by Jo Grix
The shrill cry of a stallion echoed through the dawn, jarring light sleepers from their rest and startling those whose work had already begun. “Hold him!” A man shouted a moment later.
“Watch his hooves!” Someone else cried.
“Jesson, down!” A third voice commanded, firmly.
The noise came from a tall, chestnut stallion running loose in the stable yard of a small country inn. A young man stood in front of him, watching as the stallion reared and screamed his defiance at being contained. As the stallion came down, the man darted forward, caught the trailing lead rein, and pulled the stallion’s head towards him. After a moment of trying to pull his head away, the stallion seemed to sigh as he pushed his head into the man’s chest.
“Do you have him?” One of the men standing by asked warily. He was a tall, black haired man with piercing black eyes and a commanding presence. While both men wore doeskin and linen, the black haired man’s clothes were impeccably tailored and the horse handler’s clothes were loose, as if the tailor had been half-trained.
“I do,” said the young man, “I’m sorry, I didn’t think Jesson would act like that. He’s usually so well mannered with me it’s not a problem.” He blinked and then awkwardly tried to bow even as the stallion butted him in the shoulder.
“It’s ok, Aidain,” the black haired man said. He lifted a hand to stroke his mustache, effectively hiding his smile. “He knows you and he doesn’t know me.” He turned to the rest of the people in the stable yard, “Are we about ready?”
One of the men, a brunet nodded as he stepped forward, “We’re almost ready, Sir Cael.”
The young man called Aidain watched as attention began to shift off him. Then he turned to the stallion, “Nothing but trouble,” he murmured as he tugged gently, heading towards one of the hitching posts to finish tacking up the stallion.
“That was exciting.”
Aidain looked up at the young boy who was standing to one side, “Edan,” Aidain said, “shouldn’t you be helping your mother?”
The twelve-year-old blond shook his head, “She’s feeding everyone and she said I could see what’s going on.”
“Well,” Aidain said, “make sure you stay out of the way.”
He hitched the stallion and glanced around the group, noting that Owin, the horse master, was approaching, “Everything all right now, lad?” The stocky blonde man asked.
“Yes sir,” Aidain said. “I do apologize; I don’t know what set him off.”
“That’s all right,” Owin said, “horses have a mind of their own.”
Aidain nodded, and took a moment to look over the stable yard; the people loading the last supply wagon caught his attention. “I hope we don’t bog that down sir. There aren’t any roads where we’re going.”
“We’re going to have to take that chance. There’s too much we need not to have wagons,” replied Owin as he followed Aidain’s glance. Then he glanced up at the sun, “Where is Damien, by the way? I thought he’d be here already.”
“He’s making sure that the Healer and her brother are ready to go.” Aidain said. He walked over to retrieve the tack he had sat down when the stallion had broken free from his handlers.
“I’m still not sure why the brother is coming,” Owin admitted.
“People around here don’t like orphans,” Aidain replied as he began grooming the stallion. “They think that children without parents or widows with young children are being punished, because without a man to bring in money the village has to help them out.”
A horse snorted, catching Aidain and Owin’s attention as a three people and two horses appeared around the corner of the inn. The man leading the group had chestnut hair and hazel eyes that was a perfect match for Aidain; this was Damien, Aidain’s brother. The riders of the horses were a young woman dressed in a dark green gown and brown cloak. Her auburn hair was braided and tucked into a simple net of white thread, with a single curl falling past her temple and accenting her hazel eyes. The other rider was clearly her brother, his hair was brown but he had the same hazel eyes as his sister.
“Are we late?” Damien asked.
“No, Damien,” said Aidain, “They’re still loading one of the wagons.” He picked up the saddle blanket and put it on the back of the chestnut stallion.
“Is something wrong?” Damien asked.
“Jesson was being difficult,” Aidain replied, he gave his brother a pointed look, “you know how he is.”
“I’ll get him saddled then,” Damien said, “Ailsa, Shae, you’ll be all right, right?”
“Yes Damien,” Shae said. He reined his horse closer to Ailsa, watching everyone suspiciously. Aidain was amused to note that his eyes lingered on Damien the longest.
Damien and Aidain switched places, “Sir Cael should be over there,” Aidain said, pointing to where a group was backing a pair of oxen into their traces.
“Actually, I’m here.”
Aidain jerked slightly, and smiled, “My apologies, Sir.”
“You are forgiven,” Sir Cael said with an easy smile. “Good morning, Healer Ailsa, Shae.”
Shae bowed in his saddle and Ailsa inclined her head, “Good morning, Lord Cael,” Shae said softly. “Thank you for letting us journey with you.”
Sir Cael nodded, “First off, I’m not a lord, that’s my uncle’s family. My aunt married into the nobility, not me. I am a knight, yes, but not a lord.”
The siblings exchanged a glance, as if they had never met a man like Sir Cael. Aidain knew that most noblemen would accept the appellation of Lord without question. Sir Cael, on the other hand, grew up as a commoner, not as a noble and he only insisted on the title he had earned, that of a knight, as opposed to allowing people to give him titles he had never earned. Aidain personally thought that Sir Cael’s somewhat more relaxed personality would be a wakeup call, especially when compared to the local Baron, who was strict on the subject of his rank and never thought twice at accepting a higher title if someone didn’t know better.
The Baron did not like Aidain and Damien. Aidain suspected that it was because the brothers always made sure to use the correct form of address for a Baron from a free holder, as was appropriate.
Aidain headed over to talk to one of the wagon drivers, the blond haired father of young Edan, a man called Rory. “Are you ready?” He asked quietly.
Rory nodded, “I’m hoping we can get these wagons where we’re going. I’m not a big fan of bogging down.”
“Neither are we,” Aidan said. “Don’t worry though, Damien and I will choose the best route for the wagons.”
“I’m grateful for that,” Rory said, then his eyes tracked over Aidain’s shoulder, “Excuse me, I see a certain son of mine needs to be collected.”
“Of course,” Aidain murmured as Rory headed off. Aidain moved on to where one of the horse handlers was checking the saddle on a gray mare. “Did Jesson hit you earlier?” He asked, remembering how the man had fallen when the chestnut stallion had unexpectedly bolted earlier.
“No, the man replied shortly. He straightened up, turned to give Aidain a long look over, and offered his hand. “I’m Brody, I grew up with horses, and yon stallion will have to wake up earlier to get me.”
Aidain shook his hand firmly, “I’m Aidain, and my brother is Damien. If you need help with the horses, we are both willing to help. We grew up in a stable.”
“Thank you,” Brody grunted. “I’ve got a pair of assistants, but I’ll keep that in mind.”
Aidain watched as Brody headed off to check on another of the mounts. “Don’t expect much from him,” Someone said behind him.
Standing behind him and holding the reigns to a beautiful, black mare was a man who was about two years older than Aidain with light brown hair and blue eyes. “Horsemen tend to be short on words,” Aidan said calmly.
“I’m Braden,” the man said, “I’m one of Sir Cael’s farmers. Fourth son back home, so not much hope for land
. Sir Cael’s offering my own place.”
“Aidain,” Aidain said quietly. “I’m the one guiding you to where we’re going, well, my brother Damien and I.” He studied Braden for a long moment, trying to figure out just why he had such an adverse reaction to the man.
“There is a place picked out?” Braden said, surprised.
“There is a direction, and an idea of what we’re looking for. Damien and I will find the best rout, and we will find the best place to begin this settlement. It’s not so much a place we already know as it is an idea of what we’re looking for.” Aidain said. He glanced around the group, “I need to make sure Dawn is ready, if you’ll excuse me.”
“But of course,” Braden murmured softly, his eyes following as Aidain walked over to claim his strawberry roan mare.
Sir Cael stepped onto a wagon, “All right, everyone. Let us mount up and get going. Damien, Aidain, lead the way.”
“Before you go, wouldn’t you like the blessing of the Gods?” A supercilious voice asked. The people in the stable yard turned to stare as a priest in a brown habit approached. The overweight man had balding, brown hair and a sanctimonious expression that faltered a little as one of the horses snorted and pawed the ground as he passed.
Aidain walked over to stand by Damien. “This should be interesting,” Damien murmured.
“Hush,” Aidain replied.
“Forgive me, Father,” Sir Cael said with a gentle nod as he climbed down from the wagon.
“Ultan, Sir Cael,” The priest said with a slight nod of his head.
“Father Ultan, but we were blessed when we left Yerland, I did not think such a blessing would be offered a second time.”
“He means he didn’t want to pay for it,” Damien said. Aidain planted his elbow in Damien’s side. Damien had always been the one who had problems keeping his mouth shut around priests; Damien said that Aidain’s problem was that he never opened his mouth.
“I am always willing to provide comfort to those who ask,” Father Ultan was saying, “it is in the scripture, after all.”
Sir Cael sighed, but his hand dropped to his belt pouch and produced a silver coin, “For my people, if you would Father.”
“How many of them can afford the Father’s blessing?” Damien growled as people began digging for coins to give the priest. “And would the blessing be worth the price.”
There was a gasp and Aidain glanced up to see that Shae was standing in easy hearing difference and had no doubt heard Damien’s ill chosen words. “Damien,” he said, “stop it.”
Damien shook his head and turned to his stallion, “Not like it isn’t true.”
“Maybe,” Aidain said, “but it’s not healthy to let people think you hold ill will to the church.”
Damien made a face, but he did not say anything. They all had heard stories about those who questioned the church, or who spoke ill of the priests. While the brothers had some leeway in the matter because of their status in the community, they could not always trust to the protection their father had won for them.
They watched as the priest approached their side of the yard, stopping at each person who stepped forward. Some only accepted the most basic of blessings, wherein the priest drew his right finger from right shoulder to left and then reaching out to press his thumb to their forehead. Those who offered coin got murmured words, or gestures that were even more elaborate.
When the priest reached Damien and Aidain, the later only crossed his arms and stared while the former continued to fuss over the temperamental chestnut stallion. Father Ultan flicked his fingers at them and moved on without saying anything. Aidain scratched his nose to hide his grin, the priest’s apparent dismissal of the brothers was also a subtle banishment of evil.
As soon as the priest was back talking to Sir Cael however, Aidain knew that he had to deal with another problem. He caught Shae’s arm before the boy could go back to stand by his sister, “Listen, Shae,” he said quietly.
“Are you Separatists?” Shae hissed.
Aidain squeezed, “Are you trying to get us killed, of course we aren’t!” He glanced around, but nobody had heard them. “Damien doesn’t like Father Ultan, and I don’t particularly care for him either. His cousins were involved with our parents’ death, they did things that they should not have and they will never know punishment for it. Father Ultan has indicated to us that he agrees with what they did, and he does not think they went far enough. We don’t attend chapel here in the village because we prefer to stay away from Father Ultan; we usually go down the road to Three Oaks for chapel.”
Shae freed his arm, “Fine, sorry,” he muttered, rubbing his arm as if injured.
“Don’t jump to conclusions, Shae,” Aidain said, “that’s a dangerous habit to get into. Especially if your conclusions could get someone killed.”
Shae muttered something and stalked away to join his sister.
“All right,” Sir Cael said, catching the group’s attention, “Let’s meet up with the other wagons and get out of here.”
Aidain mounted his mare and made his way over to his brother. As he watched the wagons begin to roll out, he saw Braden was looking from Damien to Shae; when he turned to look at Aidain, the hunter pointedly met the man’s eyes. After a long moment, Braden turned away, following the others who were walking out to their wagons that were parked on the festival grounds at the edge of the town.
“Did you see?” Damien asked as the yard cleared out.
“I saw,” Aidain agreed. “We may just have a problem. It’s not like we didn’t anticipate something like this happening though.”
“Just once,” Damien muttered, “I wish we were wrong about the bad things.”
“If we were wrong, it would only be because something worse had happened,” Aidain replied.
They fell in behind the last of the crowd, walking their mounts to keep back from the people currently on foot. Aidain turned to say something to Damien, but stopped when he saw Father Ultan watching them. The priest had pulled his hood up, hiding his face in shadows, but Aidain could not help the shiver that ran down his spine. Somehow, he knew, they must never come back to Mossy Creek, not while Ultan ran the chapel.
For now, Aidain put off thoughts of the priest, and of his suspicions that a church spy had been inserted in the group, in favor of his quiet curiosity as to whether they would manage to achieve their personal objectives.
Seeing Shae and his sister talking as they rode, Aidain had to smile. No, he and his brother were not Separatists, they did not care about the groups that wanted the church and state to be barred from interfering with each other. He and his brother were something possibly far worse, they were followers of different Gods.
A Brother’s Duty
Even superheroes can get the shovel talk.
