“I think that’s Father’s old carriage,” Bern replied, staring at the eastern sky, where the horizon was streaked with a red sunrise. “Maybe he’s selling it.”
The road angled north and as the boys walked, Tommy had to turn to look back at the house. A light burned in Colston’s third-floor library and Tommy could see the silhouettes of two men standing near the window.
“But someone is visiting,” Tommy insisted. “There’s a man with Father in the library.”
“What of it?” Bern asked. “Maybe if you minded your own business you wouldn’t make Father mad all the time.”
Tommy shrugged and paid attention to the sound of his boots crunching through the gravel. This summer, Bern had been particularly touchy, and Tommy decided to walk in silence rather than risk getting his head bitten off by his irritable brother.
“Which way?” Bern asked when they reached the crossroads.
There were two routes they could take to Giant’s Ridge. They could follow the well-traveled road known as the Strand, which hugged the rugged coastline, or they could climb up the steep ridge until they reached Miller’s Road, which was a rutted dirt road that meandered through the forest. Both routes eventually led past the ridge to Port Kenney on the coast, but Miller’s Road was less traveled.
“Miller’s Road,” Tommy decided, surprised that Bern had actually let him decide. The best apple orchard in the world was on the ridge, but that was the only detour Tommy intended on taking until he reached the summit.
“Okay, but no moping about leaving for Sevenna,” Bern said. “Getting off this backwater isle will be the best thing that’s happened in your short miserable life.”
The sun still hadn’t crested the ridgeline as the brothers walked in companionable silence through the stubble of the west field, which had recently been harvested. The wind carried the scent of peat smoke as they headed up the steep slope toward Miller’s Road. The trees had changed early, and they crossed through a stand of oak with brilliant red and orange leaves that seemed to glow in the first rays of the dawn. When Bern paused for breath, Tommy watched the sky. Black clouds roiled on the horizon. A storm was moving in, but Tommy didn’t mention it. He was sure they could make it up to the summit and back before it got too bad.
When Bern recovered, they trudged on through the old-growth forest. Tommy glimpsed a cottage through the trees. It was one of a handful scattered in this area. Mrs. Trueblood’s family lived on the ridge, as did many of her relations. All of the cottages in the area technically belonged to the Shore Estate, and cottagers living in them were supposed to work for Colston Shore. According to the old laws of the Zunft, bond families were required to serve the same family generation after generation. But the old laws were breaking down. Many cottagers emigrated to Sevenna rather than work at the estates that they had been born to serve. Mrs. Trueblood was the only member of the Shores’ bond families who actually worked at the estate. Colston’s estate manager hired nomadic workers out of Middle Valley instead.
Tommy never liked walking near the cottagers’ homes. He felt like he was trespassing even though it was his father’s land. Bern didn’t care, though. He would march straight through a cottager’s front yard as if he were daring someone to stop him.
“Let’s cut north,” Bern huffed. He seemed exhausted from staying up all night. “It’s faster that way.”
“Nah, there’s too many homes in that direction,” Tommy said.
“I’ll go wherever I want on my own land,” Bern said, and headed north anyway.
Colston Shore owned everything for miles around their manor house—Giant’s Ridge, the dense forest along its slopes, even the ancient rings of standing stones that dotted the countryside. Much of the western coast of Aeren was their family’s domain. The Shores were one of the founding families of the Zunft, and their property went inland for at least a hundred miles. Many of the great estates throughout the islands had been broken down into smaller holdings throughout the years, but their land remained untouched.
As they crested the ridge, they passed a cottage nestled between two towering elms. The cottagers tended to have stonework houses with colorful doors and painted woodwork beneath the eaves. According to Mrs. Trueblood, many homes were built near giant trees because the cottagers believed that families drew strength from living above the roots. Firelight glowed in the cracks between the shutters of this cottage, and intricate braids made of dried flowers and herbs hung over every window and door.
In view of the cottage, Bern stopped and motioned for Tommy to hand him a jug of cider. Bern had stopped intentionally to embarrass Tommy. Annoyed at both the sound of Bern’s gulping and at having to take another break so early into the journey, Tommy glared at his brother.
“If you’re tired, you could head home,” Tommy said.
“And let you win?” Bern said. He belched loudly, and the curtains in the front window moved. A man peered out at the twins. Bern noticed him and belched even louder. The face disappeared and the curtains didn’t move again.
“I didn’t know this was a competition,” Tommy said, but of course it was. Everything was a competition with Bern. The twins had always been different, but as they grew older, the differences seemed to be intensifying. Of the two brothers, Bern had been born first. According to Mrs. Trueblood, he’d been a placid towheaded baby who loved being the center of attention. That much hadn’t changed, at least. The second twin, Tommy, had been a squalling, hard-to-please surprise. Whereas Bern had grown into a handsome, broad-shouldered youth, Tommy was dark haired and slender. He always felt like an afterthought and shadow to his gregarious, athletic brother. He wondered if his father would have been happier with only one son, particularly after his wife died so unexpectedly when the boys were young.
“Let’s go down to Port Kenney and grab some breakfast at the Golden Standard,” Bern said. “Forget hiking. It’s boring.”
“You just got home from the Golden Standard,” Tommy said. “You seriously want to spend another day at the pub?”
“One of the girls is going to be working this morning,” Bern said sheepishly. “Kate? Black hair and green eyes?”
“You like a cottager girl?” Tommy asked incredulously. Most Zunft lads wouldn’t be caught dead admitting they liked a cottager girl. Especially Bern.
“That’s not funny, Tommy.” Bern scowled. “Kate is the owner’s daughter. She’s the hostess.”
“So she doesn’t have to do much,” Tommy said.
“That’s right,” Bern agreed with a grin. “She has plenty of time to chat. So, breakfast?”
The food at the Golden Standard was delicious, but the pub was owned by a retired Zunftman and rumor had it he raised his prices on days the cottager workers received their wages. You could end up paying triple the price for a simple meal. The last time it happened, Bern started talking loudly about who their father was, and their bill was replaced by a much cheaper one, but the situation embarrassed Tommy.
“You go on—” Tommy began, but he was interrupted by a commotion in the woods behind them. They whirled around, but it was only a raccoon darting out of the trees, sprinting like mad as if it were being chased. It must have startled a flock of blackbirds resting in the bushes because dozens of birds flapped into the air, cawing noisily at the disturbance.
“Aren’t raccoons nocturnal?” But Tommy’s words were drowned out by an explosion that jolted the ground under their feet. Another short blast, followed by a long, low rumble and then billows of black smoke rose from the valley.
“What was that?” Tommy gasped. The blast reverberated off the mountains in the distance and the rumbling continued even after the earth stopped shaking.
“Port Kenney,” Bern said. “Come on! Let’s go see what’s going on.”
But Tommy hesitated. Last year, they’d stumbled across a wounded dog in the forest. Bern insisted on approaching it and almost got his hand bit off. When it came to danger, his brother was like a moth to a flame.
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br /> “Let’s go tell Father,” Tommy said.
“No way, I want to see if Kate is all right!” Bern insisted. It was a short distance down Miller’s Road to Port Kenney. Worried that people might need their help, Tommy sprinted after his brother.
The sky above Port Kenney was smudged with black smoke. In the final descent into the village, Tommy had a clear view of the massive fire raging near the edge of the sea. The Zunft warehouse was over a hundred yards long, easily the largest structure in the handful of buildings along the coast. The inky outline of the timbers made Tommy think of the bones of a dying animal, and the smoke from the fire made his eyes itch, even though they were still several blocks away. There were half a dozen businesses along the pier, including the Golden Standard, and they were all threatened by the inferno.
When they reached the waterfront, the boys paused in the shadow of a shuttered fish shop. A sign hanging on the door told them Come Back Monday! Everything was eerily quiet except for the crackle and roar of the raging fire that had completely engulfed the Zunft warehouse.
“Where is everybody?” Tommy asked.
“Maybe they cleared out?” Bern said.
“And left their homes to burn?” Tommy asked. There should have been frantic people running around the streets. In most villages, soldiers doubled as firefighters, and they should have dragged the carriage pumps into the street by now.
“Maybe they were all in the warehouse,” Bern said.
“The entire village wouldn’t have been in the warehouse,” Tommy said. He imagined bodies inside the warehouse and his stomach turned over.
“Do you think a rover exploded?” Bern wondered. Rovers were mechanized wagons powered by the volt-cell, a new energy source invented by the Zunft. Leather seats were mounted on the chassis in front of the earthenware vat where the cell was suspended in a chemical bath. They tended to explode if they ran into anything, even at slow speeds. Tommy had overheard cottagers refer to them as boomers, which he found amusing. But cottagers had to be careful because any language that disparaged the Zunft could earn them a fine or even jail time.
“Does anyone have rovers here?” Tommy asked. As far as he knew, Colston Shore was the only man on Aeren Island who owned a rover. The army probably had a few rovers in the larger port town of Black Rock, but there were not likely to be any in this Oceanside village.
“A rover wouldn’t have made such a big fire anyway,” Bern said. There was a harsh chemical smell on the wind that made Tommy’s eyes water.
“What if someone did it on purpose?” Tommy said, suddenly afraid. Colston Shore had raised his sons to believe that the cottagers could rebel at any moment and the Zunftmen would be slaughtered in their beds and their property stolen. For most of his childhood, Tommy’s nightmares featured the thud of cottager boots invading the corridor outside his bedroom door. But then he had realized that the Zunft had the gunpowder, the technological innovations, and control of the islands. The Zunft had the power. Why should they be scared of the cottagers? Recently, Tommy had stopped believing his father’s warnings. None of the cottagers he knew seemed very angry.
“Let’s go in the customs house,” Bern said, pointing down the road at the two-story brick building with a black-and-silver Zunft flag flying from the roof. “The soldiers must be there.”
“Wait, something’s wrong,” Tommy warned. He tried to grab Bern’s arm, but his brother shrugged him off. A gust of warm wind blew down the street, sending a shower of embers in their direction.
“Don’t be such a girl, Tommy,” Bern said.
Tommy reluctantly followed Bern along the muddy road toward the customs house. Every port had an official Zunft office, which monitored shipping between the four main islands of Seahaven. In small villages like this, it was the locus of Zunft control. Soldiers were often stationed at customs houses, where they acted as the constabulary as much as the military.
“Do you know where Kate lives?” Tommy asked. “Maybe we should—”
They had reached the corner of High Street and Bern stopped abruptly, so that Tommy bumped into him, forgetting the rest of his sentence. They could see the steps of the customs house where two men waited, staring aggressively as the boys approached.
In Sevenna City, Zunftmen always wore tailcoats and bowlers, so it was obvious who belonged to the elite and who didn’t. But here on Aeren, it wasn’t always easy to tell Zunft from cottager as both groups often wore plain wool jackets and trousers. Then Tommy noticed that the two men wore flat caps and wool vests without coats. A Zunftman wouldn’t deign to wear a vest without a coat, and flat caps were a badge of pride for cottagers.
“Cottagers?” Tommy whispered.
“Yep, bloody thieving bastards,” Bern whispered back.
The taller man said something to his companion, who unsheathed a knife. The taller one reached for a metal bludgeon attached to his belt.
“Bern!” Tommy warned. The men looked like fighters—mean and angry. Bern liked to tussle with the lads, maybe bloody a friend’s nose, but he’d never been in a real fight. And Tommy had never thrown a punch in his life.
“Come on!” Bern said, and the boys whirled around and ran back up Miller’s Road. With a rush of adrenaline, Bern easily outpaced his shorter brother. Frightened and disoriented, Tommy couldn’t make his wobbly legs move very fast. His breath was ragged in his chest as he scrambled toward the top of the ridge.
“Wait!” Tommy shouted, stumbling over a rock, but Bern disappeared from sight. After a moment’s panic that Bern had left him alone, Tommy realized it would be easier to lose his pursuers in the forest so he ducked into the trees along the side of the road. In his haste to get out of sight from the road, he barreled straight through the middle of a blackberry thicket. Thorns tore at his clothes and scratched his face and when he stumbled out the other side, he found himself under old-growth trees that offered little cover. Spinning wildly, he expected to see the two cottagers, but there was no sight of them.
Tommy tried to collect his thoughts. He couldn’t take Miller’s Road because the cottagers might be waiting for him, but he could head down the forested slope to the flatlands. No matter where he ended up, he’d be able to see Shore Manor, which was built on a tablet of rock jutting above the flatlands, the beach, and the ocean. It seemed like a good plan, but Tommy struggled to traverse the steep, rocky slope as the undergrowth grew thicker. He could hear something thrashing behind him and kept expecting cottagers to come barreling at him with knives.
He scrambled over a mossy boulder and dropped on the other side. Unexpectedly, he found himself in a sheltered grove surrounded by a dense ring of towering oak trees. At first, he thought there was a black rock in the shadows on the far edge of the grove, but with an unpleasant jolt, Tommy realized that someone was kneeling on the jade-green grass. The person was gasping for breath, and Tommy wondered if they’d been chased from Port Kenney into the forest like he had.
Stepping closer, he saw that it was a young woman, probably about his age, with long copper hair and green eyes. The skin on her throat was red and angry, as if it had been scorched. She clutched at her side, where blood stained her lavender dress. Their eyes met, and she snarled at him like a frightened animal. The girl was a cottager. He could tell by the embroidered yoke on her dress, a style that was common among cottager girls. Mrs. Trueblood sewed dresses in that style for her nieces.
“Get away from me,” she said, even though he hadn’t moved any farther in her direction. She tried to crawl into the woods, but instead she crumpled and passed out on the forest floor.
Tommy wanted to help her, but she’d told him to stay away, so he remained as still as a statue. The wind rustled the leaves, but he couldn’t hear anything that sounded like the cottagers who were chasing him—no shouts, no crashing in the undergrowth—only the croaking of frogs announcing the approaching storm. After a few hesitant steps, he crouched down and studied the girl. She was breathing rapidly, which worried him. He’d seen wo
unded animals take short shallow breaths that didn’t seem to fill the lungs at all. He couldn’t leave her here, breathing like a dying animal. But what if she’d been in Port Kenney? What if she’d been involved somehow?
His father’s words rang in his ears. The cottagers are thieves and liars. They don’t believe in decency or honor. In the distance, a rover rumbled along Miller’s Road. The Zunft soldiers might have acquired a rover to search the forest for the rebels. If he helped the girl in the lavender dress, he might get caught. Tommy gazed at the sky, as if the darkening storm clouds would tell him what to do. Lose a hundred honor points for leaving an injured girl in the woods? He could turn the girl over to the soldiers, but then she’d get in trouble even if she hadn’t been involved in anything illegal. Gain a hundred honor points for reporting a possible rebel?
A cold rain began to fall. The girl was hurt and Aeren storms could be unexpectedly vicious. Father would punish Tommy severely if he were caught helping a cottager, especially if the rebellion he’d always warned about was finally at hand. But Mrs. Trueblood would say that all life was precious, no matter if you were born in a molehill or a mansion. As the sound of the rover engine grew louder, Tommy crossed the grove to the girl. He could take the girl to one of the nearby cottages and his father would never have to know.
Tommy lifted the girl in his arms. He wasn’t much taller than she was, but she weighed less than he expected her to. She didn’t wake up, not even when he jostled her as he tried to navigate through the trees and around the blackberry thickets. Through a gap in the canopy of leaves, he could see wisps of chimney smoke rising into the air. Finally, he reached a white-stone cottage nestled in a glen of oak trees. His arms were aching, but he stayed in the shadows and watched the cottage. Someone was definitely inside because he could see the flicker of firelight dancing through the shutters. In the distance, he heard the rover engine roar to life again, rumbling down the road. With a sudden burst of speed, Tommy crossed the open ground in front of the cottage and laid the girl on the wooden bench under the porch roof where she would be dry. He knocked loudly on the door and ran toward Miller’s Road. Terrified of being caught, he never looked back.
The August 5 Page 2
