Athyra Read Free

it.”
    “That must have been what they served the last place I ate, too, half a day east of here.”
    “That would be Whiterock. I’ve been there twice.”
    Vlad nodded. “I didn’t really notice the taste in the stew, but it made the salad interesting.”
    Savn thought he detected a hint of irony in the other’s tone but he wasn’t certain.
    “Some types of flax are used for cooking, some we use to make linen.”
    “Linen?”
    “Yes.”
    “You cook with the same stuff you make clothes out of?”
    “No, not the same. It’s different.”
    “They probably made a mistake, then,” said Vlad. “That would account for the salad.”
    Savn glanced back at him, but still wasn’t certain if he were joking. “It’s easy to tell the difference,” he said. “When you make the seedblocks and leave them in the coolhouse in barrels, the true, true salad flax will melt—”
    “Never mind,” said Vlad. “I’m certain you can tell.”
    A pair of jhereg flew from a tree and were lost in the woods before them. Savn wondered if they might be the same pair he had seen earlier. They came to the last hill before Tern’s house. Savn said, “You never answered my question.”
    “Question?”
    “Are you wandering to something, or away from something?”
    “It’s been so long, I’m not certain anymore.”
    “Oh. May I ask you something?”
    “Certainly. I might not answer.”
    “If you don’t tell stories, what do you do?”
    “You mean, everyone must do something?”
    “Well, yes.”
    “I’m not too bad a hunter.”
    “Oh.”
    “And I have a few pieces of gold, which I show around when I have to.”
    “You just show them around?”
    “That’s right.”
    “What does that do?”
    “Makes people want to take them away from me.”
    “Well, yes, but—”
    “And when they try, I end up with whatever they’re carrying, which is usually enough for my humble needs.”
    Savn looked at him, again trying to decide if he were joking, but the Easterner’s mouth was all but hidden beneath the black hair that grew above his lip. Savn tore his eyes away, lest he be thought rude. “That’s it below, sir,” he said, wondering if he ought to say “sir” to an Easterner.
    “Call me Vlad.”
    “All right. I hope the house is to your liking.”
    “I’m certain it will be fine,” he said. “Spend a few weeks in the jungles and it’s amazing how little it takes to feel like luxury. May I give you something?”
    Savn frowned, taken by a sudden suspicion he couldn’t explain. “What do you mean?”
    “It is the custom of my people to give a gift to the first person we meet in a new land. It is supposed to bring luck. I don’t know that I believe it, but I’ve taken to following the old customs anyway.”
    “What—?”
    “Here.” He reached into his pouch, found something, and held it out.
    “What is it?” said Savn.
    “A polished stone I picked up in my wanderings.”
    Savn stared at it, torn between fear and excitement. “Is it magical?”
    “It’s just a stone.”
    “Oh,” said Savn. “It’s a very nice green.”
    “Yes. Please keep it.”
    “Well, thank you,” said Savn, still staring at it It had been polished until it gleamed. Savn wondered how one might polish a stone, and why one would bother. He took it and put it into his pocket. “Maybe I’ll see you again.”
    “Maybe you will,” said Vlad, and entered the house. Savn wished he could go in with him, just to see the look on Tern’s face when an Easterner walked through the door, but it was already dark and his family would be waiting for him, and Paener always got grumpy when he didn’t get home to eat on time.
    As Savn walked home, which was more than another league, he wondered about the Easterner—what he was doing here, whence he had come, whither he would go, and whether he was telling the truth about how he lived. Savn had no trouble believing that he hunted—(although how could he find game? Easterners couldn’t be