Amyu blinked.
“No, no,” Anser said, and smiled. “She means—”
“I’ll explain,” Mya said when she saw the confusion. “You’ll be home at close of market?”
“Aye, my love.” Anser kissed her, and slipped a packet in his wife’s apron pocket. The days’ earnings, Amyu suspected, from the rattle of coins.
She followed Mya through the main streets, until they turned into side streets where the buildings towered over them, so close together that they leaned over the street, blocking out the sun. Amyu knew enough to expect it, but she wasn’t used to it.
“It’s not far,” Mya said. “Auntie will be glad of the company, her hands are paining her so.”
“Auntie,” Amyu said. “I do not know that word. Is she your life-bearer?”
“You mean is she Anser’s mother?” Mya shook her head. “No, no, she’s family on Anser’s side, but I am not sure of exactly how.” Mya paused before a flight of stone steps. “She’s our blood, though, and took Anser and me as her apprentices, to keep the cheese in the family.”
“You keep your animals here?” Amyu asked.
“No, the herds are on the mountain side, outside the City walls. We hid them in the caves when those monsters came.” Mya shuddered as she started up the steps. “Thanks be to the Goddess that we only lost two cows, and that my sons took shelter.” She paused before a heavy, wooden door, opening it wide. “Auntie, someone to see you.”
“And who might that be?” came a strong, clipped voice.
“I am Amyu,” Amyu said as she stepped within. “In Queen Xylara’s service.”
There was a woman seated before the hearth, in a chair that rocked. She was hunched over, her crooked and swollen fingers holding a mug. She looked at Amyu sideways with bright, curious eyes and a welcoming smile. “Well, then, you are welcome, child.” Amyu could have sworn that her gaze flickered to her arms.
Amyu stiffened, then relaxed. Her cloak was on. There was no way this woman could know—
“Ah, forgive these old eyes. You are a Firelander, and a warrior. I mean no insult.”
Kalisa gestured toward a stool at her side. “Come, sit where I can see you, and tell me why you have come.”
“I will leave you,” Mya said, jiggling the coins in her apron meaningfully.
“Good, good,” Kalisa assured her as Mya vanished to another room. “Now, tell me what you want of an old woman, Amyu of the Plains.”
Amyu sank down on the stool and took a deep breath. “I want to fly.”
The old woman stared at her, her eyes wide with shock. But then her gaze dropped to her own hands, tight on her mug. Amyu could see the very bones through the thin skin of the crippled fingers.
Kalisa shook her head, muttering under her breath words that Amyu didn’t quite catch. Something about ‘lifetimes of waiting.’ That couldn’t be right. But Xyian was so odd. She opened her mouth to ask, but Kalisa turned back, her eyes now piercing and narrow.
“Explain yourself, and quickly.”
Amyu explained, her words tumbling out of her mouth as she talked about the wyverns and the airions and the tapestry and the scroll.
And as she babbled, she looked at Kalisa, for she’d never seen one so old, so warped by age. Her crooked, swollen fingers, where she could see every line, every bone. The humped back. The face, almost a skull, with thin skin worn and wrinkled. Kalisa’s white hair was braided back, but it was thin and the braid yellowed at the ends.
How long had she lived, to reach such a state? There were no aged on the Plains. One lived as long as one was useful, and then one day the old one was gone.
Kalisa listened, her eyes sharp, nodding at times to show her understanding. Amyu finally ran out of words.
Kalisa eased back in her chair, and rocked back and forth, her mind elsewhere.
There was movement close by, and Amyu looked up to find Mya standing next to her, with a mug. “You must be thirsty,” she said, and offered the drink.
Amyu took it. “Thank you,” she said politely. It was cool and refreshing. Some kind of herbal tea, she guessed.
Mya smiled, and looked over at Kalisa. “Auntie, you’ve someone to tell your tales to,” she laughed. “Someone interested. My boys never were.”
