The Winter Boy

by Sally Wiener Grotta

  “Yes, Allesha.”

  With a nod, almost as though she were agreeing with something in her own mind, she pulled away. “You may proceed, but I suggest you avoid any further ‘spirited discussions.’”

  Ryl and Sim said, “Thank you, Allesha,” almost in unison and took off for the tradegrounds as quickly as they could in a mannerly way.

  Before they were out of earshot, Ryl heard the Allesha say to Vetram, “Tell Tedrac that his Allesha needs to see him again. Have him come to my home this afternoon.”

  Ryl’s heart skipped a beat when he heard. Tedrac! Skies! That was Tedrac’s Allesha! Tedrac, his pa’s Triat. His mind raced, replaying the last few moments. Was there anything he could do to salvage the situation? All he could come up with was a jumble of memories with no future. Nothing left except the shouting. Why did everything always have to go so wrong for him? To hell with them all, he thought as he ran as fast as his legs would take him — faster, he hoped, than thought or broken dreams or Mistral’s disappointment in him.

  “Ryl, slow down!” Sim called after him. “You want me to break my neck on these rocks?”

  But Ryl didn’t stop until he looked up and realized he was in the middle of the tradegrounds. The first thing to hit him were the colors. More shades and hues than he had ever imagined. And the smells. Of strange and familiar foods, animals, incense, spices and people. A swarm of people bargaining, singing, dancing, arguing, laughing. Scattered throughout, individuals here and there silently scanned the crowds.

  Sim caught up with Ryl, but was too out of breath to speak. Even when he was no longer gasping for air, he continued to stare with his mouth open, speechless.

  Trade caravans were nothing new to either of them, to anyone living within the Peace borders. Whatever else went wrong with Ryl’s life, the thrill he felt when one would arrive at his village had never diminished. It wasn’t simply the amazing variety of goods, but also the travelers and the exotic stories they told. The biannual caravan arrivals at the Birani village were always filled with adventure and wonder.

  But here, on the edge of The Valley of the Alleshi, was the Caravan Convergence. All year, except in deepest winter, caravans came to The Valley, bringing trade goods, tributes, duty gifts, messages and information from all corners of the world. So many that, although there were four tradegrounds in the foothills ringing The Valley, each with room for three or four caravans, none could stay longer than nine days. The frenetic pace of activity and excitement escalated even more during the three interim periods, when the newly formed Allemen from the previous Season, and Petitioners for the next, plus their families, filled the eight inns, tradegrounds and Valley pathways.

  With such an abundance of choices before him, Ryl couldn’t decide where to look or what to do. But Sim had no doubts, and for the first time since they had met, Sim took the lead, heading right for Schul’s booths.

  “Sim!” Emmy ran toward them through the crowds. “I thought I’d never see you again.” Her grey eyes sparkled at the sight of Sim, whose grin was so wide that it almost split his black face in two.

  “Hi, Emmy,” Sim sputtered, happily abashed and unsure.

  Neither seemed to be aware that Ryl was standing right there, next to them. “Hi, Emmy,” Ryl said quietly.

  “Oh… Hi, Ryl.” Emmy’s cheeks reddened when she glanced at him, though he doubted it was anything other than embarrassment. Not that it mattered. Compared to Lilla, no girl could hold his attention for more than a few moments of idle curiosity. Certainly not a caravan girl.

  Still, Ryl had to admit her sudden blush was appealing. Emmy’s long dark hair was threaded with bright, multi-colored ribbons, framing her small light-brown face. Somehow, the effect made her look fragile, though he had seen her successfully wrangle a stubborn mule with no help. Her dancing skirts and soft rainbow-colored blouse seemed to flow with all the colors of the Convergence, revealing curves that had been hidden under the shapeless rough-weave brown pants, quilted jacket and leather hiking boots she had worn during the trip.

  Ryl stared, realizing Emmy wasn’t as flat-chested as he had thought. Her breasts would be a good handful, if Sim ever got near them.

  Sim and Emmy didn’t notice when Ryl slipped away into the crowd. Nothing lonelier than being with people who are so involved in each other that you barely exist. It was a lesson Ryl had learned young. Looking back, he saw Emmy taking Sim by the hand and leading him away — hopefully, to someplace private. That poor fellow needed some relief.

  Suddenly, a boy much smaller and younger than Ryl ran into him, almost knocking him down. The kid mumbled an apology that was heavy with a strange accent, then quickly disappeared into the crowds. Ryl understood how the kid felt; so much to see and do that he wanted to run about, too. Instead, he moved slowly, deliberately, as though this were an unknown forest, with strange creatures that required careful observation before he could begin the hunt.

  Tendrils of smoke from an awning-covered booth wafted toward Ryl, laden with delicious aromas he couldn’t name. Not really hungry, certainly not with the abundance of food at the Battai’s, he was still drawn toward the grill that was sizzling with the fat of juicy oversized sausages. Next to it was a wood stove covered with fried breads and a bubbling pot of soup so thick he could probably eat it with a fork.

  “Succulents and sausages!” the vendor called. “Come taste the best. Succulents and sausages!” Bent with age and missing several of her yellowed teeth, her small dark eyes danced like a young girl’s. Her shapeless dress hung on her shriveled frame, but the fabric was as colorful as Emmy’s. The old woman was smiling broadly, as if the world were hers to command and enjoy.

  Ryl worked his way through the throng toward the booth. His mouth watering, he said, “I’ll take a sausage.”

  “Certainly, young man.” Damned if she didn’t seem to sparkle at the sight of Ryl. Was the old hag flirting with him? “You’ve never tasted better,” she said as she speared a large link and wrapped it in a flat of fried bread.

  When Ryl bit into it, an explosion of hot spices and herbs filled his mouth, nearly burning the roof of his mouth, but it was so rich with flavors that he took another bite before fully swallowing the first.

  “Go slow, young man. Enjoy what you have before you grab more.”

  His mouth was too full to respond, so he merely nodded and reached into his pocket for his purse.

  “That’s one and five,” she said, holding out her hand for payment.

  But Ryl’s money was gone. Nearly choking on the food, he frantically searched his other pockets, though he always kept his purse in the one place. Skies! The boy who’d bumped into him! Pa had warned Ryl about pickpockets, but he hadn’t really thought it could happen to him, that a stranger could reach into his clothes and take something without him feeling it.

  The old woman’s small eyes no longer twinkled, narrowing even more. She leaned further over the booth counter, shaking her open palm in his face. “One and five,” she repeated, a hard edge to her voice that left no doubt that she was not one to be taken advantage of, not her, no sir, she had ways of dealing with people who tried to cheat her.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am. My money….”

  “Ryl!” Aidan’s high-pitched voice cut through the crowd, and the slightly built boy was suddenly at his side. His improbably pale skin looked even more sallow in the bright autumn sun, especially against his close-cut black hair and dark slanted eyes.

  Among the Petitioners Ryl had met at the Battai’s, Aidan was particularly annoying, with his whining voice, fake friendliness and pompous book-learned smarts that had little to do with real life. Besides, Aidan was a gutless wimp. Ryl had even seen him weeping in a corner of the inn last night. Ryl couldn’t imagine Aidan in an Alleshine inner room; he probably didn’t even know what to do with a woman.

  Ryl’s instinct was to ignore Aidan, but at the moment he had other worries. “Give me some money,” he demanded.

  Aidan looked at the half-eat
en sausage in Ryl’s hand and at the woman with her outstretched hand, and tsk-tsked in a disapproving manner that he must have copied from an old granddad. “You shouldn’t take what you can’t pay for.”

  “Don’t be a prig, Aidan. Give me one and five. I’ll pay you back when we get to the Battai’s.”

  Aidan shrugged, took some coins from his purse and, rather than give them to Ryl, put them into the vendor’s hand.

  “Thank you, young sir,” she said to Aidan. “And would you like to try my succulents and sausages?”

  “No thank you, ma’am,” Aidan replied with a slight bow that made her sparkle once more.

  Damn! Now Ryl was beholden to the wimp. No longer really enjoying the sausage, he quickly chomped on the rest of it, wiped his hands on his trousers, then turned away.

  “Hey, Ryl.” Aidan caught up with him. “The Battai’s looking for you.”

  “And you took it on yourself to find me. How helpful of you.”

  “Ryl, do you want to hear what the Battai wants or not?”

  “I know what he wants. He’s got more questions for me.”

  “No. He has an interview set up for you. In The Valley. With an Allesha.”

  “What?” Could it be that he still had a chance?

  “You’re to meet an Allesha in her home this afternoon, if you’re not too late already.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry. It isn’t that bad. I had my interview this morning. She was nice. We had an interesting conversation.”

  “Conversation? Don’t you know anything Aidan? An Allesha isn’t for conversation. But I guess you can’t be expected to know much about that.”

  Aidan looked at Ryl in a strange way, almost as though the wimp pitied him. “You’re wasting time, Ryl. If you miss this meeting, you probably won’t get another.”

  Not wanting to follow any advice Aidan could give him, but anxious not to botch this one opportunity, Ryl rushed off to the Battai’s without a backward glance. As soon as he reached a clear path, he broke out into a full run, not stopping until he was at the door to the Battai’s study on the first floor of the inn.

  Chapter 6

  In the late afternoon, the Southwest Battai brought the boy Ryl to the house of the new Allesha. They walked side by side, a study in contrasts: the lithe young man with the easy stride of a woodsman, and the short, plump man with a thin fringe of once-black hair, who had never been graceful, even as a child.

  But it was the Battai who exuded comfort and confidence, while Ryl hid his nervousness with bluster. This particular path from the Southwest Inn down to The Valley was the Battai’s personal domain, the defining geography of his position, his reason and right. Only seven other men — the Battai of the other inns overlooking The Valley — could claim similar privilege, authority and responsibility among the Alleshi.

  Though most of the trees were bare, stands of evergreens alternately obscured and revealed The Valley below. About three hundred houses dotted the land, connected by gently winding paths and neatly landscaped green space, a meandering stream, a few tributary creeks and a small lake. Each Alleshine home was large enough for two people, set apart on its own patch of land with a barn, workshop or shed in the back. All were approached through a gate set in a wood fence or stone wall.

  One, two or three-storied. Made of timber, stone or stucco. Rectangular and compact, or spread out in wings. Some even had curved walls. The Battai knew from experience that the variety of the houses reflected the wide range of personalities and backgrounds among the Blessed Sisters. It was the Battai’s responsibility to try to understand each Allesha, and bring suitable Petitioners to her attention.

  How many years had it been, the Battai tried to remember, since he had last taken a candidate for First Boy? Certainly, at least ten. So long that he had almost forgotten the raw excitement of preparing for such a meeting.

  New Alleshi shouldn’t be so rare. Then fewer boys would be turned away, as he had once been. He hated to fail a boy, to bring the news that a petition had been refused. No length of time could make the task easier, weighted as it was with his own boyhood disappointment.

  The memory was as vivid as if it were yesterday. His parents had saved for most of his young life and had borrowed the balance to pay for the trip to The Valley and his petition. Yet, a gale on the sea had delayed them, and they had arrived at The Valley too late. All the Alleshi who would work that Season had already chosen their boys.

  It was a matter of numbers, more than anything, for few boys who came to the inn weren’t worthy. Just the act of making the trip to The Valley showed their desire to learn. But there were less than three hundred Alleshi in all, each choosing her Season, either to Bless a boy or to remain alone. Some worked only one Season in three, or less. And others were permanently retired from the cycle of Seasons. It was inevitable that most boys would be disappointed.

  The Battai often wondered what had happened to the other unBlessed boys he had met as a Petitioner some forty years ago, when he had been turned away from The Valley. He’d heard that, in some villages, they never attained full manhood rights, while in others, it made little or no difference. So diverse were the many villages united under the Alleshi that even a Battai had difficulty keeping their various traditions clear.

  In his maritime village, not becoming an Alleman meant he could never be a captain-owner of a seafaring fleet, though his uncle had chosen him as heir. Instead, a distant cousin had inherited the fleet, and the wealth and power it imparted. Too proud to bend his head to his cousin or any other, he hadn’t gone to sea. But the seamen had so little regard for the beached that no landlocked position had been denied him. He had become a merchant-trader, the most successful in his village, which helped him get the attention and win the respect of both Allemen and Alleshi. Eventually, through hard work and concerted diplomacy, he had fulfilled his dream of returning to The Valley of the Alleshi, if only to live always outside, never fully accepted, but honored, needed and powerful.

  The Battai knew that Ryl’s life would be different if his petition were rejected by the Alleshi. The boy’s people — the Birani — had been fierce warriors before joining the Alleshine Peace, not so long ago. Some of their leaders still doubted the value of Alleshine training. So Ryl would probably experience little or no stigma should he not be Blessed. Yet, the Battai’s instincts, hewn over years of service to the Alleshi, told him that this boy would not be going home with his parents, that he would be accepted by the new Allesha.

  Was he jealous of the boy and what he would have that had been denied the Battai as a youth? That was a demon that he had wrestled with and conquered years before. But, yes, the disappointment still lingered, a hard kernel in his heart that he kept walled away, so it seldom surfaced and wouldn’t affect his work. He reminded himself that he could never have become Battai, if he had been Blessed by an Allesha. That was one position refused to Allemen. And, while some women from his village would have considered it less than appealing to marry a landlubber, his wife appreciated the wealth and comfort the Battai could afford his family.

  Yes, he had to admit to himself, with a satisfied sigh, life did have a way of balancing out.

  The Battai studied the new Allesha as she poured blackberry cider for all of them — except the boy, whom the Battai served. Sitting beside her was the boy’s father’s Allesha, who was said to be the young one’s mentor. He knew what to expect from the old one. As stern as she was, he had dealt with her for many years, so he no longer feared her — well, maybe only a little.

  As the Battai nibbled at the fresh fruit and pungent cheese that wasn’t really to his taste (though he dared not show anything but relish for the young Allesha’s offering), he looked closer, trying not to stare. She was tall and lean with soft curves. Her breasts were generous without being large, and her hips just wide enough for comfort. She was in her early or middle forties. Younger than The Valley’s other Alleshi by at least eight or ten years. He saw signs of he
r people, the Attani, in her long limbs, thick auburn hair and graceful manner. The way the wind whipped those open lands sculpted the populace. Their strength came from bending, like laurel trees, but never breaking — and never moving from where they planted their feet. On important matters, she’d prove to be stubborn, an immovable force.

  The new Allesha smiled at the Battai, and it seemed to light up her whole being, emerging from deep inside her. “Why have you asked for this audience, Battai?” she asked, using the ancient ritual question.

  With a nod, the Battai put his plate on the table and crossed his small pudgy hands comfortably on the ledge the round bulge of his stomach formed with his chest. “I bring this boy and his Petition to your attention. I would be honored if you would consider it.”

  “Tell me of him.”

  “He’s rash, to be sure, but bright and quick. Though much pressure was brought to bear on him by his parents and the girl he says he loves, I do believe he is here for himself, with free will and the desire to learn. I’m told that he’s an adept hunter with keen tracking skills that equal the best, but he seems to have little knowledge of or respect for farming or the other gentler skills. In war games, he is said to have won most honors, and has been trained to the fullest ability of his village’s warriors — though, he has not yet been bloodied. He should be an apt pupil in the arts of defense.”

  “Hey, old man. Don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

  The Battai turned to the boy, with no attempt to disguise his fury. “Silence! Don’t shame me or yourself again with your insolence.”

  The boy glared, first at the Battai, then the old woman and, finally, at the new Allesha. But the Battai noticed how the younger one held the boy’s gaze and seemed to transform his anger into burning embarrassment, so that the words of contempt he would have spoken were caught in his throat.

  The young Allesha turned to the Battai. “Please continue.”