by Simpson, Terry C. ; Wilson-Viola, D Kai; Ordonez Arias, Gonzalo
“Hello, Master Finkel,” Ancel said.
“Don’t hello me, boy. The only thing I want to hear from you is that you’re going to leave my daughter alone. If you don’t…” Finkel’s voice trailed off as he stabbed his shovel into the soft dirt.
Ancel nodded and hurried by the front yard before the man actually decided to use the shovel.
Not long after, he passed by the Jungs. Their daughter Shari was outside, playing with their black and white hound dog.
“Hi, Ance,” she called, her eyes glinting mischievously.
“Hi, Shari.” Ancel moved close to the wrought iron fence.
Shari came down to meet him, her hips swaying as she moved. “When will you take me dancing again?”
“Tomorr—” A gooseberry slapped the ground next to Ancel, the yellow fruit splattering onto his boots. Ancel looked up. Shari’s older brother threw another gooseberry.
“Stop it, Caron,” Shari yelled, whirling to face the youth.
Caron threw another gooseberry. “You know Da doesn’t want him around. Do you want me to go call him?”
“Look, Shari,’ Ancel said. “I don’t want any trouble. I’ll head on home. Maybe we can speak during school tomorrow.”
“I’d like that,” Shari replied as she walked away smiling, her hips swaying once more.
Ancel glared at Caron before he walked away, continuing on home. More familiar faces greeted him along the street. There was Miss Jillian Flaina, Irmina’s aunt, in one of her usual extravagant dresses, green silk with yellow Calvarish lace ruffles along the hem and bunched at the sleeves. Next to her strode old Rohan Lankon, his hat perched on his head in such a way that a slight wind might blow it off. They were involved in some heated discussion, and Jillian looked none too pleased. Ancel graced them with a bow, to which he received an icy stare from Jillian. What her issue was, he had no clue.
Ancel quickly forget them as he saw Mirza’s father, Devan Faber, and Danvir’s old man, Guthrie Bemelle, across the other side of the street. To see the two of them together made him smile. Devan was as hard as the rocks he quarried, and Guthrie as soft as the gooseberry pudding his Inn was famous for. He shouted a greeting, but the men only gave him a half-hearted acknowledgement. They were both too engrossed in conversation to notice him. He wondered if they’d just all come from a meeting at his house. His father had a tendency to call these councils whenever he came to town, but usually they held them at Guthrie’s Whitewater Inn.
They must have been discussing what we saw in the Greenleaf. Spurred on by the thought, Ancel picked up his pace and took a left onto Tezian Lane. As he reached the stairs to his house, a loud sound somewhere between a rumbling grunt and a dog’s bark issued behind him. Ancel turned to the sound as a mountain of shaggy, white fur crashed into him. He pivoted while snagging fur by the fistful.
Hot breath filled with stale smells from whatever the creature had eaten, greeted Ancel. He’d avoided being knocked to the ground, but he couldn’t escape the hearty licking he received.
“Charra!” Ancel wheezed. Laughter poured out from him as his daggerpaw’s rough tongue continued to bathe his face. “Stop it, boy.” The licking continued unabated. “Sit,” Ancel commanded. “Let me take a look at you.”
The daggerpaw cooed and sat back on his haunches, his jaws spread in a toothy grin. Ancel stood and brushed himself off. Charra nuzzled into Ancel’s chest, his soft hackles swishing with the move that felt more like a stiff head butt than a playful nudge. Ancel lost his balance momentarily before using Charra for support once more.
“Well, you’re as fine as ever.” Ancel brushed at a red stain on Charra’s lower jaw. “And I see you’ve been in the kinai again. Naughty boy.”
Charra whined.
Ancel chuckled. “It’s fine, boy. Come.” Without waiting Ancel walked up the stairs to the double doors.
Charra’s low, rumbling growl stopped Ancel in his track. The daggerpaw stood stiff as a frozen board where Ancel left him, his eyes riveted on something down the empty street.
Frowning, Ancel followed Charra’s gaze. Memories from the encounter in the Greenleaf Forest rose fresh in his mind. But all he saw were the eight houses, four per side, the gardens, and the empty road. People passed by his street and the one that intersected another lane further on. Nothing appeared out of sorts that would make Charra act as he did. Not that the daggerpaw needed any excuse for his moods, but the creatures in the Greenleaf whatever they were, had only made Charra’s temperament worse.
“Charra.”
Nose quivering, the daggerpaw cocked his head for a brief moment, but his attention remained on Tezian Lane.
A prick nagged at the edge of Ancel’s consciousness like an annoying splinter in his finger. Eldanhill’s noises played a muted buzz in the background. Somewhere on an adjoining street came muffled barks.
Ancel’s brow knitted. Where were the neighbors’ dogs? Normally, they would be in the gardens barking and howling at Charra from behind the safety of their fences. Now, they were nowhere to be seen. Ancel raised his foot to step down the stairs when Charra turned to him with a low coo.
The dog across the street started barking. Moments later, it came dashing through the hedges, jumping at the fence and snarling at Charra. The daggerpaw padded up the steps to the doors as if nothing happened. The chill and tension eased from Ancel’s back as the other neighborhood dogs soon joined in a yelping chorus.
Ancel let out a breath, took one last look down the street, and pulled open the front door. Sweet smells of cooking wafted out to him. His mouth watered, and he found himself licking his lips as he paused for a moment to allow Charra to push past him as usual. Instead, the daggerpaw faced the street, stretched, and lay on the landing.
“Have it your way,” Ancel said with a shake of his head. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
“About time.” His father’s resonant voice echoed down the long hallway as Ancel wiped his feet on the mat. “Your mother’s cooked up a quick meal. She was becoming worried you were off playing the fool with your friends again.”
“No, Da.” Ancel shed his short cloak and hung it on the stand with the others. “I hurried home as fast as I could.”
Stefan waited for him down the hall. When Ancel reached his father, the older man gave his school uniform a quick inspection, allowing only his penetrating emerald eyes to move. His father paused at the stains on Ancel’s trousers where some merchant’s plums had found their mark. A ghost of a smile touched his father’s lips before he tilted his head to meet Ancel’s eyes. Ancel swallowed.
“I suppose those two told you about the trip to Randane?”
Unable to hold his father’s knowing gaze any longer, Ancel dipped his head, his face flushing with embarrassment. “Yes, they did.”
“Good. You must be on your best behavior this trip. Headspeaker Valdeen will be presenting the kinai to the King’s tasters this year, so you’ll be taking the horses. Social status and all that. Impressions, my son,” his father added in response to Ancel’s raised brows as he led the way through the study.
Ancel gawked. “Da, then you should—”
“Oh?” Stefan clasped his hands behind his back. “First you lie, and now you’re telling me what I must do?”
The words stung, and Ancel hung his head. He kept his attention on the bookcases lining the walls, then let his gaze rove across the long, polished table, and the soft chairs within the room. The plush carpet below their feet made for an uncomfortable silence. Finally, Ancel spoke up, “No, Da. It’s just that this trip is so important. I don’t want to ruin anything.”
His father’s voice softened. “You’ll be fine, I’m sure. Besides, I’m unable to make the journey this year. I have another meeting to attend.”
Ancel pursed his lips. “What could be more important than the King of Sendeth?”
“As much or more rides on my meeting as this year’s Soltide offerings to King Emory.”
“But, Da
, without the King’s agreement the Council won’t be allowed to expand Eldanhill into a city as the Council wishes.”
Stefan placed a hand on Ancel’s shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “Sometimes, son, one must sacrifice for the bigger picture.”
Pondering those words, Ancel was so lost in his thoughts it took a moment before he noticed his father’s sword. “Da.”
“Yes?”
“Is something wrong?”
They crossed into the large living room with its neat, cushioned benches and multicolored rugs. The aroma from the food grew stronger.
His father tilted his head slightly, his dark hair with its white streaks falling to one side. “What makes you ask?”
“Well, that for one,” Ancel replied, dropping his gaze to the sword at his father’s hip.
His father’s hand brushed against the weapon’s hilt. “And?”
“Charra’s been acting strange the last few days even before we saw those creatures in the Greenleaf.”
His father snorted. “There’s no accounting for Charra’s moods. He’s worse than a woman.” Stefan leaned his head toward the kitchen and dining room. “Don’t tell your mother I said that,” he added under his breath.
Ancel smiled. “And your sword?”
“We went to check this glen of yours and backtrack to where you said the beasts chased you. All the signs pointed to the creatures being mountain wolves or daggerpaws accompanied by hunters from the Seifer clan.”
“But Da, mountain wolves don’t have green eyes, neither do daggerpaws.”
“The eyes were the resinbuds playing tricks on you two. From the markings they left on the trees, I’m sure it was the Seifer. Looks like they’re feuding with the Nema again. Probably poisoned that secret kinai crop of yours because they figured it must be the Nema’s. You two boys were actually lucky. If you weren’t on dartans, I may now be in the Kelvore bargaining for your freedom. For now, stay away from those parts until I know this feud is over.”
Ancel nodded, but the way his father fingered his sword as he talked about the wolves wasn’t convincing.
His father continued, “As for my meeting. King Emory is sending a noble here. Some trumped up lordling who’ll meet with a Dosteri embassy to discuss the recent troubles. The King’s advisors suggested we get used to dressing the part of active Dagodin once more.” Stefan shrugged. “I assume they wish to impress the Dosteri with pomp and ceremony. As if that wasn’t enough, a Tribunal member is coming to mediate.”
Ancel faltered at the prospect of a High Ashishin’s visit. His father had said it all with as much interest as if this meeting was as common as the winter storms that blew down from the Kelvore Mountains every year. “Things have become that serious?”
“Serious?” His father’s voice rose a notch. “Not at all. The Dosteri have taken affront to the smallest occurrences of late. I assume the King would rather not have anything happen they could construe as an insult. That’s all but reassured with a High Ashishin’s presence.” Stefan paused, his thumb stroking his lip. “At any rate, this is nothing for you to concern yourself with, not at this moment anyway.” His hand dropped and began caressing his pointed beard.
Ancel’s brows drew together for a moment. His father often stroked his beard when he lied or only told part of a story. What’s he keeping from me? “Da, are you—”
“Ah, here’s your mother,” Stefan said as they entered the dining room. “Thania, love, you’ve outdone yourself.”
Ancel snapped his mouth shut as he noticed the dining table for the first time. Porcelain dishes filled with food were set out in neat lines around the marble centerpiece—a sculpture depicting Ilumni. His mother placed a plate filled with slabs of steak on the table. There were potatoes, cabbage, carrots, sweet peas, and sliced quail breast. Several bowls contained creamy sauces. Mouthwatering aromas rose from them that made Ancel want to rush to the table and dig in. Grapes, gooseberries, and sliced bananas adorned several platters next to a basket of freshly baked bread. A pitcher containing crimson colored kinai wine and another with kinai juice, its color paler than the liquor, sat next to each other.
“Mother,” Ancel exclaimed, “you did all this without the servants?”
His mother smiled. “I see my son has forgotten his mother’s ability to cook with the best.”
“I didn’t forget,” Ancel said in a half-hearted, embarrassed protest. “It’s just been so long.”
Mother looked thoughtful for a moment. “It has, hasn’t it?”
Ancel nodded. Remembering his mother’s cooking set his mouth to watering once more.
“Well, stop standing around drooling,” she said. “Go wash your hands and hurry back.”
Ancel didn’t wait to be told twice. Leaving his parents to their small talk, he hurried through the dining room and into the adjoining kitchen. He skirted the big oak table with its pots and cooking utensils, passed the large stone oven and hearth and stopped at the kitchen sink. With food on his mind, he quickly washed his hands and rushed back to the dining room. His parents stood at their customary positions at the head of the table. Ancel took his place and bowed.
“Ancel, seeing that this is all for you,” Stefan said, “Today, you’ll lead us with the prayer.”
Ancel nodded, closed his eyes, and began in the most reverent voice he could muster, “Dear Ilumni, thank you for the meal you’ve provided for us today. I pray you bless this food and this family. I thank you for allowing me to enjoy this meal with my parents this day. I beg your Battleguard keep me safe on my trip so we can enjoy many more days together. Blessed in your light, we pray.”
A sudden tightness eased up Ancel’s chest. Multiple shades of color bloomed around his parents. His head spun for a moment, and his vision blurred. The sensation was as if he spun himself in a circle repeatedly then stood outside his body watching himself fall. He grabbed at the chair.
“Ancel! Son!” His parents’ shouts sounded far away.
Ancel struggled not to topple over as his father’s hand appeared on his shoulder for support. Ancel’s body shuddered. He shook his head in an effort to clear the dizziness while his father helped him into the chair. His mother hovered over him, her hand dabbing at his forehead with a cool cloth.
“What happened?” his father asked.
Slowly, the room came back into focus around Ancel. “I-I don’t know. One moment I was praying and the next I felt dizzy and saw these colors.”
“Did you have lunch today?” Mother’s concerned voice overshadowed her stern expression as she leaned over him.
“No, no, I forgot,” Ancel answered before he could think.
“In Ilumni’s name, boy. I’ve told you time and again you need to eat properly,” Stefan scolded. “Your body must be fed as well as your mind for both to work in concert. Have you learned nothing of the Disciplines?”
“Stefan,” his mother said in the soft voice she used when she was angry, “Be a dear and take your seat.”
His father grumbled under his breath, but he complied.
Her hands shaking, Mother picked up a plate from the table and proceeded to heap food onto it. “Eat up before you faint again. And your father’s right, so don’t think I’m taking your side.” She paused for a moment her eyes distant, then said under her breath, “Maybe we ought to send you to the menders, but that wouldn’t cure what ails you, would it?” She finished preparing his meal then went to the opposite side of the table and took her seat.
By this time, Ancel’s head had fully cleared. “I’m sorry,” he muttered.
Mother waved him off. “No need to apologize. We’ve been meaning to have a talk with you,” She prepared a plate for herself and gestured toward Stefan with a slight tilt of her head.
His father regarded him without the irritation he’d shown earlier. “We’ve both heard the stories of all these girls you bed. We don’t approve.” Ancel opened his mouth to speak but his father overrode him. “You need to control your emotion
s as you’ve been taught. That’s not to say I didn’t have my day when I was a young man like yourself. But it’s not what you’re doing that bothers me as much as the why. Ever since Irmina left, it’s been as if a dark cloud has hung over you. You’ve even neglected your studies, resorting to brandishing your sword to impress the skirts. Treating women as you have will neither bring her back nor make you feel better about her or yourself. If you want to bed them, do so. But don’t do it out of spite or lead them on in hopes they will feel the pain you do.”
“What your father means to say is to respect women as you would me. If you wish to experience the many flavors of female companionship, I cannot and will not stop you even if it bothers me. But take caution with what you promise. We’ve had quite a few complaints the last few days. The worse of which has been Headspeaker Valdeen—”
“I grow weary of the man,” his father interrupted.
“As do many on the Council,” Mother said.
Ancel pushed a slab of quail into his mouth, hardly tasting it as he chewed. Knowing the Headspeaker had complained to his parents made him even more reluctant to go to Randane.
“Well, that’s part of the reason we’re allowing you to go,” his mother said.
Ancel frowned. Did I say that aloud?
“Smooth things over with the Headspeaker. In turn, we’ll talk to whichever fathers have taken issue with your relations with their daughters,” his mother said.
His father nodded. “And when you return, resume your training in earnest. Take the same emotions that confuse you now and feed them into your quest to learn. Bind them to your will. Remember, control is everything if you wish to surpass me as a Dagodin. “ His features spread into a wide smile as he spoke. “Teacher Calestis stopped by today and said you could be the best student she has again if you would only apply yourself.”
Ancel held his breath, waiting for the outburst that would come if Teacher Calestis had told of the day’s earlier events. But none came.
Instead, his father said, “I learned as you must, that a man is only as good as his honor. Life is what you make it, son, and in turn, life shapes you. It’s up to you to work that shape into something positive. Yes, you’ll make mistakes along the way. But, remember, mistakes are lessons. Positive moments are gold. Collect both with the right person and you’ll be wiser and have a treasure of happiness for the rest of your days.” He smiled at Mother and in return, she blushed.