by J. R. Castle
Eventually, Grunt intended to get that globe back. It was Curian-made and belonged to someone with Curian blood. Like him.
The girl stepped outside and wiped cobwebs and dust from her clothing and long, blond hair. It reminded him of spun silk braided down her back. What did Fajer want with her? She couldn’t even be twenty cycles yet. Grunt’s stomach twisted over what that old wizard might do with such a young maiden.
For a moment, he considered walking away, except… he had nowhere else to go.
Even if he did walk away, Fajer would find another means to get what he wanted. Well, maybe she was one of those snooty girls that looked down their perfect long noses at everyone else. Maybe she was selfish and conceited, or demanding and cruel.
A butterfly tumbled past her bringing a delightful giggle from the girl. She followed it a few steps, commenting on how beautiful it was and wishing it a good day.
Grunt blew out a long breath followed by a curse. She didn’t seem like the ill-mannered type at all.
“Very well, let me think this through for a moment.” Grunt tugged at the thin beard covering his chin as he contemplated his options. If he did walk away, he’d be without home or sustenance. Once again, he’d walk the land as an outcast. At least with Fajer, he had an in with the other sorcerers in the region. Turning on Fajer now would label him untrustworthy. He’d have no hope of eventually joining someone else from the Brethren Order.
He cursed again. No, he needed to do this. He’d not let anybody, or thing, stand in the way of his ultimate goal. Especially not some stupid, young girl.
Who really cared what Fajer wanted with her? Grunt decided that he wouldn’t let himself care. And standing here debating and fretting was doing nothing but wasting time. If he didn’t have her near the tree at the appointed time, all this musing would be for naught.
Grunt straightened his back, smoothed down his blue velvet jacket, and stepped out from the shelter of shadows and onto the path leading past the mill. “Greetings this fine morning, lass.” He held up his hand.
As expected, she stepped back into the mill, holding the broom protectively in front of her. He tried not to chuckle over the absurdity of her using it to defend herself against him.
“Peace, dear child. I’m but a traveling entertainer passing through your fine village. Would your mill, by chance have any grain to trade? I own little, but perhaps I have something that might interest you.”
Her gaze darted right to the mandolin now tucked under his arm in plain sight. Ah, he’d guessed right about her interests. When she glanced at him again, he was taken aback by her green eyes that reminded him of a meadow in summer. She tilted her head slightly to the side, “I’m afraid there is no grain yet. What little is grown here is usually kept by those who grow it.”
Grunt folded his arms over his chest, making sure to keep the instrument in her sights. “Then why, may I ask, are you slaving away inside when there’s no point? It’s much too fine a day to stay inside a dusty and unused building. Don’t you think?”
“Indeed, yes, but there is hope that some might need our services. I see your mandolin has a broken string. Do you play it much?”
He fought to keep his mouth from forming a smile. “This old thing? I have played it some, but… I had hoped to trade it for food. You see, I’ve been traveling many days through those horrid woods. This isn’t a good season to find much sustenance, I fear. I was so relieved to come to your town.”
She bit her bottom lip, causing his heart to stumble for a couple of beats.
Silently scolding himself, he forced his thoughts to stay on task. “I can see by your expression that I have little hope of finding anyone willing to trade this old noise box for something substantial. Am I correct?”
Her shoulder jerked upward. “Yes, I fear you are, sir. And though I would love to trade for an instrument such as you possess, I fear we have nothing of equal value. Like most folks here, we are barely scraping by.” She continued to stare at him, her brows furrowed. “Oh dear, I do so hate to turn anyone away. Perhaps I can find a bit of bread, though I fear it’ll be stale. Or—”
“I noticed,” he interrupted, needing her to stop. She was willing to share what scraps they had? He swallowed down the lump forming in his throat and forbade himself to allow any feelings for the waif to surface. Emotions were a man’s ruin. Allowing his heart to feel would be his downfall. He’d not allow it.
“I noticed the tree behind your home. Is it yours?”
“Oh, the White Tree?” She set her broom against the wall beside the door. “It is on our property. It used to grow healing fruits that helped the people of Goia, but—”
“Yes, I know what a White Tree is for. It will produce fruit when in need so long as…” he left the rest unsaid, wondering if she’d finish the rule for him.
“I’m afraid it’s dying. I’m not sure why. It hasn’t produced fruit in ages.”
He held out the mandolin. “How about a trade, my dear? This for a look at your tree? All I ask is that you accompany me. I would feel as if I were trespassing if you do not.”
“But sir, I know for a fact there are no fruits growing or ready to be picked.”
“Perhaps I can coax it. As I said, when there’s a need, it will comply.”
It would also comply with the touch of a Logorian, which was the other half of his bloodline and his deepest, most dangerous secret of all. Nobody could ever know his true lineage, which was why he’d given Fajer a fake name, and one he intended to use from now on. He’d never share his true name ever again. Far as he was concerned, that name and his past were dead to him.
“Whether the tree produces or not, the mandolin is yours. My gift for your desire to help and for gracing me with your time on this busy morning.”
She smiled then and motioned for him to follow her. “I’ll only take it if you are able to find something to fulfill your hunger. I would like to see someone coax that tree to life, I’ve sorely missed watching it bloom this time of year.”
He followed her, enchanted by the brilliant smile that lit up her delicate face. He almost wondered if she weren’t born of the fair folks or was part-Being herself.
As he stood before the bare tree with its stark white branches and few remaining star-shaped leaves, visions of a pair of similar trees, much more vibrant than this one flashed through his mind. The other bountiful White Trees had hung over the golden throne where the Light King sat, waiting for him to approach.
Grunt shoved the memory out of his mind. No! Do not go there ever again. He would never bow to any authority. Never! For now, he tolerated Fajer’s attempts at control, but a time would come when he’d make his move and show his real power.
“What is your name, kind sir?” She asked as they headed around the mill toward the piece of land behind their home.
There was a stone cook-stove directly behind their house. Did they also control that? At one time, her family must have been quite well-to-do. Past the small cottage, one of those Meeting Halls stood in disrepair. From the dark windows, it seemed abandoned.
No wonder Fajer had picked this town. It was the kind he liked to come into, offering his services and causing the people to be indebted to him. Then they’d become his slaves.
Did he have such plans for this tiny town? Normally he would share those plans. So why was the sorcerer’s interest settled only on this young girl?
No matter how hard Grunt tried, he couldn’t fathom his master’s reasonings. “Most call me Grunt. It suits me, I suppose.”
Her mouth dropped in surprise. “No, it does not! I would never take you for someone like that. You are much too refined.”
Why did it please him that she was indignant over the nickname? What did it matter? He chuckled but didn’t dare to look at her earnest face. “And what, may I ask, is your name, kind lady?”
He examined the tree, looking for any bit of life remaining. It was close to expiring.
Good.
The sooner,
the better. He was almost reluctant to use his charms on it but would need to do so in order to keep her occupied. Hopefully, Fajer would succeed quickly and send Marlin to his rescue.
If the father was as gullible and good-hearted as his daughter, Master should have no trouble coaxing what he wanted from the man. Grunt only needed to keep her here a short while longer.
Finally, he turned to her and found she watched him with a wary smile.
She quickly ducked her head, staring at the ground as she said, “My name is Kardia. My family is of the White Horse. I was born here in Goia. Too bad you come now instead of when it thrived and was a wonderful place to live.”
Grunt found a leaf tipped with green. Perfect. “It happens, I’m afraid. The little hamlets that border a Regent’s jurisdiction are usually forgotten. He almost mentioned having his Master come to help but stopped himself. Fajer had never said he intended on taking over this village. His only interest lay in the girl.
But why?
There didn’t seem to be anything special about her. She was much too…kind…and good, for Master’s tastes.
Pinching the tip of the leaf, Grunt concentrated on wishing the branch to grow. Produce, he commanded it with every bit of authority he could muster. It would obey him. Or at least, it would obey his Logorian blood. His Curian side would help, too. They were supposedly masters of creating things out of nothing, from what he’d heard. The Curian Elders never allowed him into their precious Halls of Knowledge to find out exactly what they were capable of. Or what he might be capable of.
However, he knew when he came across a relic created by them, such as Fajer’s all-seeing globe. His blood would scream out from within his veins, MINE!
Someday it would be.
Kardia, who gave away her name much too easily, gasped when the twig sprang to life between his fingers. It grew into a bud. He concentrated harder. Produce more!
Electricity burned through his arm, singeing his fingers, but the bud opened to a beautifully fragrant star-shaped flower. The scent reminded him of the glowing, cobblestone streets of Aloblase, of the scent lingering around the throne room.
His eyes burned with scalding tears that he quickly blinked away. Do. Not. Think about that place!
It no longer existed to him.
“Oh, look,” the girl exclaimed. The flower withered and formed into a red fruit. He waited until the fruit grew to about half its normal size before releasing the branch. That was big enough. More than enough. With dismay, he realized he would now have to eat it.
Forcing a smile on his face, he handed the instrument to the girl. “A deal is a deal. I now have something to, um, eat. So, in trade, this now belongs to you.” He gave a bow as he presented it to her.
She slowly took the mandolin in her delicate hands. Her fingers ran over the fingerboard, then grasped the broken string. For a moment, he thought he saw a slight glow between her thumb and forefinger, but she jerked her hand away too fast for him to be sure.
“It’s so lovely. What fine wood and such craftsmanship.” The head had been carved into the shape of a ram with curling horns. “I…I can’t possibly accept this.”
To his surprise, he wanted her to have it. If any other person had held the instrument, he probably would have taken it back gladly, but the loving expression on her face as she examined every inch and carefully plucked the remaining strings made him secretly hope someday he’d hear her play.
If Fajer got his way, would he let her live? Grunt hadn’t thought about that. What if he planned to … a need to protect her rose up in his heart.
Perhaps it was good that he stayed with the sorcerer for now.
“It’s yours, please accept it. You’re right, it is a fine instrument and needs someone who will be willing to care for it properly. I believe you’ll do just that.”
She hugged it to her chest, her smile breaking his heart. “Thank you so much. I’ll cherish it forever. I’ve tried making my own a few times, but this…. This one is… yes, I’ll take very good care of it.”
He had no doubt. Plucking the fruit from the thin limb, he held the red, pear-shaped ball in his hand. Don’t think about it, just eat it quick. Maybe it would do him some good. That was the fruit’s purpose, wasn’t it?
“Well, thank you for allowing me to take from your tree.” He searched the surrounding trees for any sight of the blasted cardinal. What was taking so long? He wiped the fruit on the front of his shirt, biding his time. If he waited too long, he risked it turning bad and rotting in the palm of his hand. That would be horrible. The stench! Not to mention the stain it left behind.
Kardia, who still hugged the mandolin to her chest, watched him with mild curiosity. He offered her the fruit. “Would you like to half it with me?”
She shook her head. “Oh no, a deal is a deal, as you said. You must be so hungry having traveled so far. And I know this fruit will do you a world of good. Please, enjoy it. I had something for breakfast and will be fine until our dinner tonight.
With a nod, he bit into the fruit. Sweet juices filled his mouth and dribbled down his chin. For a moment he was able to close his eyes and enjoy the rush of strength, of peace, and a sense that all was right with the world. Greedily, he took another bite until only the seed inside was left. He spat the seed into his palm then gave it to her. “We shouldn’t throw that away.”
She nodded and accepted the thumb-sized oval shaped seed. “I’ve heard one should never throw away the seed of a White Tree. I’ll keep it somewhere safe.”
His mouth suddenly filled with the taste of bile. He gulped and hoped that blasted fruit would stay in his stomach. A loud chirp from a nearby tree caught his attention. Finally, Marlin. Time to go!
“Thank you, lass. I hope you enjoy your gift.” He bowed when she reached out and rested her hand on his arm. Her touch was soft, and her eyes brimmed with gratitude.
“What is your real name, kind sir? I know you are no grunt. Not after the wonderful thing you have just done. Please?”
He took a step backward until her hand fell away. His stomach roiled like a pot of burning stew. He needed desperately to get away from her and this place. Blast Fajer! This had better be worth it.
“The name I go by…” Fiery bile rose up his throat. “…is Darnel.”
With one more bow, he bid the maiden goodbye. Then he turned and bolted down the road until he reached the safety of the woods.
Soon as he was hidden within the foliage, he bent over and vomited the contents of his stomach. Sinking to one knee, he heaved a couple of more times until the fruit was completely out of his system. Yes, he’d been able to get it to grow. However, once eaten, it had known his deception and paid him back.
What else would today’s little performance cost him?
Chapter Two
Kardia sat beneath the White Tree. The sweet apple-scented fragrance from the bloom Darnel brought forth still lingered in the air. The scent boosted her spirit and gave her a sense of peace that all was well. She didn’t want to leave the tranquility of this place. Not yet.
Resting the mandolin in her lap, she admired the beautiful craftsmanship. How had he simply given this fine instrument away so easily? Aside from the broken string, it was in perfect condition, and the remaining strings were in perfect pitch. All she needed to do was…
Kardia checked her surroundings. A few people meandered around the village, but she was nestled out of sight beneath the tree. A yellowed leaf fluttered down, brushing against her knee before it settled on the dirt.
She was safe. Grasping both ends of the string between her thumbs and forefingers, she pressed the ends together and concentrated on ordering them to mend. A burst of light flashed between her fingers. She glanced around again, glad the sun was high in the sky. She held the instrument closer to her face, examining the mend. Perfect. Nobody would ever know it had ever snapped.
Now to see how it sounded. She knew a few of the old folk songs and played one of the jollier tunes she love
d so much. Her fingers danced over the strings. Oh, to hear music again. Such bliss!
Kardia’s fingers froze. How would she explain this precious gift? Maybe she shouldn’t tell anyone about the strange visitor. He’d made the tree produce fruit! That hadn’t happened in such a long time.
She felt in her pocket for the thumb-print sized seed that Darnel gave her. “Never throw away a seed of the White Tree, it’s forbidden,” he’d warned. But what was she to do with it? And what was she to do with the mandolin? She desperately wished to keep it, but deep down, she knew the fine instrument could provide over a month’s worth of food for her family in trade.
Yet, who in this village would want a mandolin? The village hadn’t had a celebration in ages.
Slowly, Kardia stood, holding the gift to her chest as a mother would her child. Despite how selfishly she wished to keep the mandolin, she had to tell her family. Perhaps Dadda would allow her to keep…. No, even if he did agree to her keeping it, she couldn’t. Trading it for much-needed provisions was her only option.
“Well, that is what I will do, then, but for right now, I will enjoy it while I can.” She sat back down under the tree, resting her head against the smooth silvery trunk and played one ditty after another until she noticed the sun sinking toward the western horizon.
“Oh my, Mother will be furious if she finds out I’ve loafed around this whole day!” Kardia scrambled to her feet and dusted the dirt and bits of grass from her skirt. Now that she’d played the mandolin so much, she was even more in love with it. “How am I going to part with you?” She hugged it tighter to her chest. Maybe she could tell them…no, she’d not give in to such selfishness!
She would not, however, tell anyone that she’d repaired the broken string. For whatever reason her parents had for keeping her skill quiet, she would trust them. They did what was best for her, this she had no doubt.
Kardia noticed smoke spiraling from the chimney of their cottage. “Mother must be home already.” Drawing in a deep breath, she started walking toward the house, intent on telling Mother all about the strange visitor and his trade for a piece of fruit. More than likely, she’d not believe he was able to make fruit grow from the tree, but Kardia had proof. The seed would confirm her story.