The Valley of Ten Crescents Series (Box Set: Books 1-3)

by Tristan J. Tarwater

  “I…I don’t.” He had to give some answer. “I don’t want to do it.” Dershik tried to sound brave but it didn’t matter. The next thing he knew he was on the floor, his head spinning as pain shot through his skull. The sound of footsteps barely registered in his brain as his father approached him, standing over him. Dershik looked up woozily, not able to keep his eyes focused.

  “It’s not about what you want,” his father growled, sounding more animal than man. “You are too young to make decisions like this. You are being stupid and selfish. You are going to do as I say. You are going to study and train, and in two year’s time, you will marry Jerila.” Now he had Dershik’s attention, the boy’s eyes wide as he stared at his father. “I’ve talked to her father. She’s moving into the keep so you can get to know her.”

  “No,” Dershik said, pushing himself up. He brought a hand to his head, still disoriented from the blow but unable to keep quiet. “Not her. Please.” He remembered how Ceric talked about Jerila after her visits and how they looked at each other. He remembered the kiss he had seen them exchange in the hall. “Ceric-”

  “Ceric’s going to become a priest,” his father spat. “He’s leaving in the summer for Whitfield. He’s already chosen.”

  “So Ceric gets a choice as to what he wants but I don’t?” Dershik shouted, too upset to care what happened. It wasn’t fair. “How does that work out?”

  “Ceric made the right decision.” His father started to walk away, heading for the door. “He knows you’ll get the seat. He could go into the clergy or try to find an industry in which to excel. We both know where his strengths lie. He’s an excellent student and having a brother in the Church would be beneficial to you, as you get older.” His father headed to the door and opened it, the light from the hall spilling into the room but leaving Dershik in the dark. “And,” his father added. “It’s about time you had your own room. Tomorrow I expect you to be upstairs.”

  “There’s a room on this floor,” Dershik suggested feebly, feeling he was being punished.

  “I know that. Upstairs.” His father turned to leave but looked at him once more, his eyes moving over the boy. “ Looks like you got something you wanted. Don’t bother coming back to the party.” His father left and let the door close with a thud, leaving Dershik alone in his room.

  He balled his fists and waited before he screamed in frustration, pushing the mattress off of his bed. It flopped to the floor noiselessly and he kicked his wooden box across the room, sending it skittering, splintering across the floor. The dagger fell out and slid across the stones, dull. Dershik stood up and scooped it, feeling the hilt in his hand. Without thinking he drove it into his mattress and stabbed, over and over again, feathers and wool bursting from the lashes. He stopped after a few breaths, seeing what he had done, and felt stupid. What had he done? Nothing. Just taken out his anger on something which wasn’t even alive. He punched the mattress and stood up, wiping the tears which had fallen from his eyes during his outburst.

  His head still ached but he ignored the pain as he went to his trunk and pulled out some clothes. Derk stripped and changed into his riding gear, fastening his cloak about his shoulders and leaving his new brooch on the tattered bed. He shoved some clothes into his pack and looked around for something without the house seal on them, something he could sell. He had already torn up the sheets, and those would be too large to travel with anyway.

  Dershik knew the clothes he wore would have the seal of his house on it, embroidered in yellow and blue somewhere. Even his boots would have the mark, under the fold where it wouldn’t be seen during normal wear. What about the books and scrolls? Dershik went to Ceric’s side of the room and flipped them open, unrolling them. All of them were marked, some with the seals of several houses as they had been passed from Barony to Barony.

  To Her Hems with this, he thought, throwing a few more clothes items into his bag and grabbing a pair of gloves, wrapping them around the newly obtained dagger. He was already sweating both from wearing too many clothes and his nervousness as the reality of what he was going to do sunk in. His hand against the door, he took a deep breath.

  The door pushed open from the other side and Dershik stepped back, fear clawing his throat. He thought it was his father about to find him in his current state. Instead a strawberry blond head popped in, dark blue eyes and a lantern lighting up the room. “Derry?” Ceric said, walking into the room. “Are you okay? Papa looked cross after he went to look for you.”

  “I’m leaving,” Dershik said, slinging his pack over one shoulder. He tried to make it sound as convincing as possible but his resolve was already faltering. The look Ceric gave him shattered it. Dershik shook his head. “There’s no use arguing. I can’t be the Baron.”

  Ceric burst into tears and rushed Dershik, hugging him tightly. He was fairly certain his brother was talking but he couldn’t understand what he was saying. His determination dissolved into shame as he felt his brother’s tears soak through his tunic to his skin. Dershik pried Ceric off of him, his head still hurting as he looked him over, trying to keep his remorse off his face. “Please, stop crying, Ceric. Ceric. Ceric!”

  “You can’t go!” Ceric managed. His face was all red now from crying and his eyelashes stuck to each other. “You can’t! If you go, I’ll have no one here. And you have to be the Baron. It’s your birthright!”

  “You’re not even going to be here after the spring, Ceric! Father’s sending you away to Whitfield!” The look on Ceric’s face told Dershik his brother already knew this. “You know about Whitfield already?”

  “Of course,” Ceric said, picking up the lantern. He wiped his face with his free hand, taking a deep breath. “I talked it over with the Sisters and Father. Whitfield would be the best place for me to study and be taken seriously. Not many men don grey robes.”

  So Cira knew and hadn’t told him. Dershik cocked his head to the side. “Did you, now? Did Father also tell you Jerila is moving to the keep?” Now Ceric’s eyes went wide and then he colored, biting his lip. “Did he tell you that? And I’m to take vows with her?” Now he got a reaction out of his brother he wanted. Surprise followed by disbelief.

  “It isn’t true,” Ceric said. It sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than anything else. “You don’t even like Jerila.”

  “I know I don’t but she’s…her father owns the largest mines in the Barony.”

  “So that’s why?” Ceric shouted, looking angrier than Dershik had ever seen him. “You want something from her family, so you’re going to marry her?”

  “I don’t want to marry her, Ceric!” he shouted over him, resisting the urge to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “I told Father! I know you like her! I saw you kissing at the party.” His face still hurt and shouting had made the pain worse. He walked over to Ceric’s bed and sat on the edge, setting his pack on the floor. His head was spinning and he felt like he might throw up. Even though it was dark in the room he still saw sparks out of the corner of his eyes. “I saw you.”

  “Are you okay?” Ceric finally asked, walking toward him with the lantern. Dershik blinked and shielded his eyes, turning away from its light as well as from his brother’s face. He didn’t want to see Ceric worried about him, or angry with him. It would make leaving harder.

  “I’m fine,” Dershik said. “Ceric, if I go then maybe you can be the Baron. And marry Jerila. What do you think?”

  “Father would look for you,” Ceric insisted. “You would never get away. And I can’t be the Baron. Father says I’m too timid. He says people won’t take me seriously as a leader and says I could never hold the seat. I want to be a priest.”

  “But what about Jerila?” Dershik asked, hoping the mention of the girl might steel his younger brother against his fears. Ceric looked down at the ground and shook his head.

  “I like Jerila but…I’m only a boy. We’re both young. She might just like me now. Sister Kiyla says young hearts often change.” His brothe
r looked sad. “She might grow to like you better. And well, there will be girls in Whitfield.” At this Ceric’s face brightened. Dershik was a little surprised to see his brother’s fondness for girls, given his age. His brother shrugged. “But please don’t go. Please.”

  Dershik sighed. He didn’t know what he should do now. He knew his brother was right. His father would try to find him. How long could he last out in the Valley by himself? How far would he get? And what would happen upon his return? His head throbbed.

  “If you go, I’ll tell on you right now.” Dershik looked up. His brother was trying to seem formidable but it just made Dershik tilt his head to the side and laugh.

  “I could just tie you up and gag you. It could be a whole watch before they come looking for you.” He offered the information to his brother and saw him gulp down his fear. Still, the boy stood there, steadfast in his resolve.

  “Well, they would come find me and I would tell them. So they’d know to go out and look for you straightaway instead of searching the grounds first.” Ceric nodded as he spoke, as if trying to reassure himself this was a good enough deterrent for his brother.

  “Look, why are we setting ourselves against each other?” Dershik mused, taking the lantern from his brother. “I’m not going.” Sighing he surveyed the bed and kicked the butchered remains of the mattress. “We’ve got enough problems without taking things out on each other.”

  “Why did you do that to your bed?” Ceric squawked, seeing it for the first time. “Where’re you going to sleep?”

  “Upstairs,” Dershik revealed, looking to his brother. Ceric’s head fell to his chest and Dershik indicated the lantern. “You mind if I take this?” Ceric shook his head and waited as Dershik gathered up his sheets and blankets, leaving the torn ones behind. He balled them up and slung his pack over his shoulders.

  “What about Jerila?” Ceric asked, following him to the door. Dershik shrugged and waited while Ceric pulled the door open, holding it for him.

  “I don’t know, Ceric. We’ll figure it out as it happens. I’ll see what I can do.” It was all he could say, in all honesty. Jerila hadn’t even moved in yet. They both walked up the stairs to the third floor, the guard looking at them strangely when they approached. “I’m moving my room, Garic,” Dershik answered his look.

  “In the middle of a party, sir?” The guard laughed, shaking his head. “Couldn’t wait till morning?”

  “No,” Dershik said, not wanting to continue the conversation. He walked past him, hearing Ceric mouth an apology to the guard and walked to one of the rooms he knew was empty. Dershik held the door open, shining the lantern in so Ceric could enter unafraid.

  It was a simple room, right above his old one. The difference was it had one bed and a library within it, as well as a writing desk. The room was dusty and he was sure not to note the cobwebs lest his brother run from the room. Double doors opened out onto a balcony and the full moon’s light shone through the colored glass.

  Dershik couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a room by himself. He had been sharing a room with Ceric ever since his brother had been weaned, and before Ceric, a servant had slept across from him, his mother and father in the next room. Now he had a room to himself. By himself. Even though Ceric was there, Dershik couldn’t help but feel lonely.

  “Are you all right?” Ceric asked. Dershik nodded quickly, trying to push his emotions from his face before he set the lantern down and busied himself with getting his bed ready.

  “I’m fine. Just tired and a bit dizzy. I think I danced too much.” He pulled his shirt off and folded it quickly, going to set it where his chest would normally be. It was still downstairs. He set it on the edge of the bed instead, knowing he would probably kick it off during the night. Dershik waved Ceric away. “I just need to sleep.”

  “Okay then,” Ceric said quietly, turning to leave but turning back. “Do you want me to leave the lantern?”

  “I’ll be fine. The moon’s full.” Dershik wasn’t afraid of the dark. “You go back and enjoy the party.”

  Before Dershik knew what was happening, Ceric set down the lantern and rushed him, embracing him again. Dershik held his brother to him, feeling tears come to his eyes. His brother finally let go and drew away from him and Dershik wiped his eyes quickly, not wanting his brother to see his tears. The door closed with a thud and he was alone in the room.

  A quiet scuffle in the corner made Dershik jump, but he realized it was probably only a mouse, his brain telling his heart to slow its pace. The light in the room was enough to see some of the details of the tapestries hanging on the wall, older in style but well maintained. The fireplace was clean and cold, but one night in a chilly room wouldn’t kill him. With a few quick movements the extra blankets were put on the bed and he slipped out of his clothes, setting them on top of his pack before he hopped into the bed.

  The sheets were icier than he had imagined they would be and so clean they scratched at his skin. The boy shivered beneath the sheets, trying to warm up and managing to do so after a few breaths. On the third floor he couldn’t tell a party was taking place in the keep. All he could see was the full moon shining through the window, the Goddess’ beautiful face glowing down with pride upon her children. Dershik crawled out of bed and found the dagger, feeling the coolness of the object as he wrapped his hand around it and looked at it once more.

  It was his. He would never give it up. His father had his ways of getting what he wanted, Dershik would make his own methods, his own way. His father had the sword, strapped to his waist. Even at the dance the Baron wore it, the hilt and scabbard done in their colors. Dershik had this dagger. He would have to keep it hidden, tucked away. He eased it under his pillow, feeling its shape under his head. What kind of path could a dagger cut? Could Dershik carve out something for himself and Ceric as well? He couldn’t keep from pulling out the dagger once more and look at his face reflected there. It wasn’t his father’s gaze looking back at him. It was his own.

  CHAPTER 3

  Born and Bred

  The servant screamed and stepped back, her eyes wide with fright as her shout echoed through the hall. It was followed by raucous laughter as Dershik stepped out from his hiding place to reveal himself to the other servants. The woman’s face grew red as the laughter of other servants soon followed. Dershik gave her a boyish grin, a grin which had endeared him to many of the servants of the household over the last four years. For all his tricks and sneaking, he proved he was harmless. Dershik had taken it upon himself to work alongside the smith, the baker, the field hand and many more, trying to gain an understanding of their crafts and callings. He listened to their suggestions and valued their input in interpreting the patterns and trends he saw in the carefully kept records. Dershik had kneaded bread and pumped bellows and planted seeds in the ground. It meant the servants forgave his obnoxious hobby of lurking about the house, hiding himself in spaces long forgotten and revealing himself in the most surprising manner possible.

  Dershik was still laughing when the servant woman grabbed him by the arm. “You ass-eared boy, hiding about, and Jerila’s been having labor pains since the start of the watch. We’ve been looking for you!” Dershik’s smile melted from his face and he pulled his arm from the servant’s grasp, running ahead of her.

  “My brother?” he asked, calling over his shoulder. He heard the servant shout Ceric was already there. Quickly Dershik ran through the keep, barely avoiding colliding with a pair of servants filling up the lamps. He shouted an apology behind him before he clipped up the stairs, throwing open the door and rushing into the room where other men were waiting. Dark blue eyes met his and Dershik ignored the other men in the room, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Is she all right?” He wanted to ask Ceric if he was all right but he couldn’t, not here in front of everyone.

  “As far as we can tell,” Ceric managed, looking paler than usual. He had reason to worry. It was his child Jerila was birthing in the women’s roo
m. Dershik was legally married to Jerila, as his father had commanded. He and Ceric’s hope his brother and Jerila’s love for each other would wane was for nothing. Jerila and Ceric had written to each other in letters while Ceric was at Whitfield. Dershik would never have Jerila’s heart and he was fine with it; he didn’t want it. When Ceric came back to the keep for Dershik’s wedding, he had been the one in the marriage bed. Dershik waited out on the balcony while the pair consummated their love.

  “She’ll be fine,” Dershik said. Jerila was strong. She had handled her pregnancy extremely well. Just yesterday they had gone horseback riding through the estate and she was frequently seen walking about the keep, helping her mother-in-law with her portion of the household duties. Ceric nodded, tears in his dark blue eyes as he went to sit down on one of the benches.

  The seal had already been placed over the door. The rope and a special knot tied in the rope to keep malevolent wishes or spirits from entering the room also hung there to keep the energy of the women within to aid the laboring mother. Sister Kiyla would be with her and Cira…Dershik tried not to think about her. She would be inside, her dark hair slipping out of its plait, her round, beautiful face encouraging Jerila as she did whatever it was mothers did. She and Dershik kept up their friendship, but after his brother told him Cira knew about Whitfield…there were enough secrets kept between them. They were close but not ‘skin to skin,’ not the best friends he had hoped.

  Everyone in the room stood and Dershik looked up, startled out of his own thoughts. Ceric pulled him up in time for them to rise as his father entered, dismissing the people’s formal stances with a nod of his head. “Any word?” his father asked. He was still wearing his riding clothes, gold and silver hair swept by the wind, his cloak fastened about his shoulders.