by Anna Logan
It felt like a short eternity passed before the flogging finally stopped. There were still conversing voices, heavy, jingly footsteps that could only belong to the ironclad Kaydorians. After waiting a few more moments to be sure, Brenly gripped the lowest branch of the tree and pulled herself up. She advanced cautiously back into the clearing, away from the safety of the woods. The knights had gathered around the station, a small wooden building at the edge of the square that had little purpose except as a meeting point for laborers who had to have transportation to the forests or fields they worked in, or for any legal business. One of them glanced her way but didn’t seem concerned. Less wary now, she straightened her posture and walked toward the seven shirtless men whose skin shone with sweat and whose backs were striped with welts and torn flesh. Their hands were still tied behind their backs, leaving them little choice but to remain in whatever crumpled position the soldiers had left them in after they’d been whipped.
Messy brown hair with a tinge of red distinguished which one was Naylen even if his bloody back was toward her. She made the mistake of looking closer at the handiwork of the whip, twisting her stomach into knots. Brenly moved to his front and crouched. He looked up at her, eyes a bit glazed with pain, not quite as fiery as usual. His grimace twitched as if he was trying to change into some other expression but he couldn’t quite make the switch.
Uncertainly she skimmed her fingers over his temple and cheek. There was probably any number of things that she ought to say. All she could manage was a whispered, “If I untie you, can you walk?”
His lips twitched again, this time upward ever so slightly. “Are you saying that if I can’t, you won’t untie me?” before she could answer, he moved his head in what passed for a nod. “Yeah.”
Brenly carefully grabbed his upper arm that was on the ground and lifted, giving him the momentum needed to get into a more upright position. After getting behind him, she put trembling fingers to the knot that bound his wrists.
“Hey,” a Kaydorian’s voice startled her, as a few of the soldiers returned. “Can’t let you do that, missy.”
Another of the men crossed his arms. “We’re taking them to the lord’s manor. Two weeks to recover, then we’ll take them to Aydimor like the rest.”
Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, that she had to blink away. “But...wouldn’t they heal better at home, taken care of by their families?”
“They’re His Majesty’s men, now. Taking care of them is our business.” Shortly after saying it, he softened, a hint of sympathy in his face. “How about you can come with us to the manor and have the time to say goodbye. Yeah? Good.” He stepped back and waved his hand for his men. “Let’s move.”
They got the rest of the men on their feet, a soldier holding each by his arm, both for their support and restraint. The Kaydorian in charge eyed her a moment, then allowed her to walk with Naylen in place of one of his soldiers. She put her arm around his waist and guided his around her shoulders. It was awkward, and under any other circumstances inappropriate, but he needed the help as they started walking.
He broke the silence after a few moments. “You’re grimacing more than I am.”
She forced her expression to go slack, then into an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry. I just don’t like you being in pain. Are you, are you okay?”
He didn’t meet her gaze. “Yeah. I mean,” his own frown returned, “you know.”
Brenly nodded. No, she didn’t know. Obviously the physical pain was not what he subtly referred to. His father being drafted, then? The fact that he would be too? Or, he was exceptionally zealous about such things as liberty and justice. Maybe he was more upset by the morals of the act rather than the act itself. That wasn’t something she fully understood, but between Naylen and Talea, she’d come to realize it was how they thought. She didn’t have it in her to care why it had happened, or if it was wrong—she just cared that her uncle was gone. Soon, Naylen would be too.
A body on the ground obstructed their path a few yards ahead. Half of her didn’t dare to go see who it was, or how badly they were injured, preferring to remain with Naylen. The other half knew she had to see who it was and if they could be helped, assuming the soldiers would allow it. She silently communicated her intent to Naylen with a touch to his shoulder and left him to approach the motionless form. A young man, by his hair and build. Alarm shot through her when she saw his face: Jarle. But his eyes were open. Why wasn’t he moving, why didn’t he notice her? Didn’t he—
A surge of heat and dizziness made Brenly stagger backwards. Those eyes were glazed, unseeing, fixed on nothing. He was dead.
She ran straight back to Naylen and into his arms. Unable to wrap her own arms around his back, she tucked them up against her chest and his, resting her head against his shoulder. If he was surprised by the embrace or felt awkward, he didn’t show it. Of course, with him being shirtless and them being in public it was entirely improper, but she couldn’t pull herself away. Her tears mixed with his sweat.
One of the soldiers noticed. “Sorry, missy.”
The other village men did too, new hurt or anger or both on their faces that wasn’t from the flogging. They all knew Jarle. Everyone knew everyone. Did Jarle’s parents know? Had Akod seen, before he was dragged away to Aydimor like her uncle and Talea’s father?
The head Kaydorian must have sensed unrest traveling the men. “Come on, pick up the pace.”
Naylen’s arm remained tight around her shoulders as he gently moved her back to his side so they could keep walking. He was supporting her as much as she was him, now. It took all she had not to turn back to Jarle’s body. To simply walk away. They had killed Jarle for resisting. If only she’d known, she’d have gone to him, convinced him not to fight. Temporary military service was better than death. Now his parents had lost him forever, and their other son was gone for the time being as well. And she…She didn’t know Jarle very well. But he’d pursued a courtship that she had accepted, calling on her a couple times since the dance for short visits with her and Calam. Eventually she had to marry someone and…and she’d just been warming up to the idea of that someone being him.
Why did you have to fight? She closed her eyes, taking a little comfort in Naylen’s strong arm around her. What if he had been killed, too? Perhaps it was calloused to think it, yet his loss would have been harder to bear than Jarle’s. She drew in a deep breath. He hadn’t died. He was okay. And she had Talea. She wasn’t alone, not completely.
She knew she shouldn’t have behaved so imprudently and risk tarnishing their reputation. The situation probably made it forgivable, but otherwise, it simply wasn’t appropriate. Brenly timidly met his gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I just…it caught me off guard.”
“That’s alright.” He didn’t say anything more, though she didn’t sense any disapproval in his demeanor. Only pain and tiredness.
Their progress gradually slowed the father they got from the village, the closer to the lord’s manor. Naylen’s grimace became seemingly permanent. He and the others that had been punished were clearly exhausted. She wanted to talk to him...she wanted him to tell her he had a plan, that it was going to be alright, that somehow, they wouldn’t take him away after two weeks. It wouldn’t be true. And they could hardly talk about it with the Kaydorians around. Even just to talk about other matters, she felt too aware of the other men’s presence.
Despite it feeling like a much longer process, it only took half an hour or so, since the distance wasn’t that great. With the mansion looming over them, stately and grand in a stark contrast to the village it ruled over, the soldiers stopped. “Say your farewells, girl.” Despite his gruff voice, there was still some sympathy in the lead Kaydorian’s voice. “Then go home.”
This time, she couldn’t blink back the stinging tears. Why was this happening? Two weeks, he would be locked away, and then he would be gone. Maybe for years.
Naylen, after a moment’s hesitation, hugged her lightly.
“I’m sorry about Calam...and Jarle.” He pulled away, briefly holding her hand. “Just...I wish I could stay and help you, but…”
Brenly nodded and brushed her thumb over his knuckles before she let go. “I know. Be careful?”
“Yeah.”
“Goodbye, Naylen.”
He stepped back, and a soldier took his place, grabbing him a lot less kindly than she had. “Bye, Brenly.”
The other village men nodded or smiled sadly at her, and she to them, all with a queasy sort of weight in her stomach. The Kaydorians took them away, around the back of the mansion. Where they would be kept, she didn’t know—she’d only seen a fraction of the inside, still more than most of the villagers. Seles might know, since she was a maid there. Wherever it was, it would be for two weeks...then he would be gone.
After they had gone from sight, Brenly turned and ran back the way she’d come. Usually she wouldn’t run in public...but she had to. Her muscles burning and blood pumping somehow helped. There was no one around to see her anyway—the villagers, excepting those that had been drafted, had all returned to their haliops as instructed. She still couldn’t bear to return to Calam’s haliop, not when it would be empty. So she stayed on the path, running to the Anduls’.
At the edge of the meadow that held the Anduls’ haliop, she stopped. Talea and Seles stood outside the haliop, while several knights scoured inside.
Quietly she retreated into the trees. From there she observed the scene without being observed, sitting on a boulder. The soldiers came out of the haliop empty handed, asked a few questions of Seles that couldn’t be heard from this distance, and left by the path Brenly had just taken. Thank Narone. They apparently hadn’t found the sleek wooden bow Naylen had fashioned and the crude but functional arrows. If they had, not only would they have confiscated it, she worried there would have been punishment for it being there in the first place. A memory came to mind, of the time he’d tried to teach her and Talea how to use them. Talea hadn’t done terribly, but Brenly hadn’t caught on at all. Perhaps he’d stowed the bow away somewhere in the woods, rather than the haliop.
The soldiers were out of sight. Brenly stepped out into the meadow, listening for a few seconds to make sure she could no longer hear their jangling footsteps. Talea spotted her and came running. Seles looked their way, eyes puffy and face blotchy from crying, before disappearing into the haliop. Brenly wondered if she looked the same way.
Talea’s green eyes were already sympathetic as she neared. “I’m so sorry, Brenly.”
She did her best to reflect the sympathy. “It’s not as though I’m the only one.”
“No but…” Talea tilted her head a bit, with a meaningful look. That was all she said. Yet Brenly knew what it meant—that her friend understood. Even though she’d never explained the fear of ending up alone again to Talea, never even told her anything beyond the simplest basics, she had figured it out.
It was time to tell her about Naylen, despite how she hated to do so. “I stayed in the village for a while, until the flogging was finished…”
Talea didn’t say anything, but the question was in her expression.
“Naylen’s okay, considering, but they’re keeping him and the other men at the mansion. Two weeks, then they’ll be taken to Aydimor like the rest.”
Her friend bit her lip, drawing in a deep breath. There was a long pause. Brenly wanted to say something, but what was there to say? Talea lifted her chin and managed a lighter mien, moving on. “You’re staying here, right?”
Please insist… “Well, I do have Calam’s haliop, I don’t want to impose on you guys when—”
“Brenly.” Now her chin went down, looking at her with mock sternness tainted with the abiding stress. “You’re staying here.” Talea put an arm around Brenly’s shoulders and gave her a side hug as they started toward the haliop. Then she unexpectedly stopped, turned, and gave her a full hug.
Brenly held her back tightly, letting her breath out slowly. “Thank you,” she murmured.
Talea drew back to give her a grimacing smile. “We’re in this together. Come on.”
5
Decision
T alea tugged at the corner of the sheet, scowling as it made the other side wrinkly. Another adjustment, and it was as straight and smooth as it was going to get. Time for the blankets. First two thin ones made of wool. Then the top layer, a luxuriously soft, cotton quilt, dyed in rich hues of crimson and gold, and skirted with lace. What would it be like to sleep in such a bed? Even just to be able to afford material that was so vibrantly dyed, not to mention laced.
“Done yet, girl?”
Girl. “Girl” has an actual name, you know. She turned to face Lord Vissler’s housekeeper, an older woman with a hawk nose and exceptionally arched eyebrows. Ms. Clendser. Being an overseer of sorts for laborers, she was middle class, even if she lived in a village. In any case, she made sure to flaunt her higher ranking to all the lowly villagers she had to endure each day. “Yes, Ms. Clendser.”
“Good.” The woman took a wad of clothing from under one arm and thrust it at Talea. “Laundry.”
She curtsied, inwardly sticking her tongue out, and left the bedroom with the clothes. The housekeeper was nearly as uppity as the house occupants. As if it could be called a house—the building was huge, certainly qualifying as a mansion, as most of the villagers called it. Walking through a hall, Talea caught sight of swirling hoop skirts in her peripheral vision and immediately ducked her head. Must have been one of the ladies of the house, either one of the two daughters or the aunt. In keeping to protocol, she didn’t dare look up to see which one. Seeing a member of the Vissler family was rare, despite it being their mansion. Apparently they stayed in large cities most of the time, socializing, or whatever it was that nobles did.
Beneath the mansion in the servants’ area, Talea took her load to the laundry room. The concept of an entire room devoted to doing laundry still befuddled her. Why not just do it in the nearby stream? Or if you were determined to do it indoors, was a specific room really necessary?
The room was unoccupied, except for the tubs and washboards and baskets. One of the tubs was still full from its last use, the water even warm and relatively clear. As far as Talea was concerned, there was no reason she couldn’t do the washing with this water. If Ms. Clendser were to discover her using anything other than fresh water, however, she’d get a tongue lashing, and probably have her wages revoked for the day. Narone knew that was something her family couldn’t afford. So, she deposited the clothes in one of the baskets, left the room, walked past the other servant rooms—the kitchen, pantry, cellar, and storage room—and made her way to one of the back doors of the mansion.
Outside, the air was warm and humid. A refreshing rain, a cool breeze, a slight drop in temperature…nothing to relieve the sticky heat that had been Vissler Village’s lot for the last week. It was as if the coming of the knights to make the announcement and drafting brought the unpleasant weather. With about a dozen knights posted permanently in a hastily built miniature barracks by the office, that weather had so far remained permanent as well.
Not as if it were really a curse brought on by the Kaydorians. It was midsummer, and heat was to be expected. Still…it was hard not to relate anything unpleasant to the unpleasant presence of the soldiers who had helped cut their population by a quarter only a week ago.
Having reached the well, Talea put her palms on the damp, stone rim and leaned her weight onto it. Things were hardly looking brighter as time went on since the monumental event. Seles, though she refused to explain why, seemed convinced that Loestin would not be returning. Naylen was under guard somewhere, for one more week, then he would be gone. Under the new laws put in place by “King Kaydor”, Talea now worked as a maid in Lord Vissler’s household along with her mother. That and Brenly’s contribution wasn’t enough to replace the paychecks of Loestin and Naylen, who made significantly more as male laborers. In just one week, they were already de
creasing the size and frequency of their meals. The reminder made her stomach growl. She hadn’t eaten since leaving the haliop seven hours ago for work. Meanwhile, Naylen was somewhere in the mansion she worked in all day. What if she could find him? Maybe...maybe she should try to free him. No. That would be foolish. But at least she could make sure he was alright. She could say goodbye.
Stop. Thinking about it wasn’t helping. She’d been standing at the well doing nothing for several seconds now. As she was drawing up a bucket of water, movement drew her eyes to the nearby woods. Wylan was there, waving at her. As soon as she noticed him, he simply ran off, gone before she could react. Setting the bucket down, she glanced around to make sure no one was watching, and ran to where he’d been. Three weeks since she’d seen him, and this was how he returned? He had indeed disappeared, but he’d pinned a note to the tree where he’d been.
Talea,
Sorry it’s been so long. Some soldiers found my shelter and were tracking me, I had to leave the village to shake them off and replenish my supplies. We need to talk, though. If you can, meet me in the woods behind the schoolhouse tomorrow, before you go to work.
Wylan
What sort of excuse was she supposed to use to make a stop at the schoolhouse in the morning? Her mother always walked with her to work. Returning to the well, trying to conjure something up, she picked up the water bucket and began hauling it back into the mansion, carefully holding it away from her body so it wouldn’t bump her leg and slosh out onto the floor. After delivering it to the laundry room, she returned for another bucketful. She searched the area for any sight of Wylan, without luck.
Frowning, Talea made two more trips for water until the tub was full. Her mind was in other places as she began washing the laundry. No excuse had come to her, and she became distracted wondering about Wylan, instead. How was a fifteen-year-old scampering about the region, not belonging to any class, no responsibilities, no family?
