A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1

by J. Naomi Ay

  My brother shrugged and smiled, as if all the universe’s secrets were known to him, but he refused to share them with me, his elder sibling, as well as his lord and king.

  “Some mysteries, we are not meant to understand,” he replied, as the boy rose from his prayers and came to my brother’s side.

  I watched him as he walked, slowly and carefully across the chapel floor, grasping each pew with his hands as if to guide him.

  “Does he see?” I wondered aloud.

  “Does anyone?” the boy replied.

  “In theory, no. We are all blind as mice, searching through the dark,” my brother agreed.

  “You keep him,” I snapped, issuing a royal command. “You are well suited to each other. Let you discuss the secrets of the universe and the true meaning of our lives, while I shall go about the business of running this kingdom. Ronan, I proclaim Amyr as your ward and you, his guardian. Good luck to you and fare thee well.”

  I left the chapel to return to my little house, walking through the streets crowded with my people, who were anxious to see the boy, but who had no interest in viewing me, their true born king.

  My brother was exactly the person to take the boy under his wing, for the two of them were much alike. Ronan knew every word in the Holy Books and every other book he had ever read, while the boy seemed to know every word ever uttered by mankind.

  “Tut tut, King,” my serving woman said, as she put on her cloak and headed to my brother’s house. “You sound a bit like you are jealous of that poor sickly, but lovely little lad!” Then, she slammed the door and did not return to make my dinner. Or, any dinner after that. Or, my breakfast. Or, my lunch.

  I wasn’t jealous, was I? My crown and throne were safe and secure in my two hands. This boy had not come to take them from me, not this weak child.

  If he truly was the MaKennah, he would earn it in his own time and in a way that I was powerless to change. Probably, when that time came to pass, I would thank him and bless him for his efforts. I would gladly step aside. At least, I thought I would. I wasn’t petty and I wasn’t jealous. No, I wasn’t. I couldn’t be. Jealousy was a childish emotion, and I was not just a king, but a grown man.

  I told myself this, although in the back of my mind, wickedness still lurked. Each time the boy stumbled, in my soul, a seed of satisfaction sprouted a leaf. Each time a Village Chief gazed upon him, shaking his head and saying, ‘It cannot be,’ the leaf grew a tiny bud that quickly blossomed.

  The boy seemed to thrive under the care of my brother and my former serving woman. He grew tall, his muscles thickened, and his complexion glowed with health. After winter passed and the spring arrived, bringing with it warm nights and long, sunlit days, Ronan declared that Amyr was fit to train with the other boys.

  “With your permission, King-brother.” Ronan bowed, a bit of mockery upon his lips, for I knew he would do exactly as he pleased.

  “How can he?” I grumbled. “He is weak and he does not see.”

  “Our good mountain air and fresh food has cured him of his ailments. He has grown strong and he sees well enough. I will let him. It will be good.”

  What harm would there be to me if Amyr learned to ride a horse or carry a sword? Again, in the back of my mind, another tiny evil thought lurked. Perhaps, one of our boys would strike him down. Perhaps, one of our own would break his neck, eliminating the question of Amyr and his potential threat to my throne.

  Of course, Amyr was not killed during warrior training, or at any other time after that. He continued to grow until he was very nearly a man.

  When he was well into his teen years, he stood as tall as my brother and me. His appearance so resembled the both of us, that had I not known any better, I would have thought he was my brother’s son.

  “I could have said the same to you,” Ronan remarked one day, as we stood together at the fence in the village pasture. Amyr was practicing swordplay with a boy of his own age.

  Bear was nearly twice the size of him both in height and in girth. Like his father, the blacksmith, Bear was aptly named, for he resembled the large hairy creature which roamed the woods. Bear’s head was covered in thick black fur that seemed to bristle at the touch. His chest and back, arms and legs were similarly endowed. Even his voice was low and thick, sounding more like a growl than a man’s tongue.

  “I think you need to adopt him,” my brother continued as Amyr and his horse rushed at Bear.

  “Kari-fa!” Bear roared, swiping at Amyr from his left.

  “Bear? I don’t think the blacksmith would appreciate that.”

  “You know I speak of Amyr, King-brother. You need to declare him your own son and heir.”

  “Kari-fa!” Bear roared again, knocking Amyr from his horse.

  “Why?” I asked, as Amyr landed awkwardly in the mud. The MaKennah, the first MaKennah was an expert horseman. We all knew that. Surely, this was yet more proof that clumsy Amyr was not our savior after all.

  “The people want you to have an heir. They need to know who will be our next king.”

  “Not Amyr,” I began to say, watching as Bear reached out a hand and hefted Amyr back to his feet.

  “Brother,” Ronan continued. “We do not want a vacant throne for Marko Korelesk to steal. You need a prince, a strong prince to stand behind your back, else Korelesk will believe Karupatani belongs to him.”

  “Then, I would be better off adopting Bear, for he is clearly the stronger of those two.”

  “Kari-fa!” Bear screamed for the third time, just as Amyr pulled him from his horse.

  Clearly, I had spoken too soon. A moment later, it was Bear upon his back, his thick black hair covered in the mud, while Amyr had a knee pinned against the larger boy’s throat.

  “Amyr, let him go,” Ronan called, slipping across the fence.

  “Let him go,” I commanded, lest anyone forget that I was actually the king.

  I climbed across the fence as well, following my brother through the muddy field, while Bear made bearish noises begging for mercy.

  “Amyr, do you not hear me?” Ronan snapped, as he came upon the boys. “Do you not hear the words of King Rekah, your liege lord?”

  “I heard,” the boy replied, his tongue sharp as if laced with venom. Still, he did not move from Bear, who had ceased to struggle, lest Amyr cut off his breath. “You do not believe I am strong enough to take what is mine?” Then, he turned his odd colored eyes upon me, challenging me to deny the very words I had thought.

  “Let him up,” I ordered again, for I had conceived of a way for the boy to prove he was worthy of my crown.

  With the idea now sprouting like those evil seeds in my mind, I turned on heel and went home, knowing Ronan, like a lost dog, would dutifully follow.

  “If he is who you say he is, if you want me to take him as my heir, then he must prove himself worthy to the people of Karupatani.”

  “How?” My brother hurried to keep pace with me, for I was practically running, so excited was I to have thought of this new plan.

  “He will go to the Mishak continent. He will strike fear into the hearts of the people there and he will free our brothers who have been enslaved and bring them home.”

  Now, my brother stopped and pulled up short, his breath coming hard as he was unused to running.

  “Do you mean to send him alone?”

  At first, I had thought to, but on second thought, I decided not. Better the boy should learn how to command. Better he should earn the respect of his warriors.

  “He may take as many as will follow his lead. When he returns, if he returns, and if he brings at least twenty of our kinsman home, I will declare him the same as my true born son.”

  I left my brother upon my porch and went into my house, relying upon him to convey this plan to the boy. It was a good plan, I thought, for it would accomplish one of two things. It would either rescue our people and strike a blow for Karupatani, or it would rid me of Amyr altogether.

  Chapter 17

/>   Jan

  “Where is Dov?” Amyr asked, interrupting my counting.

  He had startled me, so much so, I couldn't recall whether I was on one hundred and twenty-eight or one hundred and thirty-nine.

  “Amyr!” I scolded with a voice laced with frustration, once again pushing all the coins into a single stack. “How long have you been standing there? I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “You were busy with your accounting,” he replied as if that would explain the silence of both door and bell.

  “You are a little sneak.”

  To this he didn’t respond, but rather stood blinking, trying his best to focus on my face. Today, in the dim light of Uncle’s shop, my cousin's eyes were dark like the clouds in the sky outside. Although I called him little, in his fifteenth year, Amyr towered over me, as he did most men in the village.

  “Is it Amyr?” Uncle called from the back room.

  “Yes, Uncle. Your prodigal son has returned. Fortunately, he seeks not us, but that monster, Dov.”

  “Ach, so bitter, Jan,” Pellen clucked, emerging with his arms outstretched. “Ignore her, my son. Her unhappiness stems from the inattention of that young fisherman, Torym.”

  Again, Amyr did not respond save the rapid blinking of his eyes. Even as Uncle rounded the counter and reached up to grasp him about the shoulders, Amyr stood as still as if he had been cast from stone.

  “How are you? Are you well? You look as strong as an ox and as sturdy as a ram. Each time I see you, you have grown yet another inch or two. Every day, I thank the Holy One for turning a once sickly child into this healthy young man.”

  “Thank you, Papa,” Amyr responded, leaning his head down so Uncle could kiss him on both cheeks. “I have come for Dov. Will you tell him we must begin our travels before nightfall?”

  “Of course. Of course, but tell me to where you will go?”

  Amyr named the village up river, the one that was home to the motherland’s king.

  “I must return,” he replied, his eyes shifting to the door.

  Uncle looked confused and I could see from his furrowed brow that he wished to ask exactly that which Amyr wouldn't tell. It pained my uncle to know so little of the son, whose life he cherished above all. However, he understood that Amyr’s place and purpose was not with us, but with those more important in our land.

  “Amyr,” Uncle called, just before my cousin disappeared once again. “Be watchful. Whatever it is you are doing, take care. Your head is most valuable when it is still attached to your body.”

  Amyr smiled and for a brief moment, he looked like the child we all loved. Then, his smiled faded and his face turned hard.

  “Do not fear for me, Papa. I shall only do what is necessary to be done. You keep yourself well and look after Jan, for she shall need your comfort.”

  I didn’t know what my cousin meant by that, for I was strong as an ox and healthy from good food and the clean, fresh Karupatani air. I was also extraordinarily happy as my thoughts were consumed by another boy.

  Torym was nineteen. He was pale with plain straight hair and a long plain face. From the first time I saw him, I thought Torym the most handsome man in all the motherland and a perfect match for tall, plain, nineteen year old me.

  Like my late-father and his, Torym was a fisherman, who each week set out upon the sea. The following, he would return with his holds full of fish. He caught large oily red ones and round fat white ones with enough meat to feed a family for several days. I marveled at these fish, so different from the tiny trout I had chased in the river, and I was awed by the fisherman with the strength to pull them into his boat.

  In the morning, before sunrise, on the pretense of walking for my health, I would rise from my cot and hurry to the docks to watch Torym. My heart sailed away with him, although Torym surely didn't know. Not once did he lift his hand in a wave, or cast a smile in my direction.

  At night, upon my cot, as I stared at the star-filled sky through our single dirty window, I imagined a life of fishing aboard Torym's boat, the two of us forever side by side. Exhausted, I would lay beside him and listen to his heart beating against my ear, a concert compared to Uncle's heavy snores from across the room.

  How Amyr came to know of this was only another of the mysteries locked deeply inside my cousin’s head. Even after all these years of living up river in the King’s Village, he knew what stirred my heart. What he did with this information, I never would forgive, despite how many years have passed since then.

  “Will you return?” Uncle asked, as Amyr stood, his hand paused upon the handle of the door.

  Amyr refused to answer, turning away, and dipping his head slightly as if in a bow.

  “Goodbye, cousin,” I called. “Godspeed. Be safe.”

  This time, the beribboned bell chimed as Amyr shut the door.

  “Godspeed, my son,” Uncle whispered, before turning back to me. “Well, Jan, how many coins have we collected today? Business has been brisk. The motherland is good to us. Are you not pleased that we are here?”

  That evening, before dusk, Uncle handed me a purse of coins and sent me to the market to purchase our meal.

  “Buy yourself a gift, Jan,” he insisted. “A pretty necklace or something decorative to wear in your hair. Bring me back a cake or another sweet treat. Tonight, I feel like celebrating our good fortune.”

  I was never one to turn down a sweet, or a celebration of any sort, so I was pleased to go shopping for our dessert. However, I demurred when it came to my gift. I didn't need such fine things. No amount of feathers, precious rocks, or shiny shells would improve my plain looks. Rather, I should like a new fishing pole, or a net that was woven from green flax.

  I wished Uncle goodbye and taking the purse, I walked the short distance to the village market, whereupon I spent the rest of the afternoon lazily browsing among the stalls.

  I found nothing of interest upon which to spend my coins, but, shortly before nightfall, as I made to return to Uncle’s home, I heard a commotion from behind the market, near the docks. Men were shouting at each other, their voices thick as if laced with drink.

  “Foolish drunks,” a woman clucked, waggling a finger and showing me a scarf. “Those fishermen are worse than the Mishaks. Lowlife's they are. A disgrace to our people. This would look very pretty around your neck. It is yours for only two coins.”

  “Thank you, no,” I replied, offended for Torym, who was a fisherman of upstanding character and good sense.

  I was curious though, a trait that had gotten me into trouble too many times before. Despite my better judgment, I headed toward the commotion instead of home. Torym might be there watching, as his boat had returned today. I imagined myself nonchalantly wandering to his side.

  “Ay yah,” I’d say with a heavy sigh. “Why do these men act like such fools?”

  Torym would respond with something smart and clever. He’d tell me how important it was for men to work instead of drink.

  “Lassitude,” he’d say, “will be the death of our people.”

  At this point, I would agree and remind him of my name. I’d tell him how we met once before in the bakery shop. I’d ask how large was his catch this day before telling him of my boat and my own adventures upon the river and how I crossed the great sea with a single sail.

  Torym would gaze at me then, recognizing my face and hair, seeing me now with a new found respect.

  “Ach, you are the woman,” he would say, “who crossed the ocean in that tiny boat. You are quite the sailor. I am humbled by your skill and very impressed.” As he smiled at me, his pale eyes would light with surprise, for he was realizing then what I had known all along. “Would you care to see my boat?”

  I would take his hand and walk with him to the docks. I wouldn't need his assistance to climb aboard, showing him instead how easily I scaled the nets. Strolling with him about the boat, I would imagine myself with all our sons and daughters about my skirts, casting their own poles, for fishing was in our
blood.

  Unfortunately, neither my dream nor this conversation ever came to pass. As I rounded the corner of the market, I discovered it was Torym who was making all the noise.

  “Take me with you!” Torym was shouting. “I am as good a warrior as any you have before you now. Please! I beg of you. Let me come.”

  To this, the crowd broke into peals of laughter.

  Near the village gates and mounted upon horseback was the Village Chief accompanied by my cousin, Amyr and little Dov. Four others made up their party, boys who must have come from the King’s village.

  “A fisherman,” a boy taunted. “He cannot hold a sword or swing it with our might.”

  “Your enemies shall be bigger than the salmon who runs from your net,” cried another.

  “Stay here, young Torym,” the Chief ordered. “Your skills are needed to feed this village. You may protect them here if the Mishaks invade our shores.”

  “No!” Torym begged, causing another wave of laughter to ripple about the crowd.

  My heart ached for my love, and I longed to stand by his side. I would tell the village of his strength for great muscles were needed to haul the fish. I opened mouth to do so, the words about to leave my lips, while the Chief and Amyr appeared to confer.

  “If you can prove yourself, Torym,” the Chief began to say. “We shall let you take a place in our party. Choose any one of these boys and best him however you might.”

  Now, the crowd gasped and tittered for among the boys it was clear that Dov was the smallest by good measure. Torym stood head and shoulders above my little friend and he was already a fully grown man with arms as thick as Dov's little neck.

  “Him!” Torym declared, pointing at the boy. “That little one is not fit to carry my sword.”

  Dov, who had always been foolhardy, slipped down from the back of his horse. With a broad smile upon his face, he approached Torym in the circle that had formed. Holding up his fists, he began to dance, winding about the fisherman as if he was a snake.