The Sorcerer's Plague

Chapter 5

Besh was lying in bed when finally it came to him. Since seeing that daybook of Sy1pa's, he had been able to think of nothing else. All through dinner, as the young ones played and laughed, and Mihas asked him question after question about the old woman's hut, he could barely keep his thoughts clear enough to respond. Elica finally asked him if he was well, apparently fearing that his long day in the woman's home had left him fevered.

He felt fine, though. It was just that journal. Why did it bother him so? No, not bother. That was the wrong word. It occupied his thoughts, to the exclusion of nearly all else. But why?

Sitting outside on Sirj's stump, as water dripped from the branches overhead and the sky above him began to clear, he tried to recall all he could of Sylpa. He'd known the woman when he was still a child, and had liked her very much. True, she was forever linked to Lici in his mind, but somehow he had managed to hold on to his fondness for her. Sylpa had been a formidable woman and quite beautiful, even after her hair turned white and the lines on her face deepened. Her eyes, large and dark green, had always seemed to be dancing with humor, even when the rest of her face looked solemn. And her laugh-full, unrestrained, loud enough to carry from one end of the marketplace to the other; even after she became eldest of the village and began to carry the cares of all Kirayde on her shoulders, she always kept that laugh.

She never married or had children of her own, but there were rumors, tales told in whispers and with sympathy, of a great love affair that ended in tragedy. According to these stories, Sylpa had loved a boy from Kirayde who left the village to seek his fortune, only to be killed in a flood along Maifor's Wash in Tordjanne. Heartbroken, Sylpa had vowed never to love again. No one remembered the boy's name, and even as a youth, Besh had questioned the verity of the tale. Then again, how else could he explain the fact that this strong, beautiful, kind woman lived alone at the edge of the village?

But there was nothing in the woman's history, or Besh's own, that would explain why the mere sight of her journal should affect him so. He'd never loved Sylpa himself-he'd been far too young. And though he liked her, they had never been close. So why?

Only now, lying in his bed, in the dark and quiet of Elica and Sirj's house, did he finally understand. It wasn't Sylpa who beckoned to him from those journal pages. It was Lici.

1119. That had been the date of that first entry he'd seen when glancing through the volume. Nearly one hundred years ago. Lici had come to the village well after that-probably forty years after. Of course Sylpa would have written about the girl's arrival in Kirayde. She was eldest at the time. And then she had taken the child in, and cared for her as if she were Sylpa's own. How could she have not written about her? It seemed quite likely that Lici's history was in that daybook. All of it, or at least as much as Sylpa had managed to get out of the girl. It might well contain the truth about whatever had befallen her prior to her arrival in Kirayde, leaving her alone in the world. It might explain the woman's strange manner and her stubborn silence.

He doubted that the journal would shed much light on where Lici was now, but it might tell Besh enough to help him piece together the rest of her story.

But just as the other villagers had no claim on Lici's gold, he had no right to read the daybook. True, he was an elder of the village, but that was all the more reason for him to leave the journal where it was. It fell to him, as well as to Pyav, Tashya, and the rest, to set an example for the other villagers. On the other hand, hadn't the people of Kirayde charged the elders with finding out what had become of the old woman? Mightn't the journal help him do just that?

Besh smiled in the darkness and shook his head.

"No, old man," he whispered. "If you're going to do this, don't lie to yourself about the reason."

The truth was Lici had fascinated him since the moment he saw her. At first, he had confused that fascination with love, but even later, when he realized that he wanted nothing to do with her, when he had started a family with Ema and had begun to warn his own children away from the woman, he remained enthralled by her. She had always been beautiful as well as strange. Or perhaps it was because her arrival in the village had come within a turn or two of his birth, forever linking them in the minds of others who had been alive at the time. Whatever the reason, the fascination had never really gone away. Here he was, a man in his sixteenth four, and still thoughts of the woman kept him awake in his bed. Besh couldn't help but laugh at himself.

He knew he was being a fool, and he tried to force thoughts of Lici and the daybook out of his mind. He needed to sleep. In the morning he'd speak with Pyav and together the elders would decide what to do.

After lying still for what seemed the better part of an hour, he gave up on trying to sleep. Now that he had started to imagine what might be in the book, he couldn't stop. He rose, dressed, and took his pipe, smoking weed, and flint out into the chill air. The last of the rain clouds had moved off, leaving a clear sky. It was past midnight, but this late in the waning the moons were just rising, glowing brightly enough to cast pale shadows across Elica's yard and the lane beyond it.

He filled the pipe bowl, but then laid it on Sirj's stump. Taking a deep breath, he gazed up at white Panya, who shone through the trees, gleaming like fresh snow.

"Gods forgive me," he said. And he began to walk south, toward the old woman's hut.

There would be a guard there-hadn't Besh himself recommended to the eldest that they continue to keep watch on Lici's home?-but Besh was an elder. The guard might think it odd that he would come to the house at such a late hour, but he wouldn't hesitate to let Besh enter.

"I have no right to do this," he told himself, remembering how self- righteous he had sounded denouncing those who wanted to divide up her gold. "I'm no better than they are." Still, he kept walking.

Ojan, the village miller, lay on the steps leading up to Lici's door, snoring softly. He was a big man, heavy as well as tall, with a round, fleshy face and jutting brow. Certainly he looked the part of a night watchman. When standing, he cut an imposing figure; anyone from outside the village who came to steal from the old woman's house would have fled at the mere sight of him. Those who lived here, however, knew him to be a gentle man who was no more dangerous awake than he was asleep. He'd been asked to guard the house by Korr, his father, who was also a member of the Council of Elders. Despite the thoughts churning in Besh's mind, the old man smiled to see Ojan sleeping so soundly on his guard duty. Not wishing to startle him, Besh cleared his throat and stepped farther into the circle of light from a torch burning at the top of the stairs.

The miller opened one eye, then sat up and scratched the side of his face. "That you, Besh?"

"Yes, Ojan. Sorry to disturb you."

"Not at all." He frowned. "What's the hour?"

"I don't know. It's late."

"Is something wrong?"

"No," Besh said. He started to say more, then stopped himself. Now that he was here at Lici's house, he wasn't certain how to proceed. He decided, though, that he wouldn't compound his sins by lying about why he had come. "There's nothing wrong. I saw something today when Pyav and I were searching through Lici's things. A daybook. I wanted to take another look at it."

The miller's frown deepened, making him look fierce in the dim light of the moons. "Now?"

"I know it seems strange. But I wasn't able to sleep, so I thought…" He trailed off with a small shrug.

Ojan answered with a shrug of his own. "All right." He stood and took the torch out of the makeshift sconce that had been fashioned on one of the beams of Old Lici's porch. "You'll need this," the miller said.

"Won't you?"

Ojan glanced up at the moons. "I daresay there's enough light without it." He shrugged again. "No one ever comes anyway. You're the first in all my nights here."

Besh smiled. "All right then. My thanks."

He took the torch and climbed the stairs to the house. He almost raised his hand to knock, just out of habit. Instead, laughing at himself, but also wiping a sweaty palm on the leg of his trousers, he pushed the door open.

The inside of the house looked just as it had earlier that day. Of course. But somehow the darkened corners and the shifting yellow glow of the torch made the mess Lici had left seem even more menacing than it had in the light of morning. Shadows lurked along the walls. Light reflected oddly off windows and kitchen pans. He almost backed out of the house-better to leave this until morning.

But again the daybook called to him. He made a point of leaving the door ajar and started toward the back room. Before he was halfway across the house, a small gust of wind made the door slam. Abruptly his heart was racing, like a horse that bolts at a sudden flash of lightning.

"Damn," he muttered, taking a breath.

He continued to the back room and quickly found the journal in that same crate below Lici's sack of coins. He lifted it out and carried it back into the main room. After setting the torch in a pot, he brushed bark cuttings off a chair, sat down, and began to leaf through the volume.

There was much he wanted to look for in the book-information about his parents, about a flood he remembered from his childhood, about the deliberations of the Council of Elders during Sylpa's tenure as eldest. But he remained uncomfortable with what he was doing, and so resolved to look only for information about Lici.

He thumbed through to the middle of the book, and began to scan the pages for any mention of the orphaned girl who came to Kirayde so unexpectedly. Besh knew his letters well enough, but he was not nearly as learned as some, and at first he had some difficulty reading Sylpa's hand. But after some time, he found what he sought.

".. She can barely speak of the tragedy," Sylpa wrote. "Nor does she cry anymore. She merely stares silently, her expression utterly blank, only the twisting of her pale hands revealing something of the workings of her mind."

Besh turned back a page, and then another, searching for the date of the first entry that mentioned Lici. When he found it, the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end. "Thunder Moon, twelfth day of the waxing, 1147."

It wasn't just that Sylpa had written this sixty-four years ago. That he had expected. But the day: the twelfth of the Thunder Moon's waxing. That day in this year had to have been around the time Lici disappeared from the village. He'd seen her earlier in that turn, but he couldn't remember seeing her since the full of both moons. Was it possible that she vanished sixty-four years to the day after arriving in Kirayde? If so, was it mere coincidence? Looking around the house, seeing the filth she had left behind, he found it hard to imagine that Lici could track the days so closely.

And yet somehow he knew that she had. For all her odd behavior, which bordered even on madness, Lici was not one to let an anniversary of such significance go unnoticed. If she left Kirayde on the same day she arrived here, she did so with purpose. But what purpose? What might this mean?

He heard a noise outside, like the scuffing of a shoe on wood, and for just an instant he wondered if Lici had returned. But after staring at the door for several moments, waiting for it to open, his expression, no doubt, like that of a child caught stealing a sweet before mealtime, he realized that it was just Ojan shifting his position on the stairs. Turning his attention back to the book, Besh began to read again, starting this time from the beginning of the entry.

Thunder Moon, twelfth day of the waxing, 1147.

It seems the last of the storms has passed. We've had no rain now for three days, and the wash begins to recede from the top of its banks. The flooding was worst at the north end of the village, but even there the damage is only slight. We've been fortunate.

But already, the gods have found a new way to test us. Near midday, a girl wandered into our village from the south. She looks to be eight or nine years old, perhaps ten. She has long limbs and is tall for a girl of that age, but her face still has the delicacy of a young child. In truth, though, it hard to set her age with any certainty, for she looks a mess and has yet to speak a word to anyone.

Upon her arrival, her clothes were in tatters, her hair was tangled and matted with burrs, leaves, and all manner of filth, and her body and face had not been washed, it seemed, in half a turn, perhaps more. She is painfully thin. Her ribs show plainly through her skin and her arms and legs look like mere sticks. Well fed and healthy, she would look lank. As it is she appears on the edge of starvation. Her cheeks are sunken, her eyes look overlarge in her pinched face.

Yet, for all this, one need only glance at her to see that she is a beautiful girl, a fact confirmed for us after a few of the women managed to get her bathed down at the river. Her hair is raven black and her eyes are brilliant green. Her skin is brown, and though the sunburn on her face tells me that she has been wandering in the wilderness for some time, I believe that the darkness of her skin comes naturally to her If I had to guess, I'd say that she, too, is Mettai.

For now, however, her appearance and even her ancestry are secondary. Some tragedy has befallen the child. I'm certain of it, and others among the elders agree. She doesn't cry. As far as we know, she's mute. She bears no sign of injury or abuse, save the scrapes and bruises one might expect a child so young to acquire while venturing alone in the wild. But there is something in her eyes, in the way she flinches away from any direct gaze. This girl has wraiths hovering at her shoulder.

The one thing she does do is eat, and it gladdens my heart to see it. Trenna started her on some thin broth, thinking it might take the girl some time to work up to more substantial fare. But she made quick work of the first bowl and then a second. We gave her bread then, and she devoured that as might a wolf We dare not give her anything more difficult than a bit of fowl, but for now that seems to content her Broth, bread, and fowl. At least we can sleep tonight knowing that we have done well by the girl, even if the rest of the world has not.

Trenna has offered to take the girl in, but with her three, and Branz away trading with the Fal'Borna, she has her hands full. She will sleep here tonight, and with time maybe she can communicate enough to help us find her way home.

Thunder Moon, thirteenth day of the waxing, 1147.

The girl slept late, as I suspected she would. I can only imagine how terrified she must have been at night in the wild, taking refuge in what shelter she could find, braving the storms that have just recently passed through the highlands. It makes me shudder just to think of it. No doubt it's been an age since last she had a decent night's sleep.

Needless to say, I did nothing to disturb her slumber. I lit a fire outside and took my breakfast in the cool morning air It's something I should do more often. How strange that this child should come into our lives, and in this very small way force me out of habits I didn't even know I'd acquired. How long has it been since I did something-anything-different? Too long, by the feel of it. I'm too young to have grown so set in my ways. It makes me wonder if the gods have some other purpose in sending this girl to Kirayde, aside from the obvious, of course: that of healing whatever wounds lurk in the mind of this poor creature.

She awoke a bit before midday and called out. I didn't recognize a word in her cry, but it was the first sound she had made since her arrival, and even as I hurried into the house, I took it as a sign of some progress. She was sitting up in her bed, looking around, as if she had no memory of how she had gotten there. Upon seeing me, however, she must have recalled some of yesterday's events, because she immediately calmed down, and actually favored me with a smile. It lasted just a moment, but again, it gave me some hope.

I asked her if she was hungry, and she nodded. Something else I've noticed about her-she says nothing, but she has no trouble hearing and understanding all that we say. This leads me to think that her silence is a response to all she's been through and that her voice will come back to her once she has had time to heal.

After she had eaten again as much as she had the night before, I sat her down outside on the stairs to the house and sat beside her I took her hand, which she suffered me to hold, and I looked her in the eye.

"You've been through a difficult time, haven't you?" I asked.

She shrank away from me, and even pulled her hand away. For a long time, she wouldn't even meet my gaze.

"I'm sorry," I said. "I'm sorry for what you've been through, whatever it might be, and I'm sorry for asking you about ft. I should have begun differently." I waited for her to face me again. When she didn't, I went on anyway. "My name is S:ylpa," I said. "I told you that yesterday, but with all that happened, I thought maybe you had forgotten."

At that, she did turn, and after some hesitation, she shook her head. "You mean you remembered?" I said.

She smiled again and nodded.

"Well, I'm glad," I told her "Are you ready to tell me your name?" Her smile vanished, and she shook her head.

"Can you tell me where you're from?"

Again she shook her head.

"Is it that you don't remember?"

No, she indicated, that wasn't the problem.

"Can you not speak?"

She hesitated again, and then nodded, her face brightening. I knew right off that she was lying to me, but I didn't press the matter When she's ready to tell me these things she will. I'm more sure of that now than ever In the meantime, she spent the day as my companion, more like a dog than a girl to be sure, but a companion nevertheless. She came with me to the garden, and even helped me weed a bit, after I showed her what I wanted done. She helped me clean my clothes, needing so little instruction that I'm sure she had done as much before.

We ate a quiet supper and even before we'd finished, she was yawning, her eyes drooping as if she could barely keep herself awake. Still, she helped me clear the table and heated water for the dishes before I said that she should get herself to bed and that I would come to her presently to make certain that she was all right. By the time I did as I promised, she had fallen asleep.

Thunder Moon, fourteenth day of the waxing, 1147.

This day began much as yesterday did, with the girl crying out in fear at finding herself in a strange home. I wonder if she awakens from dark dreams, stark visions of whatever horrors have afflicted her I had hoped that the pleasant day we spent together might start to rid her of such terrors, but I realize now that I was foolish to think it possible. Such things take time.

And, as matters now stand, I realize that I have been fortunate to have made as much progress with her this day as I did. After we had eaten and were on our way to the garden, the girl actually spoke.

"I lied to you," she said suddenly, her eyes trained on the road as we walked. "I know." I tried to keep any rebuke from my voice, and I believe I succeeded.

"You knew?" she asked.

"Perhaps not for certain, but clearly you heard everything we said to you, and I had the sense at times that you wanted to speak, but were afraid."

She walked for some distance without answering, as if considering what I had said. At length, she looked at me again. "My name is Licaldi."

I stopped and proffered a hand. "Sylpa," I said. "Pleased to meet you."

She shook my hand, then giggled. We resumed our walk to the garden plot, and she said nothing else. I think she was merely relieved to know that she could speak, if she so wished. I made no effort to engage her in conversation, nor did I ply her with questions. At least I didn't then.

As we were on our way back home, I heard my name being called from the marketplace. Looking that way, I saw Trenna waving to me. I told Licaldi to wait for me, but she seemed reluctant to be left alone. Seeing no harm in taking her with me, I started toward the market with my companion in tow.

Much of what transpired in the marketplace is recorded now in the records of the council, and I won't bother with details here, except to say that two peddlers were in dispute over one woman's interest in buying a bolt of Aelean wool. Both claimed that she had promised to buy their cloth; the woman swore that she had made no such promise to either man, but rather intended to look at the wares of all the other peddlers in the marketplace before making her decision. Trenna, of course, had no intention of making the woman buy from either of them. Rather, she remembered a similar matter coming up several turns before, involving the same two men, and she was now convinced that the two were swindlers working in common purpose.

Reminded of the earlier incident I remembered it clearly, and agreed with her. I ordered the men out of the village, threatening to draw upon my magic if they refused. The pair complained loudly, protesting their innocence and vowing never to set foot in Kirayde again, but all the while they were packing their wares and making a most careful count of what gold they had already made that day. In a short while they were gone, and Licaldi and I started once more to make our way home.

"You're the village eldest," she said, as we walked.

At first, still thinking of those men, I answered absently that I was. Then the import of what she had said reached me.

"Did your village have elders as well?"

She nodded, staring straight ahead. It occurred to me that I had said "did" rather than "does," and that the girl hadn't corrected me.

"You're Mettai, aren't you?"

Again she nodded. I could see the color fleeing her cheeks and lips. Her hands trembled and her jaw quivered.

"Can you tell me the name of your village?"

Suddenly her eyes were brimming with tears. "It doesn't matter;" she whispered.

I stopped, gently taking hold of her shoulders and making her face me. "Why doesn't it matter? Did you run away? Was someone there cruel to you?" "No, it wasn't that."

"Then what, Licaldi? Please tell me."

But she wouldn't say more and I knew better than to push her I'm anxious to know what's befallen the child, not merely because of some dark curiosity, but because I expect the sooner she can speak of it, the sooner she can move beyond it. And, of course, the sooner we know where she belongs, the sooner we can try to reunite her with her family. That last strikes me as being most important, and yet something tells me that it will prove the most difficult. The question in my mind is no longer where her family might be, but rather how many of them have survived whatever tragedy the girl witnessed.

Besh turned the page to read more, but a knock at the door stopped him. Looking up, he realized that the sun had risen. The knock came again and he called for whoever it was to enter.

Ojan stepped inside.

"Sorry to disturb you, Besh."

"Nonsense, my friend. This isn't my home. You don't need to knock on my account."

The big man merely shrugged. "I just wanted you to know that I'm headed home now. I've work to get done. I don't know who's coming on next, if anyone, now that it's day. But I can come back tonight, if you and Pyav need me to."

"Thank you, Ojan. I intend to speak with Pyav this morning. If we need you again, we'll let you know."

He raised a hand and nodded. "All right. I'm off then."

Besh watched him from the window. He thought about reading more, but then set the daybook down on the arm of the chair, stood, and stretched. Now that it was light, he was tired. Of course. He'd been a fool not to sleep, and no doubt he'd pay for his folly before the day was out. For now, though, he needed to get home, before Elica made herself sick with worry.

He returned the journal to the box in the back room and, after taking care to close Lici's door, hurried back to Elica's house. Everyone was awake when he got there and the children came running out of the house to greet him, shouting, "Grandfather! Grandfather!"

The young ones each took hold of one of his hands and practically dragged him toward the front stairs, while Mihas walked beside him. "Where were you, Grandfather?" the boy asked.

"Lici's house."

The boy stared at him briefly, but then looked away again. "Mother wanted Father to go out and look for you, but he said you'd be back when you were ready to come back."

Just as they reached the stairs, Elica emerged from the house, eyes blazing.

"Where have you been?" she demanded, leveling a wooden spoon at his heart as if it were a blade. "I've been worried sick about you! First Lici disappears and then you go off in the dark of night like a thief or _a… a… a who-knows-what! What were you thinking? Were you even thinking at all?"

While she was shouting at Besh, Sirj stepped out of the house. He remained behind her, but after only a few moments of listening to her harangue, he rolled his eyes and walked past her.

"He's back now, Elica. Have done."

"Have done?" she repeated, her voice rising, which Besh hadn't believed possible. "He's too old to be wandering about in the middle of the night!"

Sirj had placed a log on his stump and lifted his ax, but he stopped now, fixing her with a hard look. "He's not that old, and I can tell you now that when I'm his age, you won't be speaking to me in that tone."

For the second time in as many days, Besh found himself thinking that he'd misjudged the man all these years. He could almost hear Ema laughing at him.

Elica eyed her husband a moment longer. Then she faced Besh again, and in a somewhat gentler tone asked, "Where were you, Father?" "I went to Lici's house."

Sirj split the log with a single blow, and turned to look at him. "Why?"

Besh regarded him briefly. "We found a daybook there yesterday. It belonged to Sylpa, and during the night it occurred to me that it might have something in it that could tell us where Lici's gone."

"Sylpa's been dead for nearly a dozen fours," Elica said. "What could her daybook tell you about where Lici is now?"

"I don't know yet." He scratched the back of his head and glanced over at Sirj, who just stared back at him. "I suppose what I should have said was that it might tell us something more about Lici herself, something that might give us some idea of why she left." He nearly mentioned then his suspicion that she had departed on the anniversary of her arrival in Kirayde, but he didn't know this for certain, and even if it were true, he didn't know yet what it might mean. "Now, if I may," he said instead, climbing the stairs, "I'd like a small something to eat before I go and speak with the eldest."

He brushed past Elica as he entered the house. A half-eaten loaf of bread sat on a counter, and he cut off a slab and covered it with butter. Taking a bite, he turned. His daughter stood in the doorway, watching him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"Of course. Don't I look all right?"

"That's not what I mean, and you know it. You may be able to convince Sirj that there's nothing unusual about you going off in the middle of the night to read Sy1pa's daybook, but I know you too well. Now, what's this about?"

He opened his mouth to put her off, but then remembered the promise he'd made to himself the night before. He hadn't lied to Ojan; it didn't seem right to tell his own daughter anything less than the truth.

"It's about Lici," he said.

She huffed impatiently and looked away. "I know that."

"No, you don't. All my life I've felt that Lici and I are… are linked in some way. She came to Kirayde the same year I was born. As a child I was fascinated by her, and even now, years later, I find myself being pulled into her life. Everyone in the village is so anxious to get at her riches, and for some reason, I'm the only person arguing on her behalf. The others on the council assumed that I should be the one to search her house. And while I was reluctant, I also know that I would have felt wronged if another had been chosen for the task." He broke off, shaking his head, knowing that he wasn't explaining this well.

Elica was looking at him with an expression that was equal parts puzzlement and disgust. "Do you love her?" she finally asked.

Besh actually laughed aloud. "Hardly."

"Then I don't understand."

The old man nodded wearily. He would need a nap before this day was through. What a fool he'd been. "Truth be told, neither do I. It's enough to say that her disappearance… troubles me. And until I know why, I won't be able to rest."

"Do you fear for her?"

"I fear everything having to do with her."

Elica nodded at that, appearing to shudder as she did. "Well, the next time you feel the need to leave the house in the dark of night, I hope you'll at least have the decency to wake me, so I know where you're going."

"Agreed. I'm sorry to have frightened you."

She gave another nod and then started to leave the house.

"Elica," he said, stopping her. When she turned to look at him, he grinned. "What would you have done if I'd said I did love her?"

She frowned so deeply that he had to laugh again. "I don't even care to think about it," she said.

Besh finished eating his buttered bread, took a small drink of water, and made his way to Pyav's home.

The eldest was at his forge, his face even ruddier than usual, his brow dripping with sweat. He saw Besh enter and acknowledged him with a raised chin, but he didn't pause in his work. After a few moments he pulled something out of the fire with a long pair of tongs, swung it around to the anvil, and began to hammer at it, the smithy ringing with the clear sound of metal pounding on metal. Besh could see now that he was making a horseshoe, the curved iron still glowing red. At last Pyav took hold of the shoe with his tongs once more and thrust it into a barrel of water, sending a burst of swirling steam up into the rafters.

Only then did he step away from the anvil and cross to where Besh stood waiting.

"Morning, Besh," he said, wiping his forehead with his sleeve. "What can I do for you?"

"Have you spoken to Ojan today?"

Pyav frowned. "Ojan? Did something happen at Lici's last night?" "In a manner of speaking, yes. I showed up, and I thought he might have mentioned it to you."

"I don't follow. What were you doing there?"

"I wanted to have a look at Sylpa's journal. I thought it would shed some light on how Lici first came here."

"It might at that." He looked at Besh a moment longer, as if expecting the old man to say more. "Is that all?" he finally asked.

"I thought you should know that I was reading the daybook. It's not mine, and I probably have no business looking at it at all."

Pyav chuckled. "Is that why you've come? To have my permission to look at the journal of a woman who's been dead almost half a century?" "Well, yes. I-"

"It's all right, my friend." He placed a hand on Besh's shoulder. "You're a good man. To be perfectly honest with you, you've been far more scrupulous about all of this than I would have been. And I admire you for it," he added quickly. "Thanks to you, I believe the council is giving Lici the consideration that is her due. But given all that, I can't imagine you doing anything that would need my approval. In this matter, I trust you more than I do myself."

"Thank you, Eldest."

"Let me say this as your friend, and not as your eldest," he went on, his broad hand still resting on Besh's shoulder. "Learn what you can of the woman, but take care that you don't place too much faith in Lici's willingness to return your consideration. Whatever you do, do for yourself and not for her. I know that we have no right to take her gold or allow others to ransack her home, but the woman is a demon. She has been all her life."

Besh offered no response except to thank the eldest for his concern. But as he walked back home, intending to sleep for a short while, he couldn't help thinking that the eldest had to be wrong. No child was born a demon. And that begged the question: What had happened to turn Lici into one?