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Dasen walked back toward Randor’s Pass in a much better mood than he had enjoyed on his first trip down the inhuman path. His initial impression of Tethina had been everything he feared. She looked like a wild boy crammed into his sister’s dress. Girls, by his estimation, were supposed to be shapely, plump, and soft. None of those words would ever be used to describe Tethina. Everything about her was jagged, slim, and hard. She was not muscle bound as he had feared but rather lean and sleek, like a deer. At the same time, she had none of the features that typically defined a woman: no breasts that Dasen could see, narrow hips, hair shorter than his own. Her face was angular and sharp. There was no plumpness to her cheeks or the long expanse of her neck. Her face and arms were as tanned as a peasant working a field, and she did not wear a speck of powder to lighten her complexion or rouge to highlight her cheeks. Yet, her eyes were sparklingly blue, so alive that Dasen could not help but be drawn into them. Her lips were full, smile infectious. And her hair, what there was of it, was fine and of the most intriguing light-auburn color. Dasen could also not help but admit his excitement at seeing the expanse of shapely leg and thin ankles at the bottom of her ill-fitted dress.
Somewhere, in the back of his mind, she was also so familiar to him. He could almost imagine running behind her as a child, rolling in the grass, sleeping in the same bed, talking quietly after the house was dark. He could not reconcile in his mind how someone so strange could at the same time be so familiar.
Yet most encouraging was how much Tethina seemed to want to change, to find her proper place in the Order. Dasen had expected that to be a long, slow struggle, but it was clear that she had come to the same conclusion he had, that she could not continue on her current path and needed guidance to change. They clearly still had work ahead of them, but if her current attitude held, he was confident that they would find their way.
He stumbled on a root, caught himself on a nearby tree, and silently cursed the path. Couldn’t they at least smooth it out? He could not wait to be away from these rustic villages without even so much as a proper street. It was really no wonder that Tethina had turned out as she had. Living in this backwater, surrounded on all sides by impenetrable forest, as far as a person could reasonably get from real civilization, it was a wonder that the villagers were not all Sylian savages. Its proximity to the White River, which could carry logs all the way to Thoren, made Randor’s Pass the most populous village in this area, but it was still tiny by Dasen’s standards. The people he had seen were like those in the other woodland villages they had passed: stocky, rough-looking men built to fell trees and demure women in long dresses with impossibly long braids hidden under their bonnets. The children were ragged, dirty, and rough but they were also stout, vital, and energetic. And all of them, men, women, and children, held their head up, had life in their eyes, and determination on their faces. This was not like the depravity he saw at his father’s mills, the dirty scarecrows working the fields of the plains, or the nodding deference that defined the servants in the noble houses.
Tripping again, Dasen concentrated on the path and soon emerged in the village. He was dripping with sweat, his legs were tired from the rough walk, and he was breathing hard. He stopped to rest and cursed the scuffs on his boots. They were new, meant for tomorrow’s ceremony, and horribly uncomfortable, but he had wanted to make an impression on Tethina. Now he would have to ask Elton to polish them again. He hated making the big man do such menial work, but he was the only servant who had completed the trip.
Recovered, he examined the gabble topped houses before him. They looked remarkably like those in the other villages they had passed: overlapping grey planks, small windows with stout shutters, moss speckled wood shingles, small stone chimneys. They stood in well-spaced rows, the generous garden behind each revealing a bounty of nascent vegetables. Walking past the first row, he admired the flowers peeking from window boxes, small wild flowers so unlike the roses, irises, and lilies he was used to seeing. Grass and an occasional plank fence separated the front of one row from the back of the next. On a few of the porches, women sat sewing, trimming vegetables, or tending to young children. Others worked the gardens with children at their sides, weeds in hand. Dasen waved at a cluster who caught his eye. The youngest child waved back enthusiastically but the others looked past him, almost in disdain.
Dasen tried not to think about it as he turned onto the town’s one dirt road. At the east end was the village green, a large field of grass marked by the dozen sheep that trimmed it. Along its back end, in the shelter of the trees was the village church, a broad structure without any adornment to show its significance in the villager’s lives. The raised stone dais where the weekly lessons and judgments were conducted in the warmer months stood in the middle of the grass. In only a few hours, Dasen would be standing there for his joining ceremony. Despite his new outlook, his pulse quickened and breath caught at the thought.
Turning away from the green, Dasen watched the curving shape of what the villagers called the “old bridge” in the distance. It was an impressive white stone bridge wide enough for two wagons to pass abreast. Despite its grandeur, the villagers ignored it – it was common belief that the other side of the river was cursed. No one seemed to remember when it had been built, but local legend said the bridge had been built by Xionious Valatarian and used to cast the Exiles from the world. Such literal interpretations of The Book of Valatarian were not commonly accepted these days, and even so, the holy text stated that Valatarian had cast the Exiles out from the rock of Sal Danar, over a thousand miles away. Dasen guessed that the bridge had simply been built in the early days of the Empire, when many projects were undertaken with no more purpose than some valati’s fevered interpretation of the Order’s will.
Promising himself some time to study the bridge further, Dasen turned into the village inn. Barring the church, it was the town’s largest structure, standing two full stories and spread across what would have been two or three standard lots. Inside was as large a common room as Dasen had seen since they left Wildern, but unlike the backroom in Potter’s Place, it was entirely utilitarian. A dozen long tables defined the space in two rows with stout benches on either side as the only seats. The plank floor was covered with a layer of sawdust. The enormous hearth was at one end so that patrons either roasted or froze. The windows were small and high. The only other light came from a paltry few candles on each table. The room was sweltering hot and smelled of stale drink, burnt meat, and sweat.
Dasen brought his hand to his nose to block the odor and waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. To his surprise, only two of the inn’s tables were occupied. The one closest to the bar, held the dozen guards who had accompanied them on the trip. They spoke boisterously, raising cups and laughing, obviously glad to be at their destination. Sitting alone at the other end of the room as close to an open window as he could get was Rynn.
He jumped from his seat when he saw Dasen. The bored expression evaporated from his face, replaced by a knowing grin. “How did it go? Did she kill a buck with her bare hands and offer you its heart?”
“Not funny.” Dasen pulled off his jacket, loosened his scarf, unbuttoned his collar, and sat down across from his friend. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow. “By the Order, it’s hot here. There’s no chance they have ice is there?”
Rynn laughed and showed Dasen his wooden cup. “Ice? They don’t even have wine. I’m drinking some kind of homebrewed mead. It practically hot and tastes like the inside of a bee’s ass. I also think I got a splinter in my lip from this thing they call a cup. Do they realize that not everything needs to be made out of wood?”
“They use what they have.”
“I suppose, but how is a gentile young lord like me supposed to survive here until such time as the other coach is repaired? In this heat, with nothing to drink but b
ee piss, I may wither away by the time they find a new axle.”
“It will be good for you. Just think, you may receive a position in a village like this after you take your vows. Perhaps, you should spend your time speaking with the counselor, learning how to teach and judge among the common man.”
Rynn opened his mouth but was at a rare loss for words. He scanned the common room again and shuddered. In all likelihood, Rynn’s father would secure him a position as a counselor on his estates. That was the common strategy of the Liandrin nobility, install a family member as local counselor and guarantee yourself favorable judgments in any disputes. But Rynn clearly did not like the topic. He shook off the thought, leaned across the table, and smiled devilishly. “So, tell me about her. The wife of my best friend, it is almost like I am joining her as well.”
Dasen caught the eye of the innkeeper and motioned for two more drinks. Surprisingly, the man just scowled. “She was definitely different,” Dasen started, unsure how to frame his thoughts. “She is not unattractive, cute in some ways, but not what you would ever think of as a girl.” Rynn raised an eyebrow at that. “I mean, she is definitely a girl, but there isn’t a soft curve on her. She is not some muscle-bound thug, but she doesn’t have a scrap of fat either. I don’t know how to describe it, strange, I guess, but not all bad.”
“Sounds like you’re hooked. Besides, she’ll round out nicely once you get a bun in that oven. That fills everything out. Trust me, my brother’s wife was skinny as a sapling until he got a baby in her. After that, everything rounded out. My brother was a happy man.”
“We’ll have to wait a while for that.”
“So you’re telling me that you are going to get joined, keep her in your house, teach her to be a proper lady, defend her from her detractors but not enjoy any of the fruits of your labors? I can’t believe you. If I could get joined, I don’t even think I’d wait until I got to a bed. I’d probably lay her down right there on the dais and . . . .”
“I think I get the picture, but I can’t take any chances. Di Valati Alsance was very clear, if Tethina catches a baby, we’re both out. There’s no way I can risk that.”
The presence of the innkeeper with their drinks interrupted Dasen. He set the cups down then waited for Rynn to finish his so that he could take the cup. Rynn winced but immediately raised the second cup. “To Tethina. May she forego her wild ways in every place but your bed.”
“You’re incorrigible.” Dasen smirked but tapped glasses with his friend and drank. “By the Order, you weren’t joking. This is awful.” Too late, Dasen realized that the innkeeper was lingering behind him. “Awfully good,” he corrected quickly. But Rynn’s laugh set off his own, ruining any chance of forgiveness. The innkeeper scoffed and went to refill the guards’ cups.
A few moments later, as Dasen was contemplating which was worse the mead or Tethina’s tea, the inn’s door flew open with a crash. Dasen looked up to see a half-dozen young men march through. They were all solidly built, well shorter than him but with broad shoulders and thick limbs. They wore crude homespun wool shirts with laces untied to reveal their muscular chests, heavy canvas pants, and leather vests. One of them carried a big earthenware jug, and they walked with the loose movements of those who have been into their drinks. They stared around the inn as their eyes adjusted. Then one of them saw Dasen. He patted the ox of a man who must have been their leader and whispered in his ear. Finally, with broad smiles, they approached.
Ipid’s guards intercepted them. “There are plenty of empty tables by the hearth,” their captain, a man named Morgan, advised. His hand pressed into the shirt of the biggest boy. He was taller than the villager but gave up at least thirty pounds. The other guards arrayed automatically around the boys. None of them carried weapons, but they were all experienced soldiers who could handle themselves with fists as well as swords.
“It’s too hot ta be by the fire taday,” the villager responded with a smile. “Besides, I just wanted ta offer the groom a drink. Shouldn’t someone be sending him off ta his joinin’? Don’t look like you lot’s gonna do it, so thought we’d help ya out.” He looked at Dasen with a sly grin and raised his hands innocently. “Course, you all are welcome ta join us, if ya want.”
Morgan looked back at Dasen. He felt somewhat embarrassed by the guards’ actions and motioned them away. “I appreciate your vigilance, Morgan, but I’m sure they mean no harm, and you are right here if we need you.”
“Very well, sir,” Morgan nodded, but he locked eyes with each of the villagers before he finally removed his hand and motioned his fellows back to their table.
The villagers laughed and took seats around Dasen and Rynn. “So yir the one’s gonna be tamin’ our wildcat? Best of luck ta ya,” the biggest man said as he sat next to Dasen. He smelled of sweat and alcohol and pine. He clapped Dasen on the back, nearly sending him into the table. “What’re ya drinkin’ there? Is that ol’ man Sherbourn’s mead? That’s fine, but not fir an occasion like this.” He pointed to one of his fellows. “Jeb, get us some cups.” A boy a few years younger than the others – they were all near Dasen’s age – stumbled to his feet and returned a moment later with his hands full of cups.
“My name’s Pete. This is Ben, Terl, Sam, Jeb, and Reg.” The big villager introduced his fellows as he poured a generous splash of clear liquid from his jug into each cup.
Dasen examined the young men. Were these the boys that Tethina had beat in the races? If so, it was an even more impressive feat. He eyed the cup before him. “I am Dasen,” he offered his hand to Pete, “and this is Rynn. It appears you already know who we are and why we’re here.”
“You could say that,” Pete confirmed. He clasped Dasen’s hand in his great paw and crushed it. Dasen tried not to flinch, but obviously failed as Pete broke into a laugh. He was missing a few teeth, but the alcohol on his breath was sweet not sour.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he chuckled, “Us loggers got strong ‘ands.” He held his hand up. It was as big as a plate with thick, sturdy fingers and heavy callouses. “Heavin’ axes and pullin’ saws’ll do that. Now, let’s drink.” He held up his cup and motioned to Dasen to do the same. “Ta tamin’ wildcats!” Pete declared. He bashed his cup into Dasen’s then slammed down the contents like water. Throwing caution to the wind, Dasen did the same. The liquor hit the back of his throat like fire, but he choked it down more easily than he expected and felt it warm his insides all the way down. To his surprise, the liquor was good. It burned his mouth and throat but left a lingering taste of herbs and berries, none of which he could clearly place.
“Ya like that?” Pete asked. “It’s yir da’s recipe. He called it wilderness wine, an’ they still make it at his ol’ shop. Prob’ly the best thing he ever did fir this town.”
Dasen looked at his glass, smacked his lips, the spared a glance at Rynn. He obviously approved as well.
“I’m sorry ta say this jugs ‘bout done,” Pete said. “And we don’ git paid till First Day. Tis terr’ble manners, I know, but if ya had a coin, Jeb could get us another’n before they close up down at the shop.”
Rynn beat Dasen to an answer. “By all means,” he declared pulling a full silver mark from the pocket of his vest. “I should be hosting this party. I’ll gladly buy the refreshments, especially if they’re of this quality.”
Jeb snatched the coin with a longing look then caught Pete’s eye before running from the inn. While he was gone, Pete poured the remainder of his jug into Dasen, Rynn, and his own cup. “Thank ya, sir,” he saluted Rynn, “yir a real gentleman.” They drank. Dasen felt his stomach warm, his vision blur, and his face begin to tingle. He had not had anything to eat since they arrived in town hours ago, and the alcohol was going straight to his head.
“So, Dasen,” Pete said. He placed a hand on his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Can I give ya’ some advice ‘bout our lil Tethina?�
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Something told Dasen that this was not a good idea, but he felt himself nodding. “You’ve known her far longer than I.”
“Hmmm,” Pete grinned. “Sure ‘nough I have.” He looked at his friends. They nodded, wolfish smiles appearing on their faces. “You’ll soon see, she’s no proper lady, ‘bout as far from it as ya can git.”
“I know of her past, but I just saw her, and I think she wants to change. I think she realizes the mistakes she has made here and regrets them.”
That seemed to set Pete back. “I’m glad ta hear that. But you’ll firgive me bein’ wary. Every one of us has tangled with that cat at some point. Let me ‘sure ya, the counselor, the women round here, all of us, we done everything we could ta tame her, but nothin’ takes. Every once a while she tames down fir a week or two then she’s out running on the far side of the river again. Some folk say awful things ‘bout what she’s doin’ over there with the animals and all. Others say its evil spirits she’s with – that’s where Valatarian sent the Exiles, ya know. But ya won’t hear none of that from us. Not ‘bout a girl gonna be joined. And we, ever’ one of us, wish ya the best of luck with ‘er, but we’re thinkin’ if ya ever want ta tame ‘er down, ya got to show ‘er she’s a girl. Ya know what I mean?”
Jeb returned with the jug, pulled the cork and filled every glass. Dasen sipped at the liquor, felt it now sliding easily down his throat. “That is what I plan to do,” he confirmed. “I think that is the very problem. She has not had anyone to show her how to act in a way that is proper.”
Pete grinned. “I mean you gotta make ‘er be a girl, use ‘er the way the Order intended a man ta use his woman. That’s the one thing none of us ever been able ta do. I know it’d be strange, like fuckin’ a boy.” Pete managed a shudder and his friends cringed. “But I think she’s got it in ’er head she is a boy. Only way ta convince ‘er otherwise is ta show ‘er she’s not. Gettin’ a baby in ‘er’d be even better, but I guess one leads ta the other, aye?”
Pete refilled Dasen’s somehow empty cup. He looked at it dubiously. He needed to get some food. “Unfortunately, I can’t do that,” he said. “If she catches a baby, I will be kicked out of the university.” He turned to Rynn, but he was engaged in a boisterous – and lewd – conversation with the other villagers. Many of them were laughing heartily and pounding the table.
“By the Order, I’d of pounded that filly right there with the books!” one of them yelled.
“It get’s better,” Rynn assured them.
Dasen’s thoughts were muddled, he felt he should know what they were talking about. “Rynn,” he called, “could you get that innkeeper to bring us some dinner? I have barely eaten all day, and this liquor is going straight to my head.”
“Jeb’ll get it fir ya,” Pete assured and motioned to the boy. Jeb made a face but jumped to obey. “Now what’s that yir sayin’ about a university? Why da they care what ya do with yir wife? Seems counter ta the Order ta me.”
“A baby would be too much of a distraction to our studies . . . .”
“Ta the Maelstrom with that,” Pete cursed. “Tellin’ a man he can’t bed his own wife. Well, there’s ways ta keep ‘er from catchin’ a baby, ya know. Besides, that girl ain’t never gonna be no lady until ya make ‘er inta one. Ya can put ‘er in a dress, but she’ll just be a boy in a dress. She needs ta be treated like the girl she is, and a good fuckin’ is the only way it’s gonna stick.”
On the other side of the table, Rynn had reduced the villagers to a writhing mass of uncontrolled laughter. He was beaming, drink forgotten as he reveled in finally having a receptive audience. For his part, Dasen found himself imagining Tethina in ways he had not previously allowed himself. He could not deny his longing, even for a woman as strange as Tethina. Could what Pete was saying be true? He was not thinking clearly, but it seemed logical that sex was an integral part of what defined the roles of men and women. He allowed his thoughts to go in that direction for the first time and found himself more and more attracted to the idea. Maybe being shown her place as a woman extended beyond dresses and manners. And if there were ways to do it such that she wouldn’t catch a baby. . . .
Somewhere Dasen realized that Pete was still speaking in his ear. “Prob’ly have ta force ‘er,” he was saying and Dasen found himself nodding without hearing the words. Pete was smiling wide, seemingly sure that he had won Dasen to his side. Before he could refute what the big man was saying, the innkeeper arrived with plates heaped with greasy stew. He and a boy brought enough for each of the men then laid out three loaves of dark bread to accompany them. Dasen looked at the stew with relief. His head was buzzing and the room had taken on a slow spin.
“I’m glad we could talk,” Pete clapped him on the back again. “I think our Tethina’s gonna be in good hands. A strong man’s what she needs. I hope ya don’t spare anythin’ ta show her that’s what ya are.”
Dasen did not know how to respond to that, so he just said, “Thank you. I will think about what you said. Now while we eat, tell me about Tethina. Did she really win five coins at the district games?” He found his spoon and shoved a big bite of stew in his mouth. It was better than he expected, which made it just barely edible.
For a second, Pete looked upset by the question, then his smile returned. “She did,” he started then laid out Tethina’s exploits in great detail, made it clear how he and the other villagers thought of their ‘wildcat’.
From Across the Clouded Range Page 16
