Chapter 3

It didn't occur to me to be embarrassed by my house until we actually got there. I had never been inside any buildings in Ishval Proper before, so I was really struck by the contrast. Up until now, I thought our place was pretty nice, but that was compared to the sagging lean-tos and shanties that the others of our profession called home.

I turned to Andakar and shrugged apologetically. "It's not much," I said, as though he needed me to tell him that. "But it's home." I gave a weak laugh. "You should have seen it before my dad fixed it up!"

"It looks very comfortable," Andakar replied. I expected him to sound condescending, but he didn't. "Even the finest house is simply an empty shell if it has no heart."

That sounded like something somebody taught him to say, but I supposed he was right. Our little shack had a whole lot of heart when my mom was still alive. Now I wasn't sure if it all might have gone with her.

I heard the sloshing of water and I went around behind the house, and Andakar went right along with me. Katri was squatting in front of a beat up tin tub, her arms submerged in weakly sudsy water. She stood up, pulling a dripping shirt out of the water, and she spun it around, letting it twist around itself. Then she grabbed the ends and wrung it hard, like she was trying to get back at it for something. She suddenly looked up and froze, staring at me. A look of concern may or may not have crossed her face, but she quickly switched to an angry scowl.

"Well, you're a sight," she muttered. "Serves you right, anyhow."

"Yeah. Thanks."

She jerked her chin at Andakar, glaring at him. "Who's your fancy friend?" she demanded.

I looked over my shoulder at Andakar, who seemed to be sizing up Katri for the unkempt little ragamuffin that she was. I could tell they were going to get along famously.

"This is Andakar Ruhad," I told Katri with a sense of futility. "He helped me out when I went into town."

"And you brought him back here?" Katri asked incredulously. "Shua's gonna kick your ass all over again."

"Is he here?"

"No, lucky for you." She flung the wet shirt, still mostly twisted, over the sagging clothesline that stretched from a tree to a corner of the house. No wonder all our clothes looked like crap. "But you better clear your friend outta here before he gets back."

I didn't really need to be reminded. I turned to Andakar. "Well, I'm home now, and I don't want to keep you. I know you must have a lot of…um…priest stuff you have to learn, so…um…"

He just stood there, either not getting the hint or ignoring it. He watched Katri for a minute, not like other men watched her, but sort of curious. Then he turned back to me.

"Do you have any other family?" he asked.

I shook my head. "No. My mom died about half a year ago."

He nodded. "I see," he murmured, as though a whole bunch of things suddenly made sense to him, which wouldn't be a surprise. He probably had a good idea that if Mom had been there, none of this would have happened. "I'm sorry for your loss, but there is comfort in knowing that she rests in the bosom of Ishvala."

I gave a shrug and looked away. I sure liked to think that, but that's all I did. I wouldn't dare say anything like that around my dad. Dad didn't like talking about Mom, and he didn't like other people talking about her, either. It was almost as if he was jealous. He wasn't like that when Mom was alive. He knew everybody around here loved her, but he didn't worry about it because he knew she was his. Then Ishvala took her away.

Other than learning whatever my dad taught me about music, I never had what you'd call an education. I didn't trot off to school every day with my little satchel of books and until today I had barely even gotten close to a temple. But even without that, I knew that there was something wrong about the bitterness that my dad was letting himself get eaten up by. One thing I knew for certain, Shua the vatrish was not on speaking terms with God.

This meant, of course, that any of Ishvala's priests, fully-fledged or not, were not welcome anywhere near Shua's little plot of land, or within his sight, for that matter.

"I'm grateful for everything you've done, really," I said to Andakar. "And I don't mean to be disrespectful, but you'd be doing me an even bigger favor if you left as soon as possible. It'd really be better for everybody if my dad didn't see you."

"He doesn't frighten me," Andakar replied. He said it in a calm way, not boasting, just stating a fact.

Katri let out a snort of contempt as she slapped a pair of pants over the clothesline. "You haven't met him."

"Andakar, please!" I spread my hands. "I have to live here!"

Andakar looked at me for a moment, frowning a little. "Will you be all right?"

"I'll be a hell of a lot better if you're gone, trust me!" I assured him.

He hesitated. If I wasn't getting so damn scared, I would have been really touched by his concern. I could appreciate it later. Now wasn't the time. "Please, go!" I begged.

"All right," Andakar replied finally. He started heading back from where we came, but Dad would probably be coming from the same direction. I grabbed his arm and spun him the other way, which wasn't easy. He was pretty solid.

"Go that way," I said, pointing off toward the west. "I know it's the long way around, but you won't run into him."

Andakar gave a sort of sigh and walked away. He looked over his shoulder. "I'll be back some time to check on you."

I waved my hands. "No, that's all right!" I said quickly. "I'll probably be in town playing somewhere. I have to earn some money. You can find me there if you like."

Andakar gave a nod, but the look on his face as he turned away gave me the sinking feeling that he would do whatever he felt like doing. That was the problem with the quality. They just didn't take poor people seriously.

I was so relieved that he was long gone by the time Dad finally slouched home. But my relief didn't last too long. I still had to explain how I got my face stitched up. I was in the front room, looking through the box where we kept the little bit of food we had, which today wasn't much. There was the flatbread from yesterday, which was now hard as a rock, a couple of oranges, some dried apricots, and some tea. I stared at it for a few minutes, wondering if it I ought to go back into town and find a place where I could sit and play. Maybe the soldiers would take pity on a poor, beat-up kid and toss me a few coins.

I turned to pick up my lute from where it hung on a nail near my bed. Then I heard the scuff of a foot outside the door and I froze. The curtain was pushed aside and I turned my face away, concentrating on tuning my lute. I heard my dad step inside and I kept my back to him, plucking out a simple tune.

"That middle string's off," he muttered as he passed behind me.

I just nodded and gave the peg a hint of a turn. He sounded tired and I was hoping that he was just going to head off to bed. But then his steps halted. I felt his hand on my shoulder as he gave me a push to make me face him. He scowled at me for a second, in a sort of vague, critical way, as if pondering his handiwork. Then his frown deepened when he got a look at my stitches. My heart started to pound as he pulled me closer to the window to get a better look in the light. He grabbed my jaw and turned my head, a lot less gently than Saahad Uvar did, I can promise you.

I tensed, and not just from the pain. I expected him to demand how those stitches had gotten there, who had put them there, how I had paid for such a service, and how stupid could I possibly be. I was already trying to come up with a plausible explanation, something that wasn't quite a lie but not entirely the truth. I was also expecting him to hit me again, which was getting in the way of trying to come up with my story. The best I could do was to squeeze my eyes shut and just take it.

Then he let go of my face and I slowly opened my eyes. I found him just looking at me. He suddenly looked so tired and worn. And for a moment, he also had a look on his face that I hadn't seen there in…well…not for a while. It was sorrow.

I was kind of shocked and a little scared. It didn't matter so much to me that he might feel sorry for what he had done. That might have been part of it. But for that moment, he looked like he had given up, like his life had become so empty and so futureless that there was no point in it anymore. He couldn't be that way. He was still my dad and I still needed him to be there, as hopelessly flawed as he was.

Maybe he saw that in my expression, but the moment passed and his features toughened. He gave me and my stitches one last contemptuous glance and turned away, heading toward his room, but not without sparing me a parting smack on the back of my head. There wasn't any rancor in it. He was just putting things back into balance, such as it was.

"Go down the road to the old baata," he called wearily from his room. "She said she'd give you an egg if you fetched some water for her."

I gave a little start. An egg? Sweet Ishvala, I'd kiss that twitchy old crone's bunions for an egg! If I actually kissed her bunions, maybe she'd give me two! I quickly hung my lute back on the wall and hurried out the door, feeling a whole lot better. They were fleeting, but I'd take these little moments when I could get them.

I jogged along what we referred to as a road. It was more of a footpath that ran through the desert scrub. During the rainy season it became a creek, but only briefly. In a bit of a clearing was the house of our local fortune teller. She was older than dirt, but she was still sharp as a cactus spine. She read tea leaves for people, which was not all that uncommon. But she had gained a name for herself for being pretty much right all the time. Even the soldiers came to her. But it was a bit of a gamble. All she'd really tell you was a single word. She told one fellow that she saw paper in his future, and he ended up inheriting a lot of money. She told another soldier the same thing, but he got a letter from his girlfriend saying she was marrying somebody else. Those of us who lived around here already knew our futures were bleak, so we didn't bother.

With the money she'd made with her fortune telling, she'd bought some chickens, and now she sold eggs, so between the two she actually had a bit of steady income. Her house was a lot like ours, except she actually had a door, which I knocked on.

"Baata Nifaa!" I called. "It's me, Dejan! My dad said you needed some water."

I heard some dry mumbling from inside, then the old woman called back, "Well, come on in, boy! If I could fetch the water myself, I could open the door. I'm a bit poorly today."

I pushed the door open and found the old woman sitting up on her bed in the corner. It wasn't cold, but she had several layers of ragged blankets around her. Maybe she did it to make herself look bigger because she was such a skinny old stick. She regarded me with her one good eye. The left one had gone a sort of milky color.

"Pissed him off proper, did you?" she asked.

She didn't have to be blessed with second sight to figure that one out. I nodded ruefully. She leaned forward a little and a somewhat shaky hand appeared from the blankets. A bony finger beckoned me closer. I stepped up to the side of the bed and leaned down so she could considered my face. The wrinkles around her mouth creased in a smile that hinted at how few teeth she had left.

"Looks like temple needlework," she said with an approving nod. "Very neat."

I gave a little start and grinned, which was easier to do now that my face wasn't so stiff. "Now how do you know that, baata?"

She cackled softly. "Just a guess, really. You wouldn't be able to afford an Amestrian doctor." She narrowed her eyes and tapped her chin. "Did one of them do that sort of work for the price of a song or did somebody else take pity on you? Not your old man, I bet."

I sighed. "Right again, baata. I guess I made a new friend," I told her. "He's studying for the priesthood, and he'll be pretty good at it, as far as I can tell."

"Lucky you. And who might this bright spark be?"

"His name's Andakar Ruhad, and he-"

"Eh-h!" the old woman whooped. "Ruhad? Son of Kanda's chieftain?"

I stared at her. I wasn't really up on who was who in Ishval Proper. When I went into town, I just played music and minded my own business. Nifaa seemed to catch news on the wind. "Are you serious? He never said anything about that." It was almost scary to think about how wide the gap between me and Andakar really was.

"No, he wouldn't. Priests are taught to be humble and minister to the poor and such." Her mouth thinned in a smile. "Sometimes they even do that, but you don't see them around here too often."

"Andakar came back here with me," I said, then I added, "but I had to send him off pretty quick before Dad got home."

Nifaa gave a short wheezy chuckle. "Very wise. But it sounds like your friend is taking his calling to heart."

I shrugged. "I guess he is. He said he was going to come back and check on me, but I hope he doesn't. It was mighty decent of him to help me out, but I don't need that kind of grief right now." I gave her a conspiratorial look. "You won't tell my dad, will you?"

Baata Nifaa waved her hand. "He doesn't come to me to read his leaves. He doesn't want to know."

I gave a short, not-very-funny laugh. "Because he has no future?"

The old woman lifted her narrow shoulders. "I didn't say that. But you said you'd fetch me some water, didn't you?"

"That I did, baata!" I replied readily. "And Dad said you'd give me an egg if I did."

"We'll see, we'll see," she clucked. "I may have you do this or that for me while you're here." She waved a hand toward a tin bucket by the door. "But get me some water first. Then we can put the kettle on."

I took the bucket down to the well that stood not too far from her house. A couple of the falshaii were standing there and they clicked their tongues at the sight of my bruises.

"Dear oh dear!" one of them sighed. "That's what you get for trying to be a hero, Dejan."

"You're gonna start looking old before your time," the other remarked.

"Yeah, like us!" the first one added, and they both laughed raucously. Neither of them were what you'd call pretty, but those rooms at the back of Vashto's were dark.

When I had filled up Nifaa's water barrel, she had me fill up her kettle and set it on her little brazier, feed her chickens, give them water, and pick a few vegetables from her garden. When I got back inside, she had me heat up her pot with the now boiling water, then hand the pot to her while she spooned her precious leaves into it. I filled it again and set it on a small low table by the bed. Nifaa sat back and watched me thoughtfully while I pulled up a short stool.

"You're a good lad, Dejan," she said.

"Thanks, baata."

"Your dad thinks so, too, but he doesn't say so."

He had certainly never said it to me. I just shrugged. The old woman sighed a long sigh. "It's a hard life here," she proclaimed. "Trying to raise a family and keep it together is a luxury. Your folks started a bit too young to realize that."

"I don't think they meant to," I said. "I just sort of happened."

"Well, that's as may be," Nifaa conceded. "I think you ended up with a wiser head on your shoulders than a lot of people give you credit for." With an effort, she scooted herself closer to the teapot. I reached over to pour for her, but she waved me away. She picked up the pot with hands that shook a little, and she slowly poured the tea herself into two small cups, mumbling to herself. I started to get a little nervous. She wasn't just offering me a cup of tea. She was going to read my leaves. All I wanted was a couple of eggs. She nodded to one of the cups. "Drink up, boy."

I gave a sigh and sipped at the cup, taking my time. But they weren't big cups, so it didn't really take long. I drank it down, keeping the leaves from slipping into my mouth. Nifaa pointed her finger down and twirled it. "Swill the cup around."

I did as she told me while she mumbled to herself in a singsong sort of way. I didn't know what she was saying. She could have been reciting a prayer or her shopping list, for all I knew. Then she held out her hand. I set the cup into her palm and she peered down into it. The more I thought about it, the less I wanted to know what she saw, but it was too late now.

"Tears," she said quietly. "I see tears in your future, my lad."

Well, that wasn't good. "Whose tears, baata?" I asked with a sinking feeling.

She set the cup down. "It doesn't tell me that much. They could be tears of joy for all I know." She said that to be nice. There wasn't much joy around here. I must have looked pretty bleak because she went on. "You know, I couldn't always tell the leaves. It wasn't until I lost the sight in this eye that I gained my gift." She tapped her left temple and gave me a knowing smile. "So you see, young Dejan, when Ishvala takes with one hand, He very often gives back with the other." She chuckled to herself and nodded toward a beat up wooden chest across the little room. "Go ahead and take a couple of eggs out of there, dearie. Take three if you can carry them."