by TJ Muir
“Not like you, to make mistakes.” She looked down at him, hand on his shoulder. A little wrinkle had appeared between her eyes, a sure sign of worry.
“I’m fine, mum,” he said. “Really.”
But she didn’t look convinced. It was just the two of them, and he knew her little cues- the tightening of her mouth, or the slight frown of worry, the little tilt that said 'don't argue.' And he was sure she knew all of his, as well. Sometimes he wondered if she read his mind. Chad, and Fin had assured him it was just how parents were- it was their own special magic power.
The way she was looking at him he was sure she was going to press the issue. She kept trying to get him to talk about what happened. The fight. Even tucked away here at the inn, she had heard whispers. That Aldon boy took quite a thrashing. That Aldon boy would be laid up for a week. That boy was crippled for life. How rumors, and gossip spread. He couldn't help, but wonder why none of that did him any good when it was him getting the thrashing. Then it was 'oh, boys will be boys,' and the like. Although he did have to admit, some of the local shopkeepers seemed to give him sympathy when he got beat up. An extra piece of fruit for himself, or a candy added into the box. He wondered what they thought about him now?
“You know-” she began. Here it comes, he thought. But whatever she was about to say got interrupted by a voice at the door.
“Young Master in here?” a soft voice asked. Both their heads swiveled toward the sound in unison. They saw a man dressed in dark burgundy with green trim. Kirrin didn’t recognize the face, but he knew the colors. This was Hak'kar's man.
Kirrin scrambled out from under his mother's arm, eager for the escape. His enthusiasm was fueled by a surge of curiosity. All week-span he had wondered what was next for himself. He had no reason to expect anything- other than that cryptic comment from Kip ,and Duffy when they brought him home. The So'har had been impressed with Kirrin. He had no idea what that might mean. But he was just a boy, and Hak'kar was So'har- very powerful, and wealthy. What interest could there possibly be?
Had it not been for Kirrin's theft, the So'har would never have noticed him at all. Strange, how the gods worked. But he was sure the gods were up to something. And there, standing in the doorway was proof. Kip, and Duffy weren't just being kind when they said their goodbyes.
“Are you looking for me?” Kirrin asked, both hopeful and worried. Maybe it was a mistake.
“Young master Kirrin?”
Kirrin nodded, his heart pounding. “That's me. But I'm no master,” he admitted, as he stepped aside to invite the man into the kitchen's delivery area. The area was filled with boxes, and crates- potatoes, squash, bluefruit, and several bushels of apples. But there was still room for the two of them to stand.
“Can we offer you some tea?” his mother's voice came from inside the kitchen. “Kirrin, where are your manners? Bring this man in, and give him a bit of pie.” She cleared a place at the main prep table- a long oak block, with two high stools tucked underneath the end.
“Please come in,” Kirrin said, stepping back. The messenger looked uncertain. “Please. There's no arguing with her when she uses that tone.” Kirrin stepped backwards, waving his arm to invite the man to walk ahead of him.
The messenger smiled, and stepped forward. In that brief moment, Kirrin’s mother had already managed to put out a plate with fruit, and cheese on it, as well as a handful of tiny meat pastries. Also a cup of tea materialized before the man had even seated himself.
“Please, and thank you, Mistress. I really do not have time to dally.”
His words were met with 'the look.' “I'll hear no such thing.” She nodded toward the table.
This was definitely not her usual routine. Sometimes when it was wet, or cold, she would invite the delivery person in for a hot cup; but this was an exception. Kirrin realized it was because of who this man was, or rather who he represented. So his mother wanted to make sure she presented herself well- for whatever reasons she had.
His eyes went wide when he tasted the meat pastry, and he quickly helped himself to a second ,then a third; and the hot ginger tea, with Perrins's own honey, washed it down.
Kirrin sat patiently while the man ate, but the suspense was killing him. He took a slow breath, and counted to eight while he let it out-- repeating this several times. It was how he kept himself calm. He had learned to do this when he was hiding, or trying to make sure he waited long enough before moving. Now, he used it to keep from leaping on the poor man sitting across from him. He almost burst when he pushed the plate aside. But he had learned patience over the years, even if it was from a different source.
“Thank you very much, mistress. Truth, it was several hours, a full Nibbin, on the road, and it's a bit chilly today. But now I must deliver my message to the boy.” As he said this, he reached into a leather pouch, a satchel slung over his shoulder for easy travel. It was plain, but made out of good quality leather, and looked supple, with a soft sheen to it. Kirrin also noted the flap that fastened it shut carried the sole decoration. A hawk carrying a scroll of some sort clutched in its talons on a burgundy background. Kirrin could see lines for the feathers, and a dark sparkle in the bird's eye. The So'har's emblem.
But his fascination with a bird that looked like it wanted to fly off the satchel was momentary. The man pulled out a folded paper, good quality linen, not the normal hemp paper. It was sealed with wax on the back- again with the hawk symbol. Kirrin had never seen that before. All the mail he had ever seen was just folded into its envelope, or sometimes sealed with a drop of hot wax.
He felt his mother nearby, watching as he broke the seal. The handwriting flowed across the page in a neat script, bold, and commanding- very unlike his own strained practiced letters. Kirrin looked at the date, scrawled at the top. This message was written this morning, and here it was already. Private messenger, immediate.
3rd day of the Rain's Moon
It has come to my attention that you have comported yourself most commendable. The members of the staff also gave good report of your time in punishment. It is further noted that you have demonstrated a cleverness, and enthusiasm for learning.
We would offer an audience if the challenge presented can be solved.
So'Har, Hak'kar of House Charam
Kirrin felt the compliment, glowing inside as he read the praise. Then the rest of the letter made no sense at all. By the time he finished the brief message, his face was scrunched up in confusion. Challenge? What challenge? He looked at the unfolded paper, for signs of anything else that might be included. Another piece of paper perhaps, or even invisible or magical ink.
“This doesn't make sense,” he said, looking up. His mother reached over his shoulder, taking the paper from his hand to read it for herself.
Kirrin looked at the messenger, who was patiently nibbling on a pastry. The man smiled, dusting the sugar from his fingers. He then reached into his pouch again. This time he pulled out a square package, held easily in his two hands. He placed it on the table. A small box, wrapped in paper. He pushed it toward Kirrin, an invitation. A present? Excitement flooded through him. He never got presents, except on his birthday.
On the wrapping was another short message in the same handwriting as the letter. To find the way inside without breaking the box there would be an added reward. He looked over to his mother, who looked up from the letter that had her glowing. She had been reading it half-aloud, repeating to herself 'cleverness, and enthusiasm,' and 'most commendable,' and 'So'Har.' She looked at him, nodding very slightly toward the package.
Kirrin pulled the string that held the wrapping, he was extra careful not to tear the paper where the So'har had written the message. His mother reached down to take the cording before it ended up on the floor.
The three of them looked at the box, although the messenger had minimal interest in it. Once it was open, his message delivered, his job was done. He stood up, brushing away any remaining crumbs.
“I must take my leave
. The horse has been watered, and it is a long ride back to the estate,” he said, nodding.
Kirrin's mother handed the man a small wrapping. “For your ride,” she said, smiling. “Thanks to you, and to the So'har for taking an interest in my son. May the Dancing Moons light your path,” she said, offering a traditional western folk-blessing on the man.
Kirrin blushed when she said that, faintly embarrassed. Her foreign, and country ways. But the man smiled kindly, and nodded his head before he left.
Kirrin's attention was back on the box before he even heard the door close.
“Whatever is this all about?” his mother asked, staring at the box. Kirrin knew it was more than the box itself that was strange. It was the whole mystery challenge.
“I dunno,” he said, shrugging. The bigger mystery was pushed aside by the immediate puzzle in front of him- the one he could actually touch. He'd let his mother worry about the other stuff. He scratched his cheek absently as he studied the box.
It was finely crafted, better than anything he had ever seen, even at the inn, which had some very fine work. He couldn't tell what kind of wood it was, it had a deep plum colored look to it. Exotic? Or just stained to look that way? Kirrin peered closely at the grains of the wood. It didn't look like any wood he recognized, so he decided it was probably its natural color. And it was polished so finely it almost shimmered. Maybe it was magic wood, or a magic box?
It was finely carved, as well. All sorts of curves and swirls along the sides and edges. A cream colored band of wood ran along the top, carved with a landscape on it, a mountain ridge, and three moons, and a hawk flying across the sky.
On the front was a small lock. Kirrin tried it, but it was definitely locked. He looked in the package wrapper for the key, rustling it as he lifted it up to look underneath. Then he checked inside to see if maybe it was fastened to the paper itself. Nothing.
“It's locked,” he said, as though he needed to hear the words out loud.
“It seems that is your mystery challenge,” his mother said, with her worried-curious tone. It was the kind of tone she used when she would ask him 'What have you been up to?' when she knew she probably wouldn't like the answer. “Why would this man, this So'Har, want to see if you can open a box?” Her words said exactly what he was wondering.
“I don't know.” He turned slightly so he could see her ,and still examine the box.
“Did you do anything like this while you were doing your punishment?” she asked, a hint of challenge in her voice.
“No. Like I told you. I worked in the kitchens. Also sometimes I helped around the property, like with farm stuff.”
“And learned how to fight,” she said, almost an accusation.
“Yes,” he said, just inside the 'don't use that tone of voice with me,' tone. “Some of his men taught me how to defend myself. Like I told you.” He had tried to downplay that part of his time. Still she wasn't satisfied, and Kirrin guessed she wouldn't be until he shared every tiny detail with her. That wasn't going to happen, he had already decided. By the gods he didn't want her asking about Miral.
“Nothing about boxes?” she asked- her own attention still fixed on the mystery on the table.
“No boxes.”
“Not even strange challenges'?” she asked, continuing to poke, and prod.
“No.”
At this point, she began clearing the table, and pulled down a bundle of marjoram, and lemongrass hanging over the table in tidy inverted bouquets. Thank the stars, she was shifting into dinner-prep mode. Kirrin knew this wasn't the end of it. Still he took the advantage of the opportunity, gathered the box up, and escaped while her back was turned.
Kirrin headed for his favorite quiet spot, up in the hayloft above the barn. From below came the soft sounds of horses whuffing, and chewing, as well as the sound of chickens scratching,and squawking out in the yard. From above, came the soft sounds of pigeons cooing- they liked to perch under the eaves, and along the ridgepole when it was sunny. During the day it was quiet up in the loft, and years earlier he had salvaged wood to build a little indoor tree fort up in the rafters. Sunlight streamed in through a nearby window, so he could sit, while watching over the city, and even beyond. Mostly though, he watched the clouds, and daydreamed about ancient heroes, like Gilead - who was probably never afraid.
Now though, he was completely engrossed with his mystery challenge box. He lay on his belly, chin cupped in his hands as he stared at it. He turned it to stare at each side in turn, as well as the top, and bottom.
He tried to pry the lid open. It didn't budge. He tried to slip a bit of hay between, but the fit was near perfect, and nothing was going to slide between the box, and the lid. Next he took a look at the back, where finely crafted hinges held the two pieces together. Maybe he could unfasten the hinges,and sneak in through the back, he thought. But he wondered if that would be considered cheating. Kirrin wasn't sure if the So'har simply wanted to see if he was clever enough to get inside, so long as he didn't damage the box. That seemed to be the one rule- not to damage the box.
Hinges it was. He turned the box to get a closer look. He knew it wouldn't be hard for him to get hold of some tools to remove them. Easy. Then as he looked closely, he couldn't see how the hinges were fastened. He couldn't see screws,or nails, or any kind of fastener. He tried to pry his fingernail underneath the hinge, but it was almost like the hinge was part of the box itself. Okay. Not so easy.
Now, attention off the immediate problem, he picked the box up, and shook it, listening. A slight sense of something moving inside. A noise that sounded almost metallic, but muffled. Whatever might be in the box, he was never going to find out if he couldn’t figure out how to open the thing.
He spent the rest of the Nibbin trying all kinds of magic words, or words he thought might be magic. But either the box was just ordinary, or Kirrin needed something more, if it was going to open with a magic spell. Granted, Kirrin knew next to zero about magic, and had never learned any spells. But that didn't stop his imagination from trying all sorts of gibberish.
By the time the twin moons rose, he had exhausted his supply of ideas, and his energy. He lay in the hayloft staring at the rafters, until finally he heard his mother calling from the house. Time to go help with dinner, and cleanup. At least that would take his mind off of this for a while, he decided as he clambered down.
That night, he fell asleep with the box on the bed beside him, staring at his mystery. He woke in the morning, after a dreamless night. No nightmares. Nothing to wake him in the dark, shaking, and sweating. He had slept well on the estate, feeling safer every day, more than he had for a long time. He had worried on his first night home that the dreams would return. They hadn’t (or didn’t?) return.
Kirrin climbed out of bed, sitting upright on the edge for a while, and ran his fingers over the box. But nothing had come to him during the night. So, he washed up, and pulled his clothes on. They were a bit more snug than when he had left; he was going to need new clothes soon. Then he did his morning chores. He cleaned the barn, gathered eggs, fed the chickens, and the horses. Then he had to brush down the guests’ horses. Along with Perrin's team of work horses- that were good for hauling a wagon, but could also pull a carriage without looking drab. On his way in, he brought the cart, gathered herbs, and vegetables from the garden. He knew what his mother was going to cook, and that she would bring the extra to the grocer; to trade for things that didn't grow as easily in their area. Like northern apples which were crisper, and had more tang. He knew she liked those for making pies, and sauces better than the local apples. It was one of her 'secret ingredients.'
Chores done, he had most of the day to himself- except his studies. She was making up for his 'lost time,' by making him do extra work every day. He sat at the small prep table, where he read his civics book. “The Art and Practice of Citizenship”. Technically, it was his brother's book, all of them were. But Chad was off, working as an intern: personal assistant to the comman
der of the border patrols, and the books were handed down to Kirrin. And his mother made good use of them. Between his mother, and Perrin, he was thoroughly tutored, right up to his eyeballs. Now that he wasn't working as hard, and wasn't getting the same daily exercise workouts; he was starting to feel restless-- too much energy all pent up. He couldn't concentrate on civics, when the world was bursting out of his head.
His mother was busy rolling out pastry crusts at the big prep table. He stood up, the scrape of the chair legs breaking the quiet of the kitchen.
“I'm going for a walk,” he announced.
His mother looked at him, startled. He knew she had spent fourteen years worrying about her little boy, and worrying excessively for the last three years about her boy being targeted. She had watched how cautious, and home-based he had become once Chad, and Fin had left. So this was sudden, and very unexpected. They both knew she was careful not to send him out more than she had to, and only to send him places where they trusted he would remain safe. Even that hadn't always worked as his bruises, cuts, and a few small scars proved.