by RR Turock
Chapter 7: Friend or Foe?
I wish I had Father’s pipe. At least that would be something from him I could hold onto. Sighing, I waited for morning to no avail. The night was never longer. Even after everyone had gone to sleep downstairs in the shop, I couldn’t close my eyes for longer than a minute. My mind replayed everything that happened over again. Unlike my mind, my body felt stiff as a rock, and in pain.
Aches creaked up through my shoulders and neck. Remembering everything put me through it all over again. I rolled over on the wooden cot to look out the window. The smoke from the kilns drifted far off to the west. I distracted myself with remembering the menial facts about the kilns.
When Father stayed in the city secretly, raising me with Mother, he worked at the kilns. As Crown Prince, he knew everything about everything in Karrazard, which made him an excellent ironworker. As his daughter, he expected that I too, learn everything about everything in Karrazard.
Diomedes had known an impressive amount of knowledge about the kilns also, which made him a good candidate for heir. From the looks of it, he even made his own bow and arrows with original design. With the extra tension, his arrows could possibly go through a block of solid wood. However strong and knowledgeable he was, he lacked something that I couldn’t quite put a pin on what. He seemed to me like wolf with intelligence for the hunt but no teeth.
The night went on as so. By sunrise, I had fried my brain so badly I couldn’t think. Blinking at the brightness of the morning sun, I found I had moved from the cot to the windowsill. A noise below caught my attention. The gentle laughter of children drifted up. They danced around, attempting to copy our skit.
Malec knocked three times and entered. “Mornin’, Missy. How did ya sleep?”
I smiled in his direction. “Excellent.” Looking back down, I mentioned, “Actually, I want to put on a street performance. A small one.”
Malec came over and looked down into the street. A toothy smile spread over his face. “Yea, I get ya idea. We didn’t make much cash the otha day, but if the mas and pas like it as much as the children do, then we’ll do much better today. Now, don't ya forget we gots to find ya ma."
I sighed. I would have never said so to Father, but I had my beliefs about Mother. I began. "Malec, do you remember what happened when we first left Karrazard so many years ago? How Deion found we were still in the city and sent assassins to remove us?"
Malec consented with a nod. "Yah, ya ma was hurt too bad but wes had to leave with caravan. Ya pa made a very hard decision leaving 'er behind, but it was da only way to keep ya and ya ma safe. He always planned to find 'er once ya'll return."
Looking into the past, I remembered Mother's weak face, her overpowering pain. She was so insistent we had to leave; Father could not argue a word in edgewise. I spoke up. "Mother was too weak to survive on her own."
Malec shook his head. "Ya pa paid the doctor fancily."
I corrected my statement. "My mother was too weak even without a wound. That aside, she hated me, hated having me, and hated herself for having me. If she had either not married Father or had borne a son, she would be queen now. They say, when she realized she had a girl, she fell close to death and mourned as though she had lost a son. There is no reason, if, and I stress if, she is alive that I should tell her Father is dead. I might as well kill her myself."
Malec finally agreed, his shoulders sagging. He pulled out a wooden pipe. "Here, this is a pipe that ya pa would play in lieu of his special pipe.”
I decided a change in tone was in order. Sticking out my tongue in disgust, I noted, taking the pipe. “You mean instead of the pipe all my grandparents used? Bleh. I know Father was clean at least, but I can’t say so much for my grandparents. Thanks, Malec.”
He patted me on the shoulder. Sighing, I led the way down stairs. The crew was still waking, groaning and clumped together. One of my favorite members was a mute, fire-breathing cook, and he had already started breakfast. He signaled me to come over. I consented, sitting at the clerk’s table that he was working at.
He set up a napkin, filling it with cooked grains, dried fruits, and beef jerky. Beside it, he placed a small cup of water, a tribute to Karrazard, through which the river flowed. Then, the cook set a small jar of water before me. Malec cleared his voice, speaking for the cook. “After this mornin’s show, ya outta give ya pa a propa visit.”
I nodded, taking the jar and slipping it into my tunic. “Let’s have a few fire-breathers, the trumpets, I’ll play the pipe, and let’s see…Why we don’t have the balancers too?”
At my words, several members looked up in excitement in hearing their talents. Whenever I chose to display personal skills of the crew rather than skits, they seemed to love it. Breakfast past quickly after, and the members I called out came and listened to the more organized plan. So many things had happened just a day before and three days from now the Feast of Harmony would begin, so we agreed on following an older routine for the day.
We gathered in the streets, dressed in costumes according to our skill. As a crowd started to build, we started the routine. Weaving in and out of one another, a circle formed, the fire-breathers lighting up the eyes of the children. The balancers stole their attention, who, like their name suggested, balanced on a wooden plank set on a steel ball. A stack of bowls sat on the end and the balancer catapulted the bowls into their hands and set it behind them on the up lifted foot behind them. Other balancers twirled bowls above their heads on narrow poles.
Next, the trumpets came in, putting the talents into order. Lastly, I somersaulted to the rim of the circle, playing a gentle tune with the pipe. As I weaved between the talents, my song sped up. I played a classic Karrazard tune, marching before the people.
Something bumped softly against my leg, and I glanced back. A line of young children had formed behind me, each trying to copy the march. Grinning, I turned forward and continued the march, making each move more distinct for the children to follow.
The tune started to end and I slowed down. However, I slowed down too quickly and my hip-high followers ran into me. The first child grabbed my leg to balance himself and all the others thought that was an excellent idea. Laughing, I tumbled over. The crew and crowds roared with laughter, cheering and tossing coins in Malec’s donation hat.
The afternoon came quickly after that. Refreshed with the laughter, I left the crew counting the coins. The market had opened, leaving many of the back streets empty. My thoughts echoed off the desolate walls. As I walked past the ironworks, I could hear the clanging of metal, the nostalgic smell of iron melting filling me.
My trail led past there and to the River Gate. Outside of the city, I stretched, shaking off the day’s work. The road followed the river steadily. Although a desert, a thick, green marsh grew on the banks of the river.
Almost two miles down the river sat an unmarked grave. It was still fresh with no plants growing over it. When I had placed the last pile of dirt over it, I buried a small tree seed in the grave. I started to wish I had more forest plants to cover the grave. They were so vibrant and green; nothing like our pale yellow grass that made the river marsh. The forest was lush so wolves could run and hide in it.
We have placed the grave so the summer moon would always rise over it, but it felt arbitrary. I spoke up softly, sitting cross-legged before the grave. “You left no moonlight for me, you mean jerk.”
Opening the jar of clear water, I leaned over the grave, dripping it over in ceremony. The moment the last drip fell, I felt my hand start to shake. The afternoon calm evaporated. Tightening my fist over the jar, I clenched my teeth. In frustration, I threw the jar as far as I could. The river sucked it out of sight. I closed my eyes, clasping my sweaty hands together firmly.
My hands felt cold and distant, as though they were someone else’s. Heavy and stiff, they were hands of iron. Iron ran through my veins. I held my breath to calm down. I shouldn’t be impulsive. I should be placid and calculate what needs to happen next.
The veins in my neck felt like they would burst and there was a slick feeling between my fingers.
Grimacing, I glanced at them. I had carved four little indentions out of each of my palms. Wincing in pain, I looked around for a rag to bandage them. A kerchief appeared beside me, floating into my line of sight. I glimpsed backwards before taking it, expecting Malec. The horse-crested man stood behind me, his kerchief outreached.
Alarmed, I jumped to my feet. He seemed unfazed by my reaction, leaving the kerchief outreached. Closer now, I could see him better. He was at least a foot taller than I was, with a sword strapped over mundane clothes. They were an ashen tunic over khakis bound at the shin and he had bound tunic sleeves at the forearms, classifying him as a warrior—a martial artist, if his grace was anything to go by. His face wasn’t as sharp as I remembered it being, and, like Diomedes, he had glowing gold eyes.
Neither of us moved for a moment, just staring at one another. A stinging feeling reminded me that my hands were bleeding. I winced, shaking my hands to make the pain go away. When that didn’t work, I bit my thumb. At the taste of iron, I gagged and spit it out to no avail. The horse-crested man had retracted at the sight, disgust draping across his face.
He offered the handkerchief again, this time noting. “No harm in taking it.”
Keeping a suspicious eye on him, I snatched the handkerchief from his hand and dashed a few feet away to wrap my hands. If Diomedes was the son and heir to the Wing family, then this must be the son and heir to the Hoof family. Family was a loosely used term. Essentially, they were the political factions that made up the council. However, last I recall, the Head of the Hoof family had no sons.
Wrapping my hands tightly, I queried, keeping a safe distance away from him. “So, who are you? You look my age, but if you really are the heir to the Hoof family, then you’re at least eleven years my junior. So, who are you, huh?”
He shrugged, obstinately crossing his arms. “Are you really the Prince’s daughter? Or did you kill him to make yourself the heir.”
My mouth dropped open. He made such a direct accusation. I growled my answer. “What— I’d never do that! I am the Prince’s daughter!”
Scowling, he waved his hand at me. “Then why did he teach you the song?”
I finished wrapping and crossed my arms. “Because I’m his daughter. Even if I don’t inherit the throne, I have the rights to the song.”
He shrugged again, impassively. “That doesn’t mean you didn’t kill him.”
Clenching my teeth, I hissed my frustrations. “I would never have done that. It’s that monster Deion who took Father away and I will kill him for that.”
He unraveled his arms, smiling at me. “Now, doesn’t that feel better saying, rather than bottling it up inside?”
The tension in my shoulders evaporated. Feeling surprised and ashamed, I spun around so my back faced him. I was trying not to say it aloud. How did he do that? How did he make me say what I didn’t want to say? What if I had exploded like that before Malec and the crew? How could I let them see that part of me?
The horse-crested man mentioned, “It’s better to say that me, since you don’t know me. It probably won’t happen again, so you can calm down. You asked me who I was before. People know me as Asaph Hesiod, and I am the undisputed heir and head of the Hoof Family. I wasn’t the son of the previous Head. Instead, I forced my way, and not a single Hoof has stood in my way since. You already introduced yourself before, as Piper C’lyris Kaleng, if I remember right. Since I know you aren’t going to elect yourself as heir, then who do you have in mind?”
I grumbled, “It’s a secret.”
Asaph laughed, “So you don’t know who to pick yet? That’s good news for me.”
Glancing up in irritation, I waved off his assumptions. “What makes you think that?”
Grinning, he raised a brow. “I’m just saying my chances are better with the two biggest contestants out of the way. You are the biggest, since you have the song and no one to dispute. The oh-so-honorable Prime Minister Deion is the second, since he has the greatest amount of experience and a good deal of power already. All I have to deal with is the bold but soft-hearted Diomedes.”
I objected, ashamed of the accuracy of his calculations. “What if I already chose one of my friends, huh?”
He shook his head. “I did pin you for being soft-headed, but not to that extent. What do a bunch of street circus players know about high-end politics? Look, Flower, you have a choice. Put Diomedes in the council room and they’ll eat him alive. Or you can put me in that room and I’ll eat them alive. There’s no other option.”
Pouting, I turned away to think. Are those really the only options? To kill or be killed? Was that was Father concluded? Then whom did he choose? Whom should I choose? Father was certain about whomever he chose—that much is true. Is there no other option? No, they wouldn’t have been able to corner Father, as they did me.
I turned around with an answer. “Neither of you. I will choose neither of you. Diomedes will listen to what the people want but he will never be able to stand behind it. You could stand by it, but if it makes you give up power, you would rather choose to ignore it.”
He sighed. “So then who?”
I bit my lip. “I’m still thinking of that. By the way, why did you help me? You did catch up to me before when I saved Diomedes too, didn’t you? Why did you let me go?”
He tapped his chin thoughtfully. “Hmm, why? I suppose, if I really wanted to be king, I’d just kill anyone who got in my way. And if I were you, I’d kill anyone, friend or foe, who obeyed orders of someone who killed my Father. But you saved that fellow instead. It’s refreshing.”
I raised a brow. “So you helped me because I’m…refreshing?”
He nodded. “Yes. And to prove it, I’ll warn you, the Families are restless and are going to make some frightening moves.” Remembering something, he remarked, “Oh, and here.” He tossed me a heavy leather bag and started to walk away. “See you later, Flower.”
Glancing in, I almost dropped it. Within the bag rested Father’s precious pipe.
