at him curiously. He opened his mouth to speak and then blushed and shut it again.
Berandol glanced down at his charge. ‘Whatever it is, go ahead and say it. I will not rebuke you.’
‘The problem is, I was about to rebuke you,’ Wintrow confessed. The boy’s face brightened as he added, ‘But I stopped myself before I did.’
‘And you were going to say to me?’ Berandol pressed. When the boy shook his head, his tutor laughed aloud. ‘Come, Wintrow, having asked you to speak your thought, do you think I would be so unfair as to take offence at your words? What was in your mind?’
‘I was going to tell you that you should govern your behaviour by the precepts of Sa, not by what you see others doing.’ The boy spoke forthrightly, but then lowered his eyes. ‘I know it is not my place to remind you of that.’
Berandol looked too deep in thought to have taken offence. ‘But if I follow the precept alone, and my heart tells me it is impossible for a man to judge as Sa does, with absolute justice and absolute mercy, then I must conclude…’ His words slowed as if the thought came reluctantly. ‘I must conclude that either the Wanderers have much greater spiritual depth than I. Or that they have no more right to judge than I do.’ His eyes wandered among the apple trees. ‘Could it be that an entire branch of our order exists without righteousness? Is not it disloyal even to think such a thing?’ His troubled glance came back to the boy at his side.
Wintrow smiled serenely. ‘If a man’s thoughts follow the precepts of Sa, they cannot go astray.’
‘I shall have to think more on this,’ Berandol concluded with a sigh. He gave Wintrow a look of genuine fondness. ‘I bless the day you were given me as student, though in truth I often wonder who is student and who is teacher here. I shall miss you.’
Sudden alarm filled Wintrow’s eyes. ‘Miss me? Are you leaving, have you been called to duty so soon?’
‘Not I. I should have given you this news better, but as always your words have led my thoughts far from their starting point. I am not leaving, but you. It was why I came to find you today, to bid you pack, for you are called home. Your grandmother and mother have sent word that they fear your grandfather is dying. They would have you near at such a time.’ At the look of devastation on the boy’s face, Berandol added, ‘I am sorry to have told you so bluntly. You so seldom speak of your family. I did not realize you were close to your grandfather.’
‘I am not,’ Wintrow simply admitted. ‘Truth to tell, I scarcely know him. When I was small, he was always at sea. At the times when he was home, he always terrified me. Not with cruelty, but with… power. Everything about him seemed too large for the room, from his voice to his beard. Even when I was small and overheard other folk talking about him, it was as if they spoke of a legend or a hero. I don’t recall that I ever called him Grandpa, nor even Grandfather. When he came home, he’d blow through the house like the north wind and mostly I took shelter from his presence rather than enjoyed it. When I was dragged out before him, all I can recall was that he found fault with my growth. “Why is the boy so puny?” he’d demand. “He looks just like my boys, but half the size! Don’t you feed him meat? Doesn’t he eat well?” Then he would pull me near and feel my arm, as if I were being fattened for the table. I always felt ashamed of my size, then, as if it were a fault. Since I was given over to the priesthood, I have seen even less of him, but my impression of him has not changed. Still, it is not my grandfather I dread, nor even keeping his death watch. It’s going home, Berandol. It is so… noisy.’
Berandol grimaced in sympathy.
‘I don’t believe I even learned to think until I came here,’ Wintrow continued. ‘There, it was too noisy and too busy. I never had time to think. From the time Nana rousted us out of bed in the morning until we were bathed, gowned and dumped back in bed at night, we were in motion. Being dressed and taken on outings, having lessons and meals, visiting friends, being dressed differently and having more meals… it was endless. You know, when I first got here, I didn’t leave my cell for the first two days. Without Nana or Grandma or Mother chasing me about, I had no idea what to do with myself. And for so long, my sister and I had been a unit. “The children” need their nap, “the children” need their lunch. I felt I’d lost half my body when they separated us.’
Berandol was grinning in appreciation. ‘So that is what it is like, to be a Vestrit. I’d always wondered how the children of the Old Traders of Bingtown lived. For me, it was very different, and yet much the same. We were swineherds, my family. I had no nanny or outings, but there were always chores aplenty to keep one busy. Looking back, we spent most of our time simply surviving. Stretching out the food, fixing things long past fixing by anyone else’s standards, caring for the swine… I think the pigs received better care than anyone else. There was never even a thought of giving up a child for the priesthood. Then my mother became ill, and my father made a promise that if she lived, he would dedicate one of his children to Sa. So when she lived, they sent me off. I was the runt of the litter, so to speak. The youngest surviving child, and with a stunted arm. It was a sacrifice for them, I am sure, but not as great as giving up one of my strapping older brothers.’
‘A stunted arm?’ Wintrow asked in surprise.
‘It was. I’d fallen on it when I was small, and it was a long time healing, and when it did heal, it was never as strong as it should have been. But the priests cured me. They put me with the watering crew on the orchard, and the priest in charge of us gave me mismatched buckets. He made me carry the heavier one with my weaker arm. I thought he was a madman at first; my parents had always taught me to use my stronger arm for everything. It was my earliest introduction to Sa’s precepts.’
Wintrow frowned to himself for a moment, then grinned. ‘“For the weakest has but to try his strength to find it, and then he shall be strong”.’
‘Exactly.’ The priest gestured at the long low building before them. The acolytes’ cells had been their destination. ‘The messenger was delayed getting here. You will have to pack swiftly and set out right away if you are to reach port before your ship sails. It’s a long walk.’
‘A ship!’ The desolation that had faded briefly from Wintrow’s face flooded back. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. I hate travelling by sea. But when one must go from Jamaillia to Bingtown, there is no other choice.’ His frown deepened. ‘Walk to port? Didn’t they arrange a man and a horse for me?’
‘Do you so quickly revive to the comforts of wealth, Wintrow?’ Berandol chided him. When the boy hung his head, abashed, he went on, ‘No, the message said that a friend had offered you passage across and the family had been glad to accept it.’ More gently he added, ‘I suspect that money is not so plentiful for your family as it once was. The Northern War has hurt many of the trading families, both in the goods that never came down the Buck River and those that never were sold there.’ More pensively, he went on, ‘And our young Satrap does not favour Bingtown as his father and grandfathers did. They seemed to feel that those brave enough to settle the Cursed Shores should share generously in the treasures they found there. But not young Cosgo. It is said that he feels they have reaped the reward of their risk-taking long enough, that the Shores are well settled and whatever curse was once there is now dispersed. He has not only sent them new taxes but has parcelled out new grants of land near Bingtown to some of his favourites.’ Berandol shook his head. ‘He breaks the word of his ancestor, and causes hardship for folk who have always kept their word with him. No good can come of this.’
‘I know. I should be grateful I am not afoot all the way. But it is hard, Berandol, to accept a journey to a destination I dread, let alone by ship. I shall be miserable the whole way.’
‘Seasick?’
