Blood Seed: Coin of Rulve Book One

by Dale, Veronica

  On the second morning the storm momentarily let up. A huge drift blocked the door, so Sheft had to climb out the kitchen window. The whole fieldhold had changed into a vast whiteness, and everything lay under a strange, moist silence. From the look of the sky, there was more bad weather to come. They spent the rest of the day clearing a way to the barn, distributing feed, and filling the water trough. From time to time, a few flakes filtered down.

  When all was done and Sheft was trudging toward the house, a sudden awareness of the Riftwood prickled across the back of his neck. He turned to look at it. The trees stood bone-silent and aware.

  He had promised Yarahe that he would soon go there. As he watched, the Riftwood seemed to inhale the light from the snow-covered fields and exhale a twilight that crept across the river. Uneasy, he entered the house.

  That evening the wind picked up again and soon sharpened with needles of ice. He lay on his mattress as the roof crackled with every gust, as the window thumped and rattled and the dried herbs hanging in the eaves twisted in the cold air.

  When he ventured out in the morning, everything was covered with a veneer of ice. The sunrise had glazed the tops of the trees with gold, and dazzling crystal sheathed every hard bud or withered leaf. The slightest breeze filled the air with creaking sounds, like straining ropes, and caused bits of ice to rattle down from branches onto the hard-crusted snow. The storm had swept past, leaving behind a catastrophe.

  Fruit and nut trees all over the valley would be damaged, heavily-burdened roofs would collapse, and the toll would be high for any livestock caught in the open. With the roads impassable, some families in the more isolated fieldholds might be marooned in their houses for days.

  At least, he thought, Tarn would not be going to the inn at Ferce for a while.

  # # #

  After Cloor had extinguished the lanterns out front and gone home, Ubela was left to put the last of the mugs away. There was a tap on the back door and, as she had known he would, Gwin came in. He stamped the snow off his boots, flung his cloak onto the work-table, and looked at her hungrily.

  She rushed into his arms. “I can’t stay long,” Ubela murmured. “My stepfather—”

  “You’ve been out late before,” he whispered in her ear. “And you only have to go next door.”

  With a low chuckle, she stood on tip-toe to nibble his ear. “I’m persuaded, my sweet.”

  So they lingered, and finally Gwin slipped out.

  Holding her cloak tight about her, Ubela hurried down the cleared path between Cloor’s and her house behind the butcher shop. Surely her stepfather would be in bed by now.

  He wasn’t. He began railing at her the minute she wiped her feet on the mat. “Where were you?” he demanded, his small eyes narrowed in suspicion. He put down a tankard and stood, swaying slightly, to face her. “Who were you with?”

  Sokol was a powerful man, whose big hands were accustomed to heaving sides of meat and hacking through gristle, and Ubela was terrified of him. She hung up her cloak and turned to him, trying to keep a quaver out of her voice. “I was just finishing up at the ale-house. And I wasn’t with anybody. Just ask Cloor.” She licked dry lips. “Did you eat? Do you want me to make you something?”

  He grabbed her with a hairy arm. “Was it Gede?”

  “No! Let me go! It wasn’t anybody.”

  “You know what I’d do to him, don’t you?”

  Twice he had dragged her into the shop out front and showed her his big, carefully sharpened knives. “Yes, you told me. But I was alone.”

  “No man in this village must touch you. Damned if any of them are good enough for you.”

  Ubela smelled the beer on his breath and pulled away from him. “They don’t come near me. I make sure of it. I’m always with Wena or Melis. Just ask them.”

  “I will,” he muttered, staring hard at her. “I will ask them.” A different light crept into his eyes, and his gaze moved slowly down her body.

  “I’m going to bed now,” Ubela said quickly. “I’m very tired and it’s—it’s my moon-time.” She felt his look on her as she entered her sleeping room and drew the curtain behind her.

  Since her mother’s death, she had pleaded over and over for a real door, but he had never found the time to install one. So far, the flimsy curtain kept him out. She had her back to it, and began undressing for bed when the curtain was suddenly whisked aside. She whirled to face him, clutching her blouse in front of her.

  He reached for her, then stopped. “What’s that on your shoulder?”

  “What? Where?”

  He spun her sideways, into the light coming from the other room. “This, right here. By Ele, it's a love-bite!”

  Ubela almost blacked out from fear. She didn’t think Gwin had marked her. Sokol jerked her around to face him. “Who did this to you?”

  “No one! It’s a spider bite.”

  “I’m no fool! I know what I see.”

  “It fell from the rafters while I was cleaning at Cloor’s!”

  He slapped her. She staggered back, her cheek stinging, barely holding onto her blouse.

  “Tell me, or you’ll regret it.” He took a step forward, his big hand clenched into a fist.

  “It was the foreigner! Tarn’s son. He was there at the back door, just as I turned to leave Cloor’s. I tried to stop him, Sokol, but I couldn’t.”

  “You’re lying to me!”

  “No! Who else would do such a thing? You’ve heard the rumors. They’re true. They’re all true, and here, right here on my shoulder, is the proof.”

  “Why didn’t you scream? I would’ve heard.”

  “He said he would kill me if I did. He had a knife.”

  “He took a knife to you?”

  She nodded, fear thumping in her chest. “A—a carving knife. But I threw a pan at him and got away.”

  “By Ele’s eyes,” he shouted, whirling about and stumbling out of the room. “He wants to play with knives? Well, I’ve got plenty right here!”

  Ubela flung on her blouse and ran to stop him. “He’s gone. You’ll never find him in the dark. Tell Parduka in the morning.”

  “Eh? Why her?”

  “She knows the truth about the foreigner. Lots of the men do. I heard them talking at Cloor’s, about how they meet in the House of Ele at night. Join them, Sokol. They’re making plans about what should be done.”

  “I don’t need any plans,” he muttered. “My knives are my plans.” Breathing heavily, he sank down at the table again. He muttered curses against the demon-spawned foreigner, the council that let him live, and their weak-kneed Holdman. At last he noticed his cup was empty. “All this talk,” he grumbled, “makes me thirsty. Fill up my cup, Ubela. That’s a good girl.”

  She obeyed, shaking with relief. Now he would drink himself into a stupor, and no more curtains would be wrenched aside this night.

  # # #

  The next morning, Parduka closed the door on the butcher’s retreating back, her heart full of praise for the goddess. Nine men were needed to form the new council, and she had just been granted the seventh. All her persuading and cajoling these past weeks—at cremations, during worship, at secret meetings in the night—were bearing fruit.

  As the snow melted and the damage in the surrounding fieldholds was revealed, farmers and villagers came to the House of Ele to bemoan their losses. To these also she preached her message. “Dorik and his cronies have forsaken the righteous path, and now Ele punishes us all! Our goddess will relent—but only when we face our responsibilities, take up our courage, and reclaim our ancient heritage. She will take us to her bosom again, like a mother who comforts her children, but only when we form a new council and restore her sacred Rites. But we must act quickly, for the dark moon of Seed is approaching.”

  Her words helped them place blame where it belonged, fueled the anger needed for change, and added urgency to their task. By the end of the month, she judged it was time for another meeting and sent word out through Gwin.


  # # #

  It was the first day of Seed. Although there was a chill in the air, the sun shone brightly, a few red-winged blackbirds were calling their conk-a-rees near the river, and the air smelled strongly of earth. The blizzard of two weeks ago lingered only in a few patches of snow under the long-skirted fir trees. Out in the yard, Sheft scooped up a handful of soil. It stuck together in a ball, too wet for planting, but just right for a field-burn.

  Etane must have thought so too, because his face was flushed with excitement when he appeared at Sheft’s door a short time later. “Tomorrow, Sheft! We’ll start digging the perimeter tomorrow, and the burn will take place the next morning. Thanks to you, I’ll be a married man that very afternoon.”

  Field-burns were much anticipated celebrations, especially if they preceded a wedding. Guests from neighboring villages traveled to the prospective groom’s house to feast, catch up on gossip, and help clear a field for the young couple. The actual wedding ceremony, a simple exchange of vows in the presence of the Holdman, usually took place on the third day after the burn. But, because Sheft had spent so much time during the winter cutting brush and raking it into piles, Etane would have his bride at the end of only two.

  “That’s what I hoped for,” Sheft said. “I know you did too.”

  Etane nodded, and his eyes shone with so much happiness that Sheft had to look away.

  “I’m in a rush,” Etane went on. “A lot of Leeza’s relatives will be spending the night, so my dad will need help spreading straw in the barn for those who can’t fit in the house. Ask Tarn if he can come over today to give us a hand setting up and all.”

  A thought dawned on Sheft. “All these people will have to be fed. It sounds like a lot of work for—” He found he couldn’t say her name, so ended with a lame-sounding “for everyone.”

  “Leeza’s mother and sister are already here, helping Mariat peel and bake and whatnot. And—I’m sorry, Sheft—Dad invited Gwin to the field-burn. Gwin’s got my father convinced he’s a ‘fine lad,’ and there wasn’t anything I could do about it. I’ll make sure he and the others will be working on the other end of the field from you.”

  “I understand. I’ll be leaving, but you have to live with these people.”

  At this reminder of his departure, Etane’s face fell. “I’ll be sorry to see you go. Maybe—maybe me and Leeza can come up to Ullar-Sent someday and visit you.”

  Sheft squirmed inwardly at the assumption he’d allowed his friend to make. But the truth was just too complicated. “Maybe. But first I want to give you something.” He went into the house and emerged with the bowl he had carved. “This is for you and Leeza.”

  With a half-smile, Etane ran his finger over the wheat design. “This will always remind us of you. Thank you.” He grabbed Sheft in a thumping hug, then hurried home over the fields.

  # # #

  That night Parduka held her lantern high as seven cloaked figures darted through the back door of the House of Ele. Their cast-back hoods revealed the angry, indignant, or determined faces that belonged to Pogreb, Blinor the miller, Gwin, young Temo, two of Greak’s neighbors, and the newcomer to their group, the butcher Sokol.

  Carrying a lantern, Parduka led them to a shadowy corner of the hall, swept aside a weaving that hid a door, and ushered them into the low, narrow room in which they had been meeting. She placed the lantern on a small table, then rubbed her hands to warm them as the others found places on the two short rows of benches. They all seemed distraught.

  Asher, one of Greak’s neighbors, was practically moaning. “Most of my fruit trees—oh Ele, even my beautiful peaches—they’re all ruined. Blasted by ice. How will I feed my family?”

  “Every one of our chickens is gone,” the other neighbor said bleakly. “Blizzard took the fence, and wolves got ‘em. They were supposed to feed us for the rest of the winter.”

  Temo grabbed her arm. “Mama broke her leg,” he cried, “slipping on the ice! She’s an old woman, priestess, still grieving Father’s loss.”

  “I feel for you,” Parduka told them. “My heart breaks over all these disasters.” She raised her clenched fists in frustration. “But every one of them could have been avoided! Even the deaths from the fluenza. Ele would never have sent these punishments if the council had listened to reason.”

  Asher spread out his big, calloused hands. “How can the elders look at all these catastrophes and still protect the foreigner? Can’t they see he’s at the very root of them?”

  “He took a knife to my Ubela,” Sokol spat out. “I won’t be satisfied until I take a knife to him.”

  In the midst of their talk, Rom and Gwin came through the door. Parduka’s heart leaped when she saw that two others followed them: the cattleman Delo and Olan, who had barely survived the fluenza. She had tried to convince both of them to come, but Rom apparently had had better luck. The blacksmith threw back his hood and gave her a worried look, as if to say, “I’m not sure about these two.”

  They both knew they were running out of time. The moon of Seed would fall into darkness in only four nights. She waited until they all sat down, then welcomed the newcomers.

  “So you finally got off your asses and joined us,” Blinor growled at them.

  “I haven’t joined you,” Delo said in a tremulous voice. “Rom said just come for more information.”

  “Tell them what happened to you during the blizzard,” Rom prompted.

  A bitter look hardened the man’s round face. “Two of my prize cows died. Including one serviced by Ferce’s best bull. Every ducat I paid to breed her was wasted! My sons say this would never have happened if—” He sniffed, looked uncomfortable, and waved the rest of the thought away.

  Everyone turned to Olan, who still looked gaunt from the fluenza. “My daughter was badly injured, priestess. She was in the barn, getting the milk bucket, when”—his voice cracked, and he took a moment to compose himself—“when the roof caved in under the heavy snow. If I join you, will Ele heal her?”

  “I’m sure the goddess will be compassionate, my son. She has a mother’s heart. But it all depends on your faith. And on your courage, Olan. Even Ele can do nothing without that.”

  “Looks to me,” Asher said, “there’s nine men in this room right now, all eligible to form a new council.” As a former Holdman, Pogreb was the exception.

  “And they”—Blinor grinned, nodding in the direction of the Council House across the road—“are only eight.”

  Rom held up his hand. “But they don’t know that yet. They believe I’m still with them.”

  “Moro should be here,” Blinor said. “He got taken in by the foreigner’s lies to the point where his wife wasn’t even decently buried. Now her bones are out in the deadlands somewhere, being gnawed at by mewlets and wolves.”

  His remark opened a floodgate, and everyone began talking at once.

  “He sits there with that carving knife, molesting babies, and our witless council does nothing.”

  “Mama suffers in her chair, and he walks free to jump out and attack us.”

  “What he did to Ubela, to Mariat, he can do to the daughter of any man here!”

  “The worst of his crimes remains unpunished, and every one of us pays the price!”

  Sokol jumped to his feet. “No more talk! It’s time to act. What about the rest of you?”

  It was the moment Parduka had been waiting for, praying for. The moment when they heard, loud and clear, Ele's call. She looked at Rom, seated in the back, and every head turned to him. The smith was the one they most respected, the one who could call forth their strength and ignite their resolve.

  He got to his feet and looked each man in the eye, one by one in the wavering light. “Sokol is right. It’s time to decide. Who stands with us?”

  Gwin jumped up, followed by Blinor and Greak’s two neighbors. Temo stood next. They all looked down at the two remaining men: the newcomers, Olan and Delo.

  “What’s the matter with you
?” Gwin asked Olan. “You almost died from the fluenza the foreigner brought upon us. And what happened to your daughter demands justice.”

  Olan bit his lip. “Justice, yes. But these restored Rites—are they the only way to save my little girl?”

  “Saving this one or that one,” Blinor retorted, “isn’t the point. We must do what we must do, for the good of all. We may not like it or feel easy about it, but the protection of the entire village is laid upon us.”

  Olan still hesitated, and Parduka’s heart began to pound. “What about proof?” he asked. “Of all his crimes, only the one deserves death. Do we have proof that he did it?”

  “We have two witnesses!” Blinor cried. “What more proof do you need, man!”

  Parduka put her hands on Olan’s shoulders. “Rest easy, my son. There is no doubt. Not one of us would have come to this point if there were. Come now, step out in faith, and join us.”

  “Only faith will save your daughter, Olan,” Rom said gently.

  The others murmured agreement.

  His face pale, Olan nodded and rose to his feet.

  They all turned to Delo, the only one still sitting.

  “Did you come here just to talk, Delo?” Sokol snarled. “Or are you going to stand up like a man?”

  The corpulent cattleman flushed and climbed to his feet. “It just takes me longer to get up,” he muttered.

  They stood in the candlelight and regarded each other.

  “We are nine!” Parduka cried. “At last we are nine! Our goddess has performed a miracle, just in time for her dark moon.” She raised her arms to Ele. “Thank you, All-Mother. Thank you for the faith and courage that you have bestowed on all of us here. Thank you making us a righteous instrument in your hands.”

  “We have just formed the new Council of At-Wysher,” Rom said to them, “a new governance that will root out evil and make our village safe for our families again. Together we will foster piety and restore important values that have been hacked away. Things will be different from now on.”