by TJ Muir
Cham paused, grinning at Jedda. “Excited to see the snow?”
Jedda found his voice “I didn’t know what it was. It never snowed in Tatak Rhe.”
“Really?" Cham laughed. "You have never seen snow?”
Jedda shook his head.
Cham's grinned widened as he moved closer. “So, you are not practiced at the art of a snowball fight?”
“No, I--hey!”
Cham danced away, brushing the remnants of the snow he had just dumped onto Jedda’s head from his arms, just in time for Tattia to hit him in the chest. The three of them danced around and dodged snowballs until Jedda’s hands were so cold they hurt. He kept tucking them under his armpits to warm them up so he wouldn’t have to stop.
He looked up, and saw Kirrin watching from the upstairs window. Jedda waved to him and yelled up, “This is incredible! Come down.”
Kirrin smiled from upstairs, but shook his head. Jedda threw a snowball at the window, but it went wild, and landed on the roof instead.
By lunchtime the sun came out and the snow melted, leaving behind a thick wetness, but Jedda couldn’t think about anything else. Tattia and Cham fielded a barrage of his questions about the experience. When would it snow again? How much snow usually fell? Did the trees all die when it snowed?
Jedda half-hoped he would wake up to more snow the next morning, but the day dawned bright and sunny, as though the snow had never happened.
SOFT BREAK
Jedda spent the next few weeks in training. Cham or Kirrin woke him up early, then took him through a series of exercises, keeping him at it until breakfast.
“What is the point of all this, anyway?” Jedda asked after Kirrin helped him up off the ground. Again. “Sure, it’s been good to get some exercise, and kill time, but isn’t this good enough?”
“At some point, your life may depend on it,” was all Kirrin would say, ending any arguments Jedda might have made. “Again. Come at me.”
Jedda sighed and went through it again. Attack, defend, retreat, find an opening
By day three he was missing the horse-riding, until Cham decided to take advantage of the extra time to give Jedda actual lessons. So his afternoons became filled with horse care and learning how to ride. His legs were grateful that it was for comparatively brief periods. In between workouts and training, he also got to chop and split wood. He wondered what Trey or Diya would think if they could see him now. He couldn’t remember either of them ever doing any kind of physical labor, or dirty and sweaty.
The first two weeks, he collapsed in complete exhaustion whenever, he had a break. He had no time, or energy for boredom. After that, it started to get easier, and he found himself enjoying the wrestling practice and even the riding lessons. Something about being with the horses had started to have a calming effect on him.
During his lessons, Cham made him change directions, stop, and even fall off, repeatedly. Once he could do it on Jespen; he rode on the other horses. Jedda was surprised at how different each of them was. Jespen was faithful, like a babysitter, anticipating what Jedda was going to ask, and already prepared to do it. Bailey was different. Whatever that horse was doing, he preferred to continue doing it, and didn’t always want to stop doing it: walking, trotting, or even standing still. Tattia’s horse was stocky, with a gait that felt roly-poly. Trillian, Cham’s horse, was highly sensitive to commands. Jedda learned that the hard way when he kicked the horse to “go” with a little more force than Trillian expected. The horse jumped into a canter, dumping Jedda on the ground.
“But you almost managed to stay on,” Cham said afterward. “And then you got back on and brought him to a walk. That is good. You kept your wits even though you got spooked.”
Jedda was starting to feel pretty good about his riding skills. Then Cham took off the saddle.
“Get on.”
“But there’s no saddle,” he protested.
Cham laughed at him. “The Faenyr are horse people. They grow up on horseback. Riding is in their blood. Sports, and games are huge among them. Especially one they call qwatcha. Horsemanship is a point of pride with them. It would be better if you did not disgrace yourself by falling off of a horse.” Cham just held the reins out to him.
It took Jedda many tries hopping and bouncing before he managed to land across the horse’s back. Trillian took it well. Once he was up and settled, Cham continued with the lesson as though everything was normal.
Jedda spent several days riding without a saddle. He discovered it was a lot easier to get on the other horses, who were not as tall as Trilly. He liked riding bareback, especially on cooler days, feeling the warmth of the horse against his body. After riding without a saddle, he found he had an easier time riding with a saddle. And he was no longer painfully sore, even after five hours of riding lessons in one day.
SOFT BREAK
Cham had taken the time when they first arrived to make a bow. Jedda watched him, completely at his ease here in the middle of nowhere, as he sorted through his arrows, checking fletchings or sharpening points.
Tattia, on the other hand, seemed far from happy. She didn’t say much, mostly keeping to herself. Jedda saw her several times, looking to the east. He thought she looked sad. But whenever she realized she was being watched, a wall went up. He knew that of the four of them, Tattia had wanted this the least. She had barely said a word to her son since they left her cottage.
At first, Jedda thought it might just be a coincidence. He sensed Tattia blamed Kirrin for her circumstances. It was more his own fault than anyone else’s. He, not Kirrin, was the one who had defied Hak’kar.
Cham was ever the diplomat, trying to smooth things over and keep the peace.
“I came across a patch of early nettles by the edge of the clearing,” he said, walking up to the lodge one afternoon. He scratched at his bare arm as he spoke. “I found them the hard way. I should have been paying better attention. Tattia,” he said, moving to where she sat apart from the others. “Perhaps you would like to help me gather some? They make an excellent addition to a meal, and an excellent tea, also.”
Tattia grunted noncommittally, but roused herself and followed Cham down the clearing. The two of them came back a little later, Cham’s pack stuffed with rough leaves.
Tattia and Cham made dinner, a barley stew with wild garlic, artichokes, and nettles. It tasted better than Jedda expected.
“A hunter’s stew,” Kirrin said, helping himself to a second serving. “Can you pass the salt, please?” he asked.
The salt was next to Tattia, across the table and out of his reach. She turned her head the other way, and started talking to Cham. “What did you say you put into the stew to season it?”
Kirrin clenched his jaw, shoulders tensed, fingers clenched on the edge of the table. “Salt, please?” He asked again, louder now, with an edge to his voice.
Tattia turned her head and looked right at him. Then she stood up from the table, and picked up her plate, without saying a word. She carried her dinner out onto the porch to eat by herself.
Cham reached across the empty space and picked up the salt. “Here,” he said. “I didn’t use much salt when I cooked. Sorry.”
Jedda didn’t know what to say, so he just buried himself in his bowl. By the time he had finished, he was half asleep. His eyes were getting heavy and itchy; he blinked and rubbed them, stifling a yawn. For once he was grateful at how tired the training left him.
“I’m exhausted. I think I’ll just head to bed.” He wished he had some idea how to fix things between Kirrin and Tattia. But he didn’t, so he made his escape.
SOFT BREAK
The next day at lunch, Kirrin walked up to the cabin, wiping his face with his shirt. Cham was on the porch with Tattia, explaining the process of bow making as he worked on creating a second one. Kirrin walked up behind him and stopped. His mouth pursed, as though he had just bitten a lemon. Tattia shifted her position so she didn’t have to look at him.
Kirrin stu
mped up the steps past them, and into the cabin without saying a word. Tattia looked up, glancing over at the door as it slammed. With a shrug, she turned back to Cham. Jedda decided to go talk to Kirrin.
Kirrin was inside, sweeping the floor and muttering to himself. Jedda felt sorry for the broom, the way Kirrin strong-armed the thing. He wasn’t sure what to say to make his friend feel better, so he just sat down and watched him.
“She’s just doing this to get back at me,” Kirrin said after he had finished beating the floor with the broom. “She’s being childish. This is ridiculous!”
The angry outburst surprised Jedda. It was so contrary to Kirrin's usual behavior. “Why would she want to get back at you?”
Kirrin just glowered, gripping the broom in his hands until his knuckles turned white. He shoved the broom back in the cubby by the chimney and thumped out the door.
Jedda followed him outside, worried that Kirrin was going to make a scene. By the time he got to the door, Kirrin was already down the steps, by the corner of the cabin, headed towards the stable area.
Jedda stood on the porch, wondering if he should go after Kirrin.
“Would you like to practice shooting a bow?” Cham asked Tattia, flowing to his feet and extending a hand to help her up. He turned to Jedda. “You should come too. Learning how to handle a bow would be another good skill to build.”
Jedda cringed at the thought of skill-building, which generally entailed pain and discomfort. He followed them beyond the fire pit, to an area where Cham had set up a target, using a couple of hay bales as a backdrop.
Cham pulled out a piece of string, and stepped over the bow with one foot, bending it slightly and looping the string over the tips. “This is a simple long bow,” he said. “Not flashy or fancy, but never underestimate its power.” He drew the string, testing it, and demonstrating how to hold it for the others. He had a dozen arrows, and he stuck them point down in the ground, just to his side.
“This is your nock. Pick the arrow up, between your fingers,” he explained as he pinched the arrow. “Place it against the string, resting against your hand. Stand sideways from your target, like this,” he shifted his stance. “Draw your hand back toward your ear. Elbow up, arm steady, make sure the arrow is lined up and sight down the shaft toward your target. When you’re sure of your target, release, and fire.” With a careless and casual air, he shot the bow, and the arrow lodged itself dead center in the wooden target.
Jedda went next, with Cham coaching him and adjusting his posture. It was harder to draw the bow than he expected from watching Cham. He dropped the arrow several times before he figured out how to coordinate it, as he pinched the arrow against the bowstring with one hand and balanced it on the back of his other hand. His first shot went wild and buried itself in the dirt. He reached over and picked up the next arrow. That one went better, but still missed the target. Of the other ten arrows, four of them did hit the target, a few were close, and three of them went flying into the woods behind the target.
They all went to hunt for, and collect the arrows, and then it was Tattia’s turn. She stepped up, hefting the bow for a moment before drawing and bringing her focus onto the target, releasing the arrow with a smooth motion.
“You’ve shot a bow before,” Cham noted. Seven of the arrows had hit the target. Two dead center. The rest were close misses.
Tattia just smiled in reply, looking pleased.
They went through a few rounds each. Jedda began to get a better feel for shooting but was lucky to land one or two on the target.
Jedda came out of the cabin. Tattia was sitting on the steps, mending a strap from her horse's tack. Cham sat cross-legged on the porch tuning his harp. Kirrin came up the path that passed by his mother. Jedda stepped back a bit, not sure what might pass between them. He didn't need to stretch his senses to read the growing tension. He wasn't sure he entirely understood it, but whatever it was it seemed like a long and ongoing grudge.
“Do you know if there is any paper in the cabin?” Tattia asked Cham as Kirrin got closer.
“Paper?” Cham asked, confused by the unusual request.
Kirrin spoke up, sounding annoyed, and edgy. “What do you need paper for?”
Cham looked back and forth between the two of them, unsure how to reconcile this one.
Tattia turned towards Cham, “I'd like to write a letter, while I have so much spare time,” she said. “At some point, I may get a chance to mail it.”
“You can't do that, mum,” Kirrin said, hands clenched.
Tattia bristled.
“We can't do anything that could get us found,” he said. “You know that. It’s too risky.”
“I'm not so foolish as that,” she snapped back, turning to face Kirrin now. “A letter can be sent without return information, and it can be sent through a third party, too, like Fin’s boss.”
Jedda watched. Tattia impressed him. She was not a fool or flighty woman.
“Who do you need to write to, anyway?” Kirrin asked.
“Does it matter? I really don’t think it’s any of your business, now is it?” She said looked up at him, head tilted, defiant, and challenging.
“Actually, it might matter,” Kirrin spat back. “Some people closest to us, and close to you, are very likely to be watched.”
“So you're telling me that I cannot even write to your brothers?” Tattia sounded like a pot that was about to boil over. Jedda wished Kirrin would stop.
“You just don't get it, do you?” He snapped.
Jedda flinched, even from his distance.
“I get it just fine!” Tattia snapped back, voice rising. “Yet again, I must give up everything. Walk away, lose everything that was important to me. Don't you even care? They were your family! Your brothers! Perrin was like a father to you!”
The colors around her heart flare as she spoke of this family. Jedda had no idea what or who she was referring to. He glanced toward Cham, who had taken a step back from the two. Jedda followed his example.
“Perrin would have sent you to school anywhere you wanted to go! You could have been anything!” she shouted, throwing accusations at her son.
“I know, I know, I know!” Kirrin yelled back, his hands clenching and unclenching. “I was young! I was stupid! I threw my life away! I get it! When are you going to get over it?”
“Get over it? Get over it?” Tattia stood up, bringing herself up to her full height, back ramrod straight. “You wasted everything. All your potential, all your youth, for that man!” she said, spitting out the last word. “You hurt people. Use them up and toss them aside and you don't even care-- and you ask when I am going to get over it?”
The two of them stood there, glaring at each other. Kirrin looked away first and stormed off, disappearing up the path behind the cabin.
Jedda and Cham glanced at each other, and silently left the scene, leaving Tattia to stare down the path after her son.
Jedda went out to sit by the fire pit and carve. Cham drifted toward the back of the camp to meditate under a tree.
The remnants of an earlier fire still smoldered, and smoke wafted on the air, a slightly sweet smell. Jedda kept his focus on the knife and the lump of wood in his, working one against the other in an effort to create a bear. He realized he was leaning closer and squinting at his work. He looked up, surprised to see it was getting dark. He tucked his knife, and the half-bear into his pocket, and headed to the cabin. Cham must have seen him get up, and followed him back.
Tattia was sitting on the top step, cracking hazelnuts with more force than they probably needed.
“I’m surprised Kirrin isn’t back by now,” Jedda said as he walked up.
Tattia’s jaw clenched. Clearing the air hadn’t resolved anything. She looked as angry as ever- more so, now that she had voiced her opinions.
Cham looked at the setting sun and scanned the area. “I think, I should go look for him,” he said. “Both of you stay within sight of the cabin.” His words had
an added weight to them, confirming Jedda’s suspicion that Cham was uneasy about Kirrin not having returned by now.
Jedda checked on the horses, who really didn’t need much tending. He brushed them down and gave each of them some grain before he wandered back toward the cabin. But he didn’t want to see Tattia. He'd either have to pretend he hadn't witnessed the fight between her, and Kirrin, or he would have to try and talk to her about it. Neither option sounded good to him, so he decided to avoid her completely.
He headed back down by the fire pit, where he stirred up the coals a bit and added some twigs. After a few minutes he had enough a fire going to see by, and so he took out his carving knife. The light wasn’t great, so he decided to leave the bear for another day. He found a half charred bit of firewood just inside the fire pit and picked it up instead. He turned it over in his hands a few times, trying to get a feel for what it might become. When he found he couldn’t decide, he just started carving, peeling away the burnt layers, digging into the deeper, richer grains beneath.
He heard a sound and looked up. The knife slipped, digging into his palm. “Blood of the red god!” he swore, clenching his fist tightly as blood seeped through his fingers. This needed tending.
Jedda entered the cabin, holding his hand clenched. A few drops of blood spattered as he walked. Tattia came down the stairs when she heard the door.
“I thought it might be Kirrin,” despite the chill between them, Jedda could tell she was worried about her son. “Oh, by the nine, what happened to your hand?”
“I was carving,” Jedda explained. “The knife slipped. It’s not that bad,” he added, peeking at the cut he was holding.
“Bring it over here,” she insisted, leading him into the kitchen area. Within a few moments, she had it washed up, treated with some oily ointment, and wrapped with a clean cloth.
Jedda watched her tending his cut, her head bent over his hand. Gentle hands, deft touch. “You must have been a really good mom.”
She smiled up at him, but he could tell she was still angry. Jedda felt an ache in his heart, a longing for something he didn’t know he had missed.
