by C. Greenwood
***
With a start I sat up in the darkness, nearly tumbling out of my tree.
“Mama?” I called. Of course she didn’t answer. Had I really expected her to? I lifted my sleeve and felt the ridged scar along my forearm, where I’d clipped the rock during my tumble. It was an old injury and I’d never been able to remember how I’d gotten it. Until tonight.
I leaned back against the tree again and closed my eyes, attempting to shake my mother’s image from my mind. I scarcely thought of her anymore. I felt uneasy, knowing she could still creep into my dreams after all this time. Was the magic trying to tell me something? I shook my head. That was ridiculous. The incident meant nothing. Neither Mama nor I had ever spoken again of our secret journey or of the dark man under the black-and-scarlet pennant. Strange that I should relive the incident now, but then I supposed it was no stranger than any of the other wild things folk dreamed about.
I tried to go back to sleep, but remnants of the dream clung to my mind. The dark soldier’s face was as fresh in my memory as if it were only yesterday I’d seen him. I wondered who he was and why he was important, and the wondering kept me awake the rest of the night. I had a growing conviction that if I could ever tie together the loose ends of all my scattered memories, I might make sense of the mysteries of my past.
As the early light of dawn crept over us, I decided I could bear it no longer. I reached below and awakened Terrac with a rough shake of the twin branches he sprawled over. He woke with a start, tumbling from his perch. Luckily, we weren’t far from the ground and a convenient cluster of shrubbery saved him from a nasty landing. He wasn’t too kindly disposed toward me after that and even less so when I told him why I’d stirred him. It was one of the few times I managed to ruffle his placid disposition.
“You wake me at dawn’s first light and drop me from a tree so I can run and fetch for you?” he demanded in disbelief.
“I need the parcel now,” I explained patiently. “I’ve told you how to retrieve it and I don’t intend to waste the morning arguing, so away with you. And be quick about it or I’ll be forced to set you in your place. Again.”
Waving a dismissive hand in the direction of Red Rock, I lay back in my lofty perch to gaze into the leafy green branches above. A pinecone was lobbed past my head, but I ignored it.
My companion grumbled, a low string of phrases unworthy of a priest, but eventually the crackle of sticks and the rustle of underbrush told me he was walking away. I wondered absently if he would bother to return, then decided even if he didn’t, at least I was finally rid of him.
It was hours before I saw him again. He still had a grim set to his mouth and an offended air about him as he set the required parcel at the base of the tree and shouted up that if I wanted it, I could come down and get it.
Ignoring his injured attitude, I scrambled down, snatching up the leather-wrapped package.
“What took you so long?” I demanded. “Get lost along the way?”
“Yes,” he said sullenly. “You knew I would. I can’t tell one of these rotten trees from another.”
I sat down, my back against the tree trunk, to unwrap my bundle. Stripping away the oiled strips of leather I had wrapped it in for protection, I held the brooch in my hands. When I flipped it over, the tiny letters etched across the back looked just as I remembered them. They seemed less strange to me now that I had practiced writing a bit myself, but I was still not familiar enough with the letters to sound them all out. Irritated, I thrust the brooch at my companion. “Here. Tell me what this says.”
“I won’t,” he said. “Read it yourself.”
“You know I cannot,” I answered testily.
“I know that you could learn if you wanted to badly enough.”
“But at this moment I cannot,” I emphasized, as if speaking to a child. “You already read, while for me it will take months, if not years, to learn.” I shook the brooch at him. “This pin was given me by my dead mother, who claimed it held the secret to protecting me. Maybe this writing will give me some clue as to what she meant.”
He folded his arms, unmoved. “Then you’d better start attending your lessons. Now there’s something you’re suddenly eager to read, you’ll work twice as hard at your letters. Coincidentally, as Brig grows impatient with your lack of progress, your renewed efforts will spare me a beating from him. Let us consider that to be your good deed for the year.”
“I’m not the priest,” I reminded him sourly.
“Neither am I. Or have you forgotten?”
“Yes,” I said. “You lie so convincingly it’s easy to forget the truth.”
I saw his confidence falter. “I don’t lie,” he said. “If I’ve allowed Rideon to mislead himself, it’s only because I don’t care to be murdered.”
Before I could slip in a cutting remark, he changed the subject. “But never mind that. Let’s speak of your problem. I’ll make you a bargain. If you’re willing to redouble your efforts and pay attention to what I teach you, I promise I’ll have you reading by winter. Come now, that isn’t far off.”
I leaned forward. “Now I’ll make you an offer. You tell me right this moment what the writing on the brooch says or I’ll tell Rideon you’re not really a priest.”
Terrac winced but held his ground. “Tell Rideon I’m not a priest and I’ll tell everyone how he knocked the feathers out of you.”
I knew he was waiting to bring that up. I sank back in defeat. “You win, priest boy.” I conceded ungraciously. What choice did I have? Terrac was a fair teller of tales and too honest to skim over details. I knew by the time he finished the story, I’d be a laughing stock around the outlaw camp.
“Good,” he said now. “We’ll give up this sulking nonsense and return to Red Rock first thing tomorrow morning, where we will resume your lessons.”
Too dispirited to object, I nodded dumbly, returned the brooch to its protective leather wrapping and tucked it into my tunic.