lovely line of her neck from her perfect
shell-like ear, down to the gentle swell
of breast that showed above her bodice.
Eyes intent on the young woman, Bast
stepped on a loose stone and stumbled
awkwardly down the hill. He blew one
hard, squawking note, then dropped a
few more from his song as he threw out
one arm wildly to catch his balance.
The shepherdess laughed then, but she
was pointedly looking at the other end of
the valley. Perhaps the sheep had done
something humorous. Yes. That was
surely it. They could be funny animals at
times.
Even so, one can only look at sheep for
so long. She sighed and relaxed, leaning
back against the sloping trunk of the tree.
The motion accidentally pulled the hem
of her skirt up slightly past her knee. Her
calves were round and tan and covered
with the lightest down of honey-colored
hair.
Bast continued down the hill. His steps
delicate and graceful. He looked like a
stalking cat. He looked like he were
dancing.
Apparently satisfied the sheep were
safe, the shepherdess sighed again,
closed her eyes, and lay her head against
the trunk of the tree. Her face tilted up to
catch the sun. She seemed about to sleep,
but for all her sighing her breath seemed
to be coming rather quickly. And when
she shifted restlessly to make herself
more comfortable, one hand fell in such a
way that it accidentally drew the hem of
her dress even farther up until it showed
a pale expanse of thigh.
It is hard to grin while playing
shepherd’s
pipes.
Somehow
Bast
managed it.
The sun was climbing the sky when Bast
returned to the lightning tree, pleasantly
sweaty and in a state of mild dishevel.
There were no children waiting near the
greystones this time, which suited him
perfectly.
He did a quick circle of the tree again
when he reached the top of the hill, once
in each direction to ensure his small
workings were still in place. Then he
slumped down and at the foot of the tree
and leaned against the trunk. Less than a
minute later his eyes were closed and he
was snoring slightly.
After the better part of an hour, the
near-silent sound of footsteps roused
him. He gave a great stretch and spied a
thin boy with freckles and clothes that
were slightly past the point where they
might merely be called well-worn.
“Kostrel!” Bast said happily. “How’s
the road to Tinuë?”
“Seems sunny enough to me today,” the
boy said as he came to the top of the hill.
“And I found a lovely secret by the
roadside. Something I thought you might
be interested in.”
“Ah,” Bast said. “Come have a seat
then. What sort of secret did you stumble
on?”
Kostrel sat cross-legged on the grass
nearby. “I know where Emberlee takes
her bath.”
Bast raised a half-interested eyebrow.
“Is that so?”
Kostrel grinned. “You faker. Don’t
pretend you don’t care.”
“Of course I care,” Bast said. “She’s
the sixth prettiest girl in town, after all.”
“Sixth?” the boy said, indignant. “She’s
the second prettiest and you know it.”
“Perhaps fourth,” Bast conceded.
“After Ania.”
“Ania’s legs are skinny as a chicken’s,”
Kostrel observed calmly.
Bast smiled at the boy. “To each his
own. But yes. I am interested. What
would you like in trade? An answer, a
favor, a secret?”
“I want a favor and information,” the
boy said with a small smirk. His dark
eyes were sharp in his lean face. “I want
good answers to three questions. And it’s
worth it. Because Emberlee is the third
prettiest girl in town.”
going to protest, then shrugged and
smiled. “No favor. But I’ll give you three
answers on a subject named beforehand,”
he countered. “Any subject except that of
my employer, whose trust in me I cannot
in good conscience betray.”
Kostrel nodded in agreement. “Three
full answers,” he said. “With no
equivocating or bullshittery.”
Bast nodded. “So long as the questions
are focused and specific. No ‘ tell me
everything you know about’ nonsense.”
“That wouldn’t be a question,” Kostrel
pointed out.
“Exactly,” Bast said. “And you agree
not to tell anyone else where Emberlee is
having her bullshittery Kostrel scowled
at that, and Bast laughed. “You little
cocker, you would have sold it twenty
times, wouldn’t you?”
The boy shrugged easily, not denying it,
and not embarrassed either. “It’s
valuable information.”
Bast chuckled. “Three full, earnest
answers on a single subject with the
understanding that I’m the only one
you’ve told.”
“You are,” the boy said sullenly. “I
came here first.”
“And with the understanding that you
won’t tell Emberlee anyone knows.”
Kostrel looked so offended at this that
Bast didn’t bother waiting for him to
agree. “And with the understanding that
you won’t show up yourself.”
The dark-eyed boy spat a couple words
that surprised Bast more than his earlier
use of “equivocating.”
“Fine,” Kostrel growled. “But if you
don’t know the answer to my question, I
get to ask another.”
Bast thought about it for a moment, then
nodded.
“And if I pick a subject you don’t know
much about, I get to chose another.”
Another nod. “That’s fair.”
“And you loan me another book,” the
boy said, his dark eyes glaring. “And a
copper penny. And you have to describe
her breasts to me.”
Bast threw back his head and laughed.
“Done.”
They shook on the deal, the boy’s thin
hand was delicate as a bird’s wing.
Bast leaned against the lightning tree,
yawning and rubbing the back of his
neck. “So. What’s your subject?”
Kostrel’s grim look lifted a little then,
and he grinned excitedly. “I want to
know about the Fae.”
It says a great deal that Bast finished
his great yawp of a yawn as if nothing
were the matter. It is quite hard to yawn
and stretch when your belly feels like
you’ve swallowed a lump of bitter iron
and your mouth has gone suddenly dry.
But
Bast
was
something
of
a
professional dissembler, so he yawned
and stretched, and even went so far as to
scratch himself under one arm lazily.
“Well?” the boy asked impatiently. “Do
you know enough about them?”
“A fair amount,” Bast said, doing a
much better job of looking modest this
time. “More than most folk, I imagine.”
Kostrel leaned forward, his thin face
intent. “I thought you might. You aren’t
from around here. You know things.
You’ve seen what’s really out there in
the world.”
“Some of it,” Bast admitted. He looked
up at the sun. “Ask your questions then. I
have to be somewhere come noon.”
The boy nodded seriously, then looked
down at the grass in front of himself for a
moment, thinking. “What are they like?”
Bast blinked for a moment, taken aback.
Then he laughed helplessly and threw up
his hands. “Merciful Tehlu. Do you have
any idea how crazy that question is?
They’re not like anything. They’re like
themselves.”
Kostrel looked indignant. “Don’t you
try to shim me!” he said, leveling a finger
at Bast. “I said no bullshittery!”
“I’m not. Honest I’m not.” Bast raised
his hands defensively. “It’s just an
impossible question to answer is all.
What would you say if I asked you what
people were like? How could you
answer that? There are so many kinds of
people, and they’re all different.”
“So it’s a big question,” Kostrel said.
“Give me a big answer.”
“It’s not just big,” Bast said. “It would
fill a book.”
The
boy
gave
a
profoundly
unsympathetic shrug.
Bast scowled. “It could be argued that
your question is neither focused nor
specific.”
Kostrel raised an eyebrow. “So we’re
arguing now? I thought we were trading
information? Fully and freely. If you
asked me where Emberlee was going for
her bath, and I said, ‘in a stream’ you’d
feel like I’d measured you some pretty
short corn, wouldn’t you?”
Bast sighed. “Fair enough. But if I told
you every rumor and snippet I’d ever
heard, this would take a span of days.
Most of it would be useless, and some
probably wouldn’t even be true because
it’s just from stories that I’ve heard.”
Kostrel frowned, but before he could
protest, Bast held up a hand. “Here’s
what I’ll do. Despite the unfocused
nature of your question, I’ll give you an
answer that covers the rough shape of
things and …” Bast hesitated. “… one
true secret on the subject. Okay?”
“Two secrets.” Kostrel said, his dark
eyes glittering with excitement.
“Fair enough.” Bast took a deep breath.
“When you say fae, you’re talking about
anything that lives in the Fae. That
includes a lot of things that are … just
creatures. Like animals. Here you have
dogs and squirrels and bears. In the Fae,
they have raum and dennerlings and …”
“And trow?”
Bast nodded. “And trow. They’re real.”
“And dragons?”
Bast shook his head. “Not that I’ve ever
heard. Not anymore …”
Kostrel looked disappointed. “What
about the fair folk? Like faerie tinkers
and such?” The boy narrowed his eyes.
“Mind you, this isn’t a new question,
merely an attempt to focus your ongoing
answer.”
Bast laughed helplessly. “Lord and
lady. Ongoing? Was your mother scared
by an azzie when she was pregnant?
Where do you get that kind of talk?
“I stay awake in church.” Kostrel
shrugged. “And sometimes Abbe Leodin
lets me read his books. What do they
look like?”
“Like regular people,” Bast said.
“Like you and me?” the boy asked.
Bast fought back a smile. “Just like you
or me. You wouldn’t hardly notice if they
passed you on the street. But there are
others. Some of them are … They’re
different. More powerful.”
“Like Varsa never-dead?”
“Some,” Bast conceded. “But some are
powerful in other ways. Like the mayor
is powerful. Or like a moneylender.”
Bast’s expression went sour. “Many of
those … they’re not good to be around.
They like to trick people. Play with them.
Hurt them.”
Some of the excitement bled out of
Kostrel at this. “They sound like
demons.”
Bast hesitated, then nodded a reluctant
agreement. “Some are very much like
demons,” he admitted. “Or so close as it
makes no difference.”
“Are some of them like angels, too?”
the boy asked.
“It’s nice to think that,” Bast said. “I
hope so.”
“Where do they come from?”
Bast cocked his head. “That’s your
second question then?” he asked. “I’m
guessing it must be, as it’s got nothing to
do with what the Fae are like …”
Kostrel grimaced, seeming a little
embarrassed, though Bast couldn’t tell if
he was ashamed he’d gotten carried
away with his questions, or ashamed
he’d been caught trying to get a free
answer. “Sorry,” he said. “Is it true that a
faerie can never lie?”
“Some can’t,” Bast said. “Some don’t
like to. Some are happy to lie but
wouldn’t ever go back on promise or
break their word.” He shrugged. “Others
lie quite well, and do so at every
opportunity.”
Kostrel began to ask something else,
but Bast cleared his throat. “You have to
admit,” he said. “That’s a pretty good
answer. I even gave you a few free
questions, to help with the focus of
things, as it were.”
Kostrel gave a slightly sullen nod.
“Here’s your first secret.” Bast held up
a single finger. “Most of the Fae don’t
come to this world. They don’t like it. It
rubs all rough against them, like wearing
a burlap shirt. But when they do come,
they like some places better than others.
They like wild places. Secret places.
Strange places. There are many types of
fae, many courts and houses. And all of
them are ruled according to their own
desires …”
B
ast continued in a tone of soft
conspiracy. “But something that appeals
to all the fae are places with connections
to the raw, true things that shape the
world. Places that are touched with fire
and stone. Places that are close to water
and air. When all four come together …”
Bast paused to see if the boy would
interject something here. But Kostrel’s
face had lost the sharp cunning it had
held before. He looked like a child
again, mouth slightly agape, his eyes
wide with wonder.
“Second secret,” Bast said. “The fae
folk look nearly like we do, but not
exactly. Most have something about them
that makes them different. Their eyes.
Their ears. The color of their hair or
skin. Sometimes they’re taller than
normal, or shorter, or stronger, or more
beautiful.”
“Like Felurian”
“Yes, yes,” Bast said testily. “Like
Felurian. But any of the Fae who has the
skill to travel here will have craft enough
to hide those things.” He leaned back,
nodding to himself. “That is a type of
magic all the fair folk share.”
Bast threw the final comment out like a
fisherman casting a lure.
Kostrel
closed
his
mouth
and
swallowed hard. He didn’t fight the line.
Didn’t even know that he’d been hooked.
“What sort of magic can they do?”
Bast rolled his eyes dramatically. “Oh
come now, that’s another whole book’s
worth of question.”
“Well maybe you should just write a
book then,” Kostrel said flatly. “Then
you can lend it to me and kill two birds
with one stone.”
The comment seemed to catch Bast off
his stride. “Write a book?”
“That’s what people do when they
know every damn thing, isn’t it?” Kostrel
said sarcastically. “They write it down
so they can show off.”
Bast looked thoughtful for a moment,
then shook his head as if to clear it.
“Okay. Here’s the bones of what I know.
They don’t think of it as magic. They’d
never use that term. They’ll talk of art or
craft. They talk of seeming or shaping.”
He looked up at the sun and pursed his
lips. “But if they were being frank, and
they are rarely frank, mind you, they
would tell you almost everything they do
is either glammourie or grammarie.
Glammourie is the art of making
something seem. Grammarie is the craft
of making something be.”
Bast rushed ahead before the boy could
interrupt. “Glammourie is easier. They