The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2)

by Olan Thorensen

  “Sen Keelan, what a surprise,” Filtin stumbled.

  “Thank you, Filtin. I prevailed on Yozef to invite me. I have heard tales of pubs but have never been to one before.”

  “They’re the most honest place on Caedellium,” offered Carnigan. “If not before a few steins, then after. People tend to be who they really are.”

  Maera nodded politely, not quite sure what to make of the comment. Filtin and Yozef just stared at Carnigan. It was the most philosophical comment either had ever heard him make.

  The barmaid made her way around tables to their location, all the time pushed from behind by the pub owner. At the table, the woman curtsied, and the owner made a nervous bow.

  “Sen Keelan, an honor to have you in my establishment. Please let Paola here know whatever it is you wish.”

  Maera, oblivious that not all customers were curtsied and bowed to, looked at the steins on the table. “Whatever they are having is fine, Sen,” she said, smiling brightly.

  “Same here,” said an amused Yozef.

  The next hour was initially quiet on a scale usually only associated with the pub being closed, but as customers downed a few rounds, and nothing else unusual was happening, the decibel level slowly increased to near normal. Paola still curtsied every time she stopped at or passed their table. Maera was no stranger to beers and ales, though on a more modest scale than she was currently consuming.

  By the time the pub served the meal of the evening, she was, if not inebriated, definitely relaxed and convinced she was “just one of the customers.” The aforesaid meal that evening was, by chance, another of Yozef’s introductions. Noodles of various kinds were common on Caedellium, as were a type of medium-sized tomatoes, transfers from Earth. They tasted more bitter than he was used to, but adding a little sugar more closely approximated tomatoes sufficient for sauces. Thus, it was not an off-putting food innovation, but more a different combination than local custom. No one questioned why he called the dish “spaghetti.” Why would they? Yozef Kolsko called it that, so that it was. When served, no one on Earth would have used the word spaghetti, but Yozef figured what did the Caedelli know? Broad, thick noodles, a tomato-based sauce, local spices that were not basil and oregano but “sort of” and added a similar flavor, and meatballs more usually served in a thick gravy. It had become a regular offering at the Snarling Graeko but had not yet spread to the rest of Keelan.

  The meal finished, another stein or so consumed, and most customers had forgotten or didn’t care any longer about the hetman’s daughter’s attendance. As usual, when Yozef was in the pub, at a certain point in the evening friends or patrons pressed him for a story. Maera looked on with a quizzical eye, as the shouts for “Yozef, Yozef!” rang through the hall. He had long quit telling more than one per evening, because even with his apparently improved memory, his recall wasn’t limitless. They had finished the spaghetti and meatballs when the call came that evening, and the food jogged his memory.

  As soon as he acquiesced, they found their table surrounded by an anticipating crowd.

  “A married man was having an affair with a widow, all unbeknownst to the man’s wife. One day the widow comes to the man and tells him she’s pregnant. Not wanting to ruin his marriage, the man convinced the woman to move to a different town. In return, the man, who had a very prosperous business, promised that he would send generous coin regularly to the woman for her and the child. To signal to him that the child had arrived, she was to send him a letter with only the word spaghetti. Sure enough, many months later the man arrives home to a puzzled wife.

  “‘Husband,’ she says. ‘A strange letter arrived today. I opened it, and all the letter says is ‘Spaghetti, spaghetti—one with meatballs and one without.’”

  Although the customers had seemingly adjusted to the hetman’s daughter’s presence, and “ribald” was a reasonable description of the culture, there were only subdued snickers and choked-back laughs, as eyes tracked a flushing Maera. Only when she started laughing did the others let loose.

  An hour later, Filtin and Nerlin Fuller excused themselves to collect their children at her sister’s. They bid the others good evening and walked the quarter mile to their home.

  “Filtin, did you notice how Yozef and Maera got along?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “I don’t know. Yozef is, you know . . . Yozef. He’s odd, and people don’t always feel comfortable with him. With Maera Keelan, it was different. Oh, she’s the hetman’s daughter and all that, so you don’t expect her to be like common folk, but the two of them seemed so comfortable with each other.”

  “And that means, what?”

  Nerlin sighed and rolled her eyes. “Let’s get the children.”

  Another hour later and after the last beer, a wagon appeared at the pub, and Carnigan and Yozef drove Maera to her hosts’ house near the abbey. Diera was sitting on a bench, obviously concerned about her visitor. Only when the three happy singing people pulled up and Carnigan jumped off the wagon to lift a tipsy Maera onto the ground did the abbess smile warmly and shake her head. With a friendly wave goodbye, the two men headed off, as Diera put an arm around giggling Maera and helped her into bed. While there was no question in the abbess’s mind that anything inappropriate had happened, she had conflicting thoughts. On one hand, such behavior would not have been approved of by the hetman, and, on the other, she wondered whether Maera had ever been drunk or had as a good time as Diera suspected.

  Chapter 10: An Outing

  Maera Probes

  Maera had been at St. Sidryn’s past the planned month, when her father wrote to inquire about her return date in words she interpreted as pushing her to come home soon. To her surprise, she regretted the time had passed so quickly. Her time at St. Sidryn’s had been relaxing in an unexpected manner, as if moving to an alternative lifestyle that was appealing in ways she didn’t fully understand.

  She had anticipated delving into St. Sidryn’s library, one of the island’s more comprehensive collections of books, letters, and other writings on the island’s history, clan politics, and the events that led to establishing the Clan Conclave at Orosz City. While the original agreement that brought relative order to the island’s clans was on display at the conclave site in Orosz, a signed copy lay behind glass at St. Sidryn's.

  She had worked through an impressive list of readings during the visit, but there were still many more left unread. She prioritized readings she would ask her father to pay to have copied. She didn’t doubt his acquiescence.

  Another reason for her reticence to return home was Yozef Kolsko. Although she had started with a cautious attitude to her father’s assignment to assess this stranger making multiple impacts on Keelan, she became more and more interested in understanding him personally and his influence on the people of Abersford and St. Sidryn’s.

  Objectively, he still looked ordinary, of average height and build, though with a relaxed manner. She agreed with the general impressions that he was “odd.” His different interpretation of events from what the clanspeople saw was one example. Another was his belief in the value of what he called “exercise.” The first time Maera had seen him “running,” she thought something was chasing him. A village boy matter-of-factly told her that every other day Yozef ran six miles from his house past the abbey and the village, then down to the beach and along the sand back home. People ran if being chased, or children ran at play. Men might play various games that required running, though usually young men and in groups.

  The weights she’d only heard others tell of witnessing. Why lift weights, unless for work? It seemed somehow almost perverse, like descriptions in books of mainland religious sects that scourged themselves to atone for sins. Had Yozef committed some great sins? After all, he was a stranger, and who knew what customs or religion his people followed?

  The explanation for the exercise came from Yozef himself. Maera, as was her custom, simply asked.

  “Yozef, why do you do this ex
ercise you’re so diligent about? Is it part of the customs of your people?”

  “There are two main reasons. Well, actually three, I suppose. The first is for general health. Our bodies are made to be used. Consider different people and their professions or work. Often, you can guess what kind of work they do by the shape of their bodies. If you see a rotund person, you’d guess they worked standing or sitting, without much movement. You seldom see farmers with large bellies, because they move and work their bodies. No matter what your work, running or fast walks get the heart pumping and the blood moving faster. You wouldn’t expect someone who never lifts heavy weights to do it suddenly, so neither should you expect your heart and veins to be fully capable, unless they have also had their exercise.”

  “And the weights?”

  “They’re less for general health than for having strength and personal feelings. Naturally, overseeing my projects doesn’t require strength. However, you never know when a little more strength will be important. I hope never again to experience anything like the Buldorian raid, but if it happens again, my chances of surviving and helping others will be better if I’m stronger.

  “Then there’s the personal reason. I feel better about myself when I exercise. Other children considered me a weakling, and my feelings about that have evidently lasted into adulthood.”

  Yozef didn’t elaborate that “Yozef the First” was the stereotypical unathletic nerd for as long as he could remember. “Yozef the Second” had potential, and it pleased him that the new version could do what the earlier one couldn’t have.

  Maera accepted Yozef’s explanation without further comment, although she discussed it later with Diera, who had had similar discussions with Yozef and come to suspect he was right about the advantages for general health. Maera still thought the running and the weights strange, as well as peculiar habits.

  More interesting was his depth of novel knowledge. Often, sometimes out of thin air, Yozef would reveal bits of knowledge that proved useful or gave the impression the listener was the one who didn’t appreciate the significance.

  She accepted that Yozef was more interesting than anyone she’d ever met. Most of all, however, he listened to her. And not just listened but expected her to have ideas of her own. At first, it made her uneasy, though by now she had begun to feel exhilarated during their discussions. He also was a sponge for information and seemingly had no problem that the person satisfying his craving was a woman. Thus, when she settled on leaving for Caernford in three days, she found herself melancholy.

  Her time at St. Sidryn’s was an end, and she began preparing mentally and gathering her things together. She and Yozef had taken to eating mid-day meal together with workers in one of his shops, in Abersford or in one of the abbey gardens, if they were working in the library. It was only days before she would leave when she realized that he was occasionally missing for hours, and no one could find him.

  Picnic

  “Yozef, I’ve noticed you sometimes disappear, often for hours or a whole day, and no one knows where you’ve gone. It’s becoming part of the rumors about the mysterious Yozef Kolsko. Is it a secret? Some people suspect you’re somehow magical and vanish to who knows where? I hope I’m not intruding. I’m only curious.”

  Yozef hesitated, then answered, “Sorry to disillusion fantasies about me, but on occasion I like time alone. I’m talking and working with people all day most days. Sometimes I need to be away from people for a day or a few hours.”

  “Where do you go to be ‘away’?”

  Yozef grinned a shy, little-boy grin. “Into the hills. They rise sharply west of the village and down to the ocean. Within the hills are an amazing variety of terrains and plants. Hardly anyone goes there, which is unfortunate for them but good for me, since it’s so quiet. I found a path up the first escarpment. At the top, there’s a great view of the village, abbey, and shore. Sometimes I just sit there, if I don’t have much time. Otherwise, I continue on where the land is rugged, and there’s a series of valleys and dales. Each one is different.”

  Yozef paused, and his eyes took on a faraway focus. “One valley especially is quite amazing. I found it recently, and I’ve gone back once. Although the flowers are past their peak bloom, it’s still beautiful.”

  He’s lonely, Meara thought. With all that’s going on, all his projects, the obvious high regard everyone has for him, I wonder if everyone forgets that he was cast away here on Caedellium, never to see his home again.

  Without thinking, Maera blurted, “Would you take me there?”

  Yozef was taken aback. As much time as they had spent together these last sixdays, it had been mainly time exchanging information and attitudes.

  Yozef hadn’t spoken before regrets at her impetuousness washed over her. What was I thinking? Quick, what do I say to withdraw my silly question?

  Yozef looked at her with a different eye than before. He liked her. Somehow, showing her his special places wasn’t an issue.

  “I’d like that. But would it be appropriate for someone of your position? And what would the abbot and the abbess say? They might have reservations about you going to such a place without appropriate accompaniment.”

  Does he mean go off with men without proper chaperone or guards? It probably would be inappropriate. And how exciting! Besides, I can take care of myself. Excitement gave way to apprehension. Maybe he doesn’t want to take me. Maybe he doesn’t like me. Oh, good God, here I am, confused and what’s my mind doing?

  Suddenly, a day away from being “Maera Keelan” and seeing some of Yozef’s special places were the most appealing thoughts she had had in forever.

  “They can be managed,” she said.

  “Are you sure about the abbot and the abbess?”

  “I’m the hetman’s daughter, and they aren’t my guardians.” Then she smiled. “Besides, I’ll make it up them somehow, and I’ll let Diera know I’m safe with Yozef and Carnigan.”

  Yozef looked disappointed. “Carnigan would go with us?”

  Maera grinned mischievously, something that made her look very different and young. “I won’t say Carnigan will be with us all the way to your valley, assuming you can get him away for the day.”

  Yozef grinned back. “I’ll see if I can convince him.”

  They didn’t plot further the next day, but as their paths crossed the following morning, Yozef slowed and whispered, “Tomorrow after morning meal, in the grove of trees in back of the abbey grounds. Wear clothes and shoes for riding and walking.”

  She nodded conspiratorially and kept going.

  The next morning, Yozef and Carnigan waited in the grove with three horses, food, and water for the day. The morning coolness was fading when a slim figure in a reddish-brown hooded robe carrying a bag came furtively up the path from the rear door of the complex’s stone wall.

  “Gracious, I wonder who this could be,” said a sardonic Carnigan.

  “Little Red Riding Hood?” mumbled Yozef.

  “Who?”

  “Never mind.”

  The figure walked quickly, head tilted forward to further hide the face. She walked between the trunks of two large trees and stopped, her head turning in several directions. Then, apparently not seeing well, she pulled back the hood. Maera caught sight of them and hustled over to where they held the horses. She was flushed, with an expression that reminded Yozef of his older sister’s three-year-old daughter and a look the niece had when about to do something she wasn’t allowed.

  “Yozef, Carnigan,” she greeted them. “I told Diera we’d be back an hour before sundown at the latest. She promised not to tell Abbot Sistian unless we were late.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem. Where we’ll go is not that far, and we’ll take the horses first toward a beach, one of my favorite spots.”

  Maera nodded and accepted Carnigan’s gesture to help her mount the older, gentle mare he’d chosen for her. While Maera was an accomplished rider, Carnigan was taking no chances with the hetman
’s daughter. She sat on the Caedellium version of a woman’s side-saddle, her robe covering everything, except the foot and the calf of the left leg resting in one stirrup.

  Yozef rode his gentle, gray gelding, Seabiscuit, while Carnigan’s horse made the other two appear like ponies. The Percheron-like horse stood nineteen hands high and was stoutly built. It took a steed of such dimensions to accommodate Carnigan’s bulk.

  When they mounted, Yozef indicated to Carnigan, “We’re set. Lead on, McDuff.”

  Carnigan ignored the Shakespeare misquote, accustomed to pretending indifference to odd utterances from his strange friend.

  They started off in single file, Carnigan in the lead, followed by Maera, with Yozef deliberately trailing to get into Seabiscuit’s rhythm before Maera saw him still trying to remember how to ride. He needn’t have worried, because Seabiscuit still knew more about riding than he did.

  They followed a winding game trail through the woods for a mile, before it opened onto a narrow road they followed few hundred yards and then onto another two-mile trail through brush. They reached a dry ravine and followed it down to a beach four hundred yards wide with whitish-cream sand and gentle waves breaking twenty to thirty yards across the flat expanse. Yozef’s cove and retreat house lay only a half-mile away, but he wasn’t ready to share every special place.

  Yozef thought the day perfect—skies with scattered fluffy clouds breaking up the solid blue, gentle winds coming off the sea, and an occasional gull or flyers that looked and sounded like gulls.

  As they rode along the sand, Yozef let Seabiscuit come next to Maera’s horse.