My Father's Swords (Warriors, Heroes, and Demons Book 1)

by Dave Skinner

  “Good, your fever has broken. You had us worried for a bit. I imagine you would like some water and maybe a little soup?”

  Bray considered how his body felt and realized both of those items would be welcome. He tried to answer her question, but he only managed a squeak like a mouse. He heard the child giggle. The woman gave her a disapproving look as she reached over Bray’s head. Her hand, when it reappeared held a clay cup. She lifted his head slightly with one hand and gave him a drink. The water was cool, not cold, but he felt it spread through his body. It was the best water he had ever tasted. He tried to gulp more, but the woman took it away.

  “Not too much at first. You may have more in a while.”

  She must have expected Bray to answer because she suddenly looked concerned.

  “You do understand what I am saying, right?”

  Bray managed a ‘yes’ this time.

  “Oh good, T’Waycan said you would probably understand the common tongue. Let us see if you can sit up, and then I will get you some soup, if you like.”

  “That would be wonderful, thank you,” he croaked.

  Working carefully, the woman lifted him into a sitting position while pushing a pillow behind his back. Bray tried to help, but his right shoulder burst into pain. He hid the discomfort as best he could.

  While the woman went for the promised soup, Bray considered his body. He had been aware of only a dull irritating ache in his injured shoulder until he had tried to use it. Attempting to sit up had brought on severe pain. There was another problem in his right thigh. He seemed to remember taking a wound there too. His calf muscles were sore, as were his back and arm muscles. There were also a number of tender spots from the flat of the Tawshe’s blade but, all in all, his wounds were not bad, and he was alive.

  From the bed he could see the woman stirring the contents of a large black pot that was suspended above coals in the prominent stone fireplace. He glanced around while he waited. He would refer to this place as a cottage. The main area consisted of one large room that seemed to serve as a kitchen, eating space, and meeting room. The fireplace stood alone. There were two cupboards, one to each side of it, a large table, the workbench, and a number of chairs took up much of the floor space. One small child-sized chair stood beside the hearth. He was in a small afterthought area off the main room. Its size and the low ceiling suggested a loft above and perhaps a bedroom beside. All the wood he could see showed a depth of colour that suggested years of care and use except for the tops of the large table and workbench. They were bleached almost white.

  The woman returned with the soup. Bray found that he could eat reasonably well with his left hand if he was careful. As he ate she talked.

  “My name is Ta’Kat and this is my daughter Ta’Lee.” She sat and waited until Bray realized what she wanted.

  “My name is Bray of Nadia. Thank you for saving my life,” he responded between mouthfuls of soup. It was a very good soup. Small pieces of meat were mixed into a spiced broth made thick with a soft grain. The aroma rose to his nostrils and made his stomach grumble.

  “And thank you for what you did at the meadow. It was a noble deed.”

  Bray worked on the soup trying to figure out what to say. He thought it best not to offend this woman. She had to be Tawshe, and there were all sorts of ways he could break some tradition or taboo he did not understand. Something that could see his recovery stopped by a slice across his throat. He could not help but notice the hunting knife hanging from her belt. He had to tread softly.

  “You speak the common tongue,” he stated.

  “Yes. We all learn to speak it, although some of us,” she looked at her daughter, “do not practice as much as they should.”

  “I speak it better than the other children my age. Practicing with them is not helpful.”

  “This soup is very tasty,” Bray said.

  “Thank you, it is venison with barley. It contains some of the herbs we were gathering when you happened on us. Do they make barley soup in Nadia?”

  “I suppose they do, but my grandfather is not fond of soup. He prefers meat and tubers, so they are usually served at dinner.”

  “Your grandfather lives with your family?”

  “Yes, but he would be offended to hear it put that way. My family and my uncle’s family all live together with my grandfather.”

  “It must be a big house,” she prompted.

  “It is the palace,” Bray informed her, “and I must get a message to them.”

  “You can speak with T’Waycan about that. He should be here shortly.”

  Bray had a hint that she was avoiding that subject, but he could wait. No point in pushing her. There were still so many unknowns.

  “You will be living here with us,” she informed him. “My son T’Shawn is around your age, I believe. How many years are you?”

  “I was eight years on my last birthday celebration.”

  “T’Shawn is two years older. He was ten on his last birthday.”

  “I’m three,” Bray heard Ta’Lee say from behind his head.

  Bray’s face reflected the smile that showed on Ta’Kat’s face. “I thought you were much older than that, Ta’Lee,” Bray said.

  “Probably because I am so smart,” the child responded. “And you can call me Lee. The use of my formal name is not necessary.”

  Ta’Kat explained when she saw Bray’s puzzlement. ‘Ta’ is a formal prefix for female names. ‘T’ is the male prefix. They are used to introduce someone, or to show respect, like in a formal situation. For everyday conversations they are ignored.”

  There was a knocking at the door. “That will be T’Waycan,” Kat said as she stood.

  Bray was surprised by T’Waycan’s appearance. Ta’Kat’s attitude had suggested a person in a position of respect and responsibility. Based on Nadian standards, Bray anticipated an older man gowned in a rich robe covered in symbols depicting his station and position. None of the characteristics Bray expected were present in the newcomer. T’Waycan looked more like a warrior than an advisor. His wild, unruly hair was the first thing Bray noticed. Brown, with grey showing at the temples and to a lesser degree salted over the whole head, it stood out from his scalp as if each hair exhibited distaste for its neighbours. It immediately curled the corners of Bray’s mouth.

  T’Waycan was dressed in leather leggings, a light yellow cloth blouse, which hung freely from his broad shoulders, and calf-high, black, leather boots. His face was clean shaven, his skin weathered and deeply tanned. His grey eyes were his strangest feature. They were open as if in surprise, giving the impression of interest and intelligence, which meshed easily with the air of strength and vitality he exuded.

  Ta’Kat made a formal introduction. “T’Waycan, may I present Bray of Nadia. Bray, this is T’Waycan, our village shaman.” T’Waycan laughed. It was obviously something he did often and easily.

  “Hello Bray, how are you feeling?” he said in Nadian. “Do your wounds hurt?”

  “Only if I try to move,” Bray replied.

  “Then by all means you should lie quietly. Tomorrow will be soon enough to get you up and moving, but even then it will be a month or more before you are ready to attend school.”

  “My family will send someone to take me home. I think I will not be here long enough to attend school,” Bray informed him. “Was word sent to Nadia that I am here?”

  “No, and no word will be sent. You will be here until you become a man at eighteen years. That condition was negotiated for you by Kat in order to save your life. You see, intruders do not leave Tawshe land. Most are killed immediately. You are being offered a chance at life because of your actions in the meadow.”

  Bray felt his face stiffen as he digested the man’s words. “A chance at life?”

  “Yes, a chance. Tawshe life is demanding. Not everyone who starts on the journey survives the training, and you will be trained as a Tawshe along with our own. If you prove
to be a trueone, when you are tested at your manhood celebration, you will be a fully trained and educated Tawshe. Free to choose how and where you live your life.”

  Bray’s mind refused to understand what Waycan was saying. It stumbled over the fact that his life was being laid out before him on a path of someone else’s choosing. They want to make me a Tawshe, but I am Nadian. I will always be Nadian. And Nadians are much more than forest dwellers. But this man with his friendly, smiling face was telling him he was a prisoner, unable to leave, a prisoner who would be treated like family and trained to their lifestyle. Bray’s thoughts and T’Waycan’s words crashed and tumbled around in his head.

  T’Waycan just sat and stared as if expecting him to say something. Finally a single term broke free from the turmoil. “Trueone … what is a trueone?”

  T’Waycan’s expression changed. Once more he was the honest, friendly man who had come through the door. “A trueone is what we all are, Bray, every adult member of the Tawshe is a trueone. It is a term that applies to all Tawshe who have completed their celebration of maturity which occurs in their eighteenth year. All Tawshe children are educated and trained to become trueones, as you will be.”

  T’Waycan turned away from Bray. “Kat, those books I sent over for Lee, I will send a second set for Bray. He has to understand their teachings before he enters training. I will visit as often as possible to review the material with him, but make sure he reads continually. No breaks, he must study. He is going to have a hard enough time as it is. There will be no hope of ever fitting in if his knowledge of our lifestyle is less than that of a Tawshe child half his age. He only has a month to cover the equivalent of what is learned in four years by a Tawshe child.

  ***

  “Try standing up on your own,” Waycan suggested.

  Bray managed without help. The smile on Waycan’s face was infectious.

  “Well done. How do the wounds feel today?”

  “My leg has much less pain, but my shoulder still hurts when I try to use my arm.”

  “The wounds are clean with no infection and are healing nicely. Give the shoulder time. It will be back to normal soon.”

  Waycan was speaking Tawshe and Bray was having no trouble understanding him. The days had passed slowly while his wounds were fresh. The books from Waycan had arrived as promised. They were stories the Tawshe used to educate children in proper behaviour. For Bray they were also used to start learning the Tawshe language.

  Each morning he was helped outside to a chair located at the front corner of the house where a large maple tree offered shade in the afternoon. Before noon the chair was warmed by the spring sunshine. Lee sat with him during the mornings, and together they worked their way through the books. The Tawshe language was like a dialect of the common tongue with some similarities to the Nadian language as well. Languages were something he had studied as a Nadian prince. He had little problem mastering this new one.

  This day Waycan helped him to walk a little way around the village. They made it to the central square where they stopped for water at the well. The Tawshe village was primitive compared to Nadia. Instead of the stone buildings and walkways he was used to, the streets were dirt, and the houses were constructed mostly of wood. Some were framed with vertical logs that had been trimmed square. These had a clay mortar between the framing, applied over thin, woven, saplings. There were quite a few houses making up the village, and they spread out from the central square in all directions.

  “Where do you live, Waycan?”

  “I live at the school which is that way.” He indicated the direction of the rising sun. “All Tawshe schools are located towards the rising sun. It is tradition. It is also tradition to have all craft houses and houses for visitors located near to it.”

  “Do you get that many visitors?” Bray was thinking about the fact that he was not allowed to leave Tawshe land, and that most strangers were killed before they ever saw the village.

  “I am referring to Tawshe visitors. Our people travel extensively all around the inland lakes, mostly in caravans, sometimes individually, or in pairs.”

  “But I thought you wanted to isolate yourselves from everyone else. The stories I heard said you kill anyone who ventures onto your lands.”

  “That is done to keep our secret. You see Bray, the Tawshe are the people everyone refers to as Travellers or Gypsies. That is the secret we keep.”

  Bray was stunned by Waycan’s admission. Travellers were everywhere. They were tinkers, healers, merchants, crafters, and entertainers. Everyone accepted them, and no one knew they were the Tawshe. It was a massive secret, but was it worth killing for?

  “Why not just tell people that the Tawshe are also the Travellers. Why keep it a secret?”

  “Because we are information brokers. If people knew that the Travellers were gathers of information, they would decline to share their stories.”

  “Do you mean that the Travellers are spies?”

  “We prefer the term information brokers, but spy is basically correct.”

  “Do you know who the pirates are that attacked our ship?” Bray asked.

  “No, there has been some speculation about the missing ships around the Chimney Islands, but nothing definitive has come to our ears. Why do you ask?”

  “My father made me promise to return his swords to our family if I survived him. Nadian swords are special.”

  “Yes, I know. Be assured, we are already looking into the circumstances. I will inform you if I learn anything.”

  Chapter 9

  Bray was concentrating on walking without a limp. It was working. He had been walking farther each day, and his leg injury had not bothered him as much in the last few days, although his shoulder still pained him when he overused his arm. Waycan had pronounced him fit enough and educated enough to join a class of his peers. He would start tomorrow, and he admitted that he looked forward to it. The inactivity of the past month while he healed had quickly become tiresome, and if his new half-brother, T’Shawn, was an indicator of how he would be accepted, his future among the Tawshe was promising.

  Shawn was two years his senior, but they had bonded quickly. Shawn was someone he could talk to about anything, despite their age difference, and Shawn’s quick smile made him easy to talk to. He was also direct. The first day they met, he had told Bray what he expected of him. It was simple.

  “Treat my mother and sister with respect. Protect them as if they were your blood family, and I will treat you accordingly. Cause any harm to either and I will see you dead.”

  “Your mother saved my life, Shawn,” Bray had told him. “I will protect your family with my own.”

  “She believes you already have. She insists that you could have followed her into the woods and left it to the Mother to decide her and Lee’s fate, but instead you chose to stop and fight. She claims you showed honour and courage.”

  Bray did not answer. A Nadian would never speak of his own bravery, if that was what his actions were. He had reserved judgment of himself, not sure if a moment’s decision was in fact bravery. In his mind he had been brave while waiting for the pirates to attack again. He had plenty of time to think about what was about to occur then, but alternatives to waiting had not been present. Was it bravery when no other possibility existed? He could not answer. He held his words back.

  His walk took him past the small farms outside the town. He could hear the squealing of pigs and smell their waste. The road led into the woods and swung towards the school. He might make it that far today, as his leg was free of pain. He had traveled a few bow shots past a fork in the road when he heard the tramp of running feet coming from behind. The road was wide enough for a cart, but he stopped at the side to let the runners pass.

  He saw them come around a curve in the road. His new brother was running third behind the leader. This must be Shawn’s class, the one immediately above the class Bray would enter tomorrow. They were closing quickly, the lea
der setting a brisk pace, and Bray understood immediately that this boy was always the leader. To see him was to recognize he who stood out from the crowd. The word hero came to Bray’s mind unbidden. I hope we will be friends, he thought and then dropped his eyes as he recognized the longing that went along with that thought. He started to raise his eyes as someone slammed into his body.

  Bray was flung off the road into the bushes. Pain erupted from the site of his shoulder injury and from his back as he crashed into the brush, but the laughter from the boys hurt more. In moments they were past and then Shawn was helping him to stand.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Winded,” Bray answered. “Was I in the way?”

  “No, there was lots of space to get by. That was Ran’s way of saying hello. He believes, as his father does, that you should not have been allowed to live.”

  * * *

  “Nervous?” Shawn asked.

  “Yes. I was looking forward to starting school until yesterday. Getting knocked off the pathway has awoken some concerns,” Bray said. “Is every one of the same mind as this T’Ran person?”

  “I wish I could tell you it is only Ran, but there are many who side with him and his father. More than the number who side with my mother, but remember, you’re not in the same class as Ran and I. You’ll be mostly with people of your own age group, and when you are with us for arms training and physical conditioning I’ll be there also. I’ll watch your back.”

  “Thanks, Shawn. I appreciate it. Where do I go?”

  They had reached the school area which consisted of a double-hand count of cabin-sized buildings arranged in a circle around a well-used training yard. A few spots of hardy grasses could be seen amidst the hard-packed earth that covered the ground, most of it close to equipment used for physical training where tramping feet could not deviate from set paths. Some of the buildings flew small flags showing numbers which ranged from one to six.