Season of Sacrifice

by Mindy Klasky

  Landon wasn’t very smart. He didn’t realize that when Duke Coren asked him to do something, he should do it, well and quickly. Reade was smarter than the tracker. Landon only thought he was smart, because he was friends with Alana Woodsinger.

  Alana Woodsinger! Duke Coren had told Reade that the woodsinger was only a girl pretending to be a priestess. Reade had listened when Duke Coren explained that the woodsinger did not have as much power in her entire body as the High Priest of the Seven Gods had in his beard. The duke had even promised that Reade would meet the priest, once they got to Smithcourt.

  Reade realized that his fingers had closed around his bavin when he thought of the woodsinger. He let go of the woodstar with a snort of disgust. What was he, some sort of baby? He didn’t need a silly piece of wood to protect him. He should just throw the stupid thing away, get rid of it, like he had his Great Mother.

  He reached for the leather thong, but just as he lifted it over his head, Landon opened his eyes. For a moment, the tracker just looked tired. Then, Reade saw something else in his gaze. He looked…sharp. Like he was plotting something evil.

  “What are you doing, Reade?”

  “I’m the Sun-lord,” Reade said. “You have to call me that.” His fingers closed around the bavin. He didn’t want the tracker to look at it.

  Landon snorted. “Aye, Sun-lord.” How did one conspiring rebel make Reade’s title sound so silly? “Conspiring rebel…” Reade liked the sound of that—he had heard the duke call Maddock and Landon and Jobina all conspiring rebels. It sounded worse than anything Mum had ever called anyone in the village. Now, Landon refused to mind his tongue: “But what are you doing?”

  “Why do you care?” Reade scuffed his toes in the dirt. “You’re not my da.”

  “No, Reade. Your da was a brave man who went to the Guardians too soon.”

  “You don’t know anything about my da!” Reade started to raise his voice, but realized that the soldiers would hear him, would order him to step away from the prisoner. Well, Reade was smart enough to talk to a prisoner. Reade wasn’t just a stupid child from the Headland. He was the Sun-lord, and he could talk to any prisoner he pleased.

  “I know about your da, boy. I know that he would be ashamed of you, wearing those golden robes, parading around like a Smithcourt prince.”

  “My da was proud of me! My da was going to take me out on his boat. We were going to bring in pilchards, all in nets, more than the People had ever seen in one haul!”

  “You won’t be doing any fishing now, will you, Reade?”

  Anger hit Reade like an ocean wave. What did this stupid man know? What did a chained prisoner know about Reade’s da, or what Reade would do when they got to Smithcourt? What did a conspiring rebel know about anything?

  “I know one thing, boy,” the tracker said, as if he had read Reade’s mind. “I know that your da would not want you wearing that woodstar. He’d be ashamed that any son of his defiled a bavin, a woodstar sung by Alana Woodsinger herself. If he were here, he’d pluck it from your neck himself, and send it down that stream, rather than see it wasted on the likes of you.”

  Reade screamed without words, and he jumped on top of the tracker, kicking and biting and trying to pull his hair. It took only a moment for Duke Coren’s soldiers to come running, and then Landon had new bruises all over his face, all over his arms and legs. One of the soldiers smashed Landon’s nose, and bright blood splashed across the tracker’s face.

  As Duke Coren himself led Reade away, the boy laid a triumphant hand on his woodstar. He’d show Landon! He wouldn’t let the woodstar out of his sight.

  Later that morning, Reade caught the tracker staring at him. The man smiled crookedly, a smile that was scary because of the bloodstains on his face. Stupid man. He didn’t even know when he’d been beaten by his betters. Reade kept his fingers on the bavin until they stopped for lunch, well after noon.

  As Reade brought Maida her bread and cheese, he could not help but laugh at Landon. The man’s hands were tied so tightly, his upper arms lashed to his body, that he had to lower his mouth to his fingers to eat. Reade pointed out the tracker’s problem to Maida. She did not find Landon quite as funny as Reade did. Well, Maida never understood the true meaning of things. She never knew what it meant to be a grown-up. Duke Coren had never called her a little lady, the way he’d called Reade a little man.

  One of Duke Coren’s soldiers came to take away Reade and Maida’s tin plates. “Give those here,” he growled. The man was not Mikal, their usual guard, and Reade almost decided not to give back his plate. Maida did, though, but before the man could walk away, she screwed her face up into a pout and crossed her arms over her narrow chest. “Where’s Mikal?” she demanded.

  “He’s gone back along the road. His Grace told him to find that mongrel from your home.”

  “What’s a mongrel?”

  “A dog. The cursed fool who ran away from the inn.”

  “Maddock?” Maida shook her head. “Mikal won’t catch him. Maddock will be riding a very fast horse.”

  The soldier turned on Maida very fast, making Reade think of a gull swooping down to catch a fish. “A fast horse? And what color would that horse be?”

  “I don’t know.” Maida shrugged. Reade watched the soldier clench his hands into angry fists. Maybe Reade would have to step in and save his stupid sister. Again.

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” the soldier snarled. “How many horses do you outlanders own? You can’t have so many that you don’t know what color his is.”

  “Maddock doesn’t own any horse.” Maida rolled her eyes. “Not like you do. None of the People own horses.”

  “What do you mean, you little…” The soldier took a step closer, but then Reade saw him remember that he was talking to the Sun-lady. The man swallowed hard, breathing out for a long time before he knelt before Maida. “What are you trying to tell me, girl? Will he be riding a fast horse or not?”

  “Maida—” Reade realized that he needed to interrupt. He needed to keep Maida from answering the soldier. He grabbed at the woodstar around his neck. Even though it was on a long thread, even though it was nowhere near his throat, it was choking him. He held it tight in both his hands. “Maida, don’t—”

  The soldier went on, ignoring Reade’s protest. “How can Maddock ride a fast horse if he doesn’t even own one?”

  “Maida!” It was wrong for Maida to talk to the soldier. She shouldn’t tell Duke Coren’s man about the People’s horses. Reade had to stop her. He had to keep her from explaining, from saying anything else to the soldier.

  “We share.” Maida glared at Reade as she emphasized the word. She sounded just like Mum, teaching Reade a lesson. “Maddock will have the fastest horse of all the People.”

  “And what color is that animal?” The soldier leaned forward.

  “Maida—” Reade warned again, squeezing his bavin with urgency. She had to stop! She had to keep the People’s secrets! Reade had to stop her from talking!

  Maida, though, ignored her brother. She squinted across the clearing until she found Landon and Jobina’s horses. “If Landon has the black stallion, and Jobina has the grey mare, then Maddock must have the bay gelding.”

  “Ha!” the soldier exclaimed, and he pounded his fist on the ground. Before Maida could say anything else, the man stood up and ran across the clearing to Duke Coren.

  At the same time, Reade glared at his sister. “You shouldn’t have said that, Maida.”

  “What? I’m allowed to talk to the soldiers, too! You may be the Sun-lord, but I’m the Sun-lady.”

  Reade wanted to explain to her. He wanted to tell her that she was wrong to talk about Maddock’s horse. The more he thought about it, though, the less he could remember about why they should keep that secret. He let go of his woodstar, and he was surprised to see tiny spots of blood on his hands. He raised a finger to his lips, sucking at the hurt.

  Reade had been silly to worry about Maddock’s
horse. What was so special about a stupid old horse? Besides, why should he try to protect Maddock? Duke Coren had told Reade all the terrible things that the outlander had done. Maddock had stolen from the peasants in the villages. He had threatened to kill boys and girls.

  Reade wished he still had his Great Mother, so that he could pray for Duke Coren’s men to catch Maddock. As the duke had said many times, the People could only be shamed by a common criminal like Maddock. If the People were able to feel any shame at all, the duke always added. After all the terrible things that they had done, that they planned to do….

  Even knowing that Maddock rode the bay gelding, Duke Coren’s men weren’t able to catch the outlander that day. Reade was disappointed. He wanted Maddock to be caught. He wanted Maddock to be punished for frightening him, for dragging him down the stairs in the tavern, for leaving him surrounded by Duke Coren’s dogs in the common room.

  As the days went on and the riders got closer to Smithcourt, Reade watched the soldiers punish Landon more and more often. The tracker broke so many rules that the soldiers finally refused to untie his hands for anything. Anything! Reade felt a rush of power pump through his chest when he saw Landon’s stained leggings. Served Landon right, for trying to talk Reade into throwing away his bavin, back on the riverbank.

  At least once a day, Landon broke another rule. He talked back to the duke, or he refused to get back on his horse after a rest stop. Each time he was bad, he was punished. Reade shook his head, wondering how the man could be so stupid. Didn’t he know that he’d be beaten? Didn’t Landon know that Duke Coren was in charge?

  Jobina Healer understood the rules. She did exactly as she was commanded, every time one of the soldiers issued a gruff order. When one of the men told her to kneel before he would give her a bit of bread, she fell down on her knees immediately. She twisted around, though, moving in a way that Reade had never seen before, certainly not the way Mum moved, when she knelt to put wood on the fire back home. When another soldier told Jobina to get on her horse, she immediately crossed to her grey mare. She couldn’t grab the high pommel, not with her hands tied together. Three men stepped forward to help her mount.

  Reade was a little surprised at how much help Jobina got from the soldiers. Every one of the men—even Duke Coren—took the opportunity to guard Jobina. Because she minded her manners, she was treated much better than Landon.

  There was even one afternoon when Jobina called out for the company to halt. All of the soldiers reined in their horses. As Reade looked back, he saw the healer point out a stand of herbs, growing just beside the road. She blushed bright red, and her voice was soft as she told the soldiers it was called “sailors’ jig.” She told the men that it would bring them new life, and she even offered to brew the herbs at their next stop.

  Reade didn’t understand why Duke Coren laughed at her words. The other men were excited; some of them poked their friends in the ribs as they helped the healer dismount and mount again. Reade didn’t understand, but he enjoyed the break in riding.

  Once, they pulled into an inn’s stable yard, and Donal came back from negotiating their rooms with a grin on his face. He announced that the innkeeper had an extra chamber, a tiny closet down the hall, too small for sleeping. One of the soldiers called out that there’d be no sleeping done in that room, and Jobina laughed with the men. When Landon was hustled past Reade and Maida, though, he was muttering under his breath. He sounded like old Goodman Jendo, like a man gone mad, and Reade caught a word his mum would never let him use. Once again, the tracker was beaten into silence. Landon was stupid.

  Unlike the tracker, Reade enjoyed their days on the road. He almost forgot they were riding to reach Smithcourt. One morning, when they left their tavern, the men were telling lots of stories, laughing at lots of jokes. One soldier told how he was going to spend the silver coins that Duke Coren was going to give them. The group got to the top of a hill as the road curved. When Reade looked up, he was so surprised that he shouted out loud. Without thinking, he reached down to clutch at Duke Coren’s mailed arm.

  “Yes, Sun-lord?” There was a smile in the duke’s voice.

  “It’s gigantic, my lord!” There was a city spread out before them on the plain. Not a village, not even a town. It was a city, with walls and towers and endless buildings, stretching on and on and on.

  “It’s the most magnificent city in all the world,” Duke Coren said.

  Crystal sparkled in the morning light. Some of the towers were much taller than the Tree, stretching up into the sky. The city walls were built of giant stones, and the tops of the walls marched up and down, like stairs. Smithcourt was bigger than anything Reade had imagined, than anything he’d ever dreamed of.

  Reade ducked his head, feeling as shy as when the Spirit Council quizzed him on the Guardians’ ways, back at the Headland of Slaughter. “Do we have to go there, Your Grace? Do we have to ride into the city?” Reade looked up at Duke Coren and tried to smile, tried to pretend that he had just had a brilliant idea. “Why don’t I just stay with you out here, outside the walls?”

  Duke Coren looked down at him, his eyes suddenly serious. “This is why I saved you, Sun-lord. This is why I took you and the Sun-lady from your home of exile. To bring you to Smithcourt, your home of truth.”

  “Please, Your Grace,” Reade whispered. “I’m afraid.”

  Duke Coren caught Reade’s chin between his fingers and leaned close enough that Reade could feel the ends of his beard. “Listen to me, Sun-lord. You must never be afraid! Fear is a luxury for people too weak or too stupid to rise above their emotions. You are destined for great things, Sun-lord. Your story was told at the dawn of this age, and it will be spoken by men and women far into the next one. If you wish to attain all your power and glory, you must not be afraid.”

  But I am afraid, Reade wanted to say. I’ll get lost in your city, and I’ll say the wrong things. I’ll do something wrong, and people will laugh at me. Grown people, like your own man, Donal. I don’t want to be the Sun-lord. I just want to be Reade, from the People. I want my mum!

  “Do you understand me, Sun-lord?” Duke Coren stared into Reade’s eyes. He was angry, almost as angry as he had been when Reade had thrown away his Great Mother. Reade remembered the lash across his back, the stinging pain as the duke punished him. He had been able to stand that pain. He’d been very brave. He’d been a little man. Duke Coren pinched his fingers closer around Reade’s chin and shook the boy’s head. “You must answer me, Sun-lord! Your answer is more important than anything that has gone before, than anything you have yet said or done. Do you understand me? The Sun-lord must show no fear!”

  “I understand, Your Grace.” Reade pulled his head away. The motion made his woodstar flop on his chest, and he caught it in his right hand. As he closed his fingers around the bavin, he remembered stories that Mum used to tell him, stories where men swore oaths after putting their hands on the most valuable thing they owned. “Your Grace, by this woodstar that was given to you by Alana Woodsinger, I understand what you said, and I will not be afraid.” The words were like magic—Reade felt powerful and strong as he said them.

  Duke Coren reached out to tousle Reade’s hair. “By your woodstar…Now there’s an oath your woodsinger would love to hear.”

  There was something scary in the way Duke Coren spoke the words, like he was growling. All of a sudden, Reade thought of Winder, one day when the older boy had been caught by Goody Glenna, pouring oil over a mangy cat. Winder had been about to light the oil, to set the cat on fire. When Goody Glenna dragged Winder to the common, all the boys had come to watch. All the People heard Winder argue with his elders, explain that he hadn’t meant any harm. Reade had seen the fire in Winder’s eyes, though. Reade wasn’t fooled.

  Now, Duke Coren blinked, and Reade wondered what he could have been thinking. He was talking to Duke Coren, not to some silly boy in a village on the edge of the sea. Duke Coren would never harm a cat. Duke Coren would only help the
Sun-lord, and the Sun-lady, too.

  The duke smiled tightly. “You will not be afraid, Sun-lord. And to remind yourself of that fact, you might repeat, ‘By the power of the Sun-lord, by the faith of the Sun-lady, by the strength of Culain, I will not be afraid.’”

  “‘By the power of the Sun-lord…’” Reade began, liking the rhythm of the words. He couldn’t remember all of them, though.

  “‘By the faith of the Sun-lady,’” Duke Coren repeated. “‘By the strength of Culain.’”

  “‘I will not be afraid.’” Reade nodded as he completed his pledge. The words felt good. They felt right. They made him want to sit straight in the saddle. He grinned at Duke Coren; then the entire company of soldiers began to ride down to Smithcourt.

  Reade chanted Duke Coren’s magic words to himself many times that day. First, Duke Coren dug his heels into his stallion’s sides. The horse galloped down the hill, faster than he’d ridden anywhere on the road, faster even than when Reade had pulled him into the farmer’s field.

  After that terrifying ride, Reade had to pass through the Smithcourt gates. Fierce guards glared down at him, their eyes looking cruel beneath their iron helmets. Some of the men wore armor with Coren’s knife on it, and they smiled at their lord and cheered. There were other soldiers, though, soldiers who did not smile at all. The scariest ones wore blue armor, and they had silver dragons that twisted across their chests.

  Even after Reade entered the city, there were frightening sights. Crowds filled the streets, pressing in close to Duke Coren’s men. Reade told himself that he should not be afraid of the cheering people. Many of them waved golden cloth above their heads, cloth like the fabric of Reade’s Sun-lord robes. Those people called out Duke Coren’s name, as if he were the first fisherman to bring in full nets for the season.

  There were frightening people in the crowd, though. There were men and women with burns on their faces, brands that puckered their skin. One man bellowed without a tongue in his mouth. There were children, too, children who were even scarier than the grownups. Reade saw them huddled in doorways, like piles of rags that someone had left behind. One girl, hardly older than Maida, shivered in front of a building. Her dress was torn off her shoulders, and Reade saw blood on her legs, creeping past her dirty fingers. Reade looked away fast, but then his eyes fell on an old woman who was stealing a crust of bread from a little boy, from a child even younger than he was!