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and heart, and Er ril sensed that just such a weakness resided in Jaston. Er ril had insisted on seeing the man s boat not just to recheck his supplies, but also to study the man further, away from Mycelle. He knew better than to voice such a concern to the swordswoman, since she and Jaston shared a history that seemed more than just seeker and guide, so he had pulled the man aside. As Er ril inspected the flat-bottomed boat, his concerns about Jaston were proven valid. Besides stocking the boat with more weapons than seemed necessary, the man was a sack full of jitters. Any sudden noise jolted him, and when Er ril accidentally brushed against his side, the man jumped back as if stung. There was no doubt that Jaston bore a timid heart and would fare poorly as a guide on such a risky journey. So, after returning from the boat, Er ril lay awake in his bedroll and pondered his choices. He could either follow this frightened man into the swamps or leave with Elena in the morning and travel by horse along the Landslip to the coast. As he weighed his options, the moon set, and the stars to the east winked out. Finally, he fled his useless bedroll and faced the approaching morning, no closer to answering his nighttime questions. He stepped carefully around his sleeping companions. Fardale, ever vigilant, raised his head, his eyes bright in the night, but Er ril waved him back down and crossed to the darkened rear of the raft. As he relieved his bladder over the side, someone cleared his throat behind him not in warning, but simply announcing his presence. Er ril glanced over his shoulder to see a smoldering pipe glowing in the deeper shadows behind Jaston s dwelling. It s only me, the man said. Er ril recognized the scarred man s voice. Dawn s still a bit away, plainsman. You could have slept longer. I would ve woken you with the sun s rising. Er ril finished and crossed to where Jaston sat in the shadows with his pipe. He leaned one hand against the wall; the wood groaned and tilted under his weight. I couldn t sleep anyway, Er ril said gruffly. From the other man s clothes and tired voice, he doubted Jaston had slept either. The swamp does that to you. It s a constant presence. Even when you shut your eyes, it still paints itself in your mind s eye with its noises. A small shudder passed through the man. Er ril slid down the wall to sit beside Jaston. The man offered a puff from his pipe. Er ril accepted and drew a long, slow drag from its stem. The smoke settled like an old friend in his chest. It was good Standi tobacco, an expensive leaf the best he had sampled in a long time. Considering the state of Jaston s living quarters, Er ril suspected that tobacco of this quality was a rare treat for the swamp man. He passed the pipe back and reluctantly let the smoke loose from his lungs in a long, low sigh. Mighty fine leaf, he said. An awkward silence arose between them until Jaston finally spoke. I know what you re thinking, plainsman. I saw your face earlier. Don t think I can t tell when a man has judged me worthless. Er ril stayed quiet. He would not lie or pretend otherwise. Elena s safety was too important for any false sentiment. Since I was scarred, the man continued, I ve had five winters of such looks. The other swampers smell my fear and treat me as if I lost both my legs. They wave and nod, but none will go swamping with me. These lands are not a place where you want a man whose hands tremble guarding your back. Page 231 ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Er ril knew these words had festered in Jaston s chest for a long time and needed to be released before any healing could begin. When I was ten, my daddy was killed by an angry mother kroc an. Tore his arm clean off the shoulder. He died before his punt could be poled back to Dry water. Jaston took a puff on his pipe, as if dredging up old memories. Yet, even his death did not make me curse the swamp. I grew up among its sinking sands, quagmires, and bogs. They were my playground, my school, and eventually my livelihood. The swamplands became a part of me as surely as my hand or my foot. Don t get me wrong. I loved the swamp, but I never lost my respect for her poisonous side. Only a dead man ever does so. We have a saying among us swampers: You don t hunt the swamp, the swamp hunts you. Jaston let his words sink in. The embers in his pipe glowed redder as he drew smoke deep into his chest. So what happened? Er ril finally asked. I ve always known that life and death were a part of the swamp, he explained. And I fully expected someday to die in its embrace. Every swamper knows she will eventually claim you. Jaston paused, pondering his pipe, then pointed to the scars on his face. But death is easy to face. This was not. His voice cracked as he continued speaking. After the attack by the king adder, children shunned me, women would shudder as I passed, even men would only speak to me with their eyes cast down. I had known the swamp was a harsh mistress, but I had never suspected the true depth of her cruelty. To let me live& but only as this half man. Er ril nodded toward his own missing arm. Not all men are whole. He began to push up from the planks. The eastern sky was beginning to blush with the approaching sun. Perhaps, he mumbled, but you still have the face of a man. Er ril frowned and turned to leave. Jaston grabbed at his leg. I must go with you, he said, seeming to sense Er ril s indecision about him. I don t go to die& or to prove something to myself. I go to answer the wit ch s call. She is said to be the heart of the swamp. Five winters ago, my life was stolen from me in a spray of poison. I will face this wit ch and make her answer for this& even if it means my death. [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ] |
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