by Erme Lander
The Lion of Ackbarr
Erme Lander
Copyright 2017 Erme Lander
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. For information, address the publisher at: [email protected]
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover image – http://redhoudinidesign.wordpress.com/
ISBN 978-1-9997453-3-2
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Epilogue
Chapter 1
The house was still and quiet with grief. Both her parents were tense, with new lines ageing their faces. No one would tell her what had happened, and question after question had been refused an answer. Her father’s patience cracked when she stormed and shouted her frustration and he snapped back in a whiplash demand for her to behave.
Unused to the discipline, she refused to calm and her father ordered her to be locked into her room, stating the time had come for her to behave like the lady she was supposed to be. Her younger brother and sisters watched big eyed from the corners as two of the servants with embarrassed faces did as they were ordered. Not believing it, she screamed and kicked at the door until she was exhausted.
Mika threw herself on the bed and wept. Her brother was gone. Her twin, the person she’d learned to walk with, read with, they’d learnt everything together. He’d taught her how to fight when her father had refused, had taught her how to read when it wasn’t fashionable for a woman to have any education except how to run a household. Taught her until finally, laughing, her father had given in and allowed her the same freedoms, the same tutors, running around in the same clothes until the only way anyone could tell them apart was by the length of her hair.
Kaylan had been supposed to lead them all when her father died. Encouraged, cosseted as the jewel of the family. Confident and outgoing, everyone had loved him. He’d been fifteen and full of an easy arrogance to go with their father to a city in a foreign country. So full of himself that she’d ended up filling his bed with kava flour. The yells that had ensued that night, she choked with remembered laughter through her tears. She’d been soundly scolded for wasting the servants time and he’d still spent the night wriggling, trying to escape the itch. Not so arrogant the morning after, he’d lost no time in dunking her in the horse trough. The guards had watched, amused and at last had yelled their encouragement as she’d fought to pull him in with her. Until her mother had arrived, tight lipped, and the guards had abruptly found other duties to do. She and Kaylan had hung their heads, both soaked to the skin, smiling sideways at each other through the telling off.
Now no one would say what had happened. She couldn’t believe he had died and the not knowing if he was dead or disappeared was horrendous. The shared looks between her parents, her mother’s closed eyes and face tight with pain. Mika stared at the moons, leaning against the frame of the open window, her eyes filling with tears. They blurred into a sea of silver and she buried her head in her arms.
Muffled talk from the garden roused her. Her father’s voice saying, “I tried, there was nothing I could do…” Sniffing, Mika leant further to peer around the deep walls of the window. The shutters frustrated her, partially closing off the view of the garden from the single storey house. She could just see her parents if she pulled all her weight onto her toes and leaned out.
“Even as Ambassador…” Her mother.
“We couldn’t tell anyone. We had no credible reason to stay to look…” Her father’s voice dropped lower, “...was there.”
Her mother froze. Mika couldn’t see her face, but she could she see how she stood, hunted and wary. “Did he see you?” Who were they talking about now?
“Of course he saw me. He’s attached himself to the King’s retinue.” Her father’s voice was bitter.
She leaned further, fascinated. The King? They must be talking about someone else in Ackbarr, someone they both knew. Ackbarr was many weeks travel away, over the mountains that surrounded Cassai. How would her mother know someone there? Her mother’s quieter voice was inaudible over the rustling of leaves.
“I couldn’t mention anything and he knows it. All he did was smirk.”
Mika could see her father’s shadow stretched thin in the clear night, his arms flung out in an impatient gesture, unlike his normal reserved self. She leaned further, trying not to be seen as she peered. The figures of her parents stood by the tiny stream, the indistinct shapes of the plants moving, blurring their black and silver outlines. Her mother’s head was bowed and as her father went to her, she shook him off. She walked away fast and out of sight. Mika watched her father stand in the moonlight for a while, then he seemed to sigh and followed her mother inside.
Her mother came into her room the next morning. Swathed in her usual restrictive clothing, she sorted quietly through Mika’s drawers. She selected suitable dresses for the day, then sat on her bed and stroked back Mika’s hair while she lay there. Mika stared at the ceiling, refusing to speak, her eyes still swollen from the previous night. Her mother waited until she finally looked her way.
“You need to get dressed.”
Tall, sandy hair, skin pale from being inside, her emotions contained like her clothing. Mika had heard stories about her youth. Head strong and stubborn, Ayanna still showed the occasional flash of temper when thwarted. At those times even her father gave way. Mika resembled her closely, the only difference being that her skin was tanned. She pulled herself up, looked at the clothes and groaned.
“Not today.”
“Yes today.” Her mother was firm. Mika knew that tone, no arguments. “We have a visitor.”
“And?”
“He has come to see you. It was arranged while your father was away.”
Mika sat up straight. First her brother gone and now this?
Her mother stood to leave, “You will do us credit Mika. You will not shame us. Nothing is firm yet, but it is a good match.”
That’s why her mother had come and not a servant. A servant could be side stepped, her mother could not be. Mika watched her go, shutting the door quietly behind her. Mika sighed and went to wash her face in the bowl left for her.
Mika entered her father’s private entertaining rooms at midday. The rooms weren’t familiar, she’d seldom had reason to enter them. It was a male room, everything functional yet still beautifully made. A few touches she recognised from her mother, the vase full of flowers from the garden, the slender hangings next to the door. To her surprise she spotted a piece of embroidery she’d done at a younger age, scowling her way through while wanting to be outside with Kaylan. The sun was shining out there now, despite her brother not being here. It should be raining, the skies weeping as she wanted to. She pulled herself back from imagining what mischief they’d be planning if he hadn’t disappeared.
She’d shortened her stride to accommodate her dresses, now correctly draped after several f
rustrating attempts, her hair pinned up under a stole. She paused by the door. Her father was expansively talking to another man by the fire. His gestures were wide, his face full of pride as he noticed her. The pain of yesterday had been put away for another time, not to be shared with strangers. A youth stood next to the man, hands behind his back, listening to the conversation.
They turned to look and dipped their heads in respect. Keeping her steps short, she demurely approached them, flicking her eyes up to look. The man was fat, thick lips, black curly hair, he sized her up like the trade deal she was. The younger man looked pleasant enough she supposed, a slimmer version of his father. She was struck by the differences between him and her brother. This youth was the same height as her. Her brother was taller, like both their parents. She corrected herself, was tall, had been tall.
“Mika, my daughter,” her father introduced her. “Mika, this is Mekhi and his son, Rylan.” He spoke in Mekhi’s language, his accent changed with the weight of different words. She understood him, she’d picked it up through Kaylan’s tutors quickly enough, although her own speech was a little more stilted.
She bent her head to them, wrapped in her soft blue stole, her long dresses a little darker. Sitting close by, she listened while her father talked and watched them. The man was a trader, dealing in rich fabrics. He showed them samples of his wares and she brushed her fingers across them when offered. They were far different from the sober colours she was used to. She could tell by the feel that the fabric her dress was made of was just as good, only less ostentatious.
Her father was also dressed simply, touches of silver thread gleamed at the collar and cuffs of his long tunic, trousers tucked into calf high boots, it suited him. His earring winked in the sunlight, little jewellery needed for show. The trader boasted about his contacts, his dealings with the overseas, far away from this little country. Her father listened, his face polite, he was an ambassador for this little country, well known for his own deals. Mika shifted, wondering why his son had been chosen, it was obvious that her father didn’t like Mekhi. Nothing showed in his face or mannerisms, but to someone who knew him well…
Her mother came in, servants following with trays. Small cakes, sweetmeats, herbal teas and a tiny teapot on a tripod with a candle underneath to keep the brew warm. Ayanna supervised the servants, artfully arranging the sweets closer to the trader. Delicate gestures endeared the visitors to her and the atmosphere warmed. No one would know she rarely left the estate as she engaged Rylan in conversation over affairs in his homeland. Mika saw a rare public flash of adoration over her father’s face, as he observed her while Mekhi had his snout in a cup.
Her mother sat the young man next to Mika. He had rings on his fingers and he fiddled with his embroidered cuffs. The fabric was stiff, pulled tight in places. Rylan sat as though expecting her to bite. A flash of rebellion was quelled by her mother’s presence before it started, but she couldn’t help wondering how much he’d squeal if she poked him. Her brother… she stopped herself, her brother wasn’t here. She imitated her mother, head bowed slightly, voice quiet when she was spoken to.
Mekhi announced from his chair, “I believe this will be a good match Koren.” He hadn’t asked his son she noticed or referred to her father by his title, she squashed the indignation down. “I will be leaving within a twelve night. I would like everything wrapped up by that point. Your daughter can then come home with us.”
Her father blinked in surprise, but kept his voice steady. “A twelve night? That is a little quick, people will talk.”
The trader shrugged, “People are already talking. The passes will close shortly, I would prefer to have the arrangements sorted this side of winter.”
For once, her father looked unsure, then nodded. “Yes.” Mika watched as they shook hands, sealing the deal, selling her. Her mother seemed as shocked as Mika, trapped within her own role. Her father and the two men walked out to his study to deal with the paperwork, leaving them together.
“Mother.”
Her mother’s lips thinned. “It is for the best.” Mika opened her mouth to protest. “No Mika. You can not understand. In twelve days time you will go with them. You will need to study how to behave, what they will expect. Their society is different from ours. You have had far more freedom than their daughters.”
Her head was spinning. She’d never been out of the country before. The furthest she’d travelled was five miles away to her closest friend, Alma. That was a long enough trek through the forests. She stood, chin up and icily refused to shout, pinning herself into the role they’d forced her into.
“May I leave the room?”
At her mother’s nod she stalked out, hindered by her skirts. Tight with her own upset, she couldn’t respond when she saw her mother’s face drop into her hands as she shut the door.
Chapter 2
The twelve days passed in a flurry of packing, of sorting out old clothes and standing for the fitting of the new. So far to travel and so little could be taken. Mika had to make hard choices over cherished possessions. Her life was being compacted into a tiny space, stuffed until she felt ready to burst.
Mika was lost in all the preparations, hurtling from one appointment to another. She barely had time to stand in front of a window, let alone go out into the sunlight. Her mother spoke while the dressmakers fiddled with the fabric draped over her, pins poking her as she flinched from their attentions. Her words became a lecture to Mika’s tired ears, speaking of how she should act and what was expected of her.
“They will expect you to be foreign, that does not mean you should shame us. Either in dress or in manners.” Her mother was firm. “You are an Ambassador’s daughter. Remember it.” Mika pulled a face, gazing out of the window at the blue green sky. Tiny clouds puffed past and she felt her body twitch in empathy.
Her mother pulled her thoughts back to the present. “Are you listening? You know there are problems between Ackbarr and Cassai, do not allow anyone to use them as an excuse.” Mika rolled her eyes, if there were problems then why was she being married off to this boy? The threat of war from Ackbarr had been looming for years.
“Mekhi is well-known and respected in Fenin, you should be safe there if anything happens. Listen to what they say and watch how to behave.” Her mother tugged at the plait she was weaving into Mika’s hair, twisting it up with the ribbon while the dressmaker fussed with the hem around her feet, muttering to her apprentice.
Mika breathed out gustily and switched off as she gazed outside. She ached for time alone, to ride, run and laugh. The dressmakers ignored her mother talking and pulled at Mika’s arms, murmuring requests to turn, to stand this way or that.
A knock at the door and Mika looked up, desperate for anything to distract her from the quiet lecture. She grinned in delight as her friend Alma stuck her head around the door and swayed, forgetting for a moment she wasn’t allowed off the stool.
Her mother sighed, slid in a pin to keep the plait in place and left them. Alma sat close by, making comments with admiring eyes. Mika felt exposed on the stool and was relieved when she was finally allowed to step down and take the dress off. The dressmakers fussed over folding it carefully as Mika changed into older clothes.
“Is that your wedding dress?”
“No.” She pulled Alma through the door into the corridor, escaping while she could. There’d be someone looking for her shortly. “That’s just one of the dresses I’m having made.” She pulled a face and imitated her mother, “I mustn’t shame us.” She tried to run her hands through her hair and started taking the plaits out in irritation.
“I thought you looked beautiful.”
Mika stopped fiddling and stared. Alma’s eyes were shining. “Alma, I’m marrying a boy I’ve met once. I’m leaving here and probably never coming back.”
“Yes,” Alma’s voice was breathy, “He wants to marry you and take you away with him, just like we’ve talked about. Just imagine, the places you’ll see. A different
country, you’ll be exotic there.”
This wasn’t right. Yes, they’d talked about eloping with boys. The usual romantic claptrap, but this was different, a trade deal. Alma was her best friend, her other friends had been friends with her brother as much as her. Running around with the children from the servants and estate workers, laughing and shouting in boisterous play. Alma had been the one to write to, share confidences with, now it looked like Mika was the one Alma was looking up to.
Mika checked around for servants. “Alma, I don’t want to go.” They stopped in the corridor, the daylight shaded as it came through the shutters in bars across the floor. “I don’t have a choice in this. It’s different to what we’ve spoken about. It’s real.” Tears started to rise.
Alma hugged her, “It’s okay, you’re probably nervous. I’d be in a dreadful state if it were me. Have you seen my new dress for the day? Come and see, it’s not as nice as yours...” Alma pulled her down the corridor and sighing, Mika let her, tugging at the plaits as they went.
Rylan came at various points to make polite conversation. Despite her fluency in his language, her accent gave him problems, leaving gaps in the conversation. A small gift would be delivered, a cool kiss on the cheek when he left, nothing more. She gave him an equally reserved response, not knowing how to handle this boy who was going to be her husband. The urge to poke him still had to be contained, now it was overlaid by the dread of leaving home.
The conversation was stilted, two strangers and they were never left alone to get to knew each other better. Mika wondered what it was that they could do, they were going to be married in less than two weeks. Her mother said it was for appearances sake. Mika thought it was more likely to make sure she behaved herself.