by Aldus Baker
“Brighton is the overseer for production on the southern holdings and he’s a pleasure to work with. Norn, who is the northern overseer, can be difficult, but his daughter and I hit it off last year. She has been such a help dealing with him.”
“Then the difficulty must be with the Tenant’s Council?” asks Lady Shara with a hint of concern to her words and the edge of a smile on her lips.
“They do raise some perplexing issues. It’s amazing what problems people create for themselves. But, we only meet once a month and I actually enjoy it in a way. It helps me feel more in touch with the people working and living on our lands.” As she completes her thoughts, Darla notices the smile that has blossomed on her mother’s lips. “Wait a moment, you’re toying with me.”
“Not really, darling,” replies Shara with a tender tone. “I only gave you an opportunity to think more clearly about your objections. You can be so much like your father when you feel overwhelmed.” And now Lady Shara’s smile freshens even as a mist comes to her eyes. Even that look you are giving me echoes your father.
“You... You used to do this to father too,” says Darla as the memory puts a smile on her face and a laugh in her words. “Father told me once that he saw a lot of you in me. He said you always knew how to cool his hot words and warm his cold heart.” Darla sees her mother has started to cry and she feels her own tears begin even as they both laugh and embrace each other.
Shara speaks softly while holding her daughter close. “Anyone can give you reasons why you cannot do something. It is up to you to find the reasons why you can and the help of those who can tell you how.” Slowly the two women pull away from each other until they are holding hands. “I will not say this in front of anyone else. It is for you alone to hear. You are the strongest of my children. Your father and I discussed this many times. Although he was the first to say it, we both wanted you to be named lady. And...”, Shara falters for a moment and then regains control of her tears, “I cannot do this alone. Without you, House Yen will fall. Not soon, but as fast as the crows can tear us apart. With Hallis gone, they are already plotting ways to take advantage. This house is meant to pass into your hands. It should never have been so soon.” Again, Lady Shara pauses. She looks directly into Darla’s eyes and continues, “I am here to help you. I will always support you and work with you. There must never be any public divide between us. Come to me and we can debate and decide together. But, when House Yen speaks it will be with the voice of Lady Darla.”
“But mother, I am only 15,” says Darla.
“And, I am only 35 and already a widow,” says Shara. “When life serves the meal, we are obliged to eat it. Let us add our own spice and make each course as agreeable as we can.”
Chapter III
Two boys continue a debate as they walk toward the Yen Manor House. Jalan is taller and thinner than Tomac. Tomac, nine months older than his foster brother, is built wide and solid like his late father, Lord Hallis Yen.
“Mother won’t let anyone go near it,” Tomac says.
“Why not?” asks Jalan. “If she hates it so much why doesn’t she have it torn down? We could do it for her.”
“I don’t know. Mother doesn’t like to discuss it. You know that.” says Tomac.
“Well, I say tear the windmill down or fix it. Father died supervising the building of it. How does it honor his memory to let it set until it falls down?”
“It has been two years,” concedes Tomac. “We could bring it up with Darla. She must have talked to mother about it. Maybe she knows something mother hasn’t told us,” says Tomac.
“She always knows something mother hasn’t told us. Not that Darla will tell us either.”
The pair walk past the summer kitchen and their conversation stops long enough to examine the food being prepared for dinner. Mistress Dahlia is busy with baking and cutting vegetables. She shoos the boys away after letting each of them snatch a hard roll. Tomac and Jalan laugh and bow to her from a safe distance before entering the manor through the winter kitchen. The large room is dark. The hearth and ovens are cold. Various bowls and culinary implements sit upon two worktables, the only signs that Mistress Dahlia is working here as well. The boys know from experience that the cook has granted them their only concession prior to the evening meal. Interfering with her always turns out to be more trouble than it is worth and they move on without searching for additional stray morsels.
As they climb the back stairs to the second floor, Jalan asks, “Shouldn’t we look for Darla in the office?”
“She wasn’t expecting any visitors today. I’m sure she will be in her study. Vee said Darla is working on a special project and wants to be left alone. Her study is where she goes when she wants privacy.”
“Darla might not want to see us then,” says Jalan.
“Nobody ever wants to see us unless we’re in trouble,” says Tomac with a smirk. “We might as well bother her now as later.”
The boys swallow their last bites of roll and rap on Darla’s door. Their older sister opens the door after a few moments and frowns at them.
“I thought you two were helping Gref,” says Darla.
“We finished,” volunteers Jalan.
“Did you? Then tell me how you managed to stay so clean while you mucked out the stables?”
“Well, you see, Master Gref didn’t have us muck out the stables. He told us he didn’t need us and that we could run along.”
“Master Gref was in such fine spirits that he decided to muck the stables all by himself and let two boys have leave to roam freely about the estate?” asks Darla.
“After he tripped over the rake Jalan dropped, he told us we could leave,” offers Tomac.
“Hey! I didn’t drop that rake until you pushed me,” protests Jalan.
“Well, you stepped on my foot!”
“Boys...”, says Darla.
“Well, if you hadn’t hit me with that bucket I...”
“Boys! Stop it! I’m sure I’ll hear all about it from Master Gref later.”
Tomac stops glaring at Jalan as a look of concern flashed across his face. “That’s not what we came to talk to you about anyway.”
“No, I imagine not. Why don’t you tell me why you are both here and let me get back to work?”
Jalan and Tomac look at each other. Jalan feels sheepish and Tomac seems to be at a loss for words.
“Well,” says Darla, “are either of you going to tell me what this is about?”
Tomac prods Jalan with his elbow.
Jalan swallows and says, “I, that is we, were talking about the windmill.”
Although the estate has several windmills, Darla knows exactly to which one Jalan refers. Her expression darkens. “Didn’t mother tell you two to stay away from that windmill?” says Darla.
“Yes. And, we have,” says Tomac. “It’s just that Jalan was thinking and he wanted to ask you something.”
“It was your idea to talk to Darla. Why are you trying to put it all on me,” protests Jalan.
“I’m just giving you credit for your idea,” replies Tomac.
“My idea! All I said was that if mother hates the windmill so much then why doesn’t she tear it down? It wasn’t an idea. It was just a question. And you wanted to know why too!”
Darla raises her hands in a gesture indicating the boys should stop right there. When she sees she has their attention, she tells them to come in and sit down. They are surprised to be invited into her private sanctuary and before they can recover they find themselves seated in chairs facing their sister. Darla sits on the other side of large worktable that has a large book and several sheets of paper scattered across its surface.
“Jalan, tell me why you wish to tear down the windmill,” requests Darla.
Jalan looks down at his hands folded neatly in his lap before speaking. “I don’t really want to tear it down,” he confesses.
“Then what do you want to do with it?”
“I suppose I want to repa
ir it.”
“Mother has forbidden anyone to go near that windmill after what happened to father,” says Darla.
“I know that.”
“Then why do you wish to disobey her?”
“I don’t want to disobey mother. I just... Well, I mean...”
Jalan feels his discomfort radiating out like heat from a fire. He is uncertain about saying more.
“Yes, go on. It’s all right,” says Darla. Her words sound caring and concerned. “You aren’t in trouble and I’m not angry with you. I only want to understand. What do you really want to do?”
Jalan looks away from his sister and brother. He gazes at the wall for some time before the words begin to spill out of him. They come slowly at first and then with gathering speed.
“I know the timbers fell.” Jalan pauses. “I know that’s what killed father. And I know mother blames the windmill.” He turns his eyes back to Darla. “I watch mother. The way she looks at that windmill. She just stands there when she thinks no one is looking. She stares and stares as if looking will let her see father again. And, then she cries. When she thinks no one is watching, she cries. I don’t want mother to cry anymore. I don’t know why father had to die. I only know he did and I wanted so desperately for him to get up and hug mother and laugh or yell and chase me off because he was busy or anything, anything but die. Now mother watches that windmill and it takes something more from her every time she looks at it. That windmill has taken and taken. First it took father. Now it’s taking mother and I don’t want it to take her. I don’t want mother to die. And, if it’s that windmill that’s doing it, either the windmill needs to be destroyed or it needs to be finished. That windmill is the last thing father worked on. It needs to become something that gives instead of something that takes. That windmill has taken enough. If it was working it would be giving something. It would be the last gift father gave us.”
Darla sits in her chair and studies Jalan. He does not know what she is thinking, but he feels the weight of her gaze upon him.
“Go to Master Chander,” says Darla. “Tell him that I want a list of all the materials required to repair and finish the windmill. Be sure you understand everything on the list and how it will be used. You will oversee the work, Jalan.”
Darla’s words are a relief to Jalan and bolster his sense that repairing the windmill is the right thing to do. He worries a little about overseeing the work, but he worries more about what his mother will think. “What about mother? What will she say? We can’t do anything without telling her,” says Jalan.
“We won’t do anything without telling mother,” says Darla. “I will speak to her. Don’t worry. She will understand. You are not the only one that has seen our mother cry.”
Δ
Once she sees Tomac and Jalan out of her study, Darla considers what she will tell her mother, Lady Shara. It has been two years since her father died. Two years of deep grief for her mother. At first, Darla did not understand. Even now she only sees it from the outside. She lost her father. Her mother lost the love of a lifetime. Even wounded by loss, Lady Shara has done her best to stand behind Darla and support her as she struggles to lead House Yen. Darla knows she has grown stronger and more capable out of necessity and from the love her mother gives her. Lady Shara has the love of her children, but Darla can see it is not the same as what her mother and father shared with each other. Lady Shara drew great strength from Lord Hallis. When Lord Hallis died, Lady Shara gave over to Darla those things her mother’s strength could not handle alone.
It took time for Darla to realize that she could not be her father. That even attempting the comparison was unfair to both of them. Her father had made many good choices. But, trying to do everything exactly as Lord Hallis did it caused stagnation. Like her father, she learned to look at the present circumstances and not simply past precedent. Darla discovered that her father had often experimented with everything from what crops to plant to the methods for harvesting and the use of the harvest. It was very freeing to learn that her father did things without knowing how they would turn out. And, there were times he failed. That was the most shocking revaluation of all. You could try, and fail and simply try again.
Darla was much more comfortable and confident in her role as Lady Darla Yen after two years of hard work and the experience she gained. But even her greater confidence could be shaken by the largest of her responsibilities. It was one thing to test a new crop in one field and another to make a decision that affected every holding of House Yen. The large responsibilities could still leave Darla feeling small. And, one of the largest has just left her study. She remembers when Jalan arrived. Darla was seven. It was fall and the weather had turned cold. Her mother entered the manor with a bundle in her arms. Even then Darla new something significant was happening. She was ever curious and gathered with the rest of the children around her mother. Darla recalls the look on her oldest sister’s face. Guri knew what the bundle meant and looked surprised by it. Mother unwrapped the bundle and showed them a little baby even smaller than Tomac. Mother said his name was Jalan and he would be their new baby brother.
When Darla became Lady Darla, her mother said to encourage Jalan whenever he shows initiative. She said Jalan would be a leader one day and needs every experience that will help him become a great one. Darla knows Lady Shara was not thinking of anything like Jalan’s proposal to fix the windmill when she gave Darla those instructions. Jalan is right. Their mother broods. She watches the windmill and then hatches her grief anew. Her grieving stagnates the same way that House Yen stood still and lost vitality when Darla tried to do everything exactly as her father had. If the windmill changes into a working tool for the living, perhaps her mother will be able to let go of what the windmill was and accept the new life of what it becomes.
Jalan has shown her something. Darla has always thought of him as her little brother. Today she feels she has her first look at the man Jalan might become. He saw into the core of a problem that Darla had puzzled over. The windmill truly is a slowly decaying monument to their mother’s grief. Darla does not know if completing the structure will help, but bringing it out of stagnation, taking it beyond where her father was forced to leave it, is the right thing to do. It is what he would have done. Perhaps her father’s vision and Jalan’s love will transform the windmill into a beacon that can help guide her mother’s heart out of darkness.
Chapter IV
“Keep your guard up!” bellows Lieutenant Burk.
Jalan is hot, tired and slick with sweat. He raises his practice blade higher just as the lieutenant moves to slash at Jalan’s thigh. Jalan steps back with his right leg and sweeps the tip of his blade in a circle to intercept Lieutenant Burk’s attack.
Lieutenant Burk curves his slash upward toward Jalan’s head and Jalan is forced to twist his body and pull the hilt of his blade up in order to reposition his weapon and block the new attack.
At this point, Burk lifts his front foot and kicks Jalan, which sends the boy sprawling.
“Balance! What kind of stance was that? My grandmother could have taken you boy.”
Jalan raises his arm and reaches for the lieutenant’s offered hand. After the boy is back on his feet, Burk continues.
“If you are going to step back, step all the way back and plant that heel. Where does your power come from boy?”
“My heel,” says Jalan for what he is certain must be the thousandth time.
“And!” calls out the lieutenant.
“My hips,” responds Jalan.
“And don’t forget it. Ready to try again?”
Jalan learned early in his lessons that the lieutenant wouldn’t ask for another round if he believed Jalan was too exhausted to hold the practice blade. At first, that only took a few rounds of sparring. Now, Jalan could go 10 rounds of the sand glass. Lieutenant Burk claims the sand runs for 3 minutes, but Jalan is sure it is closer to 6. There are always the occasional breaks in the routine whenever Jalan has to pick hi
mself up off the ground. He tried taking his time getting up, but Burk only went at it harder when he thought Jalan was slacking off. It is easier to get up and spar then to nurse all the extra bruises Burk gives him.
Sparring is not the only method Burk uses to build Jalan’s stamina. After all, there was no laying-on for the first few months as Jalan worked on stance, strikes and blocks. Jalan runs every day and everywhere he is ordered to go. He climbs ropes too. At first he was allowed to use his legs. Now it is hands only and Burk makes him wear a sack strapped to his back with rocks in it.
Captain Erida teaches him about horses. The Captain calls it horsemanship. He says Jalan rides better than a plowboy. Jalan is sure that it is not a compliment. Still, the Captain seems satisfied with Jalan’s ability to care for a horse and it is a lot easier that sparring with Lieutenant Burk.
After the first year with the sword, the lieutenant started teaching Jalan to fight with short sword and knife. Jalan was surprised how similar knife fighting is to sword fighting, at least as far as target areas and slashing were concerned.
Once Burk felt Jalan attained a reasonable grasp of blade weapons, he had another lancer named Sedic start teaching him about slings and bows. Eventually, Sedic added throwing knives as well.
Captain Erida has Jalan drill with the lancers to learn how to fight while mounted. They use lances and sabers. But, Captain Erida makes Jalan train with a staff as well. He tells Jalan that horses fall and lances break, but a man has to be prepared to fight on.
Jalan enjoys all the training. He makes certain never to tell anyone that, not even Tomac. It is frightening to consider what Burk might come up with should he suspect Jalan is having fun. Still, he likes the physical and mental challenge and he doesn’t mind showing up Tomac when they go hunting. It isn’t obvious why he needs to know so much about weapons and horsemanship, or things about tactics that Captain Erida also teaches him. Perhaps they expect him to be a lancer someday. Jalan is too busy every day to worry about it. He is having fun and does not want to spoil it by asking too many questions. And, usually, the answers become obvious by the time Jalan needs to know them. Although, when the stranger arrives it might have been better to know some things ahead of time.