Siegestone: Book 1 of the Gemstones and Giants Trilogy

by E. S. Maya

  She felt small as she stepped into the village square’s open space, craning her neck as she approached the statue. It stood taller than five men and the stone face was without detail. Centuries of rain had smoothed its spiked shoulders into rounded pauldrons, and from its two long arms hung a pair of spherical fists. It’s not like the real thing at all, she thought. Not that she had seen a real Titan. Few people ever did.

  She reached high and put her hand to the statue’s knee. She couldn’t imagine climbing this little Titan, let alone the real thing. How the miners planned on making the top, she couldn’t imagine. If anyone could make it back alive, it was her father. The Abedi people worshiped the Titans as Gods. They knew more about Titans than anyone. When Yusef Azadi returned, Siegestone in hand, his family would be filthy rich.

  Safi grinned as she skipped through the village square, ducking through narrow alleyways and peeking into abandoned storefronts. She passed the old church, whose multi-horned instrument hadn’t been played in years. Mother used to force her to attend every Blessing Day and she’d found it an absolute bore. That was before the mines ran dry and the priest moved away, and now she yearned for the sound. She passed the Soaky Oaks, the town’s only surviving tavern, which even now hummed with patronage. Despite having so little money, the men of Ashcroft always found the coin for a drink or two. She saw no men out on the streets, but the few women she passed greeted her warmly, pleased to see a smiling child.

  Then she found the butcher’s shop and knocked on the front door. There came no answer, so she shouted as loud as she could and banged it with the heel of her fist. Still no one answered.

  She frowned. After the long winter of cabbage soup, she wasn’t about to leave without her oxtail.

  So she circled the building into a small brick alley and came upon the dingy side door. It took minutes of knocking and shouting yet before the door flew open to reveal the groggy, half-dressed man inside. He smelled of meat and several large stains spotted his wrinkled undershirt. Most noticeably of all, he was thick. One of the few thick men left in the village.

  “Who in the bloody name of the king is knocking at this—” He froze at the sight of Safi, hands on her hips and glaring mad. “If it isn’t little Safiyas!” he said, patting her on the head with his sausage-like fingers.

  Safi winced. “I’ve been waiting for-ev-er, Mr. Toole. Mama says she wants some oxtail, and only the good stuff. Nothin’ too gristly.”

  “Oh? And how much oxtail would Mama like?” asked the butcher with a smile. “A pound? Or two?”

  Safi straightened her hair. Her mother hadn’t written how much. “Better make it two.”

  “Two pounds of good stuff, coming right up. Don’t go anywhere.” Mr. Toole kicked the door shut as he went to search for two pounds of oxtail, not too dry. At least Safi sure hoped so. Everyone in Ashcroft knew Mrs. Tabitha Azadi was not one to be trifled with.

  Minutes passed before the butcher reappeared with her meat, all wrapped up in a waxed cloth sack. She snatched it from his hands and slipped it into her satchel. “How much do I owe you, mister?”

  The butcher scratched his stubbly chin. He looked down at Safi and began chewing his lower lip. After a long and chesty breath, he told her, “For beef of this quality? Two silver sovereigns.”

  Furrowing her eyebrows, Safi reached into her coat pocket. Two pieces of silver sounded expensive, but she knew the iron mine running dry had driven up all the prices. That, she figured, might explain why her mother had given her so much money this morning.

  “Ah, do you have enough?” asked the butcher.

  “I think so.” Safi pulled out her hand and slowly uncurled her fist.

  The butcher clenched his jaw as she revealed a handful of bright silver coins. “Did I say two?” He chuckled nervously. “I meant to say three—no, four!”

  Safi drew back her hand, the other still firm on her hip. “You better be selling fair, ‘cause I’ll tell Mama.”

  “Butcher’s honor,” Toole said, raising a sweaty palm.

  Safi paid the man and turned to leave. “Be back for more when Dad comes back,” she said, giving a curt nod.

  “Dad comes back,” Toole repeated, scratching the hairs of his forearm. Not daring to meet Safi’s eyes. “Of course! When Yusef gets back, you just come on by.”

  Safi left the butcher to count his coins and started towards the general store. Along the way she passed the meeting hall, the largest building in town. The adults used to be so excited about meetings. Next she passed the mayor’s house, the tallest and most decorated in the village. Much to her surprise, no one was home. Was the mayor out climbing Titans, too?

  At last, she made it to Mary Ruth’s, the finest general store in town. The only general store in town. Since the shopkeep was too old for the road, the villagers supported her with their frugal business.

  The curtains were down behind the windows and the storefront door was shut. Safi tried the knob anyways—unlocked. She cautiously stepped into the shop. It was half-store, half-house, and smelled just as she remembered, flower-sweet and garden-pungent, like grains and earth and Mother’s garden. The high windows were stained in many faded shades of blue and the tinted sunlight colored all the empty wooden shelves. She hollered for the elder woman, and a few minutes later Mary Ruth came shambling into the room with a smile on her wrinkled face.

  “If it isn’t little Safiyas!” said Mary Ruth, embracing her with both arms. “How’s your mother? How’s your father? Oh, it’s been so long.”

  “They’re both quite well and good, ma’am,” Safi said, hugging back gently. “A bit busy as of late, so this morning they sent me alone.” She hated to lie, but if Mary Ruth didn’t know about the Titan climb, she wasn’t about to tell her. Why spoil the old woman’s mood?

  “You’re much too skinny, girl,” Mary Ruth said. Somehow, it didn’t bother Safi when the old woman said it. Mary Ruth began scooting around the room, wiping down counters and dusting off empty displays. “What will it be today?” she asked, pulling a chair out for Safi at the oversized dining room table.

  Safi climbed into the seat, secretly hoping the old woman still kept sweets in her home. She fumbled out her list of groceries and handed it to the smiling shopkeep.

  Mary Ruth read silently, mouthing the words with her thin lips. She told Safi to stay put while she searched for the ingredients. A minute later, the old woman returned with an armful of brown little vegetables. Safi scrunched her face, and Mary Ruth laughed at the sight.

  “Are we picky about our vegetables these days?”

  “Mama says they’ve got to be good veggies.” Safi blinked. “And big potatoes.”

  “Well excuse me, missy,” said the old woman, shuffling off to search once more. “I’ll get you your big potatoes.”

  This time, Mary Ruth came back with the fattest, roundest potatoes Safi had ever seen. They must have been some sort of special occasion potatoes. Each one was bigger than both of her fists put together. She was tempted to bite in right then and there. “Big enough for you?” asked Mary Ruth.

  Safi nodded. On the table, the rest of the vegetables were in order: green onions, orange carrots, and red tomatoes. How vegetables ought to look.

  “Now for the milk,” Mary Ruth said, taking Safi’s hand and leading her out of the dining room.

  Behind the store was a lanky cow that looked about as old as its owner. “Don’t you worry,” said Mary Ruth with a wink. “Lucinda can still give it good.” She handed Safi a clean glass bottle and squatted next to the cow. “I’ll need your help, dear.”

  Safi cringed as she knelt in the muck, holding the bottle at arm’s length beneath Lucinda’s wrinkled teat. Mary Ruth’s sturdy hands went to work. The milk dribbled out at first, but after a moment of steady tugging, the bottle began to fill. Safi turned her cheek. She wasn’t sure she wanted to drink milk again.

  The old woman chuckled. “It tastes better than it looks.”

  Back inside, Mary Ruth told
her the price: twenty-five copper coins.

  “How many of these come out to twenty-five?” Safi adjusted her satchel before offering a handful of silver sovereigns.

  Mary Ruth put one hand over the other, wringing her tree branch fingers. “Where did you get all this money, dear?”

  Safi shrugged. “Mama gave ‘em to me. I suppose it’s her rainy day money. She says she’s been fixing for a good meal.” Looking down, she ran her thumb over the profile of Emperor Tiberonius imprinted on the side of a coin. He the first man to climb a Siege Titan, and the only man to unite the Northern Kingdoms. Upon his head rested a crown decorated with Siegestones, the most precious jewels in all the world. Though it was hard to tell from the little silver bumps. “You can take what’s owed, ma’am.”

  “This much will do.” Mary Ruth plucked two silver coins from Safi’s outstretched hand. Her cheeks flushed pink, but she tucked the silver coins into her apron pocket all the same.

  Safi bowed graciously and thanked the old woman. She had hardly left the shop when she heard Mary Ruth calling her name. “Safiyas! Oh, Safi!”

  “Yes, ma’am?” Safi answered, turning back.

  “Hold out your hands.” Mary Ruth filled her waiting palms with a pile of sugar candy—enough to last until summertime!

  “Gee, thanks!” Safi said, stuffing her coat pockets full.

  Mary Ruth dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief and bid Safi farewell.

  Further down the street, Safi looked back at the old woman. Mary Ruth was waving her handkerchief in the air, looking the pirate’s maiden from one of the stories her father liked to read to her. A woman seeing her lover off to sea for an awfully long time.

  Snickering at the thought, Safi took her sweet time walking back. Her mother would put the candy away when she found it, and she wanted to eat as much as she could before then. She had no idea where all this money came from, but she certainly was grateful for it.

  She passed beneath the arch of the portcullis, where the guard was nowhere to be seen. That was a little concerning, but the guard had been acting strangely before and she found herself pleased by his absence. Besides, if troublemakers did arrive, they’d find nothing of value in Ashcroft. At not least so far as Safi knew.

  A few mouthfuls of candy later, Safi’s hunger for real food grew. She clutched her satchel of groceries against her chest and put her skinny legs to work, hurrying the rest of the way home.

  2

  Mother's Stew

  Safi’s ears felt hot.

  She had spent too much money at the village square. The realization smacked her across the head as she stepped through the cottage door. Much to her surprise, her mother didn’t count the remaining coins and didn’t seem cross at all. Safi knew when her mother was cross. She didn’t even mention the missing cabbage.

  Still, Safi was eager to make up for her reckless spending. When she heard the familiar sound of water filling the iron cooking pot, she marched into the kitchen and insisted on helping with supper.

  So Tabitha Azadi tasked her daughter with peeling and chopping the vegetables while she prepared the meat and broth. Safi gripped the handle of the kitchen knife in two fists, struggling to hold it firmly. Then, with her ribs pressing against the edge of the dining table, she sliced the blade into the side of a potato.

  The knife’s edge rolled off the potato and banged into the table, nearly nicking her finger.

  Gasping, Tabitha swooped in from the cooking pot and snapped up the knife from Safi’s hands.

  “Sorry, Mama,” Safi said, shrinking under her mother’s glare. “My fingers must’ve slipped. I’ll get it right this time, I promise.”

  “Just sit still and be patient!” ordered Tabitha, hurrying back to the iron cooking pot, but stirring slowly.

  Safi sat in her father’s chair and rested her chin in her palms, feeling utterly useless. Her mother never let her help with the cooking, or with anything more than simple cleaning, really. That made it all the more strange that she had sent her to fetch groceries in the morning. Just how much money had her mother hidden away? And did her father know about it?

  Safi exhaled through her nose in frustration. There was so much she needed to know, but her mother always grew angry when she tried to ask difficult questions. So instead they spoke about simple things, like the weather and clothes and how to clean up properly. A meal as important as this one seemed a poor time to test her mother’s patience. After spending so much money on groceries, she knew the least she could do was to sit and wait patiently. But cooking the stew took ages, and when she started swinging her feet from boredom, she was surprised to find her toes skimming the floor. “Mama, have I gotten taller?”

  “That’s a stupid question,” said Tabitha, chopping the vegetables into little squared pieces. She slid the vegetables off the cutting board and into the pot with the meat. With everything in place, Tabitha poured a cup of milk and set it on the table. “Of course you’ve gotten taller. Now drink up, or you won’t grow another inch.”

  Safi tipped back the cup and took deep gulps, hoping to leave a good impression. The milk left a dripping white mustache across her upper lip. Tabitha laughed into her fist, and Safi rejoiced at the sound. It felt good to hear her mother laugh for once.

  “Sometimes you remind me so much of your father,” Tabitha said.

  Safi smiled bashfully. Father’s mustache was thick and dark, as black as his morning coffee. She scooped the milk off her face and licked her fingertips clean. “Do you think Dad’ll get home soon?”

  Tabitha’s lip trembled. She turned back to the pot and bent at the waist, never the knees. “He’ll get here when he gets here.” Her broad back flexed as she stirred. “You can’t rely on men for everything, Safiyas. A woman’s got to take care of herself. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Safi, more out of habit than understanding. She knew her mother’s comments ought to worry her, but she was simply too hungry to care about anything besides filling her tummy.

  It wasn’t long before the smells of meat and spices filled the little cottage, thick in the air, soaking into the walls and the furniture. Safi breathed through her nose. The smell was so good that her teeth clenched. When her mother finally announced that supper was ready, her tummy throbbed like a beating heart.

  Her mother filled a wooden bowl with stew and set it on the table before her. The oxtail hulked in the center of a mountain of vegetables. The meat looked tender enough to fall off the bone. Safi wiped the drool from her chin. She squeezed her knees together in anticipation.

  “Are you going to look at your food all night, or are you going to eat it?” Tabitha scolded her.

  Elbows on the tabletop, Safi clasped her hands and mumbled a quick prayer. “In the name of God, the father of stone, the creator of worlds. Amen.” Then, as she prepared a massive bite, her mother slapped her hand and took her spoon way.

  “Cool it down first,” Tabitha said, raising her voice, “or you’ll burn your whole mouth!”

  “Sorry, Mama.” Safi winced from her smarting hand. She leaned close to the bowl, puffed up her cheeks, and began to blow.

  “That ought to be fine,” said Tabitha a minute later, handing back her spoon. “You make sure to eat well tonight. Seconds and thirds if you have to.”

  Nodding eagerly, Safi dug into her meal. Her first spoonful left the stew’s surface dancing with slivers of oil, and everything fell apart in her mouth. It had been so long without the taste of meat and healthy garden vegetables. If there was a heaven, it was a bowl of hot stew on a cold spring day.

  She looked at her mother and said, “Armft you going to haff some?”

  “Safiyas, don’t speak with your mouth full!”

  Safi swallowed, and her throat tickled with heat. “Sorry, Mama.”

  “I’m not hungry,” Tabitha insisted. “So eat.”

  Safi continued her meal, watching her mother in the corner of her eye. Tabitha stood there wordlessly, watching her daughter e
at as she wrung her wrinkled hands together. The sight made Safi squirm in her seat. What had she done to upset her this time?

  Finally, Tabitha softened her voice and said, “I’m going to bed. Don’t stay up long after you finish. You have another big day tomorrow.”

  Safi looked up from her meal and wiped her mouth. “I won’t.” Then she remembered her manners. “Thank you for supper, ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome,” Tabitha said. Safi paused her spoon, for there was a crack in her mother’s voice. “Good-night, Safiyas.”

  “Good-night, Mama.” She watched as her mother retired to her bedroom, shutting the door shut gently behind her.

  Safi returned to her meal. She finished her bowl and then went back for seconds. She ate until her chin and face were wet with broth. She ate until her jaw ached. Each bite chased the months of hunger and cold from her mind, until they felt like distant memories. Like she had never been hungry at all.

  But now that her tummy was full, Safi felt concerned. Her mother hadn’t eaten one bite. Mother, who was always complaining to Father about the lack of food and meat. So she peered into the pot before setting the lid, making sure there’d be stew for the morrow. She would ask her mother about the money first thing after breakfast, she decided, no matter how much it annoyed or upset her.

  Safi washed up, changed into a clean shift, and put herself to bed. The night wasn’t as cold as the last, but it still took three blankets to keep her skinny body warm. Turning on her side, she cradled her bulging stomach in both hands. The cramps were terrible, but the food was worth it.

  Beyond the frame of her bedroom window shone a cloudless sky full of bright, twinkling stars. Upon the windowsill stood her father’s Titan figurines, posing under the light of the moon. They were relics of the Southern Kingdoms, of his people. Her people, if that old guard had anything to say about it. They were relics of Abedi religion, though only on the rarest occasions had she seen her father pray.