“What should we do?” asked Shemi.
Mariyah was unaccustomed to Shemi being indecisive. But in this instance she could understand. What should they do?
When Mariyah didn’t reply, Shemi added, “We could wait for them to pass and follow.”
The wagon was still a hundred or so feet away. Mariyah took several long breaths, yet still her hands shook. “No. Sooner or later we’ll have to talk to someone.” Better a man and his children, she thought. Less likely to want a fight … or so she hoped. Still, she checked the knife attached to her belt before stepping onto the road, Shemi just behind her.
The man spotted them at once and pulled the wagon to a halt. There was a long tense moment of silence, only broken by the whispering of the two children.
“I have no gold,” called the man. “And I’m unarmed.”
Mariyah and Shemi exchanged glances. Gold?
“He thinks we’re trying to rob him,” said Shemi in a quiet voice.
Mariyah put on a friendly smile. “There’s nothing to be afraid of,” she called back. “We’re looking for a friend. We were hoping you might have seen him.”
The man looked confused. “A friend?”
“Yes. We think he passed by this way recently.”
“No one has been on the road,” he replied. “Not that I’ve seen.” The man furrowed his brow. “By the sound of you, you’re a long way from home, aren’t you?”
“A very long way. Are you sure you’ve seen no one?”
The man seemed to be thinking about what he should do, eyes darting over to his children for a moment. Eventually, he said, “Positive.”
“Is there a town where we might look?” she asked.
The man nodded. “But I wouldn’t go looking there if I was you. Folks there aren’t so friendly, if you catch my meaning.”
She most certainly did not. “Can you tell me how to get there?”
“It’s about a day’s walk east. Straight down the road.”
There was a town. Lem would almost certainly have found it. So that’s where they would go. “Thank you,” she said, with a slight bow.
“If you want, you could come with me to my house,” he said, as they were turning to leave. “I’m going to Harver’s Grove tomorrow anyway. I could ask about your friend for you.”
“What do you think?” Mariyah asked Shemi.
Shemi eyed the man with suspicion. “I don’t know.” He stepped in front of Mariyah to speak. “Why would it be dangerous for us to go ourselves?”
The man looked at him incredulously. “You can’t be serious?”
“Very.”
“Are you one of the faithful?”
“Faithful?” replied Shemi. “What do you mean?”
“Where are you from not to know that?”
“What does it matter?”
“It matters a great deal. Harver’s Grove might be filled with vagrants, drunks, and beggars, but strangers are not easily welcomed there. Especially if you’re not of the faith.”
Faith? thought Mariyah. Before Shemi could respond, she interjected, “We’re from a long way from here. We don’t know about these things.”
The man scratched his chin. “Is that so? Must be a world away. Well, do as you like. But remember that I did warn you.”
He snapped the reins and the odd beasts lumbered forward. The children’s eyes never left them as they passed, whispering to one another with apprehensive expressions.
“Wait,” Mariyah shouted.
The wagon stopped.
“Are you sure about this?” said Shemi.
Mariyah looked at the wagon, then back to Shemi. “No.”
They hopped into the rear of the wagon, and a moment later the animals heaved forward.
“I’m Gersille,” said the little girl, peeking her eyes just above the backrest.
The boy shoved himself up beside her. “I’m Bertal.”
Mariyah smiled. “Those are nice names. Mine is Mariyah. And this is Shemi.”
The man laughed. “It seems my fearless children have better manners than their father. I’m Tadrius Marcone.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tadrius,” said Shemi.
Tadrius dipped his head in acknowledgment. “There’s a bag of apples back there if you’d like.”
Mariyah’s stomach was rumbling, their breakfast having inadequately satisfied her hunger. But something made her wary about eating fruit grown by strangers.
“Thank you,” she said, hunger winning out.
“Can I have an apple too, Papa?” asked Bertal.
“Me too,” added Gersille.
Their father smiled down at them. “Just one each.”
The two grabbed for the bag and traced a small circle in the air above the apples with their index and middle fingers before munching happily into them. Their eyes never left Mariyah and Shemi for more than a few seconds through each bite.
“Is it true you don’t believe in Kylor?” asked the girl.
“Gersille,” snapped her father. “You know better than that. What does Kylor teach us about strangers?”
Though the reprimand was not directed at him, Bertal lowered his eyes. “That we are to treat them as we would treat our own kin.”
“But Mother says that heretics…” began Gersille, undeterred.
“I’m not Mother,” said Tadrius, adding just enough force into his tone to silence her. He glanced over his shoulder. “Forgive my children. They forget their manners at times.”
“It’s all right,” said Mariyah. “She’s just curious. But I’m afraid I don’t know who Kylor is. So I can’t really give you a good answer.”
At this, she noticed a curious expression come across Tadrius’s face. “You really must be from far away. Good thing you ran into me.”
“Why’s that?” asked Shemi.
“Ignorance can get you killed in these parts. Bishop Ondreus puts bounties on heretics. But I suppose you don’t know who that is.”
“I’m afraid not,” Mariyah admitted.
“Let’s just say that he’s not a man you want to meet. My advice is to stay away from Harver’s Grove, or any other town this far west. People are not as … understanding as they are in the cities.” He made the same sign the children had made over their apples. “Truth be told, you should probably forget this friend of yours and go home.”
“I’m afraid we can’t,” said Mariyah.
Tadrius nodded. “I see. Well, if he came through here, he probably did end up in Harver’s Grove. Lucky for you it’s not a big place. They’d notice a stranger in town. If he’s still there, I should be able to find him. Assuming he hasn’t gotten himself in trouble. Anything you can tell me about him?”
“He’s nineteen years old,” she replied. “Thin build but with broad shoulders, about six feet tall, auburn hair down to here”—she placed her hand at the bottom of her shoulder—“and gray eyes.”
“Gray eyes?” Tadrius repeated. “Not too many folks with gray eyes. Anything else that would help?”
“He’s a musician,” said Shemi. “He plays the balisari.”
The man lowered his head. “A musician, you say? Egar Vaylin told me there was a musician at the Oak and Amber now. Couldn’t say if it’s your friend or not. Haven’t been there in months. But it’s worth a try.”
Mariyah’s earlier optimism now bordered on excitement. Conversely, Shemi was grim-faced, and his hand never drifted far from the small knife hidden under his shirt.
They continued for a few hours, the children eventually falling asleep on the seat beside Tadrius. They traversed open fields that had been recently harvested, passing by ramshackle buildings that appeared unoccupied. Small trails led away from the main road, snaking into the thick of the forest. This is a farming community, she thought. It was unexpectedly comforting. In a strange world of unknown perils, farming she understood.
The wagon turned north at a crossroads then east again, splitting a cotton field.
“This is mine,” announced Tadrius, proudly. “My fields yield more cotton than any in west Bulvidar.”
“Why do you leave so much unpicked?” asked Shemi.
Mariyah too had noticed that though the majority was picked clean, quite a bit still remained untouched. This would not be the case in Vylari.
Tadrius frowned over his shoulder. “We do our best. Can’t get it all, you know.”
Mariyah shot Shemi a warning look before he could say more. “How many fields do you have?” she asked.
“Six in all,” he replied, still looking a bit irritated at Shemi. “The rest are twice as big as this one.”
They passed a few small buildings and a large barn, and Mariyah noted that their construction was not unlike that back home. Then again, why would it be? Every house needed doors, windows, and a roof, after all. Most, however, were not painted; rather, some sort of dark lacquer had been applied. And the pitch of the roof was slightly steeper.
The house was nestled in the center of a grove of walnut trees. A modest dwelling, as were most farmhouses, it was sturdy, with a broad front porch where two rocking chairs were placed. A swing hung from the branches of a tree, and there was a small vegetable garden that still bore a few unripe gourds and a row of tomato plants.
Tadrius pulled the wagon up and gently woke the children. After lifting them to the ground, he whispered something into their ears and waited until they were inside before speaking to Mariyah and Shemi.
“I need to let my wife know we have guests,” he said. “Don’t want to startle her.”
Mariyah and Shemi hopped off the wagon and stood at the back, not wanting to be too close to the peculiar beasts that pulled it.
“I don’t like this,” said Shemi, once Tadrius was inside.
“If he can find Lem, I’ll like it just fine.” She gave him a reassuring smile. “You heard him. There’s a musician in the town.”
Shemi did not look convinced. “The musician might not be Lem.”
Mariyah didn’t understand his pessimism. She was nervous too, and the idea of meeting people from Lamoria had frightened her to no end. But thus far, her fears had been unjustified. Tadrius had seemed more than happy to help them, not caring that they were perfect strangers. And the children were delightfully curious and friendly. In fact, aside from the mention of heretics and Kylor, they might have been riding in a wagon with a Vylarian family. Why then did Shemi look as if a bear were about to leap out from behind a tree and maul them?
A moment later Tadrius reappeared, waving them over. The children could be heard inside talking with excited voices about the two strangers coming to stay.
“Please excuse the mess,” he said, inviting them in.
“Think nothing of it,” said Mariyah.
Beyond the door was a small sitting room with a couch, and a few chairs and side tables scattered about. Several shelves hung from the walls stuffed with various odds and ends—figurines of people and animals, some familiar, others not. A bookshelf, though half empty, caught Shemi’s eye. Mariyah noted the tiny paintings on the left wall, each depicting a face from the shoulders up. Family portraits, perhaps? The floor was covered with various rugs, none matching and all heavily worn and frayed around the edges.
They passed through a door to their right and down a short hallway. The scent of cooked meat and spices carried on the air, causing Mariyah’s mouth to water.
The next room served as both kitchen and dining area, much like in Shemi’s house, though considerably larger, with a table that could easily accommodate a dozen or more people. A woman was standing in front of the stove directly ahead, pouring soup into a tray of bowls on a flat cart beside her. She turned and wiped her hands on her apron and smiled.
“Welcome, friends,” she said. “Blessings be upon you.”
Her brown hair was tied neatly into several braids, and she looked about the same age as Mariyah’s mother.
“Blessings to you,” said Mariyah, hoping this was the greeting expected.
Shemi nodded politely. “Thank you for having us.”
“Not at all,” she said. “My husband told me that you were in need of aid. And you know what they say: The light of Kylor illuminates those who give of themselves.” She stepped forward, wiping her hands once again with a rag. “I’m Noradeen. But you can call me Nora.”
“I’m Mariyah, and this is Shemi. Your husband was very kind to help us. I hope we’re not too much of an inconvenience.”
“No, no, no,” she said. “You make yourself at home. Sit. I was just finishing up here.”
“Can we help?” asked Shemi.
Nora’s smile vanished and her posture stiffened.
“They meant no insult, Nora,” said Tadrius. He turned to Shemi. “Guests do not work.”
Shemi lowered his head in an apologetic bow. “Please forgive my ignorance.”
Gradually her pleasant demeanor returned. “You are forgiven. It’s easy to forget that not everyone has found the way of our Lord.”
Tadrius sighed and started to the door. “Excuse me. I need to put away the wagon.”
Nora returned to the stove and continued filling the bowls. “If you would like to wash before dinner, there’s a pump just outside. The soup will take time to cool.” She nodded to a door off to their left.
“Thank you,” said Mariyah.
The door led to the rear of the house where a small shed stood a few yards back, along with some disused plows and a broken wagon. At the corner stood what Mariyah hoped was the pump. A tub of water was placed beneath a spigot fixed to a metal rod that was protruding three feet from the ground, with a long curved handle attached at the top.
Mariyah looked to Shemi and shrugged. “Don’t ask me how it works.”
Shemi examined it for a time, arms folded over his chest, head tilted to the side. “I think…” He grabbed the handle and pulled. It took some effort, but he was able to lift it. But no water came out. He then pressed down. This time a tiny trickle spilled into the tub. Shemi grinned triumphantly and repeated the process. Soon water was pouring in a steady stream and continued for almost a minute even after he released the handle.
“Most clever,” he remarked.
Shemi turned his back and allowed Mariyah to wash and then change into one of the two sets of spare clothes he kept in his travel pack, checking first that no one was about. Fortunately for Mariyah, she and Shemi were roughly the same size. Once finished, he did likewise.
“I’d forgotten what being clean feels like,” Mariyah remarked, squeezing the excess water from her hair and tying it back into a ponytail.
“Now if only there’s a bed,” said Shemi.
Washing had indeed felt good and went a long way to lifting her spirits. And she too was looking forward to sleeping on something softer than a pile of pine needles.
Back inside, Nora had already set the table and was waiting in a chair by the stove.
“My husband will be along shortly,” she said. “Let me show you where you’ll be sleeping.”
Nora then led them from the kitchen and down a short hallway.
“I’m afraid the bed is only big enough for one,” she said. “So one of you will have to sleep on the floor. Assuming you are all right with sharing a room.”
“Mariyah is like a daughter to me,” said Shemi. “So there’s nothing improper.”
“Excellent. I was afraid you might insist on sleeping outside. That would not speak well of our hospitality.”
“I’ve had quite enough of outside for a while,” said Shemi, grinning over at Mariyah. “A floor sounds fine, so long as there is a roof above it.”
Mariyah gave him a reprimanding look. “If you think I’m taking the bed, you’re wrong. Your old bones need it more than mine.”
“Don’t worry,” Nora chipped in. “I have some thick blankets that will feel as if you are on a mattress too.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” said Mariyah.
The room was not exactly spaci
ous, and as Nora had said, the bed was far too narrow for them both to fit. A small dresser was shoved beside a closet door and a nightstand completed the furnishings. Clearly this was not a room used frequently.
After stowing Shemi’s pack, they returned to the kitchen. Tadrius was seated at the table and Nora was passing out the bowls.
“Where are the children?” asked Mariyah.
Tadrius shifted in his seat, averting his eyes.
“They are being punished,” said Nora, when her husband didn’t reply. “I’m afraid my husband is a bit permissive when it comes to their upbringing.”
Mariyah could see Tadrius’s barely contained anger.
They took a seat, Nora joining them a minute later. Both Tadrius and Nora lowered their heads and closed their eyes.
“We ask for Kylor to bless this bounty provided for us,” said Tadrius. “And we ask for your guidance so that we might face the coming days with courage and fortitude. As once it was, forever shall be.”
“As once it was, forever shall be,” repeated Nora.
As before, they traced the circle over the meal.
Mariyah exchanged a glance with Shemi. Some sort of ritual? She had guessed that Kylor was of great importance, though she had still not worked out if he or she was a living being, a spirit, or perhaps something else. And the hand gesture … it had to mean something. But what? She decided it was better not to ask too many questions.
She picked up the spoon, allowing it to hover above the bowl for a time. Aside from an apple, this would be her first experience with food from Lamoria.
“It’s just tomato soup,” said Nora, noticing her hesitation. “You do have tomatoes where you come from?”
Shemi was already on his second mouthful. “It’s very good. I never thought to eat it cooled. I’ll need to remember that.”
The Bard's Blade Page 9
