by LeRoy Clary
“Turning him down would be disrespectful,” Rake said in his most serious manner, as he licked his lips in anticipation of a full meal instead of a handful of nuts and dried berries.
Frog picked up on Rake’s comment and cheerily continued, “Right he is. Why I’d be so disrespected there might be a fist-fight between us. You wouldn’t want to be responsible for that, would you?”
“I still don’t know,” she repeated slowly. “But now that you mention it, Rake can use a beating and you look large enough to do it. Can you promise me that you’ll give him a good punch for me if it comes to that?”
Grog laughed, which was almost a hoarse croak, and both joined his laughter at the sound of it. He said, “You know, my brother Cobalt was over at the edge of the Brownlands helping our uncle harvest crops last fall. He heard all kinds of wild stories about what’s going on in what used to be Princeton and is now part of Breslau. The new kings of Breslau are sitting on twin thrones, yes there are two of them, and they have enslaved most of the peasants who lived there before. Some are tattooed, their whole arms are covered with images of dragons. That is supposed to tell everyone they are worse than us. I’ve seen it myself.” Frog’s voice held no more humor.
“They are known as Crabs,” Cinder said as if she spat the word. “I’m not sure if they tattoo the peasants from Princeton like the Crabs from old Breslau, but maybe.”
Frog continued in a rush of an emotional outburst, “I know a little about them. And they cannot work except for certain jobs that are dangerous or need many bodies. They’re given food, housed in compounds, and restricted where they can go and what they can do. They’re offered freedom if they locate a member of the Dragon Clan and turn him or her into the authorities, I’ve heard. Any Dragon Clan killed or captured means instant freedom and elevation to the status of the wealthy for the one who reported it. They get gold and even the Crab’s tattoos are erased by a secret manner.”
Rake instantly remembered an old dog belonging to the family. Crippled, and mangy, it limped from its bed to a place in the sun each day. His mother had told him the dog was needed by an uncle who lived far away and desired help with his flocks. He had a huge farm with lots of open land for the dog to run and be happy. Rake had wanted to keep the dog despite its illness and age but had finally relented because his uncle really needed it. His father had carried it to deliver the dog to the uncle. He had returned the same day.
It had been years before he realized what had happened that day. The story Frog told was sounding similar to the old dog living happily and playing on his uncle’s farm.
Before he could respond, Cinder said, “And they live happily after that, never seeing their Crab families and Crab friends again. Right? They live the lives of wealthy royalty,” Cinder snickered as she rolled her eyes to indicate how silly she believed his revelation was, confirming Rake’s beliefs. She continued, “There are other rumors that say the Breslau army just take the Crabs away and kills them. Think about it. Cutting their arms off will also remove those nasty tattoos if you see what I’m saying. It’s far easier and a lot cheaper to kill them rather than removing permanent tattoos and giving them pockets full of gold, if you ask me.”
Frog turned to her in obvious revulsion and surprise at her attitude. “I was just repeating what my brother told me, not trying to pick a fight. I’m sorry if I offended you.”
Rake held up his palm as a sign of peace. “Hey, Cinder is angry at me today, and that extends to the rest of the world, so anything you say will be treated like it came from my lips. We, and I mean both of us, appreciate your kind offer for a good meal.”
Frog glanced at her as if for confirmation, then forced a wide smile that appeared more of a grimace. He shifted his walk slightly to be closer to Rake than Cinder.
Cinder noticed and said nothing but stuck her tongue out at Rake when Frog looked the other way. Rake said, “Well, I’d love to swap a few stories with your brother at your farm. And eat a real meal. Cobalt is his name?”
Frog smiled wider, his wary eyes still on Cinder.
She nodded her agreement but added, “We might have to cut the visit short, but a hot meal sounds wonderful. Thank you and forgive my grouchiness. It’s been a hard day, most of which is his fault,” she jammed a thumb in Rake’s direction so hard it could have penetrated iron.
Frog remained on foot and led his horse as they walked, looking ready to leap on it and ride off at a sprint if he heard another outburst from Cinder. Rake wondered at Cinder’s reluctance to take advantage of the friendly offer and laughed to himself at her blaming the dark mood on him. She had a way with words. She used them like others used knives and arrows.
Her attitude probably arose from the norm that said those of the Dragon Clan didn’t usually mix with “normals.” One accidental slip of a phrase or mention of a Dragon Clan secret or even a hint of who they were meant trouble followed. Not only for the one speaking but even for entire families. The risks often outweighed the benefits.
Of course, Rake also wondered at a lot of her actions since meeting her a day ago. She was nothing like his sisters. He admitted she was pretty. No, more than pretty, she was beautiful, but unlike the other women he knew around the trading post, she seemed to either resent him or always needed to prove she was better. Worse, she knew things. She knew about the trading post as a hub for the Dragon Clan, the weapons Carver made, and several other things she’d hinted about but hadn’t yet revealed. He felt he was being held hostage by her secretive knowledge.
The problem was not in her knowing those things—it was in not sharing the information, especially when he asked about them directly. Her way appeared to withhold any information until the sharing of it was impossible to prevent. It gave her all the power. And it made Rake feel like he was the child and her the mother.
Frog finally said, changing the subject to one more benign, “I can’t help but notice the fine bows you both carry.”
“Gifts from a master craftsman for our trip,” Rake said easily. “We hardly know how to use them. Have you always lived near here?”
Frog shrugged. “Yes. Like most people around here, I guess. I’ve never slept in another bed. Just my brother has. He’s a wanderer and I guess I’m not much for adventure, but wait until he hears I saw not one, but two dragons. He will be as jealous of me as the two of you are with each other.”
“We are not,” Cinder almost snarled.
“We are not,” Rake said at the same time as Cinder, then laughed.
She didn’t join in as most would have when they said the same things at the same times. Instead, Cinder rolled her eyes at Rake, then said to Frog, “So, the three of you all live in the same house where you were born. That seems natural enough. What are you trying to say?”
Rake ignored her and talked before a tongue-tied Frog could, “This is my first time away from home. Too many chores, crops, and animals that need attention for me to take off, but like you, I want to know things. See what’s over the next hill or across the river.”
“I know that feeling well,” Frog said. “Just getting away to chase that dragon is going to cost me extra work tonight. The goats won’t wait to be milked, the sheep will be huddled at the pen gate I need to open, so wolves don’t get them, and a hundred other things.”
“I can help with those chores,” Rake offered. “After being gone only two days, I miss the work already.”
“One day,” Cinder corrected him.
“Over one whole day and part of another, so this is the second,” he said firmly, tired of her corrections.
She allowed him the small victory. The road entered the forest again, a dense tangle of smaller trees and vines. The ground remained flat and Rake suspected that in years the river flooded, the entire area was covered with muddy water regenerating the soil. He was not surprised when they turned off and after a short walk came to a cabin built on a hillock that was probably artificial and lined with rocks around the base.
As if to
prove his words, the cabin was built higher than most, the floor raised thigh-high, with four steps leading up to a mud-porch where a small roof and sides protected coats, boots, and hats. When the water rose, the porch kept the muddy shoes and coats stored outside, or that was the intent. It probably kept part of the mud out there, but in no way could it keep it all.
The cabin sat on short pilings, allowing water to flow underneath instead of damming against a side during a flood and destroying the cabin. As long as the water was no deeper than his thigh, the cabin would remain undamaged. Water-marks on the supports indicated it had risen to his shin a time or two, even though it sat on the small hill.
There were two barns and two smaller outbuildings, one of which was a coop where the chickens retreated to safety at night. Loose chickens on a farm were like a dessert for most forest predators if not penned. Corrals near the house were for the protection of the stock and the dogs were the alarms. The cabin was surrounded on three sides by gardens. The fourth was an orchard. Neat, tidy, and efficient.
Rake’s eyes immediately went to the apple trees, then on to pear, peach, cherry, and plum. Preserved, the fruit would make nice additions to meals all winter long. The ground was rich, almost black, and contained a lot of clay to hold rainwater in the summer. Compared with the sandy dirt at Rake’s cabin . . . well, there was no comparison. This ground here would grow two or three times the crops, and with far less effort. The hardest chore with the soil he looked at was keeping things, like weeds, from growing and crowding out the crops. The sandy soil in the mountains was only good for growing pine trees and other evergreens. Barely.
In the mountains, the ground contained enough rocks to build fences, and that happened. Besides, it was often shallow soil above hardpan or solid stone, and what little soil there was grew small carrots, onions, beets, turnips, and reluctantly, beans.
The leaves of the carrot patch ahead flourished halfway to his knee instead of his ankle. The carrots themselves must be massive. Rake noticed all those things but said nothing and kept his envy to himself.
“Home,” Frog said with a wave of his arm then called out cheerfully, “Mom, we have company.”
The door flew open and a woman stood there, wiping flour off her hands as she advanced. “What have you brought me this time?” she asked in a thin, reedy voice. She was so thin her bones showed through her pale skin. Her eyes wept and around the outside were as red as if she had been crying, yet her cheeks were without color. It was obvious she was ill.
Frog said with excitement and envy evident in every word, “Cinder and Rake. They’re going all the way to the Endless Sea.”
“Really?” She asked with a hint of a frown slipping into place. “Why would anyone want to do that?”
Cinder said, “Actually, that’s just a possibility, but not a destination. We’re from the mountains to the west. There are rumors of war with Breslau coming. If that is true, our families wonder what will become of us, so we decided to go find out what we could for a few days.”
Rake picked up the story. “We are just going to look around and listen to what others say and if they have found out if anything that will help us. I understand Cobalt spent some time near the border and we hope to talk to him.”
“Why talk to him?” She persisted, wiping her already clean hands vigorously on her apron. Her tone had hardened. Her eyes were glassy. “He knows nothing of war.”
“Just to gather rumors,” Rake said, trying to calm her. “We just want to talk to anyone who has been over that way.”
As if knowing when to make an appearance, a taller, more handsome version of Frog emerged from a barn, arms filled with fresh hay. He went to the nearest corral and tossed it over the fence, then watched the sheep and goats compete to get the tastiest strands before recognizing them, but surely, he’d seen the visitors when he first emerged and was probably thinking of what to say. When he turned, he pulled to a stop and called a friendly, if reluctant, “Hello.”
The mother said to Rake, ignoring Cinder, “Will you be staying the night?”
“Yes,” Rake said. “If it’s all right with you. And we hope to leave early in the morning, probably before sunrise.”
She fixed him with cold eyes that belied her illness. “Will any of us be in danger tonight because of you? Are there people seeking you?”
Both Rake and Cinder said at the same time, “No.”
“I’ll go prepare dinner.” She turned away slowly and called, “Cobalt, these people would like to talk to you.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Cobalt, Frog’s brother, strode across the yard along a well-worn path between a barn and the cabin to stand before them. He wore a friendly smile, but like his mother, more than a hint of wariness resided just under the surface. After more introductions, Frog excused himself to do his chores and put the horse in the corral. He refused Rake’s offer to help with the chores, saying to talk to Cobalt and that he’d return quickly.
Cinder came right to the point. She fixed her steady gaze on Cobalt and said, “We’re trying to gather information about Breslau, or the old Kingdom of Princeton, as it used to be called.”
“Why?” Cobalt asked as he gingerly sat across from them on a bench beside the porch looking ready to leap up and bolt if he didn’t like her response. “What do you care?”
Rake noticed Cobalt’s mother standing just inside the doorway and she had moved near the open door where she obviously felt hidden but could still overhear the conversation. He only saw the edge of her skirt but that was enough. Rake said, “We live up in the mountains beyond the village along the river. Rumors are spreading up there about Breslau and how they captured Princeton and have made slaves of the people. The same rumors say they intend to conquer Oakhaven next. We’re just trying to find out what’s happening and then do what’s best for our families.”
Cinder added, “If we’re in danger, our families and us, we want to be prepared. That’s all.”
“I see,” Cobalt said and abruptly ceased talking.
Rake continued as if he hadn’t noticed the change, “Frog told us you worked near the Brownlands last year and maybe you heard things.”
“He was wrong.”
The answer was evasive and untrue. Rake said, “Wrong to believe that you heard things or wrong to tell us?”
“We don’t want any trouble,” Cobalt said. “You should leave.”
“We’re not here to make trouble,” Cinder said. “If possible, we want to prevent it.”
Cobalt stood abruptly. “Talking to you about what I heard or didn’t hear can do no good for me or my family and there is a chance it can harm us, so why would I risk talking to you?”
Rake and Cinder watched him turn and walk into the cabin, his back stiff. Rake said, “He’s right, you know.”
“I know and don’t blame him. If he showed up at my home and acted like us, I would respond the same. Can we just skip dinner and go on our way?” Cinder started to stand.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Frog’s mother called out the door. “Dinner was promised and is almost ready. We can’t let it go to waste because you didn’t get your silly questions answered. You can leave soon enough.”
That confirmed she had been listening and also that she wished them to depart after eating. Rake leaned inside the door and inhaled the mixed scents of cooking, especially the bread. Living in the mountains, he didn’t get to eat bread often because flour is expensive, and that alone was enough to make him change his mind. Flour is a product of the lowlands and costs too much in trade to buy some more than once or twice a year. The bubbling pot of stew gave off wondrous aromas, but the bread . . . the smell of the bread was like the scent of a baby to a mother.
Cinder was at his side. She said, “Then we will stay if you allow me to help and maybe learn a secret of how you can make a meal that smells so good.”
“You’re just hungry.” Obvious pride shaded every word of the old lady.
Frog returned from the barn
and quieted the dogs yapping at his heels. He said, “I saw one of those Crabs, you know. Last fall. He was a runaway, dirty, ragged, skinny, and a thief. He made off with a horse blanket and a chicken.”
“From your barn or took the blanket right off your horse?” Rake asked, curious because there was a hint of something more in Frog’s voice.
“Funny thing, that. Took the blanket from the barn and almost got away without being seen. Just caught a look at him by chance.”
“Why is that a funny thing?” Rake asked.
“We have five or six horse blankets in there and one horse. All the others were in better shape. He stole the oldest, the one with moth-holes and a tear.”
Rake said, “Maybe that one was easiest to steal.”
“No. That’s also why it was funny. The good ones were on top. He set them aside to get to the one on the bottom. I’d have thrown it away if he hadn’t of come by. He did take a favorite chicken of mine though, but he couldn’t have known that.”
Rake sat on the bench again, his chin cupped in his palm, his elbow resting on his knee. “That is odd. Maybe he didn’t want to cause you any loss, so he took the worst blanket.”
“That’s what I thought. Cobalt said it was because we wouldn’t chase after him because he took something worthless. Me, I don’t know.”
“Ever see any other Crabs?”
Frog said, “That was a first for me. I heard over at the Two-Step ranch, they’ve had three or four sightings in the last year. None ever before. I heard one rumor that said the Crabs in Breslau were being treated worse and worse, and many were dying out in the Brownlands while trying to escape. No water out there, you know. None.”
That contradicted Dragon Clan stories he’d heard. There were a couple of springs, a few sinks with drinkable water in them, and even a pool hidden in a circle of rocks. Not a lot of water, but if a person carried five or six canteens and never ventured past where they could return to the last water source until locating more, the crossing could be made. It had been made by several Dragon Clan.