by TJ Muir
It was obvious he was wrestling with something - two different swirls seemed to be in conflict with each other. “Last night she was all-- I had a right to know. How could you keep this from me? Nothing good came from your working for that man - And that’s the same crap she’d been saying back then-- as though I could just change things because she didn’t like them!”
“And she was even more furious when she found out I had sent the kid to her cousin’s. She’s like -so, everyone knew except me! And, oh- so that’s why Padrin kept writing me about ‘little Marken.’ It all makes sense now! - She said it was the cruelest thing anyone could possibly do.”
Kirrin continued his story, defending himself with his words. “Mind, we weren’t on good terms back then. We weren’t even speaking, to be honest. I sent her money and wrote to her. But she rarely wrote back. She wanted to punish me for making a mistake - for all the mistakes I’d made with my life. So yeah. Tell me when I was supposed to stop by for tea, talk about the weather and say, ‘hey, want to meet your grandson?’”
Jedda just watched, listening, trying to be a friend in matters where he had no understanding. He was trying not to judge Kirrin.
“I blamed her for being unreasonable, but to be fair, what happened to her was doucha.“
Jedda wasn’t familiar with the word Kirrin had just used, but from the emphasis he put on it, Jedda guessed it was a pretty bad word.
“Hak’kar took her from her life. She had a good man, and my step-brothers, and she loved the inn. She was happy there, and it was my fault it was ripped away. It was wrong, and she was devastated. She told me not to come back until I could make better choices, and we didn’t talk for several years.”
Jedda had no experience with family or mothers, but that seemed like a long time to him.
“And. . . She was right. I was angry, I could have told her, but I just didn’t. I thought it served her right, she had cut me off!” Kirrin paused, as though hearing the truth in his own words. He continued, but his voice had changed now, “So, I didn’t tell her. Gods, how could I have been so stupid? She was right the whole time. I was stupid and cruel and she never deserved any of this.”
Jedda was lost. He had no idea what to say or do, so he tried for a sympathetic arm around the shoulders. Kirrin stiffened, so Jedda settled for a pat and put his arm back at his side. Kirrin continued.
“He is a beautiful boy, completely perfect. A bright and happy boy, and such a big smile. Nothing like me at all.”
Jedda watched the colors swirling around Kirrin, reading sadness and a hint of wistful longing. “So you never thought about leaving Hak’kar and joining them? Being a family?”
“One does not leave Hak’kar’s service. Or rather, they do, when Hak’kar decides he has no further use for them. Like Yaran.”
Jedda felt a chill, remembering Yaran’s apparent suicide. It had been just after the ‘accidental deaths’ of Trey’s father and brother. There had been some snickering that Yaran had killed himself for grief. But Jedda knew that was a lie.
On the other hand, here they all were, in Jynwyn, and safe. Jedda felt awkward, but that didn’t stop him from continuing. “Well, I left. I mean, we left. Now. So, why not then? I mean… You abandoned your kid!” That last bit came out with more anger than he realized he was feeling.
“I didn’t abandon anyone!” Kirrin spat back, raising his tone to match Jedda’s. “Mum wasn’t speaking to me, so what was I supposed to do? Just knock on her door and say hi, here’s your grandson and pack your things?”
Jedda held his tongue, but he couldn’t help thinking that was almost exactly what they did less than a year ago when they all fled Tatak Rhe.
“She never would have done it. And Hak’kar would have tortured her to find me. I never could have let him do that.”
But she left now, Jedda wanted to say but didn’t. “But… your son!”
Kirrin glared at him, looking miserable and resentful. Jedda could see the guilt swirling in his colors. It was a color that seemed to seep into every aspect and corner around his body, like a film, thin and sheer. Jedda had always looked up to Kirrin. Right now his own feelings were conflicting. Part of him felt sorry for his friend. But to just walk away from his kid like that?
Jedda was having a hard time getting past the abandoned son part. But, he had also heard what Kirrin said about the threat of torture. He knew that was real. In that moment, he became keenly aware he had left Diya and Trey behind and at risk.
Chapter Eighteen
The festival ran on for several days, Beddo camps dotting the entire city. Jedda hit overload after that first night. He spent the next few days keeping mostly to himself, practicing magic, sitting with the trees, and carving. He noticed fewer bright spots of Beddo camps and was beginning to feel restless. He needed to stretch.
Jedda went to the stables and checked the pasture where Jespen would be. But he missed seeing the black spot that stood out among the rest of the herd. Kai and Destryn must have sent them out with one of the departing Beddo. He wished he had been able to say goodbye. Jespen had been a trustworthy friend.
But he had a horse. He looked through the herd and gave a low whistle, the way Destryn did. Several heads came up, turning to look for the source. The horses had learned whistles often meant treats. A trick Jedda had quickly picked up on. He spotted Ashai’s dusty golden head with the thin white stripe. The horse must have recognized him as well, as he shouldered his way through the surrounding horses, making his way up to Jedda.
Jedda looped a rope around his neck as Ashai nibbled and nuzzled, looking for the promised treat. “Sorry. I don’t have anything.”
Ashai gazed at Jedda, as though he had just played a mean trick on him. But the horse followed along beside him willingly.
Ashai was a bit bigger than Jespen. Taller, but leaner, with the sleek muscles of a horse that was bred to run and turn quickly. Jedda brushed him down and grabbed a handful of grain after to make up for the missing treat. Then he put saddle and bridle on and led the horse to a rock to mount. He looked around first, to make sure no one was around. He knew he would never hear the end of it, not being able to properly mount a Tajynal horse.
He felt Ashai shift under his weight, much more responsive than patient Jespen. Ashai was eager to get going, and tossed his head, pawing the ground with one foot.
He felt a nervous flutter in his chest. But Ashai was not misbehaving. In fact, he realized, the horse had not taken a single step, he was waiting for Jedda's signal. That made him feel better, and he patted the horse on his neck, giving him a good scratching. He let out his breath, relaxing, then gave a light kick. Ashai jumped forward. Jedda grabbed onto his mane, catching his balance. Ashai danced sideways, but then shifted his weight and direction, keeping his body underneath Jedda.
“Right,” Jedda said to himself and the horse, with a pat. “Sorry. I’ll remember from now on.” With a gentle nudge, he asked Ashai to walk.
Jedda spent a little while just getting a feel for the horse and letting the horse do the same. Walking, stopping, turning. He got a sense of how much pressure to use and how lightly the horse responded.
Once he felt more confident, he turned the horse out toward the open pastures. Ashai snorted, sniffing the air and tossing his mane.
Jedda started with a slow trot and asked the horse to walk and stop. Ashai's training was solid, and regardless of his desire to take off, his polarity training was always to respond to the rider.
Jedda looked out across the far reaching fields to a patch of woods in the distance. It might be fun to go exploring for awhile. Feeling the fresh air and open space, he gave a squeeze and a cluck, letting Ashai have the open gallop he really wanted.
After the first burst of energy, they settled into a nice pace. Before long they reached the stand of trees, which was further and larger than Jedda realized. They slowed to a walk before they reached the woods, but Ashai wasn’t even that winded.
Ashai’s ears twitche
d, turning backward, listening. Then he turned his head. The horse's nervous reaction made Jedda wonder if riding out across the plains by himself had been a foolish move on his part. He looked over his shoulder, turning Ashai around, and saw a lone rider racing toward him.
At first, he thought it was Kai, but as rider and mount drew closer, he saw that it was Trellyn.
Jedda’s relief was mixed with hint of worry. He hadn’t seen Trellyn since the night they spent together. He hoped she wasn’t angry. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong. But he also didn’t know how to explain that he wasn’t interested in her.
She brought her horse to a walk, drawing up beside them. “Nice riding.”
“Thanks. He’s a lot different than Jespen. But he’s amazing!” Jedda smiled, looking down at Ashai, rubbing his neck. He hadn’t realized it until he said it, but he felt a connection to Ashai. The horse had a kind of intuitive quickness. All Jedda had to do was to think and barely move, and Ashai responded. He loved this horse. And more, Ashai was his.
“Come on, there’s something you might like to see,” Trellyn said, turning her horse toward the woods.
Jedda babbled on about the horse, and missing Jespen, and playing polarity, anything to fill the silence and steer the conversation away from that other night.
The woods were mostly pine and birch, creating a contrast of dark green and white. Fewer of the red trees grew down here. The woods wandered up a long, low hill. Trellyn turned off a few paths. Wherever she was leading them, she had a specific destination in mind, and was not just showing him the woods. That made him feel better. He was worried this might have been an excuse to lure him off into the woods to ‘rattle the bushes’ again.
The trail curved around over the crest of the low ridge. Trellyn pulled her horse to the side of the path, and Ashai rode up alongside. “Look,” she said, nodding ahead.
Jedda blinked. Just ahead, stood a giant boulder. But that wasn’t the strange part. Around the boulder were four chairs, like a dinner table. They were so tall, he was pretty sure he could ride Ashai right under them.
As he was thinking this, Trellyn rode up to one of the chairs and stood on her horse's back. She grabbed onto the upright, and pulled herself up, climbing onto the seat of the chair. Jedda watched from Ashai’s back, reins loose in his hands.
“Come,” she called down.
Jedda looked up at her, filled with unease. He wasn’t sure he could make that climb. Would Ashai even stand still and allow him to stand on his back? He also wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to be climbing all over a sacred site. He only knew a little bit about the Faenyr gods, but this place obviously belonged to them. It seemed disrespectful to climb on someone’s table. And if the gods were real Jedda wasn’t sure he wanted to attract their attention.
But Trellyn was waiting for him, sitting on the seat of the chair, legs dangling over the side. She looked like a very small child brought to a grown up's tea party. “Come,” she repeated, reaching a hand down to him. “Horse will wait.”
Jedda hadn’t even thought about the possibility that Ashai would wander off, leaving him stranded. Trellyn clucked and whistled softly. Ashai walked the few feet up to her before Jedda could gather the reins and stop him. Jedda looked up uncertainly at her dangling feet.
“Stand on Ashai,” she said.
Jedda looked from her to the horse, and back again. Then he mimicked what Trellyn had done, and a moment later he was standing on Ashai’s back, sure he would move, or the ground would shift. He stood there, frozen, hands outstretched to keep his balance.
Trellyn laughed. Jedda knew he looked foolish, standing there, wobbling.
“Hold there,” Trellyn said, pointing to the log that formed the upright. Jedda looked to his west. He could see where handholds had been made by some previous climber. That made him feel a little better if others had done this and not incurred the gods' wrath.
Once Jedda had a handhold, climbing up was easy. Years of practice in Tatak Rhe, up and down drainpipes, rooftops, walls, and trees had been good practice. Trellyn hopped to her feet and waited for him to climb up.
The seat was made out of woven vines, but they were close enough together Jedda wasn’t worried about falling through. He did watch where he put his feet, though. Trellyn seemed less worried as she went over to the edge of the chair, where it met the table. The table was about six feet taller than the seat of the chair, but again, someone had carved out handholds and footholds. It was no harder than climbing up a drainpipe or a wall.
It felt strange to walk around on a table as though he were a mouse. Four stone plates set on the table, in each of the four directions. The plates were taller than a step, and he could sit on the edge of them comfortably. But he didn’t dare. He felt like he was food, and he looked around, certain some hungry god would scoop him up and make a bite sized morsel out of him.
But Trellyn had no concerns as she climbed up onto one of the plates, dancing around on it. She was laughing and singing. Jedda didn’t understand the words, but she was fascinating to watch.
“Come,” she said. Jedda felt like a child, but he climbed up and joined her.
The two of them danced, hopping from plate to plate, chasing each other and dancing around in circles, spinning and laughing.
Out of breath and dizzy, Jedda tripped over his own feet, falling face down on the plate. Trellyn couldn’t stop laughing.
“Like a fresh offering for the gods,” she said.
“Hopefully they won’t recognize me. I’m not really Faenyr,” he said. He wasn’t sure if that made him more, or less, safe.
Trellyn walked over and reached her hand down, helping Jedda back to his feet. He walked a few feet to the edge of the plate and sat down, feet over the edge, elbows on his knees, catching his breath. He heard the light sound of footsteps and felt Trellyn sit down next to him.
She put a hand on his shoulder. Jedda tried not to tense up. He didn’t want to offend her and was worried she might expect something from him. But she put up her other hand, and with a hand on each shoulder, she turned him to face away from her.
Jedda thought she was going to show him something and looked up in the direction he was facing. But then he felt the bristles of a comb going through his hair. Trellyn's fingers were deft and gentle, and when she started to braid his hair, Jedda closed his eyes. Maybe this was some kind of ritual or custom among them. He liked the idea of having his hair braided like the Faenyr.
“Now Faenyr,” Trellyn said, sounding satisfied. Jedda reached up and felt several braids on each side of his head, pulled away from the temples and down past his shoulders. When had his hair gotten that long, he wondered?
Jedda looked over his shoulder and smiled. He felt strange, as though he were a stranger to himself, and expected her to make some joke about him almost looking like a Faenyr.
Trellyn began to play with his braids. Jedda laughed but felt nervous. He wasn’t sure if she expected him to do something, like kiss her. She tickled his neck with the end of his braid, and he shrugged his shoulder instinctively. His mind was racing, trying to find some distraction. He felt bad. He liked Trellyn. Really liked her. But he was in love with Diya. Completely. He imagined what she would do if she were there with him. He didn’t know if she were superstitious, or if she would laugh and dance for the gods.
“Do you believe in the gods?” he asked Trellyn.
The question must have caught her by surprise because her hand stopped. Jedda looked over his shoulder, turning slightly.
Trellyn blinked at him. “Asking, are the gods real?”
Jedda shrugged. “Perhaps,” he said, unsure what he was asking. “Are they real?”
“Of course. Who else would make the water to rain and the seeds to grow, if not the gods?”
Jedda frowned, thinking. He didn’t know what made things happen.
Trellyn continued, “And who else would make the magic flow through the land?”
Jedda chewed on his lip
, considering that one. He supposed there would be explanations for how seeds grew and rain happened, even if he didn’t know what it was. But magic? What else explained magic if it wasn’t something the gods had created.
Jedda shrugged. “Who else could make magic flow? Maybe there are gods, then.”
He saw the glint in Trellyn’s eye, as she watched him.
“What’s over there?” he asked, changing the subject. He turned, looking through the woods.
“Forest. Shrine. Trees.”
“Are there other villages around here?” he asked. “Other Faenyr?”
Trellyn scanned the horizon. Jedda could feel her, close behind him. She pointed, reaching one arm over his shoulder.
“Tikka, there,” she said, and then moved her arm further north. “Chandarra, there.”
Her warm breath caressed his neck as she spoke. He knew he should move away and was trying to think of some excuse to do so. But at that moment, Trellyn’s other hand reached around his waist and slipped right down into his pants.
Jedda gasped, shocked. Part of him wanted to protest, but instead, he just closed his eyes tight as her deft fingers teased and played a different kind of magic. He wanted to say no, to push her away. He was angry at his body for betraying him. He thought of Diya, and how terrible he had felt afterward that first time. But everything Trellyn was doing felt so good in the moment. She began nuzzling the back of his neck, and his senses hit overload, drowning out his conscience and better sense.
Another round of wild and exhausting sex. Trellyn had little regard for the sacredness of the site, as she made a quick nest of their clothes piled in the middle of one of the plates. If Jedda had been worried about attracting the wrong kind of attention before, he was outright scared, now. But another part of him thrilled at the daring. He felt like a god himself, invincible. He hollered loudly and listened as it echoed in the distance. Trellyn yelled with him, and they laughed in their defiance of the gods.
