Love and Sacrifice: Book Two of the Prophecy Series

by Tove Foss Ford

  “This means, since Kaymar is ill and Ifor is in Mordania, that I’ll have to take up whatever guard duty there is. I’m not willing to do a great deal of it, frankly. Eiren and I have a lot of plans and we’ve waited for years to have this time abroad together.”

  Katrin was looking at him as if he was announcing that he had decided to go and become a monk. Well, my dear one, Menders thought, I cannot bow to you forever. I’ve promised Eiren some time and she will have it. You can learn to wait at home when someone can’t be there to watch out for you.

  “I’m going to take Eiren to the lakes tomorrow, as the weather looks as if it is going to hold. Before you and Hemmett came in, I invited Borsen to come with us. Hemmett is leaving for Samorsa tomorrow, as his days off are due him. Kaymar is ill and can’t possibly go around with you, so you will have to stay here tomorrow, where he is, so that you are guarded.”

  “But I have a class!” Katrin protested.

  “You’ll have to miss it,” Menders said coolly.

  “Can’t I come along with you and Eiren?”

  “Someone must stay here with Kaymar,” Menders answered, struggling to keep his voice even. “Franz will be here, but he has a commitment in the middle of the day and Kaymar is too ill to be left alone. I invited Borsen to come along before I knew all that was going on. If I brought you as well, I’m sure everyone would end up miserable with the two of you sparring. Eiren has wanted to do this for months, Katrin.”

  He waited, knowing that if she bargained or protested one more time, he would lose his temper. She seemed to be struggling with herself.

  “Katrin… remember everything Kaymar has done for you over the years and help us out gracefully,” he finally said, sighing.

  “Of course,” she answered immediately, looking a little shamefaced. “And I am sorry about what happened today.”

  “I’m not the ones you need to apologise to,” Menders said frankly. “Now, I have tried twice to take a look at this book and I’m going to ask to be left alone for ten minutes to do that.”

  Katrin trailed off to her room dejectedly. Menders settled back on the sofa with his book, hoping no-one else decided to have a crisis for a while.

  He managed thirty minutes before Eiren came home. Her smile erased a lot of the upset and irritation of the afternoon.

  “Hello my darling,” she said, bending to kiss his forehead. “Did you have a good rest?”

  “Save me from our children,” he moaned.

  “Oh no. What happened?” Eiren took off her coat and hung it up and then sat where he made room for her on the sofa.

  He went through the events of the day. Eiren groaned and put her hands over her face.

  “I’ve seen it coming,” she sighed. “Do you think Hemmett would like to come with us tomorrow too?”

  “Not likely. Quiet contemplative activity is not exactly Hemmett’s cup of tea,” Menders answered. “He’s leaving for Samorsa on the early train.”

  “Darling, there’s a young man behind some of this friction – I just feel it in my bones,” Eiren said quietly, looking up at him.

  “Yes, I’ve divined that too. Katrin admires some of these people she’s met a great deal and it’s going to hurt her when they show their true colours. It’s got the boys’ hackles up. But I cannot protect her from everything, short of hiding her away forever at The Shadows. She’s going to have to take some lumps when they come, just like today. I’m entirely in sympathy with the boys – and I must stop calling them boys.”

  “As must I. Today’s incident is unfortunate but young women go through these things with attractions to friends who are not the best. Most go through it earlier than Katrin, but being sheltered as she has been, she’s come late to it. She, Hemmett and Borsen are very passionate people, all three of them, and such things are to be expected from time to time.”

  Eiren kissed him and things started to look much, much better.

  ***

  Katrin was shocked when Borsen took an easel at their art class that had been vacant through most of the term. They’d always stood together, passing the painting time talking or helping each other with their work. She had apologized to him and he’d accepted, but he was keeping his distance. He’d also dropped the philosophy classes they had together.

  “Because they aren’t talking about philosophy, they’re talking about how great Artreya is,” Borsen said briskly when she asked him about it. “If I want to hear that rubbish, I’ll hang around the Three Elks when your friend Ermand Godson is around, holding forth. I don’t like the philosophy classes, so why go? I can spend time at the museums or something, learning about what I’m interested in.”

  So Katrin now sat by herself in philosophy and she didn’t care for it. Hemmett refused to sit with her, settling a couple of rows behind, his pistol on the desk before him. When she’d tried to apologize to him, he’d refused to listen to her. She’d complained about it to Eiren, as she knew what Menders would say to her – that she’d bit off more than she could chew and now would have to chew like the hells to manage.

  “Darling, you denigrated both of them,” Eiren replied after she’d vented her ire about the boys’ reactions to her apologies. “You made it seem as if you don’t value Hemmett’s friendship and you also denigrated his work. He isn’t a bodyguard. He’s a Mordanian military officer and Captain of your Guard. Men identify with their work and Hemmett is very proud of what he does. He had to work very hard to achieve it and he did that because he’s devoted to you and wanted to serve you. Why can’t you understand how you hurt him and what a terrible insult you dished out to him?”

  So Eiren had been no comfort. Katrin didn’t know what Hemmett wanted. She couldn’t crawl in front of him begging forgiveness and he refused to talk about it and sort it out.

  When Hemmett wasn’t on duty, he was elsewhere. When he was on duty and she went to the Three Elks with her new friends, Hemmett came along silently. He took a separate table. Once Katrin invited him to sit with the rest of them. He’d looked at her until she turned away.

  Kaymar was still very sick and couldn’t leave his bed. If Hemmett wasn’t on duty, Menders had to come along with her to classes.

  He too sat several rows behind her, looking bored. Sometimes when an idea was presented that Katrin thought was ridiculous, he would groan under his breath. And when Ermand Godson was speaking in class, Menders invariably made noise, either sighing loudly, shifting in his seat, or once snorting audibly in disgust.

  “I’m sorry, sir, did you wish to respond to me?” Ermand had said, turning in his seat and looking back at Menders.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Menders replied sarcastically.

  “If you have something to say, I certainly would welcome your comment,” Ermand responded courteously.

  “All right. You’re a pretentious ass who is very fond of the sound of his own voice and your arguments are based on nothing at all.”

  The professor rapidly changed the subject, though Katrin saw Ermand look back at Menders again and flinch. She didn’t have to look to know that Menders had taken his dark glasses off to look back at him.

  As she was preparing to leave that lecture, Ermand came over to her.

  “Emila, dear, who is that man with you today?” he asked very graciously. Katrin had learned her lesson.

  “He’s my father,” she said quietly.

  “Oh. Why do you think he was so rude?”

  “He knows a great deal about philosophy. Definitely more than our professor. I am sorry, though, about what he said.”

  “Don’t fret your very attractive head about it,” Ermand smiled. “Sometimes we have to tolerate the older generation. Would you care to join us at the Three Elks?”

  “Emila, it’s time to leave,” Menders said behind her, holding her coat for her. “Your mother and I have a dinner engagement.”

  “Good evening, sir,” Ermand said elegantly, bowing slightly and then walking away.

  Katrin hoped Kaymar
could return to guard duty soon. The rift with Hemmett was wearing very badly indeed.

  ***

  Menders shifted in the hard-seated chair and remembered how he’d always felt restive in lectures when he was in school. Listening to this drivel was agonizing. The professor was a puffed up idiot. Most of the students, or at least the ones who spoke out in class, were pampered brats who loved to listen to themselves speak.

  “How would we apply this theory to the situation of – oh – the Artreyan Highlanders, or any other primitive race?” the professor asked the class.

  The usual nest of hands rose and started wiggling and waving.

  “Miss Farmore?”

  “According to Hardin’s theory, they would be forced to adapt to the culture of the superior race or be eliminated,” a young woman answered.

  “What if they resisted?” the professor prompted.

  “It would be in their nature to resist, as they are less evolved,” Ermand Godson replied without waiting to be called on. “It is impossible for such races to adapt to modern society, according to Hardin.”

  “And so?” the professor asked, beaming on Godson, whom he seemed to consider his protégé.

  “They would have to be eliminated,” Godson said dutifully, surrounded by so many nodding heads.

  “Why?”

  Menders smiled. The voice of reason was Katrin, who was sitting there quivering with indignation.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss?” the professor said stiffly.

  “Why would they have to be eliminated? What harm do they do?”

  “The proposal we are discussing is that such primitive peoples may have possession of resources that would benefit the superior race,” the professor explained smugly. “The theory argues the premise that since such people cannot make use of such resources, they should be removed from the resource rich areas.”

  “Removal would imply something less drastic than slaughtering them,” Katrin said heatedly. “Why not trade with them for these resources, rather than eliminating groups of people?”

  “It’s impossible to trade with savages,” one of the big talkers said.

  “The Artreyan Highlanders are famous for trading!” Katrin cried. “It’s the entire basis of their economic structure!”

  “We are discussing the philosophical theory here, Miss,” the professor smarmed, his voice oily. “It involves the ethical implications of the distribution of resources and postulates that resources should be the property of those who will use them.”

  “These people you call primitive use these resources, professor,” Katrin said, obviously trying to keep calm.

  “I am not aware of any primitive race that does,” the professor bridled. “Perhaps you would give us an example?”

  “Do you consider the Thrun a primitive race?”

  “Oh, indeed.”

  “The Thrun make use of resources,” Katrin snapped. There was a smattering of laughter.

  “And pray, how do the Thrun use advanced resources?” The professor was now being openly sarcastic.

  “Name an ‘advanced resource’ and I will. How can one resource be more advanced than another?”

  “Lignus,” was the professor’ s reply.

  “The Thrun use lignus for smelting metal.”

  “They don’t know how to work metal. They live like animals,” someone called.

  “They work metal. I’ve seen them do it!” Katrin refuted the voice. “They do not live like animals. They have a very complex social structure. They don’t live like us but they are not primitive by any means.”

  “You are… familiar with these people?” Ermand Godson asked, turning in his seat and looking incredulously at Katrin.

  “I am. They trade at my family estate every winter. They made this ring and this pendant. As you can see, they are as finely done as anything you would find in a jewelry shop.” She passed the ring and pendant around. Menders could see there were some raised eyebrows as the Artreyan students saw the fine work resembling intertwined ropes.

  “You could say they’re a primitive race because they have no fixed abode,” Ermand Godson said, looking at the ring.

  “They migrate because of weather conditions,” Katrin answered. “In the summers, they live on Thrun Island, to fish, hunt and make things to trade. In the winters, when the weather is severe on the island, they migrate over the ice bridge and travel about, trading. What’s the difference between that and a rich man who shifts between a townhouse and a summer house in the country?”

  “What products do they make, other than jewelry like this?” a girl asked.

  “They trade hides, furs…”

  “All in primitive, unworked form,” the professor said smugly.

  “Saddles, clothing, hats, boots, knives and faceted or polished gems,” Katrin continued, as if she had not been interrupted. “The saddles and clothing are ornate and include embroidery, gemstone setting, leather tooling and tailoring. The results are far from primitive.”

  “They don’t have any rules or laws or social structure,” came another voice. “Those are the hallmarks of an advanced race.”

  “They have a very complex society and there are rules and laws,” Katrin argued.

  “The men sleep with any woman they want, they have no family structure,” the voice argued back. “That’s the very fabric of civilized society.”

  “The men do take multiple wives but they are faithful to those wives,” Katrin said, her voice rising in frustration.

  “That’s terrible!” a girl cried.

  “It’s a matter of adaptation,” Katrin answered. “The Thrun have many more girls than boys, so this custom assures no woman is unsupported. The man doesn’t co-habit with all the wives at once. When the first wife wishes to limit childbearing to preserve her life, she encourages him to take a second wife. He moves on to her as a marriage partner, though he continues to revere and support his first wife. The same thing occurs when the second wife wants no more children. Warriors are allowed three wives, though the chieftains can take up to seven. No man is allowed to take a wife if he can’t adequately support her. There is no jealousy between the wives, as they consider each other sisters. They help each other. That help is needed because life is so hard. The women work all the time, as do the men. They have marriage ceremonies, there are rules for the provision for widows and orphans, there are laws that are very similar to ours.”

  There was a great deal of murmuring over Katrin’s lecture on the marriage traditions of the Thrun. Menders looked down to hide a smile.

  “They have no written language,” Ermand Godson said.

  “They do. It isn’t a phonetic alphabet, it’s symbolic,” Katrin explained. “That pendant you’re holding is one of the symbols.”

  He held it up. “Would you be so kind as to translate it?”

  “Light Of The Winter Sun,” Katrin answered. “Their language is multi-dimensional and words have multiple meanings.”

  “How do you know what the hells they’re talking about?” someone laughed.

  “From the context. It isn’t difficult – if you listen.” Katrin’s voice was pointed.

  “Well, I for one would love to see a civilized Thrun,” a young man smirked.

  “You have. My brother, Georgio, is Thrun.”

  The room fell silent.

  “That little fellow who goes about with you?” someone asked in the silence, the voice timorous.

  “Yes. He’s Thrun. Would you call him uncivilized or a member of a primitive race? Should he be slaughtered so some manufacturer can have more resources?”

  “That boy has obviously been raised by advanced people…” the professor sputtered.

  “Sir, you just said that people like the Thrun couldn’t adapt to our society,” Katrin fired back. “I personally know Tharak Karak, Highest Chieftain of the Thrun. He wasn’t raised with what you call ‘advanced people’. He speaks four languages, reads voraciously, can discuss any number of topics exhaustively. He
owns hundreds of gowns and has excellent table manners. He bathes at least twice a day, more often if he undergoes exertion. It is not a matter of being raised by what you consider civilized people. What’s civilized about believing you should kill people to take what’s theirs?”

  At that point a bell rang and the class erupted into people gathering up possessions, standing, talking and moving about.

  Menders went to Katrin, who was red faced and furious. Ermand Godson was handing her the pendant. She stood abruptly and gathered her books together while Menders held her coat for her.

  “Miss Emila?” A quiet girl’s voice came from behind them. Katrin turned to see a short, black haired girl holding out her ring.

  “I kept it when they started getting rowdy,” the girl said in a whispery little voice. “I’ve been studying it. It’s truly beautiful. Do they do it as wire work that they heat, or is it cast? My father is a jeweler and he would love to see this.”

  “It’s cast, isn’t it Papa?” Katrin asked.

  “Yes, in a fired clay mold,” Menders told the girl, who smiled at him charmingly. “Some pieces are done in molds that are broken so the piece can be removed, others are replicated multiple times in the same mold. The Thrun’s metalwork is very intricate and complex. They not only make jewelry, but cutlery and hollow ware as well. Their knifemaking is unequalled on Eirdon.”

  The girl handed the ring to Katrin, who slid it onto her finger.

  “Perhaps one day you would come to my father’s shop and show him those pieces,” the girl said with a smile.

  “I would love to,” Katrin said, smiling back.

  “I’m Danica Forseth,” the girl said. “I have to hurry or I’ll be late to my next class. Thank you for telling me about the jewelry.” She bowed politely and walked away.

  As Menders and Katrin turned to leave, they were surprised to see three other young people waiting for them.

  “I wanted to take a look at that pendant, if you please, Miss,” one boy said politely. “Once Godson got it in his claws, it didn’t go any further. Could you explain the symbol and how the Thrun derived it?”