Torchlight

by Theresa Dahlheim

  “I could keep busy at Pritchard’s tavern.” He hadn’t meant to say that, but he was losing his self-control.

  “I don’t like how you’ve been keeping busy there.”

  “What the hell do you know about what I do there?”

  “You do not swear in this house!”

  “Right! That’s saved for the shop!”

  “Shut your mouth!”

  “I’ll do better than that!” He shoved his empty plate into the center of the table, clanging it against the roasting pan, and stood up.

  “Sit down, Graegor!”

  He kicked his chair back and headed for the door. He saw his mother pressing her hands to her forehead. Once out in the night he ducked under the clothesline and left the yard by the back gate, walking straight into the dark woods.

  He didn’t care. It didn’t matter at all. He would go to Farre anyway.

  He would just go anyway.

  He stopped between two trees and breathed in the evergreen scent, strong with the recent rain. The thought of leaving here, leaving this stupid miserable village behind and finally starting his real life, made his heart pound. He could feel the blood rush through his body, head to foot, hand to hand.

  The outlines of a new plan drew themselves in his mind. His money and his pack and his clothes were all in his room. He’d just turn around and walk right back into the house, up the stairs, pack everything, and go. If everyone was still sitting around the table they wouldn’t even see him. Then he’d go to the tavern and get his staff from Pritchard.

  And then he would go to Jolie’s house and ask her to come with him.

  The thought was frightening—and exhilarating. He’d been willing to stay here so they could be together—wouldn’t she be willing to come with him so they could be together? It was just jumping over a few years. They could get married now.

  It was the word “married” that brought him up short. How could he support a wife, and the inevitable children, if he didn’t have a job or a trade? Was it selfish to ask her to come with him when he wasn’t even sure if Johanns would help him?—There was certainly a good chance now that he wouldn’t help Graegor, out of respect for Graegor’s father’s wishes.

  And if he got married, he couldn’t be apprenticed. Apprentices owned nothing but the clothes on their backs. They lived in their masters’ houses and did what their masters told them to do. If he couldn’t enter a guild, he would have to try to make his living as a day laborer, or a stable or kitchen boy, or a soldier, or—ironically—a clerk or bookkeeper.

  But not all the horse trades were run by the guilds. Not all work with horses demanded an apprenticeship commitment. He’d heard that in Khenroxa, the breeding houses were private estates. If he impressed the right person up there, he could learn all about horses and earn a wage.

  The evergreen trees stood around him in majestic silence. Just ahead he could see the forms of two of them clearly against the night’s backdrop. They were almost the same size and almost the same distance away—one at his right hand, one at his left.

  The symbolism didn’t escape him. There was a decision to be made here. It took him a few moments to realize that he didn’t necessarily have to make it.

  He would ask Jolie to come with him. He wanted to be with her too much to not ask her. If she agreed, he’d find a priest in the very next village, and once in Farre, he’d ask Johanns to help them. Johanns wasn’t heartless—he wouldn’t let a pretty girl go hungry for the sake of business loyalty to Graegor’s father.

  But if the idea of it scared Jolie—if the uncertainty of what the immediate future held made her worry too much—then he would give her the pewter Godcircle medallion, as a promise that he would come back for her in two years. Two years, no matter what. He’d work very hard and save his wages to make sure he had enough to buy her a gold ring and keep a roof over her head.

  He didn’t have to compromise. He wanted to work with horses, and there was no reason to give that up. The annual Khenroxan horse fair in Farre was coming up in just a few months. He could sign on as a groom, or even as a stable boy, with one of the traders, and travel with them back north. On the way he could show them how much horses liked him and responded to him. They would be impressed, and one of them might introduce him to someone at one of the training estates.

  A grunting, shuffling noise broke into his thoughts, and he looked behind him to see a pig wander by, rooting through the wet undergrowth, going about its business.

  It was time he was about his business. He was going to Farre. Right now.

  He turned around and walked back out of the woods, toward the light slanting from the kitchen window across the yard, under the clothesline, and through the back door. He could see part of the dining table when he started up the stairs, but no one was looking in his direction. Once in his room he stuffed his clothes and his money and some other things into his pack, took off the shoes he was wearing, knocked the mud off them, and put them in the pack too, and pulled on his boots. Then he carefully slid the pewter medallion into his shirt pocket and buttoned it closed so it couldn’t fall out.

  Opening his bureau to see if there was anything else, he saw the holy tracts his parents had given him at winter Solstice when he’d started school. He’d wanted a new fishing pole. Slowly he picked up the little booklets, six of them, a traditional starting set. He traced the embossed titles with his finger. It took a while to decide, but eventually he slid them into a pocket of his pack, reasoning that it never hurt to take God along. He needed all the good fortune he could get now.

  When he reached the bottom of the stairs he heard his mother call his name. “I’ll be back,” he shouted, then grabbed his raincloak and shut the door behind him.

  He would be, of course. As he slung his raincloak over his shoulders, he tried to tell himself that he hadn’t lied to her, but he knew it was a coward’s way out. He should have gone in and told her where he was going, and why.

  He shook his head impatiently. She just had to let him go. He paused by the stable, for the thought occurred to him to give old Lightning a final pat, since Lightning was the first horse he’d ever known. But he kept walking. It wasn’t right to say goodbye to a horse when he couldn’t say goodbye to his mother.

  There were fewer people at the tavern now. Pritchard was surprised to see him, but nodded with complete understanding when Graegor explained. He didn’t even blink when Graegor said he’d be starting now, after dark, possibly in the rain, instead of waiting until morning. The tavern keeper fetched the quarterstaff, along with another silver coin, which Graegor tried to refuse, but which Pritchard insisted that he’d earned. He also insisted on giving him a pouch of waybread, dried meat, fruit, and a water bota for the road. He wished Graegor luck and declared that he would do well and that he looked forward to seeing him again sometime.

  It was a heartening sendoff. Graegor found himself grinning as he went down the porch steps from the tavern. The silver coin clinked against the others in his belt pouch. The quarterstaff was now a walking stick, smooth and warm in his bare hand. He didn’t care if it was magic or not. It was his.

  A small figure darted across the village street toward him, and before he even saw her face he realized it was Audrey. He hardened his expression, prepared to tell her that she couldn’t change his mind, but when she reached him and looked up at him from under the cowl of her raincloak, he could see that his little sister wasn’t there to argue. She was a little out of breath and her shoes were soaked—she’d likely run through a puddle. “They think you’re just going to stomp around and cool off,” she said. “But I looked in your room and saw your pack was gone. I just wanted to tell you good luck.”

  “Thank you.” He didn’t hug her often, but he did now, and kissed the top of her head. She squeezed her arms around his middle. “I should give you your copper quarter back,” he said. “I don’t know how I’d send you candy now.”

  “Keep it,” she said, and stepped back. There was a stra
nge combination of wistfulness, excitement, and worry on her small oval face. He smiled at her, and she smiled back, and that was farewell. Then he turned forward to the street, and she turned back to their parents’ house.

  He didn’t look back when he passed Magus Paul’s house, tucked behind a tall hedge; he didn’t look back when he passed the chapel, where he’d never spend another Godsday; but at a slight rise just past the tannery, he did stop and turn.

  The two lamp-posts cast pools of light near the fountain, where everyone drew their drinking water. The lights and the fountain were the center of the village. From here the houses looked like two lines of children’s blocks huddled in the damp darkness. Some of the windows glowed yellow. Beyond, he could see a smear of dark grey that was the lake, where the fisher folk went out every day. As Graegor watched, a tiny light moved across the water—one last boat making its way home.

  It wasn’t a bad village. He knew it wasn’t. He knew that it was a safe and happy place. The street was clean. The fountain was clear. The lake was full of fish, and the trees stood tall all around. Most of the people were kind. It wasn’t their fault that this wasn’t where he belonged.

  He turned and kept walking, a long and rapid stride over the wet road, and his eyes quickly grew accustomed to the darkness. He would cover the two miles to the dairy farm in no time, and then he would ask Jolie to run away with him.

  It sounded like a bad poem when he put it like that—”run away together”. They weren’t of age, so, yes, legally they would be running away from home, but if they said they were of age, it wouldn’t be totally untrue—it was only a month until his own fifteenth birthday and less than a year until hers.

  You’re jumping ahead. He still had to ask her. There was still the very real possibility that she would not want to go with him tonight, that she would rather wait the two years for him to come back. It was up to her.

  She was so pretty. It would be very hard to leave if she said no, if she wanted to wait. It would be very hard to simply give her his medallion with his promise to come back.

  Had it started raining again? No, it was only drips from the overhanging trees. It really smelled good out here. Outside the village, outside his childhood. On the road out of yesterday and into tomorrow.

  He saw the lights of a house between the tree trunks, and then he reached the track that led up the little hill to the dairy farm. He could see a speck of light bobbing along by the milking shed. It was Jolie’s job to lead the cows into the pasture while her mother and sisters took the milk into the dairy. By the number of pale shapes on the grass, she was nearly finished turning them out.

  After stopping and looking in from the night, his pack settling heavier and his legs feeling stiffer, he left the track and made for the milking shed. He walked up the gentle incline, and raised his arm when he saw the light of her lantern pause. “Jolie, it’s me,” he called softly across the wet grass.

  “Graegor?” She hurried the rest of the way, and when her lantern came close, he could tell she was smiling, but she was also confused. “What are you doing here?”

  He just looked at her like an idiot for a few seconds, because now that the moment had come, he didn’t know how to ask her. She cocked her head to one side, and her smile changed to a little frown when she noticed his pack. “Graegor?”

  Finally he gestured to the shed. “Can—can we talk?”

  Her frown deepened, but then she nodded and led the way. There were still a few cows inside, and it smelled strongly of warm milk. Jolie set the lantern on the low rafter and turned back to him. “What’s wrong?”

  She was so pretty. She wasn’t wearing the scarf he’d given her, but the red one she had on was so bright against her dark hair and pale skin, with her pink cheeks and big eyes. God, this was hard. He swallowed. Just say it. “Master Jarl tore up my apprenticeship contract.”

  Jolie blinked. “He what?”

  “He tore it up and threw it in the fire. He said he’s going to take Master Baldwin’s son instead, that he’d forgotten the promise he’d made to him.”

  “But—but then he should take both of you.”

  “That’s what I said. Then he said that he didn’t want an apprentice who fights.”

  “That’s stupid!”

  “I know.” It felt good to hear her say it, to see the indignation in her eyes. Because he wanted her admiration, he said, “I guess you heard about the fight.”

  “Mother heard about it when she was in town today.” She wore a mischievous smile. “Did you really thrash six of them by yourself?”

  “Three. I used this.” He tapped his quarterstaff against the floor of the shed.

  “I never liked Craig,” she said with satisfaction.

  “No one does, and no one likes his little brother, but their father convinced Jarl to take him and not me. He won’t change his mind.”

  “So ...” She glanced at his pack again, then looked him in the eyes. “Are you leaving?”

  “My father told me that he wouldn’t take me to Farre with him this time. He wants me to stay here and keep books until he figures out what to do with me. But Farre is the only place I can go now. It’s the only place where I’ll be able to find the work I want—work with horses.”

  Jolie looked away. She eased back a step, her fingers weaving in and out of each other. Finally she asked, “So you’re going now? Tonight?”

  “I want you to come with me.” There. It was out.

  Now she was looking at him again—as if he had lost his mind. “Come with you?” she stammered.

  He shrugged off his pack from under his raincloak, let the quarterstaff drop into the straw, and took both her hands. “I want you to come with me,” he said again.

  “You mean—you mean run off to the city together?” The phrase didn’t sound like silly poetry coming from her. Her hands in his were cold, and her skin looked paler, her cheeks redder than before.

  “We’ll go to see my father’s broker, Mister Johanns,” he told her. “He’ll introduce me to the right people, and I’ll have a job. Not an apprenticeship, a real job, with a real wage, and I’ll take care of you. Maybe it wouldn’t be much at first. Maybe I’d be nothing more than a rich lady’s groom at first. But the more people I can show my talent with horses, the further I’ll be able to go.”

  Jolie did not seem reassured. Her eyes were still very wide, and he could feel her racing pulse as his hands enveloped hers. He thought about saying that he could go to Farre himself and come back for her in two years, but he was afraid that she would agree to that too quickly. Surely, once she got used to the idea of leaving ... once she understood how much it meant to him ... “We’ll be all right. We’ll be more than all right. Together we can do anything we want.”

  She opened her mouth a couple of times before getting the actual words out. “But what ... what would I do?”

  “Nothing. Anything. Whatever you want.” He had an idea that made him smile. “If I start out as a rich lady’s groom, you could start out as her maid.”

  Unexpectedly, she laughed, but it was a high, nervous sound. “No, no, I can’t. I’m just a dairy girl!—I can’t be a rich lady’s dressed-up maid.”

  “If I have my way, someday you’ll be a rich lady yourself.”

  Her fingers clenched in his. Her blue eyes searched his face, seemed to look at every part of him at once. “You really mean it, don’t you?” she whispered.

  “I do.” Because these words evoked others, he asked the question: “Jolie, will you marry me?”

  Her breath caught, and she didn’t speak. She didn’t move. She was so stunned. In that moment he loved her so much he couldn’t stand it, and he pulled her close and kissed her.

  After a long, stiff moment, she melted into his arms. Her lips were the sweet softness of an armful of flowers.

  He was so excited, every hair on his body was standing up. He held her tighter, pressing his hands to her back. She wanted to be with him, she was coming with him! They were
going together!—And even if they didn’t have much at first, he would save his wages, and in just a few years they could buy their own horses and go up to Khenroxa. He’d become one of the best horse trainers even the Khenroxans had ever seen. He’d start his own breeding stock, build his own stables ... everything. They’d have everything.

  He kissed her and kissed her and kissed her. She had her arms around his neck and she was trembling. His heart pounded as her body moved against his. Her cloak had gotten bunched up in his hands at the small of her back, and he let go of it, went under it, pressing his hands to her dress. He could feel the small ridge of her spine through the wool, the angles of her shoulder blades, the curve of her waist ... the swell of her hips ...

  “Oh,” she seemed to laugh, but then she said, “Wait ... wait a second ...”

  He covered her mouth with his again. She felt it, he knew she felt it the same as he did. It had been months since their first kiss—she’d known it was leading here, she must have known, of course she knew. They were going away together, they were getting married tomorrow, they were already married in their hearts—what was the harm? It was perfect here, they were alone, the cows didn’t mind ...

  “Graegor,” she murmured. He liked how she said his name, how it drew the anticipation even tighter around him. He searched for ties or buttons or whatever it was that kept her dress on, felt for them, fumbled at what seemed to be a drawstring at her waist.

  She broke their kiss. “Wait, let go, this is … is too … Graegor ...”

  It was a drawstring, and he thought he had found the knot, but he needed both hands to pick it apart—maybe there was a trick to it—

  “Graegor!”

  He was dimly aware of her hands set against his chest, but he didn’t pay much attention as she pushed at him, because it didn’t feel like she was pushing very hard, and now her legs were twisting against his in a way that forced a wild sound from his throat even as he kissed her. He heard her whimper, thought it was the same kind of sound, and nudged her back against one of the empty stalls to keep holding her and kissing her while trying to work the knot of her dress.