Return and Departure

Oswa was still being treated. Arla insisted on staying with her. The rest of us poled upriver to Omosghortos.

The mother khonkonghos had finally been butchered. Huge slabs of dripping meat hung above the longfire. Keitan and his sons took down the meat that had already been smoked, and stuffed them into more sacks.

The ghortos settled into its regular routine. Women washed and cleaned and mended clothes. Men tended to their tools and fields. Children watched the livestock.

I found Omos sitting in a corner of the longhouse, sharpening a knife.

“You’ve returned,” Omos said.

I sat beside him.

“Indeed. And I shall leave again soon.”

“You’re following Keitan and his boys to the market?”

“Yes. And then I will join the Labos House.”

Omos looked up. “Oh?”

I told him about the offer I received.

“You have given me good ghostis, Omos Ghosti,” I said, “but now it is time for me to make my own way.”

“The Labos House may not invite you to join their koryos.”

“If they do not, then I shall return. If they do, then I shall send word.”

“I cannot persuade you to stay?”

“My road passes through your house, but it leads to the Sky-Pillar and the great serpent.”

“You need silver. The Labos House holds more silver than my ghortos will ever see.”

“Nonetheless, you have given me ghostis, and they have not. This I will remember. And it may well be that the convoy will come to your gate.”

He made a soft sound and set aside his whetstone.

“I see your mind is set. Yet will you hear my rede?”

“Of course.”

“The Labos House is a house of merchants. They will follow the Law, but I do not think they will feel obliged to pay men who do not return from the road. Especially men who are not sworn to their koryos.”

I tilted my head. “Thank you.”

Omos set his things aside, rose to his feet, and held out his arm.

“It was good to have you, Taran Ghosti. May Hagra watch over you.”

I clasped his forearm. I opened my mouth, ready-made words about to tumble forth. Then I remembered what Perkaus had said and done. I remembered, also, an older litany Selya the priestess had taught.

“May the One keep you, Omos Ghosti.”

We shook.