Wintermore (Aeon of Light Book 1)

by Sethlen, Aron

  “I never imagined these figures though,” Preta says.

  Lurrus gently pats Preta’s back. “Somewhere inside of you they were hiding, and you released them into this world. And I’ll say you released them magnificently. That’s what art is.”

  The sun sets, and Preta and Lurrus pack their things.

  They meet Deet, sitting on a stool and cleaning the horse’s hoof. “There’s my lovely ladies. So how’d it go today?”

  Lurrus beams. “Your little sister did us a great service.”

  Deet lowers the horse’s hoof to the ground. “Did she now?” Deet winks at Preta. “Well, she is a Penter after all.”

  Preta, embarrassed, glances away, then with a smile, she turns back to Deet.

  Deet winks at her again. “We better get going, ladies. We have the conscription tomorrow, and you know how that madness goes. I imagine Nala’s already wondering where we’re at. Hop up, Preta. Let’s get you home and some sleep.”

  “Sleep sounds good.” Preta gives Lurrus a kind smile as she climbs into the cart. “Thanks for everything. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “You were brilliant today, Preta, never forget it.”

  THE BEAR SLAYER

  Preta steps through the cottage door and into the early morning cool air, refreshed from a good night’s sleep and relieved knowing her project is complete. She strolls through the yard with a new view of the world and a new purpose. The fresh scent of pine and burning wood invigorates her.

  Nala pokes her head out through the front door. “Preta—Preta.”

  “Yeah?”

  Nala points to the chicken coop. “Get as many eggs as you can for the sweet batter bread.”

  Preta waves back. “Okay,” and she walks toward the fence where the hens are clucking and pecking the ground.

  The hens spot her approaching and move to the far side.

  Preta makes her rounds, searching the normal hiding spots; and she piles the eggs in the bottom half of her sweater.

  The eggs roll and bounce as she waddles toward the cottage.

  “It’s a good day,” Preta says, closing the door with a heel kick. “I got nine. Where do you want them?”

  Nala places a large cast iron skillet on a metal grate a foot above the coals in the fireplace. She stacks bacon strips on the skillet and waves her hand behind her back, pointing at the table. “Crack the eggs in the bowl and beat them.”

  Nala scrapes a cinnamon stick with a knife, sending shavings into a pile, then moves back to the skillet, flipping the bacon.

  Preta beats the eggs with vigor. Her mouth waters from the aroma filling the room. “Eggs are done, now what?”

  “Get the boys up, they’ve slept long enough.”

  Preta climbs the ladder to the boys’ loft. At the top, she claps her hands. “Get up, you two, breakfast is almost done.”

  Deet rises with no quarrel. He slips on sandals and makes his way down the ladder.

  Yaz groans and mumbles incoherent words as he turns onto his side away from Preta.

  Preta snatches a sandal off the floor and whips it at Yaz, hitting him in the butt. “Get up, Yaz, we’ve gotta go soon.”

  Yaz swats the air and mumbles. He fondles the sandal and sniffs it. “Hey, that’s mine.”

  Preta descends from the loft and sits at the kitchen table.

  Nala circles her knife in a figure eight. “Is his high and mighty awake?”

  “I think so, but I’m not sure.”

  Grandpa closes the back door. “Damn, it smells good in here.” Grandpa makes his way straight for the skillet, sticking a knife into a piece of bacon. Sly, he hunches over and peeks in both directions to make sure the coast is clear, then hobbles away before Nala can protest.

  The bacon strip sizzles dangling from Grandpa’s knife. He sits at the table, tilts his head back, and with victory in his eyes, lowers the prize into his mouth.

  Nala scowls, shaking her head at the thief. She removes the greasy bacon from the skillet and places more strips on the cast iron. “Preta, bring me the bowl of eggs.”

  Nala dumps the cinnamon into the bowl with the eggs and mixes. She cuts a bread loaf into fourteen pieces and hands Preta a small ceramic cup filled with solidified fat. “Preta, remove the bacon, and scrape off the excess fat.”

  Preta nods and holds the greasy cup of hardened lard next to the skillet. She scrapes a knife along the surface, piling the bacon on the edge, then tilts the skillet so the remaining liquid runs into the cup. She sets the skillet back on the grate, leaving a greasy, sizzling sheen.

  Nala dips bread pieces into the egg mixture and places the soaked slices on the skillet.

  Preta stands close, taking in the sweet aroma while watching the bread change color as it cooks.

  Nala places her hand on Preta’s back. “Flip the bread in a minute.”

  Deet pushes through the back door. “Is he up yet? We’ve got to leave soon.”

  Grandpa continues licking his knife like a dog, attempting to get every last bit of bacon residue off the metal blade. “Would think the fool would be on the cart waiting for us with all his damned soldiering talk.”

  Nala peers up the ladder leading to the loft. “Hey, bear slayer! Get your lazy ass moving, or you’re not eating.”

  A loud thud echoes as if Yaz falls on the floor. “I said I’m coming.”

  As Preta flips the golden-brown bread, she eyes the bacon and imagines the taste. She snatches a strip off the skillet and stuffs it in her mouth. Preta vocally sucks air in and out in short huffs to cool it off. She peeks back at the ladder to see if Nala saw her.

  “What are you looking at?” Nala says, swinging a rag as she strolls toward her.

  Preta innocently shrugs, spins back toward the burning coals, grins, and chews her bacon in victory.

  Nala wraps cured meat along with a full loaf of bread into a bundle and places them into a wicker basket. She moves to the fireplace and nods. “Those are done, remove them, and place them on the table.”

  Preta carefully plucks the bread off one piece at a time, and stacks them in a pyramid configuration on a large copper plate. She carries the plate to the table, holding it a few inches from her nose. The aroma overwhelms Preta’s senses, and her palate tingles, forming drool in the corners of her mouth.

  Grandpa extends his knife, waiting for the plate to hit the table. “Looks great, girls. Let’s eat.”

  Yaz plops down in a chair. “I’m here.”

  “Well, aren’t we privileged,” Nala says.

  Yaz sneers. “Shut up.”

  Silence befalls Preta and the others, too busy filling their plates and mouths to care for anything else. The bacon mound and pyramid of bread disappears within minutes.

  Finished, Preta sits back with content satisfaction and in a drunken food daze. She watches Deet and Yaz stare with drowsy eyes at their empty plates.

  Grandpa picks his teeth with a wooden toothpick while making a sucking noise every few seconds.

  Nala plunges her arms in and out of a large metal tub filled with soapy water and dishes. She claps her hands and the water sprays into the air. “No resting, let’s go.” Nala steps between Deet and Yaz and smacks the table, making them jump. “Move, boys, get the cart ready.” She tosses Preta a handful of water pouches. “Fill them up.”

  Deet presses off the table, grabs his pack by the door, and goes outside.

  Preta scoffs as she watches Yaz snoring with his eyes closed.

  Yaz’s head twitches, and he snorts and then licks his lips.

  Preta rolls her eyes at Nala.

  With expert skill and blazing speed, Nala snatches a long wooden spoon and whips it across the entire room, striking Yaz’s head.

  Yaz springs to his feet. “What the heck? Ouch.”

  “See? I can hit a dense block of wood all day too, now get your butt moving.”

  “Funny, funny.” Yaz rubs his head as he staggers toward the front door. “My head’s not wood, stupid.” Yaz sl
ams the front door shut.

  Nala flicks her hair. “I don’t know about that, sure sounded like wood to me.”

  Preta giggles and grabs her backpack. She fills the water pouches at the well and heads to the cart.

  The boys are arguing the merits of conscription and training as Preta climbs into the backseat.

  Nala hands the wicker basket to Preta.

  Deet looks at everyone. “Everybody got everything?”

  “We’re good to go,” Nala says.

  Leaving the Penter property, the boys argue, and Nala joins the action.

  Preta peers into the forest, getting lost in the rhythm of the passing trees. She lies flat on her back as she gazes up at the sky. Geese fly in formation, and the sun peeks over the horizon, warming Preta’s body and the cool air. Clouds appear above, forming shapes and morphing into new ones.

  “We’re here,” Nala says, tapping Preta on the shoulder.

  Preta sits up as the cart enters Waighton Square.

  Women travel in every direction, though most men travel the same road heading north toward the parade field lying on the town’s edge.

  There’s a commotion in Waighton, though not the same normal day commotion: no school, no market carts, and only a few old fishermen limping toward the docks.

  Nala sets her hand on Preta’s knee. “You coming with me or the boys?”

  “The boys.”

  On the edge of town, Deet stops the cart in front of an ivy-covered stone cottage. Flowers and bushes sculpted into abstract shapes dot the front lawn.

  Lurrus opens the cottage door and waves to greet them.

  Deet and Nala jump off the cart at the same time.

  Deet meets Lurrus with a kiss. “How are the plans coming? Will we be ready by Saturday?”

  “We’ll be ready,” Lurrus says. She gives Deet a sarcastic smile. “But are you going to be ready?”

  Deet clutches Lurrus’s waist and holds her tight as he whispers into her ear.

  Lurrus turns her head away as she giggles, and Deet times her turn back to him with a kiss on her lips.

  Deet lets Lurrus go. “Gotta go, love,” and he climbs back into the cart.

  “You be careful today,” Lurrus says, pointing at Deet, then she turns to Yaz. “You too, Yaz.”

  Yaz leans back, cocky and aloof, resting his heels up on the front of the cart. “Yeah, yeah, yeah—”

  Lurrus moves closer to Yaz and whispers, “Is tomorrow set?”

  “We’re good,” Yaz says without looking at her. “I’ll take care of it.”

  Worried, Lurrus glances at Nala.

  Nala rolls her eyes and whispers into Lurrus’s ear, “It’ll be arranged one way or the other, don’t worry.”

  Lurrus smiles at Preta. “You really going with the boys today?”

  “I sure am. I’m gonna hone my new skills.”

  Grandpa snorts. “Hone—right.”

  Lurrus giggles. “You be safe too then, Preta, hone well.”

  Lurrus and Nala wave goodbye and enter the cottage.

  The Penter cart turns onto the road the men were traveling on earlier. At the edge of town, they emerge on the outskirts of an expansive parade field.

  Preta counts 147 men standing in the field in small to medium-sized groups. Another group of thirty men wearing similar forest-green uniforms stands in front of them.

  Deet hops off the cart. “Grandpa, look after Preta, we’ve gotta go.”

  Yaz tosses his gear to the ground and jumps off the cart.

  They sling their packs and pick up their weapons.

  Deet places two daggers into holsters on his back then grabs a sword.

  Yaz does the same, but also straps a small leather holster containing five throwing spikes on each leg and grabs his bow. “Watch me tear these suckers up, Sis.”

  “Okay, good luck tearing them up, I’ll be watching,” and then she giggles.

  “No luck needed, enjoy the show.”

  Grandpa sets his hand on Preta’s shoulder. “Grab our stuff and let’s watch the fools play war.”

  Preta gathers a blanket, water, and the food basket. “Where should we sit, Grandpa?”

  Grandpa points to a grassy patch under a large maple tree with only a few red and orange leaves still perched on the branches. “Over there.”

  Preta lays out the blanket and sits as the men congregate on the field.

  A leader wearing a forest-green uniform and a white armband snaps to attention. “Iinia!”

  The men follow suit and do the same.

  For five minutes, the leader gives instructions and points to various stations throughout the field. He gives a final command, and the men yell, “Iinia!” in unison.

  Preta looks at the cart, and Grandpa is talking to another old man hunched over gripping a knotty cane. He waves his arms about in dramatic gyrations. Grandpa lets out the occasional thunderous laugh and cuss word, making Preta chuckle.

  After a few minutes, Grandpa limps to the maple tree, leans against it, climbs down the bark, and plops his butt onto the blanket. “Been years since I last talked to that old dog, the damned fool.”

  On the field, the officers separate into twos and move to designated stations.

  The soldiers break formation and form groups following the officers.

  Four older officers huddle in animate discussion, pointing and nodding to various spots on the field. After a few minutes, they salute, shake hands, and go their separate ways. Two officers leave the field in a fancy black carriage, and the other two men climb a ladder to a tall perch overlooking the men’s training.

  “Who are those men?” Preta says.

  “Those are the general officers of this district’s Iinian Guard from Bielston. Every three months they come to town and evaluate this province’s men, training, and readiness.”

  “Every man?”

  “Just the men fifteen to forty-five. They say republic, ha, but these bastards still own us if they want us—unless of course you’ve got the coin or are in what they consider the right company. Then again, some like your fool of a brother will give themselves freely to the Guard.”

  “He’s not a fool,” Preta says.

  “He’s most definitely a fool, and a talented fool at that. Though a fool nonetheless.”

  Preta scans the field.

  Archers line up to the left in front of short and long targets, to include a section where they traverse a maze, shooting in pairs.

  In the center of the field, toward the back, an obstacle course is constructed with ropes and various barriers.

  To the right, men throw blades and spikes at square and circular woodblocks with white circles painted on them.

  And to the far right, men stand five abreast with muskets. An officer raises a stick, points, and thrusts his hand to the ground. The men fire as one in a white-and-grey puff of smoke. “Reload, ten seconds,” the officer says.

  In the center, directly in front of Preta, two sections of men holding practice wooden swords and spears.

  Watching for a few minutes, it’s clearly evident to Preta who’s skilled and who’s not, and who’s trying or just going through the motions.

  Deet stays in the center of the field.

  Yaz starts at the archer’s station on the left side. He zips through the maze hitting every target center mass, and transitions to the obstacle course, navigating it with ease.

  At the blade and spike targets, Yaz joins Dix and some other friends.

  They laugh and punch each other in the arms while waiting in line for their turn to throw.

  Yaz and Dix square off in front of their targets.

  Dix throws a blade, barely hitting the block’s edge.

  Yaz throws, hitting center mass.

  Dix releases his second blade, striking an inch from the bull’s eye.

  Yaz releases a blade within a second of Dix’s second blade leaving his hand. Yaz’s blade strikes the center of Dix’s wooden handle, splitting it in two.

  W
ith open arms, Yaz bounces and laughs and turns toward Dix.

  Dix, not thinking Yaz is funny, swings a punch, connecting with Yaz’s jaw.

  Yaz staggers back while pinching his chin, then, unfazed, he grins at Dix.

  Dix goes straight at Yaz again like a bull, his arms flailing.

  Yaz dips to his left parrying Dix’s punch. He drops to his right knee and punches Dix in the gut with a right hook.

  Dix grunts and folds.

  Yaz hooks his left heel behind Dix’s right leg, locking it in tight, and right elbows above Dix’s knee.

  Yaz thrusts through Dix and pulls his heel toward him while keeping it locked. Dix falls flat on his back, and his momentum carries Yaz onto the top of Dix’s chest.

  Yaz smirks and gently taps Dix on each cheek. “The Ix slayer, ha ha—” Yaz says, standing up victorious with arms raised above his head. He extends his hand toward Dix still lying on the ground.

  Dix, scowling, wounded pride, swats Yaz’s hand away, and he goes to a knee.

  Yaz whispers something to Dix, and he extends his hand again.

  With a goofy, twisted face, Dix glares at Yaz for a second, then he relents and grips Yaz’s hand with a loud crack.

  Yaz yanks Dix to his feet and slaps him on the butt.

  Friends again, they strut side by side toward their targets as they shove each other and laugh.

  Grandpa nods. “Fool, girl, but a damned talented fool.”

  Yaz twists his first blade from the wooden target and removes the second blade from what’s left of Dix’s crumbling handle. He swings his arms back and forth and moves to the sword sparring ring.

  Yaz snatches a dull practice sword from a bulging wooden barrel and enters the center sparring ring as he twirls the hilt in between swinging his arms.

  Deet grips a blunt metal sword and stands opposite Yaz.

  “Brother,” Yaz says, raising his sword in his right hand.

  Deet nods and matches his brother.

  Yaz creeps forward with shuffle steps then strikes with an overhead slash toward Deet’s head.

  Deet meets the slash midair with his sword, taking a step into the strike, and he stomps on Yaz’s foot. He thrusts upward with his left hand underneath Yaz’s sword arm, swinging him off balance.