“Come on mules! Dig in!” Berk yelled, cracking the whip so close to Gavin’s ear that all he could hear for several minutes was a loud ringing.
Gavin’s legs and calves burned with the exertion. His shoulders screamed from the constant pressure from the yoke. His eyes stung where sweat dripped into them and blurred his vision. They pulled for what seemed like an hour until they finally reached the end of the first row.
“At this pace you’ll still be plowing for another three days. Get this thing turned around.” Gavin took the yoke from his shoulders and with Tibal helping turned the plow around. Gavin’s spirits sunk when he looked out on the field before them. His body was already screaming for relief, but he knew there would be none. This was their punishment for not obeying an order. He glanced at Brom who stood motionless, his eyes never leaving them.
“This is ridiculous,” Tibal groused. “How dare he force me, an Ar’Bethnot, to do manual labor?”
Gavin’s temper exploded at Tibal’s words. He threw the yoke down and pulled Tibal out into the open field, “Ridiculous you say? This is your fault! You and your spoiled views of the world have put us in this predicament! You think you are so much better than everyone else, yet it was a peasant farmer who has bested the both of us! Oramek is the one sitting in luxury because he followed orders! We are the fools.” Gavin’s temper had finally run out, “We, a prince and noble, are the fools that must plow this field because we could not follow simple orders. So please shut up and get to work.”
Gavin could feel Tibal’s eyes on him as he pulled the yoke back over his head and waited. After a moment Tibal followed suit and together they pressed forward. At the third row, Gavin’s legs nearly gave out, “May we have a break?” He asked Berk.
Brom waved his approval and Gavin took the opportunity to find a secluded spot to take care of his needs. Upon his return he said nothing to Tibal as he lifted the yoke and they continued. Six rows went by and then another three as exhaustion set in. He could barely lift his legs to take the next step. His shoulders were burning from the pressure of the yoke, the skin beneath rubbed raw. He glanced at Tibal and wondered if he had the same agonized look that furrowed Tibal’s brow.
The moon was setting, and the sun’s first rays started to light the morning sky by the time they reached the last row. Gavin was covered in dirt and mud, his skin was rubbed raw, both knees bleeding where he had slipped and fallen numerous times during their trek across the field. Every muscle ached as he pushed forward, struggling to reach the end of the last row.
Half way across the field Tibal collapsed. His breathing was more labored than Gavin’s and his eyes were squeezed shut in exhaustion and pain. “No more, I can do no more.” He heaved the words between breaths.
“Come on Tibal, we are almost there.” Gavin pointed to the end of the row, “Look, we are half way to the end.”
“I,” he lifted the yoke off his shoulders, blood stained his once white shirt and fell to his back, “can do no more.”
“But we’ve come so far, do not give up now.” Gavin’s heart stopped when he looked over at Brom and found him heading towards them, “Get up. The Tarkain is coming,” Gavin half whispered.
“I do not care.” Tibal wheezed, “Let him come.”
Brom stopped in front of the plow and looked down at Tibal. Without having to say a word Gavin knew that Brom was disgusted by Tibal’s behavior.
“I will finish the row,” Gavin said, thinking to appease Brom’s anger.
“Very well, you may finish alone if you wish, but know this, if Tibal is not beside you when you finish you will both be sent home disgraced, stripped of your honor.”
“What?” Gavin was shocked by Brom’s words. “But…” he stopped himself from protesting for he knew it would fall on deaf ears and lead to more punishment.
“You need us too much to do something so rash,” Tibal said, his forearm covering his eyes as he spoke. “It is well known the Veillen Guard has a shortage of nor’Veillen. You are too desperate to throw the two of us away.”
“You are mistaken,” Brom said very simply. “I do not need two pathetic weaklings who cannot obey orders and do not understand the concept of team work. So, if you cannot continue, then leave. Go home to your mother’s tit like the ima you are. I have no use for babies.”
Tibal heaved a sigh as he turned over and pulled himself onto his hands and knees before standing. He took up the yoke and placed it over his shoulders. A grimace of pain creased his face when the yoke pressed against his raw skin. Gavin joined him when he started pressing forward. Tibal half laughed, before muttering, “I hate the Tarkain.”
“Yeah, I know,” Gavin said, “but he’s right. Let us finish this task.”
“Yeah,” Tibal groaned as he leaned into the plow.
Together he and Tibal put all their might into pulling the plow the last few arduous feet. It felt as if it would never come but as his feet stepped upon the road, a sense of relief, mingled with accomplishment, shuddered his body. They both collapsed to the ground, breathing heavy and with aching bodies.
“Finally. We are finished,” Gavin said through labored breathing.
“Think again,” Berk cackled.
Confused, Gavin opened his eyes and looked at the old man. He was pointing toward the farm house in the distance. Gavin glanced in the direction he was pointing and saw a pile of stones. He’d forgotten the wall that Brom had mentioned earlier. Gavin groaned and pulled himself onto shaky legs. He offered a hand to Tibal, “Let us do this quickly so we can at last rest.”
Tibal took his offered hand and pulled himself up as well. Together they walked across another unplowed field.
Brom watched as Gavin and Tibal stumbled their way to the farmhouse. He knew they were in agony, but it was a lesson they had to learn. He’d seen too many men die because they did not follow an order. It was essential that everyone knew what their role was in the battle to successfully fend off the demons. Tibal wasn’t wrong though. Over the past several years the number of babes born with the mark of Orla had diminished leaving the Veillen order in a bind. Every nor’Veillen was a commodity that could not be squandered.
The boys were no good to him exhausted, so once they finished this task he’d let them wash and sleep for the rest of the day. “Berk,” Brom called to the wrinkled old farmer, “make sure they finish the job and send them back to the barracks.”
“Aye.” Berk waved his hand.
“Tell them to clean up before sleeping. Moira will have my hide if there is mud and filth everywhere.”
30
They Will Love You
Fifteen Days Later
Dan’Idou, 2nd Alba, 1021
Sterling was exhausted. It was only mid-morning and she felt as though she had not slept at all. It had been the same for the past two weeks. Her nights were filled with visions of Brigit and that monstrous demon chasing her. Always it was Brigit’s sweet innocent voice telling Sterling that it was her fault everyone at the orphanage was dead. Every night Sterling would wake up screaming. Consoled by Brom’s presence beside her, she would fall back to sleep when he took her hand in his.
She’d protested at first, having to stay in his room, but Brom ensured her nothing would happen. Keeping his promise, he would sleep in the chair on the far side of the room, only venturing to the bed when the nightmares gripped her.
I must be losing my mind, Sterling thought. I even hear Brigit’s laughter during the day. Sterling would hear childish laughter that faded up and down the hall outside her room. On one occasion she had seen Brigit running across the field below her window, her brown hair trailing behind her. Brigit’s ghostly torment was unrelenting and only added to Sterling’s feelings of guilt. She felt the hole in her heart grow a little more each time she heard that childish laugh.
Moira would visit her every day, but despite the woman’s efforts, Sterling resisted letting anyone get close. Sterling feared she would wind up losing them again. If she just pushed e
veryone away she would have nothing to fear.
Moira was stubborn, and and insisted she give her updates on the goings-on of the Keep. She’d informed Sterling that Gilda had left the Keep for Sela’Char. Her mind was still not whole, and Moira thought time away from the Pan’Dale would heal the woman’s soul. Despite Gilda’s departure, Orrven had forbidden Sterling from leaving her room.
It had been two weeks since then and Moira had promised Sterling to take her to Menarik today for new clothes. Sterling, although apprehensive, was excited to leave this room and rid herself of the awful blue dress. Waiting for Moira’s arrival, Sterling sat on the bench and observed the men of Pan’Dale and their never-ending need to spar.
The training was difficult and brutal. Unlike the Dueninians, who used wooden swords, the Pan’Dale warriors sparred with real weapons and she’d seen several of the mighty warriors wounded just from the practices. It was always Moira that tended to their wounds. She was skilled with a needle and thread and would sew up a warrior’s wound quickly, so he could continue his training.
Sterling thought nothing could faze these men. They were strong and larger than any men she’d ever seen, even taller and broad-chested than Hemi, who, for a Dueninian, was very tall. They were all shirtless with their leather armor as their only covering. What was with the Kai’Varian men and their lack of clothing? Sterling wondered.
A knock at the door drew Sterling’s attention. She stood when Moira’s head poked into the room, “Are you ready?” A smile lit up her face as stepped into the room.
“More than you can imagine.” Sterling lifted the cumbersome blue folds of the cursed dress, so as not to trip and fall, and jumped to her feet. She’d learned very quickly to lift the fabric out of the way. She’d tripped and fallen numerous times from her feet getting tangled in the skirts.
“Come then.” Moira grabbed hold of Sterling’s hand and pulled her quickly down the hall and the stairwell, then out the door into the bright warm sun.
Sterling stopped for a moment to feel the sun’s rays on her face. The rays soaked into her body like a healing warmth after being inside for so long. Her eyes watered from the brightness of the sun.
“Come on,” Moira laughed, “the day is half over,” A stable boy helped Moira into the driver’s seat of a waiting wagon.
Sterling lifted her skirts to her knees but paused when the maids gasped. Sterling glared at them as she lifted the fabric even higher and climbed into the wagon to sit beside Moira. “Prudes,” Sterling whispered under her breath.
“You’re shameless,” Moira laughed. The wagon jerked forward as Moira slapped the reigns. “You’ll love Menarik. The villagers are wonderful and kind. They welcomed me with open arms when I married Orrven and they simply worship Brom. I know they will love you.”
Sterling’s anxiety increased as they neared the village. Menarik lay nestled below Pan’Dale against the sheer cliff face and was protected by a wall that surrounded the main village with a heavy wood and iron gate. The cobblestone roads were bustling with activity as villagers went about their daily lives. Shops like the bakery and seamstress lined the main thoroughfare, while a pub and the blacksmith sat on the outskirts of the village. To Sterling, it was as perfect a village as she could imagine. Unlike the chaos of Shee’s busy market, Menarik was peaceful and well organized.
Moira pulled up on the reins and brought the wagon to a stop in front of a seamstress. She lifted her skirts and climbed gently to the ground, “Well, come on,” She laughed.
Sterling lifted her skirts and then jumped to the ground, her dress billowing up around her legs so that passersby got an unexpected peak at Sterling’s bloomers.
“Sterling, do you have any sense of decorum?” Moira scolded, but their seriousness was diminished by the laugh that followed.
Sterling apologized as she followed Moira down the street toward the seamstress, but instead of going inside Moira bypassed the shop window filled with fabric. “Aren’t we…” Sterling started to ask.
“What you want is not made in that type of store.” Moira rounded the corner to a side street that was less traveled. The buildings here were not quite as bright as those that lined the main thoroughfare. Moira went down another street that narrowed even further until she came to an alley that did not invite one to enter without caution.
“Are you sure we’re in the right place?” Sterling glanced over her shoulder for any suspicious characters. An alley like this in Shee would surely have any number of thieves waiting to rob travelers or worse.
“I’m certain.” A bell chimed as Moira pushed open a door. The little hovel was dimly lit and had the overwhelming scent of leather. A large and tidy worktable, covered in clothes in varying shapes and colors, stood at attention with candles lighting the work area. The walls were filled with shelves that held stacks of more fabric and clothes folded neatly ready for their wearers. “Master Bennet?” Moira called out to the empty room.
“I’m coming.” A hoarse voice full of impatience came from a back room. Upon seeing Moira, he bowed, “Afternoon, milady.”
“Master Bennet, I was hoping to persuade you to make something for…” She paused as she stepped aside and let the man get a good look at Sterling.
His weathered face could not hide the surprise in his blue eyes. “You want me to make clothes for a girl? Pssh, I clothe warriors, not little misses,” he scoffed at Moira’s request.
Moira glanced at Sterling then back at Bennet, “I promise you your talents will not go wasted. Sterling, after all, is a Rin’Ovana.” Moira winked at Sterling, hiding a giggle behind her hand.
“Rin’Ovana you say?” Bennet stepped around the table and lifted Sterling’s arm. Feeling her bicep and shoulder for a moment and then running his rough thumb down one of the scars inflicted by Helios. “Who was your father, girl?” he asked.
Sterling looked at Moira and when she nodded Sterling said, “Kh-” her voice cracked on the name, “Khort Rin’Ovana.
Bennet circled her again pulling at her arms and feeling her muscles in her shoulders. “The dress will have to come off.”
“Master Bennet, I don’t think it is appropriate to…” Moira started to protest but stopped when the blue dress Sterling had been wearing landed on Moira’s head. “Very well then.” Moira pulled the dress from her head and folded the garment.
Sterling stood in front of Bennet in her bloomers and chemise. She waited for Bennet to react to the patchwork of scars covering her body, but he seemed to pay them no mind. Moira on the other hand turned her back on Sterling, but Sterling did not miss the tear she wiped away.
“Turn around,” Bennet directed Sterling. He stretched a tape measure across her shoulders and then the length of her back. Sterling jumped when he put the tape measure to the inside of her thigh and measured to her foot. “Turn.” Sterling turned again to face Bennet. He measured the length of her arms and around her neck and waist. She felt her cheeks blush when he wrapped the tape around her chest and brought the ends together between her breasts. After writing down the measurements he said, “I’ll have it done today.” He disappeared into the back room.
“Very good.” Moira handed the dress to Sterling. “We have shopping to do.”
Sterling looked at the dress and took a step away, “Can’t I just stay here while you go shopping?”
Moira’s disappointment was written across her face, “I suppose,” she said after a moment. “Make sure to behave yourself, Bennet has a short temper.” Moira left Sterling alone while Bennet rummaged around in the back room.
“You’re still here?” Bennet did not seem pleased that she had not accompanied Moira on her errands.
“I’d rather die than put that dress back on.” Sterling answered, sitting on a stool that stood in the corner of the room. She sat quietly, not wanting to disturb Bennet’s work.
Sterling watched as he pulled a large piece of leather from the pile he brought with him from the back room. He ran his hand over the leather and
then glanced at Sterling for a moment, his eyes examining her closely. Sterling fidgeted a moment but did not feel the revulsion she expected to feel under a man’s gaze.
Bennet shook his head and mumbled something before putting the leather back only to pull another piece from the pile. “Come.” He motioned for Sterling to feel the material. Sterling hesitated for a moment and then joined Bennet at his work table. “Feel the texture of this leather.”
Sterling ran her hand across the dark brown material, surprised at how soft and supple the leather felt. It felt like water in her hands but was thick and durable. “What animal is this from?” she asked, unable to imagine this quality of leather came from any normal bovine.
“This is the leather from a manuk,” he explained.
“What’s a manuk?” Sterling asked, as she’d never heard of such an animal.
“They are frightening creatures that live in the canopy of the Midori.” Bennet ran his hand along the soft leather, “Manuk leather is the best quality leather that can be found in all Taaneri, but it is difficult to get since the manuk are so dangerous. The skin is tougher than any other animal and that is why it is usually reserved for the Veillen.”
“What do you mean?” Sterling asked, not understanding.
“Manuk leather is only used in armor for Veillen warriors. They need the protection from the claws and teeth of the graekull they hunt.”
“If only the Veillen warriors wear this leather, why then do you use it for me?” Sterling’s curiosity forced the question past her lips.
A half smile creased the old man’s cheeks as he chuckled to himself. “You are such a tiny thing, you’ll need all the protection you can get.”
“I can take care of myself,” Sterling mumbled as she returned to the stool in the corner. She watched Bennet as his calloused hands quickly cut the fabric into various shapes. He sat the pieces aside and pulled a lever on his table. Sterling was surprised by the odd mechanism that flipped up from underneath the table. “What is that? She asked jumping up to examine the contraption.
The Elemental Union: Book One Devian Page 23
