Curses and Warfare

by Jeri Baird

  At their laughter, the anger Zander had tamped down in his gut blasted through him. Moira had appointed him leader of the warriors and a bunch of women made fun of him? His sudden temper made Star panic and she bolted toward the women. Zander yanked Star to a stop just short of running over a young girl who tripped trying to get out of his way. Stars, his anger was so out of control he’d nearly run them over. When he saw the look of horror on Kaiya’s face, he turned Star and galloped past an astonished Greydon.

  What had he done? If he couldn’t control a well-broken bay, he didn’t deserve to be their leader. Maybe he’d give the mess back to Del.

  He raced into the stable with a lathered Star and brushed her down as quickly as he could. He needed out, away from the pressure that was always waiting, always reminding him he wasn’t good enough. Anger he’d ignored erupted and muddled his thoughts.

  As he ran from the stable, he almost bumped into Greydon leading in Lady. He couldn’t meet his friend’s eyes. “If you need me, I’ll be at the tavern.” He rushed out before Greydon could reply and jogged to the village. He didn’t know he was headed there until he’d said it, but it sounded like the perfect place to hide. One mug, he promised himself. Just enough to calm him and give him time to think.

  He stood inside the door to the tavern, letting his eyes adjust to the dark. He strode to a table in the corner, darker still, and ordered a pint from the young woman who showed at his table. Rose was her name, Bindi’s older sister by two years.

  When she set the mug in front of him, she bent over and whispered, “Tonight the mead’s on us.” She nodded at the giggling serving girls standing at the counter. “And any one of us would be glad to help you home when you’re done.”

  Zander felt a burn creep up his neck and onto his cheeks. But as he guzzled the drink and another replaced it, his shoulders relaxed, and he smiled at the girl who brought it. Midway through the third, someone scraped back a chair and sat opposite him. He glanced up and squinted.

  “Father?”

  His father took a long guzzle from his own mug. “I’ve been hearing good things about you.”

  He sat stunned. What could he have heard?

  “It was about time you beat up that no-good son of Terrec’s. All the villagers are talking about you finally acting like a man. Drinking with your men instead of hiding out on Warrin’s estate during the celebrations.”

  Zander dropped his head into his hands. “I nearly rode down a group of women this afternoon.”

  “Don’t go and ruin a good thing by being all pissy over it.” Father leaned in. “I heard what you did. Having people fear you is the mark of a good leader. Word’ll get around not to cross you. Them women were making fun of you. You can’t have that.”

  “I didn’t do it on purpose. I lost control of Star.”

  “You got their respect.”

  Zander looked up and his jaw dropped. “I act like a jerk and I get respect?”

  Father grinned. “That’s the way of it.” He tipped up his mug, emptied it, and called for two more. “You’ve been playing at being a warrior. It’s time to become one.”

  Just then, Greydon stepped through the door. He searched for Zander and, upon finding him, strode over, grabbing a mug on the way. “Those women were mad as hornets. I don’t think they’re coming back.”

  Zander clinked his mug against Greydon’s and then Father’s. “Here’s to being a jerk. It’s a hell of lot easier than being nice.”

  Together they downed their drinks in one long swallow and ordered another.

  Kaiya would never forgive him now.

  Chapter FORTY-ONE

  Alexa

  Alexa couldn’t believe Zander had nearly trampled the women. Greydon had tried to apologize after Zander galloped off, but the women were having none of it. Kaiya, in particular, had been livid. After Alexa promised to talk to him, she left for the bakery.

  Just outside Elder Rowan’s land, Dharien stood holding the reins to his horse at the side of the road.

  Startled, Alexa blurted, “What do you want?”

  “Can we talk?”

  He looked so unsure that, after a moment’s hesitation, Alexa nodded.

  “Zander came to apologize to the women. He was going to invite them back to training.”

  “He did a piss-poor job of it.”

  “Yeah, he did.” Dharien ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know what happened.”

  Silence stretched between them. She started to ask about Lash, but didn’t know if she wanted the truth. Her heart ached to believe Dharien had changed.

  “I just wanted you to know.” Dharien swung up on his bay. “Zander’s a good leader.” He urged the horse into the woods and trotted away.

  Huh. That was a surprise. As he disappeared into the trees, Alexa regretted not asking about Lash. She mulled over their short conversation the rest of the way home.

  Mother returned shortly after Alexa. What a surprise it had been to see her pick up a bow. She was pretty good with it, too. Upstairs in her room, Alexa listened to Mother’s high voice mixed with Father’s low one as Mother told him about Zander’s antics. Soon after, Father charged out of the house. Alexa wasn’t sorry he’d left. She wanted to talk to Mother alone.

  She shouldered the bag she’d packed that morning and slipped her arm through a basket of yarn. She glanced around the room she’d lived in for seventeen years. She’d spent most of those years wanting to be somewhere else. Now, the thought of leaving felt bittersweet. She’d move into Melina Odella’s cottage so she’d be there when the villagers needed potions or spells. Even if Melina Odella returned, Alexa would not come back to the bakery. Not to live. She took a deep breath and walked resolutely down the stairs to the kitchen.

  “Mother?”

  Bright eyes turned sad when Mother saw Alexa’s bag. “You’re leaving?”

  Alexa nodded. “Melina Odella has disappeared. I’m assuming her position.”

  Mother gasped. “As an equal with Father Chanse?”

  “Yes.” A shudder rolled through her. “I’m the only one who can.”

  Mother set her lips and began to gather rolls and loaves of bread from the front shelves—the ones meant for the elders’ families. The best. She layered them in a basket before she held it out to Alexa. “You’ll come home when you need more?”

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she rushed to hug Mother. “I know I’ve been a disappointment to you.”

  Gentle hands held Alexa’s cheeks. “Nonsense! I’m proud of you. I’ve known since you were small you’d never be a baker.”

  “What?” Alexa gasped.

  “When you were five, Tshilaba read my future. She said you were meant for more.” She wiped away a tear. “I thought if I ignored it, it wouldn’t be so; but in my heart, I knew it to be true.” She kissed Alexa’s forehead. “Go and fulfill your destiny, my daughter.”

  Alexa didn’t remember leaving or how she made it to the path leading to Melina Odella’s cottage, but when she stumbled through the back door, it was as if her life had truly begun. She felt power swirl around her and settle into her bones. She was the fortune-teller. Moira, her only teacher.

  After dropping her bags in the second bedroom—she couldn’t think of staying in Melina Odella’s—Alexa lit candles and wandered through the cottage. Melina Odella had taken many of the supplies, but some remained. She made a list of items to replace. Some she could buy at the market, some she would gather from the gulch.

  As dusk settled in the woods surrounding the cottage, a knock startled her. Alexa pulled open the heavy front door to find Merindah and Father Chanse waiting outside. Five elders trailed behind them, wearing tribal dress in their familial colors. She stood aside and watched open-mouthed as they solemnly entered and stood in a semicircle in the divining room. Their embroidered robes brushed the floor. The beaded
and feathered headdresses rose a foot above their heads.

  Merindah pulled her to stand in front. “It’s agreed. You’re to take Melina Odella’s place as Moira’s mouthpiece.”

  Elders Warrin, in purple and gold, and Rowan, in green and gold, joined Elder Aherna, in her black and silver, and Elder Nhara, in her silver and red, in nodding their agreement. Elder Terrec, in blue and red, gave her shudders as he looked her up and down, as if appraising her worth like she was a prize goat.

  Merindah continued. “This ceremony we do in secret. The ways of Moira are the ways of the night.”

  Father Chanse and Merindah moved to stand with the elders, leaving Alexa to stare into their solemn faces. She’d never felt so exposed and alone. A quiet settled over the room as they waited.

  A breeze rustled the silk panels that hung against the walls, and the sweet fragrance of frankincense filled the room. First as a shimmer, and then ghost-like, Moira appeared as the crone, withered and old. Her emerald eyes held each elder before she turned to Alexa. Alexa met her gaze and felt as though Moira’s scrutiny flayed open her soul.

  Moira held Alexa’s chin. “You are my Chosen. Young as you are, your power is ready. When you falter, as you surely will, you may call upon my help.”

  Alexa swallowed. “Melina Odella cursed me. Can you lift it?”

  Moira smiled, and it was as if the sun exploded into the room. “I could, but I shall not. It will be the first test of your powers. Break the binding, and then you’ll be strong enough for war.”

  As Moira faded, it seemed foolish, but Alexa felt bereft.

  “The will of Moira,” the elders chanted.

  Merindah hugged her and left with Father Chanse. As the elders filed out, the Queens and Kings of the cards appeared above their heads. The Queen of Cups, sensitive, but detached from the world, hovered over Elder Aherna. The upside down Queen of Wands flickered above Elder Nhara, signifying a hot temper and a tendency to controlling behavior. The King of Pentacles portrayed Elder Warrin as financially successful and strong minded. The family-oriented King of Cups shone on Elder Rowan.

  The last to leave, Elder Terrec, looked smug. An upside down King of Swords followed him—the cruel bully.

  Chapter FORTY-TWO

  Zephyr

  Every day of the past week, Zeph watched Zander head to the tavern after training and then stumble home with Greydon. And each morning, Zander woke bleary-eyed, but possessed. He pushed the men to exhaustion.

  Zeph didn’t much like him anymore. He’d lost the respect for Zander he’d given so easily. Zeph began to see no difference between Zander and Elder Terrec. Both thought of him as someone to use for their own gain.

  Yesterday, he’d gone to see Alexa at the bakery and found she’d moved out. Lark said she was living in Melina Odella’s cottage. He’d opened his heart to them and now neither Zander nor Alexa gave any thought to him. He wouldn’t let them hurt him again.

  He led Dorothy from her stall and headed to quester class at the Quinary. When he arrived, he was shocked to see Alexa standing with Father Chanse. He wanted to ignore her, but Dorothy had other ideas. The donkey headed straight to Alexa and nuzzled her shoulder.

  Alexa absentmindedly rubbed Dorothy’s nose. She looked up as if surprised to see him. “Zeph?”

  He felt his cheeks heat. “I’m in the class,” he mumbled.

  She took hold of Dorothy’s halter and led them both to the side. “Melina Odella has taken a break.”

  A black mist hovered over her. Why the lie?

  “She asked me to take her place.”

  Another lie.

  Alexa didn’t seem to notice that Zeph didn’t respond. She smoothed her hair. “I’m worried about Zander. I hear he’s been drinking every night.” She searched his eyes. “Is it true?”

  He nodded, but didn’t feel inclined to elaborate. Like Zander, she only used him for information. He thought back to the times he’d run messages for her. He’d been so desperate for a friend that he’d done everything she and Zander had asked. As soon as he quit, they’d both forget him. He meant nothing to them. Nothing.

  “Will you take him a message?” Alexa dug in her bag for paper.

  It took all his courage, but Zeph said, “No. You’ll have to take it yourself.” He tugged on Dorothy’s lead and joined the other questers. If felt good to say no—and it also felt awful.

  3

  After class, back at the stable, Zeph packed his few belongings. He’d avoided Geno and any more assassin lessons. If he left now he wouldn’t have to admit to Zander he didn’t have the mettle to kill. At the last moment, he grabbed the bow that Zander had given him and a quiver of arrows. It was too small for anyone else. He stepped outside and the scent of venison roasting on the outdoor spit made his stomach growl. He should have waited until after the noon meal. He’d miss the food.

  Dorothy meandered behind him. Although he headed toward his old house, Zeph wasn’t sure it was his destination. Mother didn’t seem to miss him. Luckily for Dorothy, there were plenty of dried grasses and green sprouts. She, at least, wouldn’t go hungry. Zeph couldn’t say for sure where he’d find food, but he’d spent most of his life with a growling stomach. He’d survive.

  The farther he walked along Elder Warrin’s estate, the slower his steps became. Zander and Alexa were the closest thing he’d had to feeling like he belonged to a family. The bow came from Zander. His questing clothes were a gift from Zander’s mother. He reached in his pocket and pulled out the embroidery Alexa had given him. Helios raced around the cloth. Zeph stifled a cry. He’d miss that war horse.

  He came to the fence that ran between Elder Warrin’s estate and Elder Terrec’s. Another fence separated the village land. Once he stepped off Elder Warrin’s land, Zeph knew he wouldn’t return. He stood for several minutes, undecided.

  Dorothy stuck her head in his back and pushed him forward. Not toward the village, but onto Elder Terrec’s land.

  Toward his father.

  Chapter FORTY-THREE

  Zander

  Zander rubbed at eyes gritty with lack of sleep. He wasn’t sure what time he and Greydon had stumbled home, but he was pretty sure the east sky was lightening. Shadow whined and shot out the door as soon as Zander opened it. He heard Fulk rattling around in the kitchen and winced. He remembered now that Fulk had said something about needing to talk when Zander had lurched into the stable. He sat up on the edge of the bed and dropped his aching head into his hands.

  Greydon had convinced Zander to give the men a day off for the May Day Festival. That’s why they’d stayed out so late. And something about a table full of women laughing at everything he said. He’d discovered he was a lot funnier when he was drunk. He rubbed the back of his neck. The women were fun, but they weren’t Kaiya. Bindi’s sister had told him Kaiya was furious with him. He had a feeling his time at the tavern had more to do with that than anything else he’d done.

  He groaned as his head pounded. He’d become the one thing he hated about Father—a drunk. Anger shot through his gut. He was seventeen. He deserved to act it. Moira asked too much. The elders should be the ones worried about protecting the village instead of a ragtag group of men barely past their quest. Guilt replaced the anger. Left up to the elders and Protectors, the Odwans wouldn’t get much of a fight. Puck’s Gulch was founded on peace. His resolve hardened, even as his head pounded. He stood, a bit unsteady. Might as well face Fulk and get it over with.

  He dragged himself into the kitchen and poured a mug of hot cider from the kettle sitting on the wood stove. Maybe it would clear his head. He sneaked a look at Fulk. The man looked thoughtful as he drank his own cider—spiced with a bit of cinnamon from the smell that drifted over. “You wanted to talk?”

  Fulk set his cup down and thrummed his fingers against the table. “Do you want to lead the warriors or be a drunk?”

 
The marshal never did mince words. Zander set his own cup on the table. He let down his guard and searched Fulk’s eyes. The only secret he held was personal, and Zander wished he hadn’t seen it. “Why can’t I do both? Do you have any complaints about how I’m training the men?”

  Fulk grunted. “You stay out all night and train hard all day. You may think you’re invincible, but trust me, you’re not.”

  Zander started to speak, but Fulk interrupted him. “I was young once. I know how it feels to have a pint of mead in your hand and women hanging on your every word. And if these were regular times, I’d be all for you being a young man with no worries.” He leaned in. “But it isn’t. I know you aren’t in any shape for this, but there’s something you need to see.” He scraped his chair back and rose.

  Zander’s stomach heaved as he followed Fulk down the hall to the tack room. The iron bolt was locked, and he had a bad feeling about whatever was behind the heavy door. When Fulk swung open the door, a man lay unmoving on the dirt floor, bound hand and foot, with a purple bruise across his forehead. Fulk strode in and pulled off a headscarf, revealing a shock of red. Zander had never seen the man, which meant one thing—he was an Odwan.

  “Caught him sniffing around the edges of the manor late last night. I’d have sent for you then, but figured you’d be useless.”

  He’d been drunk while a spy sneaked around the training grounds. He owed Fulk for many things, but this he couldn’t repay. “Did he speak?”

  Fulk grunted. “He hasn’t been awake since I hit him.”

  The man rolled to his side and groaned. When he opened his eyes, fear was quickly replaced with a sneer. “The boy warrior.”

  He recognized Zander, which meant he’d been watching for more than a night. Zander had a sudden memory of a man drinking in the corner of the tavern the past three nights. His gut had tried to warn him, but he hadn’t listened, distracted by the mead and women. He squatted down next to the man. “So, you know who I am. Who are you?”