More tears welled on Tirnah’s bottom eyelids and she shook her head. “I can’t believe it. Soon you’ll leave me and you’ll marry, and I won’t have your protection anymore.”
“You don’t know that, Mother.” He took one of her hands and held it in his. The sunlight radiated in her strawberry-gold hair, which matched Mhina’s perfectly.
“Were the Desteer kind to you? How are you feeling?”
“Fine. I’m hungry, though.”
“Of course you are. Now sit down, sit down.”
Anonhet emerged from the house with a basket full of Gaije’s dirty clothes. He froze and his hands turned clammy.
“Oh, good morning, Gaije.” Her eyes roved over him once before retreating to the laundry in the basket.
“Good morning…Anonhet.”
“Congratulations on your ceremony.”
“Thank you.” He reached out and jerked the basket from her grasp. She yelped in surprise at the sudden action. “You don’t have to do that now.” He dropped the basket. “I mean, please have breakfast with us.”
She proceeded toward the picnic, gripping her wrist in her other hand.
When Gaije sat on the skin rug beside Lehomis, his grandfather shook his head, suppressing a smile. “You’re gonna get your head cut off,” he mumbled in a singsong tone as he reached toward the sweet roll platter waiting amongst bowls of honeyed berries, hot fish pastries, and candied nuts.
“What?” Gaije said.
“What?” Lehomis responded.
Tirnah reached over and slapped Lehomis’s hand with a wicker flyswatter.
“Ow!” Lehomis shot a bright stare across the food spread at her.
“The new saehgahn gets first pick, Grandfather. Isn’t that right, Mhina?”
As always, Gaije’s little sister sat beside her grandfather. “Look, Aamei, isn’t Grandfather pretty?” She held up his braid with the various colorful flowers adorning it.
Anonhet placed herself next to Tirnah and spread her skirt wide, as Gaije’s mother was posed. Her hair, brown as the coat of a new fawn, tumbled over her shoulder like a silky vine. Her eyes were violet, like the majority of faerhain, but her irises were ringed in a dark blue shadow, and her bright violet skirt made them pop today.
In Gaije’s father’s absence, Lehomis was the chief guardian of the females in Gaije’s household. Being underage, Gaije was merely a second-rate guardian who answered to Lehomis. Since Grandfather also had his own house to tend and Anonhet as a maidservant, they alternated week to week living both here and there. Because Gaije had been too young to take care of them, all the females accompanied Lehomis back to his house every other week. Today was special, as this would be their last breakfast all together.
As long as no one caught him, Gaije made a mental picture of Anonhet’s image to keep. Since he’d been named saehgahn, he would soon go away on caunsaehgahn, a journeyman trip of sorts. And when Gaije and Mhina’s father arrived, Lehomis and Anonhet would go back home to live a quieter routine on the far side of the village.
“Well?”
Gaije jumped, feeling guilty staring at Anonhet’s skirt. Lehomis’s arms were crossed high on his chest.
“Are you going to start? I’m starving.”
“Sorry, Grandfather.” He took the nearest sweet roll, and Lehomis scowled.
“What?” Gaije asked.
“You took the biggest one, you red-haired weasel.” He snatched the next largest one and stuffed it in his mouth. “I shoulda dwown you in da bathtub when you were yownger.”
Mhina finished eating first and resigned herself to leaning against Lehomis’s side, twiddling the end of his braid in her hands and fanning it against her face like a paintbrush, until a donkey brayed in the distance.
“It’s Togha!” she shrieked, and leaped to her feet.
Togha rode over the hill on that dark jenny-ass of his, with bulging leather bags hanging off each side of its rump. A fitting steed. Mhina ran toward him. After leaning over to hand a letter with a wink and a smirk to one of the young widowed faerhain, Togha snapped his attention to Mhina’s approach. For an instant, he pointed one of his slanted eyes at Gaije, an eye grey like a frozen raincloud. Hair black as tar draped his head.
Gaije frowned and half-rose as his mother said, “What’s the matter, Gaije? It’s only Togha, come with the letters.”
“Why’s she so excited about him?”
Tirnah smiled. “You haven’t heard her talk about Togha? Togha is her favorite these days.” Lehomis wasn’t smiling either. “She’s going to marry Togha, she says.”
“She can’t marry Togha, Mother.”
Tirnah giggled behind her swan feather fan. “Why not?”
“Because if the Desteer cuts anyone’s head off, it’ll be his.”
“She’s young, my son. Little farhah go through tons of choices for daghen-saehgahn. It’s good practice for when she makes a real decision.”
Up on the hill, Togha slid off his donkey and held a letter high, playing keep-away with Gaije’s little sister. She bounced in place, reaching for it as he dipped the letter and yanked it back out of her reach again. She yelled and laughed and pulled on the old black poncho hiding his royal army tunic.
Togha’s saehgahn naming ceremony had occurred six months ago. Immediately afterward, Lehomis sent him right over to the enlistment tent. As village elder, he also kept charge of Togha since his father had died before he was born. Within weeks, Togha reappeared in the village along his route, delivering letters as a new official runner and flaunting his new saehgahn status before any widow who’d look at him.
“He’s such a stupid fool.” Gaije settled down again and selected a bowl of honeyed berries from the array of food.
Anonhet fluttered her own fan briskly as she twisted around to watch the two at play. Gaije gobbled up the fruit, forgetting it had any flavor, and put the little ceramic bowl down fast before succumbing to the urge to chuck it at Togha’s head.
Anonhet had also passed her coming-of-age ceremony not long ago. She had chosen the home over the Desteer hall, which meant she would now look at saehgahn in all seriousness and prepare her final decision soon. Unlike Mhina, she could make her decision at any minute. She held the power to change virtually any saehgahn’s destiny.
Gaije rose to his knees. “I’m going to get her.”
Tirnah put her hand out. “Look at you, Gaije, so jealous and protective. You’re already acting like a proper saehgahn.” She leaned over to share a laugh with Anonhet. “Let your sister be. If there were anything dangerous about Togha, the Desteer would’ve seen it and acted accordingly. He wouldn’t be in the service of the queen either.”
Gaije looked to Lehomis for backup. He was frowning deeply, and quiet for one such as him.
Togha remounted the donkey and rode away as Mhina skipped back down the hill. “It’s for me, Mother, look, look! It’s from Father and it’s for me!”
“How wonderful, my guenhihah. Now please tell me he hasn’t been delayed.”
Mhina untied the ribbon and unfolded the letter. A white flower petal fluttered out and landed by her bare feet. “Look what he sent me!” She lifted it over her head for all to see. She struggled through reading the handwriting. “‘A gift for the…love-li-est farhah in Norr. This petal…fell…off the queen’s crown. Don’t tell her…I took it off the palace floor. I love you deeply and will see you…soon.’” She held the petal high again. “It’s from the queen’s crown, can you believe it?”
“Of course,” Tirnah said. “He serves in the queen’s guard, lass. He sees her every day. But he was discharged, and from now on will guard us instead.”
Mhina pranced over to sit beside Lehomis again. “Look, Grandfather.”
“Marvelous, lass. Don’t lose it now. Keep it in a book—that’s a good way not to lose a small thing.”
“Good idea, Grandfather.”
While the faerhain cleaned up, Lehomis went about the house packing his spare clothing and anythin
g else he stowed there for convenience. Gaije sat on the spare bed assigned to Lehomis, watching him fold undershirts and tunics.
“Does Anonhet ever talk about Togha?” Gaije asked.
Lehomis stopped moving to aim a sharp glare at him. “No.”
Gaije closed his mouth. It didn’t mean she didn’t think about him, which Lehomis couldn’t have known.
He continued folding. “It gets easier, lad. I’d tell you what to do, but I think you’ve heard it a thousand times before—like all saeghar and saehgahn hear.”
“Thoughts about love are forbidden thoughts,” he recited.
“See? You remember.”
“I’m talking to the wrong person. You’ve been married. And you wrote those books.”
“The humans like those books. But you’re right, I was married. Long ago. Now I’m in your boat. Talk about something else. Which direction will you go?”
“On my caunsaehgahn?”
“No, the next time you have to take a piss. Yes, your caunsaehgahn!”
Gaije shrugged and dropped his eyes to the floor. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll start walking and see where I wind up.”
He avoided the stare Lehomis shot like one of his arrows. His grandfather’s hands stopped moving, even though a few more garments waited to go into his trunk.
“Grandfather,” Gaije whispered in the heavy silence, “does Anonhet ever talk about me?”
Lehomis reached out and grabbed Gaije’s lapel, tearing his tunic clean out of his belt. “Do you want me to tie you to the post and beat you?”
Gaije’s heart raced. Lehomis might as well have been his father; he’d always taken his discipline. The older saehgahn’s pale blue eyes burned into him. True, Gaije was being foolish, but his heart ached. Anything Lehomis delivered wouldn’t hold a candle to what he already suffered. He and Anonhet were too close in age, for they had both received their coming-of-age ceremonies in the same year. Now she was ready to choose a husband, and Gaije had yet to overcome a ten or twenty-year journeyman trial before he could return home and be labeled suitable for marriage. Chances were best that when he returned, she’d already be married to an older, more accomplished saehgahn than he. Fresh young saehgahn were considered the most expendable and likely to live alone if they managed to survive life’s duties. Along the journey of life, one could win honors and accolades. Those honorable saehgahn, with hair grown to their waists and sharp, knowing eyes, were the ones the faerhain chose.
“I’ll say it again,” Lehomis said, loosening his grip on Gaije’s lapel. “It gets easier. But the first step is to stop thinking about it. Don’t look at any faerhain longer than two seconds. When they speak to you, look no lower than their eyes.”
What if he loved looking at her eyes? Gaije nodded to satisfy his grandfather. Lehomis released him, snapping his lapel to straighten it until Gaije took over the task.
“I still wish we could go together.”
Lehomis sighed through his nose.
The fluttering of female laughter bursting into the house broke the silence. Anonhet’s laughter stood out, causing Gaije to close his eyes. If Lehomis noticed his reaction, he’d take whatever beating he earned.
The front door banged open. “Gaije!” Anonhet’s footsteps tapped in the circular corridor toward the spare room they occupied. Lehomis shook his head, glaring.
“Yes!” Gaije called back, rising.
“Gaije!” Anonhet burst into the room, and Gaije met her to deliver an answer.
“Yes?” he said.
She took his hands. Her smile widened around her teeth.
“Yes,” Gaije said again.
“It’s your father. He’s back. He’s just appeared over the hill. Come outside.” She whipped around and ran out again.
Before darting out after her, Gaije glanced at Lehomis and found him frowning over crossed arms. Dismissing his grandfather, he ran on.
Tirnah ran right across the buttercup-speckled grass to greet Trisdahen, her husband. He dismounted a fine white horse with an exquisite saddle. He’d barely turned off the road when she approached and threw her arms around him. Lehomis followed Gaije outside to watch the spectacle.
Tirnah clearly didn’t care she displayed such improper excited and affectionate behavior. She’d always been full of life, singing and dancing through her chores and laying kisses all over her children. Gaije’s father knew her well and obliged her at least for today, returning the embrace and lifting her off the ground. Her dark green skirt waved on the breeze, and his herringbone braid, the standard Norrian military hairstyle, bounced around on his shoulder blades.
Turning toward the house, they came back hand in hand, Trisdahen’s other hand leading the horse. Mhina hid behind Lehomis’s legs.
Trisdahen’s eyes landed immediately on Gaije. “I recognize that fiery bright hair—Gaije!” He lashed out a rock-hard arm and Gaije caught it, doing his best to match its hardness. Trisdahen’s hair was almost as dark as Lehomis’s, whom he took after.
Tirnah’s hands stayed plastered to her husband’s shoulder, and she patted him to get his attention. “Trisdahen, Gaije’s ceremony happened last night. He’s saehgahn now.”
His father’s eyes turned back to him, brighter than before. “Have I been away so long?”
Gaije said nothing, but kept his mouth wide and his gaze level with his father’s.
“Congratulations, my son. What is your strength?”
“Archery.”
He leaned back with his warm smile. “Like Grandfather. It would be swords if I’d had the good fortune to stay around as you grew. I want to hear all about you. Let’s talk late into the night.”
Gaije bobbed his head. “Yes, Father.”
Tirnah waved a hand, drawing his attention to Lehomis next.
“And you know who this is, of course.”
“Grandfather!” He grasped Lehomis’s forearm as he had Gaije’s and they exchanged tight, fearsome smiles with bared teeth as saehgahn customarily did. “You look exactly the same as you did when I became saehgahn. Amazing.”
“My stories aren’t lies,” Lehomis said.
“I must say thank you. Actually, I can’t thank you enough for your service to my family in my absence. Thank you, Grandfather.” He stepped back and gave a low sweeping bow, holding it for several seconds.
“None o’ that now, lad, stand up. I do it because I love them and I love you. It’s all a matter of duty. Stand up.”
Trisdahen gave him one more smile, this one warmer and more loving than that which saehgahn usually gave each other. When he turned to Anonhet, she curtsied.
“This is Anonhet,” Tirnah said. “About eight years ago, soon after your last visit, she lost her family on a hazardous trek. Lehomis volunteered to take her in and keep her until her adulthood. She’s his maidservant, properly. She became faerhain this year.”
Trisdahen gave her the warm smile due to faerhain and bowed low. “My condolences to you for your loss, but I am glad my grandfather took up the honor of providing you his security.”
“Thank you, saehgahn,” Anonhet responded, bowing her head.
“And…” Trisdahen began, looking around.
“And she’s down there hiding behind her grandfather. Mhina, step forward.”
Mhina clung to Lehomis’s leg, his braid in one of her hands. While Gaije remembered seeing his father on and off over the years as he grew, Mhina did not. She would soon turn eight, and about eight years ago Trisdahen’s last visit had occurred. He squatted to be at her level, showing her his unrestrainable smile. Mhina stepped in front of Lehomis. Taking the end of his braid back, he nudged her forward and she ventured on cautiously, hiding her mouth behind her own hair.
For her, Trisdahen’s voice softened the most. “Nice to meet you, Mhina. I heard much about you in letters from your mother.”
She paused to reach into her largest skirt pocket. “I got your letter today from Togha. Thank you for the gift.”
“You’re wel
come.” He held out his open palms. “You’ll get many, many more gifts from now on. And stories every night.”
At the word “stories,” Mhina checked Lehomis, whose face had gone uncharacteristically blank, but he gave her a nod. Tears streamed out of Tirnah’s eyes so generously, Anonhet put her arm around her. Mhina stuffed the folded letter back into her pocket.
“I would like to hear your stories, Father.” She placed her hands in one of his, and he covered them over with his other hand, the silent promise of protection a saehgahn could make to any female.
Lehomis turned back toward the house. “I should get back to packing.”
Tirnah moved in and took Trisdahen’s hands from Mhina. “I saved you a feast of breakfast. Come to the rug and eat. I’m sure you’re hungry.”
Trisdahen managed to convince Lehomis to stay a bit longer, and long after sunset the three saehgahn lounged around the fire on floor cushions in the central chamber, talking amongst themselves after Tirnah and Anonhet retreated to the back rooms. Mhina had fallen asleep on Trisdahen’s lap, and he still absently stroked her hair in absolute contentment.
“Queen Kelenhanen,” Trisdahen said, leaning over his sleeping daughter, “is also the Grand Desteer.”
Lehomis’s expression drifted into a stare. “How’d that happen?”
“She’s remarkably gifted in Desteer talents, but there are also no other princesses or Tinharri cousins with Desteer talents. In fact, she hasn’t got any sisters or female cousins at all. In this generation, the royal family has a shortage of females.” His eyes darted from Lehomis to Gaije. “Do you know what this means?”
Gaije shook his head.
“Every single male family member will be ordained by the queen to tour Norr and select brides from the various clans.”
“No,” Lehomis hissed.
Gaije couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming toward the corridor leading to Tirnah’s bedroom, where she and Anonhet no doubt whispered secrets to each other.
“There’s nothing we can do. Sometimes this happens,” Trisdahen continued. Lehomis waved a hand, his eyebrows raised in passive agreement. “Their family will die out without marriageable females if the males remain single.”
Sufferborn Page 12