by James Somers
The man looked at her with one eyebrow cocked. “You two aren’t from Grandee. What are you doing here?” he asked.
“We’ve traveled very far and have no food or water, sir,” Elspeth said. She felt ashamed, but hunger and thirst forced her confession.
The man looked around. Other wagons drove by them in the street. For all of the commotion, very few people appeared interested in what had happened. “I suppose you want a handout-some of my hard earned money to line your pockets?”
Elspeth bowed her head. “No, sir. I wouldn’t ask you for money, but if you only had some water, I would be very grateful for your kindness.”
The man sighed and eased up on Ethan’s arm, but did not let go of him. “Can you cook, girl?”
Elspeth lifted her eyes. “Cook? Oh yes, I can-very well. My mother taught me.”
“And where are your parents?” he asked.
“Dead, sir.”
He stood silent, contemplating for a moment as the traffic broke around them. “I’ll make you a deal,” he said. “I’ll provide the food and you cook it. Then we’ll talk. Okay?”
Elspeth let go of the tension building inside her chest and exhaled. “Yes, sir, that would be wonderful. Thank you so much.”
The man let go of Ethan completely and the boy returned to her. “I’m Mr. Howinger. Get in the back of the wagon, and I’ll take you out to the farm.”
Elspeth smiled and did as instructed with haste. She helped Ethan into the wagon as Mr. Howinger climbed back onto his seat. When Elspeth was inside, he started the horses. “Giddy up!”
“Ethan, we’re going to have a home cooked meal,” she whispered excitedly. But Ethan glared at the man seated in front of them. “I don’t like him.”
“Shhh!” she hissed. “You’ll be good, if you want to eat.”
Ethan folded his arms and reclined against the side of the wagon. Elspeth smiled and gave him a wink. It drew a smile from him-she always could. “You’ll see,” Elspeth said. “Things are going to get better now.”
NINE YEARS LATER
Ethan woke to the sound of crashing dishes in the next room. He sat up in bed, listening to the voices of his sister, Elspeth, and their benefactor, Mr. Howinger beyond his door. “You call this a meal?” Mr. Howinger complained. “I’ve told you a thousand times, I like my eggs runny. You’d think, after all this time living on my farm, you could get it right.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Howinger,” Elspeth said.
“Why I ever agreed to take you two in is beyond me,” Mr. Howinger continued.
Ethan twisted the sheet around his fists, his knuckles turning white.
“We are grateful to you, Mr. Howinger,” Elspeth said. Ethan heard his sister start gathering broken pieces of dishware off the floor.
“Grateful? Ha! I’ve been putting up with your stale cooking and your brother’s laziness for nine years now-”
Laziness! Ethan fumed, but he remained in his room.
“-if only my Ethel was still alive,” Mr. Howinger moaned.
“I’m sure she was lovely,” Elspeth said. “You must have loved her very much.”
Ethan heard: a chair scoot across the floor, a cup hit the tabletop, boot steps, then the front door slamming.
As Ethan opened the door to his room, he saw part of Howinger’s breakfast lying on the wood floor and his sister trying to clean it up. The plate lay broken, and the cup tilted to one side on the table. Ethan noticed Mr. Howinger had barely left any of the food. Only the fragments of the dirty plate remained for her to clean.
Ethan knelt down in the floor with his sister. He began picking up some of the pieces of the shattered plate. “I wish he would just leave you alone,” Ethan said.
“I’m all right. Now don’t fuss over this mess. I’ll take care of it.” She took the pottery pieces from his hand and hurried to clean the rest of the mess up.
Ethan patted his sister on the back between her shoulders. Elspeth winced. Ethan withdrew his hand quickly. His anger kindled. He stood and marched toward the door with Elspeth on his heels. Ethan had hardly crossed the threshold before she caught him, pleading for him not to say anything. “I’m all right, Ethan.”
“All right? He’s whipped you! I’m putting a stop to this once and for all.”
“No!” she insisted. “We need a place to live. I’m not going to have you living on the streets. I promised Mother I would take care of you and that’s what I’ll do.” The look in her eyes made him back down.
“I’m sorry, Elspeth. I don’t want to upset you more,” Ethan said.
“Ethan, Mr. Howinger, is a good man at heart, only troubled.”
“You mean he troubles us,” Ethan spat.
“It’s better treatment than you would get from Mordred,” she whispered.
“Mordred doesn’t care about us.”
Elspeth stared into his eyes, searching them. “Have you forgotten our mother and father-the people of Salem? He wanted all of us dead for a reason.”
Ethan blinked, taken in the memory of a night long ago. He blinked, returning. “Sister, we must forget, or it will drive us mad. Mordred took the House of Nod and the whole kingdom with it. We’re of no consequence to him now, no matter why Salem was before.”
Elspeth caressed his cheek. “We must never forget.”
She turned and started back into the house to finish cleaning up the spill. “Ethan, go to your chores and don’t worry me with your temper. If you love me, then you’ll do what I say.”
He watched her go inside. Ethan breathed out his frustration, letting go of the anger. He started toward the horse barn. “I won’t forget, sister.”
Horace Howinger stood just behind the inside wall of his large, green barn. The door was open and he had heard the exchange between Ethan and his sister. Horace gripped the axe tightly in both hands, waiting to see if there would be a confrontation.
Horace listened as the girl talked Ethan out of a rage again. Relieved, his grip on the axe loosened. The girl went back inside while Ethan ran off to the animal stalls to do his chores. He knew the boy was too big now to deal with physically. Horace needed a way to get rid of him, but keep the girl. He wiped beads of sweat from his stubbly upper lip and set the axe aside. His hired hands would arrive soon from town. It was time to tend the day’s work.
ETHAN
Ethan walked into the horse stalls on the far end of Mr. Howinger’s horse pasture. He hoisted a one hundred pound bag of oats upon his shoulder and carried it to the area where he kept equipment and feedbags for the horses. He loaded each of twenty sacks with enough grain to satisfy his hungry equine diners, then he placed them all on a wooden cart in order to distribute them to Mr. Howinger’s beautiful horses.
Ethan fed the other horses then stopped at the stall of a beautiful brown stallion and placed a bag on his muzzle. He stroked the horse’s head and neck as it began chomping away at the oats. “How are you, Whistler?”
The horse inclined its head toward Ethan. “Don’t worry, boy, Horace won’t sell you if I have anything to say about it.”
Ethan stroked the sleek, muscular neck and shoulder. “Still, you should let him ride you when he wants to. Just because we’re friends doesn’t mean I’m the only one who can ride you.”
Whistler snuffed through his oats. “Well, you’re only going to make it worse on yourself. Howinger won’t listen to me. He told Elspeth I was lazy. Can you imagine? And me doing the work of three of his hired men for no pay, except for his constant fussing.”
Whistler shook his head and pulled away from Ethan’s hand. “Are you taking his side too?” Ethan said, stepping closer. “Elspeth told me to watch my temper. I only wish I could take her away from all this. If the militia does come to Grandee, then I can join. And you and I can ride into battle against Mordred and his Wraith Riders.” Ethan turned his back to the horse. “Or, if you’re still put out with me, I could take one of the others for my mount.”
The horse brushed Ethan’s shoulder. Et
han turned and patted Whistler again. “Don’t worry, I was only fooling. No other horse is half as magnificent as you are.” He walked away, then turned to wag a finger at the stallion. “I’ll see you later, but if I have to put up with Horace so do you.”
Ethan started the cart back toward the prep area. The sound of whinnying, outside of the horse barn, caught his attention. He wheeled the cart faster, then left it and ran to the barn door. Ethan saw several men from the town council approaching where Mr. Howinger stood, talking with some of his hired hands.
A field of green corn, nearly ready for harvesting, lay between Ethan and the men riding toward Mr. Howinger. Ethan slipped away from the horse barn and into the corn. He crept through the stalks, moving quickly, but trying not to disturb the tops. Neither Mr. Howinger nor his men seemed to take notice of Ethan, now that the riders had come near.
Horace removed a blue rag from his pocket and stopped digging the hole for his fencepost long enough to wipe the sweat from his brow. As the horses approached, one of Horace’s men asked, “Now who do you suppose this is riding in like they were going to the ball?”
“Tom Grandee, by the looks of him,” Horace said in a mocking tone. “He always was a snappy dresser.”
“Aye and his daddy and Grand-pappy too,” one of Horace’s field hands said.
“Watch it now, lads,” Horace warned. “Their family founded this fair town.”
His men chuckled under their breath as the riders came to a stop before them.
“Good morning, Howinger, how are you today,” Tom Grandee said.
“I would do fine if it weren’t for all of the taxes I have to pay to our illustrious Lord Mordred,” Horace said sharply. Mr. Howinger was dressed in common work clothes despite his wealth. Only his age and the dignified manner in which he carried himself would have hinted to anyone that he was anything more than a common laborer.
“That’s just the subject we came to discuss with you, Horace,” Tom said. He and his men wore colorful waistcoats with knee length breeches and hose. Their garments held gold buttons and shiny buckles sat atop their shoes. Horace sneered at their attire and their soft, uncalloused hands.
“What about it?” Horace asked.
“There’s a council meeting tonight. Some of the council members from Ridgeton and Baylon are going to be there as well.”
“Aren’t they organizing a militia to join Stephen?” Horace asked suspiciously.
“Aye, that they are and they’ve come to seek our allegiance to their cause,” Tom said. Adventure and intrigue sparkled in his eyes like a child with his first toy.
“You mean their rebellion, don’t you, Tom?”
Tom looked insulted by the comment. “Is it rebellion to side against tyranny?”
“That depends,” Horace said.
“On what, pray tell?”
“On whether you’re the tyrant, boy,” Horace said flatly. “Have you thought about the consequences of going up against the Wraith Riders, Tom?”
Tom and the four men with him looked uncomfortable now. Even their horses fidgeted beneath them.
“Mordred overthrew a more experienced man of war in our own King Wenceslas,” Horace warned. “How do you suppose King Stephen of Wayland will ever defeat him now that Mordred’s power has grown so much more over these nine years?”
Neither Tom nor the other men had any answers for Mr. Howinger’s questions. Finally, Tom Grandee managed to say, “You’re entitled to your opinions, old man, but don’t forget your obligation to be at the council meeting. You might be willing to bow to the Wraith Riders, but the majority of the people in this town are ready to live out from under Mordred’s yoke.”
“Oh, I’ll be there, whelp,” Horace spat. “Now get off of my land.”
Tom and the others turned their well-groomed horses, trotting back the way they had come.
“What do you think, Mr. Howinger? Will Grandee join King Stephen’s militia?” asked one of his men.
“Only if the council wants to get us all killed,” Horace said, watching the horses go. “Let’s get these posts dug. I want to finish before I’m forced to watch Tom Grandee use his family’s influence to turn this town upside down.”
Horace turned back to his work, grumbling under his breath about his misfortune at living in a town of fools.
Ethan watched and listened to the exchange from within the forest of green corn stalks. It appeared the militia might actually happen. Grandee would go to war alongside King Stephen of Wayland. Ethan smiled as he listened to Mr. Grandee’s comments.
I’ll avenge you, Father-both of you, he thought. Ethan watched the five young men ride away. I must go to that meeting. As Mr. Howinger’s hammer began to strike posts into the earth, Ethan backed out of the stalks, until only the bright green corn remained.
MANIPULATION UNAWARES
Ethan watched Horace Howinger eat his dinner quickly that evening. Normally he ate very slowly, but tonight he had unpleasant business to attend to in town. No one spoke at the table. Ethan fidgeted and didn’t eat much-bursting at the seams to ask about the militia, but knowing it would only set Horace off on a tirade.
When he had finished eating, Horace left the dirty dishes sitting in their place on the table and got up to leave. For once, he did not comment. Perhaps, Ethan wondered, Horace is so accepting of tyranny because he promotes it in his own house toward Elspeth and me.
Horace put on his coat and boots, then stepped toward the door. He glared at Ethan and Elspeth-not an uncommon occurrence-then opened the door and went out into the yard where Ethan had tied up one of the horses for him.
Dusk approached as Howinger set off for the council meeting. Ethan watched Mr. Howinger disappear down the road, then he helped Elspeth do the dishes and clean up the house a bit. All the while, Ethan counted down the time in his head. When it was almost dark, Ethan said, “I’ve left something undone in the barn.”
Elspeth gave him a suspicious look. She sat in a rocker, mending some of Mr. Howinger’s clothes with a needle and thread. “Ethan, won’t it keep until tomorrow? It’s getting late. You should get to bed soon.”
“You wouldn’t want me to get into trouble with ole Horace now would you? If I don’t finish my work, you know he’ll rant all day tomorrow over it.”
She thought about it for just a moment and then conceded. “Oh all right, but take a lantern with you. It’s nearly dark already.”
“Thank you, sister.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek before rushing out the door with his coat and one of the lanterns in hand.
When Ethan arrived at the barn, he went straight to the brown stallion’s stall. Whistler stirred-eager to run. Ethan looked back toward the house where Elspeth was still doing housework. “I hate to mislead her, boy,” he said, petting the horse’s muscular neck. “But I didn’t lie to Elspeth. I really did have something to do in the barn.”
Whistler snorted as Ethan mounted the saddle. “Well I did,” Ethan said. “Don’t you want to go into battle? Then we can all leave Howinger’s farm together: you, me, and Elspeth.”
Whistler bobbed his head with a whinny, and Ethan patted him again. “Then let’s get going. The meeting will start without us if we don’t hurry. I don’t want to miss anything.”
Horse and rider trotted through the stalls. The other horses acknowledged them with snorts and whinnies. They came to the open barn door. Ethan watched as the last rays of sunlight disappeared beyond the horizon. He goaded Whistler with his heels, and they sprang into the night.
Tumble-brush rolled along the ground, and clouds swept by the moon as though on parade. Ethan left Whistler tied up to a tree one hundred yards behind the council lodge. The building had better construction than most of the structures in town. Moreover, it had a large attic over the council chambers and an access door to the roof used for repair purposes.
Men, posted at the entrance, guarded the tan building, but Ethan avoided them by coming up behind the building. The branches of a sycamore tree
hung over the edge of the roof at one of the rear corners. Ethan ran silently from the darkness and leaped to grab the lowest sturdy branch. In a moment, he had climbed halfway up the tree.
Ethan balanced on the overhanging limb and dropped silently onto the corner of the rooftop. He hurried to the access door and entered the attic. For some reason, no one had ever thought to lock it.
Once he was inside, Ethan moved very slowly, hoping to avoid any creaking of floorboards that might alert someone to his presence. He heard voices. The meeting had already begun. The heated debate resounded clearly in the attic.
Ethan crept over to one of the circulation vents cut into the attic floor. The attic had small fans set with gears connected to larger fans on the roof. As the wind rotated the rooftop fans, the gear moved the attic fans to pull air through the vents.
Fortunately, this spot gave Ethan an excellent view of the entire council chamber twenty feet below. When he looked through the vent-slits, into the chamber beyond, Ethan saw a tall, commanding man with bright blonde hair and a suit of silver armor dominating the discussion. He and Mr. Howinger had already locked horns in debate.
“Mordred will squeeze your towns and villages dry if you continue to hold your allegiance for him,” the man said. Two men, with the same armor, stood on either side of him. They bore the crest of King Stephen of Wayland upon their breastplates-a purple silhouette of an eagle in flight, its talons extended for an unseen prey.
“That may be,” Horace said, “but what will he do if Grandee turns against him? Your army is in Wayland with your king, Captain Silvas. If Mordred attacked, it would be at least several weeks before you could come to our aid. None of these towns, you have been making turncoats of, has enough men in their militias to fight off Mordred’s Wraith Riders. You’re going to get them all killed before you even get your king’s army inside the borders of Nod.”