The Book Gatherer

Chapter Twelve

The girl—Honi—hadn't tied Firek up since the day at the stream. The only possible reason he could come up with was that his plan was working. She was beginning to trust him. All because he'd broken down, told his sad tale of woe, shown weakness the day before.

He was still angry at himself for that. But if it helped the girl—Honi—relax . . . very well.

Thoughts settled, mind focused, feelings void, Firek began his mykthor, mumbling the words under his breath in sync to his breathing in and out of the smoke He apologized to the Sky Serpent, begged mercy for leaving his sky realm to the filthy earth, promised he did it only to gain more glory and strength for the SKY Company, spoke of what he had done so far to accomplish that, and told him his plans for the day, asking for guidance and strength to do so. He ended with his gratitude for what the Sky Serpent had already done for him and praised the Serpent's might and power, then spoke the final intonation:

"May this prayer please thee in this burnt sacrifice of smoke and ink. Roh-myk."

Firek bowed over the fire, exhaled through his mouth, then raised his head and blinked smoke out of his eyes. Honi was glaring at him from across the fire where she sat cross-legged, a half-eaten jerky page in her hands. He stared back, expressionless and unintimidated. Nothing made him feel so good as the mykthor. It cleared his head, reminded him of his purpose and mission, calmed whatever storm raged inside, and even had the funny side-effect of dulling the pain of his wounds. No one had told him about that in primary training. Neither about the strange images that came to him during his first couple mykthors. Perhaps simply a gift from the Sky Serpent in response to his devotion; most of his flock performed mykthors rarely, whereas Firek did it every morning.

Honi pointedly began eating again, taking big, slow bites. "Mmmhm, good stuff. Pity you dropped yours in the fire."

Firek gave her an impassive look. She could believe what she wanted to believe and Firek couldn't care less. He was just glad that his morning rituals delayed traveling, even a little.

She finished off her jerky, licked her fingers of crumbs and dots of ink, and Firek prepared himself to stand. The lackey always was in a hurry to get moving after his mykthor.

"Don't bother," she said, waving her hand absently at him to remain seated. He did so, curious and a little cautious. "We won't travel much today, probably. I'm taking the day to dry books since we're running low on supplies."

"Two days ago you dumped out your saddlebags," he said, bemused. "And now you're short on supplies?"

She flapped her hand dismissively. "Those were fresh books, heavy with ink, not for a humble gatherer like myself to eat. I need to do this."

Firek shook his head, saying nothing more. He wouldn't argue a wasted day. It would give him more opportunities to leave signs of their being here. He watched as Honi dug through a smaller saddlebag and hauled out not books but an odd, rusty machine that looked ready to fall to bits at any instant.

She dragged it over to him by the dying fire, a screw popping off during the journey, and finally let it rest. It moaned softly as she sat back, panting slightly but smiling wide. How does she do that so easily? Firek wondered. Smiling so often . . . and it doesn't even seem fake or forced.

Seeing his confusion, Honi nodded at the thing. "An ink-strainer," she said, rather proudly for a hunk of junk. She tapped the back of her knuckles against it, and the entire thing rattled. "Mother got it for a steep discount from a shady, one-eyed woman—she and her bartered for an entire hour over it, believe it or not."

Firek found he didn't believe.

She pursed her lips as she eyed the thing, her head tilting to the side. "Sure, it isn't polished to a mirror like those huge city strainers that can crank out dozens of dried pages within minutes, but it'll do the job just as well."