by Susi Wright
Chadren had frequented this stall for the last fifteen years, whenever he was in Splendo, to purchase labis milk, which in the early years he had needed to raise his baby daughter, Fralii. Over this time, he and the old man, Kenko, had become firm friends and Chadren also visited Kenko’s lapin farm amongst others, when travelling that way, to stock up on cheese, milk, and lapin furs for trade. An array of these super-soft and beautiful furs was on display this morning. Chadren was keen to select a few more to sell, both here and in other towns, and Kenko could always be trusted to give him a good price.
Lapins, a large, thickly furred otter-like animal lived wild in the Northern Lakes, and with highly sought-after pelts, were traditionally hunted by the Northern plains-people with bow and arrow. In the last thirty years, some enterprising individuals such as Kenko had also devised a way to farm them in man-made canals and pens, feeding and domesticating them for their milk, meat, and fur. The domesticated breed, which grew much larger, were named labis.
Chadren’s caravan regularly traded with the lapin-hunters procuring excellent pelts in exchange for arrowheads and food supplies. Every summer through to late autumn, when they visited the far Northern Mountains, they would also load one of the wagons full of precious gems from the villagers who mined them, paying with food-supplies and furs for winter. It was one such wagonload, amongst other things, that Chadren had brought to Splendo this time. He had visited his father-in-law’s warehouse early that morning, to safely deliver his cargo. He made a very good profit bringing these valuables to the city where rich people paid high prices, and when all the market traders had left town, he could trust Runo to continue selling various commodities for him on commission, while he was absent on the next trip.
This hot and sunny afternoon, their visit to Runo’s house provided a welcome retreat from the heat and dust of the road. The cool marble villa with its central fountain and shady, treed courtyard would be a relaxing place to sit for a few hours, drinking iced citron and pekunis juice. Runo would be eager to hear the tales of their recent travels, all the news of the last few months. He always looked forward to seeing his granddaughter; she was the image of her mother, his daughter Zula, and it warmed his heart to look upon her. Fralii had been at the villa since their arrival just before dawn, and was now luxuriating in a hot bath. Her doting grandfather, as always in her thrall, had given her the choice of a dress from all those in his warehouse, numbering in the dozens, and she had spent over an hour while her father was doing business at the market, trying on one pretty gown after the other until she could finally decide on something.
After delivering Fralii to her grandfather’s house and the gems to the warehouse, Chadren and his guard Zaf had gone separate ways at the traders’ markets. Chadren had headed for the purchase of supplies, taking the empty wagon; Zaf had been assigned to search out two new samblars at the live-animal market, where all manner of beasts of burden, poultry, and meat animals were presented for purchase in a squawking, bleating, and braying melee.
Zaf was proud and grateful to be employed by Chadren. Though balding and short in stature, he was massively solid and had been a soldier in the army of the neighbouring country Siva, during the fourteen-year civil war there. His long, brave service had earned him an honourable discharge, along with a limp and many battle-scars. Still muscular and very strong, despite his middle age and developing beer-paunch, he had come to Baram ten years earlier, to seek more peaceful employment, so the job of bodyguard and hand to Chadren and his little daughter Fralii, along with the travelling life, suited him down to the ground.
He whistled quietly to himself as he approached the animal stalls. He would select two samblars to ride, one to replace Chadren’s mount which had recently been attacked and killed by a zabuk-leopard while they were camped on the plains. The second was to be a birthday surprise for Fralii, who had been pestering her father to teach her to ride for quite some time, but their life on the road was always so busy, and up to now they had not owned a suitable animal for her to learn on. Now she was fifteen, her father deemed her old enough and promised to make time for riding lessons since she was so keen.
Zaf was quickly able to make the initial selection for Chadren, pending his final approval, an older, quiet, and willing grey animal, obviously very easy to handle and suitable for Fralii to begin learning to ride. The plan was to find a similar, though slightly younger mount, as Fralii’s own, onto which she would progress. It would need to be fully trained and quiet, as neither Chadren nor Zaf had the time or experience to train a young samblar.
On this occasion, the choice was surprisingly limited. Most of the available animals, after a lengthy search, were either too old or far too young, just weanlings, the prices very high, and nothing seemed worth the money. As Zaf pondered what he should do, having visited most of the samblar traders he knew; he noticed a young man working with an animal in a nearby pen. He had not seen the tall, lithe brown-haired youth before. He was training an eye-catching, glossy black samblar with white striped legs. Zaf appraised the obvious quality of the animal, the proud black head with large eyes and nostrils, the strong arched neck with its white feathered tufts, set into muscular shoulders, wide back, and powerful hindquarters. The long well-boned legs with their unusual markings and strong cloven hooves finished a picture of health and potential stamina. The animal seemed young and quite high-spirited, but the youth was handling it extremely well.
Zaf was duly impressed, and spent a few moments observing the skilful display from a distance. When the training session came to an end a short time later, he felt obliged to go and compliment the young man on his work. During his time in the army, he had seen many samblar-handlers much older than this fellow without such a connection to their animals. The young ones needed expert handling to successfully bring out their loyal and dependable nature.
‘Good day to you, young man! I admire your ability with samblars! Who are you, and where did you learn?’ he called out in an affable tone.
‘Thank you, sir, I am Simban. My family has herded and trained them for generations, on the Western Plains. We used to trade in the Capital but we have lately started selling stock here in Splendo. Our samblars are of the highest quality,’ he replied proudly.
Zaf thought to enquire about the lack of stock in the market today; there were usually dozens more animals on offer. ‘Tell me, boy, do you know why the prices are so high and so few good animals? I have never seen it like this before.’
‘Ah, yes. Well, sir, it is because of the raiders. Many herders have lost all their good samblars in the last few months, gone without a trace. Over the border, we think!’ supplied the young man.
Zaf thanked him for the information, and offered to buy the hard-working youth a drink, since he was going for one himself, giving him a chance to further interview the boy and discover, to whatever extent possible, if he had a trustworthy character. He would bring Chadren back to meet Simban, show him the black animal that at a stretch might be suitable, and at least finalise the purchase of the grey one, on the morrow.
Chapter Two
The courtyard of Runo’s villa, with its cool, shady palm trees, was an ideal place to rest and wind down after the rigours of life on the road. Chadren and his father-in-law were sitting in the garden, enjoying a cold drink, chatting and exchanging news while they waited for Fralii to join them.
The trickling fountain sparkled in the dappled sunlight filtering through the dark-green palm fronds which waved in a gentle wind current and framed the view of the clear blue sky from the garden. Little purple wrens flitted back and forth through the thick foliage, swooping cheekily down for a dip in the cool water and back up to the canopy above. Ornamental grasses rustled quietly in the slight breeze, cradling the huge vivid-red orchids that, by their regal beauty, occupied pride of place in the garden beds on either side of the courtyard. The cups left on the table, long emptied of the sweet juice, attracted an occasional insect which buzzed lazily over them, intent on
the sticky remnants. The little wrens became quietly brave and stole crumbs from the table. Time slipped by quickly, and so peaceful was the scene that Chadren began to doze, with the absence of Runo, who had sometime ago excused himself for an afternoon nap.
Suddenly, and noisily, startling him almost out of his chair, Fralii made an entrance. ‘Father! Father! Just look! Look at the dress Grandfather gave me! What do you think? Can I wear it tonight at the festival? Please? Where is he? Can I show it to him?’
Chadren sat bolt upright, seeming to obey his excited daughter’s command, and dutifully appraised the new garment, taking in that she was now indeed growing up.
Fralii was a pretty girl, her naturally translucent complexion at odds with the rugged life they led. However, the summer sun always tinged her skin, as now, with a most becoming honey sheen. She had the striking long raven-black hair and bright violet eyes so like her mother. Belying her slender fine-boned frame, their travelling lifestyle had made her physically strong and wiry, somewhat of a tomboy in nature, always wearing pants and drab road-clothes. So it was with a certain surprised pleasure that Chadren now viewed this colourful, feminine version of his daughter. There were so few opportunities for her to dress up.
She had chosen a bright orange-and-purple full-length gown, made from rare, imported Siva silk. The colour highlighted her eyes, already sparkling with excitement. She had braided her hair, placing tiny orange citron-flowers through to the ends of it. Without a doubt, she was a blossoming young woman.
With a sharp stab of nostalgia, he remembered his wife, Zula, who had been of a similar age when they met. It seemed so long ago. Then far too soon, she was lost, but in front of him was vivid evidence she lived on, in their daughter. As her father and only parent, as necessarily strict as Fralii was headstrong, he nevertheless adored her.
‘Fralii! It is lovely! I suppose you will wear it at the festival tonight!’ he indulgently allowed.
‘Thank you, Father! How long until it starts?’ she quizzed impatiently.
‘Be patient, Fralii! Eat a little now, and have some cool pekunis juice. And let Grandfather sleep! Do not disturb him now. It will be at least another hour until the sun goes down. Then we will walk together to the city square and find our evening meal there. There may even be some street-dancing fun for you, my dear!’
Fralii seemed reluctant to sit still, although she obediently took a goblet of juice, nibbling distractedly on a piece of fruit and a biscuit, before walking over to the fountain, first to admire her reflection in the still edges of the pond, then splashing her hands playfully in the cool water, humming happily to herself.
Chadren’s heart warmed at seeing her so happy, reflecting on their spartan trading life as he gazed at his beautiful daughter. He regretted the physical hardships she had to endure all through her childhood. As she was without siblings to play with and as their life was absorbed in travel and trade, he felt she had missed much of that normally carefree time. Even still, it would be her lot for the foreseeable future. It was better she had learned well how to trade in commodities and earn a living. If anything happened to him, she would have been a young woman without means, and in a grave position, but as a trader, she could retain Zaf’s services as first hand and protector, and employ similarly loyal and capable bodyguards. In time he hoped she would find a husband, who would give her care and comfort. His beloved Zula had never complained, but the rigours of constant travelling had taken their toll on her and the hazardous existence had eventually cost her life. He wished a different course for Fralii, with all his heart.
The citron-blossom festival was always a riotously colourful and lively affair, held once a year to celebrate the harvest of many summer fruits, a bright array of flowers on trees and in orchards, with handmade garlands of blossom decorating the lamp posts everywhere through the city. Citrons of different varieties, on display in baskets outside shops for the festival, were actually available all year round in Splendo, brought in from various regions of Baram. But this was the time for the main local harvest and the largest in the land. The shopfronts were festooned with the orange blooms, bright paper-lanterns of the same colour hung on poles along the streets, like miniature suns. Groups of travelling musicians were serenading the passers-by, as people sat in al fresco cafes enjoying an evening meal or a cool drink. Chadren, sitting with Runo at one of these tables, had allowed Fralii to join in with a band of gypsy dancers who had been calling out for participation from the crowd. He encouraged her to dance, loving to see her so carefree. Both men had wanted her to enjoy the evening to the fullest. Tomorrow it would be back to business, and preparation for the next long, hard trip north.
Chapter Three
Early the next morning, the air still balmy from the lingering heat of the previous day, father and daughter made their way down to the markets to buy remaining supplies and meet Zaf to finalise the purchase of one or two samblars. Chadren wanted to try the grey that Zaf had selected the previous day, and possibly consider a younger one that could be left in training until they returned to Splendo in the late autumn. They were well prepared, as always, for a morning of astute trading. Early the previous morning, after an hour of heated bargaining, Chadren had managed to secure a few cases of arrowheads, at a very good price, which he had already delivered and packed safely in a wagon at Runo’s warehouse.
Arriving at the markets, which now bustled to bursting with the extra trade brought into the city by the festival, Chadren shouldered their way through the milling crowd to reserve fresh bread, hard biscuits, grain, and flour from the baker’s stall, then ordered a large amount of dried fruit and vegetables, bovino-jerky, nuts, and beans from various vendors, planning to pick up the items, top up with fresh produce, and finish loading the wagons in the cool of the evening. They needed to leave very early the following morning, before the sun rose on another scorching hot day.
As they made their way through the press of humanity to the live-animal pens, Fralii began chattering, not for the first time, about learning to ride. ‘Father, can I have a riding lesson this very day, before we have to be on the road again? Please? You promised, remember?’
Chadren hedged, ‘Well… maybe. If we can find a suitable mount here…’ He wanted to find Fralii a gift; it was her birthday after all, and he realised it was pointless to tell her to be patient any longer. He just hoped, for his own peace, that elusive creature would materialise today.
The grey samblar which Zaf had shortlisted the previous day, proved to be healthy and quiet, although a little plain-looking, to say the least. Chadren was more concerned with its reliability and endurance for the road, so he tried it out, putting it through its paces around the market grounds and up the nearby hillside. Thirty minutes later, he returned to an impatient Fralii, but had convinced himself that even if they found no other suitable mount, this one would carry Fralii safely for lessons. Chadren just hoped, knowing Fralii’s headstrong and fiercely independent nature, that she would take direction from him. He imagined it would not be an easy task. He was not allowed a minute more to think, as she was loudly demanding to be astride the samblar, climbing aboard before he could speak. And it did co-operate nicely, by plodding steadily around the pen. Fralii surprised her father by listening carefully to his basic instruction, behaving well and dismounting quickly when the brief lesson was deemed to be over. They paid the dealer, Zaf took the lead rein, and the three continued to other pens with the grey, a placid female named according to her giving nature, Charity, obediently in tow.
Fralii was unusually quiet, and Chadren was curious what she thought of her first riding experience.
‘I thought you might be more excited, Fralii…’ he ventured.
Fralii sighed, which he knew did not bode well. ‘Father, I am truly grateful . . .’
He expected a but and it followed. ‘But… it seems so slow and boring. Not at all as I expected! Also… I am sorry to say,’ she grinned cheekily at her father, ‘that it is easily the ugliest on
e in the whole market!’
‘Ah! So that is it! But, Fralii, we need a very quiet, reliable samblar for travelling long distances and…’ he added patiently, ‘learning to ride, my dear. As you become more experienced, you can progress to a livelier mount, I promise.’ He smiled, rushing on with some less-than-confident promises, before an argument erupted. ‘Of course, it will not be long to wait, because you are progressing so well! We can even look now, for something that can be trained for you in the meantime.’ He glanced hopefully at his daughter, catching Zaf’s amused expression. They both knew from painful experience with the growing Fralii, which manoeuvres, like in a battle strategy, were necessary to keep the peace, whilst also retaining a precarious upper hand.
Fralii’s expression was neutral as she processed Chadren’s encouragements. Suddenly, her face lit up, as she caught sight of something, exclaiming, ‘Oh! Look, Father! There’s the very one! It is so beautiful! Look at its proud paces! Let us go closer!’ She pulled insistently on his sleeve.
The animal she had spotted was Simban’s young samblar, which Chadren had been intentionally approaching to view. Lately, he had found himself wanting, more than ever, to give Fralii her wish for her own samblar, as consolation for the life she endured as a trader’s daughter. At least it fit with their lifestyle. The two men were not surprised at how this was playing out so far.