by J. R. Castle
Drawing in a ragged breath that left his chest feeling as if he’d breathed in burning embers, Darnel met Fajer’s eyes, “She left her beloved Halls to spare herself, and me. My father, in his shame, went to live in the far northern regions. We never heard from him again. She perished when I was but a young boy, and I’ve been on my own ever since then.”
Fajer lowered himself until he was sitting on the bottom stoop beside Darnel. His hand rested on his shoulder, “How astounding. Why did you not go to the White City? Surely, your father’s people would have…”
“The stigma of being a half-breed wasn’t worth it. I would never have been equal to them. I did attend the Academy until I came of age to pledge myself to…that…king. But I would not. And I will never pledge myself to anyone, Fajer. I’ll not bend on that matter. So, before you ask me to join your Brother—”
“We could trick them. Darnel, there are ways around the Brethren’s rules. But I would…” he straightened his back, his tone all business, “Partners. That’s what I offer you, my friend. All I would ask, in order to protect me from you and you from me, is a blood oath. Not to pledge yourself to me, but to promise that we from henceforth, work as a team. As equals.”
“As equals?”
Fajer nodded. “You are a gift, my dear boy. Now I’m sure you are not near as young as you look. You, I’m certain, are a man who has walked this earth for nearly as many years as I have. If not more.”
Did Fajer really mean to say that he was a…gift? Not a curse? Or a horrible mistake?
“What would be required to make this bond, Fajer?”
The wizard stood and took the book from his pocket. Handing it to Darnel, he said, “Nothing more than a few words and a bit of our blood. If I harm you, the bond we create will take my life, as it will take yours if you bring harm to me. Will you accept my offer?”
“Will you remove the mark from my hand? I’ll make a vow to never harm you, but I do not want to have this connection to you, or anyone else.”
Fajer studied him for a long moment, puffs of smoke floating from the pipe and up around his marked head. “Very well. I release you, Darnel, from my service. If you choose to continue with me, you will do so as my partner, not my servant apprentice.”
Darnel looked down at the book, knowing if he agreed, then he’d never have to worry about being cast out on his own again. He’d have someone that he could depend on, because of their blood oath, Fajer would not be able to harm him anymore.
To break a blood oath would mean death to the one willfully breaking it.
If Darnel left now, he’d become a nomad once again, traveling alone, suspicious of everyone and everything he came across. However, if he stayed and became Fajer’s partner, he’d have someone to watch his back, someone who finally accepted him for the oddity he was.
Fajer said he was a gift. A gift.
Darnel held out his hand, “Yes, Fajer. I accept.”
Chapter Ten
“They brought the livery family’s oldest son, Boon, to the Meeting Hall yesterday,” Kardia wept into her hands, trying to get the whole awful story out while Miltie worked on filling jars with dried herbs for Mr. Tillus’s medicine cabinet. “My father had sent him to Karm to purchase cloth for Mother. She wants new garments made for us.”
The air around the table filled with a pleasant fragrance as the old woman crushed the iron-wort leaves into a bowl.
Kardia drew in a long breath, allowing the scent to calm her nerves. “They found Boon in an alehouse. He’d spent all the coins Dadda had given him. Poor Boon, he was laughing about it when they brought him back. Mother thought he was taking too long and sent some of her…her…I don’t even know what to call them.”
Miltie’s narrow lips pressed in a tight line as she glanced over her spectacles at her. “The most common term is henchmen, child. Continue your story. I did hear the commotion yesterday but refused to peek out my window. Knew I’d be displeased at what I saw.” She shook her head. Two long braids, white streaked with silver, trailed down over each shoulder.
“Mother order his hands to be chopped off!” Kardia cried. “Dadda did nothing to stop it. Matter-of-fact, I’m also sure he agreed that the punishment was just.” Her heart broke. When had her parents become so harsh? So cruel to the people of this town? “They could have put him in lockdown or cast him out of the village. But to maim him as they did…”
“Tis not the Kingdom’s way, that’s for certain.” Miltie rubbed the plant between her thin, wrinkled hands. Dirt was caked beneath her ragged nails. She always smelled like the earth and fragrant plants. Kardia loved everything about the elderly woman who’d become her best friend and confident.
Kardia wiped her sleeve across her damp cheeks. “Is there anything to be done about this? The town is thriving again, but…”
“Everyone is still out for themselves. There is no heart to our community. When the gold is gone, I fear Goia will return to its former poor condition.”
Slamming her palms on the table, Kardia exclaimed, “There must be something! Miltie, I read in one of the books that all Kingdom towns have a thriving White Tree. The Healing Tree. Is that true?”
Miltie dusted the bits of the plant from her hands, then scooped the remaining bits into a glass jar. “It’s not the tree that makes the town flourish, but the town that enables the Healing Tree to grow and bear fruit. We would have to get people to turn back to King Shaydon. Not in their actions, but in their hearts, a sincere dedication to live by the King’s standards.” Her full lips turned downward into a doubt-filled scowl. “I fear, we have no hope of growing a Healing Tree, even if we did somehow manage to get through to people. The old tree is completely dead. I noticed it the other day as I was in the woods collecting these herbs for Mr. Tillus’ medicines.”
Kardia’s hand clasped on the trinket she’d kept from the day her father traded her to the wizard. “What if we could grow another one?”
Miltie’s laughter shook her rounded shoulders. “We would need a seed, and even then, it’ll—”
Kardia reached into her pocket and withdrew the glistening teardrop-shaped seed that the dark-haired man had given her. “This came from the old tree.” She explained the day the stranger came into town and how he’d made the dying tree produce one last fruit.
“Miltie, you are gifted with making things grow…can’t you…?” She dropped the seed into the woman’s dirt-encrusted hands.
“Oh, my, it’s so, so small. I don’t understand how he could have…” her head continued to shake back and forth with her puzzlement. “Only certain Beings can bring a White Tree to life. You are certain he was in league with the sorcerer that struck the deal with your father?”
“He had to be. He lured me to the plot of land Dadda traded for the gold.”
The herbalist turned the smooth seed over between her fingers. “I will try to see if it will sprout for me. Perhaps, but,” she looked up at Kardia with worry crinkling deep lines around her wise, brilliant blue eyes. “I fear unless we get to the root of the problem, the tree hidden inside will never come out from its protective shell.”
“What do other Kingdom towns do? What makes them different than us?” Kardia had read many books in her spare time and late into the night despite Mother’s complaints about her burning through so many candles.
“As I said, child, it is their hearts. The ways of Shaydon are taught to the young on a daily basis. Every week, the townsfolk gather at the meeting hall to share their bounty. They share meals, sing songs about the King’s goodness and victories of old. They read from his book—”
“His book? Which book is that? There are many in the library. Maybe I missed it. Did he write it himself?”
“Indeed, he did. There are letters from King Shaydon, himself. And thoughts from his son, Prince Issah.”
When Miltie mentioned the prince’s name, something stirred inside Kardia. She felt momentarily emboldened, then the feeling quickly passed. “I do wish I could mak
e a trip to the White City. When I mentioned it to Mother, she scoffed, of course. And as I expected, she said there was no time to even think about making pointless trips to faraway places. Then she threatened to take all the library books out and burn them if I didn’t stop wasting my time in there. Said those old books were filling my head with more foolishness.”
If Mother hadn’t feared to anger the elders of this town who insisted on keeping the Meeting Hall intact, then she might have followed through on her threat. Kardia only went to the library late at night anymore to sneak out a few books when her parents slept. She never read them where Mother might catch her, and she was always sure to first get her chores done before escaping to a hidden spot in the woods where she could read in peace.
Fortunately, Dadda also forbade Mother from even threatening to do any such a thing to the old record books. They were caretakers of the Hall and not the owners, he’d remind her. But Mother ruled over the manor like a queen ruled her castle.
Kardia had let the matter drop, not wanting to cause her parents grief. Dadda said the trip to Aloblase was too far and the timing not right. When she reached her twentieth year, then she could decide on her own if she wished to go. They would leave it up to her.
How easily they seemed to have forgotten that the sorcerer would come to claim her before her twentieth birthday.
“It’s hopeless,” Tears threatened to spill over Kardia’s lashes again. She was so tired of the tears, but the harder she tried to find a way to break her curse, the more she realized there was no way. And nobody seemed to care that she was destined to be taken away from them. Not her family and certainly not the people of this town. “He’ll come to claim me, and there’s nothing I can do—”
“Hush child,” Miltie jumped from her chair and moved around the table to wrap Kardia in a comforting embrace. “We will find some way. Do not forget the Regent will eventually pass through. He will have his advisers with him. You can seek guidance then. The Regent is commissioned with caring for the people in his Providence. No matter where they come from or how much wealth they have, he is charged with listening to every concern, big or small.”
But Dadda had told her the last Regent didn’t care at all about Goia. He’d said they were on their own. The only reason her parents were working so hard to revive the town was so the new Regent wouldn’t think they were wasting their portion of land and cast them out into the wilds to wander as nomads.
What kind of Ruler would do that?
“Miltie, do you think the new Regent is subject to King Shaydon? What if he’s heartless like the last Regent who didn’t care?”
The old woman pulled her chair around, so she could sit at Kardia’s side and keep hold of her hand. “Hearts are fickle things.” Miltie wiped away the last tear tumbling down Kardia’s cheek. “They can change their beats upon a whim. That’s why it’s so important to feed our spirits with what is good and truthful. You keep reading whatever books you can find that offer instruction on daily living, my dear. Keep your heart pure and good things will happen. You’ll see.”
She turned back toward the table and covered the tops of the jars she had filled with a stiff cloth. “I wished I’d not given away my copy of The King’s Book of Letters. At the time, I’d believed that I could obtain another copy at the next Kingdom town. I’d memorized so much of the book, I’d always put off getting a new copy.”
“Do you still remember, Miltie?” Kardia was determined to keep searching the library. Anytime Mother left the manor for the day, she’d sneak into the forbidden room and continue her search.
The elder woman’s forehead furrowed as she thought over Kardia’s question. “Oh my, it’s been many years since I’ve tried to recall them. But…perhaps, I can draw a few of the letters back to the surface. If I do, I’ll be sure to write down what I remember.”
Kardia had a new thought. “Do you think it would be possible to start holding the weekly meetings again? Like the other towns do?”
Miltie laughed. “Do you think your mother would allow it? She only allows those people of influence into her ‘Manor.’ Such a shame. It was never meant to be ruled, but always open to everyone.”
Kardia helped tie string around the jar coverings. “No, perhaps not. Is there somewhere else? The winter is nearly upon us. People no longer need to work their crops. Your plants are going into hibernation. Once you finish gathering, maybe we can…” Kardia wasn’t even sure what she was asking. How would she ever get people together to talk about a King nobody seemed to know or care about?
“We can start with teaching the young,” Miltie suggested. “We can invite people to the common area for a shared meal. You parents will have no say about what we do in the Commons. Folks will come for festivities.” She set the jars into her basket. “While I am out making my rounds tomorrow, I will speak to some of the elders. You mention the idea of a celebration festival to your father. If we get him in agreement, our task will be much simpler. If we can get people to come, I’ll share what stories I can remember.”
Miltie hopped from her seat, excitement setting her feet to skipping around the small room. She poked at the embers in her hearth, coaxing a flame to life and then setting a pot of water to boil for tea. “We will entertain them with stories. Already, my old mind is filling up with memories. Bless Shaydon!” She clapped her hands, a smile splitting her face.
Excitement also bubbled up in Kardia. The hope of at least getting people to think about the great King welled up. “Yes, I love this idea. I will get Dadda to agree. He used to talk often about how the town would celebrate at the end of harvest. They deserve this for everyone’s hard work. My parents will not be able to deny my suggestion. Yes, let’s do this, Miltie!”
The old woman cupped Kardia’s face. “There is that spark of hope burning bright again. Child, do not let circumstance snuff it out. Hope is all we have to guard us against falling into despair.”
* * * *
Leon tossed and turned all through the night he slept on the hard ground inside his tent. The wind whipped at the covering, causing the fabric to flap and jerk in every direction. In the same manner, he feared he was being whipped around by too many opinions on what to do next.
Riyah wanted him to continue into the town, despite the danger ahead. As the Elderad had predicted, only one scout returned to report that the town was not welcoming to outsiders. Instead of a flag bearing the Province’s lion banner, he said the make-shift flag tied near the entrance had a star within a red circle.
General Gailid said in a low voice dripping with disgust, “The mark of the sorcerer clan that dwells in the hills of Mire Wood. They call themselves the Brethren. I fear they are a branch growing from the minions dedicated to the Enchantress Zilvia.”
Several men had gasped at the mention of such an evil name. “But hasn’t she been banished from Alburnium? Hasn’t she been imprisoned on the desolate island?” they asked.
Leon’s heart turned to stone at this news. He’d heard horror stories as a child of sorcerers that would steal children. But he’d dismissed them as tall tales. What worried him, was the idea that a rogue band of mages had taken up residence so close to his province. He did not wish to end up engaged in a conflict with such power-seeking ruffians.
Giving up on sleep, Leon climbed out of his pallet and went to the table someone had set up for him to set his books and maps upon. A small part of him had weighed the cost of losing that little spot of land. Would it really matter? Tarest was such a tiny hamlet. His books told him that they mainly produced cotton and made cloth. But couldn’t cloth be purchased from other provinces? Maybe another town would take up growing cotton if he requested it?
Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. The dull ache at the back of his head that started during last night’s council, continued to pound but with greater intensity. The Healer traveling with him had brewed an herbal tea for him to drink before going to bed but it had brought no relief.
His greatest fear w
as losing men if he engaged with the seized town. Koloman advised against it, saying Tarest was too insignificant to bother with. “No real loss, my boy,” Koloman had said, patting Leon’s back. “Even your father didn’t bother with them once he’d learned they’d rebelled against the King.”
So, this had been happening for some time? How could Leon expect to fix it over one visit?
He couldn’t if truth be told. Even if his men did manage to wrestle it back from the rebel wizards, he would be stuck here throughout the winter setting things straight again.
Why couldn’t he send his warriors later to reclaim and rebuild the town? What difference would a few months make?
He’d hoped to stay in the more populated town of Warton during the snow months. Somewhere that offered a few conveniences, such as an inn to stay in and a tavern to be served food at.
What good could he do the little hamlet now without proper resources and more men to secure the borders from those…conjurers?
In his part of the land?
How could that have happened? Leon pounded his fist on the wobbly table. From what he’d heard, Sorcerers and Wizards were more active in the southern regions. Some were even rumored to dwell in the ancient Wilderland forest. But so close? In Mire Wood which was surrounded by Kingdom provinces?
How could Shaydon allow them to remain in his lands? They were like a rash that would spread if left untreated.
Leon’s heart sank. This was exactly what Riyah had said. If he didn’t deal with Tarest now, it would only get worse. Especially if Leon, as acting Regent, pretended not to notice. It would be a sign that he was weak, that he didn’t care about the land Issah had appointed to him.
He would be no better than those he condemned for allowing the sorcerers entrance in the first place.
Leon shoved the map aside and began pacing across the small space of his tent. What he needed was some fresh air. Grabbing his cloak and walking staff, he peeked out through the flaps to make sure he’d not run into anyone, then slipped out into the cool night. Every day grew a little colder. Soon, snow would cover the ground. He had to find suitable shelter for his men before that happened.
