Daughter of Two Worlds: Book Three of the Aun Series

by Lee Bezotte

  Daughter of Two Worlds

  Copyright (C) 2020 by Lee Bezotte All rights reserved.

  First Print Edition: July 2020

  Printed in the United States of America

  Insparket Media

  P.O. Box 1654

  Moline, IL 61266

  www.insparket.com

  ISBN: 978-0-9976915-0-4

  eISBN: 978-0-9976915-1-1

  No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead—is entirely coincidental.

  Contents

  Chapter One: Two Worlds

  Chapter Two: Indulgences

  Chapter Three: Nothing is Free

  Chapter Four: A Dearer Price

  Chapter Five: A Business Transaction

  Chapter Six: What’s Left Behind

  Chapter Seven: Wages and Cages

  Chapter Eight: Open Sores

  Chapter Nine: The Cost of Pie

  Chapter Ten: Ahmcathare

  Chapter Eleven: No Easy Way

  Chapter Twelve: The Road is Long

  Chapter Thirteen: Betrayal

  Chapter Fourteen: Ocmallum

  Chapter Fifteen: A Heart to Fight For

  Chapter Sixteen: Return to Laor

  Chapter Seventeen: The Wisdom of Mules

  This book is dedicated to the quirky, misunderstood daughters and sons. Our world would be drab and dull without you.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Two Worlds

  “This time you won’t escape me, Smarmy Kidd Black!” Maren shouted as she playfully smacked her mule with a twig.

  Don’t bet on it! she imagined him to reply. The rest of my pirate gang will be along any minute.

  “Well, if they come, they’ll fall right into my trap,” the young girl whooped as the cold wind whipped her long hair into slender, dark fingers that danced in the air. Though she preferred to wear an elegant woolen dress every day, her appearance was wild and unkempt, and she seldom cleaned up without significant coaxing. On this day, she was especially filthy since that was the state in which she envisioned her swashbuckling alter ego to be. Adding to her zealous warning she let out a forceful, “Ha ha ha ha haaaa!”

  Interrupting her daydream, she heard the voice of Son call out, “Stop torturing Earl and come help in the garden!”

  Maren stopped what she was doing as her fantasy threatened to evaporate in the breeze. She massaged her right ear and looked in her guardian’s direction with a blank expression. As she stood there, she continued the scene she was acting out in a quiet whisper, not really paying attention to what was being spoken to her. In her mind, the story had begun and she could not give audience to anything else until its completion.

  “This is the third time I’ve called you to come over,” the boy chided. “We all have to do our chores or we won’t be able to plant on time.”

  As he was still talking, Maren moved onto the donkey’s back and grabbed a handful of his mane. “I’m just going to put Earl in the barn first,” she explained.

  “Okay, but please do hurry,” Son said. “I’m going to have to go inside to start dinner soon.”

  Ignoring his urging, the girl rode slowly up toward the barn, continuing her fanciful adventure in a hushed voice. “Get moving, Smarmy Black. I’m taking you to prison.”

  No cell can hold me for long, the mule replied. And when I get out, I’ll have my revenge. He then whinnied and shook his head as he plodded along past the garden.

  When they reached the barn, Maren slid off of the donkey’s back, opened the door, and led him inside. She then turned around and closed the door so that both of them were shut in together, allowing her to play, for a little while longer, outside of the view of others.

  “What should we read, Earl?” she asked the animal as she ran to the back of the barn where several of her books were stashed.

  You decide, she imagined him to say.

  “All right then, I choose The Marauders of Mydais,” she announced.

  As she searched for the book, Earl sniffed at the floor, lowered his head, and slowly brought himself down into a bed of hay and wood shavings. Once situated, he munched on the hay contentedly, occasionally looking up at her. Once she found the book she was looking for, she ran over to him, sat down, and leaned back against his side.

  As she read aloud, her mind took her far away to fantastic adventures and perilous escapes. She had no idea how much time had passed until the waning light in the barn made it difficult to keep reading.

  She was about to put the book away and head to the garden when she heard Son yell, “Maren! Dinner!”

  Immediately, she returned the book to its place in the back of the barn and ran to the house to eat.

  Son sat across the small kitchen table from Maren, watching the steam rise from his bowl and pondering the last few days. As they ate the vegetable soup he had prepared, he wished that Dulnear and Faymia would hurry home from their hunting trip. Whenever his patience with Maren would run low, Faymia always seemed to have the right thing to say, and an endless gracious tone.

  Trying his best to sound gentle yet firm, he said to the girl, “Maren, I really need you to keep up with your chores. I can’t run the farm all by myself.”

  Looking down into her bowl of soup, she said, “I know,” and slurped up another spoonful.

  “This is very important,” her guardian added.

  “I know,” she said again, making an odd face at the carrots dancing about in their pool of warm broth.

  Suspecting that she wasn’t really listening, Son’s neck stiffened. His lips tightened and he spoke a little louder. “Look at me, Maren.”

  The girl massaged her ear and stared blankly up at the young man.

  “Many times today, I called you over and tried to get you to help in the garden but you never came,” he complained. “Why don’t you just stop playing and come?” he asked.

  Still staring, Maren answered plainly, “I came when you called for dinner.”

  Frustrated that she seemed to be missing the point he was trying to make, Son’s face grew flush and his voice raised even more. “That’s what I’m trying to explain,” he said. “You don’t want to do your part but you certainly want to eat your fill.”

  Just then, a strange half-smile began to curl upward from the left side of Maren’s mouth. It was as if an unseen finger was pushing it, and a quiet chuckle forced its way out through her nose.

  Offended that the girl seemed to find humor in his frustration, his cheeks burned and his blue eyes narrowed. “This isn’t humorous!” he snapped. “Why are you laughing?”

  Maren seemed genuinely surprised by Son’s anger. She massaged her ear more aggressively, swallowed, and answered, “I was thinking about Smarmy Kidd Black.”

  Son glared at the young girl. He was beside himself with the feeling that she neither desired to do her part, nor cared how her distraction impacted his burden of responsibility. He wanted to accuse her of laughing at him. He wanted to scold her harshly and send her to bed. His inability to discern whether he was dealing with Maren’s graymind or just rude behavior made choosing a response difficult.

  Finally, he took a deep breath, exhaled, and admonished, “I’m glad tha
t you like your books. Fantastic stories of pirates and adventure are exciting and fun. However, we live in a real world where chores need to be done, your clothes need to be washed, and your hair needs to be brushed. Ignoring the things you need to do now only brings more trouble and work later.”

  The girl continued to stare at Son with a vacant expression. Eventually, her eyes focused on his. As they did, she cleared her throat and said, “I like my stories. They’re my friends.”

  The young caretaker tried hard to comprehend what the girl meant. He wished to impress upon her some sort of virtue that she would grasp, so he began, “You are part of the Great Father’s story. It is the greatest tale ever written and you get to choose your role in it.” He then paused to consider his words. “Will your role be that of a character who spends their days in a trance, shackled by entertainment and indulgence? Or will it be that of a hero, choosing the difficult yet rewarding challenges of life? Do you want to be a main character or a footnote? The choice is yours, Maren.” Feeling satisfied with his speech, he then relaxed and lifted a spoonful of soup to his mouth.

  Maren’s eyes slowly turned downward to her soup. She stirred her spoon in the bowl, causing the vegetables to race around the sides of the bowl as they crashed into each other. She then finished her dinner without saying another word.

  That evening, as Maren lay down in her bed, she gazed into the darkness of her modest bedroom. As she did, she spoke out loud, as if someone was there with her. “I’m an excellent gardener,” she said. “In fact, I’m one of the best. But someone has to keep the farm safe from pirates. They’re an ever-present danger!”

  The girl couldn’t understand why Son seemed so upset at dinner. It was unreasonable for him to be cross just because she didn’t do her chores right away. After all, she said she would do them and her word was her bond. If he was impatient, then that was his problem. “Maybe if you spent more time patrolling, then I wouldn’t have to,” she continued to argue. “And who else is going to keep Earl company?” she added. “You know he’s fragile.”

  As the night drifted on, Maren’s thoughts shifted. It had been a couple of years since she had lost her parents on the road from Ahmcathare to Blackcloth, and she still missed them dearly. Though she struggled to recall specific experiences, she pined for her mother’s calm voice and friendly flow. “What a wonderful drawing!” she said in her best grown-up voice.

  “Why thank you, Momma,” she answered back in her own. “I drew it for you.”

  “You are very special to me and Daddy,” the grown-up voice added.

  With that, a tear found its way out of the young girl’s eye and was followed by a burning sensation. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and then touched her tongue to the tear so she could taste the saltiness. “Uh huh,” she said back in her own voice.

  Another tear came, and then another, until her tired eyes grew heavy and she succumbed to dreams and shadows.

  The next morning, Maren sat reading a book on the back of her mule as it grazed about the farm. It was still early in the season and patches of tender grass weren’t easy to find. As Earl roamed about, the young girl made sure to steer him away from places that Son could easily see as he was working in the garden.

  “We can’t be seen by Dirtclod McGee,” she warned the donkey.

  Why not? she imagined the mule asking before he gathered another mouthful of cold, damp grass.

  “Because he will enslave us and force us to work in the potato mines,” she explained.

  Ah, the potato mines. I’ll never go back there, Earl declared. Your safety is my first charge, m’lady.

  “Then ride on,” Maren ordered before returning to her book. As she read the tale aloud, she lost herself within a world of magic heroes and devious enemies, acting out each scene as if she were experiencing everything the main characters were experiencing. Though there was peril and adventure on every page, she somehow felt safe in that world. The wind was never too cold, the labor never too hard, and the people were as lovely and colorful as she imagined them to be. She never really feared the villains because they always lost in the end, and the brave champions had no flaws, never raised their voices, and never made the other characters do their chores. She often wished that she could live inside of her books, and it made her grumpy when she had to put them away.

  As the morning grew late, Earl found grass growing more plentifully where the ground sloped up to meet the road. He continued to chomp, then move on to the next patch of green, until the farm gradually faded in the distance behind them.

  When Maren looked up from her book, she realized that they were headed toward the village, away from the house. Her first feelings were of panic and dread, but those quickly turned to relief. “We did it!” she declared. “We escaped from Dirtclod McGee! He won’t be bothering us now!”

  Let’s hope we can avoid his accomplices, the mule returned.

  “Yes, we have to keep going,” she said, and they traveled all the way into Laor.

  Laor was a small town with a pub, an inn, and a few shops situated around a square. As they were approaching the village, Maren noticed that there were many more people milling about than usual. They were enjoying pastries, laughing, and carrying on about a festival. Moving closer to the square, she could hear music and see folks dancing and celebrating. The smells and sounds of fun and merriment roused her senses. It had been a long time since she had seen such a sight.

  Maren’s heart beat faster and an excitement rose up in her chest. She couldn’t believe her luck. She tied her mule to a nearby hitching post and began walking around the outside of the crowd, searching for the source of those delicious-looking pastries. Finally, she approached a boy who appeared to be about her age. He dressed differently from the children she usually saw in Laor. His clothing looked expensive, and he had dark-brown hair that swept across his forehead. Before she had a chance to say anything to him, he introduced himself. “I’m Micah, what’s your name?” he asked.

  “Maren,” she replied eagerly. “How can I partake in the celebration?”

  “Oh, I’ll show you,” Micah offered happily. “It doesn’t even cost anything.”

  “Really?” the girl asked. “What do I have to do?”

  “Just come to the inn with me,” he said. “You just have to write your name down and you can have all the food you want. You can watch a show or go dancing too!”

  “That sounds wonderful!” Maren declared. She paused for a moment and surveyed the scene once more. As she did, she noticed the boy hold out his hand and urge her once more to join him. She didn’t take it, but she followed him into the crowd and across the square to the inn.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Indulgences

  Faymia crouched on one knee behind a cluster of blackthorn shrubs. With bow drawn and her powerful silver eye fixed on a wise elk grazing in the near distance, she waited motionless for the majestic animal to expose its side. He’s toying with me, she thought to herself. I don’t know how much longer I can hold my arrow back. Her shoulder burned and her fingers were cold as she steadily held her position.

  Just as her arm began to shake, a clicking sound emanated from a lone crow perched in a nearby tree. The beast turned its head toward the noise, exposing its neck for a brief moment, but that was all the skillful hunter needed. She released her bow and, in an instant, the arrow was buried deep into the elk’s neck.

  The animal darted away from the blackthorns with surprising speed. As Faymia pulled back another arrow, she heard a deep whoosh above her head as Dulnear leapt clear over her—and the shrubs—in a single bound. He landed on both feet and immediately gave chase. With his large form between the woman and the animal she was unable to land another arrow, so she tore after her husband, and the beast, into the woods.

  Many lengths behind, Faymia could barely see the massive antlers of the wise elk bouncing and weaving, occasionally being pulled back when the arrow protruding from its neck would catch a tree as it sp
ed by. Behind it was a blur of fur and steel as Dulnear pursued with a large hunting knife attached to his right arm where his hand should have been.

  As the chase continued, the woman noticed that the ground began to slope downward and her strides were getting longer. Her heart raced as trees sped by at increasing speed and greater difficulty of dodging. Something suddenly occurred to her. “It’s headed for the cliff!” she shouted out to the man from the north. “Just let it go!”

  As she did her best to slow her speed, her stomach turned over as she saw the elk’s antlers, and then the warrior, suddenly disappear beneath the horizon. “Dulnear!” she cried out in panic.

  Faymia quickly but carefully approached the cliff’s edge. As she peered downward, she was awash with relief to see her husband standing on a narrow ledge just a few feet below. He had cut the elk from where the arrow had been lodged in its neck, down to its collar bone. Its life had been spilled out into the sea below. “This knife-hand that Son made me is amazing!” he yelled up to her with an enthusiastic smile.

  With equal parts fondness and frustration, the hunter shouted down, “You didn’t need to chase him. One more arrow and he would have laid down for us.”

  “That does not sound very fun,” the man replied.

  “Neither does hauling that elk up here and back to the horses,” she said through pursed lips.

  The smile faded from the warrior’s face as he exhaled and looked down at the slain animal. “You know that I love you, Faymia.”

  “Of course,” she said as the corners of her mouth crept wryly upward.

  “Will you please bring the horses here?” he asked with a sheepish expression growing across his face.

  The sweet sound of the woman’s laughter filled the air and she turned away. “I’ll be right back,” she announced. “Try not to kill anything else while I’m gone.”