Forging the Darksword - Margaret Weis [84]
“This is for you,” she said softly, “and for my boy, if you see him.” Her eyes filling with tears, she turned and hurried back inside the mean dwelling.
Saryon’s own vision was dim as he started to walk away, only to feel Jacobias’s hand on his shoulder.
“Listen,” said the Field Magus. “I—I think you should know. It may make things a bit easier for you. There—there are some people who’ve been … making inquiries so to speak about you. They’re in need of a catalyst, I fancy, so likely they’ll be takin’ an interest in you above the ordinary, if you get my meaning.”
“Thank you,” said Saryon, somewhat startled. Bishop Vanya had implied much the same thing. How had he known? “Where will I find these—”
“They’ll find you,” Jacobias said gruffly. “Just remember about the star, though, or the first thing that’ll find you will be death.”
“I’ll remember. Thank you. Good-bye.”
But Jacobias was still not easy in his mind apparently, for he held Saryon back one last instant.
“I don’t approve of ’em,” he muttered, frowning. “Not from anythin’ I’ve seen, mind you, just from what I’ve heard. I hope the rumors mayn’t be true. If they are, I pray my boy hasn’t got hisself involved. I didn’t approve him goin’ out there, but we had no choice. Not when we heard the Duuk-tsarith was being sent to talk with him ….”
“Duuk-tsarith?” repeated Saryon, puzzled. “But I thought he ran off with that young man who killed the overseer, that Joram …”
“Joram?” Jacobias shook his head. “Dunno who told you this. That strange young man hain’t been seen here in over a year. Mosiah was hopin’ to find him, that’s for certain; somethin’ I wasn’t hopeful of myself. A walkin’ Dead man …” He shook his head again. “But that’s not what I meant to go on about.” Holding onto Saryon’s arm, Jacobias looked at him earnestly. “I didn’t want to say nothin’ about this round his mother. But if the boy is in bad company and is followin’ ways of—ways of darkness, speak to him, will you, Father? Remind him that we love him and think of him?”
“I will, Jacobias, I will,” Saryon said gently, patting the man’s work-worn hand.
“Thank you, Father.” Jacobias cleared his throat, and wiping his hand over his eyes and nose, he waited a moment to compose himself before he went back into the shack. “Good-bye, Father,” he said.
Turning, he stepped back inside and shut the door behind him. Looking into the window, for a moment unwilling to leave, Saryon saw the Field Magus and his wife standing in the moonlight that beamed in through their window. He saw Jacobias take his wife into his arms and hold her close. He heard her muffled sobs.
Sighing, Saryon clutched his sack and started walking across the fields, his eyes on the stars and, occasionally, on the vast darkness to which the stars were drawing him. His feet stumbled over the uneven ground that was nothing to him but patches of white moonlight and black shadow. Reaching the edge of the village, he looked out over the fields of wheat that stirred gently in the breeze like a moonlit lake. Turning, Saryon glanced back one last time at the village, at his last contact, perhaps, with humanity.
The tree dwellings sat stolidly on the ground, their interlaced branches casting eerie, intricate shadows in the moonlight. There were no lights within the shacks; the faint light gleaming from Jacobias’s window went out as Saryon watched. Too tired to dream, the Field Magi slept.
For an instant, the catalyst thought he might run back. But even as he gazed at the peaceful village, Saryon realized he couldn’t. He might have, an hour earlier, when the fear inside of him had been very real. But not now. Now he could turn and walk away from them, turn and walk away from everything in his past life. He would walk into the night, guided by that tiny, uncaring star above. Not because he had discovered any newfound