The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2)

by Olan Thorensen

  “I remember visiting one of my mother’s relatives several times when I was young. They lived near the sea, and they would take my cousins and me to a beach. The adults would sit under shade and talk about adult topics, while the kids played in the sand and the water. I always wondered why the adults didn’t come and play, too, because it was more fun than sitting and talking. Even now, I wonder whether children don’t have a deeper insight sometimes than adults.”

  Maera smiled. “I also remember that age. Several times a year, we’d travel to a shore. I loved to take off my shoes and run in the surf.” Her voice was gentle, as she retrieved a fond memory.

  “Here’s your chance, Maera. We have enough time, and who knows what the surf will be like on the way back?”

  “My chance?”

  “To run in the surf again.”

  “I was a child then,” Maera protested.

  “What? You’re too stuffy now as an adult to have fun?”

  Maera glared at Yozef, who stared back unrepentant. Seeing he was unimpressed by her glare, she finally sighed. “All right, so maybe it does sound appealing. And I’m not stuffy.”

  Carnigan grunted ahead of them.

  “I heard that, Carnigan Puvey! I am not stuffy.”

  When there was no response from Carnigan, she asked, “Well, am I?” a little plaintively.

  “You’re stuffy,” asserted their chaperone.

  Maera harrumphed, then was silent for a few moments.

  “Well, I don’t think I’m stuffy. But Yozef’s right. If here’s an opportunity to walk in the surf and I don’t take it, then maybe I will have to reconsider my stuffihood.”

  She laughed, reined in, stepped off the saddle, and gave the horse to Carnigan, who had followed her in dismounting and accepted the reins with a quizzical expression. Maera walked out toward the water into shallow waves running up the beach. When the first push of water reached her, she skidded back until the water slowed and stopped. She reached down, slipped off her shoes and stockings, and carried them farther away from the water to a washed-up log. She returned to the water, but this time let the water sweep past her, holding up the robe to avoid getting it wet—a futile attempt, since by the fourth wave she spent most of her time holding up its soaked bottom.

  Several unladylike exclamations erupted, followed by, “Well, curse it all! If I’m going to do this, I might as well do it properly!” She gave Yozef and Carnigan a threatening glare. “If you tell anyone about this, you’ll wish the Narthani had gotten hold of you!”

  She raced back to the log and shucked off the robe, then folded it into a quick ball and ran back to the water. Yozef whistled softly, while Carnigan raised an eyebrow and smothered a laugh, almost. Under the robe, she wore a short printed dress more decorative than usual for Caedellium women and probably expensive enough to explain why similar garments were not common. The print depicted large colored flowers against an off-white background. Maera walked into the water, out to where it washed halfway up her calves.

  Nice legs, Yozef observed to himself, still sitting on his horse.

  “Why are you still sitting there like some statue?” huffed Carnigan, who tilted his head in Maera’s direction.

  Yozef grinned. “Good point.” He dismounted and handed his reins to Carnigan, who walked the three horses farther away from the water to a grove of trees, where he could tie them up, sit in the shade, and watch the children.

  Yozef shed his boots and socks, rolled up his pant legs, and walked after Maera. She was fifty yards away and obviously enjoying the moment. Yozef hesitated to interrupt, so got to within twenty yards and simply followed her. One larger wave surprised her, and she gave a squeal of delight as she raced away from it. When she turned back to the water, she saw Yozef following for the first time. She froze for a second, then relaxed.

  “Oh, Yozef, I haven’t done this for ever so long. Appropriate or not, I should thank you for the prompting, even if I am stuffy.”

  “I think you just occasionally forget to simply have fun.”

  Her bright manner faded. “I think you’re right. It’s just that there always seems to be something serious weighing on me every moment.”

  “Life is full of serious moments, but I don’t believe God wants us to forget the moments of joy and pleasure. One of our philosophers believed that pain and joy were complementary and that without both you couldn’t understand either.”

  Maera furrowed her brow and rubbed the back of her neck. “I can see the argument. No matter what, there should always be time for joy and hope. Otherwise, what’s the purpose of it all?”

  They walked side by side along the beach, talking like close acquaintances, though not touching. At the end of the beach, they turned and walked toward where Carnigan sat against a tree, dozing.

  “So much for our guard,” chuckled Maera.

  “I imagine if anything happened, Carnigan would be on the spot before you might think.”

  “He’s an imposing figure. I didn’t know men came that large, until I saw him the first time.”

  “When was that?” asked Yozef, as they reached the log and their shoes.

  “Three years ago, if I remember correctly,” she answered, brushing off her feet and donning her shoes. “It’s not clear to me what his exact role is at the abbey. He’s not a member of any of the orders. I asked Abbot Sistian, but he was evasive. I suspect he’s a probationer.”

  “A probationer?” Asked Yozef.

  “A person who has committed some deed that got him in front of a magisterial court and is sentenced to the custody of someone to watch him, until the court or the custodian determines he can either resume normal Caedellium life or be banished from the island. I suspect the abbot is the custodian, so whatever Carnigan did must have been serious.”

  “Somehow, I can’t see Carnigan doing anything to get into that much trouble. He’s one of the nicest persons I’ve ever met.”

  “Carnigan Puvey? Nice!? Everyone’s afraid of him!”

  “Just because people are afraid of him doesn’t mean there’s any reason to be.”

  She glanced at Yozef quickly, then back to her shoes. Yozef was one of the smartest people she’d ever met, though he hid it behind general affability. She also suspected he was one of the deepest persons, though she had no idea what was in those depths. If he thought Carnigan was “nice,” maybe she should take a closer at his huge friend.

  They walked to Carnigan and the horses, woke the man, and mounted, after Maera pulled a smock from her bag and tied the robe to the back of the saddle. They rode another mile to a cliff cutting off the beach, led the horses up a half-hidden game trail to the top of the bluff, and left Carnigan and the horses. Off they went, Yozef carrying a backpack and Maera a smaller bag she’d pulled from her larger one. It took another hour to reach Yozef’s special place. As they crested a hill, the sun shone straight up at high noon. The sky was still clear, except for the scattered clouds, and they heard only their footsteps and breathing, the slight whisper of wind across their ears, and occasional nearby avian calls.

  They stood on the crest for several minutes. For Yozef, it was his third visit, but was Maera’s first. Though the bloom was past peak, Maera took in the scene, amazed. A stream meandered through the valley floor and scattered jacaranda trees, with golden poppies not quite carpeting the valley floor. The sandy soil was perfect for the poppies, as long as there was sufficient rain, which there had been more than enough of this year. The only difference on this trip was a native white flower now interspersed with the poppies.

  They walked down the hill, stepping on and through carpets of gold and white flowers. Maera initially attempted to avoid stepping on them but soon gave up and strode through them, copying Yozef. At the floor of the valley, they picked a spot near the stream and under one of the more impressive trees, with a trunk three feet across and branches spread so wide the canopy width was greater than the tree height. As with all jacarandas, the foliage was sparse, so that even
with a tree of this size, the filtered light danced beneath it, as the leaves moved in the breeze.

  Yozef pulled a thick linen cloth out of his pack and started to spread it on the ground. Maera hastened to the other end, and they laid it out, so Yozef could set the pack on it and begin pulling out the mid-day meal.

  “You said your people call this a ‘picnic’? Why is there a separate name?”

  “Most meals are more formal affairs, even if the food is plain and little of it. A picnic is when you eat outdoors and usually in a family or group setting. It’s considered a fun thing to do, and the typical foods on a picnic also make it a little different.”

  Not having fried chicken, potato salad, and watermelon on hand, Yozef had improvised with what was available. A roll of hard sausage, hunks of three different cheeses, olives, a loaf of dark bread baked that morning, large green grapes, a hunk of sweetbread, and a flagon of grape wine that would have scandalized his wine-snobbish father—the latter he assumed was made from descendants of wild North American grapes, because the wine had the musty essence called foxy.

  They sat on the linen, nibbled on the food, sipped the sweet wine, and simply talked as two acquaintances with no other references to the outside world. Two hours passed. Normally, she wasn’t a prodigious eater, but today Maera’s appetite surprised her.

  They talked about her family, his family, his efforts to adjust to Caedellium and accepting he would probably never see his family again, and her frustrations at the limited roles of women, a topic she had seldom spoken of with anyone, particularly men.

  “I can see it would be difficult here for women of your intelligence,” Yozef remarked.

  She eyed him pointedly. “You think I’m intelligent?”

  “Maera,” he chided, “anyone but an idiot could tell you’re one smart cookie.”

  “Cookie?”

  “Sorry. A phrase from home. Think of it as saying you’re one of the smarter people around.”

  Maera flushed, not from embarrassment, but from appreciation. “Yozef, that’s the first time in my life that anyone besides my parents has directly said that to me.”

  “I’m sorry if this offends you, but your people are backward . . . some would say stupid . . . not to acknowledge women of ability.”

  “I’m not offended, although I’d caution you to say such things carefully. Our customs are old and mean well, but we’re only slowly allowing women more roles—Keelan more than many clans. I take it, then, that your people have different customs?”

  “Some different and some similar. After all, we’re all humans with the same needs and wants, even we if try to fulfill them in different ways. My people believe that there’s nothing a woman should be restricted from doing, if she has the ability and desire. Anything less means that society is deliberately losing all of the contributions women could make.”

  “But men and women are not the same,” Maera said. “There are roles that one fills that the other cannot. No man is going to bear and birth children. And men are generally much stronger and do the heaviest work and fighting.”

  “Having different roles doesn’t require predetermined limitations. A woman can have children and still fill an important role outside the family, at least at some time in her life. It should also be the decision of the woman what roles she wants to fill. If it’s her wish to be a traditional wife and mother, then fine. However, it should also be fine even if she doesn’t want to marry or have children.”

  “Not marry and no children!” exclaimed Maera. “Then what is she? Who is she?”

  “I am not saying it’s a good thing or bad, only that it should be her choice and not forced on her.”

  “Although I appreciate what you are saying, things aren’t that way here on Caedellium. While I would wish more opportunities for myself, I still want children and a family.”

  Yozef patted her hand sympathetically. “It must be terribly hard for you. Most people would imagine an attractive hetman’s daughter would have everything she could desire and suitors beating down the doors. I’d hate to imagine you hiding who you are to fit roles not of your own choosing.”

  Maera, to her astonishment, found herself tearing up. It was the first time anyone in her life had come close to understanding how out of place she felt and the conflict between being who she was and who she was supposed to be. She placed her other hand on Yozef’s briefly, then withdrew it and tried to change the subject.

  “These cheeses are a specialty of the district. The brownish one doesn’t look good, but put a piece on your tongue and just let it sit there until all the flavors come out.” She reached past him for the cheese and came within a few inches of his face. He put a hand on her shoulder, making her stop and meet his eyes. Maybe it was the wine, the food, the perfect setting, or exposing themselves in the last few hours, but he drew her to him and kissed her.

  She was startled and drew back slightly. When she didn’t draw back farther, Yozef pulled her to him again and they, not just he, kissed. Their lips massaged each other, first pressing urgently, then softly, then moving over each other’s lips. Her breathing deepened, as he drew her tighter until they pressed together from waist up. A hand that had been stroking her back moved slowly across her side to a breast. Maera jerked back suddenly and jumped to her feet.

  Yozef looked up at her. Oh, shit, maybe that wasn’t a good idea.

  “I’m sorry, Maera. Please excuse me. I didn’t mean to offer offense.”

  She said nothing, her mind a vortex of conflicting thoughts and feelings. He’s sorry he kissed me? Should I be offended? I didn’t give him permission for the kiss. Am I sorry I pulled back? Does he think he has privileges with me, in spite of our difference in station? Does he like me? Do I like him? Was it offensive that he touched my breast? Why did it feel exciting when he did? What am I thinking, and how am I supposed to react?

  “It is getting late. We need to be back before Diera worries, and I still have packing to do.” With that, she began gathering up their picnic food.

  “Maera, please excuse me. I didn’t mean to offend you. Let’s talk about this.”

  “Time to go,” she only repeated and wouldn’t say another word, as they collected the remains of their picnic and walked back to Carnigan, who immediately sensed something was amiss. He scowled at Yozef, who answered with a shrug and a two-handed motion that indicated lack of knowledge. No one spoke during the entire ride back to the abbey.

  Chapter 11: Maera’s Dilemma

  Maera Leaves the Abbey

  Two days later, Maera left to return to Caernford. As arranged by her father, a carriage, a driver, and four outrider escorts had come to Abersford the previous day. She hadn’t seen Yozef since their excursion and wondered whether he would be present at the farewell. Considering all of the time they spent together, his absence would be noticed by the Beynoms.

  Her feelings about the events were confused. Should she be angry at him for effrontery? What would she say when they met again? She had no answers.

  Maera rose early and finished packing. She traveled light, not seeing a need for too large a wardrobe. She left with the same amount of baggage as on her arrival, balancing presents she had brought from her family to the Beynoms with gifts from the Beynoms to her family she was taking back. The other major item was her satchel with notes and diagrams, mainly details of the raid and pages of observations, much of which related to Yozef.

  After a final morning meal with the Beynoms, with baggage loaded on and in the carriage, she made her goodbyes. The parting party was small—the Beynoms, their two sons, several abbey brothers and sisters she had interacted with, and Yozef Kolsko, standing to one side.

  Diera hugged her firmly. “It was wonderful you could visit this long, child. We hope not as much time passes before we see you again.”

  “Same with me, Diera,” said Maera. “The next time Sistian travels to Caernford, you should come with him and stay awhile.”

  “I’d like that, but no pro
mises, since there never seems to be a time when there aren’t a thousand things here I need to do.”

  “Well, make the time. You’re the abbess. Take advantage of it once in a while,” Maera chided, then turned to Sistian.

  The abbot was still grumpy about how she’d slipped away without escorts or guards and then steadfastly declined to tell him what she had done that day.

  “I’m still angry at you,” he said in a tolerant tone, spoiled by smiling and enveloping her in his arms, her forehead buried in his beard.

  When she resurfaced, she whispered apologetically, “Sorry, Sistian, but occasionally you need to be someone else, even if for only part of a day.”

  She then turned to Yozef, who had edged his way forward, his face impassive.

  “A pleasant journey home, Sen Keelan.”

  “Thank you, Ser Kolsko. I enjoyed our conversations and will report to my father about all of your interesting projects.”

  The two using formal addresses had passed over the abbot’s head, but Diera’s eyes narrowed. Had she missed something here? They’d been on a first-name basis for the last several sixdays. It was curious.

  Maera made polite thanks and farewells to several others gathered by her carriage, then climbed through the carriage door held open by one of her escorts. He then remounted, and the party exited the main complex gate, turned left toward Abersford and the road junction leading to Clengoth, and on to Caernford farther inland.

  The farewell grouping in the courtyard dispersed to their regular lives, but it didn’t pass a now alert abbess that as Yozef walked back toward Abersford and his shops, he kept looking at the carriage party. Only when they were out of sight did he stop following their progress.

  Arriving Home

  The trip back to Caernford took one long day’s travel to cover the fifty miles. Normally, Maera would have spent the time alternately observing the countryside and attempting to read, despite the constant jostling on the dirt roads. Not this day. She causally noted passing terrain, but even when her head faced out the carriage windows, her mind was processing . . . something . . . that didn’t quite rise to full awareness. Whatever went on in her thoughts, she arrived at Keelan Manor as if only a few hours had passed, instead of the entire day.