Among the Powers Read Free Page A

Trickster never kills anyone.” He rolled over and
looked at his comrade, toward whom he was feeling distinctly less
comradely of late. “Look, Mardon, you wouldn’t have gotten to keep
the horse if we’d caught it, we agreed on that, so why do you care
about this stupid trinket we got instead?” He sat up and pulled the
disk from his pocket. “It’s not worth anything. I don’t think it
will really work, if I ever decide to use it. That was the
Trickster , remember? If the stories are true, he lies all the
time! He just gave me this to shut me up. If I break it I’ll
probably just get a faceful of stinkweed or something.” He flipped
the disk into the air with his right hand and caught it neatly with
his left.
    Mardon was not to be talked out of his
sulkiness as easily as that. Abandoning the fire, he turned, still
seated cross-legged, to face Bredon and asked, “Why do you keep it,
then? Why not give it to me?”
    “Mardon, he gave it to me, not you! Why
should I give it to you? You’re my friend, but that doesn’t mean I
need to give you everything I have. Look, you met Geste the
Trickster, saw a Power face to face. You’ve got something to brag
about to every girl in the village, a tale for your grandchildren
if you ever have any you care to acknowledge. You can pretty up the
story all you like and no matter what you say I won’t contradict
you, you know that. I haven’t told anyone that you didn’t dare talk
to him, and I’m not going to, so no one knows what you did or
didn’t do. The trinket proves we met him, so no one can doubt that
we did. Atheron said so, and everybody accepts that. It doesn’t
matter which of us has it, for that, and Geste gave it to me . He might not like it if I gave it away. You don’t need
it, and you wouldn’t dare use it if you had it, so why do you care
about this thing so much? Isn’t the tale enough?”
    “No. Maybe. Oh, I don’t know. It’s just not
fair.” Mardon picked up the turnspit again.
    Abruptly, Bredon felt he had had enough. His
strained good humor fled completely. He rose suddenly, almost
jumping to his feet, and shouted down at Mardon, “Then go call Rawl
the Adjuster about it, but stop whining to me! I didn’t make
you a coward, and I’ll be damned and my soul eaten by demons before
I’ll give you the stupid thing!” He strode out of the tent, leaving
the flap hanging open and Mardon staring after him in dumb
astonishment.
    The sun was on the eastern horizon and the
midwake darkness was fading rapidly; full daylight would arrive in
minutes, and the population of the village was already out and
about, abandoning the quiet conversation and indoor work of the
midwake dark for the outdoor work that could only be done while the
sun was up. The long lights of midsummer were past, and sunlight
was not to be wasted.
    Several of his fellow villagers saw Bredon
emerge from his bachelor’s tent. His brother Kredon smiled and
waved from the steps of their parents’ house, and Bredon waved back
perfunctorily. Kittisha the Weaver, on her way home from the
village well, also waved, and changed direction, heading across the
street toward him.
    He growled quietly to himself. He liked
Kittisha well enough, and had thoroughly enjoyed her company in his
tent just two sleeps before, but in his present mood he did not
care to talk to her. She tended to prattle on endlessly. When he
was in the right frame of mind it was funny and endearing, but just
now he knew it would only irritate him more. He pretended not to
see her—just enough darkness remained that he could do that without
risk of insulting her—and instead veered off to the right, around
the side of his own tent and those of the other unmarried young
men, headed out of the village by the shortest available route.
    He marched on past the tidy herb gardens,
past the cornfields—which, he recalled with annoyance, were the
domain of Mardon’s father, cultivated by the entire family—and well
out into the