The trek to Dazheen’s wagon did not take long. It was situated near the front of the semicircle that was their camp, decorated in colourful sways like the rest. The windows inside were shuttered, but they all knew who resided within that wagon. Gamran practically jumped up to the door, his boots landing softly, a bit of snow falling from them. He knocked quietly then, even as Pelgan climbed up to stand at his side. Kashin and Kaspel waited below, as there was no more room to stand.
The door opened shortly thereafter, and a startled girl’s voice asked, “What dost thee need?”
Gamran smiled slightly. “We need Dazheen’s charm against snow, Bryone.”
Bryone looked between them and opened the door wider, stepping back to give them room to enter. Once the thief had slipped inside, Kashin climbed up and followed him in. The inside of the wagon was warm, and separated off by several curtains. In the main chamber was a single table, and a few candles lit about the room. The old seer was sitting at the table, gently running her fingers over several stacks of cards. There was a strangely contemplative look on her face, as if she were poring over some imponderable.
“Thee seeketh my charm?” Dazheen asked, her voice gritty but clear.
Gamran nodded. “Aye. If we art to leave no trace of our theft, then we dost need it.”
Dazheen held out a hand then to the young girl who stood watching them, her eyes uncertain. “Bryone, fetch my box of charms.” The young girl nodded, and slipped back behind the rear curtain, only to return a moment later with a small pewter chest engraved with ancient symbols and stars. She set it down on the table before the seer.
Kashin watched curiously as the seer pressed her fingers to the latch, and it came open of its own volition. The air of magic was certainly in the air, and he could see a sullen power lurking in the old woman’s chest. There was no malice of course, only concern, and a strange worry that made his skin tremble even in the warmth of the wagon.
Inside the chest were several small baubles, each fastened to a loop of cord. Her curled fingers searched through them, before selecting four of them, and placing them on the table. She pulled the lid shut, and the latch fell back into place with a metallic click. She then looked up, ancient eyes surveying them compassionately. With a wave of her bony fingers, she beckoned them forward. “Come hither each of thee. I must place the charm upon thee for it to work.”
Gamran was the first to step forward, kneeling before her, obviously having done this before. Her fingers slipping through the cord, she held out one of the baubles, a small circlet of bronze with several chisel marks in the side. She draped it over Gamran’s neck and laid it against his chest. Kashin saw that the snow clinging to the thief’s boots appeared to jump free then and settle to the floor.
Even as Gamran stepped back, the snow on the floor of the wagon avoiding his footsteps, Pelgan strode forward to accept his charm. The snow on his boots behaved just Gamran’s had, fleeing him once the charm was laid over him. Kashin was next, and once the youth stood back, he came before the old woman, bending forward. But even on his knees, he was still rather tall for the woman, so bent forward so she could reach.
“If thy charm keeps snow away from us, then how will we walk?” Kashin asked, genuinely curious.
“Thou wilt find it no different than walking upon the ground. Once thou hast passed, it wilt return to its place.” Dazheen’s voice was slow, as if she had explained this many times before, but never grew tired of doing so. She then draped a bauble fashioned from a copper piece about his neck. A strange warmth filled him the moment that it laid against his chest, but otherwise, he felt no different. Looking back, he saw that the snow had left his boots as well.
Kashin stepped back to join the others even as Kaspel received his charm. Gamran said a word of thanks then, and Dazheen smiled. “I wish thee success. Now go before the light grows.” The four of them nodded, and one by one filed back out into the night. It was cool, but their jackets and gloves kept them warm.
Gamran jumped down to the ground, and to Kashin’s astonishment, the snow just pulled away from him, piling up at his sides. He strode forward towards the North, and the snow parted to let him through, filling in behind him to leave no trace of his passage. Pelgan was soon at his back, idly rubbing the hilt of his knives. Kashin jumped down then, followed by Kaspel, each of them pushing the snow away.
Kashin put the edge of the sack in his teeth, and then slipped the charm inside his jacket with his hand. Taking the bland-tasting sack from his mouth, he followed after the others, heading North and into the darkness. It was still cloudy, so they could see no stars in the sky. The only lights they had to guide them by were the ones coming from the town itself, and they were insignificant against the vast dark Steppe.
Against that blackness they were invisible, moving and crushing the ice-slick grass in their wake as the snow moved to avoid them. Several times Kashin would look back over his shoulder and see that white layer undisturbed, as if they had never been there. A strange magic indeed that they were using, but one that he appreciated.
Despite the ease of their travel, it did take them some time before they reached the river. Gamran was clearly not taking any chances, and so had led them a good ways North of the village, before turning East to the Atra. The banks were not too far apart at the point he chose, but they would still have to cross the ice. Gamran knelt over the drop off, the snow piling up around him on either side. “We must crawl. ‘Tis cold, the ice should bear us up if we crawl.” The thief then appeared to notice that Kashin only had one arm. “Wilt thee need help?”
Kashin shook his head as he crouched low in the hollow where the snow had fled. “No, I wilt be fine.”
The thief nodded and started down towards the ice. Pelgan gave Kashin’s shoulder a firm pat, and then followed after him, but remained on the bank to watch. The snow on the river shifted out of Gamran’s way of course, revealing the dark ice beneath. Gamran gingerly set his gloved hands upon it, and began to apply weight, lowering his chest slowly upon the cold surface. It bore him up, creaking only slightly as he moved. Kashin watched as his friend began to slither across, weaving forward with his arms, belly pressed down. It did not take him long to reach the far bank, the snow filling behind him.
“One by one now,” He advised, though they had no intention of doing anything else. Pelgan crouched low, and also made his way across. After he managed to make it, he rubbed his gloved hands over his chest, gripping the charm between is fingers. Though it would protect them from snow, it did not ward them from the ice and its chill.
Kashin decided that he had best be the next one down, and so he went down feet first, fearing that he would not be able to properly support himself head first with only one hand. He managed to work down the hard earth with little difficulty, the fleeing snow laving not even a trace of moisture in its wake. He laid his legs out upon the ice, and cold feel the chill filling his legs through his pantaloons and linens. With a firm push, he slid himself out onto the ice. It creaked and groaned under his weight, but he laid as flat as possible as the others had done.
A few stones pocked up through the ice. Gripping them with his gloved hand, he slowly turned himself around and began to pull himself along the ice. Hairline cracks formed under his touch, and he could faintly hear the scraping of water underneath. He sucked in his breath, careful not to press down too hard in any one spot. Looking up he could see Pelgan and Gamran looking down and watching him. His belly ached from the cold filling it, but he kept it pressed to the ice.
And then, after what seemed far longer than half a minute, he reached the other bank and began to climb up to join the others. He rubbed his hand across his chest, bringing some warmth back into his chilled flesh. Both Gamran and Peglan smiled, glad to see that he was well. Together they waited for Kaspel to make the crossing. Once their fellow Magyar had made it across, the snow settled back into place, hiding the cracks they had left in the ice in their passage.
Gamran motioned for them all to be very quiet, and then he began to head South, walking low, crouched forward. Pelgan was close on his heels, followed by Kashin and Kaspel. It would not be terribly far to the South before they hit the town, but they would have to be careful. None of them knew how many sentries would be out watching for thieves.
Kashin did not like the thought that he would now be a thief in addition to being a Magyar, but it was all part of being a Magyar. In his mind he repeated all that Hanaman and Gamran had told him to assure him that it was the right and necessary thing to do. Still, he found it hard to believe, remembering all of the admonitions he had learned in his youth in Yesulam. That time felt several generations ago. Those memories struck him more as stories another had imparted to him, and not the events of his own life. Even his failure to save the Patriarch felt like something that had happened to somebody else.
Shaking such distracting thoughts from his mind, he put his focus on the task at hand. The lights of Doltatra began to grow closer as they moved Eastward of the town. They would approach from that direction under the cover of darkness. The sentries would be watching the West towards their camp after all. Already, several lamps had been lit in the Magyar camp, as the activity increased. It would not be long before the wagons began to move and continue on their way to the East.
Soon, the lights of Doltatra began to slide by on their right. Though they could not see anyone about, they all knew that there had to be others watching the night. But no tocsin bell was sounded, and within a few minutes, their backs were pressed up against one of the outlying homes. Gamran gestured to a building a short distance to the South, and then made a scooping gesture with his hands. Kashin was not quite sure what he meant by it, but it appeared to imply they would go underneath.
Gamran moved to the side of the building nd peered around. Seeing that none were about, he moved quickly to the very next building. Likewise, Pelgan, Kashin, and Kaspel crossed the open space. With a swiftness that surprised the one-armed Magyar, they made it to the storehouse that the thief had pointed out. Kashin grimaced as he realized that he could not think of Gamran just as a thief. They were all thieves this day after all, himself included. But they were taking simply what was owed them, he reminded himself once more. This would feed his fellow Magyars and himself, and they would leave plenty enough for the people of Doltatra as well. How could that be wrong?
He did not like the answer that he knew would come, so he pushed such thoughts away, gazing for a moment towards the empty East. He blinked as a chill filled him, one not borne upon the cold night air. Out there was a mountain called Cenziga, a mountain the bore a strange blue light at dusk. What could be causing it, he wondered, and why did it frighten the other Magyars so?
A gentle tap on his shoulder brought him back to the moment. Gamran was sliding underneath the hut, and Pelgan was bending down to do as well. Kashin glanced about and bend on his back to follow after them. The ground beneath the hut was hard, but did not chafe. Gamran was fiddling with one of the pegs that held the floor together, his nimble fingers twisting and pushing at it. Soon, it disappeared from sight, and the dark shadow climbed up into the hut. One by one, they all pulled themselves through the loose floorboard, until they were all standing in the store house.
Gamran held up one finger, and then motioned it towards the brown sacks that were stacked upon the shelves all about the room. They appeared to be much the same all about, but some were lumpier than others. Kaspel brought his sack with Gamran, while Pelgan came to Kashin. They would work together in the theft, Kashin thought. He set the sack down and spread the opening wide with his fingers. Pelgan was already fast at work on the lacings holding some of the town’s stores together. Inside were many large potatoes, of which he only took one, and placed it in the sack. He then quickly tied off the lacings behind him and moved to another sack.
Kashin nodded as he saw what was to be done, and began to work the lacings loose from another sack. He selected a potato near the front, and placed it within their sack, trying to be as quiet as possible as he went about the theft. He felt strangely numb about it, his mind focussed only on the task at hand. Holding the lacing in his teeth, he worked it back shut again, and moved to another sack.
Taking a moment to glance over his shoulder, he saw Gamran smiling delightedly at him. Gamran nearly blushed then, and returned to his own work. Kashin blinked, and set himself back to taking potatoes. Though he was not very fast at it, he did not find it difficult at all. At first he tried to count the number he took, but after the first dozen, he lost track.
Behind him Gamran and Kaspel were slowly filling their sack with grain. They only took a handful from each sack they opened, but it did not take them long before their own was full. The little man then climbed up the shelves, and found a small supply of empty sacks, and took two of them. While Kaspel tied off the full one, Gamran began to fill the second with more grain.
Neither did it take Pelgan and Kashin long to fill their sack with potatoes. Kaspel gave them the other empty sack, and they started to fill that as well. In silence they continued their theft, grabbing enough potatoes and grain to last them until they reached their next town. It also went smoothly, though at one point, they did hear footsteps passing before the storehouse. For those few moments they all stayed completely still, waiting for the sentry to pass. Not once in his passage did he pause, but continued on his way, never suspecting what was happening on the other side of the door.
Once they finished their second pair of sacks, Gamran motioned for them all to stop and set them in the middle next to the open floorboard. Kashin made sure that all of the laces he’d opened were shut tight again, and the bags shifted about so that they appeared to be full still. Gamran nodded in approval when he saw the job they’d done, though he double-checked them all just to be sure.
Kashin felt a strange bit of pride when Gamran smiled to him, but otherwise he remained numb to himself. Kaspel peeked down through the floorboard before he climbed down himself. Kashin followed after him, crawling as quietly as he could after him. Kaspel motioned for Kashin to pass him by to the Eastern side of the building. He nodded and did as instructed, the snowbank that had piled against the building pushing aside at his approach. He then crouched low, waiting for the others to emerge.
There were no others about that night. The sky was still iron black from clouds overhead. Dawn would still be another hour away. Not even the Eastern horizon had begun to brighten yet. Suddenly, Kashin saw the edge of one of the sack poke out from underneath the building. Understanding filled him as he grabbed the sack and set it aside, careful not to let it disturb the snow. He did not know if that would leave a mark after all. One by one, the four sacks made their way outside the building, and Kashin stacked them against the wall. They were heavy, but not so heavy as to be difficult to carry.
And then, Kaspel and Pelgan emerged, brushing a bit of dust from their clothes as they crouched low, the snow pressing back even further from them s they crowded together. Gamran was a minute more in coming as he fastened the board back into place. Once he emerged, they each lifted one of the sacks, and followed Gamran’s lead towards the East. They had to get a good distance from the town before they met up with the wagons, lest the townsfolk realise what had happened.
Kashin glanced back once as they moved out into the deep shadow of the Steppe. The town itself remained quiet, waiting for the birth of the dawn to awaken it once more. And when they finally arose, they would be long gone. Underneath his arm he carried away some of their goods, goods that he had stolen. A sick feeling filled his stomach as he walked, but it was strangely muted. Gritting his teeth, he offered a silent prayer, beseeching Akabaieth’s forgiveness. Somehow, he knew that he would be, though he did not feel it.
Gamran’s voice was very quiet, barely carrying as they moved, the snow parting before them. “‘Twas fun, was it not?”
Kashin snorted slightly, and gave him a slow smile. “I suppose ‘twas.” He was rewarded with the little man’s honest grin.
Burgomaster Agee gave them little trouble as they passed through Doltatra. He had been risen by his guards when they saw the wagons approaching, and had come out to meet with Hanaman to find out why they were leaving so early in the morning. Hanaman had succinctly explained as the wagons slowly began their trek over the bridge that the snow would slow them down so they wished to make up for lost time. Agee had been suspicious, but did not act upon any suspicions he’d had, and so let them go through.
An hour later, they were well clear of the small village and travelling East. The snow did make the travel harder, but it was not so deep that the wheels would become stuck, nor so deep that the Assingh could not pull the wagons. But it would tire them out more quickly, and so they would have to make frequent stops. It was the way of things during the winter though, and they were all used to it.
So Hanaman waited until he could see their four thieves on the Steppe ahead before he called for a stop. They had to turn the wagons slightly north to meet their fellow Magyars, but it did not take long before Hanaman’s wagon was brought alongside them. At that, he motioned for them all to stop. The message was quick to move along the line, and soon, their wheels stood still, no longer grinding the snow.
Hanaman leaned over in his seat and looked at the four. Between them they’d set four full bags, two of them rather lumpy. The snow had shifted away from them in piles, leaving them standing on dry ground, a testament to the charms each wore about their neck. “Well met!” Hanaman cried as he surveyed the four, noting the way that they held themselves to keep in the warmth. “What hast thee brought?”
Gamran gestured with one gloved hand. “We hath retrieved two bags of potatoes and two bags of grain! ‘Twas quite an abundance they didst not share.”
Hanaman nodded, and gestured for them to climb aboard, stepping back as he did so. “We shalt take them to be stored. Return thy charms to Dazheen and then to thy wagon to rest.”
“With great pleasure,” Gamran said as he scrambled up onto the wagon, knocking upon the door. Bryone was quick to open it and let the four of them file in. Hanaman watched Nemgas as he moved, noting the strangely focussed expression on his face. Their eyes met briefly, but Hanaman felt nothing from that gaze. And then Nemgas slipped inside the wagon.
Hanaman waited a moment before jumping down to the ground. The snow had filled back in on the sacks, but they were still quite dry. Hefting one over his shoulder, he began to carry it back to the supply wagons. The other Magyars driving the first two wagons also joined him in carrying the sacks back. From the weight, Hanaman felt certain they would have plenty of food for the trip across the last of the Steppe.
But he could not help but wonder what that look in Nemgas’s eyes had meant. Was he ready to be a Magyar and want for nothing else? It always took men such as he a while before they sought only to be a Magyar, but it was inevitable. Yet Nemgas made it feel otherwise. And then he remembered the words of his seer. All he had to do was grant him one boon, and he would be a Magyar for the rest of his life. But what boon that was, he could not possibly imagine. Before he let his mind drift to what the cards had done when he’d asked, he set his eyes upon the supply wagon and continued walking through the snow.
One by one they returned the charms to the old seer. She took them gingerly in curled fingers and set them once more in that small chest. Kashin waited so that he would be the last to return a charm, and waited, staring for a moment, searching to find the words he wished to speak. Yet Dazheen recognised the look in his eye, and smiled up towards him. “Thou hath a question in thy heart.”
“Yes,” Kashin said, feeling the warmth inside the wagon fill his flesh and bones. After having spent so long out in the winter cold, it was a welcome relief. “May I ask something of thee?”
Dazheen nodded as she leaned back in her seat, eyes gazing up to him. “Aye. Thou mayest ask what thee wilt. Do sit, Nemgas.” Even as he did so, she looked to his friends who were quite surprised by the request. “Thou shouldst leave us. Nemgas wilt join thee when he hath finished speaking with me.”
Gamran and Pelgan both nodded and smiled to Kashin before they left, while Kaspel gave him an odd questioning look. But all three of them left regardless. Bryone also hid herself behind the curtains. Kashin did not watch them leave, but sat still in the seat, rubbing his gloved hand over his leg, working the warmth back into his bones.
“Now, what dost thee wish to ask?” Dazheen asked once they were alone.
Kashin took a deep breath. “I first want to know that you wilt never speak of this to any other, what we say here.”
The seer blinked a bit in surprise at that, but nodded after a moment. “Of course, I shalt keep thy secrets.”
He smiled slightly then and nodded. “Good. I’ve talked to a few others about this, but they do not wish to speak of it. I was hoping that thee might be able to tell me all that you know about the mountain Cenziga.”
Even as he spoke the words, the candles lit about the wagon appeared to flutter as if from a sudden wind. Dazheen’s eyes went wide, and she held up her old hands, waving him to silence. She rose to her feet, and walked about the room, speaking soft words, words that sounded as if meant to sooth, to each of the candles. One by one as she spoke to them they began to glow a bit brighter and more firm. After she had finished, she slowly sat back down once more.
“Thou must never say his name. The others are wise not to tell thee of him, for ‘tis not something to be mentioned lightly. He can hear when his name hast been called, and his attention is not something that thee wouldst want.”
Kashin grimaced, his heart trembling a bit as he glanced first from the woman to the candles and back again. “What is he? Canst thee tell me that much?”
Dazheen nodded after a moment, a strange contemplative look crossing her weathered features. Her lips pursed a moment and then she leaned forward. “His name means ashes. Every few years he wilt spew forth his namesake across the Steppe.”
When she did not immediately continue to speak, Kashin offered, “A volcano?” Though he had never seen one, he knew they were common in certain portions of the Southern continent and out in the deep ocean. There were also supposed to be some far to the North. But he had never heard of any in the Steppe. In fact, he had never heard of any mountains in the Steppe. It only occurred to him after he had asked that she might not know what a volcano was.
Dazheen’s gaze held his though, firm eyes that spoke of things far more dangerous than lava and ash. “No, he hast not the fire of a volcano like the ones that thee must know.” For a moment he pondered where she had learned of volcanos but it did not last. The more interesting question was still what could this mountain named Ash be.
“Then what is he?”
Her voice was filled with some ancient eldritch knowledge, one that he wished to plumb, but also one that did not unlock itself for just any key. “‘Tis a mystery that stretch beyond the years of all that liveth. ‘Tis said to be the lair of a great dragon. ‘Tis said to be the home of that which wast before e’en the fair folk. ‘Tis said to be the font from which creation sprang. ‘Tis said to be a portal beyond the firmament. ‘Tis said to be many things. Who canst know which hath truth?”
Kashin grimaced and tapped his chin thoughtfully with one finger. “Hast no one ever climbed him?”
Her eyes were grim at that. “Many hath ascended his rocky crags. They dost lose themselves that climb that mount.”
“You mean they die? Any who climb that mountain die?” Kashin pressed, trying to understand just what she meant.
Dazheen appeared not to even breathe as she sat there leaning over, her whole body tense. “Aye. They die.” There was a strange quality to the words, one that made Kashin scratch at his tunic in anxiety.
“Why does he glow blue at dusk?”
The question appeared to catch her by surprise, though only comparably so. She blinked once before speaking. “‘Tis thought to be something upon his summit that shines in that way. No one dost know for certain.”
Kashin continued to idly itch at his chest. “Why doesn’t a mage simply use scrying to see what is up there? Or to fly up there and see?”
Dazheen shook her head then. “No magic can penetrate the shroud he makes.” She paused then, her eyes fixing upon him curiously, as if she had just come to some terrible understanding. And then the moment passed, and she was once more the old seer. “More powerful than I hath tried and failed.”
He leaned back in his chair then, blinking, letting his eyes wander across to the candles once more. Only a few hours ago he’d been in the storehouse stealing potatoes from the people of Doltatra. He, once a member of the Yeshuel the Patriarch’s personal bodyguards, had been stealing potatoes. And now he was consulting with a seer about a mountain that should not be, one that frightened the other Magyars. With a dull chill, he realised that it frightened him as well, but not in a way that he could define.
Many times he had faced battle, and there had always been the fear for his life. This was something different, a more subtle fear. Fleeting images of Akabaieth, Iosef, Alfais and Lakaesh passed before him as he considered that fear. Faces that were all now lost, as each of them was dead. How many hours had he supped with them, how many days spent in their presence were but a memory? Metamor had changed them all, even though it only cost him his left arm. Who would carry on their memories if not he?
Wincing, he wondered just what they might have said if they had seen him that morning stealing those potatoes. Could they have understand that he had no choice but to steal for his fellow Magyars? Would they even understand why he was a Magyar now too? Kashin gritted his teeth, and let his eyes become lost in the dancing flame of one of the candles. It was not hard for him to lose himself there. There was not much left of him to lose after all.
Kashin finally shook his head, and turned his gaze resolutely back upon the seer. There was something comforting in being able to consult her about such matters. It was not the same as seeking the rite of penance from a priest, but it held the same mystery as a confessional. He opened his mouth to speak, but at first the words did not come. Closing it, he sighed, and then tried again. “How close will we come to him?”
“A day’s walk. ‘Tis north of our journey, but we must not turn any further south than we already will, lest we run short of food ere we reach the next town.”
Kashin nodded, biting his lip slightly. He could not explain his interest in this strange mountain that defied even magic. But the fear he felt pounded him to know more. “When wilt we pass him by?”
“We shalt reach him in two week’s time,” she said almost in resignation. And then after a moment added, “If the weather dost not slow us down.”
Kashin continued to nod slowly, his eyes straying down across the table. A deck of cards was set to one side, untouched in quite some time he surmised. Her fingers followed his eyes and stroked the back of the top card. They almost seemed to bend towards her touch, but it was probably just his imagination. “Well, I suppose that is all I wished to know of thee. I thank thee, wise Dazheen.”
Dazheen smiled towards him warmly then, much like a grandmother might smile to a small grandchild. “Get thy rest, Nemgas. Thou wilt need it.”
He smiled to her, and rose. “I wilt do as thee hath instructed.” Kashin turned only slowly then, slipping back underneath the curtain to the door to the wagon only after bowing his head respectfully. Bryone stood up, her face tense. She had certainly heard much of what they had discussed, but she, like the seer who was instructing her, would not speak of it. Kashin smiled to the young girl as well, even as she opened the door for him.
Kashin found Hanaman outside the wagon rubbing down the legs of the Assingh leading the wagon, while Nagel was feeding them a few grains. The leader of the Magyars looked up at him as he emerged, and followed him with his eyes as Kashin jumped to the snow-covered ground.
“Did she bring thee an answer?” Hanaman asked, betraying only a cursory interest.
Kashin nodded after a moment. “Aye, she hath done so.”
Hanaman nodded and continued to work the cloth down the hind legs of one of the Assingh. The animal appeared to enjoy the rubbing, but still kept his muzzle pressed into Nagel’s hands as the slim man held out the feed. “Gamran, Pelgan, and Kaspel hath already returned to thine wagon.”
Kashin nodded and regarded the Eastern sky. It was iron grey, the storm clouds that had brought the snow moved past to the East. The sun had risen at least, though it was far to the South in the sky. “When shalt we depart?”
Hanaman shrugged and moved to the other hind leg. “Ere long. Once the Assingh are fed and warmed we shalt continue on our way. Now get thee to thy wagon and rest. We hath far to travel today.”
“I wilt do as thee hath instructed,” Kashin said once more. The words came so easily to his lips, strange as they were. Only the previous day the leader of the Tagendend had noted the way he spoke. While he was not nearly as brusque as the knight’s of the Steppe, he certainly sounded their ancient syllables more than he sounded the gentle and intricate curves of the cultured tongues of Yesulam.
Hanaman did not give him any more regard though, focussing his attention on the Assingh’s legs. Kashin turned and strode back through the piles of snow. He wished that he could have kept the charm, as it was much easier, and left his warmer. Already, the cold winter air was beginning to seep back into his bones. So he strode as quick as he could down the line of wagons. Many of his fellow Magyars were rubbing down the Assingh just as Hanaman was, and he greeted them and they him as he passed.
But it did not take him long to reach the wagon he shared with Gamran and the others. Chamag and Berkon were outside, the former rubbing their steeds’ legs, while the latter provided them with a bit of grain to eat. Chamag smiled and stood up, giving the Assingh a firm pat on the rump. The animal started forward slightly, but stopped at the reassuring touch from Berkon.
“I hear that thou didst steal quite a few potatoes this morning, Nemgas. I give thee my thanks for such a fine job as thou hast done!” Chamag smiled broadly as he patted him on the shoulder much as he had done for the Assingh.
“‘Twas nothing that any other Magyar wouldst not hath done in my place. It bringeth me delight to know that I hath done so well for my fellow Magyars such as thee, Chamag.”
Berkon raised one eyebrow at that, his wide face displaying feigned injury. “And what of me? Dost thou not regard me as well?”
Kashin laughed a bit at that, and smiled. “Of course I wish to do well by thee, Berkon!” He then glanced up at the door to the wagon. “But if thou wouldst pardon me, I must rest now.”
“Go, and get thy rest,” Chamag said buoyantly. “Thou hast earned it!”
Kashin could only smile as he climbed up to the door, and stepped through. It was dark inside, only a single candle was lit. But it was still very warm, a fact that delighted the Magyar. Three of the bunks were filled, and some snoring could already be heard from one of them. He heard somebody shifting about in one of the other bunks then. When he looked to see who, he saw Pelgan’s head poking out.
“Nemgas, what didst ye wish to ask her?” The question was simply curious, nothing more.
Kashin shook his head, even as he pulled off the glove with his teeth. He took it from his mouth and set it on the table. He shrugged then. “‘Twas between she and I. ‘Tis of no importance now.”
Pelgan nodded, smiling to him after a moment. “‘Twas a pleasure to have thee with us this morning, Nemgas. It filleth me with pride to know that thou art my brother Magyar.” He touched his hand to his head and then gestured outwards, his smile overflowing with the pride he had spoken of.
Kashin blinked, blushing ever so slightly at that. “Thank you,” he stammered, reverting to his old way of speech. Regaining his confidence, he said again, “I thank thee. Thou dost flatter me, Pelgan.”
Pelgan chuckled lightly. “I dost not think so.” He then rolled back over in his bunk, pulling the covers tight to his chest. Kashin blinked and looked at the empty space where the youth’s head had been a moment before. He did not know what to make of that, despite the warm feeling it gave to his heart. There was also some part of him that felt wounded, but it felt as if that part belonged to another person and not to him.
Pulling his jacket and brightly coloured tunic off, he set them back in their proper place. He slipped down into his bunk on the bottom and lay there. It was familiar to him, the contours now suited to his form. Why did he feel such a pride in being a Magyar? He’d had to steal potatoes that morning after all. He had once felt a great pride in being a Yeshuel. Was he changed that much?
His mind did not answer those questions though, as his exhaustion led mercifully to quiet sleep within minutes of laying down. Simple dreams filled his consciousness, even as the wagons began to move again. As Kashin slept, they continued on their way east towards the distant mountains.