It was not until the Burgomaster and his retinue had left their camp that Kashin allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief. No blanket or brace had been found, and certainly not a sopping wet thief. Although the Burgomaster spoke of his anger towards the Tagendend for making false accusations, there seemed to be an unspoken understanding that one amongst the Magyars had stolen something, but they had been clever enough to hide it.
Kashin knew that it had been Gamran, but though he wished that the thievery had not been done, he was more concerned for the little man’s well being. Was he all right? Kashin had not seen him since he’d begun to dress in his costume, leaving he and Pelgan juggling. But he did not speak of what had happened after the villagers had left. After all, he did not know how such affairs were handled amongst the Magyar, and given the way that Hanaman stared at him every few moments, he knew he had breached their ways too many times already.
Instead, he went about the normal affairs, cleaning up the mess that they had left that night. It was drawing on towards midnight already, and though the fires still burned brightly, they all could feel the night’s chill filling their bodies. The benches could remain where they were for the night, as there would be another performance the following evening. Many performances would remain unchanged, such as the pageant, but there would be other acts as well to encourage more of them villagers to attend.
But it was as Kashin was helping Chamag pick up some of the discarded weapons from the pageant when Hanaman approached alone. At a single nod, Chamag said to Kashin, “Thou shouldst let me handle this Nemgas.”
Kashin nodded, seeing the determination on the Magyar leaders face. He stepped back towards the side of one of the wagons where they could be alone. Hanaman followed after, giving him a look that bespoke only of gentle rebuke. “What dost thee wish to see me for, Hanaman?” Kashin asked, wiping a few splinters from his colourful jerkin and trousers.
Hanaman’s lips twitched ever so slightly and then the look disappeared. “Why didst thee stand before Horvig?” He asked after only a moment’s pause.
“Because he wished to cause you harm,” Kashin replied, as it was the simple truth. He was not about to allow anyone to hurt any of his fellow Magyars.
Hanaman nodded at that, some of the rebuke slipping free. There was a brief look of admiration, but it passed in a moment as well. “Thou art brave to face him when thou hast but one arm.”
“He would not have gotten past me.”
“Art thee so certain?” Hanaman asked, surprised at the show of braggadocio. At Kashin’s nod, the older man continued. “Thou wert not born upon the Steppe, so thee shouldst not be expected to know her customs. We art upon the grounds of Doltatra, and we shouldst respect that. When the Burgomaster stands between we and the Tagendend, we must let him continue to stand there.”
“Then Horvig showed disrespect by approaching us?”
Hanaman nodded. “Indeed he hath done so. Horvig hath an impetuous heart and an intemperate soul. I fear the day when he shalt be the First Hunter. But thou shouldst not have stood before him. Thou shouldst have let Burgomaster Agee make that move.”
Kashin nodded and frowned. “I understand. I do apologize for my behaviour.”
Hanaman patted him once on the shoulder then. “Thou dost not need apologize to me, young Nemgas. Thou shouldst apologize to Burgomaster Agee if to any, thou I wilt not ask thee to do so.”
He was not sure what to make of that, but decided he would offer an apology to the Burgomaster the following eve should the man attend their performance. Another thought struck him then and just as Hanaman was turning to leave, he asked, “And what of Gamran?”
“What of him?” Hanaman turned back around, a challenge clear in his face.
Kashin bristled slightly, but hid that as best he could. “Did he or did he not steal what the Tagendend claim?”
Hanaman shrugged. “The cloth will make several coats to keep our children warm in these months. The metal can be fashioned into tools to be used all the year round. The wood will serve well in the fires. Our lives are the better for it.”
“And the Tagendend the worse,” Kashin pointed out morosely.
“It was left out by them, they did not need it. We do.”
“That does not justify taking what does not belong to you.”
Hanaman crossed his arms then. “What dost belong to thee? Thou hast nothing in this world, and thou canst take nothing with thee when thee leaves it. What then dost matter aught but need?”
Kashin opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it again. Though he had spent his entire life amongst the Ecclesia, he had never been very good arguing matters of doctrine. What Hanaman had sounded familiar enough to what the priests had told him that he could see no flaw in the reasoning. He knew that stealing was wrong, but how could he possibly express it?
As if reading his thoughts, Hanaman leaned forward and said in a low voice. “Wouldst thee tell thy brethren that their children shouldst not be warm?”
Kashin shook his head. “No, I would not.”
“Then why must thee suggest that they ought?” There was a stern lecturing in those words and in his face. But it faded and was replaced with an almost fatherly concern. “Thou art a Magyar, Nemgas. ‘Tis not an easy life, but ‘tis the one we both share. ‘Tis but something we must do for thee and thine.”
Hanaman patted him once more on the shoulder, turned about and walked back amongst the rest of the camp. Kashin stood there for several minutes, not knowing what he could do. Finally, he felt his knees buckle, and he fell to them in the cold grass. He made the sign of the tree before him, and closed his eyes in silent prayer. A prayer for strength, guidance, and forgiveness all. He did not understand why he had been brought amongst the Magyars, but there had to be some reason to it. What could he do now but honour them and his commitment to them?
Rising back to his feet, Kashin returned to see if Chamag still needed any assistance, but saw that the larger man had already returned inside his own wagon. Only a few Magyars remained out, most of them watching against betrayal at the hands of the Tagendend. He even saw that Hanaman was heading directly for his own wagon. It was only then that Kashin realized just how exhausted he was, the weight of the hours finally bearing down upon him.
The wagon that was now his home was not difficult to find, as it was in the same place it always was. The door was unlatched, and he stepped within the warmth gratefully. There was only a single lantern lit inside the wagon, so long shadows crept up the walls and across the beds. There were six of them, three set on either side, one atop the other. He could see that five of the bunks were already occupied, nd he smiled at that.
“Nemgas,” Gamran called as he leaned out of his top bunk slightly, grinning amiably. “I hear thee stood down that backwards born colt Horvig!”
Kashin snorted and crossed his arms as he looked at the little thief. “I hear thee was nearly caught while stealing a blanket.”
Gamran shrugged and winked. “Ah, ‘tis true, but I escaped and here I am now, and we are one blanket richer! ‘Tis reason to celebrate!”
“Perhaps. I am just glad we still have you with us.” Kashin said, even as he pulled off his shirt, folding it and setting it within the drawer set aside for him. His undershirt of white wool was much the same as the others.
“Ah, you had me before,” Gamran said, whimsy still in his voice. “Now thou hast me and a blanket as well as a bit of iron. I dost like that better.”
“As do I,” Pelgan said as he rolled over in his middle bunk, just beneath Gamran’s. Kashin’s was beneath his, while on the opposite side slept Chamag, Berkon and Kaspel. All of them were unmarried, and so they naturally shared the same wagon.
“How didst they spot thee?” Chamag asked as he turned over in his middle bunk.
Gamran grimaced then, faced turning in disgust. “I stubbed my foot upon a rock.”
“‘Tis always something like that,” Berkon opined morosely, to which Pelgan and Gamran both nodded.
Kashin finished putting his clothes away for the next morning and crawled down towards his bunk, pulling by the single thick woolen blanket. “Do you plan on visiting their camp tomorrow night as well?”
Gamran shook his head. “No, they shan’t lower their guard again. I wish that I might take more than just a blanket and a bit of iron from those mare-bred brutes!”
“Hear hear!” Kaspel raised a fist in support of the idea from his top bunk.
“But ‘tis enough for now,” Gamran said, smiling. “‘Twas fun though!”
Kashin kept his face free of emotion then, and laid back in his bunk. The lantern was hanging from the top wall, so either Kaspel or Gamran would extinguish it now that they were all here. And a moment later it was snuffed, though he did not see by whom. Before his thoughts began to turn dark though, a voice cut through. “Thou didst perform very well this night, Nemgas,” Chamag said. “Thou hast made me proud of thee.”
“And I as well!” Gamran said, his voice full of verve once more. “Thou art a true Magyar!”
Kashin blinked at those benedictions, chorused by Pelgan and the rest a moment later. How did he feel about such words? He was not sure, but his heart warmed nevertheless. How long had it been since he had belonged? Though he could measure it in months, it felt far longer. And so, when he found his voice, he choose his words deliberately. “I thank thee, my fellow Magyars.”
It pleased all of them to hear that, though as they were all very tired, nothing more was said. Kashin lay there, wondering how much of what he said was true. And he continued to dwell on the words of Hanaman. In a strange mush they lulled the tired Magyar to sleep.
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