by Anny Cook
She just tilted her head back and laughed at him. “You are a wicked man, Banisher Ewell. It’s a good thing that you’re garzhan because otherwise there would be fierce competition among the women for you.”
“No, no. You must shield me from the ladies. I’m saving myself for Arturo,” he said with mock modesty.
“Only if you come with me to retrieve my food basket. I have sweet pies and quoltania cookies.”
“Do the cookies have pocco nuts in them?”
“Of course, are there any other kind?” she teased. “If you carry the basket, I’ll make sure you get some of them while they’re still warm.” She led the way to the hurka, pleased that Ban was at the gathering. His presence had already eased some of the sting from Bishop’s rejection and time would see to the rest, one way or the other.
Not all eyes that followed them were happy but one young man in particular was both incensed and oddly satisfied with Samara’s apparent good fortune. From the day his brother Gil had died atop the judgment seat, Jiph had waited, waited for the day when Samara would pay. Jiph rose from his place on a large stone on the riverbank and casually followed them as they threaded through the crowd. Finally, it appeared that Samara had something to lose.
* * * * *
In the council pavilion, Dai stood with Hawke, watching Bishop’s figure recede into the distance. “Are you sure this was the best way?” Dai asked with a frown.
“It was the only way. He’s created an entirely new meaning for the words stubborn and selfish. Even if he didn’t look like Papa, I would know that they are related.” Hawke impatiently flicked the braids brushing his cheek back over his shoulder. “No others have pushed me to such rage. What is it about them that angers me so?”
Dai smiled at his young companion. “Could it be because you are so like them in temperament? Are you not also stubborn, Hawke? Do you not refuse to give up once you’ve begun? How else did you become champion? I think they anger you because you know they are worthy opponents.”
“At what?”
“Life. Think on that. Bishop might be wrong but he will not surrender until he proves that to himself. He will not take another’s word. He will not give up.” Dai tugged on one of Hawke’s braids. “Because you have set the challenge, you must be the one to guard his back. He is new to the dangers of the valley.”
Mali and Jonas arrived then, weighed down with packs and weapons and dumped them at Hawke’s feet. “We thought we would go with you,” Mali explained in a rush. “Perhaps while we’re wandering around, we can hunt.”
Hawke stared at the stubborn faces of his friends. After a moment, he agreed, “Perhaps. Thank you for preparing my pack. Am I so transparent?”
Jonas quirked an eyebrow and grinned. “You would never banish a beginner without protection. Never. So. We will go with you, eh?”
“Of course. How could I think otherwise?” Hawke snagged his pack and punchbow. “Dai, we will see you when Bishop decides to return home.”
“Think on what I said, Hawke.”
“I will. If what you say is true I will have plenty of time to contemplate your words.” With Hawke leading the way, the trio set off across the field. In Hawke’s judgment, there was no hurry…no hurry at all.
* * * * *
As he stomped across the grassy plain, Bishop quickly realized that he was not in the physical shape required to go exploring. His lungs ached, his shoulders chafed and his feet had blisters. On the other hand, he was just stubborn enough that he refused to turn tail and go back home. No power on earth was going to make him face that young twerp, Hawke, and admit that he was wrong.
He stumbled to a stop and dropped his burdens. The blisters on his feet were breaking open, smearing dirt and blood over tender skin. With a disgusted snort, he tucked his sharda under his butt and sat down on the ground. Asshole. How did he get himself into these messes?
He opened the stuffed pack with hands that shook from fatigue and nerves. He was always opening his mouth before he knew the consequences. Who would have thought the youngster could do something like this? Boy, did he underestimate the quiet one! What the hell was a champion, anyway?
The tightly packed contents nearly defeated him. Where was he to begin? Carefully noting the way the bag was packed, he unpacked it neatly, examining each item before setting it to the side. His mouth tightened grimly when he came across the small clay pot of ointment clearly marked in English “first-aid ointment” in addition to the normal valley glyph. Obviously, whoever packed the bag was certain he would need it and wanted to make sure he didn’t overlook it.
He set it aside while he looked for something to clean his feet. He found four rolled bundles of sheet strips and a stack of sheet squares. Underneath that stuff was two small washcloths and a small bath sheet. At that point he decided to finish emptying the pack so that he would have a clear idea of his supplies. A few minutes later he sat staring down at the neatly piled stuff. He had to admit that they had done pretty well by him considering the circumstances.
He selected a pair of socks from the piled clothing and then repacked everything except two rolled bandages, a washcloth and the ointment. There was a small waxed jug filled with water. Sparing use with the damp cloth kept most of it in reserve. He propped his right ankle on his left knee and cleaned the oozing blisters before smearing them with ointment. The soft bandage roll felt cool and comforting on his sore feet. After he tied the bandage ends securely, he slipped on one of the socks, noticing in passing that it was hand-knitted with very fine yarn. The intricate pattern in dark colors gave him something to mull over as he cleaned the leather on his sandal and put it back on before switching so that he could take care of his other foot.
When he was finished, he repacked the ointment, draped the damp washcloth around one of the straps on the pack and considered his next steps. It seemed to him that he should take time to examine the map. Surely water sources would be marked on it if indeed the valley had been explored as carefully as everyone said. He picked up the chinka tube and pulled out the delicately carved wooden stopper, tucking it in his waist wallet for safekeeping. The rolled linual slid out easily into his hand.
Bishop spread it out on his knees and studied the neat script and meticulous notations. On the lower left corner was a key with the various symbols listed. He turned the map until it was oriented in the direction he was headed. Hah! Hawke’s suggestion would lead him directly to a small creek. Nearby, a small campsite was marked on the map. He rolled the map up and returned it to the chinka tube, carefully sealing it with the stopper.
Feeling a little better with his feet bandaged and a little rest behind him, he climbed to his feet, arranged his belongings over his shoulders and set off once again toward the dark rock formation in the distance. He trudged along for quite a while before it occurred to him that the rock didn’t appear to be getting any closer. Surely he had walked farther than that?
Reluctantly, he turned to study the field behind him. The pavilions and hurkas from the Midsummer Gathering were far behind him. He slowly realized that apparent distance was deceiving in the valley. Bishop sipped sparingly at his water jug while he considered his options. It wasn’t likely that he would reach the dark rock formation before dusk. With renewed determination, he marched onward, keeping an eye on the sun. When the sunlight began to fade, he would stop and make camp for the night.
To the north of the field, flanking Bishop’s position, Jiph trotted at a steady, comfortable pace. There was only one possible destination for the outlander. There were no other sources of water close by. As he jogged, Jiph thought about the strange man, wondering how difficult he would be to kill.
He bore no anger toward the man but Samara—Samara must pay. So, a life for a life.
As the sun fell on the Midsummer Gathering, those who lived close enough to return to their homes began shepherding their families over the bridge to Lost Market. The families who had traveled far from home began organizing evening meals and
preparing the children for bed.
Ban offered to accompany Samara so they walked along the trail in the cool evening shadows as they talked. Samara thought about how much she’d enjoyed Ban’s company at the gathering. “Thank you for spending the day with me, Ban.”
“You’re welcome. It was such a hardship,” he teased.
“Surely you could have found someone else to visit with?”
“Who might that be? I’ve been away from Lost Market for a very long time. I don’t think I actually know more than five or six people in the village now. For certain, I was surprised at how much the village has grown and changed since I was here last.”
“Why have you never come home?” she asked quietly.
“Oh, there are many valid reasons but the truth is simply that I was uncomfortable with my father. He had expectations that I didn’t meet.” Ban’s simple words left her more puzzled than before.
“Why? Surely Dai didn’t care that you’re garzhan. So what was it?”
“He wished me to be a warrior. I wasn’t interested in swearing the vows or taking on the responsibilities of a warrior.” Ban shrugged. “I was a disappointment to him.”
“You’ve been gone more than twenty years. Don’t you think it’s time to make your peace with him?” she inquired gently. “I know Dai. And I remember you well. Both of you are very stubborn men. Surely one of you has the courage to take the first steps?”
They walked along the trail, each concentrating on their own thoughts and then Ban said, “You make me sound like a foolish child. I will find my father in the morning and speak to him.”
“Where will you stay tonight?” A small smile tugged at her lips as she decided to offer him shelter for the night.
“Are you offering a roof over my head?” His teeth glimmered in the dusky evening when he grinned at the thought.
“I am. There is plenty of room in my living room. And after a dusty day at the gathering, I suspect that you will enjoy the bathing room immensely.”
“I will accept your offer just for the opportunity to use your bathing room,” he admitted with a chuckle. “It was the subject of much gossip in the valley—even at Talking Wall this last year.”
“What? Why would anyone care about my bathing room?”
“Where shall I begin? It is said the tub is lined with small tiles and rare chinka tiles are among them. I have also heard that plants fill the space between the tub and the wall so it looks like a garden.” He stopped when she made a small noise but continued on when she said no more. “The most amazing story is about your waterfall at one end of the tub. I have heard that it is so tall that even I could stand beneath it.”
Samara snorted. “Perhaps I should offer tours.”
“If all that is true, perhaps you should,” he agreed.
“I took the ideas from things that Mama and Papa talked about. None of it is that startling.”
He just shook his head. “I foresee many changes coming to the valley. Bathing rooms all across the valley will look like indoor gardens. Before you know it, women will be demanding plant shelves in the kitchens for their herbs,” he predicted.
She cleared her throat and began to hum as they reached her porch. Ban stared at the hanging plants and wind chime with an odd little expression on his face. “I see that you have not confined yourself to changes indoors. This is lovely.”
“Yes, well, wait until you see the kitchen.”
He laughed heartily at that. “Then let us go inside at once!”
* * * * *
As Arturo walked along the wooded path to the pottery shop, he mulled over the information he was able to glean about the tall man who spent the day with Samara. From what he overheard of the discussion between Alf Campbell and Dai, the man was one of the head archivists at Talking Wall. Alf referred to him as Ban and from something in his attitude, Arturo had the idea that Ban was garzhan. What did Alf say? Oh, yes. Ban had been lonely since he lost his covenant mate, Daveen, in an accident. Now why did he think Daveen was male?
Then he remembered. Alf referred to Daveen as he. He fell from a scaffold at Talking Wall. Arturo smiled as he recalled how very attractive Ban was. Tall with broad shoulders and long tawny gold hair. And the way he moved was pure grimahr in motion.
Arturo walked out of the woods, spying Panther and Llynx glumly seated on the pottery dome steps exactly where they were supposed to be. Time to put away thoughts of Ban the archivist and deal with his two recalcitrant siblings. As he approached them, they stood up and waited for him to greet them. “Well, gentlemen? How was your day?”
“Fine,” Panther replied.
“Boring.” Llynx kicked a stone out of the way.
“That is why you are in trouble, Llynx. You’re bored too easily,” Arturo observed. “I have talked to Papa about your boredom. Beginning on the first day after the gathering, you will report to Dan Miller. He has agreed to apprentice you, even though you’re a bit young.”
“What!” Llynx rounded on Arturo with both fists raised.
“Stand down!” Arturo bellowed.
Shaking with rage, Llynx dropped his fists and stood silently with his eyes lowered.
Arturo turned to Panther. “You may go, Pan. Clean up for dinner and report to the kitchen. Ask if there is anything you can do to help. Go.” Panther ran toward the house, more than happy to escape the uncomfortable scene.
When Panther was out of sight, Arturo turned toward the school and said abruptly, “We will walk.”
Llynx trudged along beside him, waiting for Arturo to start yelling at him or something. Instead Arturo continued to walk in silence. When they reached the path that ringed the central village green, Arturo took it without a word so Llynx followed him, uncertain of their destination. The tension in Llynx’s body wound tighter and tighter as he waited for Arturo to speak.
Finally Llynx could bear the silence no longer. “Aren’t you going to yell or something?” he burst out in frustration.
“Why?” Arturo’s reasonable tone enraged Llynx further. “I am not angry. You are.”
“Well, it’s not fair!”
“Perhaps you should tell me what is not fair.”
“Everything!”
“I see. That’s a pretty comprehensive statement. Perhaps you should tell me one thing that is not fair,” Arturo suggested.
“I was going to tell the truth and—”
“You were cheated of the opportunity?”
Llynx kicked another stone out of the path. “Yeah.”
Arturo clasped his hands behind his back and nodded. “I suppose that could make you angry. My question is why you didn’t tell the truth earlier. There were many opportunities.”
“I dunno.”
“Don’t you?”
“Well, Panther was so mad! He was crying and yelling…” Llynx’s voice trailed off and he swallowed hard. “He never gets mad, Arturo, never.”
“So you thought you would fix it, eh?”
“Yeah.”
They walked in silence for a while. Then Arturo said, “I will tell you a story. A healer lies to his patient and tells him that he is very sick. If the man wants to be healed, he must buy this special salve that costs many credits. Now the man is very poor so he steals the salve from the healer. Tell me. Who was wrong?”
Llynx didn’t make the mistake of answering immediately. Arturo’s stories had a way of leading to tricky answers so Llynx considered the circumstances before he replied. “Well, the man was wrong because he stole the salve.”
“True.”
“And the healer was wrong because he lied so the man would buy the salve.”
“Also true. So. Which one should I punish?”
After a while, Llynx said in a hushed voice, “Both. One lied. And one stole.”
“What is another thing the man could have done instead of stealing?”
Llynx scratched his chin and thought about that. It hadn’t occurred to him that there might be alternatives. “Well, he
could talk to another healer?”
“And then what would have happened?” Arturo asked.
“The second healer would have told him it was a lie.”
“Uh-hmm.”
“If Panther had told you he didn’t take the picture, then he wouldn’t have been punished,” Llynx muttered. “So part of it was his fault.”
“Exactly.” Arturo turned up the walkway to the bakery where Dan Miller waited in the doorway. It was nearly dark so there were light stones in the windows. The scent of fresh bread swirled around them on the late afternoon breeze. He offered his hand to Llynx. “Come, let us go talk to Dan about your apprenticeship.”
Strangely relieved, Llynx placed his hand in his big brother’s and willingly went in to talk to Dan.
Chapter Twelve
Bishop’s Acquiescence
Dinner at the Llewellyn house was a huge pot of vegetable soup that had been simmering all day, and fresh bread from the bakery. The youngsters had eaten and gone to bed, leaving the adults to share a peaceful meal. As Dancer and Eppie dined with the family, Dancer reflected on the universal truth that a day spent out-of-doors worked up a powerful hunger, whether in the valley or out. Conversation was minimal as everyone consumed soup and bread as though it would be their last meal. It was good soup, Dancer admitted as he poked at the vegetables in his bowl. Very good soup, even if the vegetables were strange.
Eppie frowned as she looked at the group gathered around the table. “Where are Hawke and Bishop?”
“They are out exploring the valley,” Dai replied easily.
Startled, she stared at him with all sorts of questions tumbling in her mind. “In the middle of the Midsummer Gathering? Isn’t that a strange time to go exploring?”
Dai shrugged. “Sometimes, these things cannot wait.”
Dancer tapped her arm to get her attention and when she looked at him, he shook his head. All right. Obviously, this wasn’t a topic for discussion right now.
