
A few of the elders continued their discussion outside, gathering in a small knot near the door to the sanctuary. But Besh started away immediately, intending to return to Lici's house and Sy1pa's journal.
"Besh, wait a moment."
He stopped and turned. Tashya was striding toward him, her black hair shimmering in the morning sunlight. Despite the ghosts who hovered at each shoulder-Sylpa and his beloved Ema-he couldn't help but think that Tashya was the most beautiful woman he'd ever met. Even now, well past her tenth four, she remained as lovely as she'd been in her youth.
Besh expected her to speak to him of their discussion in the council, but she surprised him.
"You're on your way to Lici's," she said, a statement, not a question.
"Yes. If
She nodded once. "Pyav has told me what you're looking for." "He thinks I'm wasting my time."
"I don't," she said. "And while the eldest may think there's little of use to be found in Sylpa's daybook, he admires you for making the effort. He told me so."
It was rare for Tashya to show so much kindness. Not that she was a bad person, but she didn't often take the time to speak so to anyone. Besh wondered where all of this was leading.
As was her way, she wasted no time in making her point. Once again, though, she surprised him, this time by suddenly growing uncomfortable, even shy.
"I'm wondering," she said, her gaze dropping. "Have you found any mention of my father in Sylpa's journal?"
"Your father?"
"His name was Menfyn."
"Yes, I remember him," Besh said.
She looked up at that, her eyes sparkling like emeralds. Lovely indeed. "You do?"
"Of course. He was an elder. And more to the point, his was the finest garden in the village year after year, much to my father's annoyance."
She laughed, but quickly grew serious again. "He was also… well, there was talk After my mother died. Talk about Sylpa and him."
Understanding at last, Besh shook his head. "I've found nothing like that."
"You're certain?"
"Yes. I promise."
She nodded, looking both relieved and disappointed, if that was possible.
"When I was younger, I didn't want to believe it was true. But later, after I lost my husband, I started to realize how selfish I'd been. I almost wish…" She looked away again, and laughed, but it sounded forced. "I don't know what I wish."
"If I find anything, I'll tell you. You have my word."
She met his gaze once more. "Thank you, Besh." She smiled briefly and walked away, leaving Besh alone in the lane thinking what a powerful thing memory could be. When Lici first disappeared, everyone in the village had been so concerned about her gold. But Besh was no longer certain that her bag of coins was the greatest treasure the old woman had left behind.
Smiling at the thought, he returned to the house, pulled out the old daybook, and began to thumb through it. He quickly skimmed over several entries that followed those he'd read the previous night and saw little of interest. Then there was a bit of a gap during which Sylpa wrote nothing at all. But the opening lines of the entry following this gap caught his eye.
Hunter's Moon, first day of the waxing, 1147.
I've been remiss about writing recently. The Harvest is always a busy time, and this year's Harvest brought storms that flooded the rill and destroyed several homes. But something interesting happened today, and it may shed more light on all that's befallen Licaldi.
It was a cold day, the coldest we've had since last year's Snows. But the sun was shining, and with the garden plot all but empty, Licaldi and I had little that we needed to do. I've been promising her new clothes for the colder turns that are soon to come, and so we took this day to return to the marketplace.
She loves the market. Given the chance I believe she would spend her entire day wandering among the peddlers' carts, simply looking at their wares and seeing how far she can get them to lower their prices. She likes cloth and often encourages me to buy a bolt of something with bright colors and intricate patterns that we might use to make pillows for chairs or covers for what little furniture we have in our house. She likes baubles, as well-shiny blades, too small and ornate to have any practical use, or wood boxes carved by the clans of the western woodlands. If she had her way, the house would be filled with these, and we'd barely have room to sit, much less cook and sleep.
The other thing she loves to do is weave. I've taught her a bit about basketry, and she's taken to it so quickly that I find myself wondering if she'd already learned the craft from someone in Sentaya. I haven't asked her, nor have I noticed her becoming sad or withdrawn when we weave. It may just be that she has a penchant for the work.
Today we took some baskets to the market-mostly mine, but one that she made, simple in design, but tightly woven. She was quite proud of it and wanted to see how much we could get for it.
The marketplace was particularly crowded today. With the Snows approaching, and the storms finally over it seems that peddlers are flocking to the villages of the northern plains, hoping to line their pockets with our gold before the weather drives them to the shores of the Ofirean.
We found a Qirsi merchant with whom I'd done business before, and tried to trade our baskets for a bolt of blue and red cloth. He refused, and when Licaldi asked him why, he pulled several baskets from his cart. They were of very good quality-some of the finest I've seen-and I asked him where he'd found them.
"West of here," he said. "I traded for them in an Y'Qatt village in Fal'Borna land."
Licaldi actually dropped the box she was looking at. Fortunately it landed on a bolt of cloth, but she didn't appear to notice or care. "What did you say?" "Licaldi, what is it?" I asked.
But she ignored me, keeping her green eyes fixed on the Qirsi trader. "I got them from the Y'Qatt," he said again.
"What does that mean?" she asked, her voice rising. "That word: Y'Qatt. What does it mean?"
"Surely you've heard of the Y'Qatt," I said.
But she shook her head, looking my way at last. Her eyes were wide and the color had drained from her cheeks-signs I'd learned to understand over these past few turns. This had something to do with the tragedy that brought her to me.
"They're Qirsi," the merchant said, looking from me to the girl. "Sorcerers who refuse to use magic."
“Why?”
He shrugged. "I'm not sure I can explain. Most of the rest of us think they're fools. I think they believe that Qirsar never intended for us Qirsi to use our magic. They think that's why magic shortens our lives."
"So they never use it for anything?"
He shook his head. "Nothing that I know of."
"Licaldi, what's this about?"
But she wouldn't answer me. For another several moments she stared at the box she had dropped, saying nothing. Then she simply turned and walked out of the marketplace. I could see that she was headed back to our house, and having learned that I couldn't force her to reveal anything she wanted to keep secret, I didn't bother to follow.