Talea tuned in to the discussion between Grrake and the San Quawr villagers. He had given an abbreviated account of who they were and why they were there, without mentioning anything about lightning-wielding teenagers or impending wars. Probably wise. The people appeared more receptive to what he had to say. Not much of a surprise there…Yhkon was the type that would get respect and submission. Grrake was the type that would get trust and amenity. Since they’d been on the verge of execution or enslavement by knights only minutes ago, it was probably the latter that would be more helpful.
Still, not all were to be so easily convinced.
“So what you’re suggesting,” a younger man with a scowl spoke up. His shoulders were thrown back, head held high, eyes sharp. “Is that we—any of us that are San Quawr, anyway—up n’ leave everything we’ve ever known, on nothing but the five-minute speech of a few strangers with shiny swords? And who make some dandy-fine claims ‘bout the Shadow Region and San Quawr armies?”
Grrake was about to reply, with that usual gentle, patient expression of his, but Yhkon marched forward and spoke before he could. “That’s exactly what we’re suggesting, and if you’d been listening to our five-minute speech, you wouldn’t be questioning it. Do you know what those knights were going to do to you, if we hadn’t intervened?” He gave the briefest of pauses to allow for a response before barging on. “They were going to kill any of you who caused trouble, enslave children that were an ideal age, or adults who were healthy and submissive. The rest of you would have been put into some mass prison full of other San Quawr laborers who Kaydor thinks are useless but aren’t worth digging a grave for.”
Silence.
Yhkon must have realized his hand was gripping the pommel of his sword and that he was in a threatening stance, because he swallowed and relaxed his posture slightly. “We’re not forcing you to go. But I can tell you from personal experience that if you stay, you’ll last a week at the most.”
More silence. The people exchanged glances and shuffled their feet. A few whispers. It was Jasib Vegn who stepped forward, turning to face both his fellow villagers and the Wardens. “You all know me. You know I wouldn’t lie to you. So, I want you to know that I trust these men. I’ve had previous interactions with them, and have been given cause to believe what they say. Especially since they warned me that this would happen, and now it has.” He made eye contact with Yhkon. There was a sort of grudging reluctance in his features, but he gave the lead Warden a nod. “My family will be going with their Elikwai to Calcaria. I hope all of you will choose to do the same.”
3
Heir
Z oper gave the laces of his boot a sharp tug, pulling them tight before crossing and knotting them. The strings were frayed, worn down from years of use. There was a gradually widening tear in the leather-like fabric of the right boot. In all, it was getting past time for a new pair. Not that that was an option.
He was just getting up and grabbing his canteen when a melodic, female voice distracted him. His nine-year-old sister stood in the open doorway that led to a room decorated in bright shades of yellow and peach. Her wispy blond hair was ruffled, no doubt from recently being against her pillow.
“Yaila!” He shook his head at her with a smile. “What are you doing up, silly bird?”
“Can’t sleep,” she mumbled, rubbing bleary eyes with her fists.
“Oh.” He gave her an understanding nod. “And getting out of bed is a guaranteed cure. Good choice.”
Either not catching the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it, she moved forward to curl up on the sofa he’d just gotten up from. “Won’t you read me a story?”
“I have to go to—”
“Yes but before you go to work,” she said, as if it were quite sensible.
With another smile and shake of his head, Zoper returned to the sofa and sat down next to her, picking up a stack of children’s books. She snuggled against his shoulder, scanning the titles. All of them were books intended for kids younger than her, but she still cherished them. Probably because they were the books their parents had read to her when she was little. “The one about the fluffy barbsit.” She pointed to one of the covers.
He set aside the other books and inspected the chosen one. The cover featured an illustration of a furry barbsit with a human-like expression. The edges of the book were far more worn than his boots. He could remember his mother reading the very same story to him, over a decade ago, before Yaila was even born. “Alright, let’s see what happens to this fluffy barbsit.”
Five minutes later, he’d said “The End” and closed the book. Yaila made no move to untangle herself from his lap. “Okay little bird, now I really do have to go to work.”
“I know,” she sighed. “I wish you didn’t, though.”
“Well, just think how sick of me you’d get if I was here all day to pester you?” With that, he set to tickling her waist and bare feet, until she leaped off the sofa, giggling. He pretended to chase her, and she darted away with a squeal. She fled back into her bedroom, diving into the bed and burrowing under the covers. Grinning, he pulled them up around her chin, smoothing her disastrous hair out over the pillow. “Alright little bird, time for you to get some rest. We wouldn’t want you falling asleep in class.”
She blew out of her lips in exasperation. “But arithmetic is so boring.”
“Okay…” He put on a contemplative expression. “Well, I reckon you’d best sit behind someone fat and tall, then. Maybe Ms. Daws won’t notice you snoozing.”
Yaila laughed, girlish and chirp-like, hence her nickname. Everything about her reminded him of a bird, from her dark brown eyes, to her pointy nose, but especially her singsong voice. “Axlem ought to do nicely. I’ll sit behind him. He brings at least two sandwiches for lunch everyday!”
Zoper gave her a decisive nod. Just one sandwich would be a luxury, he was feeling rather envious of this Axlem boy. “Perfect. It’s a plan.” He retreated to the door. “See you later.”
“Bye, Zoper.”
Outside the house, the cold air burned his lungs, the breeze cutting through his clothing. Having an all-day, completely outdoors job will be even more delightful in a month when it’s winter. Not. Smirking to himself, Zoper set out at a jog away from the house. Leaves, recently fallen from the bare trees around him, crunched under his boots. A couple weeks ago the forest around his house had been a gorgeous palette of autumn golds, oranges, and mahogany. Since then most of the leaves had been blown off by the wind, leaving the trees stripped, and stealing the beauty of the place. But, winter would bring a different kind of beauty. Really, the spot was pretty no matter what time of year it was.
Which, of course, led him to more depressing thoughts about whether or not it could be their home for much longer.
Enough of that. It was too early for gloominess! Zoper kept up a steady pace for the entire three miles to the sawmill. Reading to Yaila had put him behind schedule, and he couldn’t afford to be late. Besides. Nothing like a good run to invigorate a person for the day.
When he arrived at the mill, there was only one other person there. Bossman. “Hello Restir! Fine morning, isn’t it?”