The Smiling Stallion Inn

by Courtney Bowen

  As other crewmembers tried to stop her advance, she defended herself admirably and dispatched those in her way as swiftly as possible. The others started to avoid her, edging away from her presence.

  Renrawr shook his head. “What are you doing here?” he called to her.

  “I’ve come to end this before you kill another soul,” she said, staring up at him as she continued her advance.

  Renrawr laughed. “You can’t possibly believe you’ll defeat me, Monika,” he remarked, idly fingering the hilt of his sword. “You’re not trained well enough.” I should’ve gotten a bodyguard for this trip, he thought.

  “I’m trained well enough,” Monika said, climbing the steps to the forecastle deck before stopping. “I’ve been waiting a long time for this moment.”

  Renrawr unsheathed his sword. “I thought you were dead,” he said, posing himself and readying to fight.

  She laughed. “It takes more than one giant viper to kill me,” Monika cried, charging him. He fended off her first attack, and she charged again.

  He hoped her anger would prove to be her undoing, and just a few moments later, she did indeed leave herself open. She tried to go for Renrawr’s chest and neck, and he ducked low to slash her thigh. And then he drove his sword into her stomach.

  Monika fell over the forecastle railing onto the main deck. She screamed in pain as she tried to get up. Grinning, Renrawr dropped down onto the main deck next to her. He drew back his sword for his final attack, but an arrow pierced his chest. He staggered backwards, his sword dropping from his hand when he backed into the rail. He coughed up blood an instant before he toppled backwards over the rail and sank slowly into the depths.

  * * * *

  Monika gasped as she woke up, shivering.

  “Monika? Are you all right?” a woman asked, and she turned around to see a red-headed woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties. She was sitting beside her where she lay on a small bed.

  “Where am I? How did I come to be here?” Monika asked, looking around the room. It was a rather plain bedroom, containing only the bed and a dresser. At first Monika thought she might be on a ship, but then she realized what she first thought was the rocking of a ship was really her own woozy head.

  “My name is Mirari, and I’m a healer,” the woman told her, trying to sound reassuring even though her voice was rather stiff. “You were brought to my house yesterday morning after you were wounded in a sword fight. You were severely injured, but you’re better now, and safe. You just need to rest.”

  “I feel awful,” Monika muttered, deciding to check her wounds. Hadn’t she been stabbed in the stomach? There was barely a scratch there. Odd, she thought, shaking her head as she stared at it.

  “It will be okay. You will feel like yourself again after a while.”

  “Who am I? How can I feel myself if I don’t know who I am anymore?” Monika asked, looking up at Mirari with tears in her eyes. “I feel awful sometimes, thinking about how I’ve changed these past few years.” She shook her head.

  “You just need to relax and rest,” Mirari said, laying a hand carefully and gently on Monika’s shoulder. “I don’t know you. I just know that you’re a very brave and very foolish woman for what you’ve done. You see, I’m friends with the major in charge of the local Border Guards. I know what you did in service to them.”

  “I think I should leave,” Monika said, reaching to pull back the covers.

  “No, not just yet.” Mirari waylaid her hand and Monika settled back down. “You need at least another day’s rest.” Mirari insisted.

  Monika’s lower lip began to tremble. “I…I don’t even know where to go anyway.”

  “Mirari tidied her bed covers. “Perhaps by tomorrow you’ll think of something.”

  “Perhaps,” Monika said, closing her eyes and drifting off once more.

  * * * *

  Basha did believe in Jawen. For two months after their first kiss he’d dated her. Basha believed in the joy they gave each other, not to mention the kisses they shared. They cuddled in haylofts, under tree branches, and in bushes out by the road. Out of mutual respect, their clothes stayed on. Basha tried to be patient and Jawen tried to relax a little bit more in his presence as she didn’t want to lose control of her senses.

  Basha and Jawen remained quiet with each other whenever they weren’t kissing. They shared few, if any common interests due to their differing backgrounds. While Basha had been free to wander and do what he pleased in his spare time, Jawen’s spare time had been taken up with ballet lessons and croquet matches, mostly with other rich young girls like Sisila and Iibala. Basha faced a lifetime of work without much potential reward.

  Thus, she had some doubts about her future with Basha. Otherwise, she’d known more peace and joy with him than she’d had in her entire lifetime. So she grew more certain her future was going in the right direction, despite their differences.

  Unfortunately, every time they met, usually fewer than ten minutes passed before one of them had to leave. Jawen feared being discovered by her father, who hated Geda, and by transference, Geda’s son. Basha was a balnor in Lapo’s eyes and not a suitable match for his daughter. And so they met in secret as infrequently as possible, in as short a time as possible, to avoid being found by somebody who might inform Jawen’s father of their liaisons, which would ruin everything.

  * * * *

  “Jawen! Jawen!” Lapo called.

  Hold still, hold still, Basha thought to himself as he lay on top of a roof beam, with Jawen lying on top of him. Basha prayed to Welda, goddess of mercy, love, and compassion, to please help him in his and his beloved’s hour of need, and Tau, the god of humanity and man, to have pity on them. He also added a prayer to the twin goddesses of luck, Bidana; and mystery, Sitha, to make a miracle happen. Bidana was also the patron goddess of merchants, but Basha hoped she’d overlook Lapo right now.

  They remained as still as possible, until Lapo turned around and walked away after searching for his daughter for a couple of minutes. Then Basha sighed and received a kiss from Jawen as she told him, “You did well, Basha. Really well.” She smiled.

  “Jawen, I don’t think I can stand much more of this.”

  “But we’re doing so well together, aren’t we?” Jawen asked.

  “I guess, if you can call this doing well,” he said, sighing again. “Jawen, why can’t we tell anyone yet?”

  “You don’t want my father getting angry at you, do you?”

  “No, I don’t want that, but I’m tired of living a lie. You lie here with me, as close as you can get, yet out in public…” He let his thought dwindle away, his meaning obvious. “Jawen, I don’t want to live life like this. I want to have children, a job, a house, a life with you. Wouldn’t that be great?”

  Jawen hesitated. “Basha, I want all of that, I do, but I don’t think I’m ready for that sort of commitment yet.” She sighed. “I’m sorry, Basha.”

  “But what about…” Basha sighed and shook his head. “Forget it, Jawen,” he said, getting up.

  “Basha, please don’t—”

  “Forget it, Jawen. I’m leaving. Good-bye,” he added, and then he checked to make sure nobody was around to see them together before he departed. Jawen didn’t pursue him.

  * * * *

  It was the middle of Havin a month later, and Basha was still miserable. He’d wholeheartedly enjoyed every moment he’d spent with Jawen, but their joy had left only doubts, nagging suspicion, and arguments.

  Jawen was too scared to be seen with him in public for fear her father would find out they were courting. Lapo had too much power over her for Basha’s taste, and obviously she didn’t feel for him what he felt for her, or she wouldn’t care what her father thought.

  In that time, he was told—not just by his brother, but by his father and mother as well—he was better off without her. Basha tried to assure himself they were right as he helped out in the fields, getting the crops in for the cold season. Then one day
, near the start of the month of Novi, the Zarien came to stay at the inn.

  Basha and Oaka were cleaning out the gutters in preparation for the coming snow when she arrived, so they didn’t see her except from a distance as she dismounted her horse and stabled it before entering the inn. Once the boys were finished, they came inside, and their father immediately told them, “I want you two to be very careful. We’ve a visitor, a very important and dangerous one, staying here. I don’t know why she’s here in this kind of weather. She’s a Zarien, from the Za Desert. Can you imagine?”

  “I don’t see what is so important or dangerous about her,” Habala said. “She’s just an ordinary girl, about Basha and Oaka’s age. I’d imagine she’d be very frightened, Geda, and very shocked to hear you talk this way about her. I should think we’d welcome her business and treat her with the respect we show everyone else. Right, boys?”

  * * * *

  The girl didn’t come down from her room for dinner that evening, nor did she come down for breakfast the next morning. “Basha!” Habala called, handing over a tray of food and a drink to him when he arrived. “Take this upstairs to the…room four, please,” she said, checking herself.

  Basha nervously grasped the tray and went upstairs, careful not to spill anything as he went down the second-floor corridor to the girl’s room. He knocked on the door, managing to balance the tray against himself with the other hand. “Breakfast! Ma’am? Miss?” he shouted. He knocked again when there was no reply. “Breakfast, I’ve food for you. Ma’am? Miss? Hello?” He knocked again, a third time, and then looked down at the doorknob after a couple of minutes. “Are you feeling well? Is everything all right?” he called at the door, hoping that she might reply. He didn’t know what to do. “I’m coming in!” he shouted as he grasped the doorknob and pulled it open, hoping—

  “Halt, who goes there?” the young woman yelled, pointing the blade of a sword at him.

  “I’m sorry, miss, it’s only me.” Basha held up one hand, trying to hold the tray steady with the other hand since he was shaking…and sweating. “Basha, one of the sons of the innkeeper of this inn. I’ve brought you food,” he added, staring at the sword pointed at him.

  The young woman was tanner of skin than he was, with long dark hair, and it appeared she’d just gotten out of bed. She’s dressed in pants and a shirt, just like a boy! he thought. Sometimes Iibala dressed like a boy when she was riding her father’s horses, but only when she was riding.

  “What is that?” the girl asked, pointing the sword at his tray.

  “It’s bacon and eggs. There’s some juice here if you want, or we can get you some tea or coffee, but that will cost extra. There’s some milk downstairs too.” He talked very fast when he was scared. “My mother thought you’d like some food sent up to you after missing dinner last night and breakfast this morning. Compliments of the house.”

  “Thank you, and please thank your mother for me,” the young woman said as she sheathed her sword and slowly came forward to accept the tray from him. “I’m sorry for the trouble, but I can’t go down just now. I’m afraid of attracting attention to myself.”

  “I’m sorry, miss, it’s just that we are not used to visitors from…” He hesitated.

  “Please stop calling me miss,” she said. “My name is Monika.”

  “Monika, I’m Basha. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope you’ll enjoy your stay at—”

  “You already told me your name,” she said. “Now I must ask you to leave.”

  “I’m…all right, I’m sorry, I’ll go.”

  “Wait. You may come back with lunch for me in a few hours’ time. I’ll pay for it, of course. Thank you again for the food,” she said as he left.

  “What was she like?” Oaka asked Basha as soon as he came downstairs.

  “You really don’t want to know,” Basha said, walking past Oaka toward the back of the inn. He wanted to relieve the arousal causing him so much pain, but that just wasn’t possible. He’d have to make sure he didn’t see her again—he’d send Oaka up with her lunch—before she left.

  * * * *

  However, he met her again, sooner than lunchtime, when he was out wandering around. He spotted her sitting on a park bench at the edge of the square. The clock tower designed by his mother, Habala, was ticking in the background. He stopped a moment and stared, wondering if he should go back, but then he decided to walk by her and hope she wasn’t scared either. He noticed she was wearing a thick wool overcoat that went down to just below her knees, and she’d stuffed her hair under a thick woolen cap.

  Ironically, she got up and walked in the same direction ahead of him. He noticed she was walking slowly and with a slight limp. “Monika, wait!” As she stopped, he hurried up to her. “Have you been injured?” he asked before he could stop himself.

  Monika paused. “I was. Not that long ago,” she said. “I almost died from it, but I had a really good healer who got me up on my feet and walking again in short order.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it still painful?”

  “No, not really, though sometimes I get a little ache. But it’s almost all gone now,” she said, looking up at a rooftop.

  “How did you get hurt?”

  “Sword fighting.”

  “Sword fighting? With actual swords?” he asked, coming a little bit closer and then realizing how stupid he sounded.

  “Yes, does that surprise you?”

  “No, not really. I train for the local militia, mostly with wooden swords though.”

  “Oh? You’ve an instructor?”

  “Yes, Sir Nickleby.”

  “Oh.” She glanced away from him.

  “What’s wrong, Monika?” She’d sounded disappointed in him.

  “There was a knight named Nickleby who fought against my mother’s army.” She made to turn and leave.

  “Wait, I’m sorry,” Basha said, although his mind reeled at the thought of Sir Nickleby fighting anyone’s mother. “The Sir Nickleby I know is a distinguished and honorable knight.”

  “He’s dishonorable,” Monika said. “Otherwise why was he sent all of the way up here, teaching young boys how to fight instead of patrolling the borders?”

  “I suppose he got tired of battle, and perhaps wanted to raise his daughter, Iibala, where she would be safe,” Basha said, shaking his head, “and everything he has done was to protect us.”

  “I suppose you do have a point, but perhaps you should take a closer look at this hero of yours. If you could see him through my eyes, you wouldn’t think so highly of him.” She turned and walked away.

  Basha watched her leave, unable to understand how two people could see the same man so differently.

  * * * *

  “How old are you?”

  Basha looked up to see Monika standing over him in the common room. There was no crowd at this time of the afternoon, just before the dinner rush, when the sun hadn’t yet dropped perceivably toward sunset.

  “I’ll be seventeen years old in about a month, on Decam seventh,” Basha said.

  “Seventeen? What a coincidence,” she said. “I’ll be seventeen in five months,” Monika said. “Juna fourteenth.”

  “Why do you ask now? You didn’t seem to want to talk much when I brought you your lunch earlier.”

  “Well, I was still sore at you about earlier, but I wanted to know your age because you seem both old and young at the same time, certainly older than your actual age. What about me?” she asked. “Did you wonder about how old I was?”

  “Well, I thought you were older than me. You certainly seem more mature. More worldly.”

  Monika sat down across from him. “Why is that, do you think?”

  “I think it has something to do with the way you talk. Your speech is quite proper.” What else was he supposed to say?

  “The way I talk…I suppose where I come from, we learn how to pronounce things properly and correctly. One mistake can cost you.”

  “You come f
rom the desert, right?”

  “Yes, the desert was my home, but I’ve been to many places, seen many faces. It’s been years since I’ve been home.”

  “So why aren’t you at home now?”

  “Are you asking me to leave?” she asked, half-serious.

  “No, it’s just that I’ve never been outside of Coe Baba. I’ve wanted to leave on occasion, but I just stay here in Coe Baba.”

  “Why don’t you go?” she said, smiling.

  “I suppose, in some small part of myself, I’m afraid to leave.” Basha admitted. “I was born and raised here, though I was meant to be someplace else. Habala and Geda raised me here after my mother died giving birth to me here at the inn.” He stared off into the distance. “My mother was a stranger here, and I’ve always wondered what it would be like had she not died and I’d grown up elsewhere with her, but that didn’t happen. My mother’s dead and I’m left here, alone in a sense.” He wondered why he’d confessed so much to a stranger. “This is my home, the only one I’ve ever truly known. I don’t know what the rest of the world is like. I don’t even know where my birth mother came from.”

  Monika stared at him. “Well,” she said, unable to look away from him. “I don’t know what the whole world is like either. I’ve been many places, but certainly not everywhere. Lately, I’ve been missing home more than usual. The desert is a harsh place, but one can find water if one knows how to look for it. It’s not so bad there if you know the land.”

  Basha stared at her now. “Well, if you’ve been to such places that make the desert pale in comparison, in terms of harshness, then you’ve been through some rough times, haven’t you?” he asked, hoping for a laugh.

  “More than you know, Basha,” she said, smiling grimly.

  “Well, I can show you around Coe Baba if you’d like. Coe Baba is a nice place, a peaceful town. I think you’ll find it to be one of the dullest places on earth.”

  He smiled as she laughed. It was good to hear her laugh, even a little bit.