The Savior - eARC
Page 41
“Maybe after pressing. I’ll have oil to sell. Perhaps she knows where I can get a good price.”
“I would think so.”
“And the boy—he’s my grandson? I want to hear you say it.”
“We haven’t announced it. We wanted to give him a regular childhood as long as possible. He will be heir.” Abel smiled. “And, yes, he’s your grandson.”
Joab nodded. “Seems a fine one, that boy. He looks a bit like a Dashian. You sure you didn’t sneak into that Eisenach woman’s bedroom once or twice—”
“I never met her, Father.”
“Still.”
“He’s my son now,” Abel said. “That’s what matters.”
“And my grandson, don’t forget.” Joab took another sip of wine. “Now, as for you—what are you going to do?”
With no more voices echoing around in my head, no more wars to fight? Will I settle down and play consort?
Abel raised his own cup of wine, drained it, and poured another. It was very good, and very cold. His father must have discovered a cave with a spring for the wine to be so chilled in warm season.
“You told me that there aren’t any guarantees. Just men doing the best that they can. The Blood Winds, the Stasis, people trapped in a lie.” Abel pointed to the sky. As usual it was empty of clouds. “It is happening right now, out there. I’m sure of it—on the thousands and thousands of planets that humanity settled. It can happen to us again.”
“Certainly it can,” Joab replied with a sigh. He looked over to where Abram was balancing himself as he tottered along one of the corral rails.
“I guess what I’m doing is standing watch,” Abel said. “That’s enough for now.”
Abel also turned his gaze toward his son, who was continuing his balancing act. For a moment, Abram almost fell. But then he righted himself and continued on. He was chanting a rhyme to steady himself, and from this distance, Abel could barely make out the words. But he didn’t need to. He’d sung it to the boy himself using what he remembered of his mother’s snatches of rhyme.
“Bows and muskets, blood and dust,” the boy sing-songed. “Flint and powder, broken bones.”
Abram arrived at a corral upright and found a stable foothold. Here he stood easily, well-balanced. He looked around for a moment to see if anyone watched. Then he noticed Abel. He turned and smiled mischievously, pretended for a moment to fall, but then continued easily on, still chanting.
“You don’t scare me, carnadon. Beer and barley, lead and copper. You don’t scare me. I’m the Carnadon Man.”
THE END
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I owe thanks to Jim Baen for coming up with a wonderful science fiction concept, and to David Drake for allowing me to join the other distinguished coauthors of the series. And lauds to Dave for providing a sturdy foundation and continuing upkeep of the story as only he can. Thanks to Baen publisher Toni Weisskopf for bringing the series back and getting me in on the fun. Thanks to first readers Lucas Johnson and Meredith Frazier. Finally, a heart full of gratitude to my wife, Rika Daniel, who is always a steady help and inspiration, and to my kids, Cokie and Hans Daniel, who put up with a writer dad haunting the house.
—T.D.