The Innkeeper's Son

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The Innkeeper's Son Page 53

by Jeremy Brooks


  Sim wanted to say something in response but he couldn’t find anything smart to say. She was right. In all of his countless daydreams about life away from the Kelmor Inn, he’d never imagined the smaller, though more important details --finding a meal, sleeping on the cold, hard ground, and walking endlessly, for days at a time. There was nothing exciting about running for your life and trying to sleep on an empty stomach.

  He found a spot next to Quinn Gracin, who was lying on his back with his one good eye already closed. For a time, Sim looked around at the others. He watched Farrus and Givara sitting on one of the exposed roots, quietly locked in a deep conversation. Sim noticed with a smile that their hands were touching, barely, on the root between them. Perhaps Givara was telling Farrus her secret. She still owed him that. As far as Sim knew, she had yet to find a good moment to tell him the truth. He knew that Farrus had taken a liking to Givara. Well, he could guess at the very least. What surprised him though, was that Givara seemed to have developed an equal affection for Farrus. Knowing her history, as he did, it was strange to imagine the sleek, serious guardian of legend carousing and flirting like any other woman might.

  Through the flickering flames of the small fire, Sim carefully watched Enaya and Nehrea. He didn’t want them to catch him staring so he quickly looked away every time one of them glanced his way. He wanted to know what they were talking about. Nehrea had been hurt, not physically, but in a way that had torn away the confidence that she had worn like one of her pieces of jewelry when they had met in the dungeon that morning. Gone were the subtle, seductive glances she had given him so many times, each one accompanied by a demur, knowing smile. She lay there on her side, her head in Enaya’s lap, curled up in a fetal, defensive way. It rent his heart to look at her. If she had been irresistibly beautiful before, the timid broken beauty that he watched now, had become something laterally attractive -- a wounded woman, feminine and fragile, needing desperately for a man to offer protection.

  With the rhythmic trance of Quinn’s gentle snoring, Sim closed his eyes and waited for sleep. The ground was surprisingly soft where he lay, though he had nothing to pillow his head and only the warmth of the small fire giving heat to the exposed side of his body, forcing him to turn like a pig on a spit to keep partially warm.

  Beck plagued his mind. How many monsters like him roamed the world, he wondered? He had lied to the man earlier. He never intended to let him live. Once Beck had transported them out of the city, he had meant to trap him again and put an end to his cursed life. One day he would find Beck and make him pay for taking the light from Nehrea’s eyes.

  Sim slipped into dreams. It could have been visions or just the vivid ruminations of a mind at rest, but the same dream played before his eyes all through the night. He stood on a plateau overlooking the burnt remains of a vast rolling plain. One by one, out of the smoldering embers in the center of the expanse, horses emerged, like smoke rising from the ash and taking form. They walked toward him single file, slowly blurring together and growing in size until one single horse, white as the clouds in the sky and as tall as the mountain plateau, stood before him. It would stand for only a moment, silent and stoic, before it vanished, and the whole scene played again. Finally, after the dream had repeated itself more times than Sim could bear to count, the visage of a crying woman appeared across the whole sky. Her tears fell down onto the plains, extinguishing the fires, shrouding the entire land in a steam that blended together into a fog. When the fog cleared at last, white horses covered the lush, green landscape for as far as Sim could see.

  When he awoke, cold and sore, Sim wasn’t sure if it was even morning. The forest was dark, but a chorus of wildlife, singing to announce the new day, told Sim that it was time to get started on their journey south. He looked around and noted that Quinn Gracin was the only member of the group still sleeping.

  He gave the man a nudge, and Quinn grumbled sleepily before rubbing his eyes and sitting up. Sim watched him sway groggily for a moment.

  “You rubbed both eyes. Do they both itch?” he asked curiously. He'd found it interesting that Quinn had rubbed the scar tissue that had replaced his left eye.

  “Only the good eye itches,” Quinn informed him with a casual yawn. “Itching the other is just an old habit.”

  “Think we’ll manage to find some food today?” Sim asked hopefully, standing and dusting his bottom.

  “We’ll make it to a small village by evening. If we don’t find anything on the road, we’ll have something tonight at the very least.”

  Sim listened to his grumbling stomach and sighed. “Another whole day without food.”

  “You two,” Givara commanded. “Enough chatter. Let’s get moving.”

  She turned and stalked off, not waiting for them to offer a response. Quinn looked at Sim and shrugged.

  “The queen gets what she wants,” he said with light hearted smile.

  “What do you mean?” Nehrea asked.

  Sim and Quinn turned simultaneously to look at her. Sim hadn’t realized that she had walked up behind them. She stood confidently, her sleepy eyes studying them both curiously. Sim’s black jacket looked almost comically too large, with the sleeves reaching past her hands and the hem falling past her hips. The emotional trauma that had left her timid and withdrawn the day before seemed gone altogether.

  “Just an inside joke we have together,” Sim told her, speaking quickly before Quinn put his foot in his mouth. “Givara’s so fond of giving orders that we started calling her queen, or your highness, when she’s not listening.”

  “Only coward’s talk behind someone’s back,” Nehrea said, firmly.

  She clicked her teeth and began to walk away, but Sim caught the faintest flash of a smile at the corner of her lips.

  “We didn’t mean anything….” Quinn tried to protest, but Sim cut him off with a hand on the shoulder and a whisper in his ear.

  “She’s teasing us, Quinn.”

  “It didn’t seem like she was teasing. She sounded serious.”

  “Trust me. She’s just teasing.”

  They walked back out to the main road and met up with the rest of the party. Enaya stood with folded arms conferring with Givara and Farrus. She noted Sim’s approach with a scolding look.

  “What did I do?” Sim asked askance.

  Rather than answer, she made a face at him then returned to the discussion.

  “We’re men, Sim,” Quinn said, patting him on the back. “In a woman’s eyes, everything we do is wrong. That’s why I stayed a bachelor.”

  “Oh really, Quinn,” Sim quipped. “What about Fanna Foust?”

  “Fanna Foust is the sole reason I remained a bachelor,” Quinn pointed out with a wide grin. “That woman had a temper like a wounded Vallrykan. Liked to hit me in the back of the head with a wooden ladle when she thought I said something foolish...which of course, in her eyes, was pretty much every other word out of my mouth.”

  “I’m quite certain that any beatings Fanna Foust gave you were well deserved, Master Gracin,” Enaya said crossly, as she walked up beside them.

  “Some were,” Quinn told them with a laugh and a wink for Sim.

  “Is there a village somewhere down the road, Master Gracin?” she asked, eyeing him with a woman’s disapproval.

  “There is, my Lady. We should reach it by the evening.”

  “Can we expect decent accommodations?” she asked.

  “If you think a pile of hay next to the milking cow is decent,” he said, grinning at Sim.

  “Very well, then Master Gracin,” she sniffed, then turned to walk down the road.

  As before, Givara took the lead with Farrus watching their backs. Quinn and Sim walked along together several steps behind Enaya and Nehrea. After about an hour, Enaya slowed up falling in step with Sim. She politely asked Quinn to move ahead and keep Nehrea company. Once they were alone, Enaya smiled brightly.

  “I don’t mean to be so cross all the time, Siminus,” she said.

>   “I know. You just can’t help yourself,” Sim teased.

  She shook her head at him and placed a well-aimed elbow in his ribs. It didn’t hurt but he was surprised by the sudden playfulness.

  “And you can’t help being a foolish, thick-headed lout.”

  “A lout? I’m offended, Enaya. A thick-headed fool, for sure, but when have I ever acted like a lout?” he laughed.

  “Ever since she joined us,” Enaya said, pointing at Nehrea. The teasing smile slipped from her face.

  “Oh, leave me be, Enaya,” Sim answered, feeling suddenly irritated. He could tell that Enaya was preparing to fix him with one of her pontificating lectures on how he should behave. “She’s a pretty girl. I’m allowed to look at pretty girls.”

  Enaya eyed him angrily. She checked to make sure they were far enough away from Nehrea. “Look all you want, but make sure that’s all you do,” she whispered angrily through her teeth.

  “What do you care what I do?” Sim bristled. “What is it? Am I not showing you enough attention?”

  Enaya’s hands balled into fists. Her heated glare could have cut a diamond in half. “How dare you!” she nearly shouted through her gritted teeth. “I don’t give two sheeps who you leer at, you…you…you filthy, useless, goat’s rectum.”

  “Goat’s rectum?” Sim said, preparing an angry retort. He tried to think of something clever to say but began to laugh as he realized how silly it all seemed. “Honestly, Enaya,” he gave her a questioning grin, “a goat’s rectum?”

  For a moment she continued to fume. Then her cheeks flushed, and she giggled in embarrassment. “Don’t tease me. I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

  “Who thinks of a goat’s rectum, though?” he laughed, fondly putting his arm around her. She seemed to melt into him.

  “I’m not terribly quick-witted, am I?” she smiled, affectionately.

  “I guess not,” he joked.

  “I’ve just got so much on my mind lately,” she told him, sliding an arm around his waist. “I can’t stop worrying about my family, Siminus. My grandfather is a very powerful man. He once served on the Council of Nine. When word of my actions reaches Fandrall, he’ll be disgraced. Desirmor will likely order the executions of every member of my family. Then he’ll strip them of their titles and give away all of their land and possessions. Most of their servants will likely be killed as well, or at the very least, forced into slavery.”

  Sim wondered how she had managed to hold back the tears as she spoke.

  “Enaya, do you remember when the Blood Lord killed my parents?” he asked her. She nodded sadly. “You told me that day that I couldn’t save them. Sitting there and watching it happen, watching him murder them, and doing nothing, was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I’m still not certain it was the right choice. Every night I struggle with the pain of that memory. But, I believed you then that there was nothing I could do. I chose to trust you. I still trust you. That’s why I don’t let the pain consume me. I have no choice but to move forward. And neither do you. There is nothing you can do for them right now except move forward and fulfill your destiny. If we succeed and stop Desirmor, then their deaths will have meaning. If we fail, then all will be for naught. So don’t look back, Enaya. Keep looking forward.”

  Enaya smiled at him warmly. Her deep blue eyes held him like a lover’s embrace. A tear welled up, catching momentarily in her long, thick lashes before breaking free and racing down her smooth cheek. “Thank you, Siminus,” she whispered.

  For a stretch they walked in silence. To their left the forest ended and the east became a vast flowing plain, verdant and green, beautiful. The road they took seemed to cut right through that rolling field, rising and falling in drowsy increments. A herd of bison, several hundred strong, grazed well off in the distance, undisturbed by the sudden intrusion of people. Sim had never seen such a sight, and stared with open-mouthed marveling as Enaya explained a few things about the strange creatures. As the herd slipped beyond the gentle swells of the field to their backs, they fell again into silence until something Enaya had said earlier tickled his memory.

  “What is the Council of Nine?” he asked.

  “They are a council of nobles and other important men of wealth who serve as an advisory board to Desirmor,” she told him. “You see, Siminus, the world is too large a place for Desirmor to rule completely. He would get lost in the minute details of every town and city that laid its problems at his feet. The Council essentially take’s care of the smaller things and makes judgment’s based on Desirmor’s law. Of course, in the end, Desirmor’s will is ultimately followed. Being on the Council is just a way of proclaiming your importance to everyone else.”

  “Was your grandfather one of Desirmor’s men when he served?”

  “Never!” Enaya spat fiercely. “My grandfather was appointed because of his wealth and influence. He used his post to gather information from the inside. He played the faithful loyalist because he had to. Never because he wanted to.”

  “What of Desirmor’s Law?” Sim asked. “I’ve heard it mentioned that there are nine. What are they?”

  “There are nine,” she answered him. “The first is that there is no God. There is only Desirmor and he is the sole ruler of the world. If you oppose him, it’s punishable by death.”

  “He actually thinks he’s God?” Sim asked incredulously.

  “I don’t know if he thinks he’s God, but he wants people to believe that he is.”

  “And do people believe it?”

  “Sadly, many do. Either they believe it because that’s all they were ever taught, or they accept it out of fear. Still, even after a thousand years, many people hold to their faith in the Creator. They just keep their beliefs to themselves.”

  “How was it I’d never heard of him?” Sim shook his head in disbelief.

  “Because your parents did a very good job of making sure you didn’t,” Enaya answered, patting the hand that lay on her shoulder.

  “But why? I don’t understand what difference it made. What did they think would happen if I knew about Desirmor?” Sim wondered.

  “I couldn’t rightly say, Siminus. Perhaps they simply wanted you to believe that the world was a place of good. That way when you grew up and saw all of the darkness, it would make you that much more determined to set things right.”

  “Maybe,” Sim thought about her reasoning, “give me another law.”

  “Well, when a man of rank wants a woman, if she isn’t married, then she’s his, whether she likes it or not,” Enaya said with an obvious bitterness.

  “Is that what Governor Cantor was trying to do with you?” Sim asked.

  “Yes and no,” she said. “Since I’m a noble woman, he needed to follow a different protocol. Basically, since there are no male heirs to my Grandfather’s estates, by law his wealth and titles will fall to the man who marries his first daughter. Since my mother isn’t his blood, that burden falls to me. Cantor was trying to force my consent so he could gain those titles.”

  “Thank the heavens we got you out of there,” Sim said.

  “It hardly matters now,” Enaya said sadly.

  “I suppose you’re right.” Sim was sorry to have broached the subject of her family. “How about another one?”

  “Well you already know about trivals having to register,” she thought out loud. “Then there’s the language law. Fandrian is the only language that can be spoken. There’s the adultery law. If a woman is unfaithful to her husband, she is subject to death.”

  “What about if a man is unfaithful?” Sim wondered.

  “Men can do whatever they want,” Enaya practically cursed. “That’s pretty much the whole theme of Desirmor’s law. If you’re a man, and you think Desirmor is God, and you don’t owe anyone money, you can do just about whatever you want.”

  “So if you owe someone money, what happens?” Sim asked.

  “If you can’t pay, then you must submit to slavery,” Enaya told him, still s
eething.

  “Why would anyone ever take out a loan, then?” Sim couldn’t believe it.

  “It's not that simple. Nearly anything could be construed as a debt,” she lectured. “For instance, say a thatcher comes to fix a man’s roof, and the next day when it rains, the roof has a leak. The thatcher can be forced into slavery by the man if he chooses to present his grievance to the local authorities.”

  “Well the thatcher should have some repercussion for his shoddy work,” Sim rationalized.

  “Indeed he should. But slavery, Sim? Should a poorly thatched roof be worthy of turning a man into a slave?” Enaya asked him.

  “No. That’s excessive,” Sim answered.

  “That’s just an example. The world is full of men and women given over to slavery for some foolish circumstance.”

  “What about Nehrea?” Sim asked. He was watching her walk in the road ahead. She was having a friendly conversation with Quinn. Here and there he caught glimpses of a smile whenever the scarred old clockmaker managed to make her laugh.

  “What about her?” Enaya replied.

  “Well, what’s her story? Was she a courtesan by choice, or was she a slave?”

  “I really don’t know her story, Siminus. I only know that she was unhappy with her life in the palace and helped us escape.”

  Enaya was guarded in her answer, and Sim knew that she was holding back. Perhaps she and Nehrea had made a bargain of secrecy. He wanted to know more about Nehrea, but he was worried that asking further questions might offend Enaya, and he was enjoying the comfort of her slender arm around his waist. Sooner or later, as they were now traveling companions, Sim would have his chance to get to know Nehrea better.

  The road rose over a high crest, then fell into a lush valley. To the east, the shimmering gray visage of a foundling mountain range blocked their view of the horizon. Its snowcapped peaks, jaggedly punctured the clouds as if the ground were assaulting the sky.

 

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