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DargonZine Volume 11 Issue 10
D D A A R R G O O N N N Z I N N N E || Volume 11
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D D AAAA RRR G GG O O N N N Z I N N N E || Number 10
DDDDD A A R R GGGG OOOO N NN ZZZZZZ I N NN EEEE ||
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DargonZine Distributed: 12/19/1998
Volume 11, Number 10 Circulation: 679
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Contents
Editorial Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
Fate of a Child 1 Rena Deutsch Sy 979
A Tale of Two Families 1 Jon Ballinger Melrin 1, 1016
Lost and Found Cheryl Spooner Seber 20, 1016
========================================================================
DargonZine is the publication vehicle of the Dargon Project, a
collaborative group of aspiring fantasy writers on the Internet.
We welcome new readers and writers interested in joining the project.
Please address all correspondance to <dargon@shore.net> or visit us
on the World Wide Web at http://www.shore.net/~dargon. Back issues
are available from ftp.shore.net in members/dargon/. Issues and
public discussions are posted to the Usenet newsgroup rec.mag.dargon.
DargonZine 11-10, ISSN 1080-9910, (C) Copyright December, 1998 by
the Dargon Project. Editor: Ornoth D.A. Liscomb <ornoth@shore.net>,
Assistant Editor: Jon Evans <godling@mnsinc.com>. All rights reserved.
All rights are reassigned to the individual contributors. Stories
and artwork appearing herein may not be reproduced or redistributed
without the explicit permission of their creators, except in the case
of freely reproducing entire issues for further distribution.
Reproduction of issues or any portions thereof for profit is forbidden.
========================================================================
Editorial
by Ornoth D.A. Liscomb
<ornoth@shore.net>
What a difference a year makes!
About this time each year I take stock of how the previous year
went, and take the opportunity to articulate goals for the coming year.
On December 14th 1997 I wrote a lengthy post to our writers, summarizing
how I felt 1997 had gone. Although it was a spectacular year and we
printed 26 stories in eight issues, my biggest criticism was that
despite printing all those stories, we only printed one new writer.
That's a particularly aggregious shortcoming, because, as I alluded to
in the Editorial for DargonZine 11-5, our mission is to reach out to
aspiring new writers and help them improve their writing.
As a response, in that same posting I articulated that our number
one goal for 1998 should be publishing stories from six to eight new
writers. Now, at the end of the year, I can take great pleasure in
saying that with the publication of this issue, we will have introduced
you to seven new writers this year. And perhaps you can appreciate the
pride I feel when I announce that this particular issue contains *only*
new writers -- the first time this has happened since we began printing
Dargon stories back in 1986!
Contrary to what you might assume, we didn't recruit more writers
in order to make this happen. The biggest reason for this amazing
turnaround has been the mentoring program which we established this
spring. When new writers join our writing group, they not only have to
learn how the group works, but also have to come to terms with a massive
body of previously-printed material which constrains what they can
portray in their stories. Having a partner to turn to who knows the
group, how it works, and what will fly takes much of the frustration out
of getting up to speed, and helps new writers produce viable stories
faster.
Before our mentoring program went into effect, a new writer might
be with the group for a frustrating year or more before their first
story would appear in our pages. A testament to how well the mentoring
program has worked is that of the three new writers to appear in this
issue, one has been with us five months, one four, and one just three
months!
So now that you understand why this is a big deal, let me introduce
our newest faces! First up is Rena Deutsch, who begins a compelling
series of stories about an abandoned young girl. Next is Jon Ballinger,
who also prints the first chapter in a planned series dealing with his
characters. And we close with Cheryl Spooner, who introduces us to some
interesting new characters she will be following in future stories.
However, Cheryl has already completed her next work, which is an
unrelated standalone piece that should follow closely on the heels of
this one.
So join me in welcoming these three new writers who have recently
joined us, and in celebrating all of the aspiring writers who have
contributed the works that made this such a banner year for the Dargon
Project.
========================================================================
Fate of a Child
Part 1
by Rena Deutsch
<Rena3@hotmail.com>
Sy 979
"Mama!" A cry pierced through the air, silencing the birds that had
been chirping happily all morning.
"Mama!" The cry came from a little girl sitting under a tree, away
from the trails. She was tied to the tree so that she could not leave
the shelter the branches provided. Part of the rope was around her
waist, the other around the trunk of the tree, with just enough rope in
between to allow her to move around. Her small hands had tried for bells
to untie the knot, but she didn't have the strength. Tears had left
their marks as they made their way down her dirty cheeks. The food in
her basket was long gone and only a small amount of water was left in
the bottle.
It wasn't the first time that the girl had been left tied to a tree
by her mother. Prevented from wandering off, as she usually did when
left alone for several bells, she spent her time weaving baskets. Today,
however, no material was at her side that could have been used to make a
new basket. She didn't remember how long she had been tied to the tree.
What she did remember was the villagers shouting and yelling, calling
her mother an evil one with a child spawned by Arom-Nok, and many other
names she had never heard before.
"Mama," she cried, but there was no answer. There hadn't been an
answer for a long time.
She remembered her mother picking her up in the middle of the night
and carrying her away. The trip through the forest, away from the roads,
never stopping, had been long. At dawn, they had sought shelter under a
tree with a wall of branches. The branches were thick and long and
reached almost to the ground. Mother and daughter cuddled up and went to
sleep. When the girl awoke, her mother was gone and she was tied to the
tree. The food basket and the water had been left within her reach.
She settled down, tired from crying and trying to free herself.
Usually her mother would return after a few bells, bringing berries and
water, and sometimes a piece of meat. Today though, she was nowhere to
be seen. It was dark underneath the tree, but when the girl peeked
through the branches she could see the sun high up in the sky. She heard
the wind rustling through the tree. The noise frightened her.
"Mama," her voice was reduced to a whimper. Too afraid to cry or
call out, she moved closer to the trunk, pulled her knees up, and hugged
them. Her long red hair slid in front of her face and she brushed it
back with her hand. The girl felt tears well up again in her eyes. With
her head on her knees, she cried herself to sleep.
The sound of chirping birds woke her. Peeking through the branches,
she saw that the sun was still high up in the sky. She listened to the
birds' song and then decided again to try and untie the knot. She was
hungry and thirsty. Nothing edible was left in her basket. She had to
find a way to free herself of the rope.
"Mama? Mama, are you here?" Only the wind rustling in the leaves
answered her. Her fingers searched for the knot in the rope. It was as
tight as ever. She picked up a stick and tried to manipulate the knot.
Her first attempts were unsuccessful; the stick broke before she made
any progress. She tried another stick, but to no avail. Frustrated, she
sat down. Suddenly, she remembered the sharp stone in her basket and
reached for it. A quick smile appeared on her face. The stone in one
hand, part of the rope in the other, she moved the sharp side over the
rope and slowly started tearing the strands. Gathering all her strength,
she worked until the rope was cut.
A big smile appeared on her face when the final strands were
severed. Overjoyed, she picked her belongings up and left the shelter
under the tree. Pleased with herself, she wandered through the forest
looking for a sign of her mother, hoping to find water and berries. Her
energy quickly dissipated, but she continued on. Just when her thirst
became almost unbearable, she stumbled onto a spring. The bushes around
the spring were full with ripe berries. Happily, she quenched her thirst
and ate all the berries she could reach, then splashed in the water till
her feet were cold.
"Mama will be happy when she hears about the berries." she thought,
and then remembered. "Mama! I have to find her!" Quickly, she took her
basket, filled the water bottle, and continued her search.
Faint wood cutting noises reached her ear after she'd been
wandering through the forest for most of the afternoon. She followed the
sound and when voices became audible, she automatically hid in the
bushes. Menes later, the girl's curiosity overwhelmed her caution and
she moved closer, pausing to listen when she could hear pieces of the
conversation.
"... At least we have proof now that she worships Arom-Nok. I don't
think we'll find the child."
"You're right," a second voice agreed. "She couldn't survive a
whole night in the forest alone. I'm sure by now the wolves have gotten
to her and nothing will be left. A fitting end for Anna." The other men
didn't reply, but continued to chop more wood.
"We'll stone the wench at sunrise tomorrow, and then we won't have
to worry about her any longer," a third man remarked in a low voice,
continuing the discussion.
"Yeah, this time there's no escaping for her," another man added.
"We've been patient too long with her. Can't have anyone 'round who
believes in evil gods. She's never seen for prayers. Says she talks to
spirits of the forest. If you ask me, she plots with Arom-Nok and thinks
of ways to do us harm. It'll be good to be rid of her. Should have done
that long ago. We need to protect our children." No one in the group
contradicted him. For a while only axes hitting wood could be heard.
Finally one of the men broke the silence. "Let's head home! We've
got enough wood. Besides, there's only a bell left till sunset."
Gathering the wood, the men loaded it onto a wagon without further
comments. In silence they left the cutting site, pulling the wagon
behind them.
Anna crawled out from under the bushes, confused about what she'd
heard. "They know my name! They know where Mama is!" the thoughts
swirled around in her mind, "If I follow them, I'll find Mama!" Focusing
on the part she had understood, Anna followed the men through the
forest, keeping her distance.
When she recognized the path to the village Anna stopped, thinking
and hoping to find a way to her mother. She felt tired from walking
through the forest for most of the afternoon. At the edge of the forest,
she curled up under a bush, and watched the sun set. In the distance
wolves were howling. Anna sat up, frightened. Only with her mother
nearby did she feel safe when she heard the wolves.
"Have to find Mama," she thought. "Have to find her!"
Nochturon was now a big circle in the sky and all the stars were
visible. Anna, remembering what the men had said about her mother,
started to walk towards the village, determined to find her. When she
entered the village a dog started barking. Wolves answered the barking
from afar. Anna was frightened. Quietly she searched the village for the
place her mother could be. After several tries, Anna found her in the
middle of the village, near the well. She was tied to a pole, her hands
and head in something that looked liked wooden bars with just enough
room to fit around her neck and wrists. Shocked from the discovery, Anna
stared at her. This was her mama! She couldn't understand why her mother
was tied up like bad people were.
"Mama is nice and she loves me! Why is she tied up?" The thoughts
raced through her head. "She's not a bad person!"
"Mama?" she whispered, "Mama!" Anna reached out and hugged her
mother's legs. The woman opened her eyes.
"Anna! Child! What are you doing here?" she whispered, "You can't
stay here. They'll kill you if they find you." Panic was in her voice.
"Was looking for you." Anna stood up and looked at her mother. "Why
are you tied up here?"
"The villagers did that. They don't like us and if you stay here
they'll tie you up, too." She swallowed hard. "Could you get me some
water Anna, please?"
Anna found a ladle and filled it with water. Carefully she held it
to her mother's lips and watched her gulp it down.
"More water, please --"
Anna complied.
"Wanna go home now, mama. Come on."
"Anna, I'm tied up here. I can't get free myself."
"I can do it, Mama, got myself free, too! See!" Anna held the end
of the rope up which still tangled from her waist. "I still have the
stone!"
She pulled the stone out of her basket and sat down to cut the rope
around her mother's legs. The rope was much thicker than the one her
mother had tied her up with and her progress was slow. Anna was
determined and worked silently while Nochturon made its way across the
sky. Tired as she was, Anna had a hard time keeping her eyes open. Every
now and then she nodded off, waking when her head banged against the
pole.
"Anna," her mother began a few bells later. "You need to leave now!
Sunrise will be soon and then the people will get up. I don't want them
to find you here."
"Mama, I --" Anna began, but her mother interrupted her.
"I love you very much Anna, but you can't stay here. It's not safe
for you. Please, Anna --"
"Nooooooooooo, I wanna stay with you!" Anna wailed and held on
tight to her mother's legs.
"Hush, you'll wake the people."
Anna fell silent, but didn't let go of her mother.
"Anna, love, listen very carefully now!"
"Yes, Mama."
"I need you to go to our place. Wait there for me, will you?"
"Uh hmmm."
"And if someone else comes, I need you to hide in the forest; don't
let the villagers see you. Think you can do that?"
"Yeah, but --"
"No but, Anna, you need to go now! You're a big girl, and you can
take care of yourself." Her voice sounded stern.
"Mama, you'll come, right?"
"I'll do my best to be there. Now go! I love you."
Anna looked at her mother and understood. Tears in her eyes, she
hugged her one last time and left. Hopeful that her mother would be with
her again soon, she walked home.
Anna reached the weather-beaten shack half a bell later and went
inside. Nothing looked the way they had left it. The place was a mess.
The furniture was broken, the linen ripped, and the few wooden dishes
they had were scattered over the floor. She checked the small pantry.
Rats! Anna shrieked. Whatever food they had, was now gone. Tears flooded
her eyes. Then she remembered what her mother had said. She was a big
girl now and would take care of herself. She picked up a few things that
seemed useful and placed them in her basket. Tired, she settled on the
small cot and closed her eyes.
Shouting woke her bells later. Quickly she left the shack and hid
in the bushes. Just as she felt safe to leave her hiding place, she
heard voices. The villagers were approaching the shack. Anna pushed
herself deeper into the bushes. She watched in horror as the men tore
down the shack, stacked the pieces, and set them on fire. She listened
to their gloating about how they had killed the evil one, and understood
that they were talking about her mother.
"I'm a big girl now!" Anna whispered to herself, repeating her
mother's words in her mind. "I won't cry!" but the tears started flowing
anyway. Helplessly, Anna stared at the blazing fire. She barely noticed
the villagers walking away one by one, leaving only a handful behind. By
the time the fire had burnt down, she was full of hatred towards the
villagers. Anna watched the remaining men put out the fire. After the
last villager had left the site, she crawled out from underneath the
bush.
"I'm a big girl now," Anna told herself, wiping the last tears from
her cheek. "I can take care of myself!" She turned and disappeared into
the woods.
Anna followed the creek uphill in search of a place to sleep. The
events of the past days had left her in emotional turmoil. One moment
she was crying, missing her mother, the next she was angry and kicking
her foot against a tree. Wandering aimlessly, she discovered a creek and
decided to follow it. Alongside the creek she found various berries.
Sleeping under bushes when tired and walking alongside the creek in
search for a better place to sleep, Anna lost track of time. Towards the
end of another day of wandering, she found what seemed to be an
abandoned cabin. The setting sun provided just enough light to let her
look around. It was dirty inside. Cobwebs covered the window and the
fireplace was cold. In the gloomy light, she noticed a few shelves, a
table, and a chair. A broom was halfway hidden underneath the table.
"Tomorrow," she thought when she noticed the broom, dropped onto a
bundle of old hay in the corner, and fell asleep.
Anna woke the next day when the sun made its way into the cabin.
She turned and let out a scream. A man was sitting on a stool in the
middle of the room. His hair was unkempt, his beard reached down to his
chest, and his clothes had holes in them. He had dark skin. Anna had
never seen a man as dark as he was. She looked at her hands, then at his
face, and back at her hands. Anna sat up and moved into the corner, her
back to the wall, and stared at the man.
"Whatcha doin' here?" inquired the man suddenly.
Anna pulled her knees up and put her arms around them. She didn't
speak.
"Got a name?" His voice sounded loud to her after the silence of
the past days. She continued to stare at him.
"You understand what I say?"
Anna nodded slowly.
"Can you speak?"
Anna nodded again.
"Good!" He stood up, walked to the other side of the room, and
poured water in a cup. Slowly he moved back to his stool and offered the
cup to Anna.
"Thirsty?"
Anna nodded again, but didn't move.
The man moved closer to the girl and handed her the cup. She drank
quickly.
"More!" Anna held out the cup.
He took it, refilled it, and gave the cup back to her.
Anna emptied it without stopping. A sigh escaped her.
"Got manners?" he looked at her.
Anna looked down and whispered "Thank you."
He nodded. For a while, neither spoke. Finally he repeated his
earlier question: "Got a name?" He looked straight at her.
"Anna," she answered after a few moments of silence. Her voice was
barely audible.
"So, Anna. Whatcha doing here?"
Anna didn't answer.
"Where're your parents?"
"Don't have any," she whispered. Tears formed in her eyes.
"No need to start bawling," he told her briskly, "Haven't got any
either."
Anna swallowed her tears, and looked at him in surprise. "What's
your name?" she asked shyly.
He was silent for a moment, considering her question. "Name's
Tobias Held, you can call me Tobias. Are you hungry?"
Anna nodded again.
"Well then, go outside and wash up."
Tobias watched her make her way to the creek and wondered what had
happened to her. Her loss of parents must have been recent. He estimated
she must be five or six years old. She was dirty, looked like she spent
the nights on the forest floor under bushes. He wondered how long she'd
been out there on her own. The nearest village was more than a day's
walk for him, behind the hills. If she'd come along the creek, then the
nearest village was a good two-day walk. He didn't care for the folks in
either village, not after what they'd done to him.
Memories of his wife and son flooded back, and Tobias swallowed
hard trying to suppress them. Their untimely deaths could have been
prevented if the people had helped. Yet they stood by as his wife
hemorrhaged after the birth of his son, and none of the women would help
nourish the baby. He'd traveled to the next village for help, the
screaming infant in his arms, and they refused him, too. Grief-stricken,
Tobias had buried his son a week after his wife, gathered his few
belongings, and left the village. Since then he'd stayed away from both
villages and the villagers left him alone in the woods. They knew he was
living up here, far away from anyone; he was certain of that.
Once a year Tobias traveled to Dargon. It took him a month to do
the round trip and trade fur and small furniture. He had just arrived
back home this morning, when he found the girl sleeping on the hay.
He pulled his bag open and reached for bread and dried meat. This
would have to do for now. Tobias had no idea what to feed a small girl.
He still wondered what he would do with her when she came back into his
cabin. No one in either village would take her in; she'd have to live on
the streets or in the woods. She'd never make it through the winter.
Anna had walked to the creek and stuck her hands in. The water was
cool and as she bent down to wash her face and hands, she heard the
birds singing. She liked this place; it was peaceful. It took her a
while to get the dirt off, but she wanted to do a good job. Satisfied
with the result, she went behind the bushes to relieve herself. When she
looked up, she noticed the fruit trees near the cabin and two goats
grazing peacefully in a small fenced area. Slowly, she made her way back
to the cabin.
"Clean!" she said holding out her hands, just as she had done when
her mother sent her to wash up.
"I see," was Tobias' answer and he handed her a slice of bread and
a strip of dried meat.
Anna's eyes opened wide in amazement. Dried meat was something her
mother had given her on special occasions only. Maybe this was a special
occasion.
"Thank you." Bread and meat in hand, Anna went and sat on the hay
and began to eat slowly. The meat tasted salty, but it was good. Both
ate in silence. Tobias finished first and turned to her.
"You may stay for a while if you want, but you have to help do the
work around here." He paused and waited for Anna to swallow.
"I can?" she couldn't believe her luck.
"Yeah, you can. What can you do?" he wanted to know.
Anna thought for a moment and took a look around the cabin. "I can
clean up," she finally started, "pick berries, find mushrooms, climb
trees, get water, wash my clothes, --"
"That'll do for now," interrupted Tobias. "When you're done eating
you can start cleaning up in here." Anna nodded and Tobias got up, went
outside, and walked into the forest to set new traps.
Anna placed half the bread and the remains of the dried meat Tobias
had given her into her little basket and set it on the table. She would
save it for later. He had said to start cleaning up and that's what she
would do. The cabin was small. On one side was a fireplace with a kettle
and some chopped wood stacked next to it. The table stood in the middle
of the room; a stool fit nicely under it. On the other side of the room
were a few shelves on the wall with cups and plates made of wood, and
then there was the pile of hay on which she had slept. The only window
was covered with some kind of translucent material. She carefully
touched it; it felt soft and slightly gave way under her fingers.
Cobwebs were all over the cabin, covering items long-untouched. Anna
remembered the broom underneath the table, pulled it out, and started to
clean up.
It took her the better part of the day to free the cabin from the
cobwebs and the dust, but she did it. She refilled the water bag with
water from the creek, washed the few cups and plates she found, and set
them back on the now clean shelves. For menes she admired her own work,
proud at what she had accomplished.
When she couldn't deny her hunger any longer, she set the bread and
meat on the table and filled the cup with water. Slowly she finished
what Tobias had given her. Anna remembered the last time she and her
mother had shared a meal. Her thoughts went back to the events of the
past days. "Mama," she whimpered, tears welling up in her eyes. "Mama!
Mama!" Sobbing uncontrollably, Anna threw herself onto the pile of hay
and cried herself to sleep.
Late in the afternoon, Anna went back to the creek to wash her face
and hands. She was still tired from all the work and crying. Slowly, she
made her way back to the cabin. She was wondering where Tobias had gone
and hoped he would come back soon.
Tobias made his way up the hill, setting traps along the way. He
had worked for several bells; with some luck they would have fresh meat
tomorrow. It surprised him that he already included the girl in his
thinking. Suddenly, he remembered that he'd left her alone for most of
the day. Quickly, he made his way back to his cabin. He halfway expected
her to be playing in front of the house and was concerned when he didn't
see her. When he entered the cabin, he found her sleeping soundly on the
hay. He looked around the cabin. It was clean. All the cobwebs were
gone. Tobias smiled and nodded to himself. Looking at her, he noticed
for the first time the face full of freckles. He reached for a blanket
and placed it over her small body. She looked vulnerable. It was then
that he decided to let her stay.
========================================================================
A Tale of Two Families
Part 1
by Jon Ballinger
<jon.ballinger@jabsystems.freeserve.co.uk>
First day of Melrin, 1016
The three men rode without speaking. They were nearing their
destination, having set off early the previous day. Jokal des Morest,
the leader of the three riders, adjusted his grip on the reins of his
horse and turned in the saddle to address the men behind him.
"There's an inn coming up," Jokal said. "We'll stop and eat before
pushing on to the Rerre estate."
"Yes, sir," replied Darrant. His black hair was slicked across his
forehead with sweat. Jokal could see from the escort's red face that the
warm sunlight did not agree with Darrant. Darrant gripped the bottom of
his overtunic and wiped his face.
"It'll be good to stop for a while, eh, Darrant?" joked the second
escort as he looked across at his friend. "Sit down drink our fill of
ale and gorge on venison while listening to a wanderin' minstrel or
two!"
"Shut up, Falris," retorted Darrant, a little too harshly. Falris
had been teasing him ever since the sun had begun to rise high above
them and the beads of sweat had started to form on his forehead.
Falris chuckled quietly, "Just think of that ale."
Jokal allowed himself to smile at the bickering that continued
behind him, but his thoughts rapidly returned to the reason why he was
riding to the Rerre estate at all. He was to deliver a scroll to Mathias
Rerre, the man his sister, Leila, had eloped with, and object of Jokal's
father's hatred. Mathias had been captivated by Jokal's sister, and she
had been resistant to the tall, dark-haired southerner's charms for a
short while only. Jokal and Leila's father, Arran, had tentatively
approved of the Bitom native, until he discovered that Mathias had been
nothing more than a penniless shepherd before he had made his fortune.
With that news, Arran's opinion of Mathias changed.
Arran had hoped that Leila, a striking brunette, would attract the
attention of someone of a higher standing: a son of a minor noble or
somesuch. Although Mathias had not herded anything for a few years,
Arran could not be persuaded to approve of their relationship. In fact,
he had expressly forbade Leila to see Mathias, which had only
strengthened her resolve. Mathias had run the wool business in which he
had been apprenticed. Jokal did not know how the apprentice had become
the master at such a young age; Mathias could not have more than five
years on top of Jokal's fifteen.
Jokal had quizzed Mathias as he felt a brother should do and found
nothing that gave him reason to worry. In fact Jokal felt that he could
grow to like Mathias. The elopement, however, put an end to any blooming
friendship. Mathias had taken Leila to live on the estate for which he
had exchanged his wool business. From then, almost three months earlier,
until the present day, the only time Jokal had heard of Mathias was when
Arran had spoken of him and the shame he had brought upon their family,
or within the letter that Jokal had received. It was a scroll, bound
with the colors of Mathias' liege lord, Baron Leavenfell. Jokal had
untied the blue, yellow and white ribbon and read the letter. Within it,
Leila had told Jokal of her marriage to Mathias and that she was with
child. Jokal had showed it to Arran, hoping that it would end the bad
feeling between their families.
"How wrong could I have been?" Jokal thought sadly.
Arran had become even more enraged and had been talking of using
force. Jokal had pleaded for a chance to mediate the crisis and was
given it.
"Take this scroll," Arran had said to him, nearly two days ago.
"Deliver it to Mathias. Judge his reaction and report back to me."
"The scroll!" Jokal thought with a start.
"Darrant," he asked as the three riders neared the Two Paths Inn.
"Hand me the scroll, please."
"Yes, sir," Darrant replied before he drew a scroll out from under
his overtunic. Darrant urged his horse on until he was alongside Jokal
before leaning to one side slightly and handing Jokal the scroll bound
in the colors of Arran des Morest, vassal to the Baron of Elmond. Jokal
tucked the scroll, tied with a green and white ribbon, into his
overtunic as the riders turned into the stables beside the inn.
"Feed the horses and keep them somewhere in the shade, but don't
unsaddle them," Jokal said to the waiting stable boy. Jokal handed the
stable boy two Bits before leading his escorts into the inn.
Jokal ordered three ales and a portion each of the carcass that was
hoisted above the fire that could be seen in the kitchen. The barmaid
took Jokal's money and returned with three mugs and three plates heaped
with steaming meat.
"Eat up. We leave as soon as possible; I want to get to Mathias'
place by sundown at the latest," Jokal said as Darrant and Falris began
to eat.
The setting sun illuminated the horizon when Jokal, Darrant and
Falris entered the borders of the Rerre estate. They rode in single file
down a cart track that threaded through the lush fields surrounding
them. The fields, given a slightly amber sheen by the oncoming dusk,
were almost empty save for a few workers. Jokal could see the main
building of the estate, Mathias' home, in the distance. The colors of
Mathias Rerre flapped in the evening breeze atop the house. The flag had
blue and yellow checks in the top half with plain white bisected by a
black line in the bottom half.
Jokal spied two riders approaching fast from the direction of the
house and motioned for his escorts to slow to a stop. They waited for
the two riders to catch up to them.
"Who are you and what is your business?" asked the closer and,
Jokal supposed, the more senior of the two guards.
"Jokal des Morest," Jokal replied. "I bring greeting from my
father, Arran des Morest, vassal of Lord Elmond."
The guard nodded curtly before turning his horse and leading Jokal
and his escorts toward the house.
Jokal rode along the dusty path that wove its way through fallow
fields. The first guard was directly abreast of Jokal, while Darrant,
Falris and the second guard were behind them. There were a few houses
and buildings dotting the fields. They were obviously houses for workers
of sufficient status. The people that Jokal had seen since arriving at
the estate had been men of the land: hard working and Jokal had no doubt
that they would fight hard and, most likely, unfairly should their homes
be threatened.
"It won't -- can't -- come to that," he thought as they rode to the
main house.
A barn to the right of the Rerre house was surrounded by a throng
of people, mostly peasants and workers. A few were leaving the barn and
heading for wherever they called home. As they milled, Jokal could see a
large table -- or perhaps row of smaller tables -- that was partly
covered with breads and meats and soups. A wave of sound came from the
general direction of the festival; singing, music and shouting
embellished the normal conversation. The festival took place every year
and was called Melrin. It celebrated the end of spring planting which
would hopefully lead to a prosperous harvest.
Bakson took the lead and directed the party toward the stables
where a stablehand offered to take their horses.
The stablehand held the reins of each horse, two in one hand and
three in the other as the visitors and the guards dismounted.
They walked to the main entrance of the house. Jokal felt a twinge
of envy as he regarded all of which Mathias was master. Bakson opened
the door and led the visitors through the house to the room in which
Mathias was waiting.
Jokal nodded his appreciation and walked over to the door indicated
by Bakson. He opened it and strode into the room. The room was sparsely
furnished, having only a large, open fireplace, a large table that was
half stocked with food and drink, and a single comfortable chair. Jokal
smiled as he spied his sister sitting in the chair.
"Leila!" he exclaimed. He crossed the floor to his sister and
hugged her.
"Jokal! Wait," she cried. "I'm still holding the needlework. Let me
put it down first. There. Come on brother, hug me again. It's good to
see you again after so long."
They broke off the hug and Leila continued, "Why have you come? Has
Father relented? Is he --"
Jokal shook his head and said, "No. That is what I am here for.
Where's Mathias?"
"At the feast. This is normally just a waiting room, which is why
you were shown here. I came here to rest for a while." Leila stood up
slowly as if her pregnancy were weighing her down. "Now let's go join
the feast."
"Are you sure?" Jokal asked. "You did say that you came to rest."
"I've rested enough and besides, I want to see Mat's face when he
realises you're here."
Leila turned to face Bakson, who had by now entered the room with
Junn and Jokal's escorts in tow. She said, "Take Jokal's friends to the
feast. I'll go with Jokal in a moment."
"Yes, my lady," Bakson said as he left the room. Junn, Darrant and
Falris followed him out.
Leila looked at Jokal for a brief moment before clasping his hands
in hers and smiling broadly, "I've missed you, brother. I've missed
Father as well."
"He's missed you, as have I. No matter how little he expresses it
or how it may seem from his hasty actions, never feel that he doesn't
care for you. Now enough about how much we've missed each other, let's
eat -- I'm hungry."
Leila looked as if she was about to speak but instead she led Jokal
by the arm to the hall in which the feast was taking place.
Flickering torches fixed atop hastily erected poles lent a little
light to the hall, adding to the meagre light that crept in from
outside. The dusk sky could be seen through holes in the walls and roof
that allowed the smoke of the fires to escape. There were three burning
stoves in the hall and each one had a boar roasting on top of it. Wooden
plates were stacked beside the stoves.
"I'll grab some food and then we'll find Mathias," Jokal said,
having to raise his voice to be heard above the clamor. Leila nodded, so
Jokal filled two plates and handed one to her.
"I've eaten," she said. "But thank you."
"No matter," Jokal replied before pouring the roughly-hewn slices
of meat from Leila's plate onto his own. He placed the wooden plate on a
nearby table and began to eat. "Let's find Mathias," he said through a
mouthful of food. After a brief time, Leila spied Mathias through the
crowd and pulled on Jokal's arm.
"He's over there talking to Urvan, one of our neighbors. I don't
like him much but as Mathias tells me he deserves respect."
As the siblings approached Mathias and Urvan, Jokal heard the
conversation more clearly.
"-- And then I swung the stick down on that foul animal. It
squealed!" Urvan said. He realised that Mathias was not even listening
to his tale and stopped mid-flow. "Mathias? Are you listening?"
"Yes, Urvan," replied Mathias Rerre. "I was merely restocking my
plate. Now continue with your tale of how you beat a wolf caught in a
trap. It must have been a fantastic feat of prowess!"
A round of derisive laughter occurred which Urvan, a tall, wide,
balding man, ignored. He waved his hand in the air which had the effect
of quieting the laughter.
"Mathias," Urvan asked, staring at his host, "have you ever heard a
wolf squeal? No, squeal is not the right word. Anyway, have you heard a
wolf plead for mercy?"
Mathias shook his head, "But then again, I've never clubbed a wolf
caught in a trap before. I must regretfully take my leave. Maybe some
other day I will hear of your astounding bravery!"
With that, Mathias turned to see Leila and Jokal walking over to
him.
"Mat," Leila called as she quickened her step. "Look who's here."
"Jokal," Mathias said with a smile. "When did you get here?"
"Just now," Jokal replied as he clasped Mathias' outstretched hand.
"I have to talk to you --"
"Oh shut up," Leila said. "Leave that until tomorrow! For now, eat
and drink with friends."
"I'll drink to that," Mathias said, raising the mug in his hands to
his lips.
Jokal nodded and lifted his mug to his own lips. "It'll wait until
tomorrow," he said, forcing a smile.
Jokal rose late in the morning, due to the abundance of food at the
Melrin feast, and found Mathias and Leila in the hall along with a few
remnants of the party. What was left of the food remained on the tables
and served as breakfast. Jokal ate hungrily for a while.
Mathias waited as Jokal sated his hunger before parting from Leila
and the small group he was talking with. Mathias walked over to Jokal,
who was finishing up his meal.
"I trust you slept well?" Mathias asked.
"Yes, I did," Jokal replied.
"Now tell me: what does your father have to say?" Mathias asked as
Jokal placed his plate on the closest table.
"He is still against your union with his daughter," Jokal answered
as he turned to face Mathias, "and his stance is very unlikely to
change. Before we go any further, I would like to make it clear that the
words may be harsh but they are my father's. I only want Leila to be
happy, nothing else."
"And I thank you for that," Mathias replied. "I, too, want her to
be happy. It is your father who doesn't want her to be happy."
"That's not true," argued Jokal, who still felt that whatever
Arran's faults, he was still his and Leila's father. "He *does* want her
to be happy."
"You may believe that but it's certainly not working out that way
is it?" Mathias asked. "Now what is it that Arran sent you here for? It
wasn't to tell me that he's against my marriage to Leila -- I know
that." Mathias gripped the younger man by the shoulders and said, "You'd
best tell me what it is your father has sent you here for."
Jokal, not knowing how to broach the subject, merely reached inside
his overtunic and brought out the scroll.
"There," he said as he gave it to Mathias. "Everything's in that
scroll."
Mathias nodded curtly before walking away from him slightly. He
untied the ribbon and allowed it to fall to the ground before opening
and reading the scroll.
After a short time in which all Jokal could hear was his own
nervous breathing and his rapid heartbeat, Mathias whirled round on the
spot.
"Does he *really* think I'm going to dissolve our marriage and just
let you take Leila back? The man is *mad*! I approached Arran as soon as
I knew I loved her. I asked for her hand; it was refused. Why? Because I
made my money through the wool trade. 'A sheep herder,' he said, 'No
daughter of mine will ever marry a sheep herder!'. I'll tell you this,
my wealth is worthy of *his* family. Eager to please him -- how damn
stupid could I have been -- I traded my business for the opportunity to
serve as a vassal of Leavenfell. To *serve* under another after being in
charge of my own destiny for so long. But still he continues!"
Jokal took Mathias' pause as an indication that he had finished and
started to speak, "He's still our father --"
"That he is ... and I pity you both. But Leila is my wife and is
carrying our child. We married as soon as we arrived here, on these very
grounds. The church is just behind the house. Ol-damn Arran if he wants
to be idiotic about it, but he'll not split us up just like that. You'll
be going straight back home tomorrow. You'll tell that raffenraker that
Mathias Rerre tells him he can go get squirmed."
Jokal watched as Mathias turned his back on him and walked across
the hall. As Leila rushed over to Jokal, he wondered just how he was
going to tell his father of Mathias' reaction.
========================================================================
Lost and Found
by Cheryl Spooner
<cheryl@towngate.force9.co.uk>
Seber 20, 1016
Aren reached up, squinting a little as the last of the day's bright
sunlight hit his eyes. He took a dry shirt from the line, grumbling to
himself as he folded it and placed it in the half-filled basket on the
ground. As far as he was concerned, this was girl's work. Whoever heard
of a boy doing laundry? Then he thought of what he would be doing if
Sian hadn't agreed to let him stay here. He would be cold, filthy and
hungry, and wondering if he would find a dry place to sleep for the
night. Then there was Kerith, his younger sister, who would probably be
dead from fever, or starvation by now. At least here, they both had
clean, warm clothing, and a bowl of broth to warm their bellies each
night before they went to bed. He had to swallow his pride and do this
for Kerith's sake.
"Well, well," a familiar voice made him jump as he reached for the
next shirt. "Isn't this nice? So, what's next Aren, my friend? Down on
your knees to scrub the floor? Or maybe, if you're very good, you'll get
to clean the privvy."
Aren groaned inwardly. This was all he needed.
"Jal!" he turned to greet his friend, forcing a smile. "This is a
surprise!"
He had last seen Jal on the night old Simon had told him to bring
Kerith to Sian's house. Then, Jal had been as filthy and ragged as he
and Kerith, but Aren could see that his friend's circumstances had also
changed for the better. Jal's hair was no longer matted and long, and
crawling with lice, but had been washed and cut, and now shone like raw
black silk in the dying sunlight. His face was clean, his complexion
healthy and the hollows under his eyes and cheekbones were gone. Perhaps
the biggest shock was the way Jal was dressed. Aren had been pleased
enough with the warm woollen clothing Sian had given him, but his friend
looked like a prince in comparison. Jal's tunic and breeches were of a
rich, soft fabric that reminded Aren of a dress his mother used to keep
for special occasions. Tears welled in his eyes as an image of his
mother, wearing that dress, danced into his mind and he blinked hard,
looking down at the ground so Jal wouldn't see.
As he fought the tears, moving a stone around with the toe of his
boot as though that were his real reason for looking at the ground, he
heard the shutter open behind him and turned to find Sian looking out,
her expression unusually stern.
"Aren!" she called. "Come inside, and bring those clothes. There is
much work to be done before supper."
"Go on then Aren," Jal grinned, laughing as Aren's face reddened.
"Do as the nice lady says. You don't want to have to do without supper
do you?"
"It's not like that!" Aren snapped, folding his arms and staying
put. "Sian never makes us do without."
"She makes you work for your supper though doesn't she? You have to
earn every bowl of broth and crust of bread you get. Not like me."
"So what do you have to do for yours?" Aren asked, naturally
suspicious; he had learned quickly on the streets that nothing came
without its price. He was also puzzled. When he had asked Jal to come
with him to Sian's house, his friend had been adamant that there was no
way he would give up his freedom on the streets for the sake of a place
to stay. So what had changed his mind?
"Nothing much really," Jal shrugged casually, although Aren saw a
gleam of self-satisfaction in his friend's eyes. "I just run a few
errands here and there. I get paid too, in coin, and I can come and go
as I please. Why don't you come back with me? They'll let you stay if I
tell them you're a friend of mine. Just think, no more of this skivvying
lark."
"What about Kerith?" Aren asked doubtfully. "Will they let her come
too?"
"It's no place for girls," Jal shook his head regretfully, "but you
could always leave her here."
It was Aren's turn to shake his head, his expression implacable.
"We ran away so that we didn't have to be split up," he said, a
shadow darkening his blue eyes momentarily as another painful memory
surfaced and was banished. "So I'm not going to leave her now that we
have a safe place to stay together."
"I know, but this is different," Jal argued. "Your two aunts were
going to take each of you to opposite ends of the duchy. I only want to
take you to another part of the city. If you come and stay with me you
can visit Kerith every day. You can even bring her presents with the
money you earn."
"No," Aren said firmly. "I won't leave her. I promised her that
we'd stay together and that's what we're going to do. Staying with Sian
isn't all that bad."
"Suit yourself," Jal shrugged as though he didn't care either way,
although Aren noted the glimmer of disappointment in his friend's dark
eyes. "If you change your mind I'll be around."
Aren nodded, although he had no intention of changing his mind. He
watched the other boy go, waving just before Jal moved out of sight,
then sighed and turned to take the last shirt from the line. It would be
nice to earn a little money, to put by for when he and Kerith were
older, but not if it meant leaving his younger sister.
He went inside, stopping to place the basket of clothes on the
floor, before moving to warm his hands by the fire. Despite the bright
sunlight, it had been cold outside. Sian's house was quite homely
really, he mused as he looked around. The kitchen, like the rest of the
house, was sparsely furnished. A well-scrubbed, solid old table and
benches took up most of one wall, and a big old fireplace occupied most
of the other. Over the fire hung a large dented pot, full of simmering
broth. The rug which covered much of the floor was patterned, and had
probably once been full of rich colour. Now, however, it was faded, and
was beginning to wear thin in places. The house was far from being
opulent, but in Aren's mind it was a paradise compared to the meagre
shelter offered by the underside of Dargon's market stalls. Earning his
keep wasn't all that bad either, he supposed. In fact, if he was honest
with himself, it was no worse than the chores he used to have to do for
his mother and father.
A noise made Aren turn to see that Sian had entered the room. He
noted her expression of annoyance with a small sigh of dismay.
"I'd like to speak with you, Aren," she said.
"I'm sorry I didn't come straight in when you called," he offered
hopefully, "but I haven't seen Jal in a long while."
"Jal is the reason I wish to speak with you," Sian said quietly.
"I'm sorry, Aren, but I don't want you to associate with that boy any
more."
"But he's my friend!" he cried, outrage colouring his cheeks
scarlet. "My best friend! I know he lives on the streets, but so did I
-- Kerith too -- and if it hadn't been for Jal we would have both
starved long before we came here."
Sian sighed heavily, stepping forward to put her hands on Aren's
shoulders. "Maybe so," she reasoned, her expression a little less stern,
"and his living on the streets has nothing to do with the fact that I
don't want him coming here. If that were his only fault, I would welcome
him gladly."
"Then what's wrong with him?" Aren shrugged off her hands, glaring
up at her as he moved back towards the table. Sian met his angry stare
with one of calm determination.
"What's wrong with him is the company he keeps," she said. "I have
seen him around Dargon with certain people. People you would not wish to
meet, believe me."
"What people?" Aren was confused. The only people he had ever seen
Jal with were other street children, and Sian had already said that she
didn't object to the fact that he lived on the streets.
"Bad people," Sian said grimly. "People whose notice I don't wish
to gain. People whose deeds would give you nightmares."
"You're wrong!" he argued hotly, fighting the urge to stamp his
foot." Jal looked after Kerith and me when we first took to the streets.
He wouldn't do anything worse than steal his next meal."
"Perhaps not intentionally," Sian agreed, "but as long as he spends
his time with Dargon's sourest dregs, he is not welcome here. And while
you are under my care, you are not to associate with him. Is that clear,
Aren?"
Aren glowered back at her, refusing to answer. Why should he stop
seeing his friend just because *she* said so? She wasn't his mother. She
wasn't even a relative. What made her think that she could order him
around like this just because she let him stay here? He ought to tell
her what she could do with her house and her rules. He ought to take
Kerith and go back to the streets. Jal was right: when you left the
streets you left your freedom too.
The only trouble was that living on the streets had almost killed
his sister. If he took her back there, it wouldn't be long before she
was in the same state again and it would be his fault. He had to stay,
for Kerith's sake, but he wouldn't stop seeing Jal, no matter what Sian
said.
"I said, is that clear Aren?" Sian repeated.
"Yes," he lied sullenly.
"Then you may wash your hands and cut the bread for supper."
Sian watched him slouch across the room to the washbowl, then shook
her head with a sad half-smile as she took an axe from the corner by the
door and went outside. She approached the woodpile and began to work,
swinging the axe with practised ease as she let her thoughts focus on
Aren. She felt badly about having to forbid him to see his friend, but
what else could she have done? She had seen Jal in the market a few days
earlier, and she had recognised his associates. They were men her father
had once pointed out as employees of a man called Liriss, of whom she
had heard rumoured all manner of unwholesome deeds. If she allowed Jal
to come to her house, then people would think that she, too, was
involved with Liriss. Some of her neighbours were disgruntled enough
with the fact that she had opened her doors to street children, and she
could imagine their reaction if they thought she was mixed up with the
less wholesome inhabitants of Dargon. Worse than that was the fear of
attracting the wrong kind of attention to her sanctuary. One of her
strongest motives behind taking in homeless children was to keep them
from people who might take advantage of their situation -- people like
Liriss.
"How much wood do you need?" A woman's voice startled her,
interrupting her swing so that the axe, instead of cleaving another log,
became embedded in the dirt at her feet. She looked up angrily, then
smiled weakly as she recognised her cousin Erin.
"What?" she asked, then looked down at the untidy pile of firewood,
grinning ruefully when she saw how much she had cut. "Oh, I see what you
mean. I'm afraid I got a little carried away. Oh well, it will save me a
job tomorrow."
"So what is taking up so much of your mind that you don't know how
much wood to cut?" Erin asked, raising an eyebrow.
"A slight problem with one of the children, nothing much." She
shrugged casually, unwilling to reveal her fears, knowing that she would
get little sympathy.
Erin shook her dark head with a grimace, letting out a heavy,
exaggerated sigh. "I don't know why you bother with those wretches," she
said with a look of contempt. "I told you at the start that they'd bring
you nothing but trouble. Look at you! You're young, and pretty -- well
you would be if you took a little more care of yourself. Look at your
clothes! My mother's servants are better dressed than you are, and as
for your hands, well, they're rougher than any housemaid's. You should
be looking for a husband instead of playing nursemaid to these
beggar-brats!"
"They are *not* brats!" Sian felt the rush of blood to her cheeks
at her cousin's insult, and she tightened her grip on the axe-handle in
her struggle to remain calm. "They're children. Children who have
nowhere else to turn."
"They're trouble," Erin continued, ignoring the flush of annoyance
spreading across Sian's cheeks. "They're eating away at the money your
father left you. Money that would make a handsome dowry."
Sian threw down the axe and pushed a lock of chestnut hair from
eyes that flashed anger. "I don't need a dowry!" she cried. "And I don't
need a husband. These children however, need a safe place to stay."
"So why do you have to be the one to give it to them?" Erin asked
doggedly.
"Because I know how they feel. You seem to forget that I was once
like them, until Mother and Father took me in and raised me as their
own. They gave me a home, and their love, and a life that wasn't full of
pain. If they were here today, they would be overjoyed to know that I
was able to pass on their gift of a home and love to others."
Erin sighed affectedly and placed a gloved hand on Sian's shoulder,
treating her cousin to a look of pained sufferance.
"But my dear," she wheedled, "you don't seem to realise how all
this is affecting your family. Mother is beside herself with grief at
the thought of her dear niece wasting herself -- and her money -- on
these wretches. Not to mention the acute embarrassment we all feel each
day when some person or other asks about your strange situation."
"Strange?" Sian had never heard it referred to as strange before:
foolhardy maybe, even dangerous, but never strange.
"Yes, strange," her cousin continued primly. "Do you not agree that
it is strange for a young woman, unwedded, to take it upon herself to
care for any waif that happens to turn up at her door? Perhaps a married
woman, like your mother, unable to have children of her own, would be
commended for taking one or two orphans into her care. But for a single
woman to ruin her prospects of a good marriage by becoming mother to a
whole horde of beggar-brats is beyond comprehension. When I think of all
the time and money you have wasted it makes me want to weep, mother
too."
"The only thing that makes you and your precious mother want to
weep is the fact that Father left all his money to me!" Sian raged,
unable to hold her temper any longer. "It consumes you both that he left
everything to some *beggar-brat* he took in off the streets!"
"Why Sian Allyn! Of all the ungrateful ..." Erin spluttered. "How
can you stand there and say such things after all my poor mother did for
you? After your father's death, she spent bells and bells at your side,
comforting you, and all you can do now is blacken her name!"
"You mean she sat around like a queen, having me rush around after
her like some skivvy, until she found out she wasn't getting anything
from Father's estate!" Sian ground out, no longer caring what her
haughty cousin thought of her. She bent to pick up an armful of
kindling, and before Erin could speak again she said, "Now if you don't
mind I have to give the children their supper -- good evening cousin."
Then she turned and marched into the house, slamming the door behind
her.
By morning, Aren had almost forgotten his resentment towards Sian,
and it seemed to him that she too had put her anger aside, because she
was all smiles and singing as she went about her work. She even sang as
she raked out the dead ashes from the hearth, a task she had confessed
to disliking above all others. As he approached her for his breakfast of
fresh warm bread and cheese, she ruffled his short sandy curls and
smiled, a smile that he shyly returned before taking his plate over to
the table.
There were three other children staying at Sian's house besides
himself and Kerith, and as each one came down to breakfast Sian gave
them all the same smiling greeting. Aren nodded in reply to their
good-mornings as he chewed his food, while each took their place at the
table. Aren, at fourteen years, was the oldest, and Kerith, at six, the
youngest, as well as the only girl. He watched her as she ate, nibbling
at the bread and cheese as though she were trying to make it last all
day, and he bit his lip as he remembered how she would do exactly that
with every stale crust he could find for her. She still wasn't fully
well: her colour was better and her smile had returned, but she was
still waif-thin and the dark shadows were not quite gone from beneath
her blue eyes.
"Aren?"
He reluctantly tore his gaze from his sister, but not before he had
given her a reassuring wink.
"I said, will you please pass the water jug?" Finn, a wiry,
freckle-faced boy repeated with forced patience.
"Sorry," Aren mumbled, passing him the jug. "I was elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?" the younger boy shook his head with a laugh, his
coppery hair falling forward over mischief-laden hazel eyes. "Off with
the fairies more like!"
Aren laughed and gave Finn a playful punch on the arm, which the
other boy returned, leading to a friendly tussle, which Sian ended by
pulling them apart and giving each a light-hearted tap on the ear.
"I can see that you two need to find something better to do with
your time," she said sternly, although her eyes were merry. "So you,
Finn, can collect and wash the breakfast plates, and you, Aren, can go
to the market and bring me back some flour, or there'll be no fresh
bread tomorrow."
At this Finn groaned, and Aren couldn't help smirking at his own
good fortune. Now it was someone else's turn for drudgery, while he was
afforded the trust of being sent to the market. It suddenly seemed that
things weren't as unfair as he had first thought: at least Sian made
sure everyone had their share of chores they liked, as well as those
they didn't. Folding laundry didn't seem all that bad when balanced
against a trip to the market.
He went upstairs to put on his boots and the heavy woollen cloak
Sian had given him, and when he returned he found her singing again as
she braided Kerith's long sandy hair.
"Here," she said, reaching into the pocket of her apron with one
hand, while she held onto the braid with the other. "There's a Round,
and take the bag hanging on the back of the door. Bring a bag of flour,
a turnip and some carrots. Someone left us a brace of rabbits on the
doorstep this morning, so they'll help make a nice stew."
Aren took the coin, unable to hide a smile of pride at being
trusted. He kissed Kerith, earning himself a smile so bright it stole
his breath, and warmed him in a way that no fire ever could. It had been
a long time since he had seen her so happy, and he grudgingly admitted
to himself that it was mainly thanks to Sian. Then he turned, grabbed
the bag and went out the door, his step light and quick.
The market felt different somehow. All the usual stalls were there,
and it was as busy as ever, with people from every part of the city
pushing past each other in their hurry to get what they needed, but it
was still different. Aren decided that it must be his change of
circumstances. In the days before he and Kerith had gone to Sian's
house, they would spend most of their time at the market. During the day
they would beg, hoping that some kind-hearted stranger would give them a
few Bits so that they might eat, or they would hang around the bread and
fruit stalls to scavenge bits of food considered unfit for sale. At
night, when all else failed, they would make their bed in the dirt
beneath the stalls. Now he had a Round in his pocket, and the underside
of the stalls were no longer his bed.
The people around him treated him differently too. When he and
Kerith lived on the streets, most of them would look at his ragged
clothes and dirty skin with disgust -- occasionally it would be pity,
but mostly disgust -- before continuing on their way. Now they mostly
ignored him, or gave him a quick nod and a smile as they passed, but no
one looked at him as though he was something unsavoury on the bottom of
their shoe. He had hated begging, and the first time he had held out his
hand he had felt shame, but the shame had soon faded to be replaced with
a kind of numb acceptance of the need to survive. Now he felt no shame.
He had done the only thing he could to keep himself and Kerith alive,
and he would do it again if the need arose.
He soon found a stall which sold good, fresh, vegetables and fruit.
It was a stall he had visited many times over the six months he and
Kerith had been on the streets. The stallholder, a stout, grizzled man
with kind brown eyes, had sometimes beckoned him over and given him
wrinkled or bruised apples. As Aren approached the stall, the man seemed
to recognise him, and frowned, as though puzzled by something. Then he
shrugged and smiled, shaking his head as if he was dismissing an idea.
"What can I get you, young fellow?" he asked cheerfully.
Aren picked up the largest turnip he could see and held it up in
both hands, turning it over as he checked to make sure it was good. Then
he held it out to the stallholder.
"And I'll have six of your nicest carrots," he said proudly,
holding out the roughly woven bag Sian had given him.
The man took the bag and placed the turnip inside, then began
counting out the
carrots. Aren fumbled in his pocket for the Round. He
pulled it out and handed it to the stallholder in exchange for the
goods, unable to suppress a grin. For every spoiled apple he had taken
from this man he had given a little of his pride. He knew the man had
meant only kindness, but it had still made him feel worthless. Now he
could look the man in the eye as he gave his thanks and received his
change. Now he felt warm inside instead of wretched.
In less than a bell, he had bought everything Sian had asked for,
and had a few Bits left over. As he passed a pie-stall, the aroma of
meat and spices made his mouth water, and he was sorely tempted to buy a
small pie to eat on his way back to Sian's house, but he resisted. Sian
had trusted him with the money, and he would take all the change back
with him to repay that trust. Besides, he had eaten more for breakfast
than he would have had in several days on the streets. He wasn't really
hungry -- just tempted by the smell. He turned away from the stall and
began to walk in the direction of Sian's house, stopping every now and
then when something caught his eye.
He was watching a juggler, mesmerised by the ease and speed in
which the colourfully dressed man was throwing and catching five
brightly painted wooden batons, when he caught sight of a familiar
figure strolling past the gathered crowd. For a moment he only stared as
he wondered whether or not he should call out to Jal. Sian had forbidden
him to see his friend, and whether he liked it or not he sensed that she
would not have lied to him about Jal's associates. He didn't want to
anger Sian and jeopardise his and Kerith's new life. Then again, Jal
*was* his friend, and even if he was mixed up with a bad lot, it didn't
mean that he, too, was bad. Jal had helped him when no one else would,
shown him where to find food and helped him gain acceptance with the
other street children. He couldn't just cut him off now that he no
longer needed his help.
"Jal!" he called, standing on tiptoe and waving above the crowd to
catch the other boy's attention. "Jal! Over here!"
Jal saw him and grinned, raising a hand in greeting as he hurried
to where Aren was standing.
"What's this? Has the lady slaver let you out?" he teased, laughing
as Aren's cheeks reddened almost immediately.
"She's not that bad, I told you," Aren retorted. "In fact you'd
like her once you got to know her."
"Just as I'd get to like pig-slop once I'd eaten enough of it?" Jal
laughed again, although there was a harshness to the laughter, the
reason for which Aren knew only too well. They had both eaten more than
their fair share of pig-slop when things were at their worst, and Aren
knew that it was a taste to be endured rather than acquired.
"So what are you up to?" Jal asked, eyeing the packages Aren
carried.
"Just fetching a few things for Sian," Aren shrugged, pointedly
ignoring Jal's grimace.
"So, do you fancy a walk? Tag along with me while I run an errand?"
Aren looked doubtful. He had already spent a good while watching
the juggler and wandering around the stalls, so added to the time he had
spent shopping he guessed that he had been out for a couple of bells
already. Sian would already be wondering where he was, and he supposed
he should get back before she started to worry.
"I don't know," he began, "I should really be taking this lot
back."
"Oh come on!" Jal urged. "It'll only take a little while, and it
will give you a chance to see what your life would be like if you came
with me. Come on, we'll find somewhere to hide your packages so you
won't have to carry them around."
Aren chewed his lip. It wouldn't do any harm for just a little
while, he supposed, and he could always tell Sian he had lost track of
time while watching the entertainers. Jal looked so eager and earnest
that he found it hard to say no.
"All right," he grinned at last, "but just for a little while,
mind. Sian'll have my eyeballs for earrings if I'm gone all day."
"We'll be back before you know it, I promise," Jal agreed solemnly.
"Now come on, let's find somewhere to hide your things."
They hid Aren's purchases in Spirit's Haven's stables, behind a
stack of hay bales in a dark corner. Aren felt uneasy in the stables: he
and Kerith had slept there several times, sneaking in before the doors
were locked and hiding themselves in that same corner until morning.
Three sennights ago he would have been overjoyed to find himself there,
knowing that it would be one night they wouldn't have to worry about the
cold and rain. Now it only brought back memories of their suffering.
"Come on," he urged Jal, who was busy making sure the packages
could not be seen from the door. "I have to get back soon."
"All right!" Jal laughed. "Didn't realise you were so eager to see
what I do."
"I'm not," Aren replied, although he knew that wasn't entirely
true. He *was* curious to see what Jal did, if only to be able to tell
Sian that she was wrong about his friend. He was also curious to see how
Jal could afford such fine clothes from running errands.
They left the stable and Jal led him through the city towards the
docks. As they walked further and further away from the market and
Sian's house on Murson Street, Aren began to grow more and more uneasy.
There was no way he would be able to get back in time to stop Sian
worrying, yet if he turned back now his friend would scorn him. He had
no choice but to follow.
"Where are we going?" he asked as Jal turned along Tanner Street.
"Not much farther," his friend replied, "I just have a small
package to deliver to a man down here and then we can get back."
"And how much will you get paid for this?"
"Depends on how much the package is worth," Jal shrugged, "Anything
from a couple of Bits to a Round, maybe more if this fellow's generous
enough to give me a tip."
"And how many errands do you have to run in a day?"
"This is my second and last for today," Jal answered, frowning at
the question. "Why do you want to know so much?"
"Just curious."
"About what?"
"About the fact that you can afford such finery on a couple of
Rounds a day."
"Oh that," Jal grinned, pausing to rummage under his cloak. After a
moment he produced a heavy gold ladies bangle, which glittered in the
weak autumnal sun as he held it up before Aren's astonished eyes.
"Where did you get that?" Aren wasn't sure that he wanted to know.
"Let's just say that I acquired it," came the smug reply.
"You stole it?" Aren was aghast. "When? At the market? How could
you be so foolish? What if you'd got caught? What if ..."
"Hey! Slow down!" Jal laughed, holding up his arms as if to ward
off a blow. "First of all I didn't steal it at the market. I wouldn't
risk attracting such attention to myself."
"So where did you get it?" Aren was unconvinced.
"When we met I had just finished an errand to a jeweller," Jal
explained. "He had a box of knick-knacks on a shelf behind the counter,
probably things he was going to melt down and make new, and when he went
into the back to get me my tip I took advantage of the opportunity,
that's all. He probably didn't even know what was in the box."
"It's still stealing!" Aren refused to be swayed. In all his time
on the streets he had never resorted to stealing things of worth. Of
course, there had been times when he had taken food from the market when
a stall-holder's back was turned, and he had once taken a cloak from a
washing line for Kerith, but that was out of desperation. This was
different: Jal obviously didn't need to steal anything anymore.
"Stop looking at me as though I'd just crawled out of a cesspool!"
Jal snapped, thrusting the bangle back into his clothing. "I didn't set
out to steal, I never do, but if he was stupid enough to leave a box of
gold unattended then he deserved to lose a little. It's not as though I
took something that someone really needed. I'd never do that."
"So what are you going to do with it?" Aren saw that it would be
futile to argue the matter further. "You can't exactly spend a bangle."
"I know some people who will pay handsomely for such a trinket,"
Jal replied casually. "People who won't be too interested in where it
came from."
Aren remained silent. Jal was probably talking about the people
Sian had spoken of the previous night. It hurt him to know that he had
been so wrong about his friend, more than he had thought possible. Jal
had been so good to him, how could he have changed so much in a few
sennights?
"I think I'd better go," he said after several awkward moments.
"Suit yourself," Jal retorted sullenly. "It's your loss."
"Yes," Aren nodded sadly. "I think it probably is."
He turned and walked away, his steps as heavy as his heart. He
still couldn't believe that he had been so wrong about his best friend.
He and Kerith had spent the best part of six months with Jal, and in all
that time he had never seen the other boy do anything worse than steal
enough food to keep starvation at bay. Yet here he was, stealing for
gain -- for excitement even. It didn't make sense. Perhaps it was the
influence of his new friends; Aren didn't know. What he did know was
that he couldn't be Jal's friend anymore, and that hurt more than
anything.
By the time he got back to the market, after retrieving his goods
from Spirit's Haven -- which had taken much longer than he would have
wished, because May, the owner, had caught him and asked lots of
questions before she was satisfied that the goods were really his --
people were beginning to pack up their stalls, and his heart sank ever
further when he realised how long he had been gone. Sian was going to be
angry with him, and he didn't know if he could face that on top of
everything else. He had to, he knew that, but thoughts of the reception
he would get when he walked through the door would make the rest of his
walk home even more miserable. As it was, he didn't have to wait that
long to find out how Sian would react to his lateness, because as he
walked between the half-empty stalls she appeared before him, her
expression causing him to bite his lip and hang his head.
"Do you have any idea how worried I've been, Aren Greythorn?" she
asked angrily as she strode towards him. "What have you been doing all
this time?"
"I ... I went for a walk," he gulped.
"With that friend of yours I'll wager!" she snapped, snatching the
bag of flour from him with one hand and grasping the edge of his cloak
with the other. When he didn't deny her accusation she continued. "I
meant what I said Aren. I will not have my house brought into disrepute,
for you or anyone."
"I'm sorry. I ..." Aren began, but Sian was in no mood to listen.
"I don't care! Now you have two choices. You can either come with
me now and forget about your friend, or you can turn around and never
set foot through my door again. Which is it to be?"
Aren felt a stab of resentment. He had been about to tell her that
his decision had already been made, that he had already turned his back
on Jal, but she hadn't let him finish. Now she would just think he was
making it up to get himself out of trouble, so why should he even
attempt to explain? He was tempted to walk away. Kerith was happy enough
with Sian -- yes, she would miss him, but she would be well cared-for
and she would forget him through time -- but where would he go? To Jal?
No, he couldn't do that: his innate sense of honour would not allow him
to turn a blind eye to Jal's stealing. Nor could he work for people who
encouraged wrongdoing. He could always go back to the streets; he could
survive well enough without Kerith to worry about. The trouble was that
he didn't want to survive. He wanted to live.
He was about to reply when he became aware of a commotion in the
street beyond the next stall, and he turned, startled by the sudden
noise. A man was holding Jal by the hood of his cloak and shouting.
"You little brigand! I know it was you! Now give it back before I
turn you in to the guard!"
Aren hadn't seen the man before, but he guessed it to be the
jeweller, either that or Jal had stolen again. As he watched, Jal
slipped the clasp on his cloak and ran down the street. The man chased,
still shouting, his language becoming more and more vulgar. Aren saw a
cart and horses moving towards them from the opposite end of the street.
He called out a warning, but Jal didn't hear. He was looking back at the
jeweller as he ran, dodging this way and that to avoid the man's
attempts to grab him. He was still looking behind him when he collided
with one of the horses, and Aren closed his eyes and put his hands to
his ears to try to block out the agonised scream as his friend was
trampled. The scream ended abruptly, and ignoring Sian's cry, Aren
dropped the bag with the carrots and the turnip and ran as fast as he
could towards the cart and the gathering crowd. As he approached he
heard the jeweller cry out in triumph.
"I knew it! See! I knew the little bastard had it!"
Then another voice, one Aren didn't recognise. "Well the poor
little bugger won't be stealing nothing else. His neck's broke."
Aren stopped on the edge of the crowd. Part of him didn't believe
that his friend was dead and wanted to push through to find Jal sitting
there, rubbing his bruises and grinning his grin. Another part, which
had seen his mother lying so still and cold after the fever, didn't want
to see. He began to cry. Tears streamed down his face, and the tears
turned to loud, choking sobs that sent him to his knees in the dirt, his
arms wrapped around his body as if to try to comfort himself. Then he
felt other arms around him and he turned his head to find Sian kneeling
beside him, her own eyes moist.
"He ... was ... my ... best ... friend!" he sobbed. "He ... wasn't
bad. He ... just made ... a mistake!"
"I know," Sian soothed, stroking his hair. "I know."
"You hated him!" he accused angrily, struggling against her, but
she held him fast.
"No, I didn't hate him," she sighed. "I would have helped him if I
could, but he was already lost. The people he was with would not have
let him go. If he hadn't been caught today it would have been some other
time, either that or he would have crossed his masters and paid with his
life. I only forbade you from seeing him because I didn't want you to be
lost too. One child's death through Liriss and his fiends is one too
many."
Aren knew she was right. Hadn't he also turned his back on Jal
because he could see that his friend was beyond help?
"Come," Sian said softly, rising to her feet and pulling him with
her. "Kerith is waiting for you. She will be worried. Let's go home."
Home? Aren had not thought of Sian's house as home. In fact it had
been a long time since he had thought of anywhere as home. He thought of
the house on Murson Street, with its warmth and its sounds of laughter,
singing, and squabbling. He thought of Kerith waiting for him there, and
he felt a sudden rush of longing. Yes, it was time to go home.
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