Forged in Fire (Destiny's Crucible Book 4)

by Olan Thorensen

  Yozef knew the clans could have decimated the Narthani infantry formation if they’d had enough time and resources to equip every islander with Minie ball cartridges and rifles. He reassured himself, as he had many times, that it was better to produce as much as they knew how and that was already in production than to always go for the next best weapon. If they survived the Narthani, and if they could develop long-term good relations with the Fuomi and possibly other realms, then Yozef would have the time and opportunity to introduce more exotic developments.

  Chapter 38: “You Gotta Be Shitting Me”

  In the three months since Anarynd had joined the marriage, Yozef had been gone a third of the time. Each time he returned home, he still felt odd entering a house and greeting, and being greeted by, two wives. The sleeping arrangements evolved into alternative nights between wives, except when he was late working in Caernford or simply felt like sleeping alone. Both Maera and Anarynd took coupling for granted whenever it happened. The first month it had seemed like a requirement, but with time they all relaxed, and subtle signals became routine. When it did happen, the coupling had distinct pattern differences. Maera had begun as a dutiful wife fulfilling her husband’s needs, though she seemed to enjoy the intimacy. Only after Aeneas was born and the Fuomi arrived did Yozef feel she enjoyed it as much as he did, judging by the occasional moans and perceptible spasms, followed by relaxation.

  Anarynd, conversely, though she also displayed a sense of duty, left no doubt when she was in the mood. On those occasions, the coupling might be evening and morning, and Yozef wondered whether the entire household heard her vocalizations, though he didn’t have the nerve to ask.

  Yozef still had not adjusted to the blasé attitude the Caedelli had about the human body and its functioning. Thus he was not prepared for Anarynd sharing a surprise at a meal with only the three of them.

  They had just begun to eat the meal the Oroszian maid served them when Anarynd broke the news. “Yozef, Maera, my nipples seem larger and darker.”

  Yozef froze, a slice of buttered bread inches from his mouth. He tried to process what he’d heard, and his brain searched for what he was supposed to do with the information.

  “I wasn’t sure before,” said Anarynd. “Now I am. I’m pregnant. I’ve missed my bleeding for the second time, and my breasts are tender.”

  Yozef’s first coherent thought was, Not another one? His second thought was, You know, I did think I noticed something the other night, and she flinched once when I squeezed a little.

  Maera’s first flash was a pang of jealousy that Anarynd would take away her position of having the only child in the family. Her second thought was, Shame on you, Maera Kolsko-Keelan.

  Yozef’s third thought was, That was fast. Let’s see . . . He counted days and factored in Anyar women’s thirty-six-day cycle to match the two moons. Wow, it might have happened the wedding night.

  Maera’s third thought was that Anarynd deserved to have both her and Yozef appear pleased. “Oh, Ana, how wonderful. Isn’t it, Yozef?” She accompanied the last words with a sharp kick under the table.

  “Uh . . . yes, yes, wonderful news, Anarynd,” stuttered a befuddled husband, who rose and joined Maera in a three-sided hug.

  When Maera drew back, she gave Ana a kiss on the cheek. “Oh, Ana, we’re going to have so much fun picking out clothes for when you swell, and we’ll have to let your fam . . . our friends know the news.” Maera was about to reference Ana’s family before she caught herself. The only family members Anarynd believed she had were still touching her.

  A more pertinent thought came to Yozef. “Anarynd, have you had any of the morning sickness?” Yozef gave Maera a knowing look.

  “No!” exclaimed Anarynd, radiant. “I know all women are different, and Maera hardly suffered it at all, so maybe this family is blessed by God.”

  Maybe, thought Yozef as Maera gave him a shrug, though my first bet is on the nano-elementss the aliens gave me to recover from the collision. It still bugs me I don’t understand why they would work on a physiological reaction to hormone changes. What’s that got to do with healing wounds or preventing disease? Those are what Harlie told me they were for. As he had many times since he realized he’d passed the nano-elements on through semen, he wondered whether the alien AI that’d interacted with him had told him everything the elements did—or if he should believe the veracity of anything told to him.

  Two sixdays later, Anarynd woke from an early afternoon nap and undressed to stand before a full-length mirror in her rooms. She turned side to side. Yes, there’s no doubt. My belly is a little larger. She stroked her abdomen. What a strange twist to life. A year ago, I would never have imagined this. She pushed aside black memories of her capture, months of subjugation to Erdelin, and rejection by her family—as much as she could. So much good had happened since then. Reuniting with Maera and being together permanently. Marrying Yozef. Though it wasn’t the marriage of her naïve dreams, he was the most considerate man she’d ever met, not that she’d met that many. Strange and mysterious, as Maera had written her, although a man of more importance than she’d imagined marrying. She enjoyed the coupling with her husband far more than she had worried about. It was so different with a man she wanted to lie with. Her children would grow up in a wealthy and loving family. Unlike Maera, she didn’t worry excessively about the Narthani. Yozef would do things to save his family and all the clans; of that, she had no doubt. After all, wasn’t he a Septarsh? One blessed and guided by God, no matter how much he denied it?

  She dressed and sat in a rocker on a balcony of their Orosz City house. One of her contributions to the house was to buy clay pots of blooming flowers she’d found in a city market. A pot with orange and blue flowers sat on a ledge of the balcony. She heard voices from the lower floor, Maera talking with someone. The banging of iron pots indicated either Gwyned in the kitchen or Morwena actively expressing her fascination with cookware, perhaps both.

  Anarynd rocked slowly as the shade and the occasional cool breeze wafting over her almost lulled her back to sleep. She wondered whether they could put in a swing wide enough for someone, such as herself, to lie back and nap. Her reverie stopped when she heard footsteps on the stone paving.

  “There you are, Ana,” said Maera as she walked quickly up to Anarynd, puffing slightly, carrying year-old Aeneas on her hip, a combination of worry and surprise on her face. “There are some people here to see you.”

  “See me? Who are they?”

  “They say, and look the part, that they’re from Moreland.”

  Anarynd’s pulse quickened. Moreland? Why would anyone from home come to see me? Especially since her family cast her out after her escape from the Narthani. “Did they give any names or say what they want?”

  “Two of them say they’re relatives. An Aunt Glynas and a brother Iwun.”

  Aunt Glynas and Iwun! thought Anarynd, shocked. Aunt Glynas had been one of her favorites among many aunts, and she had fond memories of Glynas’s visits to her home. Several times, she had spent a six-day visiting the aunt and her family in the northwest of Moreland. Iwun was a brother a year older than herself. He had been her closest family member, but she remembered bitterly that he had not spoken with her or protested the rest of the family’s treatment of her, nor did he try to stop her from leaving and seeking refuge with Maera.

  “The third one is Abbot Abelard of St. Worlan’s Abbey. He says he represents the Moreland Grand Council,” said Maera.

  Anarynd blinked several times. Why would the Grand Council have any interest in me? she wondered. In Moreland, although the Moreland family was the hereditary ruler of the clan, the council consisted of boyermen and “wise men” from each district. Their role was to advise the hetman on important issues, approve of major changes in law and customs, and, where necessary and on very rare occasions, rule on conflicting claims of succession for the hetman and the district boyermen.

  “I told them to wait in the main room of the hous
e while I asked if you were willing to see them,” said Maera.

  “Does Yozef know they’re here?” asked Anarynd.

  “No. He’s off with Mulron doing something. The Morelanders just arrived. Do you want to send for him?”

  Anarynd thought for a moment, then said, “No. I think he mentioned working with the artisans on more maps he wants designed.” Anarynd took several deep breaths. “I’ll meet with them, but can you stay with me?”

  “Of course, Ana,” said Maera and gave Anarynd a tight hug. “And if they are anything except nice to you, I’ll run them off the property with my carriage whip.” Maera wasn’t kidding.

  Anarynd smiled slightly. “I doubt that’ll be necessary. It’s just that the last time I spoke with any of my family it was . . . hard.”

  “I know, Ana. Remember, I’ll be right here with you.” Arm in arm, they walked across the stone flooring, down the stairway to the lower floor, among the “raised beds” with flowers that Yozef had had built for Anarynd in the central courtyard of the large house, and into the large main room. The three Morelanders sat at the table by the large front “bay” window. No one knew why it was called that, only that Yozef had described he wanted a window that extended from the wall to give more light and that it was called a bay window. People considered the window something of an oddity when Yozef asked for it, but those who sat in the window usually went away wondering how to get one in their homes and how much it would cost. The small table and chairs by the window had become one of Anarynd’s and Maera’s favorite places in the house, and they had spent many an hour there alone or together, either talking about life and the world or just sitting.

  When Anarynd first saw the three Morelanders standing at her and Maera’s place, she felt a momentary pang. It passed quickly as they turned to face her. The three people each had a different expression. Aunt Glynas appeared sad, Iwun’s seemed nervous, and the other man’s face was a blank slate with sharp eyes that took her in without emotion, as if he were evaluating something he saw for the first time.

  “Hello, Anarynd,” said Glynas. “Thank you for agreeing to see us. I would have understood if you had refused.”

  “Do you really understand?” Anarynd asked, nervousness and dread giving way to the deep hurt and disappointment her family had subjected her to. “Really?”

  Glynas hesitated, then said, “Maybe I don’t. You’re the only one who knows. I won’t pretend to apologize for the entire family. All I would ask for myself is that you remember that I was not there when you returned. I was away caring for my husband’s sister, who was dying. By the time she passed on and I got back home, you were already gone. I was furious beyond words when I learned what your father and brother had said to you. There were terrible rows between me and many of the family, but I couldn’t change their attitudes. I suppose yelling at them was not the best approach. They can be so infuriating! When I gave up with them, I wrote you several times.” She looked at Anarynd with sad eyes.

  Anarynd remembered. She had received several letters from Aunt Glynas after she came to Keelan—and had burned them, unread. She had cried while watching the flames as the paper turned to ash—each time reliving the same thing happening to her family ties.

  A flood of memories came to her unbidden. Aunt Glynas making her favorite treats every time they were together. Walking through villages, fields, and woods and along streams. Glynas talking to Anarynd the way her parents never did. Asking about her. What was she doing? How did she feel? Sometimes it seemed as if Glynas and her mother’s other sister, Tilda, were the only ones in the family who saw her, instead of a daughter, a sister, a child, or whatever role they expected of her. Aunt Tilda had disappeared after being taken during the Eywellese raid at Lanwith. Without thinking, Anarynd found herself hugging Glynas and crying. Her aunt’s brief startlement passed, and she returned the hug, mixing her tears with Anarynd’s.

  “Oh, Anarynd. I’ve missed you so much!”

  They clung to each other for several minutes, neither one speaking again, just holding the other close. Finally, Glynas whispered in her left ear, “Your brother Iwun is here, too. He’s the only other one in the family who spoke up for you, even if it was after you left. He’s been racked with guilt that he didn’t speak up earlier. I told him to write to you or come see you, but he was convinced you would never forgive him. I had to do some major arm twisting and scolding to get him here, he was so afraid to face you.”

  Anarynd unwrapped her arms from Glynas and glanced at Iwun. He appeared contrite but stared straight in her eyes. “I’ve come to ask forgiveness, Anarynd. I can think of no good excuse for myself that I did not stand up for you sooner. All the rest of the family said you were disgraced and it would have been better if you had never come back. Even our father, our uncles, and our brother Heilrond. I didn’t know what to think or say, so I did nothing. I was so angry at what they had done to you, I wanted to scream to the heavens . . . my poor Anarynd.” He stopped, choked.

  She walked to him, reached out, and held one of his big hands in her two. “I won’t say it didn’t hurt to be rejected by you and the others. In some ways, it hurt more than what happened to me with the Narthani. However, God has destinies for us all.”

  Anarynd grasped Iwun’s hand and reached out to Glynas, then held onto their hands as they faced her. “Whatever his plan for us, it’s not always easy to understand.”

  She looked at the third visitor. An older man, perhaps in his early sixties. Solid looking, with a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, and wearing a brown and black cloak. “And you, Ser? I don’t recall if we’ve met before.”

  “I don’t believe we have. I am Abelard Elsworth, abbot of the Abbey of St. Worlan.”

  St. Worlan’s was one of the most respected centers of theology on Caedellium, though Anarynd remembered Maera saying it was among the more conservative. Why is he here? she wondered.

  Elsworth continued, “I am also, for the moment, chosen leader of the Moreland Grand Council.”

  Something is afoot here, Maera thought. The abbot of Worlan’s and leader of the Moreland Grand Council didn’t accompany Ana’s relatives for their company, the scenery on the trip, or simply traveling in the same direction—not in these times. They want something of Ana.

  Such thoughts had not yet occurred to Ana. “It is an honor to meet you, Abbot Elsworth. Is that the appropriate title, or is there one from the Grand Council? I’m afraid I don’t remember details of how the council members are addressed.”

  “Abbot Elsworth is fine. And if I may ask, what is the appropriate address I should use for you?”

  Anarynd held the hands of her relatives tighter. “I am Anarynd Kolsko-Moreland. Wife of Yozef Kolsko, co-wife of Maera Kolsko-Keelan,” she said firmly, her blue eyes cold as mid-winter. As forgiving, at least to some degree, as she might be with Glynas and Iwun, she saw the abbot as the representative of the clan and the society that had rejected her.

  “Sen Kolsko-Moreland,” he began, his tone of voice changing to convey serious and formal import. “I am here representing the Moreland Grand Council. My task is to speak with you on a matter of gravest importance to all of Moreland. I realize you may not feel kindly toward your home province and clan. These are hard times for Caedellium, and all the clans are undergoing changes beyond anything we would have imagined only a few years ago. I also will not excuse your treatment by your family. Apologies to Glynas and Iwun, but that treatment was by one family and not the entire Moreland Clan. I hope you still feel a connection to your birth clan and its people.”

  Anarynd angrily shook her head. “Perhaps it was my own family that rejected me; however, there were other women in the same situation as myself. Some of them accompanied me here to find refuge. A few others killed themselves after surviving the Narthani, dreaming of returning to a home they found no longer existed. Tell me, Ser Elsworth, why should I care about Clan Moreland?”

  She had deliberately used his gender address instead of “A
bbot.”

  “I can give you several reasons. Whether they add up to enough for you to believe you still have a deep connection with Clan Moreland is up to you. Remember that not all of the rescued women were treated as you and some of the others were. I have asked medicants to check on the status of as many of the women as we could find. I will admit, I am ashamed to say, that about one-third of them were rejected by their families, as you were. Another third have managed to resume something of a normal life, though it might not be in the same town as before and perhaps with little or no contact with their families. However, the other third were totally accepted back into their families, and while their experiences will, of course, forever affect them, they seem to have managed to resume most of their previous lives, especially regarding people they knew before. Some who were unmarried have married the same men they had planned or hoped to marry before. Not all, of course. None of us know for sure how a marriage will fare, and only God might know if their previous marriage possibilities would have turned out better.”

  The abbot paused, then continued, “The second reason is that Clan Moreland is made up of more than just your immediate family. You have here one relative who wanted to reach out to you and another who came to quickly regret his actions or inactions. I infer from your initial response to Glynas and Iwun that at least some degree of forgiveness is possible. If that is the case within your own family, how can you harbor permanent resentment toward people of Moreland you have never met? And what about all the children of Moreland? Including those born after you came here and those yet to be born. And finally, whatever has happened, you were born into Moreland, and its customs and history will always be part of you.”

  Anarynd’s face had relaxed as she listened, although a hint of sadness remained. “Still, Abbot, even if some of your arguments mean something to me, it still doesn’t answer why you are here.”