by Wil Ogden
Sheillene: Choosing Fate
and other stories from the world of Mealth and elsewhere
Wil Ogden
Copyright © 2005, 2008, 2010, 2011, 2012,2013 Wil Ogden
All rights reserved.
Books by Wil Ogden
Stories from the world of Mealth:
These are ordered chronologically by the events of the stories, not by order of publication. All of these books are stand-alone stories.
Sheillene: Choosing Fate
And other Stories from the world of Mealth and elsewhere.
(Novelette and Short Story Collection)
The Nightstone (Novel)
Of Maia’s Mist (Novel)
The Blooddaughter Series:
Second Blood (Novella)
Blood Huntress (Novella)
Blood Reprisal (Novella)
Some of the Short Stories herein have been published in various periodicals prior to this printing.
The Wishing Jar (Turn The Page Magazine 2009)
Aurora’s Smile
(Bards and Sages Quarterly January 2010)
Heir to the Eighth
(Bards and Sages Quarterly January 2011)
Kythira (Eternal Haunted Summer Spring 2011)
Fortune Favors the Fool
(Bards and Sages Quarterly January 2012)
The Honor of a Knight
(Bards and Sages Quarterly April 2013)
DEDICATION
Dedicated to everyone who has had to choose a path in life.
CONTENTS
SHEILLENE: CHOOSING FATE
CHAPTER ONE: PROFESSION
CHAPTER TWO: THE OTHER PROFESSION
CHAPTER THREE: BACK TO BARDING
CHAPTER FOUR: THE PAINFUL TRUTH
CHAPTER FIVE: ADVICE SOUGHT:
CHAPTER SIX: ADVICE FOUND
CHAPTER SEVEN: ULTIMATE CLOSURE
OTHER STORIES FROM THE WORLD OF MEALTH
FORTUNE FAVORS THE FOOL
PLAYING THE HERO
STEALING FOR MORE
FALL OF THE HEDGEHOG
THE COURTING MONGOOSE
THE SMITH
THE HONOR OF A KNIGHT
OTHER STORIES FROM ELSEWHERE
AURORA’S SMILE
HEIR TO THE EIGHTH
KYTHIRA
THE WISHING JAR
THE GOLDEN LIGHT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks to Mike Munsil
and the rest of the Liberty Hall Writers..
SHEILLENE: CHOOSING FATE
CHAPTER ONE: PROFESSION
Sheillene meandered through the afternoon crowd on Weyland Street. Her hand gripped tight to her unstrung bow. It was too long to carry slung across her back in town. There were too many things and people for it to bump into. Since her hundredth birthday, she'd been to the city of Melnith fifty times. Every year since reaching the age of eligibility, she'd participated in the Prince's annual midwinter archery tournament. This year, her mother had finally let her come to the city alone.
Her mother had always favored the Inns by the Weaver’s Market, but Sheillene wanted something different now that she was on her own. Most of the merchants on Weyland Street dealt in fine silks or sparkling gem filled jewelry—things Sheillene could not afford yet. A melodious trill caught her ears and she chose to follow it into an inn with a gilt sign.
She stepped through the door of Mirelle's Repose, and the music caught her before she could make it to a table. A man with a bright blue wide brimmed hat sat on a stool on a small stage and recited a ballad to the accompaniment of a guitar. It was two ditties and another ballad later when the bard put his instrument down and freed Sheillene from the enchanting tales and melodies.
She found an empty barstool and set her pack and bow beside it. As she sat, the barkeep came over and placed a crystal mug of deep amber colored wine before her.
“I hadn't asked for anything yet,” she said.
“Everyone orders the Crimson Gold,” the barkeep said. “It's the best wine in the kingdom and you can only get it here.”
“It's true, you know.” The bard who had been on stage said as he took the stool beside her. He nodded to the barkeep and the barkeep set a mug in front of him as well before walking off to attend other customers. The bard picked up his mug and knocked it against the one that still sat on the bar in front of Sheillene. “For luck and love,” he said then sipped his wine. “I've been to nigh every inn, tavern and grog house in the kingdom, and this wine really is the best. There's a Valencian noir that comes a close second, but that drink requires just the right mood to enjoy it.”
Sheillene had been to only the ten inns between her home village of Whisperwillow and the city of Melnith. All of them had wine and with a few exceptions, it all tasted the same. She picked up the mug and took a small sip. The flavor was full without being sweet or sour. “This is good,” Sheillene said. “But I haven't been everywhere, so I'll have to take your word on it.”
The bard looked to the floor by her stool. “But you carry a pack that bespeaks a woman of the road, and the bow is so well cared for that it must be your most prized possession. Between that and the famously pale shade of your blonde hair, you must be Sheillene of Whisperwillow.”
“You've got the advantage on me, minstrel.” She said. “I'm afraid you know me, but I don't know you.”
Sipping from his mug, the bard covered his nose and mouth to hide a chuckle. After wiping his mouth with his sleeve, he said, “I've never had that happen.”
“What's that?” Sheillene asked.
“I've never met someone more famous than I,” he said. “I'd honestly developed the idea that everyone knew who I was, or could tell by my music.”
Sheillene had seen only a handful of bards. A few had wandered through Whisperwillow on the occasional nights when her mother would take them to the village tavern for food. In her travels to Melnith, she'd seen three or four at the inns along the road. None had been so entrancing in their songs and stories as the one that sat beside her. “You're the best bard I've seen, but, like wine, I'm afraid I don't know enough.”
With a graceful whirl, the bard dismounted the stool to stand beside Sheillene. With an exaggerated bow, he said, “My name is Thomas Boncanta, the greatest bard that ever lived.”
“A bit modest, I see,” Sheillene said.
“I cannot lie,” Thomas said. “It's a curse and a blessing of sorts. Modesty is not conducive to the life of a bard. Down-sell ourselves too much and we risk lowering our rates. I'd hate to get back to the point where my only wage for a nights work is a bowl of stew, a mug of wine and a bed in the kitchen.”
“Sounds like hard work for little pay,” Sheillene said. “I think I like my bow and the fortune it will bring me.”
Thomas nodded. “Your bow will bring you fortune and has already brought you fame. I assume you came to the city for the Prince's Tournament in two days. Vying to win again for the third year running?”
“I am confident in my bow,” she said. “I can hit a pea at a hundred paces with every try. On a good day I can shoot the same pea twice.”
“Now who's being immodest?” Thomas sat back on his stool and drank from his mug. He looked sideways at Sheillene with a smirk on his face.
She'd only tried the pea trick twice, but had succeeded both times. It was merely a matter of arcing the first arrow high and slow and launching the second with high speed and a minimal arc. “If I didn't believe in myself, I wouldn't have taken to the road. If I weren't as good as I think I am: would you have recognized me?” she asked.
“Excellent point,” Thomas said. “After you win the tournament, what will you do? The next archery tournament of significant meri
t is not until spring.”
“The Everton Silver Vanes,” Sheillene named the next tournament. “I will head that way and stop along the way to show off my talents in exhibition. It should give me enough to feed myself.”
Thomas lifted his mug to his lips and tilted his head back as he drained the last from his mug. He set it on the bar with enough thump to gain the attention of the barkeep. He then turned to face Sheillene squarely. “It's a dangerous time of year. A lone traveler on the road risks falling prey to a Vulak ambush. They come down from the mountains in the North and West when it gets cold to get their hands on Abvi steel and Abvi flesh.”
“Perhaps you missed the part where I'm good with my bow.” Sheillene picked up her bow and ran her hand along the unstrung string. “I could kill a dozen raiders before they got close enough to shoot their own bows back.” She'd never killed anything other than something she could call dinner. She hoped she'd not freeze or panic in a dangerous situation. If she could keep her cool, she was certain her boast would not be an exaggeration.
“I wasn't warning you,” Thomas said. “I was worried about my flesh. I carry a sword, but it's just a pretty jeweled thing and I barely know which end to hold. I think I was trying to ask if you'd travel with me, since we are both headed the same direction anyway.”
“I'm too young for you,” Sheillene said. “I don't know how old you are, but if you've had time to travel as far and wide as you say, you are far older than my hundred and fifty years.”
Thomas laughed then said, “And I am too old for you. I'm far older than my travels would indicate. My interest is purely in the safety in numbers, and the safety of having the best archer in the kingdom at my side.”
Sheillene turned back to her mug and slowly drank the rest of her wine while she pondered the idea. Certainly travelling alone was boring and lonely. There was safety in numbers.
Thomas interrupted her thoughts. “I'd pay for your protection as well. Well, not so much in gold, but a little gold. I could teach you to play an instrument. You have strong fingers; you'll be a great lute player.”
“Then I'd have to teach you to shoot a bow,” Sheillene said. “To make it fair.”
“Then we have a deal?” Thomas asked, extending his hand.
“We do.” Sheillene grasped his hand and shook, trying to be strong and not have her grip remind him she was a woman.
As soon as their hands parted, Thomas hopped off stool. “Great, let’s go get you a lute.”
“It's late,” Sheillene said. “The markets are all closed.”
Thomas picked up Sheillene's pack and took a step towards the door. “I know a great luthier and we need to catch him while he's still sober. He should be waking up soon, and then he'll start drinking and keep at it until morning when he'll pass out. He can plane and shape wood marvelously while sauced, but he loses the ability to speak coherently after his first bottle. Come on, while we still have time.”
Sheillene slid off her stool then looked back at the barkeep. “I haven't gotten a room yet.”
“And you won't, here.” Thomas said. “This place is for people who have far more gold in their pouches than most men will see in their lifetimes. I know a great place that's far more affordable and I guarantee you'll be able to get a nice private room there.”
After glancing around the room and noticing the abundance of silk clothing and lavish jewelry, Sheillene gestured for Thomas to lead the way out.
He led her off the main streets and down several streets barely wide enough to open a door into. He stopped at the door of a shed and without even knocking, opened the door.
Inside, under the light of a single bright magelight, a man sat at a workbench shaving a block of wood. The floor of the shed was littered with sawdust, wood splinters and empty wine bottles. He looked up at Thomas and frowned.
“You didn't use your guitar in a bar brawl again, did you?” The luthier asked.
Thomas stepped through the bottles and embraced the man at the workbench. “No, Nate, my friend here needs an instrument. I was thinking she had the fingers to make a good lute player.”
Nate set his tool and the block of wood on the bench and grabbed a half full wine bottle. After taking a swig, he gestured to Sheillene to approach. “Let's see your hands.”
Sheillene stepped closer holding her hands out before her. She spread her fingers and turned her hands over and back, not sure what the luthier wanted to see about them.
“Strong muscles, thin fingertips, good.” Nate said then took another drink. He gestured with his wine bottle at the walls of the shed which were covered with hanging instruments of any shape and size that used strings. “If any call to you, take it.”
Sheillene's eyes fell immediately to a cherry wood instrument with over a dozen strings. The waxed wood glistened in the glow of the magelight.
“Take it, I said.” The Luthier reached over and prodded her with his wine bottle. “Don't just gawk at it. That lute's a little quieter than some, but will hold up to more of a beating. It's meant for the travelling bards.”
“Sheillene is a wanderer at the moment,” Thomas said to Nate. Then, nudging Sheillene, he whispered. “Grab it before he actually hits you over the head with the bottle.”
Sheillene reached over and lifted the lute from the wall.
Thomas stepped close and manipulated her hands until she held it as if she were going to play. “Each pair of strings play a note, except this one is just one string, not a pair. It's the highest note. Pressing these fingers here can make any string or pair of strings play a higher note.” He seemed to take great care not to touch the strings.
Sheillene said, “Do you want to demonstrate?”
Thomas stepped away and shook his head. “No, the first notes not played by the craftsman should be played by you. Your lute should be a part of you. It would be almost indecent for me to touch parts of it.”
Tentatively she plucked each of the strings. Then she strummed them in their pairs. She could feel each note, each vibration. Then she tried to change the tone of the strings by pressing them against the neck board with her fingers. The change in tone was constant for each pair of strings. She then tried to replay one of the ditties that Thomas had played at Mirelle's. When she finished, she looked over at Nate and Thomas. They were both smiling at her with their mouths agape.
“So, what's next?” She asked.
Thomas took Sheillene by the elbow and stepped out of the shed. “Thanks Nate,” he called back as he closed the door. Nate replied but Sheillene couldn't make out what he said through the door.
Sheillene pulled her elbow away from Thomas. “What are you doing?”
“I'm taking you to the inn I promised,” he said, stepping into a tight street. “Then we will be parting ways.”
Sheillene's mind whirled. “I thought you needed my protection. I thought you were going to show me how to play one of these. Don't I have to pay Nate? What do I owe him?”
Thomas stopped and faced her. “Nate won't charge for his instruments. That's why he lives in a shack in an alley.” He stepped up and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “I'm sorry, I can't travel with you. You're a natural like none I've ever seen with your lute. If you can pick up a song on hearing it once and play it perfectly, if a little stiff, the very first time you hold a lute; then I can't have you with me. You've got a future ahead of you as a bard, but two of us at our level of talent can't be too close together on the road. We'd cut into each other's livelihood. If you're going east, I'm going west.”
“But I only know the one song, maybe the other three I heard you play.” Sheillene thought back to the other bards that she'd heard on the road to Melnith. “Okay, I could probably pull thirty songs from my memories.
“That's a full night’s show,” Thomas said. “You've got another way to earn your board if you want it.”
“If I can do it, anyone can,” Sheillene said. “Music is simple; I never knew how simple it was. I don't get why ever
yone doesn't play an instrument.”
Thomas took a deep breath, then, after exhaling slowly, said evenly, “Because to just about everyone else in the world, Music is not simple. It takes me two or three weeks to learn a song to the point where I feel comfortable playing it for an audience. I've known a couple people who can play naturally, but no one as perfectly as you. That ditty had twenty three distinct notes and chords and changed rhythm six times. The only advantage I have over a bard who can do what you did is my immense experience. Now, do you want me to lead you to this inn or not?”
With his new frantic mood, Sheillene didn't feel comfortable around Thomas. “No,” she said. “Just give me the name and the street. I'll find it.”
“It's called the Brown Inn. The sign is just a brown bed on a yellow sign. It’s six streets that way then two streets north.” Thomas pointed down the alley in front of him. “Don't take this to mean I don't like you. I do like you as a person and would call you a friend. But you are a risk to my lifestyle and I have to be wary of that. Good evening, Sheillene of Whisperwillow. I wish you safe travels.” Thomas set her pack on the ground as he walked past her then headed down a different alley than the one he'd indicated for her to take.