Flicker of the Flame
Evelyn Puerto
Copyright © 2021 by Evelyn Puerto
All rights reserved.
Cover by Miblart
Map by DragonDust
All characters and events in this book are fictitious.
Any resemblance to persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Flicker of the Flame
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Afterword
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Flicker of the Flame
Twelve years have passed since the events of the year that began with a double eclipse…
1
Tereka hadn’t been sure of much in her twelve years, but this she knew: she had one chance. Just one.
She winced under her mother’s scowl, cringing at the sharp words and the tone that cut like winter wind. “Would it be too hard for you to make yourself useful for once?”
“Mam, if you please.” Tereka tried to keep the pleading out of her voice. “I’d be happy to watch Aito while you do your errands.”
Her mother scowled. “Prove to me you’re not too stupid to do the simplest task. Buy tea and candles. Get your brother something to eat. And be back here in an hour. No later.”
“Yes, Mam. I can do all that. You’ll see.” Tereka nodded emphatically. If she could please her mother just this once, then maybe, just maybe, she’d be kinder. Treat her like a member of the family instead of an intruder.
Her mother waved her hand, shooing Tereka and her three-year-old brother out the door in front of her.
Tereka’s twin, Tirk, was already standing in the lane. “Hurry up, Tereka. Aito wants to see the ducks.”
Aito tugged on Tereka’s hand. “See ducks. See geese!” He made a honking noise. Tereka thought that for such a tiny boy, it was a fine impression of a goose fighting for food.
She ruffled his hair and smiled. “Clever boy, aren’t you?”
Her mother slammed the wooden door of their house shut and locked it. “Be back in an hour.”
Tereka grabbed the back of her younger brother’s dove-gray tunic as he took a toddling step into the muddy lane. “I will.” She didn’t need to be told why. Today was Aito’s third birthday and their Aunt Juquila was throwing him a feast. Her mother wouldn’t want to be late for that. As syndic of their town of Trofmose, Aunt Juquila oversaw trade and commerce. Which meant she occasionally had exotic foods no one else did. Foods much tastier than gruel or coarse bread.
She watched her mother stalk down the stony lane, her ash-colored dress swirling around her ash-colored leggings, the orange band around her shoulder that proclaimed her a vendor the one bright spot in her drab appearance.
Tereka sighed. Her mother had never let her set foot in her aunt’s house. Tirk and Aito were always invited, but never her. Maybe today would be different.
Tereka hoisted Aito to her hip, her basket dangling from her arm. She scurried after her mother. Tirk tapped her shoulder and grinned when she turned to look at him. He always had her back. She smiled into his sepia brown eyes, so unlike her bright blue ones.
“Watch out.” Tirk grabbed her shoulder and pulled her to the side just as she was about to step on a mangled rat carcass. She shuddered and skipped past it, dodging the other villagers who trudged along the dreary lane. “We need to hurry, Tirk.” She sped up to pass a row of wooden houses, all the same as their own. Two rooms―a kitchen and sleeping room―small windows with shutters, and peeling paint.
Their mother strode ahead. “Don’t lose your brother. And be sure you don’t overpay for the tea.” She flapped a hand at them and disappeared into the gray-clad throngs at the market.
The tension in Tereka’s chest ebbed. Now they could have some fun. “What do you think, Tirk? Errands first? Or pasties?”
A smile crossed his brown cheeks. “Pasties, of course. If we wait, the best ones will be gone.” He pushed past the tea vendor, dodged a dog worrying a bone, and jumped over a puddle, splashing the hems of his gray trousers. Tereka hoisted Aito higher and hurried after Tirk.
She caught up with him at the pastie vendor’s stall, where she breathed in the scent of onions, frying meat, sugar, and fruit.
Tirk pointed. “Look, they have hopberry.”
Her favorite.
Aito patted her head. “Pastie.”
“Which one would you like, my love?” Tereka kissed his smooth cheek, the same brown as Tirk’s.
“Pastie. Please, Terter.” Aito tugged on her short dark hair.
Tirk bought four pasties, two stuffed with hopberries and two with cabbage, counting out the bronze sheaves and dropping the coins in the vendor’s hand. Then he broke off a corner of one and handed it to Aito. He gave the rest to his sister.
Tereka set the squirming Aito down and firmly grasped his hand. She took a bite of pastie and strolled down the narrow lane between the market stalls. Vendors called to passersby, offering candles and crockery, boots and baskets. The clanging of the blacksmith’s hammer competed with the horn that sounded the arrival or departure of a caravan.
As they ate, they made their way through the central square of the market, dominated by the monument to Prosperity in the center. Tereka wasn’t sure what she thought about the monument. The bronze people held large baskets overflowing with bread, vegetables, and fruit. The statue people certainly looked well-fed, but their clothes were the same shapeless cut as any villager, their hair fixed in the same regulation manner. Surely a prosperous people could afford better clothing. Surely they wouldn’t all have to look the same.
Except for the shoulder bands, a different color for every profession. And the colored r
ibbons women tied around the handles of their baskets, the color the only choice they were free to make.
A caravan of wagons had lined up in the square, brown-clad traders standing near their horses, chatting with guardsmen who wore black and carried swords and bows. Not for the first time, Tereka wondered why traders and guards didn’t have to wear gray.
Tirk nudged her with his elbow. “That will be me next year.” His eyes shone. “I can’t wait to travel around with Da and see something other than this dumpy town.”
A knot formed in Tereka’s stomach. Just last week their da had told Tirk he could start as his apprentice. What would she do without Tirk? He’d always been the buffer between her and their mother. Tirk strode down the line of wagons, chattering around mouthfuls of pastie about accompanying their father on trade runs to far off towns like Pir Bakran, Anbodu, and Litavye. Tereka took a firmer grip on Aito’s hand. She didn’t understand Tirk’s excitement about seeing other places. Everyone in Tlefas had to be the same. To make things fair, they said. The other towns wouldn’t be much different than their own. “I’ll miss you,” she said.
Tirk didn’t seem to hear. He grabbed Aito’s other hand. “Come on. Let’s get to those ducks. I’ll race you!” He trotted ahead of Tereka, pulling a laughing Aito along.
Then abruptly, he dropped Aito’s hand. “Can you take him? I’ll be right back.” He ran over to a group of boys gathered around the miller and a trader who were exchanging shouted insults.
Tereka rolled her eyes. Boys. Nothing more exciting for them than a fight.
Aito tugged at her hand. “More.”
She broke off another piece of pastie and handed it to him, putting the rest in her mouth. “Ready to see the ducks?”
He smiled, dark purple hopberries smeared above his lips. “Ya! Geese, too?”
Tereka laughed. “Of course.” She pulled a rag from the pocket of her ash-colored dress and wiped his mouth. She took his hand and led him toward the pens that housed the poultry, careful to avoid the piles of waste left by roaming dogs.
A hard thump on her back nearly knocked her to her knees. She staggered and let go of Aito’s hand. Something crashed behind her. A youth not much older than herself, clad in brown trousers and tunic with a white band around one shoulder, lay sprawled on the ground, an overturned box and broken pottery lying beside him on the cobblestones. It seemed to Tereka that this trader’s apprentice had been in too much of a hurry.
The apprentice groaned and stood up. “If you please, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there. Are you safe?”
Tereka laughed. “Yes, I’m unhurt. And you?”
He grimaced. “Safe for the moment, but not when my da sees what I broke.”
Tereka glanced at Aito. He was sitting on the stones, staring at the nearest horse. “Stay there,” she said to him, setting her basket next to him. She stooped and picked up some shards of pottery. “I hope you won’t get in too much trouble.” She tossed the pieces in the box and reached for another. “Oh, look, this one’s not broken.”
“At least one, then.” He scooped up the remaining large pieces and added them to the box. “Thank you.” He grabbed the box and ran off.
“Aito, let’s go.” When she turned, her breath caught in her throat. Her basket sat alone, its bright blue ribbon fluttering in the breeze. The boy had vanished. She scanned the nearby area, wondering how he could have moved so quickly. She’d only been a few heartbeats helping the clumsy apprentice.
A flicker of motion caught her eye. There he was, standing near a pair of black horses that were hitched to a wagon in the caravan. Aito was patting one horse’s leg, his gray clothing looking almost white in contrast. Tereka darted past a group of traders. The black horse took a step forward and Aito fell, right in the path of the wagon wheel. She sped forward and dove for her little brother, grabbing him and rolling with him onto the hard stones.
She clutched Aito to her chest, panting hard. He let out a sob.
“Don’t cry. We’re safe. We’re fine.” She murmured the words as much for herself as to quiet him.
When her heart no longer pounded in her ears, she sat up. “Let’s go, shall we?” She stood up and took a firm hold on his hand. She’d only taken a few steps when Tirk ran over to her.
“Tereka, what happened? Look at you.”
She glanced down. Her gray dress was streaked with mud. Aito had mud and the remnants of the hopberries on his chin. She closed her eyes. “Mam will be so angry.”
A cuff on the back of the head made her eyes fly open. “What have you done, foolish girl?”
Her mother had found them. And before Tereka had bought the tea.
“Mam, I― ”
“I spend a few minutes with my sister, only to find that my daughter has somehow caused some valuable pottery to break and got my son covered in mud. How careless can you be? You’re as unsafe as any bandit.”
The rebuke stung Tereka as if her mother had struck her. “It wasn’t exactly like that― ”
Her mother cut her off. She stabbed Tereka in the chest with her finger. “Take Aito to the bathhouse and get him cleaned up. I’ll deal with you later.” She screwed her face into a frown. “Have you done the shopping?”
“No, if you please. I wanted to feed Aito first― ”
Her mother ignored her. “Tirk, you do it.” She pointed toward the market stalls then strode away, disappearing into the crowd.
Tereka let her shoulders sag. She’d failed again. Maybe her mother was right. She was useless. And now there would be no feast for her. If she was lucky, that would be the end of her punishment. Tirk put a hand on her shoulder, gave her half a smile, then walked off. A little of the pain in her chest eased. She knew he’d smuggle her food later. He usually did. She hoped this time he wouldn’t fail her.
2
Two hours later, Tereka was no longer thinking of food. She squirmed as blood trickled down her legs. She wasn’t sure which was worse: the throbbing of her wounds or the nagging itch of drying blood.
Her knees weakened and she sagged against the kitchen table. She took deep, slow breaths, listening intently for the sounds of her family’s return. Probably they’d be gone a few more hours. Then, maybe, her mother would allow her to go into the only other room of their house―the one they all slept in―and lie down.
She thought back to the events of the past few hours. All she’d done was try to accomplish the errands her mother had given her. Her failure had unleashed the worst abuse she’d experienced yet. Her mother often singled her out for punishment. Tereka commonly bore the brunt of Mam’s anger when Tirk was equally guilty. He never received more than harsh words or a slap in the face.
This time, Tereka’s punishment broke like a thunderstorm that had brooded for days, its destructive energy building until it could be contained no more.
When they’d arrived home, her mother had sent Tirk and Aito into the sleeping room. Then she turned on Tereka, screaming. “A spawn of warboars like you is not worthy to set foot in my sister’s house! Why should you go? It’s your brother’s birthday, not yours.”
Tereka wanted to point out that her mother never acknowledged her birthday except as an afterthought included grudgingly with the celebration of Tirk’s.
Her mother’s rage continued unabated. She picked up a mug and hurled it at Tereka. “Clean that up.” She spat the words.
Knowing that obedience was her only chance to ease her mother’s wrath, Tereka fetched a broom and started to sweep.
Mam kept up a stream of abuse as Tereka worked, telling her she was worthless, stupid, and ugly. An embarrassment. None of this was new but every word left a wound on Tereka as if she’d been pierced with a spear.
Tirk entered the kitchen, leading Aito by the hand. “Mam, are you ready to go?” he asked.
Tereka silently thanked him. Maybe the interruption would be enough to calm down their mother.
“Not quite,” Mam said. “Take Aito to your aunt’s. I’ll be alon
g soon.”
“What about Tereka?”
“Never mind her. Just go.”
Tirk opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He looked at Tereka and winced.
She understood. The only time Mam’s wrath descended on Tirk was when he tried to defend Tereka. And whenever he did, her abuse of Tereka was that much worse. The twins had learned early on that any help Tirk gave Tereka had to be rendered in secret.
The door to the street closed on Tereka’s two brothers. Mam stalked over to her. “Give me the broom.”
She complied.
“Pull up your skirt and take off your leggings.”
Her eyes widened. “Mam, what did you say?”
“You heard me.”
Tereka did as her mother ordered, pushing her gray leggings down to her ankles and kicking them off. Her mother glared and pointed at her skirt. Tereka pulled the gray, shapeless garment up to her waist. Her face grew hot despite the chill in the room.
“Turn around.”
Flicker of the Flame: A YA Epic Fantasy Page 1