by Anny Cook
“Walking around.” His dry tone led her to take a second, closer look.
“Bored, Uncle?”
“Mystified. Confused. Bewildered. But not bored.”
He opened the door and held it while she passed him. As they walked down the hall to the kitchen, he started to say something but closed his mouth when she motioned for quiet.
“What?” he asked softly.
She tilted her chin in the direction of the kitchen and then he heard Arturo talking.
In the kitchen, Arturo was refereeing a three-way conversation between Llynx, Panther and their teacher, Samara McCrory. “The boys brought this item to their calligraphy class with them,” she was explaining to Arturo. “I don’t believe it belongs to them but whether it does or not, it definitely doesn’t belong in my classroom.”
Wrenna and Bishop peeked around the corner as Arturo picked up the object and studied it intently. “It’s a photograph. I recognize Dancer and Traveller.” He shot a stern glance at the boys and inhaled sharply. “It definitely doesn’t belong to either one of you. Where did you get it?”
Panther stared down at his tightly clenched fists resting on the table and remained mute. Llynx scowled mutinously at Samara and muttered, “We found it.”
Undeterred, Arturo questioned, “Where did you find it?”
“Around.”
Bishop decided to take part in their discussion. “Around—perhaps that would be around Trav’s belongings in our room?” he suggested as he walked into the kitchen.
Vigorously, Llynx shook his head, sending his shiny black braids clinking. “No-oo.” He exchanged a guilty look with Panther and then dropped his head so that the others couldn’t see his face.”
“Let us be clear about this,” Arturo said crisply. “Anytime you lie to get out of trouble, that is worse that the thing you did to get into trouble. Is that not what Mama and Papa have said before?”
Panther ducked his bright auburn head and nodded. “Yeah.”
“So. You were in Bishop’s room?”
“Yes.” Panther refused to lie, though he wished with all his heart that he had stayed in the hall instead of following Llynx inside.
“Where did you get Traveller’s photograph?”
Panther knew exactly where Llynx had found the photograph. That was what he was arguing with Llynx about when Samara confiscated it. “In Traveller’s pack,” Panther muttered, close to tears.
Bishop pursed his lips in thought. “When you take something that doesn’t belong to you that is theft. What is the penalty for theft here in the valley?” he inquired idly.
The other adults stared at each other in dismay before Samara said quietly, “The judgment seat.”
Now openly crying, both boys jumped from their seats and rushed to Arturo, burrowing against him. “No! Don’t let them take us!” they shouted in genuine terror.
Bishop was astonished. “What’s going on? What is this judgment seat?”
Wrenna shook her head. “When an individual commits a crime, they are bound and taken to the peak of Needle Rock and left there. It is the Judgment Seat. The Valley judges their guilt or innocence. If innocent, their bindings are dissolved and they go free and exonerated. If guilty, they are consumed in a flash of fire. That is not an appropriate punishment for a child.”
“No, of course not!” he declared, appalled at the very idea.
“There must be punishment, however,” Arturo said firmly. Guiding the boys back to their seats with a little nudge on their shoulders, he directed them to sit. “Now! Enough of the caterwauling. Certainly, you will not be taken to the judgment seat but you must make restitution.”
Panther and Llynx scrubbed the tears from their faces with grubby hands and hiccupped. “Okay,” Panther whispered miserably while Llynx nodded agreement.
“This is my judgment,” Arturo announced. “As your morkert I pronounce this judgment.” His formal tones were solemn and weighty. “You will surrender your chinkas for a period of two eight-days and wear your hair unbound that all may know of your punishment for lying. You will not attend the Midsummer Gathering but will sit in the doorway of Wrenna’s pottery so that all may see you and know of your punishment for theft. This is my judgment. Do you stand as witness, Bishop?”
“I stand as witness,” Bishop agreed gravely.
Arturo held out his hand and the boys reluctantly pulled the chinkas from their braids, one by one. Wrenna brought a clear bowl from the cupboard and Arturo deposited the carved white chinkas with a sound that reminded Bishop of glass pebbles. Silently, Arturo waited as they loosened the tight braids and completely unbound their hair. Then he quirked a dark eyebrow and said, “I think I hear your room calling you.” Both boys scrambled from their seats and rushed down the hallway to their room.
When they were gone, Bishop sighed and shakily found a seat. “Okay. Now I have a few questions.”
Arturo chuckled softly. “Only a few? Let me fix the tea first and then we can all relax.”
“I should be going,” Samara demurred. It was crystal clear to Bishop that she did not want the others to know about their relationship. Until he had time to talk to her alone, he was content to go along with her.
“Stay for tea. You did well to bring this to our attention, Samara,” Arturo admitted.
“I’ll say. I shudder to think of what else they might find in Traveller’s bag. It just didn’t occur to me that they would go through his things.” Bishop’s hands shook. “He has weapons and who knows what else in there.”
“Put his bags in Papa’s office. The boys aren’t permitted in there under any circumstances. I will lock the door as an extra precaution.” Arturo looked back over his shoulder at Bishop. “Do you want apple tea or honeybush?”
“Honeybush.”
“Wrenna? Samara?”
Wrenna made a face. “Honeybush, of course.”
Samara smiled at her in agreement. “Honeybush for me.”
“Tchk. Apple is better for you, especially if you add a bit of mint.” He tossed the little gauze bags into the mugs and poured hot water over them.
Wrenna set the honey pot on the table and fetched the cookie jar. “Ahhh. Silence at last.”
Bishop shook his head in amazement. “I can’t believe how much trouble those two get into. Aren’t they already grounded because they broke a window?”
“That punishment was finished last eight-day,” Arturo answered. “They are not bad but they certainly need some responsibilities to keep them busy. I believe that I have a solution but first I must talk to Papa.” He took a cautious sip of his hot tea. “You have questions. Ask, please.”
“What is a morkert? And while I admire your punishment, why is it considered a punishment to give up your chinkas? What is the significance of wearing their hair down?”
“Hmm. Those are good questions. A morkert is a lawgiver or justice. A warrior may train to be a morkert as one of his specialties. Morkerts wear special metal chinkas in place of the normal dark gray ones denoting their rank.”
“It’s one of your specialties, I guess?”
Arturo nodded. “For a warrior, chinkas are their identity. Boys receive their first chinkas at six years of age. Until then, they wear their hair down, so the chinkas serve as a sign of maturity. Taking their chinkas away is akin to saying that they are little children too young to train as warriors.” He idly stirred his tea as he considered. “It was a serious punishment for a serious offense. They violated two points of the warrior code. No lying. No stealing. It was a just punishment.”
“I agree completely,” Bishop assured him. He looked around carefully before asking, “What kind of dog is that that follows Wrenna around? And those cats on the front porch are the biggest damn cats I’ve ever seen.”
Wrenna choked on her tea, setting off a violent coughing fit. Her eyes watered and tears streamed down her face. When she could finally breathe again without coughing, Arturo handed her a cool, damp napkin to wipe her face.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it,” she replied with a laugh.
“Wrenna has a dinti,” Arturo explained. “Dintis choose their human, usually a woman, to mentor. They are one of the four sacred sentient beings listed on the Talking Wall. Twice a year dintis present themselves to the shearer and then their hair is spun into yarn used exclusively for the bonding blankets. The other sentient beings are packits like the ones you observed napping on the front porch, firkas and drangs. Packits choose males to mentor. The packits you mentioned are Tyger’s and Llyon’s. Firkas look a little like mice and mostly live in gardens and keep them weed and bug-free. Those are the beings you will probably encounter. The last one, a drang, no one has seen in living memory. It’s a small dragon.”
“Why do you suppose no one has seen a drang?” Samara wondered.
Arturo shrugged. “Tradition says that a drang will mentor the high clan chief. We haven’t had a high clan chief in two hundred years. No one knows whether we don’t have one because there is no drang, or if there is no drang because we don’t have a high clan chief.”
Bish nodded understanding. “Kind of the peekie and egg thing. Which came first?”
“I like that analogy.” Samara sighed and pushed back her chair. “I need to be going. Thank you for the tea, Arturo.”
Bish jumped to his feet and followed her down the hall. “Samara, is it? I’m Bishop Llewellyn.”
“Nice to meet you, Bishop.”
“Can I walk you home?” he offered diffidently.
She studied the man looming over her in the dim hallway and slowly shook her head. “Not today. I have too many commitments today and this little break in the schedule has set me behind. Perhaps after the Midsummer Gathering, we can tour the village, if you wish.”
“I would like that.” He ushered her out to the porch and looked her in the eye. “We will never keep it a secret, you know. There are too many people in this small village for that to work.”
“I know.” Samara dropped her gaze to her feet. “I thought I didn’t care and then when you and Wrenna came into the kitchen, suddenly I couldn’t let them know that we had already met. There would have been too many questions. Of course, now we have met publicly and you have revealed your interest.”
“And I won’t hide again, Samara. I won’t sneak around like a teenage boy.”
“I know.” Abruptly, a small grin flashed across her face. “Perhaps this was for the best. You know where my home is, Bishop. And you are welcome there.” She walked down the steps to the path.
Bish stood watching her walk across the central green until she disappeared behind a line of singing red-needled pines. Stifling his impatience with the valley customs, he sighed quietly and returned to the kitchen.
Wrenna was gone. Arturo murmured something about her spending time with Traveller, so Bishop decided that he would pick Arturo’s brain. Arturo of all of his new nephews seemed to be both quiet and strong. “Do you have time for more questions?” he inquired.
“Of course. Please, sit down. Do you mind if I prepare dinner while we talk?”
Chapter Nine
The truth is revealed
In the boys’ bedroom, Panther flung his body facedown on the bed, stunned at the total ruin of his plans. Hot silent tears soaked into his pillow while he wept for the loss of his opportunity to compete. Every morning he had met Falcon on the practice field and worked harder than he had ever worked in his short life to meet Falcon’s challenges. Now it was all for nothing.
Llynx scowled at Panther. “What are you crying for? Who wants to go to the stupid Midsummer Gathering, anyway?”
Panther lunged from the bed and grabbed Llynx by his shoulders, shaking him in a wild rage. “I do!” he shouted. “I was going to compete in the warriors’ games and you ruined it! You and your stupid photograph!” Abruptly, he flung Llynx away from him, sending him stumbling across the room to end in a heap under the window. “Stupid! Why do you have to always get us into trouble?” He stomped back to the bed and curled up on it, facing the wall.
Under the window, Llynx didn’t stir until he was sure that Panther had moved away. Very slowly, he sat up, biting back a scream when he put pressure on his arm. Lightning zipped up the arm to his shoulder and just for a few moments, things went dark around him. Stunned at Panther’s incredible rage, Llynx cradled his arm against his chest while he thought about what Panther had said. He had never seen Panther angry before. Never. Llynx cringed at the thought that he had driven his gentle older brother to such anger. Shame warred with indignation. He should have told Arturo at once that Panther wasn’t with him when he stole the photo. Pain pulsed and burned up his arm. But Panther shouldn’t have thrown him across the room, either! he thought indignantly.
He tried to work up a good mad at Panther. His arm hurt too badly for him to care about how it happened. He needed Llyon and he wasn’t sure he could find him without passing out. One thing he didn’t want to do, though. He wasn’t going to ask Panther for help. With typical bullheadedness, Llynx was determined to set things right all by himself.
It took a few minutes but he was upright at last and headed for the door when Panther came off the bed in a rush. “No! You’re not leaving this room! For once, you’re going to do what you’re supposed to do!” When he grabbed Llynx’s arm, Llynx crumpled to the floor in a merciful faint, leaving Panther to stare at him in horror. Without a thought, Panther sent out a silent scream for his older brother. Llyon! Help!
Llyon rushed down the hall from Trav’s room where he had just completed his healing for the day. Arturo was hard on his heels, followed more slowly by Bishop. They burst into the boys’ room.
Immediately, Llyon went to Llynx, his sharp eyes noting the arm, already swelling with a hint of the bruising to come. A swift examination of the arm confirmed his initial guess. His eyes met Arturo’s. “Broken,” he said curtly. “We need to get him to bed.”
“I’ll do it. You’re already weary from healing Trav.” Arturo lifted Llynx, waiting while Llyon tucked the broken arm close to his little brother’s chest, then carried him over to the bed. When Llynx was settled on the bed, Arturo turned back to Panther, still crouched on the floor, rocking and moaning. “Stop, Panther!”
But Panther was wrapped tightly in his own misery and guilt. He was in a place where nothing reached him, nothing but the knowledge that he had hurt his brother. Hurt him to the point that he had fainted from the pain. How could he do such a thing? His belly clenched. Heartsick at the result of his loss of control, he curled in a rigid little ball and wept.
Without any hesitation at all, Arturo brushed his forehead, sending him into a deep sleep. Whatever had happened in this room had clearly wounded more than Llynx. Bishop helped him move Panther, now a heavy, limp heap to the bed.
“What happened?” Bishop asked in bewilderment.
“That is what I am going to find out.” Arturo’s grim tone boded ill for the perpetrator. Without compunction he rested his hand on Panther’s forehead and dived into rapport with his brother. The deep mind sharing was normally reserved for mated pairs but in cases such as this where speed was of the essence, morkerts exercised the ability to determine where the danger lurked. Arturo didn’t use the ability lightly, for in rapport there were no secrets. Nothing was hidden. Nothing.
By the time he broke his link with Panther, Llyon had completed his preliminary healing of Llynx’s arm. Wolfe and Arano had arrived, followed by Tyger and all were patiently waiting for Arturo’s directions. With an irritable shake of his head, Arturo said, “Sit down. Llyon, is he asleep?”
With a mental nudge, Llyon urged Llynx into a deeper sleep. “He is now.”
Gathering his thoughts, Arturo explained the train of events leading to the confrontation in the bedroom. When he finished, there was quiet in the room as each of them assessed what Arturo shared with them.
Finally Wolfe asked in an odd tone
, “He thinks we’re ashamed of him because he’s not a good warrior?”
“No.” Arturo shot them a sad look. “He believes that he shames us because of his inabilities. That he has nothing to offer the Llewellyn name. Stefan Cowal agreed to take him on as an apprentice next year. And he hoped to redeem himself by competing in the warriors’ games. Then when he was denied the games…”
“Why take it out on Llynx?” Bishop frowned as he tried to work out the puzzle.
“Because technically, he was not guilty of taking the photograph. I asked the wrong question. Were you in Bishop’s room? Yes, he was. But he left before anything was taken. He was out at bonding circle three when Llynx took the photo.” Arturo sighed impatiently. “Apparently, he did what he has on more than one occasion. He took the blame for something Llynx instigated. And in this case, it had more serious consequences than he was prepared for.”
“Now what?” Bishop stifled the urge to find the photo and burn it. After all, it wasn’t even his property but it had certainly caused a lot of trouble.
“I will wait for them to wake up. When they do, we will have a discussion. Llynx’s punishment will stand. In addition, I must think of something to impress on him the seriousness of letting others take his punishments. Panther’s punishment will also stand but I will make it clear that now his punishments are for losing his temper and taking the blame for Llynx’s actions.” Arturo fetched a chair from the corner and sat next to Panther’s bed. “I suggest that the rest of you return to your responsibilities. There is nothing more to be done here for the moment.”
As the men prepared to leave, Arturo said, “Uncle, I would talk to you for a few moments, please.”
Leaning against the wall next to the door, Bishop waited for the others to leave. Idly he wondered what Arturo had to say that was so important that it couldn’t wait for another time.
When the door was closed and they were alone with the sleeping boys, Arturo turned to him and observed abruptly, “It is a dangerous game that you play with Samara.”
