The seller nodded vigorously at Sorial’s choice. “Very good. Very good.” He smiled and bobbed his head. Sorial didn’t miss the look of avarice that passed over his features. Perhaps all the thieves in the market didn’t operate by cutting purse strings. “Normally, I sell this for 25 brass studs but because you look like a nice boy and remind me of my son, I let you have it for a mere 18 studs.” His tongue flicked across his upper lip.
18 studs was more than Sorial had expected to pay for his gift, although there were enough coins in his pouch (barely) to meet the price. He thought it over briefly then, with a shrug, began counting the money. The vendor’s expression was a cross between disbelief and triumph. That’s when a high-pitched voice stopped him.
“Don’t you know anything? You’re not supposed to pay that. You have to haggle!” The tone was aggrieved, as if Sorial was committing an unpardonable sin. He turned to see who the affronted party was.
It was a girl, perhaps two years younger than him. By her clothing, impeccably tailored and made of fine material, Sorial could tell she came from a wealthy family. Her boots had lifts to keep the hem of her skirt from brushing the muddy ground. Something about her tickled his memory but he couldn't place her.
The girl giggled at his bemused reaction. Then he noticed her companion, who was as unforgettable as could be. Recognition dawned as he recalled their visit to The Wayfarer’s Comfort’s stable the previous Harvest, nearly a full year ago. The Lady Alicia had matured noticeably, mostly in good ways. Her features were more refined and her unbound golden hair was longer but the green eyes still flickered with a suppressed sense of mischief.
“You do know what haggling is, don’t you, stableboy?” she asked, her tone a blend of condescension and amusement.
He nodded dumbly. Of course he knew what haggling was; he just wasn’t sure how to do it, at least properly. Turning from Alicia, he looked back at the shopkeeper who was staring blackly at the girl.
“Sir,” began Sorial. “I believe that price is too high. Maybe if you lowered it…”
“Of course. I understand. Times are hard. You can’t blame a poor merchant for trying to get the full worth for such a beautiful piece. But you must know this bracelet belonged to my dear mother. (May the gods bless her departed soul.) It’s difficult for me to part with it. As your friend says, it’s traditional to argue over prices, but this is an unusual item. I couldn’t sell it for less than 17 studs.”
“17!” shouted Alicia, loud enough to be heard over the din. She elbowed her way next to Sorial. “17 for this shit! And I wager your mother (may the gods bless her departed soul) is resting at home not in a grave. He’ll give you nine, and not a stud more! Even that’s more than it’s worth.”
Sorial glanced at Alicia in surprise. She was waving her arms and stomping her tiny feet and her face was red with outrage.
The merchant appeared horrified. His mustache twitched and his ears wiggled. “Nine! My dear young miss, I couldn’t possibly part with this treasure for so little. I would be the laughingstock of the marketplace!”
“In that case, stableboy, I believe we should go elsewhere. I can guarantee another vendor will be able to give you better value for your studs than this usurer, who clearly drank too much during the festival and has yet to recover his wits.” She took his hand and began to pull him in another direction. Sorial didn’t know what to do. She was obviously comfortable in this element, but he wanted that bracelet for his mother.
“Wait! Wait!” called the vendor. “Don’t be hasty! I’m sure we can come to an arrangement!”
When the game was over, Sorial’s purse was lighter by 13 studs but he had made the purchase.
“That’s how it’s done,” said Alicia when she, Sorial, and Vagrum had retreated to a place where they could speak without having to shout. Using a coin provided by Alicia, Vagrum procured three skewers of venison cubes for them to snack on.
“You did that well.” Sorial was unsure how to respond. He knew she had saved him five studs, but he wasn’t sure why. “Thanks.”
Vagrum chuckled, his laugh a deep rumble. “It’s a hobby for her. Her father taught her, but the pupil has surpassed the teacher. She’s the best I’ve seen ’specially considering her age. All that shouting and stomping. You didn’t even get to see the tears. I almost feel sorry for the merchants she comes up against. I’d wager some of them lose money to her.”
Alicia beamed at the compliment.
“You remembered me?” asked Sorial.
“Of course. How many stableboys do you think I’ve met? Or do you imagine I spend all my time sitting on bales of hay in stinky places? You didn’t know me, though, at least at first. I saw that look. Am I that unmemorable?” She batted her eyelashes.
Sorial shrugged. He saw lots of people at the stable but, even with all the odd comings and goings at Warburm’s, there had been no one like her. Women were unusual, girls were a rarity, but a girl from nobility was a one-of-a-kind.
“I can’t tell any of the noble boys apart but you’re very different. Isn’t he, Vagrum?”
“If you say so, Milady. I’ve seen plenty like him. Used to be one myself, matter-o-fact. But I suppose he’s different for you.”
“Seen any more mice?” asked Sorial, not sure where to take the conversation. Talking wasn’t one of his talents even with someone he knew.
She smiled sheepishly. “You must think I’m a silly girl. I’m no longer afraid of mice.”
Vagrum raised one eyebrow. “At least not much,” he amended.
“That’s not fair!” She rounded on him. “It took me by surprise. How was I supposed to know it would be in the kitchen.”
“Her shriek was so loud that her father thought she was being abducted and came running with his sword drawn. The mouse was suitably frightened and ran away before he could behead it.”
“You can come back to the stable if you want to meet a few more. They’re all around and very friendly,” offered Sorial.
Alicia’s mood turned stormy as she realized she had become a source of amusement. “It seems to me you might show a little more gratitude to someone who just saved you five brass studs. I should charge a commission. But I guess it’s too much to expect manners from a stableboy. You were rude when I met you last time and you haven’t changed. Come, Vagrum, I think we’ve wasted enough time here. I don’t know why I bothered.”
So saying, she stalked from the marketplace, not even looking back to make sure Vagrum was following her. With an apologetic shrug, he hurried after her, leaving behind a perplexed Sorial.
* * *
The next day, he arrived at his parents’ farm several hours after sunrise. It was late enough to prevent an unwelcome encounter with his father, who would devote the day’s every daylight hour tending to the fields. Since his mother’s visit to the inn following the attack, he had seen her more regularly. The loneliness he sensed in her that day had stirred his compassion, so he had made it a point to spend more time with her - something he knew she wanted. Sorial no longer found it a chore to come to the farm, which he did once every two or three weeks. For the most part, he was able to avoid Lamanar, making the trips less burdensome.
“Good morning, Mother,” said Sorial, entering the front room of the two chamber cottage shared by Kara and her husband. It was a spartan hovel, with little in the way of décor. The wall opposite the door housed a fireplace and there were two rough-hewn wooden chairs set facing each other near it. The floor was packed dirt. The second room, a bedchamber, contained only a straw mattress. At one point, Sorial had lived here, but his only memories were of the fields. The dwelling was foreign to him; nothing in it stirred even the faintest recollection.
Kara’s face lit up as her son came in, and she rose to hug him. A recent growth spurt had allowed him to match her height. When he was full-grown, she knew the top of her head would come only to his shoulders.
“This is for you,” he said shyly, handing her the bracelet Alicia’s bargainin
g had won for him.
Surprise, quickly chased by joy then a bittersweet sadness transfixed her features. As she took the present with trembling fingers, tears pooled in her eyes. Sorial nibbled on his lower lip, unable to decide whether she liked it.
She turned it over in her hands but didn’t put it on. With her head bent, her long dark hair fell around her face, obscuring her features so Sorial couldn’t read her reaction.
“Is it okay?” he ventured after a long moment’s silence. “A girl in the marketplace helped me choose it. I thought it looked pretty.”
Kara slipped the bracelet on her left arm then looked up at her son. “It’s wonderful.” Her voice was unsteady. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, Sorial, you don’t know how much this means…”
They sat facing each other in the cottage’s lone chairs, their knees inches apart. Since it was Summer, there was no fire. In fact, the room was suffocatingly hot. Sorial wondered whether they might be more comfortable outside.
As was often the case, their conversation started with neutral topics like the weather, the king’s decision to name a successor, and whether the fields were likely to produce enough grain to see Kara and Lamanar comfortably through Winter. Eventually, however, Sorial steered the discussion toward a subject that had been gnawing at him for some time, but which he hadn’t felt comfortable talking about until now.
“Mother, I hope this question won’t make you mad. I see how Father frowns at me every time we pass on the trail when I visit you. I know there’s something about me he don’t like and I can only think one thing. Is Lamanar my father?” It seemed a reasonable explanation for the negativity displayed by the man he named “Father.” After confiding the suspicion to Rexall, the other boy had agreed it was possible. For her part, Annie had tried to pacify him but, when pressed, she had admitted there was nothing of Lamanar in his appearance. There were likely only two people who knew the truth, and Sorial wasn’t going to approach one of them. That left his mother.
Kara sighed and, even in the dimness of the cottage, Sorial could see her face lose some of its color. This was a topic she had been avoiding. “I knew one day you’d ask that, but I prayed the gods to delay it. I’m not sure they answer prayers any more. But you’re too old to be lied to - maybe not yet a man, but mature enough to learn the truth rather than relying on fairy tales.”
“Then he ain’t.”
Kara shook her head. “Lamanar cannot have children. An... accident... when he was a young man left him as a eunuch.” For Sorial, that answered many questions. “There are many things in my past I’m not proud of, but the liaison that led to your conception isn’t one of them. You’re not the product of some dark alleyway dalliance or tawdry backroom coupling. You were planned and the day of your birth was one of the happiest of my life. It hurt Lamanar because he loved me but couldn’t fill the duty of giving me a child.”
“Who is my father?” It was a natural question. Although the name probably wouldn’t mean anything to him, Sorial felt it was important to know it.
Kara didn’t reply immediately. When she spoke, she did so carefully, considering each word. “I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t wish to but because there are circumstances about my life that no one - not even my child - can know. I wasn’t always the person you see now, Sorial - the hapless wife of a struggling farmer. But there’s danger to reveal more and the identity of your father is a closely guarded secret. As far as the world knows, Lamanar is your sire, and you mustn’t let anyone believe otherwise.”
The cryptic nature of Kara’s revelation elevated Sorial’s curiosity. “You can’t tell me that much and expect me to forget it! If my whole life is a lie, I deserve to know everything!”
Kara flinched. “Deserve, Sorial? You presume too much. I’ve told you this because I believe you’re old enough to know. Don’t make me regret my decision. And never think your life has been a lie. Certain things have been kept from you - for your safety and the safety of others - but all in you that’s good and true is real. We aren’t always masters of our fates. I’ve been a pawn for much of my life and, in a way, remain so to this day. Someday, I promise, you’ll know everything that’s hidden, even if I have to return from the grave to tell you it.”
“So Lamanar hates me cause I’m another man’s son. Does he know this man?” asked Sorial, trying another approach. A name. Just a name, yet so much more…
“Lamanar has met your father. They shared talk and ale, but were never close. My marriage isn’t one of necessity, Sorial. And Lamanar doesn’t hate you. Rather, he fears becoming attached to you, so he keeps you at a distance. Someday, perhaps that may change. You might not believe it, but I think he’d like to bring you back to the farm and treat you like a proper son, but a sense of duty compels him to do otherwise.”
“Do I have any brothers or sisters?” He was determined to find out everything he could, although he knew it wouldn’t be enough. A few drops of water couldn’t satisfy a parched man.
“Two brothers and one sister, all much older than you. They were born before I came to Vantok, as were you. Your brothers are dead. I don’t know where your sister is, or whether she lives. She ran away long ago. I like to believe… but no matter.”
“Why can’t you just tell me everything?” Sorial’s frustration was evident. Sitting across from him was someone with answers to all his questions, but she wouldn’t say. “Don’t I have a right to know?”
“I wish to the gods I could tell you, but I can’t. Not now. Perhaps I’ve already said too much. You should have been allowed another year or two of innocence before your destiny found you.”
“Are you really my mother, or is that another lie?”
Kara placed her left hand on her belly. “For three seasons, I carried you here. My heart leapt with joy at every kick of your tiny feet and I wept with happiness when the midwife presented you to me. I’ll always be here for you, Sorial, no matter what.”
Sorial believed her. In fact, he believed every word she had spoken to him, even if too little made sense. He hated riddles. Yet, like the strange visitors who secreted themselves with Warburm at the inn, here was something else to ponder while mucking stalls and brushing stallions.
“How many others know about you and Lamanar?” he asked.
“Only a few, those who need to know, and they have been sworn to secrecy on the most sacred of oaths.”
An idea came to Sorial. “Warburm is one of them.”
Kara was surprised, and the tremor in her words confirmed Sorial’s suspicion. “Of course not!”
“You’re lying.” It was perhaps the first thing she had said to him today he was sure wasn’t true. She gave him a pleading look but said nothing.
“How am I supposed to react to this, Mother? Go back to the inn and do what I’ve been doing for years? Keep coming here and pretend we’re just an ordinary son and mother?”
The steel in Kara’s voice surprised Sorial. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. This isn’t a game, Sorial. I’ll apologize as many times as you think necessary, but neither of us can change what is. It isn’t fair, but you’re old enough to know that little about life is fair. What you and I - and others - are involved in is in deadly earnest. Dangerous times.”
At those words, Sorial had a sickening flashback to staring down the muzzle of a pistol.
CHAPTER FIVE: COOLING OFF
The night after the pivotal conversation with his mother, sleep eluded Sorial; for hours, an overactive mind denied his tired body rest as he tossed and turned on his lumpy straw bed. The next few days were days spent in a sullen funk. He did his chores but avoided contact with others, including his friends. Even the sunrises failed to provide their customary comfort. His mind churned, trying to figure out how things connected. But the evidence was too scant for him to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that would answer the most basic question of his existence: Who was he?
The rest of Sum
mer passed uneventfully but Sorial didn’t again visit Kara. She made no attempt to contact him at the stable, although a part of him hoped she would. He missed the bond they had been forming - an estranged son and mother coming together - but he knew an encounter now would be awkward. What could they have to talk about? The secrets were too much of a barrier. Until she was willing to open up and be honest with him… Sorial didn’t only want to know everything, he wanted to understand everything, but a tiny part of him acknowledged that Kara could be right and he might not yet be ready for the truth in its fullness.
Harvest began with an unprecedented heat wave. The latter days of Summer had been uncommonly cool and rainy but the furnace blast from the south withered crops in the fields and unpicked produce on the vines. As always during times of excessive heat, the inside of the stable felt like an oven and stank to the point where even Sorial’s acclimated nostrils found the odor offensive. As someone who spent most of his time out of doors, Sorial had become used to weather extremes, but he preferred the cold to the heat. One could always pile on more furs or light a fire; there was only so much one could take off, even if propriety wasn’t a consideration.
On Restday morning - the ninth day of the heat wave - Sorial was doing his final cleaning of the stable in preparation for his afternoon off when a voice called his name from outside. “It stinks in there. I ain’t coming in.” It was Rexall, Sorial’s closest friend.
“I bet it’s worse at The Delicious Dancer,” replied Sorial, referring to the inn where Rexall worked as stableboy. He speared a mound of straw with his pitchfork and tossed it in the direction of one of the horse’s legs. The animal didn’t notice.
Rexall, a tall, stout boy of about Sorial’s age, stood resolutely outside, his freckled nose wrinkled with disgust. An immigrant from the eastern city of Earlford, Rexall bore the characteristic traits of the place of his birth: red hair, a fair complexion, and green eyes. His recent growth spurt, which had added a full handspan to his height, was accompanied by the first indications of facial hair. Rexall was trying to grow a mustache and beard. Thus far, all he had managed was a reddish shadow on his upper lip and a few wayward whiskers on his chin. It wasn’t impressive.
The Last Whisper of the Gods Page 6
