Journey To Light: Part I of the High Duties of Pacia

by Bob Craton

CHAPTER 27

  The Boy § 4

  The boy rode a spotted gelding, a horse of only average potential, but the woman was astride a fine looking mare. Its chestnut color seemed odd as patches of plain brown showed here and there, but the dye completely covered the horse’s true silver color.

  “I think I’ll call you Eagon next. It’s a fine sounding name,” the woman said as they reached the top of a rise in the countryside. They could see the entire panorama of the town of Peotta spread out ahead of them. As panoramas go, it was rather small and unimpressive.

  “It’s a better name than Telemaco,” the boy said in agreement.

  “I’ll be Shaynira for a while. Meranda doesn’t please me all that much,” she told him. Then she asked, “Do you ever get confused with all the name changes?”

  “I won’t if you’ll tell me exactly when to stop being Telemaco and start being Eagon.”

  She laughed at his reply and said, “Right now.” When they reached one of their secret places outside Peotta, they found that a message did indeed await them – and a bundle along with it. Shaynira’s face turned grave as she read the letter. When she handed it to the boy, he became equally solemn.

  “Can this be right? Are they actually following us that close?” he asked.

  “The friend who sent this is very knowledgeable and completely trustworthy. It’s just me that they’re chasing but if they find me they’ll see you. I’m sorry, but we must . . .”

  “I know. Let’s go.”

  When they reached the cabin, both moved rapidly. Shaynira laid the bundle they had just received on the table and both changed into worn riding-breeches and tunics. The pants had leather patches covering the seats and seemed designed for longer trips than just going to town.

  “So much for women’s clothes,” the aunt muttered as she cinched her belt. All of their possessions and a bag of food were quickly placed in saddlebags or wrapped into bedrolls, and the boy noticed that the woman put some things which she usually carried – including their money – in his bags instead. She then turned to their newest gift from secret friends. It was wrapped in a long roll of leather. She undid the rawhide strips which bound it and revealed a sword in a scabbard. Then she grabbed the hilt and pulled it out. They both stared at it. The long blade was made of burnished steel with sharp edges. Shaynira lifted it and said, “Most people wouldn’t believe a woman could wield this.”

  “Most people only know ordinary women,” said the boy and his aunt smiled.

  “In the good years folks called me fortes femina, the brave woman,” she told him. “It wasn’t a real title and Duty, not like the one given your mother, just a name people used for me. But I enjoyed hearing it. I really did. Now it’s time for me to prove they were right.”

  “What insignia is that on the hilt?”

  “The trademark of some arms maker in one of the Great Cities, probably Matik. I fear we have lost more friends to obtain this.” She slid the sword back in its sheath and turned to the boy. Her smile was gone as she looked deeply into his eyes. “There are no swords back in our homeland. Weapons have always been an abomination to our line, and I’m sure most of my friends disagreed with those who bought this for me. It’s a sad and bitter day for us to come to this but you must survive at all costs.”

  She had repeated that last part often over the years and the boy asked for no further explanation this time. The woman rolled the weapon back in its leather wrapping and said, “Best to keep this hidden until we get away from the populated area. We’ll head for the Veridis Hills.”

  “The Hartgan Forest would be a better choice, I think,” replied the boy. “Plenty of places to hide there and we won’t risk being seen crossing the highway. We’re halfway between the two, so it’s the same distance either way.”

  “You’re right, the forest it is. Grab your gear and come on.” She led him outside to where the horses waited and said, “Put your bags on Honora today.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked suspiciously.

  “Yes. You’ll ride her. And if you have to ask why, son, I’ll be disappointed in you.”

  The trail wound uphill through the trees towards the crest of a ridge above and was barely wide enough for them to ride abreast. The aunt now wore the sword strapped to her belt. Although the great mare which the boy rode remained strong, the woman had slowed to a walk to rest the gelding which was tiring after a long day. They took advantage of the slower pace to talk and the woman had just told him something.

  “But if they mean the same thing as Prinkeps Defendêre, why not use the common words?” the boy asked.

  “Everyone does now but the title is very old and should be respected. Since the troubled days after the end of Anziên times, the Counciliem of the Wise has selected one person of each generation of the Audric family to perform the Duty of Prinkeps Defendêre. Either men or women could be chosen and each was picked for merit. No one ever just inherited the position. Are you getting all of this?”

  “I can memorize as fast as you can talk.”

  “Yes, I know you’re remarkable. Our book lists the names of everyone who served as Prinkeps Defendêre for the last thousand years. There are other records before then but I don’t know where those are anymore.”

  “You said once that my mother had a title,” the boy said. “What was it?”

  “I said title and Duty. A title is just the name of a position. Fulfilling the Duty is the important part.”

  “I understand,” replied the boy. “Will you tell me about it now?”

  “Ah, yes. This is a remarkable story although only someone old enough to remember the time can truly appreciate its significance. The High Duty of Benevola is so important that its title has remained unchanged since the beginning and we still use the same word now as then,” she replied. “Only a woman could serve as the Benevola and she was chosen not by any council or elders, but by the people themselves. Every person in the land had a say in the choice and they could select a woman from any Honor Family, not just the Audrics. For as long as anyone could remember, the Benevola had always been someone of middle years or older. The previous one had been your grandmother, my boy. Your father’s mother, I mean, not the mother of my sister and me. When she retired, the people of our homeland did something that had never happened before.

  “They chose a young woman of nineteen to be the Benevola. Your mother. No one from any previous generation had ever been given so much responsibility so young. I told you everyone loved her – and not for her beauty. People saw what was in her heart and mind. Folks knew of her compassion and kindness, and her strength, beginning when she was just a little girl. I’m not exaggerating. My sister was truly extraordinary.”

  The boy saw his aunt’s eyes focus on something far distant. “What exactly was the Duty of the Benevola?” he asked.

  “She cared for the people and spoke for them – and I mean for everyone, especially those who were poor and weak. The Benevola went among them every day, something your mother had started doing when she was a child. Every Benevola made sure people had enough to eat and that healers saw to those who were ill. Often she traveled to other lands on missions of mercy, so it wasn’t just our homeland which benefited. Whenever the Honor Families held a council of any sort, the Benevola always stood up for the needs of the common people – and none of the high-and-mighty of any city ever talked back to a Benevola, I can tell you!” She paused for a moment and glanced around before saying, “Look, the trees are thinning out. I can see a bald spot on the ridge ahead.”

  “We’ll be able to see a long way when we get there,” he commented. Turning to the woman, he saw a tear on her cheek. Leaning across the gap between their horses, he put his hand on her arm and said, “You can stop talking for a while.”

  “But I shouldn’t. I want to tell you as much as I can and not make you rely on just reading the letter I gave you,” she exclaimed but the tremble in her lip kept her from saying more right then.

  “It m
ust be painful for you to think of all this,” the boy said but he really wanted to hear more so he prompted her. “Your brother was older than you, wasn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes. Adélmo was the strong, solid, good boy who always did the right thing. He was much too serious, not like me. My brother was the firstborn and my little sister the beloved one. I was the odd child in the middle. The tomboy, they called me. Always riding and playing games, or getting lost on purpose. I was full of pranks and many of them weren’t funny. Well, not to anyone except me, that is. Some folks called me worse names than tomboy when I broke things or rode my colt through a garden.” Her smile reappeared for the first time in days. “Remember when I told you I was beautiful back then?”

  “Yes.”

  “It was true! Many boys wanted to chase me but I played too rough and they ran from me instead. I chased them mercilessly when I was a girl, and later I chased them for a different reason. Especially one young man.” Her smile faded and she sighed. Even at his young age, the boy recognized the tone of love lost long ago. They had now reached the clearing at the top of the ridge. Struggling to keep speaking, his aunt continued. “Your parents married very young, you know, not too long after your mother became Benevola. And I admit that your father was a wonderful man even though I wished I had gotten married before them. He too was admired and respected by everyone. If only they’d lived, the world would be a much better place.”

  The boy saw tears welling again and prodded her once more by asking, “Did my father also have a Duty?”

  “Yes, the third of the three High Duties. His appointment was as impressive as your mother’s considering he was so young as well. My father named him to be the Kustos Folkę et Arcanûs, which means . . .”

  She stopped in mid sentence as she turned her head to look back. The boy’s head snapped around to follow her gaze. Behind them, still distant but obviously on the same trail as they were, rose a cloud of dust. The aunt reached and slapped the boy’s horse on its rump.

  “Ride now! And don’t slow down for me!” she cried.