Out of the Darkness

“Going after Kaunians isn’t right, either, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t happen. I wish it did.”

“Now that you mention it, so do I,” Vanai said. She pointed across the market square. “Look-there’s someone else with dried mushrooms. Shall we go over and see what he’s got?”

“Why not?” Conberge seemed content; perhaps even eager, to change the subject, too. “I’m not going to go in the other direction when someone has mushrooms for sale.” Forthwegians and Kaunians in Forthweg shared the passion for them.

“I wonder what he’ll have,” Vanai said eagerly. “And I wonder what he’ll charge. Some dealers seem to think they’re selling gold, because there aren’t so many fresh ones to be had.” She would have hurried to the new dealer’s stall, but no one with a toddler in tow had much luck hurrying. Halfway across the square, she started to notice people staring at her. “What’s wrong?” she asked Conberge. “Has my tunic split a seam?”

Her sister-in-law shook her head. “No, dear,” she answered. “But you don’t look like me anymore.”

“Oh!” Taking Saxburh off her shoulder, Vanai saw the baby looked like herself, too, and not like a full-blooded Forthwegian child any more. I forgot to renew the spell before we went out, she thought. I never used to do that. I must be feeling safer.

Now, though, she was going to find out if she had any business feeling safer. How long had it been since these people had seen a Kaunian who looked like a Kaunian? Years, surely, for a lot of them. How many of them had been hoping they would never see another Kaunian again? More than a few, no doubt.

Vanai thought about ducking into a building and putting the spell on again. She thought about it, but then shook her head. For one thing, too many people had seen her both ways by now, and seen her change from one appearance to the other. For another.

Her back straightened. All right, by the powers above, I am a Kaunian. My people were living in Forthweg long before the Forthwegians wandered up out of the southwest. I have a right to be here. If they don’t like it, too bad.

Conberge walked along at her side as naturally as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. That steadied Vanai. Her sister-in-law wasn’t ashamed to be seen in public with her, no matter what she looked like. But how many people are going to wonder whether Conberge’s a Kaunian in disguise now? she wondered, and hoped Ealstan’s sister wouldn’t think of that.

Nobody shouted for a constable. Being a Kaunian wasn’t against the law in Forthweg anymore. But laws had only so much to do with the way the world worked. Vanai feared people would start shouting curses or throwing things. If they did, would the Unkerlanter soldiers on patrol try to stop them? She supposed so. Even if the soldiers did, though, the damage would still be done. She would never again be able to show her face as a blond in Gromheort, and maybe not in Forthwegian disguise, either.

No one threw anything. No one said anything. No one, as far as Vanai could tell, so much as moved as she came up to the Forthwegian who was selling dried mushrooms: a plump fellow somewhere in his middle years. Into that frozen silence-it might have sprung from a wizard’s spell rather than from one wearing off-she spoke not in Forthwegian but in classical Kaunian: “Hello. Let me see what you have, if you please?”

Even Conberge inhaled. Vanai wondered if she’d gone too far. Using her birthspeech wasn’t illegal any more, either, but when had anyone last done it in public here? Would the mushroom-seller try to shame her by denying that he understood? Or would he prove to be one of those Forthwegians who’d either never learned or who’d forgotten his classical Kaunian?

Neither, as it happened. Not only did he understand the language she’d used, he even replied in it: “Of course. You’ll find some good things here.” He pushed baskets toward her.

“Thank you,” she said, a beat slower than she should have-hearing her own tongue took her by surprise. Around her, the market square came back to life. If the dealer took her for granted, other folk would do the same. Now I have to buy something from him, she thought. No matter how much he charges, I have to buy. I owe it to him.

But the fellow’s prices turned out to be better than the ones Vanai and Conberge had got from the man on the other side of the square. He wrapped up the mushrooms she bought in paper torn from an old news sheet and tied it with a bit of string. “Enjoy them,” he told her.