The Imbued Lockblade (Sol's Harvest Book 2)

by M. D. Presley

  “You have, with a full heart and wide eyes, turned away from the will of Waer to embrace Sol. And for that, you will not bear Waer’s stain upon your Soul. However, in the eyes of the law, you deserve to be punished.” Sweeping through the crowd with his gaze, Mowery dared them each individually to contradict his edict. “But I say we have all been punished enough. I say the Grand War has laid us all low, and so I reject Waer’s recriminating blow against my fellow man. Instead of laying you low with the law, I instead raise you up as a brother. I share in your crime, in your suffering, and ask this of you, my flock. Will you share with me this sinner’s turn from stain? Will you raise him high with me?”

  “Root to fruit!”

  He again held them in his hand, most in the crowd strangers until this night when he made them one, all heedlessly willing to receive the wrath of the Home Guard at his behest.

  “So, you’ll stay?” Marta heard Mitchell behind her. Turning, she saw his smirk as he swayed along with the crowd.

  “Yes, we’ll stay.”

  Mitchell nodded as if this was the answer he expected all along while Mowery still held court on the stage. The plates were just beginning to be passed around. The crowd gave willingly and without reserve, and for that, Marta mentally dismissed them as fools.

  Mitchell too was a fool if he believed she stayed because Mowery sided with forgiveness for some Covenant Son. It might be true that this master manipulator believed in the power of forgiveness, that he might find it in his heart to forgive a sinner and stained soul like Marta.

  But forgiveness, like religion, was the dream of idiots.

  Marta cared more for realities, and that night she witnessed the herald turn his flock away from the law and towards forgiveness. The forgiveness itself was a nice illusion, something the weak clung to so as to give their lives meaning, but Marta dealt instead in death, so it was only knowing that the herald ensured his own destruction in taking her in that made her feel safe.

  Chapter 12

  Weodmonad 22, 559 (Eight Years Ago)

  Simza kept the camp open to outsiders. True, she closed it for Jaelle, but the dozens of gaji there to witness his triumphant return suited Luca just fine. Bo lingered in the dark outside the nearest train stop and offered not a word before tossing Luca the reins of his own horse. Luca stroked its muzzle and received no indication the beast missed him in the least. His bieta set a glacial pace back, and though Luca wanted to spur his mount ahead, he did not know the location of the campsite and was forced to follow Bo. It was slow-going for the impatient Luca, almost interminable, but he kept his grin wide to hide his displeasure.

  Less than a mile away, Luca could hear the revelry from the wolari. The nearby town already there in full force, it sounded like his kinfolk were taking full advantage of their patrons. His ears welcomed the dissonant strains of the fiddles, and Luca’s feet dug into the sides of his horse to overtake Bo at a gallop.

  Deftly steering his mount between the wagons, Luca burst into the center of the campsite to draw every eye. He briefly considered an even grander appearance in jumping his horse over the campfire, but the sudden solo applause stopped him, and he spied Simza atop her dais. She had risen from her seat, her face strained at keeping herself aloft. But she made the effort for him, and soon the whole wolari clapped along with her. The confused gaji glanced at each other and soon joined in so as not to be left out. Luca noted the skulking Bo did not join in. That neither surprised nor bothered him, unlike Jaelle’s hands still clutching her silverware. Though his grin held, Luca’s heart hurt.

  “My left hand has returned,” Simza called out, silencing the crowd, “and I am again whole. And so smartly dressed, Luca. Come, give us a better look.”

  His suit, in the Cousins’ fashion, stuck out among his Wanderer brethren. To it, Luca added a vest as well as a neckerchief the Wanderers were fond of, and he knew he stood out as utterly unique in a sea of same. The realization swelled his heart, as did Bo’s scowl when Luca tossed him his reins.

  Striding towards the dais, his kin opening around him to give him room, Luca noticed two men a respectable distance behind the table of honor. They were clearly guards, most likely additional bietas Simza took on in his absence. Marko, the shaggy-haired lad, Luca knew from camp, but the bald man was unfamiliar and probably a new addition to the wolari. Scanning the campsite, Luca noted numerous new wagons, the wolari having swelled in his absence. This newness displeased him to a degree, but it was nice to know how his kin’s fortunes had increased. Noting his own wagon parked next to Simza’s caused his grin to widen. Seeing it there meant he was no longer a grubber along the outer ring of wagons, but now in the inner circle in his proper place of honor.

  Simza’s embrace honored him even more, the woman huffing and puffing while publicly greeting him as if he were her own child. Yet her own child refused to meet his gaze, Jaelle instead focusing on moving the food around her plate. She only looked up once, Luca catching her and Bo sharing a glance, and felt jealousy despite himself. It was no secret Bo did not fancy her, but this sudden shared intimacy irked Luca to no end.

  Simza fiddled with his suit coat, feeling the stitching and then straightening his kerchief. The boy’s outfit put to right, she reached out to support herself on the table before inhaling deep. “Those are certainly some rin gads. He’s so handsome now, I wonder if his own family will recognize him.”

  “I’d recognize my boy even if he were covered in mud from head to foot. And I did a hundred times when he was.”

  Hearing his mother’s voice, Luca looked down from the dais to spot his family. His mother and sister Esme beamed broadly, Lela doing a passable job herself. His father scowled outright, but Luca ignored him as he leapt down to enfold his mother in his arms.

  “Oh, dear boy, you make me so proud,” she repeated into his shoulder as Esme clung to his side. Finally extricating himself, he received a more formal hug from Lela and a curt nod from his father. Seeing her husband snub her son, Luca’s mother poked him in his side.

  “Go on with it.”

  Camlo sniffed once then picked up his bosh and bow. The fiddle set to his chin, Luca’s father’s gaze finally met his son’s. “Get on up there to the high table. Take your honors while you can still reach them.”

  Luca hopped back upon the dais, looking down upon the wolari as his father played. All the other numerous musicians kept their instruments at their sides, granting Camlo a solo that eluded him all his life.

  Although he tried to bask in it, Luca could not help but note his father chose “Across the Wide Waves,” a song meant as a duet that they had played together in his youth. Even as a child, Luca wanted the melody, but was relegated to harmony despite being the better fiddler. Now his father endeavored after both parts, weaving them together into one strain. In all, it was an admirable attempt, with some clever fingerings to overcome the lack of a second fiddle, but Luca found the adaptation, like his father, serviceable at best.

  “Wonderful, quite wonderful,” Simza called out as soon as the last notes died. “Now I know Luca comes by his deftness honestly, but let’s see if I wasted my investment.” Waving her arms wide, Simza stepped back to her seat to give Luca the stage.

  Although he had planned on such a demonstration, fear nibbled at the edges of his awareness, threatening to overtake him if he gave it a chance. So Luca took a step forward and smiled to the crowd. Digging his left hand into his trousers, he produced his ceremonial lockblade bequeathed by the Hottenkof School of Tshi. Usually he kept it in his right pocket for easy access, but tonight was a special occasion.

  Making sure to hold the fancy lockblade high so everyone could get a good look, Luca then dropped it into his palm before spinning his wrist and making the closed knife dance across his knuckles. It was a simple routine, without all the flourishes masters from his school were capable of, but this was not the trick itself. The crowd applauded politely, and feigning trouble, Luca scrunched his face.

  “My jacke
t’s a bit too tight.”

  Before anyone could register his words, Luca popped his right shoulder out of the coat. Keeping the unopened knife twirling in his left hand, he removed the right half of his suit, letting it hang off his back. For that, he received a bit more of their attention, which spurred him on as he went for the real trick of it.

  Snapping the blade from its housing, Luca sent it spinning high into the air only to careen down towards his head. He heard them gasp, but this was all according to plan as Luca snatched the blade out of the air to continue his routine with his right hand. The exposed blade made the maneuver more dangerous, which was why he began with it closed in his off-hand, Luca finally removing his jacket and holding it in his left. Feigning more care as to his jacket than the swishing blade, Luca meticulously folded his coat before setting it on the table. Earning a few laughs with his display, he knew it was finally time.

  Now unencumbered by his suit, Luca fell into the routines Laszlo and later Erro drilled into him. His form was perfect, the stances impeccable, and he knew he made those men proud when the crowd erupted as he struck the final pose. All applauded, all but Jaelle and Bo, Luca catching them share another look punctuated by a sneer he wanted to wipe off of Bo’s face with his fist.

  ***

  The next few hours blurred by as Luca passed from one knot of well-wishers to the next. Drinks were pressed into his hands, and he gave up even sipping from them after the fourth for fear of embarrassing himself. The night was fully his, Luca basking in the adoration of the wolari until Bo stepped before him and spat at his feet.

  Had it even splashed upon Luca’s boots, he would have the right to call a duel to the death. But the spittle was well-aimed and landed several inches away, meaning it would be until first blood rather than a fatal blow. Such friendly duels were common among the Dobra men, but gazing at Bo, Luca saw no friendliness there.

  “I’m afraid I must decline your kind invitation,” Luca taunted back. “I would hate for Simza’s right hand to miss his duties as he heals.” He hoped his words would enrage Bo and make him careless, but Bo calmly removed two wooden training knives from behind his back.

  Caught in Bo’s trap, Luca decided to put Bo away quickly, so he snatched a wooden knife from his adversary’s grasp so swiftly he drew a gasp from the gathering crowd. Spinning this mock blade over his fingers, Luca got the feel of the weight of it before dropping into a ready stance. The ever-growing crowd oohed again, but Bo did not flinch.

  “You’ll want to remove your jacket ahead of time this time.”

  Luca’s hackles rose as he sneered back. At that, Bo dropped his weight somewhat, foregoing the pose Luca favored. But while Luca remained motionless and poised, Bo causally tossed his wooden knife from hand to hand as he inched closer. There was a rhythm to it, one Luca had not encountered before, and finally his eyes peeled off Bo’s to glance at the knife. Soon as he did, Bo tossed the knife at him, Luca bringing his hands up to ward off the wood.

  Bo’s shoulder caught him around the middle, barreling them both to the ground. Luca lost his bearings, wind, and lockblade as Bo flipped him over on his belly, dirt invading his mouth.

  Mortified, Luca secretly thanked Bo for keeping his face shoved into the ground where his horror was hidden from the crowd. The head of the pack of bietas, Bo made sure Luca paid for challenging him, spoiling not only his night of honor, but his suit as well. Victory was utterly Bo’s, but Luca would not give him the final win in seeing his distress.

  Dramatically spitting out the dirt, Luca kept his voice airy. “An interesting maneuver. I will certainly have to pass it along the next time I see the masters of Hottenkof.”

  “Tell them you learned it at the school of Bo. And if they ever want a lesson, I’ll be happy to instruct them too.”

  With that, Bo walked away, leaving Luca to wonder if his jacket was ruined.

  ***

  News of Bo’s victory flitted around the camp faster than wildfire, Luca not even attempting to arrest the blaze. Instead, he brought it up with each new encounter and laughed at his misfortune even louder than they. By letting it go on unchecked, he hoped it would quickly burn itself out. And Luca knew he had another way to divert the wolari’s attention as he made his way back to the dais where Simza and Jaelle presided. All eyes again on him and his sullied suit, Luca drew out the box given him in Polis.

  “A gift for your daughter from Gideon Chunvin of the Hammat tribe.”

  The necklace was meant for Jaelle, but such an expensive gift was surely the first overture at a credible courtship, a down payment for the potential bride price, and as such should be presented to the girl’s parents. Simza opened the box to reveal the sparkling necklace, lifting it high so everyone could see the real jewels.

  “It’s a rin bauble,” she said dismissively, as if Cousins gave Wanderers such riches every day. “One might think the Cousins pay their rabe’s too well.”

  To brag at such bounty from an elder in the most powerful Cousin enclave would be unseemly, and in keeping with the Dobra custom of understatement, Simza appeared uninterested as she handed it to Jaelle. Her daughter kept the charade up too, but Luca could sense the awe brimming from both of them. The necklace was by far the most valuable item in the camp, which was why such a gift needed to be given publicly.

  He was fortunate that his gift cost him barely a thing and, as such, could be given directly. His turn towards her caught Jaelle’s attention and tore it away from the necklace she secured around her throat. With a flourish, he set the small box before her.

  “And this, a small token from Luca Dolphus of the Ikus tribe.”

  He kept his voice low, only those at the table and perhaps the bietas able to hear him. Bo certainly heard and scowled as Jaelle unwrapped the box and peered inside. She seemed puzzled a moment before recognition furrowed her brow.

  “It’s from Armetta’s,” Luca answered her unsaid question. “I had him make it special for you.”

  Jaelle did not look at him, but Luca felt her Mind roiling as she wondered about this man she despised. Luca hoped her uncertainty might transform into something approaching affection when she broke into a scowl.

  “Surely it’s gone stale.”

  “It surely has,” he replied before slinking away.

  ***

  Bo found him hours later after the gaji had departed and most of the wolari were abed. Only the victorious men around yagano remained awake, Luca unwilling to join them, though they called out to the man of honor. He did not deserve a spot beside them, and so it was among the shadows of the grubber wagons that Bo stalked up to him. Luca could not hide his surprise when Bo uncorked a bottle of rum, took a swig, then offered it. Wine always ran freely because it was cheap and dulled the gaji senses, whereas rum was expensive and only shared among friends.

  Bo did not seem friendly in the least when Luca took his first tentative swig, the men eyeing each other warily. Never one for words, Bo only opened his mouth for another pull, the bottle still slick with Luca’s saliva. But when Marko accosted them at dawn, the bottle long gone, it was to order them to stop their infernal caterwauling.

  It was the third time Simza had sent out her new bietala to silence her right and left hands, and the third time they ignored her order.

  ***

  Jaelle’s affections lost to him, but Bo’s earned, Luca began attending Bo’s training sessions. A far cry from his time in the tshi school, they consisted almost entirely of sparring. Within the first few minutes, Luca discovered that concepts such as honor and rules had no place in Bo’s school. The Cousins’ code of combat was nothing but a hindrance as Bo employed every dirty trick in the book before adding a few footnotes of his own. To Bo, the lockblade could be a deadly tool, but it could also prove an effective prelude to a kick or elbow. Even his glances worked as misdirection.

  Throwing himself into Bo’s tutelage with the same intensity as the Cousins’ style, Luca immediately outclassed all the other students in their
constant sparring sessions. Within days, only Bo made Luca break a sweat, the two battling each other for hours on end as the others watched. His static forms and poses still ingrained, Luca lost nine times in ten, only his speed outclassing Bo’s for his few victories. If he could initiate the first strike, Luca’s chances improved significantly, but as soon as he realized this, Bo began the matches at a greater distance, luring Luca in and then securing his victory upon the counterattack. Straying from his stances, Luca started deviating from his routines and luring Bo in turn. To counteract this, Bo began a week’s worth of attacks with his feet, utilizing them to such an extent Luca began stomping down on Bo’s feet and pinning him in place for the finishing blow. The trick only worked a few hours, Bo soon no longer feinting with his feet in favor of leaping attacks.

  Luca lost more than he won, but took pride that his wins caught up to his losses by the day. Between the Cousins’ techniques and his innate speed, he should have been more than a match for Bo. But every time he came close to consistently beating his bieta, Bo unearthed a new dirty trick. Luca’s least favorite was when Bo spit in his eyes. With time, he anticipated Bo’s unorthodox attacks, but every time he believed he had them all figured out, Bo dug out a new one.

  Only Bo’s frequent disappearances ceased their sessions, Luca leading the class in Bo’s absence. Before Luca’s time with the Cousins, Simza would occasionally send Bo on short errands from the wolari, but now they could last weeks at a time, Luca only able to amuse himself sparring with the middling students by having them attack in groups. Bo would not speak as to where or what Simza sent him to do, but Luca strongly suspected these new missions coincided with Simza’s strange meeting with Matriarch Ostelinda.

  Simza also apparently moved Jaelle out of her family wagon within the week of his departure for Polis. After that day, the lovely stained glass in Simza’s main wagon remained shrouded, and she even placed a lock on her door, an act unheard of within a wolari. The lock bothered Bo more than Simza moving him out to make room for her daughter, but he gave not a word of complaint. Even coaxing that sentence from Bo was a little victory for Luca, and little victories were all he received those days.