Though Maera spoke only when prompted by her father, her demure dress and manner fooled no one. On her lap lay a small wooden platform holding a vial of ink, a cup from which sprouted quills made of feathers from Caedellium seabirds, and a stack of blank paper. As the men conversed, the assiduous scratch of her quill point on paper became part of the ambient noise. Culich would occasionally ask her to repeat something said earlier that day or perhaps from a past meeting. In those latter cases, she would delve into bound ledgers on an adjacent chair to retrieve the appropriate transferred notes.
It was in these requests for reviewing past proceedings that Maera might interject dreaded comments such as, “I wrote down that Boyerman Arwin said earlier today that his district was short of wheat this year and needed a supplement from the central clan stores. Perhaps I misheard, since the boyerman reported sales of wheat to Mittack at the meeting last quarter.” She would look up from her writings, give the target her attention, and wait while the boyerman explained to Culich how he failed to keep sufficient grain reserves.
However, Maera’s less acknowledged role came later, when her father reviewed the meeting with her and other advisors. By not actively taking part, she could observe the proceedings and often caught subtleties Culich missed or wanted confirmed.
In addition to her intellect and insights, Maera was, in all but title, a scholastic of Caedellium history and customs. Ever since learning to read, she had voraciously consumed writings from all of the provinces, and Culich had indulged her by paying to have copies made at abbeys throughout Caedellium. Culich smiled to himself every time he remembered when she unearthed a two-hundred-year-old reference to a treaty between the Stent and Moreland clans that helped settle a dispute over clan boundaries in Stent’s favor—an outcome that the Stent Hetman communicated a debt owed to Keelan. For the Keelan Hetman, it was an outcome to be savored, since he respected the Stent Hetman and despised Moreland’s leader. Culich chastised himself for the guilty pleasure he felt at such a minor thwarting of Hetman Moreland, but still smiled.
Equally amusing, tinged with regret at his own actions, was the memory of another issue involving Moreland—a border disagreement involving a distant and unpopulated part of northern Keelan Province. A meandering stream used as part of their clans’ boundary cut a new course southward. A square mile of land that had been south of the stream found itself north. The formality of the border was in doubt, and the Moreland Hetman claimed the square mile now part of Moreland and would bring up the issue at the next All-Clan Conclave in Orosz City. Culich’s intention to dispute Moreland’s claim was dissected calmly and cruelly by his eldest daughter.
***
“So, Father. You will dispute Moreland’s claim to the shift in boundaries?”
“Of course, I will! It’s Keelan land, and it’s a point of honor.”
“And you’re not influenced by your feelings about Hetman Moreland?”
“He’s a vile piece of animal excrement, a disgrace to all of Caedellium, a tyrant to this people, and no, my opinion of him doesn’t change that I can’t let him steal Keelan land.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, Father, but isn’t the land a piece of swamp with no practical use? Would it really hurt the clan to lose so little land of so little value?”
“The value is irrelevant,” snarled Culich. “It’s the principle!”
“With all your worries about what’s happening with the Narthani and the Selfcell and Eywell clans, is this issue with Moreland important enough to divert attention at the All-Clan Conclave next month? If the two of you get into a shouting match, what effect will this have when you try to convince the other hetmen of the Narthani danger?”
Culich flushed. “When I want your opinion on how to serve the clan, I’ll ask you!” he ground out.
Maera didn’t respond, sitting with hands folded in her lap, a serene face waiting. He glared back. Neither spoke for several minutes until Culich’s ire faded, and he sat back with a deep breath. Another minute passed, along with longer breaths by Culich.
He cleared his throat. “Uh . . . I’m sorry I snapped at you, Maera. I shouldn’t have said what I did. You know I value your thoughts. It’s just that damned Gynfor Moreland and his two sons. The Word tells us not to judge, but I’m afraid I fail when it comes to them.”
“All of the Moreland family?” Maera chided.
“All right, all right. Most of them. I make an exception for Anarynd Moreland.”
A smile warmed Maera’s face, both at the thought of Ana and at being right that bringing up Ana’s name would soften her father’s mood. It had taken him some time to accept that his daughter’s best friend was a Moreland, albeit from a minor collateral branch of the Moreland Hetman’s family, and longer still before he would admit that he actually liked the girl, even if she was a Moreland.
“And you’re right to caution about arguing too much about a worthless piece of land when there are more urgent issues. Still . . . it would gall me no end to agree to let Gynfor Moreland take even an inch of Keelan land.”
Maera smiled again, the curl of her lips and lilt in her eyes alerting her father she had something devious to add. Which she did. “In looking at old records, I found the offending stream has changed course numerous times over the last century. In fact, it changes course about every ten to twenty years and usually runs two miles north.”
“North?” Culich echoed, his thoughts churning over the new piece of information. “That . . . that means . . . ” His face crinkled with a smile and a narrowing of eyes, as he looked at his daughter. “If I agree to cede this little piece of worthless land now, then the next time the stream shifts north, Moreland will face this precedent of taking the stream bed as the boundary.”
The twinkle in Maera’s eyes was unmistakable. “And unless I am wrong, the land to the north is good farmland.”
The hetman sat back in his chair and roared with laughter. “Oh, Merciful God!” he choked out. “May I and Gynfor Moreland still be alive when it happens!”
***
Culich recollected that day and how much he depended on Maera. A secret Culich shared only with his wife, Breda, was that often Maera gave as many useful comments as all of his advisors and boyermen. Not always better advice, but from a different perspective and with broader views of many issues. Culich often rued she hadn’t been born a son. What a hetman she would have made! he thought many a time. However, traditions were that the hetman was a man—not a hetwoman. That Culich and his wife, Breda, didn’t have sons was a point of potential conflict within any clan. Ascendency struggles and even intra-clan feuds and savage fighting had happened too often in Caedellium history.
Clan Keelan avoided such problems by careful plans laying out paths of succession. No one doubted the four daughters of Culich and Breda Keelan would produce grandsons. From these, Culich would anoint a successor. Fortunately for Clan Keelan, their custom didn’t follow strict primogeniture, as did some clans—a custom too often leading to mediocre hetmen, since being firstborn was no criterion for ability. For every truly qualified firstborn successor, there were those either incompetent or even disastrous. For Clan Keelan, Culich would see to the training of all of the grandsons and choose the one he believed most qualified to be the next hetman. Although the boyermen had to confirm the choice, only one recorded case of a rejection was quickly followed by acceptance of the hetman’s second choice among fourteen grandsons.
Culich and everyone who knew Maera assumed one of her sons would become the next hetman. The flaw in this assumption was her not yet having married. Although frowned upon, children outside of formal marriage were not uncommon—but not for a hetman’s family. The need to maintain security of succession lines and minimize clan and inter-clan political complications was paramount. Normally, the daughter of a hetman, particularly of a clan as prominent as Keelan, would have numerous suitor options with appropriate political advantages to the clan. Maera understood her duty and from an early age assumed her
eventual marriage would be managed for the good of their people. Her father wouldn’t force a marriage she objected to, but she knew and accepted her obligations . . . at least intellectually. What she felt in her heart of hearts not even her parents were sure of, since she held close her innermost feelings.
Whatever those feelings, Maera played her assigned role, to a degree. However, she herself was an impediment to finding a suitable marriage. A number of potential candidates, sons of other hetmen, boyermen, even a few from families wealthy enough to tempt drawing into connections to the hetman line had come and gone. In spite of the advantages of marrying one of their scions into the hetman’s family and perhaps producing a son who might become hetman himself, it often took only a single meeting with Maera to dissuade suitors. Not that she was uncomely. She was of medium height with a slender feminine form, lustrous brown hair, a natural grace, and a warm personality, when she showed it. It was that qualification that was a problem, since that warmth was not displayed as often as Culich would have liked, especially with suitors. Word came to Culich more than once of potential suitors returning home to report that the Keelan Hetman’s oldest daughter was disrespectful, was condescending, and had a smart mouth. Compounding the problem was that they weren’t completely wrong. She was smarter than any of them and knew it, and so did they. Despite her efforts, it didn’t take long for the men to realize she was their intellectual superior and a woman not able or willing to keep opinions to herself. For those potential suitors she might have liked well enough, it became a familiar pattern: initial interest faded to uneasiness, to coolness, and, finally, to a polite regret they had to leave so soon and how nice it was to meet her. They were never heard from again.
Those were the best cases. There were also men too oblivious to recognize that Maera was not overawed by their masculinity or family station, or they thought the marriage decision was theirs alone. Several had escaped, figuratively, with their lives.
There had been no suitors now for six months. Culich hadn’t pressed Maera, given the history, and in spite of himself he depended more and more on her help. He hadn’t yet shared one troubling thought, not even with his wife, but he wondered if Maera would ever marry. There was no denying—she was different. He blamed himself to a degree. She had always been a precocious child. He had gained satisfaction out of having produced her, and his indulgences had fed her independence. He consoled himself that maybe neither he nor Maera had had a choice. Maybe Maera turned out to be who God intended. He had three other daughters, the next oldest coming to an appropriate age for the first suitors. There would be grandsons, even if not from his eldest child.
A polite feminine cough from behind him interrupted Culich’s reverie. His attention riveted back to the eleven men at the table looking at him, waiting for him to say . . . what?
Oh yes, first the routine matters before we get to the Narthani.
He cleared his throat and turned in his chair toward Maera, holding out a hand to receive two sheets of paper. “As usual, let’s review the last meeting.”
In the next hour the men summarized the results of action they were to have taken, then moved on to new items: reviews of crop status, sightings of larger predators shadowing herds of horses (three boyermen from the region agreed to coordinate hunting parties), a landslide blocking the mountain pass to Dornfeld Province for a sixday (dug out from both ends), a renewed request from the Elwyin boyerman for help in building a new abbey complex for their growing population (granted), a missing family from a farm in Wycoff (fruitless intensive search and no answer to what happened), the announcement of an agreed-on marriage of a daughter of Boyerman Funvir to a Hewell Province boyerman’s family—on and on, for the next two hours.
Culich’s attention drifted as the meeting moved into less pressing items, when once again he was aware of silence. He glanced down at the agenda Maera had outlined and saw that his finger rested on the last item. Oh yes, finally to the Narthani.
“As you all know, Boyerman Dornfeld sent a report that one of his fishing boats came on a new Narthani fleet heading to Preddi City. The fishermen ran for our coast, but from their descriptions, the Narthani ships included both warships and cargo vessels. At least some of the vessels had decks crowded with armed men. I’m afraid we must assume the Narthani brought in even more fighting men.”
The men shifted uneasily in their chairs and murmured to themselves and one another. Tilston of the Brums District spoke first. “If they are fighting men, do we have any idea if they intend staying? Maybe they’re just passing through. Perhaps re-provisioning for a further voyage.”
“Possible,” said a dubious Culich, “though we should assume not. As the Word says, ‘Plan for hard times and not the best.’ I believe we must assume the Narthani made a permanent increase to their forces here on Caedellium.”
“To what purpose?” queried Boyerman Lanthan of the Elwin District. Lanthan already knew Culich’s answer. He was one of the boyermen who equally shared Culich’s fears about the future intentions of the Narthani.
“Since they have an iron grip on Preddi, and since Selfcell and Eywell seem firmly under their control, we have to continue to consider the possibility the Narthani aren’t satisfied with the part of Caedellium they now control. While there’s so far been no sign of Narthani action against other clans, we need to be alert to the danger. I’ll continue to discuss this with the other hetmen at every opportunity.
“I’ve asked Vortig Luwis to make another assessment of the clan’s strength and to make plans for increased patrols of our northern border with Eywell. He’ll report back to us at a future meeting. For now, you all need to be sure of weapons preparation and that every able-bodied man knows how to use them. I know both weapons practice and the patrols take the men away from their work, so do the best you can.”
The meeting continued for another two hours, with midday meal served in the room. There were no other major decisions made, but the time allowed every boyerman, representative, and aide to express himself and be listened to, such that by the time the meeting adjourned, all attendees understood the clan’s future intentions and were satisfied their own views had been heard.
With the formal conclusion of the meeting, Culich mingled with the other men as they prepared to depart for home, while Kennrick, Luwis, and Maera went over her notes, from which she would prepare the written account of the meeting. Culich was about to leave when he noticed Boyerman Arwin sitting and looking his way.
God’s curse on it! I forgot about Belman.
He stopped and berated himself for using God’s name in such a manner. Chastised and forgiving himself, he approached the instigator to see what he had to say for himself. In a way, it was a relief to deal with something as irritating as Arwin. At least, it was a problem he could deal with, whereas the Narthani might need a miracle from God to solve.
Chapter 14: The Snarling Graeko
Yozef’s plan to find ways to use his chemistry knowledge without getting in trouble gave him a focus, but no solution. A sixday later, he still groped for a practical first introduction. His being pleased with himself to have a plan—any plan—was fading on the evening he looked forward to a session at the Snarling Graeko. He hadn’t the faintest clue what a graeko was or why it should be snarling. The sign hanging in front of the pub depicted a creature resembling a cross between a warthog and a hyena. Carnigan had never seen one, didn’t know anyone who had ever seen one, and didn’t know whether they were real or mythical. All Carnigan knew was the pub had the best beer.
Carnigan always went straight to the same corner table. If the table was occupied, it always became available on Carnigan’s approach, the current occupants suddenly finding another table more to their liking.
When Yozef first came to the pub with Carnigan, the two of them drank alone, but over time, a few regular customers joined them, as if seeing that Yozef had survived had emboldened them. On this night that everything changed for Yozef, they were joined by two other r
egulars, and by the second beer, the three Caedelli told Anyar jokes, some of which Yozef had already heard before, sometimes more than once, sometimes so many times he could have told them from memory. One advantage of the strength of Caedellium beer was that by the second stein, even an old joke was hilarious. Yozef figured he got about a third of the jokes, understood the references but didn’t get the humor about another third, and had no clue why the other third were amusing.
The three Caedelli started their third stein to Yozef’s nursing of his second, when Filtin Fuller, a cheerful man in his mid-twenties sitting next to Yozef, decided it was the turn of the newcomer to contribute.
“Yozef, it’s your turn! We’ve never heard jokes or stories from you. Since you aren’t from Caedellium, you must have new ones. Let’s hear some!”
“Good idea,” declared Carnigan, with a mighty fist to the tabletop. “Let’s hear something, Yozef.”
Yozef sat frozen for a few seconds before Carnigan urged him again. Jokes? He wasn’t good at remembering jokes. And what would be a joke here? It couldn’t have any Earth references, and what he knew about the local style of humor wasn’t encouraging. What if he told a joke that turned out to be offensive? Yet this wasn’t an interview for a guest spot on the Tonight Show. Most likely, what would happen was that with the ones he remembered, they either wouldn’t get them or wouldn’t think they were funny.
Cast Under an Alien Sun (Destiny's Crucible) Page 14
