Olen put down his bread and looked at his son. “The kingdom needs what it needs. You don’t decide that any more than I do. And what it will soon need is all three of us, not just your mother and I. We aren’t going to be around forever, and when the time comes, I want you to be ready for it, which means you will return home soon. End of discussion.”
Remson stared through his father and stuffed buttered bread into his mouth. “I have my own lif-”
“We know that,” Melanie cut him off. “Surprisingly, we are not total dullards. We have had this talk time and time again. One day, you are going to have to grow up and run this place. We cannot do it for you.”
“But – ”
“There are no buts this time, Remmy. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but your father and I both want some time for ourselves one day as well. Is that so selfish?”
“Give me a while yet in the country,” Remson countered. “Three or four months. Time enough to wrap up my affairs, and then I’ll come home and play the dutiful son.”
Olen looked to Melanie, who gave a slight nod. “Fair enough. Two months it is.”
Remson crossed his arms over his chest. “Rumor on the street is that we’re going to start reinforcing our borders with Cao Fen. Anything I should know about or am I still outside the circle?”
Melanie pursed her lips. First the boy railed against the job and then he wanted nothing more than to be treated like he already had it.
“We’re considering it, yes,” said Olen.
“Why?”
Olen bit into a great pear, sticky juice dribbling down his chin, so Melanie answered, “When is the last time you attended service? Years? You really should go more often.”
“Mother, you know that bunch doesn’t impress me. A bunch of mysticism and ooing and ahhing to impress the crowds.”
“That’s not true,” said Melanie with some force. “And even if it is, it doesn’t make a difference. We need a strong relationship with the Cao Fen. They’re part of our society, regardless of how little respect you give them, and they hold a lot of sway over the people. Sooner or later, you’re going to have to deal with them.”
“All you’re doing is lecturing me, again. Why look to the Cao Fen? Since when have they had any interest at heart but their own?”
“Very rarely,” Olen admitted.
“But,” Melanie said, “this time, the Cao Fen’s interest coincides with our own. Yes, they might be a separate entity from the state, but that by no means promises its survival if we were to be overrun by others from outside our borders. In this case, the Cao Fen and the crown must act together as one, for the benefit of all.”
“Maybe. I guess the people seem pretty happy about the idea,” Remson said.
Privately, Melanie knew differently. People loved God; therefore, they loved the Cao Fen, but oftentimes the two couldn’t be further apart. And not that she’d ever tell Remson – his ego didn’t need the boost – but Olen had harbored identical doubts when it came to the Cao Fen. Melanie had pushed and prodded him for months on the subject, and only recently had he caved, deciding that their best chance of defense did, in fact, rest with the Cao Fen.
“I have some business to take care of and then a few other odds and ends to wrap up, but I should be back within the two months.” Remson stood, and his parents followed. He maneuvered around the cumbersome table, grasped his father by the forearm, and pulled him close.
“See you soon,” he whispered, to which Olen only grunted, though Melanie saw him wipe his face when Remson turned. Old softy, Melanie thought.
He lifted Melanie off the ground. “Love you, Mother.”
“Love you, too,” she said. “Be safe.”
“Will do. One last adventure.” He walked toward the path that led from the garden, hand raised behind him. “See you soon!”
Olen pulled Melanie close and she heard him say, “See you soon.” She peered at him from the corner of her eye. They had both ruled long and well, but the coming storm could leave them with more than just injured pride if they didn’t handle it properly.
“Let’s finish our lunch, shall we? The kingdom will still be there when we return.”
“Very well,” Olen said. He smiled at her. “Very well.”
Crymson
“Just like I remembered,” said Crymson between bites of warm bread, dipped in the spicy tomato bisque.
“I ‘ppreciate it, my dear,” Marla said. “Reminds me of the days where you was runnin’ ‘round here, carefree as a lamb and stubborner than a billy goat.”
“Probably still have him beat.” Crymson smiled.
“Yeah, that seems ‘bout right. Anyway, I best see ta those youngsters of ours.” Marla patted the top of Beatty’s shoulder and disappeared into the back room, shouting the names of her brood.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. “Thank you,” Crymson said.
“Hmm?” Beatty leaned back in his chair, a careworn, chestnut-colored pipe in his mouth, emitting enough smoke to cloud the entire kitchen.
“For being there. I can’t say that about too many people in my life.”
Smoke curled from Beatty’s mouth, forming an O and drifting toward the ceiling. “Who can? That’s why those of us in the know understand it’s best ta have a small circle, one we can trust n’ depend on, n’ even then it’s iffy.”
“You’re right; I just can’t help but think what I’d be like if you hadn’t taken me in all those years ago.”
“Helluva a lot less talkative, that’s fir sure.” Beatty winked at her through the haze of grey clouding the room.
“You talk more than I do!”
“I have wiser things ta say.”
They laughed. In the background, Marla yelled, “Boys better get over ‘ere ‘fore I beat ya’ both striped.” A pause. “No I ain’t pissin’ ‘round. Ya’ best believe I mean it!”
Crymson let loose a low sigh. “Why’d you choose the Cao Fen for me? It’s not like we’ve ever been that pious.”
“Wasn’t much of a choice, ta be honest. I wanted ya’ to have somethin’ more n’ what we’ve got ‘ere, n’ that was the best opportunity I could find. Not that we have a bad life or anything, but sometimes people are meant for greater things, n’ you’re one of ‘em.”
“You’re not just saying that?”
Beatty breathed another smoke ring into the air and then set the pipe down, its embers glowing brightly in the darkened room. “Seems to me, that’d be the best way ta mess you up right good, lyin’ to you like that.”
“I don’t know. Isn’t part of you disappointed to see where I’ve ended up?”
“Only if ya’ think this is really the end. What are ya’, twenty-nine? You’ve just taken your first steps on a big ole’ road. A setback here n’ there isn’t anything to hang your head over. It just means that ya’ get back up n’ keep fightin’. Pretty soon you’ll be past it. This place you’re at now in life, wherever it is, that isn’t the end. That’s only where ya’ stop up fir good if ya’ let it be.”
“It’s not so easy as to keep fighting though, Beatty. I’ll fight as hard as I can, but at the end of the day, it won’t make a difference. The Cao Fen aren’t like other organizations.”
“It matter? Life is life, no matter how ya’ look at it. Same principles apply, don’t care who or where ya’ are. Giving up isn’t the girl I raised, and ya’ damn well know it.” A rough edge crept into the last of his words.
“I haven’t given up!” Crymson let her bowl clatter onto the table. “But just because I’m pushing forward doesn’t mean everything is going to work out for me. I may not go beyond this, maybe this is where I end up. Maybe this is where I’m supposed to be!”
“Who cares? Look. Ya’ know where ya’ wanna be in life. The only thing left ta do is go out there n’ seize it by the throat. Either you succeed, or you fail, but at least it’s what ya’ chose to do, not a decision forced on ya’ by another.”
Crymson looked him in the eye, th
e first time since they’d begun the conversation. “Why does my choice matter? It’s all about the end result – whether the power is acquired by my own means or given to me, it makes no difference.”
“Why worry ‘bout that? Power isn’t just commandin’ troops n’ grabbin’ innocent taxes. Power is bein’ able ta do the things you want ta do, choose the things you want ta choose. Choice is power. I taught ya’ independence, how to be your own person, and if you’re making choices ya’ never wanted to make, doing things ya’ never wanted to do, then I went wrong somewhere.”
“Look.” Beatty squared his shoulders toward her. “End of the day, I don’t care about how many people listen to ya’, or who calls your name in the streets. Ya’ think those people are free to make their own choices? They bow to their superiors, n’ if not them, then to the townspeople they serve; it’s a vicious cycle. To me, that ain’t power. As long as you’re doing what Crymson Medora wants ta do, then ya’ have all the power ya’ need, and I’ll never be disappointed in ya’ for that.”
“Promise?”
He nodded. They looked at each other across the table, and Beatty put his hand on her shoulder. “Be the person ya’ want to be, lassie. That’s the best most of us can ask fir in this sometimes rotten world. Everything else’ll fall into place.”
A few moments of silence. “I said don’t go in there!” Marla ran into the kitchen after the boys.
“Who’re you?” asked the one in front, his hair plastered to his forehead. The second, possessed of a long, thin face, took a step back, straight into Marla.
“Come ‘ere, son.” Beatty scooped the wet-haired boy to his chest. “I ever told ya’ ‘bout my favorite daughter?”
“Thought ya’ said we was your favorites?”
“Oh, so now ya’ a girl, are ya’? Why didn’t ya’ tell me? Guess I need ta go buy ya’ a pretty dress.”
“I ain’t no girl! And I don’t need no dress. ‘Sides, you can’t have no more n’ one favorite. That’s how it works.”
“Well, I’ve only one daughter in my life, so she’s gotta be my favorite, right?”
“I guess.” The wet-haired boy leveled a suspicious stare at her.
“I’m Crymson.” She stuck her hand out.
He shook it, his palm small in hers. “I’m Harry. Ya’ talk funny.”
“That’s because other people made me learn to talk funny,” Crymson said. “You can blame that on Beatty.”
“You’re not goin’ ta make me learn to talk funny, are ya’?” The wet-haired boy looked to Beatty.
“Ya’ gotta learn something one uh these days, don’t ya’? Can’t live with me forever.” Beatty set Harry down and patted him on his bottom. “Now follow your mum to bed. I’ve gotta take care of some things.”
“K’,” the wet-haired boy said. He looked at Crymson. “Ya’ goin’ ta be visitin’ more?”
“I hope so, Harry. With your permission, of course.”
Harry nodded. “Suppose that’s alright with me. Race ya’ to bed, Cam!” The two boys sprinted out. Marla stopped at the door. “Sorry ‘bout that, dear. G’night.”
“Cute,” Crymson said.
“They’re alright, I suppose. Ya’ was ‘bout the same at that age. Little more world-wise, maybe.”
“Could’ve been worse.” She smoothed her dress. “I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Beatty took it in stride, crossing his legs and again leaning back in his chair. “Where to?”
“Tabernack. I’ll be back in a couple of months, if at all.”
“Goin’ ta tell me why?”
“It’d probably be safer if you didn’t know.”
Beatty nodded. “You’ll be back.”
“I hope so.”
“No, ya’ will.” He got up. “Come on. Ya’ best help me wash these dishes or Marla’ll have our skins.”
Crymson interlaced her hand in his and squeezed. Tomorrow would come early.
And it did. Brilliant flashes of red and orange streaked the sky. The early morning’s darkness had left her eyes attuned to the finest detail, so Crymson could pick out subtler colors as well, like hints of violet, intermixed with a hesitant blue, almost the same color as the shirt that Beatty had donned before she’d hugged him goodbye. She stifled a yawn. Dawn in the big city had ceased to impress her long ago, especially since the sun didn’t battle its way over Dradenhurst’s tall merchant shops and supercilious nobles’ manors until nearly mid-morning. A shoe scraped the ground and Crymson glanced behind her to look at Isaac, swathed in shadows and staring at the dirt, shifting his weight from foot to foot every few seconds.
Alocar walked to them and said, “Let’s get a move on before the heat hits.” He took the lead horse, Isaac’s and Crymson’s lined behind him to make way for eastbound travelers. Fashioned entirely of stone pulled from Prolifia’s southern quarry, it had taken generations to build the King’s Road, allowing its users to bypass the dirt trails and country paths constituting the majority of the nation’s roadways.
Crymson eyed her horse. At sixteen hands, splotches of brown and black covered its white hide. Its owner had assured her that he’d trained it as lady’s mount, but its overly muscled mouth – probably from biting its riders – made her doubtful. Crymson was accustomed to horses in front of her, responsive to the kiss of a driver’s whip, not beneath a saddle and liable to buck her off should she twist its neck with an untutored hand.
She mounted, careful to stay far from its teeth and – it’s just your imagination – the predatory gleam in its eyes, each the size of a child’s fist. A pack mule brought up the rear, loaded with supplies and looking befittingly melancholy. Alocar tapped his heels against his horse’s flanks, but before they’d gone more than a few steps, Crymson heard a shout.
Slate and Teacher approached at a canter, looking like they’d left the bar only minutes ago. Actually, thought Crymson as she spotted a red smudge on Slate’s neck, maybe something other than a bar. His movements were somehow graceful, though Crymson could smell the liquor wafting from him, even upwind.
“Thought you’d leave without us, eh? You should know better than to leave your best pieces behind.”
“Sure you didn’t leave your best piece in bed?”
Slate winked at her.
“Let’s go. We’re wasting daylight,” Alocar said.
“You’ll hold a minute.” Slate adjusted Teacher’s stirrups, and then inspected the saddle, which wrapped around one of the largest stallions Crymson had ever seen, more an undersized buffalo than anything equine. He took his time with the act, pausing more than once to flick away imaginary specks of dirt. Alocar opened his mouth –
“Okay, now let’s go,” Slate said. Alocar’s teeth clacked together and he ripped his horse’s head forward.
Only the steady clip-clop of hooves and the creak of leather saddles on an empty road broke the air. Her horse kept snorting, nostrils vibrating with every miniature explosion. Its hair rubbed against her legs. The reins sawed through her fingers, jerked this way and that by the horse’s head. A wide-brimmed hat covered her eyes, casting shadows on her hands. Miles passed. She looked back at Dradenhurst, but it had faded into a city of sketches.
She urged her horse next to Alocar, riding with his chest to the sky. “You do realize we can’t stay this way for long, correct?”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning that I’m Cao Fen. When’s the last time you saw one of us being led anywhere?”
Alocar didn’t look at her, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead. “I’m assuming not often.”
“You assume correctly. Which means, should we meet anybody, you and the rest of them are going to have to knuckle under me, okay?”
Alocar didn’t reply for a while. Behind them, Slate picked at his nails with a knife that he’d pulled from a sheath on his vest, and Isaac told stories to Teacher, who guffawed often and at inappropriate moments.
The silence wore on, and then Alocar said, “The Cao Fen have much to s
ay about people like Isaac?”
“Why?”
“Figured I should know a bit more about the type of man I’m traveling with.”
“And why would I know?” She bit back a desire to let his comment linger unanswered.
Alocar looked at her, his wrinkle-covered face adding another as he raised his eyebrows. “I’ve been on this earth a long time. Don’t try and fool me with Cao Fen gimmickry.”
Nosey old bastard. “Yeah, well, maybe later. I’d have to think back to my readings.”
Crymson settled into the ride, letting her body acclimate itself to the jolting of the devil horse beneath her. It was going to be a long trip.
“Twenty.”
“Five.”
“Fifteen or nothing.”
“Eight and you’re lucky I don’t just take the damn wagon myself.”
“Struck.” They spit in their hands and shook. “When should I expect you?”
“Next week. Probably Monday. And bring some of your children along.”
“They won’t be in danger?”
“No more than normal.”
“Make it ten and I’ll bring the whole bunch with me. Family man this time, hm?”
“Struck. And you know me, always looking out for the little ones.”
A snort. “Looking out for your pocketbook, more like it, you miser.” She walked toward her multi-colored wagon. “And bring some food when you come! Save me some cooking.”
He watched her walk away, and then turned back into the gloom. Plans wouldn’t make themselves.
One of the horses whinnied, and Crymson whirled to see Isaac’s mount straddling the line between the road and the brownish grass. Twin spots of red burned on Isaac’s pale face, and beside him, Slate laughed, rascally in the early morning. After two weeks on the road, it took little for Crymson to discern the problem, though knowing did little to quell her fraying temper.
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