Overall, she was quite pleased that she had a company that did not talk her ears off just to keep his mouth going like some did. She had never understood why most people liked to talk about so many boring things like she was interested in somebody’s sister-in-law’s cousin’s new baby. It was like the sound of their own voices gave them comfort, but it was more to it than that she had noticed. If she started to talk and tell stories about made up relatives’ friends’ cousins’ doings, she found that people listened with interest and asked questions and came with well-wishes. She did not care for somebody’s sister’s husband’s brother’s nephew.
Putt asked questions, relevant questions, about the life at hand. He did not tell anecdotes about a neighbor’s doings or asked about who she knew and how many children they had. But at the same time, she sensed there were questions he did not ask, likely relevant to ask. And not only relevant, sometimes she thought he ought to ask. That any sensible person would. She had a strong feeling he did not want leather pants, and he did not understand why there probably was a village down in the valley, but he did not say a word. Avia found to her surprise that she had to bite her lip to keep her from stressing him to say what was on his heart. She, who had always thought that if you did not express your own thoughts, you could not expect someone else to care. She who cherished solitude and silence, she had to keep herself from chattering because Putt’s quietness made her nervous.
Avia finished up with the leather for the night and continued to care for her weapons. Among the few things she carried with her was always wax for the bow and a whetstone for her knife and swords. She counted her arrows. When they got further down the mountains, she needed to check the trees for useful materials for new ones. There were no trees here. The one she shot the last deer with still seemed functional, but even a simple thing like hunting costs arrows. With a perfect shot, like last night, you could reclaim the arrow, but she nevertheless had to keep the contents of the quiver in high standard. The arrows were not only used when getting dinner. They were part of her trade. She had not reached her respectable age as a warrior for being sloppy with her weapons.
“What do you want to do when you’ve grown up?” Avia asked Putt. He lingered on the answer.
“I don’t know.”
“What plans did your parents have then?”
“Farmer.” Naturally, they thought of their boy as a future granger. Probably he would have run the farm, staying in the same house as he had grown up. Marrying a sweet woman who would move in and fill the house with children over the years.
“Well, I can’t teach you how to become a farmer. But you’re old enough to be taught in a future profession.”
“So, you’re a warrior, right granny?”
“I am.”
“Can you teach me to become a warrior then?” It was the only profession she would be able to teach him. Why not, she thought.
“We can test if you would become a decent warrior if you like.” Putt sat silently watching the fire. Avia let him be. They still had smoked meat of the deer left, and she wrapped it up.
“What was mom’s father? Was he a warrior too?” Putt asked.
“No. My husband was a blacksmith.”
“And your parents?”
“Father a baker. Learned from his aunt. My mother was a sorcerer. She was taught at the wizard’s school.” If she had had trees around, she would have hung the meat from a tree, but there were no such options out here. She placed the pack under a few stones. It was the best she could do to keep animals away from their food. She knew there were likely bears in the area but there were deer as well, and she hoped the fire and the human presence would make the bears stay with their regular diet instead of paying them a visit.
“So, how did you become a warrior?” Avia smiled. It must appear strange to him that you could be something else than your parents’ paths.
“I was ten, or eleven, when a warrior came to our village. He stayed a few days, and I delivered bread every day to the inn where he stayed. It was right across the street, and I saw him more than the other kids in the village. And he saw me, apparently. When I carried the basket full of bread, a bun was about to fall off, and I caught it, and then moved the basket to the other hand catching one more about to fall. I felt silly, but he saw something in me, a talent. He tested me, my reflexes, my spirit and then asked my parents if he could take me on as an apprentice. I followed him for five years.”
“You left home?” Putt’s voice rang of disbelief. Avia nodded. “Did you parents really like that?”
“They approved of my apprenticeship.” Putt looked skeptical. “You see, Putt, where I grew up it was nothing strange in becoming something else than your parents. Some chose mom’s or dad’s profession, some chose other things. That a warrior wanted to take me on was an honor. If I had such talents, they could not help me develop them in another way. I wanted to go, and my parents thought it was the best choice for my future. And they were right.”
Putt considered this.
“My father wouldn’t think of it as an honor” he mumbled.
“I know” Avia confirmed.
“I wanted to be a farmer. It was what I wanted. It has nothing to do with you. I’ve always liked that life.” Avia nodded. “It’s nothing strange or bad with that,” he continued. “We get bread on everyone's tables; we’re a vital part of everyone's life.”
“I’m sure they are” Avia interrupted. “And I’m sure you would’ve been fine. But I can’t teach you how to farm. Either you can become my apprentice, and we see how it goes, or I have to find a master in some other trade to teach you another profession. I have to make sure you get a good life as an adult, Putt, you hear me. Which will it be?” Putt stressed breaths returned to normal after a few moments.
“I’d like to become a warrior, please.”
Putt admired his grandmother. He had for as long as he could remember. She was his hero, like the brave and righteous warriors in the fairy tales his mother told him; only his grandma was for real. Every time she came to visit, he had followed her around, admired her whole appearance, her strangeness, her clothes, her weapons. He had pulled her along to all his friends, who gawked with admiration and they had all devoutly listened to her stories telling them things from the big world outside their protected and safe spot.
When the men had come and caused the chaos, putting everything on fire, he had searched for his granny. Surely, she would turn up in this moment of crisis. This was something for a warrior to settle right. But Avia had never appeared. He and the other children had been pulled away from their parents, and all he could remember was strong arms holding him upright on a horse while the village of his birth, the place he had thought would always be his home, was burning behind him. The men had been kind to them. They had been given food and blankets and he, as well as the others, had been too confused to think much about what had happened and where they were going. His granny had not turned up and saved him after all. His hero had been a dream somehow.
Then he had woken up in another tent with his grandmother by his side. He had been rescued after all. Too late in a sense, but still, she had turned up and brought him along.
Now she offered to teach him to become a warrior himself. He knew his father’s opinion about his mother-in-law’s way of life. She represented everything he despised, and he would never have approved of his apprenticeship as Avia’s parents had. Although he knew he would have been an obedient son and become a farmer, doing good for mankind and put food on his own and other’s tables, he had always wondered what the world was like. His mother and his father, had both been out there, and they said their village was the best place to be found. They spoke about cruel people, about beasts and wars and pains, but he could not comprehend what they talked about. If people lived in other places, it could not be all that bad.
Avia’s parents had been proud to have their daughter as a warrior’s apprentice. His parents would not, but he would make them proud.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mission at Kaid Pah
The next day they arrived at a village as Avia had thought they would. It was grander than she had expected it to be. Houses of stone clung onto the steep slopes forming paths over the rooftops down to the flatter center of the village. It felt strange to walk on top of someone’s house to move about, but soon it felt like any other village with narrow streets, though these passages often did not have a wall but a drop to the next level on one of the sides. Smoke rose from the chimneys and Avia smelled the bitterness of dried dung she recognized from Viseran’s camp itching in her nose. She also smelled sweat and dust from the homes they passed. A characteristic odor in areas where many people stayed together.
Her eyes wandered along the row of houses and on the nearby levels of buildings. Soon she had found what was always there, no matter where in the world the village was situated - an inn. That inn, in particular, was one to avoid. It gave a damp and dim impression, and she would not have been surprised if a night there would result in the extra luggage of vermin. The next one she found had a smell of spices she liked. It was not expected to find such exclusive things as these spices in the food they would serve, but just so, it gave the inn a pleasant air.
A warrior always drew attention to herself. It was a kind of traveler that stood out. Most people on the roads were tradesfolk, couriers, and folks on their way to visit someone just a few days away. Couriers were always in a hurry, merchants eager to sell and could be hard to get rid of, but both kinds were harmless people. Warriors were not only dangerous by name, but they were also mythical. They were few, lethal and adventurous. Three factors that made them get almost anything they wanted when they asked. If nothing else, the innkeeper could hope for a good story for his guests in the evening. Therefore, it was not strange at all that she got what she wanted when Avia asked if they could use the backyard in the afternoon without spectators. It was time for Putt’s first training session.
Avia arranged for two long and firm sticks and gave one to Putt. Then she asked him to attack her. As expected Putt felt awkward about it, but Avia insisted. She wanted to see what he could do, his strengths and weaknesses. Putt went ahead, mild and weak at first as he was afraid to hurt her, but then harder and faster. Avia had no trouble defending herself. The way he moved was predictable as any untrained fighter was. He had strength as someone used to physical work but lacked the suppleness that was her own greatest asset. He was sustained, and she remembered he had not once complained about their long days walking. Avia said a few encouraging words, closed the training and they went inside to wash and eat supper.
She noted how Putt enjoyed himself by a table, indoors for the first time since the attack on his home. He rearranged his plate, fork, and knife and then did the same for her.
“My mother always said that a well-arranged table is half the pleasure of eating” he excused himself. Did she, Avia thought. At least that was something she could recognize as her daughter’s most favorable sides - the love of a meal made with care. They had not had the same ideas of how to get there, but they both appreciated the time and effort put into served food.
“Not that I mind eating outdoors” Putt added, like he just realized what he said could be taken as an insult.
“Putt, you don’t have to like the same things as I do” Avia ensured him. “It’s not an issue if you like your mother’s way better than mine. Do you understand?” Putt’s shoulders fell down a bit, relaxed.
“I understand.”
A woman approached. The cloak was made of expensive cloth Avia noted, thick and smooth as wool from a wild moor sheep. This spoke of a long-way journey for the cloak to end up on this woman in this village. The long hazel-brown hair was braided in a way forming her hair like a hat, making her appearance taller, and, Avia noted, also required assistance to make. It was not a hairdo you could create with such success on your own. This was a person with servants, which meant she was someone with wealth or status or both.
“May I sit down?” the woman asked. Avia nodded. The stranger pulled out the free chair and took a seat. “I’m Oon Barsate. I work for the viceroy here in Kaid Pah.” Avia did not with a twitch in her face reveal her surprise there was a such a thing as a viceroy in the village. Viceroy under whom, she wondered. This was unknown territory to her. If her map in her mind was right, Posita was south of here, though it would take a week or so to get there. In Posita, there was a Regent, but as far as she knew their borders did not reach this far up in the mountains. She also noted the village name - Kaid Pah, which if she remembered correctly would be translated to ‘prisoner’s mountain". Had this grand community been built around the need of a prison? Usually, the last settlement in the upper regions of a valley was small and insignificant. This was a strangely ample hamlet. With a viceroy. Interesting.
“I’m Avia” she presented herself. “This is Putt.”
“Your apprentice?”
“Yes. For three days so far” she added. Putt did not look like a warrior in any way yet and would still be frowned upon and questioned as a suitable choice. He appeared as the farmer’s boy he was.
“Very pleased to meet you, Oon” Putt said, polite but yet not, and entirely misplaced. His voice and body language screamed of shyness. Avia sighed.
“And my grandson” she added. Oon Barsate ignored Putt.
“I’m here to ask if you’re interested in a mission.”
“Of what kind?”
“Transportation.”
“Of a person?” Oon gave a slight nod. Avia got the hint. No details would be spoken here at the inn. Avia nodded in return, and the other woman rose.
“Then come with me.” Putt rose when Avia did but she shook her head.
“Wait here.” She saw Putt sink back in the chair. Was he disappointed? Or relieved? Maybe both. But she could not bring him along when she got the details. He was not prepared for it in any way. Not the rules, how to behave, the discretion needed, nothing. He was a boy of ten, nothing more. It was too risky. And he had already proved he was not the slightest of warrior yet by his greeting of the viceroy’s envoy, which would put a smudge on her reputation if she approved of that behavior.
It was part of her role as his master to show to the others she could discipline her apprentices. Putt was not her first apprentice. She had had four others. In the best of worlds, she should have been able to say she had been successful with all of them. Now she had to settle with the last three. The first had been a mistake in every way. Avia herself had been too inexperienced, she had been idealistic, and the girl had not been a suitable subject although Avia refused to see it. She had seen the situation as a whole and what the training could do to help the girl’s situation. The rest had been nothing but wishful thinking. Hope to give someone the same chances that she had. The warrior that had become the girl’s new master had failed as well, but there was little comfort in this. She should not have taken the girl in in the first place. And now she had Putt, a boy she would never, ever have considered if situations had been different. A result of the kid’s needs, not of his abilities.
As she followed Oon through the streets of the village, she pushed that thought aside. If Putt was not able to become a warrior, what would he become? It was the only thing she could teach him. She could not just leave him with a carpenter and drop by once in a year or so. If things did not work out, the carpenter could not wait a year for her to pick him up. They had had nothing but one short session. Let things take the time they needed, she thought, and do not worry. The training would either solve the situation or it would not. Worrying would yield no solutions.
They walked up the stairs to a large, rather pompous house. Oon invited Avia inside. It was a household with servants she noted, as people moved about in a busy way only employees had. She followed the other woman to a smaller room where they were alone.
“The transport is of a prisoner” Oon Barsate informed her as she served Avia a mug of something hot. The
aroma from hot spices rose with the steam.
“Who, why and where?” Avia asked, prompting for the short version of the story. The heat from the fluid in the mug filled her stomach. It was a warmth she had longed for.
“Her name is Hockheba. The viceroy has found her guilty of treason and stealing. He wants her transported to Posita for her to get her punishment there.” She got the short version. That was superb. It sounded like a fairly regular mission. Posita? It was a long time she had been there now. They probably still watched fights for amusement. Things rarely changed much during a lifetime.
“Is she violent?”
“No.”
“Who else will be in the party?” It was out of the question she would go alone as long as she had Putt around.
“I’ll follow along, as well as two from the viceroy’s guard. The roads here are more like paths, as you might have noticed. No carriages or riding animals can get here. We’ll have to travel by foot.” Avia nodded. She had come from the mountains, so she had not seen the way down from here, but it was not unexpected. The mountains were steep. She had always liked going on foot. She had never been a friend of horses. And wagons on roads not built for them were no good idea either. Oon did not seem to her as a person who traveled by foot though.
“No servants or any other entourage?” Avia asked. She preferred to be prepared rather than polite.
“For whom?”
“For you.” Oon Barsate formed her mouth into a long straight line that could be called a smile.
“No. I can take care of myself.”
“I’ll be in charge of the prisoner, and the transport” Avia declared. She gazed at Oon and wondered if she could handle not to be in command.
“Of course.” They discussed payment and came to terms on those. They would leave in the morning.
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