by Mark Angel
Tyna moved past the aperture, attracting the eyes of both men. Melok liked her well enough, but was not sure what to think about the relationship she seemed to be cultivating with his son. “It has no future,” he said to Rudanomi after she had left.
The teller nodded. “Rexriders go where their mounts lead them. Yours will hopefully remain here in Stonehaven, and so will your son.”
Now Melok nodded. “But if that isn’t the case, he will have little control over his future, one that will become impossible to predict.”
Rudanomi continued the rumination. “Tyna can take her chances and stay among the Stonehaven Pride, in hopes that a young bull from outside the pride will eventually depose Rayak-rex.”
Melok bristled at the teller’s suggestion. “Or she could lead her beast to virtually any other pride in the civilization.” Melok made no effort to hide his wish that Gar-rex would soon replace Rayak-rex as Stonehaven’s Prime Bull, assuring Tamik would be staying and almost certainly compelling Tyna to leave in order to find a suitable mate for her mount.
“Either way, they are bound to be torn apart,” Rudanomi concluded with Melok’s silent concurrence.
The conversation ended as Ruko and Pirlan scrambled gracelessly up the steps outside. The men could hear them land on the veranda hooting at one another. Melok, though he could not see them, envisioned both as a muddy mess.
***
Confirming Melok’s image of the state of the youths, Meera hollered from the eating room, “Don’t you boys dare step on my rugs with those filthy shoes!” Her voice echoed throughout the dwelling as she rushed to intercept them, saying, “Now get your shoes off. Go upstairs and get cleaned up and ready for the meal. Dress nice. We may have more guests coming.”
Pirlan was a pudgy youngster with nappy hair that his mother insisted on shearing at least once a pass. That thick crop contrasted sharply with his cheeks, round and rosy like pit-fruits. His sandals and feet were as dirty as Ruko’s shoes. Next to his companion, Ruko seemed tall and muscular. When he pulled off his dirty shoes, six toes were revealed on each foot, a telltale sign of his paternal lineage.
Meera grimaced at the tracks the widow’s son left on the floor as his now bare, but still very dirty feet padded into the house. She removed the children’s shoes from view and made a brief effort to sweep the muddy marks.
The duo clambered up the steps toward the upper reaches of the dwelling. Ruko whipped out his leg to try to trip his friend, and Pirlan tackled Ruko as they fell, landing with a thud at the top of the stairs.
“Quit all that racket,” Meera called after them. She looked up from the bottom of the stairs, hands on hips. First eyeing Ruko, she scolded, “Some guests have already arrived and your Zappa is resting.” Then she looked at Pirlan and in the same tone of voice asked, “Will your mother be joining us?”
The tangle of boyhood looked down at her. “No,” Ruko answered for his friend, sneezing forcefully before extricating himself from the jam and disappearing out of his mother’s view. Pirlan smiled innocuously at her, before getting up to follow.
Meera furrowed her brow. She disapproved of Pirlan’s mother’s evening escapades. Losing his father was difficult enough. It was said his death was the result of a sloggerbeast accident, but Meera had her doubts.
She put the thought away and retuned to her preparations. The next to arrive was Pako. He was quick to greet Meera, hang his cloak, and shuffle off to join the men in the salon before giving her a chance to assign him a duty.
***
Tyna gazed out the cookroom window, having slipped a long apron over herself. She was kneading fresh bread when she saw an attractive young woman approaching on the veranda. The muscles in her stomach tensed when the realization struck her that it must be the smuggler Tamik had escorted to see Rudanomi. He had mentioned the meeting to her in passing, but they had no chance to go into great detail.
Tyna considered herself strong and assertive, equally adept at putting on a cheerful façade or getting in the face of a boastful man, but she had her insecurities, loath as she was to admit them. Tamik had told her about giving the sword back to a smuggler relative of the one that was lost in the wilderness. And Meera implied that Tamik had struck up somewhat of a comradeship with the same smuggler. Tyna had envisioned a strapping young man or an old man or old woman or at least someone middle-aged.
This woman was anything but . . .
She wore a brown riding cape over a flower-patterned soft-skin chemise, a pale yellow skirt that just covered her knees and a vibrant green scarf. Raindrops glistened on her long, dark eyelashes, and plastered against her round forehead a lock of light red hair—rich-looking, but natural in color, unlike Tyna’s. The hint of cosmetic color highlighting her eyes and full lips resisted the onslaught of dampness, and her cheeks blushed rosy red, although that could have been from exertion.
Suddenly Tyna felt much older than she really was, and far too exposed.
Realizing she was staring, Tyna quickly moved away from the window. She slipped the flat herb bread that was rising into the stone oven, closing its insulated iron door snugly and adding hard coal to the firebox. Maybe it was not the smuggler after all, she considered, but her heart knew better. She suddenly started to consider various excuses she might use to take flight from this place. Then she adjusted the apron to cover herself more discreetly.
***
Through the mottled glass window in the middle of the front door, Meera saw the outline of her new guest.
“Tamik,” Meera called upstairs, her arms full of napkins, “will you check the door please?”
“In a minute,” Tamik called.
Meera continued to arrange the festive table dressings, putting each carefully-folded handcloth in its place. A few moments passed and she frowned slightly.
The bell on the doorsill jingled.
“Now, Tamik! I can’t just drop everything. It will set me back half an arc!”
Tamik appeared, a bit disheveled. He approached the door and swung it open. He stared at the young woman in front of him as if he were a half-wit.
“Hello . . . is this the . . . teller’s home?” the smuggler asked, obviously confused to be greeted by someone who looked like the guardian who had escorted her a few turns ago, but was now dressed like a rexrider.
“Uh . . . yeah,” Tamik mumbled, embarrassed by his appearance. He had no idea how she had come to be at their door, and though he wore his newest red rexrider’s tunic, the outfit was meant to be worn with the new set of riding leathers and sash he had yet to don. His discomfort at being bare-legged was amplified by his renewed attraction toward her, an attraction somehow enhanced by the wetness clinging to her face and cloak and, of course, her proximity. A sweetness undercut the earthy scent that had been prominent when he had last been near her. The total effect was very different from that Tyna had on him. He suddenly felt disoriented enough to believe someone must have slipped him a distillate of rednut. He had not stopped thinking about her since meeting her at the Guardian’s Lodge and escorting her to see Rudanomi. He had finally resolved to put her out of his mind and now she was back in front of his face.
The lithe, ginger-haired beauty smiled demurely, but Tamik could not help but feel she was holding back a laugh.
“My name is Jenay,” she said politely. “I believe I am expected.”
“Oh . . . yeah . . . I remember now, my sister’s special guest,” Tamik said, trying to sound in control of his wits. “Meera is expecting you.”
“So . . . may I come in?” she asked patiently. Her smile had broadened, and Tamik saw it was not entirely straight—something more to charm him.
“So . . . may I?” She was chuckling now. It jolted Tamik into the moment.
“Oh—sure,” he blustered. “Sorry. Can I take your cloak, or scarf, or something?”
He stepped back awkwardly to allow her over the threshold, managing to stub his toe on a door bench in the process. It took all his will not to cry out pr
ofanities, but he did spill a curse through his teeth and that was enough to engender laughter not only from the delicious presence in front of him, but from the cookroom, eatingroom, and salon. He shrunk inwardly and blushed outwardly and fought the urge to shout, “Why are you all looking at me?!”
Jenay removed her cloak with a small, unaffected flourish, and handed the wet garment to Tamik.
“It’s the smuggler from Riverford Station!” he announced.
Jenay’s hazel eyes widened, the green in them brought out by the color of her scarf.
“Have we met?”
“Sort of. . . I heard you speak at the Guardians’ Lodge . . . and . . . I escorted you to see the teller.”
Jenay’s hand went to her cheek and her mouth parted slightly. “So it was you. I hardly recognized you out of uniform . . . um . . . I mean dressed as a rexrider.” She giggled. “Well, mostly dressed. My father was greatly appreciative of getting my mother’s sword back. We can’t thank you enough.”
It occurred to Tamik that she might come forward to hug him, but that did not happen.
“After meeting you, I just thought it was right for you to have it,” he said, trying to hide his disappointment at her reserve. When he realized that he was still holding her dripping outer garment, he went to dispose of it near the other cloaks in the alcove behind the door.
That was when Meera finally arrived at the entranceway, a sample of unfolded napkins laid over her left forearm.
“Greetings Smuggler Jenay. My name is Meera, Tel-Rudanomi’s spouse. Thank you for coming to our home for Feast of Return.”
“It is such a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“We are glad to have you here with us," Meera said, pressing her nose firmly against the young woman’s, and then stepped back out of the entryway to make room for her guest to enter the reception area.
“I was so pleasantly surprised when the teller invited me,” Jenay said after the women separated, introducing a brief, awkward silence that left her gazing at Tamik who seemed to be stuck in the wet alcove. “Isn’t the rain propitious?” she added. “The skywatchers say it means we are bound to have a bounteous harvest next season.”
Meera looked in the direction of the southern sky. “If you ask me, it just made things messy.” The comment was dismissive, but she seemed to catch herself, and chuckled as if it were a joke. Then she continued with more reserve. “But if the skywatchers say so, then I suppose it must be true.” She exhaled.
Jenay sat on the bench to remove her shoe covers. From the alcove, Tamik’s gaze was fixed upon her. He had a tendency to be obsessive in some things like his sister, though he fought against his compulsions.
“The teller is in the salon,” Meera continued. “He’ll be glad to see you. And I see you have already met my brother, Tamik.” She looked directly at her brother and said, “You can go up and finish dressing now. Thank you for getting the door.”
He stood still, hands at his sides, captivated.
“Tamik!”
His head snapped back toward his sister.
“Please. Get dressed,” she said, musing at how her brother was going to handle an evening with two attractive women, both in whom he seemed to have an interest.
“Oh, right.” He shuffled away, glancing back at Jenay. “See you in a skip.”
“I’m certain you will,” Meera said to her brother, and then she extended her hand to the smuggler. Meera helped the young woman to her feet and led her out of the entryway.
“Please come in and be welcome.”
Meera showed Jenay to the eatingroom where they continued to converse as the hostess finished folding her napkins, handing them to her newly-arrived guest to place at the settings.
“My grandfather, D’joy, told me you were quite a rider,” Jenay offered.
“I have a good and loyal mount,” Meera replied humbly, “but as you can see, I won’t be riding for awhile.” Meera’s hand drifted over her tumescent belly.
Jenay reached to lightly touch Meera’s rounded midsection.
“You must be looking forward to holding your new child.”
“More than you could know.”
“Your parents must be excited to have another grandchild.”
“My father, yes.”
Meera paused, looking toward the salon to see if Melok was near. Seeing he was almost out of sight and sound, she added in a hushed voice, “My mother died birthing Tamik.”
Jenay’s face flushed crimson and she bowed her head. “I—I didn’t know.”
“Of course not, but it’s common enough knowledge in these parts. Tamik never even knew his mother.”
“How hard on you; to be sister and mother to Tamik.”
“Not an ideal situation, but we think he turned out alright.”
Jenay simply smiled.
***
The smell of food filled the dwelling: spicy sauces and snacks were already set on the table; a pot of broth suspended by a hook in the eatingroom fireplace swayed above the flames; and the aroma of baking bread now escaped from the cookroom’s stone oven beside which Tyna waited.
“Is that pure wormthread?” Tyna heard Meera ask, so she peeked through a crack in the boards of the cookroom door. She could see the hostess finger Jenay’s scarf appreciatively.
“It is, and one of my favorites.” Jenay slipped it off and presented it to Meera with both hands. “Please take it.”
“It is stunning, but it looks so good on you,” Meera said.
“It would make me so happy to know you wear it,” Jenay gently insisted, nimbly placing it around Meera’s neck. Meera continued to admire it as she showed her guest to a seat at the table.
Tyna could not help but respect the grace with which the young smuggler had performed the traditional offering to her hostess. The rexrider felt a tinge of remorse for not having brought anything special just for the hostess, even though she knew full well that her basket of herbs, and helping with meal preparations, more than fulfilled that optional obligation.
Rudanomi entered the eating room through the narrow arched passageway. Jenay stood up and greeted the teller officially, cupping her left hand over her right fist in front of her forehead and bowing deeply.
Rudanomi saluted her back. “Thank you for joining us.”
“It was kind of you to invite me, Tel-Rudanomi,” she replied.
“Please sit.” He said, taking his own chair at the head of the table. “And no need for formalities here. It’s a family meal.”
Tamik entered the room from the same archway with his father holding his arm firmly for support. Tamik was at last fully dressed, or even overdressed, in his new riding leathers, clean hip-boots and red tunic, tied neatly at the waist with a sturdy belt adorned with his grandfather’s sword and dagger.
“Have you met our father, Melok?” Meera asked.
Tamik's new riding leathers squeaked conspicuously as he helped the older rexrider to his seat.
Jenay remained standing and saluted Melok. “It is an honor to meet you, Rex-Melok.”
Melok nodded to her. “No need for titles with me, either,” he said with gruff politeness, running his words together slightly. The painpipe had done its work and the spirits had compounded the effect.
Pako entered a moment later after visiting the washroom. “Sounds like you have rodents,” he mumbled to Rodanomi as he passed by his chair.
“I beg your pardon?” Meera was not sure she had heard the old rexrider correctly, but if she had, she could not let the comment pass.
“I said, it sounds like you have an infestation of rodents with all this squeeking I hear,” he said in full, echoing voice, as he plummeted into his chair across from Melok.
Tamik’s leathers continued to make noise as he helped his father adjust his position at the table. He shot Pako a dirty look, and then slicked his hair back neatly with his hand, turning down the collar of his new tunic, a stiff piece of clothing that resisted his efforts. And the unseemly nois
es coming from his leathers became even more pronounced in the silence that followed as he struggled to exert a confidence he was no longer feeling.
“Jenay, aren’t you a bit young to be riding missions this far away from your home post?” Tamik asked. It was a crude question he realized after the words had escaped his mouth.
“She doesn’t look that young,” Meera said politely, touching the woman’s hand and casting a firm glance at her brother.
“No, he’s right,” Jenay replied. “Juniors usually don’t go into the wilderness alone, but my father is here with me. We rode together to bring the news of my mother’s loss to Grandfather. We decided to stay awhile and enjoy the distractions of the capital. We’ll leave for Riverford at dawn.”
A brief silence was broken by Ruko and Pirlan as they thundered down the stairs, obviously engaged in a race to get to the table. They galloped in and sidled up to chairs on either side of the smuggler.
“Pirlan, you were supposed to sit on the other side of Ruko,” Meera said determinedly.
“Aw, can’t I sit next to her, too?” He pointed directly at Jenay with his thumb.
Jenay giggled. Meera looked helpless, perhaps too tired to discipline someone else’s child.
“I’m thrilled to be flanked by two such handsome young men,” the smuggler said without hesitation. Her bright laughter absolutely enthralled Tamik.
Meera smiled wanly. “That one is called Pirlan. The other firebrand is my son, Ruko,”
“It is good to make your acquaintance,” Ruko said politely. Pirlan did not speak as his face was already full of table snacks. He just nodded with a semi-audible grunt.
“I’d ask, ‘shall we eat?’ but some of us have already begun,” Meera said with as much sharpness in her voice as she could muster. Pirlan chewed on, oblivious to the laughter at his expense.
“Well, I’d say the boy has his priorities straight—at least this time,“ Rudanomi chuckled. “Please. Let us begin. Welcome to our table. Welcome to our home.” His manner was engaging enough to make each guest feel they were his sole focus of attention.