“Lock the door, and I’ll be in the one next to you,” Yaz says. “If you need me, yell and stay inside until I’m done. I’ll call you out when it’s safe.”
She smiles at him and goes inside the privy. Preta does her thing and waits for Yaz to give the word.
Ten minutes pass, and Preta stares at the door, counting the grain in the wood as she waits for her brother.
Yaz’s privy door slams shut. “Come on out, Sis.”
Preta peeks out the door, and Yaz is already strolling toward the washhouses. She leaps out the privy door and stutter steps to catch up to him.
“This way and keep up.” Yaz sniffs his armpit. “And I don’t stink.”
At the well, Preta fills up two rotten wooden buckets with water.
Yaz steps into a washhouse. “Same routine as before.”
Preta nods and goes inside hers. She hangs her pack on a wooden peg, removes a small cloth bundle of minerals and flowers and oils, and dumps it into the smaller bucket then strips off her clothes while leaving on her sandals.
Her feet make a sloshing, grinding noise stepping next to the wash trench.
Sandy wave patterns are formed on the floor and extend away from a dirty, metal bathtub. Water pools in the low areas. A dank smell of dirt, poo, grease, and flowers emanate off the bricks.
It’s been over two weeks since Preta washed her hair. Her fingers catch in the tangled knots. Clumps rip out as she tugs a comb through the mess. Preta winces and grunts with each agonizing pull. Finally, hair de-knotted, she scrubs her face and works her way to the rest of her body.
Preta stops humming as something startles her. “What’s that?” She scurries through the wet grime caked on the damp floor and presses her ear against the coarse wood to get a better listen. “The whistler.”
The whistling grows louder, moving closer to Preta’s washhouse. Still wet, she scrambles getting dressed then pushes open the door, peeking through the crack. “Yaz, Yaz, it’s him, it’s the whistler, behind my shed, the whistler!”
A bang and yell reverberates from Yaz’s washhouse. “Wha-huh— Where?”
Preta peeks out the door; her naked brother stands out in the open, sword in hand and crouched down in a fighting pose.
She looks away embarrassed. Preta sticks her arm out the crack, shaking and pointing to the side. “Behind my washhouse whistling—he’s whistling.”
A naked Yaz bolts to the back of Preta’s washhouse as he mumbles cuss words.
She presses her ear against the back wall, listening carefully.
“Hey, you,” Yaz says. “Yeah—you. You threaten my sister?”
The whistling stops. “What?” an older skinny man says with a yellow towel draped over his shoulder.
Yaz points at him. “You’re a dead man.”
“Wait, what? Are you crazy? Lower your sword, I mean you no trouble.”
Preta bulls through her washhouse door. “Oh no, it’s not him. Yaz, no!”
Yaz rocks his head side to side, mocking the older man. “Look at you just standing there all smug, thinking you’re all that, talking about trouble. Well, now you found trouble—coming after my sister—you’re a dead man.”
“What’s wrong with you?” The man holds out his shaky hand in front of him. “Are you crazy?”
Preta rounds the washhouse, waving her arms trying to get her brother’s attention.
Yaz is mounted on the man and yelling and swearing in unknown tongues. He beats the whimpering man senseless.
“Yaz, stop, it’s not him, it’s not him!” Preta lunges onto Yaz’s back, wrapping her arms around his neck and clasping her hands over his chest. “Yaz, stop, it’s not him, get off him, stop!”
Yaz stops beating the man and calmly sits up. “Not him?”
Preta snorts to catch her breath while trying to talk. “Not him, Yaz—not the whistler—sorry.”
Yaz stands, straddling the bloodied man lying on the ground underneath him.
The man clutches his head and whimpers as he rocks side to side. “You, you’re crazy, you-you animal.”
Preta tugs Yaz’s arm. “Come with me—now.”
Yaz steps away from the man. “What the hell, Preta Penter?”
“I’m sorry, I thought, I thought it was him. He whistled like him for a moment.”
Yaz extends his hand toward the man lying on the ground. “Hey, sorry, fella, no hard feelings, it was just an honest mistake.”
The man, afraid, props up onto his butt and quickly scoots away. “Honest mistake? Honest mistake? You-you, stay away from me, you crazy animal you.”
“Hey, no worries, friend.” Yaz picks up his sword and flips it onto his shoulder. “Just think, it’s your lucky day, at first I thought about removing your head with my blade.”
Preta turns away, embarrassed as her naked brother struts toward her.
“What the heck?” Yaz says, sneering at her as he passes her by.
“You, you, you,” the man says, pointing, “you’re no friend of mine, you animal.”
Yaz turns toward the man and spreads his legs wide with knees half bent. He waves his sword above his head in circles and roars at the top of his lungs toward the clouds in the sky.
Preta grabs Yaz’s shoulders and yanks him back. “Stop it, before he fetches the town guard on you!”
“What? He said I was an animal. So I’m just showing him an animal.”
“You scared him enough,” Preta says.
Yaz shakes his head. “Whatever. But still, what the heck?”
“I’m sorry, really, I thought it was him.”
“Next time be sure of your whistling before I kill someone.”
YOU’LL GET WHAT YOUR OWED
Preta doesn’t say a word as she drags her feet, sulking behind Yaz all the way back to Lurrus’s cottage. The cottage is alive with commotion as she enters. Scents of oranges and daisies fill the room.
Lurrus stands in the corner with her white wedding dress on. Her mother is on her knees, hemming a seam near Lurrus’s waist.
Lurrus’s two brothers and Deet carry flower arrangements and crates filled with wine bottles out the front door.
Grandpa and Lurrus’s father sit by the fire and argue about the weather and food as they drink coffee.
“What took you so long?” Deet says, placing his hands on hips. “I almost came looking for you.”
Preta drops her pack on the table. “We were really dirty.”
Yaz rolls his eyes. “Yeah, dirty.”
Deet points at crates stacked by the back door. “Yaz, grab those and take them to the cart.”
“What should I do?” Preta says.
“Help Yaz. Today, anywhere he goes, you go, do you understand?”
“I understand. I won’t let him out of my sight.”
Thirty minutes later, Preta places the final crate on the cart, and a bead of sweat rolls down her cheek. She leans against the ivy-covered cottage stone wall and gazes up at the sun and inhales the cool fall air. The exertion finally eases her mind, and she focuses on the wonderful day it’s supposed to be.
In the cottage, Lurrus and Nala already dressed, Deet gently touches Preta’s arm. “You stay here while we drop everything off at the pavilion. We’ll be back in about an hour.”
Preta nods and moves to Lurrus. She pinches and strokes Lurrus’s wedding dress.
Lurrus cries, and Preta hugs her.
Nala hands Preta a yellow dress. “Get changed, kiddo, the wedding starts at eleven.”
Dressed and cleaned up, Preta’s heart races as she looks at herself in the mirror and lifts the bottom of her dress, tossing it up and down while twirling on her tiptoes. She spins and spins and spins until she loses her balance, staggering to the side, giggling.
“This old man can’t take many more nights like last night,” Grandpa says from the other room.
Lurrus’s blond-haired jolly father slaps Grandpa on his knee. “You and me both, Lon.”
Deet closes the front door, a
nd Preta steps into the main room to greet him.
Deet and Yaz move with purpose straight toward the back room.
They emerge a few minutes later different men: hair groomed, clean shaven, and wearing black suits and overcoats.
“Ready, all?” Deet says, eyeing the girls.
Lurrus smiles and nods.
Deet flicks his head toward Yaz. “Get the cart, Brother.”
Preta follows Yaz outside.
Yaz lifts Preta by her waist, helping her into the backseat.
Nala stands next to the cart, holding out her hand toward Yaz. She tilts her head to the side and shakes her hand. “Ahem.”
Yaz gives Nala a stupid look. “Ahem what?”
“Ahem, ahem,” and she shakes her hand harder.
Yaz winks at her. “All right, Sister.” He takes Nala’s arm and helps her up into the backseat.
Grandpa climbs up next. “Damned bones.”
Preta braces his back with her hand.
“Thank you, girl.” Then he groans.
Deet and Lurrus exit the cottage last.
Deet leads Lurrus to her family’s carriage. He hugs her hips and lifts her up into her seat, then moves to Preta’s cart.
Yaz slaps Deet hard on his thigh. “Let’s go, my Deets.”
Deet chuckles. “Let’s get married, my slayer.”
The carriages follow each other through the main thoroughfare past the shops and decorated streets. At the town square, they make a hard right, traveling for a couple minutes down an alley.
The alley opens up and transitions from cobblestones to red brick. They roll into a medium-sized square at the intersection of four alleyways. In the center, a wooden pavilion decorated with flowers and ivy and colorful paper strings and ribbon.
Musicians play soft music and people arrive from all directions.
Yaz helps Nala and Preta off the cart.
They stroll toward the large thatched roof structure.
Two rows of wooden benches stretch side to side, filling the pavilion. Red, yellow, and white flower petals blanket the center aisle from the back to the front. Wreaths with holly hang on the wooden posts, and flower peddles overflow out of large metal buckets.
A cheery, scruffy, toothless man serves wine and ale out of a white canvas-covered cart.
People laugh and dance and drink in folly throughout the open square.
A whole pig spins on a spit over a large fire pit. Next to the hog, a long wooden table is stacked with breads, cheeses, fruits, and vanilla and chocolate cakes.
The square smells of ale, flowers, and roasting meat.
Preta’s eyes widen beholding the wondrous sight.
Yaz pats Preta’s back. “Have fun, Sis, but stay close to me.” He waves to greet Dix and two other friends as they strut toward Yaz and Preta.
Dix extends his hand. “Ha, you made it, Penter—wasn’t so sure you would after what you looked like last night.”
Yaz swats the air. “Whatever.”
Dix throws his arm around Yaz’s shoulder and they make their way to the pavilion. Dix leans back. “How you doing today, Preta?”
“As good as can be, I guess.” Preta, walking behind them, quickly shuffles her feet and skips trying to keep up. Her long yellow dress drags on the ground. Still aware of the potential danger, she scans the crowd, searching for Lomasie or the whistler.
“Preta,” Agna says, getting up from a chair. She pats her husband’s shoulder, an old, snarly, thick man swilling ale, then moves toward Preta.
Startled, Preta flinches at the sound of her name. “Oh, hello, Agna.”
Yaz reaches behind him, grabbing nothing but air. “Keep up, Sis, get up here and stay close to me.”
Dix laughs. “What’s with the tail on your ass today, Penter?”
“Shut up, Dix.”
Agna smiles. “So, how have you been? You look lovely today.”
Preta returns a half-hearted smile. “I’ll tell you later. Though what you said the other day might be happening.”
Again, Yaz reaches behind his back and grabs air as he tries to find Preta. “Keep up.”
Dix slaps Yaz’s shoulder. “So we’re still on, right? You know, for later?”
“I don’t know, maybe,” Yaz says with a shrug.
Dix laughs in spurts. “I don’t know, maybe? Shut up, Penter, you’re coming.”
“I said I don’t know, so leave it be.”
Dix contorts his lips. “I always knew it, all talk and no walk.”
“Shut up, Ix, not now.”
At the pavilion, Preta sits in the front row next to Nala and Grandpa.
With a goofy grin on his face, Yaz stands on the right side of the aisle. He nods at Dix pointing at two pretty brunette girls sitting in front of him.
Lurrus’s oldest brother, blond, tall, black suit and rail thin, stands opposite Yaz. Her mother and father hold hands and sit in the front row across from Preta.
The music transitions to a soft lovely tune and the commotion in the pavilion ceases.
The guests, uneasy, rustle through the chorus of breathing.
A bald holy man, not a strand of hair on his shiny head and wearing a pure white robe stutter steps up the aisle and comes to a stop next to Yaz and Lurrus’s brother. He points to the back of the pavilion, and everyone shifts in their seats.
Arms interlocked, Deet and Lurrus stroll down the aisle.
Lurrus cries as she looks from her mother to her father and then back to her mother again.
Deet smiles at Preta for the entire walk.
Preta’s insides warm; tears form in her eyes. Curling her lips into a frown, she looks at Grandpa.
Grandpa gently places his hand on top of hers.
At the front of the pavilion, Deet and Lurrus stop in front of the holy man then step apart.
With hands clasped in front of him, the holy man straightens his back. He clears his throat. “Ahem—we gather here to join these two in love and life. The circle of unity binding these two will form their strength and purpose. They will love long and without regret, giving themselves to the other, in sickness and in health, together for eternity. The bond is strong, never wavering. In times of doubt, look to the other. In times of happiness, look to the other. You will form one: one body, one love, one soul, one life.”
The uneasy crowd shifts in their seats and breathes in erratic snorts.
“Do you, Deet Penter, take this woman?”
Deet smiles. “Yes, I take this woman, to be my body, my love, my soul, and my life.” He holds out his hand and Yaz sets a silver ring in Deet’s palm.
Lurrus extends her hand.
Deet caresses Lurrus’s wrist and slips the ring onto her finger.
The holy man smiles. “Do you, Lurrus Fallow, take this man?”
Lurrus sighs. “Yes, I take this man, to be my body, my love, my soul, and my life.” Lurrus’s brother hands her a silver ring which she slips onto Deet’s finger.
The holy man unclasps his hands and opens his arms wide. “I now pronounce you one body, one love, one soul, and one life. You may now kiss, Deet and Lurrus Penter.”
Their lips lock and Deet lifts her off the ground. After a minute of spinning and kissing, he sets her down, and they stare at each other in a deep, silent, loving conversation with their eyes.
The holy man addresses the guests as he extends his hand toward the back of the pavilion. “If you please, head out the back, and form the walk of life.”
Yaz taps Preta on her shoulder. “Sis, we need to get to the end before they start.” He leads her out the side of the pavilion to avoid the people walking down the center aisle.
Yaz points at a flower bucket. “Grab a handful of those petals.”
Preta fills her hands with bright, colorful flowers. Nervous, she fidgets standing behind the people forming the living walkway.
Along the square’s far brick wall, a squat, hairy man stands by a large cage; doves hop and flap inside the wooden barred box.
&n
bsp; She gets to her spot next to Yaz, and the living walkway completes.
Preta hops up and down trying to see over a tall man standing in front of her, his bushy black hair like a nest perched on a tree branch. “I can’t see.”
Yaz pushes forward through the crowd and nudges the tall man to the side.
Hand in hand, Deet and Lurrus step forward onto the walk of life. They stroll down the aisle, bent over as the red and white flower petals rain down on them.
Preta glances back at the cage, and the man releases the doves over the crowd. She watches the birds escape to freedom, flying above her in chaotic circles.
Preta’s heart flutters with excitement. Beautiful, I wish I could fly like that.
A few doves hover over Preta, crisscrossing back and forth. The others break free and fly off into the horizon.
Preta’s eyes wide, a grin frozen on her face, she admires the grace. Preta’s gaze fixes on a bird breaking free from the others. The dove flutters back, rejoining the others circling above.
A surge of warm energy wells up deep in Preta’s chest. A flash of aqua-blue light ripples over Preta’s hazel eyes. She exhales, and her breathing quickens. What’s this feeling? Am I dying? Preta’s eyes twitch and two blue lightning arrows shoot out of Preta’s shoes and flash under the crowd.
The light merges into a single beam and then dances along the brick, tracking the dove’s chaotic flight above, then the light shoots straight up into the sky, striking the bird in a puff of smoke and exploding feathers.
The light dissipates, and the dove falls until it hits the ground with a thud and two bounces. Feathers rain down, floating in the breeze.
Yaz jerks Preta back. “Dang, Preta, the dove, really?”
“Shoot—I didn’t mean it.”
Yaz scowls at her. “Control that light thing before you kill someone, there are too many people around.”
Preta frantically looks over the crowd to see if anyone saw.
The people continue cheering and tossing flowers on her brother and Lurrus.
An old hunched over couple standing across from Preta, concern etched on their faces, they point at the dead bird lying on the ground.
Two burly men wearing grey suits point to the sky as if searching for something.
Agna catches Preta’s eye, and she shakes her head no.
Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1) Page 13
