by C. K. Rieke
On a sunny Saturday afternoon, they had a game about to start with five people: Zaan, Gar, Alli, and two others from the shop. The game was about to start, with Gar sitting out for the first part, when Tilda came strolling out from the side of the shop. Zaan saw her and felt his heart sink; he caught himself staring at her and faced his head toward the wall.
“Hey, Tilda, you wanna play?” Alli called out. “We could use a sixth.”
“Yeah, come on!” Gar yelled out.
Tilda dropped her bag and went over. “It’s been a while since I played. I’m probably pretty rusty,” she said.
“It’s okay, you’ll warm up. You can be on my team; it’s you, me, and Alli,” Gar said.
Zaan was standing in the back left side, and Tilda walked over to him.
“I guess I’m defending you,” she said.
Zaan’s heart beat wildly. He was nervous and didn’t respond.
“Okay, ready?” Alli threw the ball up above her and hit it against the wall. Gar caught it. “One to zero, all right.” Gar threw the ball to Alli to serve again. Zaan’s nerves calmed as the game went on.
The game went to within one point to win, and everyone was very intent on the ball, focused and excited. Gar threw the ball up, and it hit high off the left side of the wall. It bounced off and was heading at Zaan with a large arc. He stepped back, put his arms up, and in came Tilda. She jumped in front of him and came crashing down on him, landing directly on top of him. Her face was inches from his, her leg was between his legs, and she was more beautiful in this moment than he had ever imagined. She showed the ball in her hand in front of his face and winked.
“Sorry, not fast enough,” she said to him. Her breath tickled his face. He wanted this moment to last forever. He tried to speak.
“Yeah, I guess not. Well, next time maybe I’ll be on top.” He grimaced. He didn’t seem to have control of the words coming out of his mouth at that moment. They just came out. Why did I say that?
“Doubt it,” she said with a wide smile. She held out her hand, and Zaan placed his into hers, and she helped him up, then hugged her teammates, for they’d just won the match.
A couple of times after that at the shop she would walk by and touch his shoulder or arm, sometimes looking at him, sometimes not. She was the most wonderful thing in this world to him.
His time went on at the shop, and occasionally Gildur would speak to him, sometimes even giving him praise. Zaan got to learn new things and play with some of the equipment and try some of the fine armor on, and even learned some tips on swordplay from Bomby.
One day he got a letter in the mail from his family. It read:
Dearest Zaan,
It sounds like things are going well for you in Auracity, and we are happy to hear it. We were excited to hear you found a job at a forge. We hope you like it there. Things are going well here. Your father is enjoying having Oscar with us, and they sit together often. Oscar has been good. He lies around a lot, and I think he misses you.
Your house has been rented out by a newly married couple. They seem to have made the place quite lovely. I’ve been working less since you left. It’s been nice, but I find myself bored, so I work more around the house. There’s always plenty to do out in the fields.
We all miss you very much, and we love you very much. Please be safe, and we eagerly await another letter from you.
Love,
Your mother and family
After reading the letter, Zaan lay back in his bed and smiled.
Gar asked from the bed on the other side of the room, “Letter from home? Was it good? I hope.”
“Yeah, it’s good. They were catching me up on what’s been going on since I left. My dog’s doing good, which is a relief.”
“Maybe I should get a dog. I wonder if we’d be allowed to keep one in the room,” Gar said.
Zaan’s dreams that night were pleasant. He dreamt of his new life, and how he might become a smith at the shop or make it to the university and get a good job there. He also dreamt of Tilda: her touching his arm, looking into his eyes, and her lips eventually touching his.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THE throne room at the palace of Fordenreign was elaborate and filled with gold statues of heroes past, long red carpets, and marble walls. The throne had been occupied by the current lineage of kings for over ten generations, and its ancient seat currently supported King Hollon Livingston the Eighth.
He was a strong king, with a large build and strong shoulders and jawline. Yet he had a legendary temper and flashy tastes. He was adorned with a crown of rubies and inlaid turquoise. The king was unmarried, but he’d fathered nine princes, most from different mothers, and they were all named Hollon.
Essill was in a time of extended peace, and King Hollon used discipline to maintain it. He never wavered in his decisions, and he intended to rule for a very long time.
He sat at the throne holding a great royal sword with a white gold hilt, and spun it on its tip.
“Let her in!” King Hollon yelled, his gruff voice echoing off the light marble walls.
Two royal guards opened the wide jade-laden doors, and in came an exquisitely beautiful woman who walked toward the throne confidently, yet casually. She had long silver hair, appeared to be in her mid-twenties, and wore a tight sparkling purple dress. Her arms and chest showed smooth pale skin. She had lavender eyes with streaks of red in them, and she wore extravagant crimson-colored makeup.
She approached the feet of the king and curtsied low. “Greetings Great King Hollon Livingston the Eighth. Prosper long the line of Livingstons.”
“This king welcomes Angela Dragus the Righteous,” the king replied. “To what do I owe your presence in my kingdom?”
“I come to look upon the power and grace of such a great king and to ask a small favor.”
“These requests are adding up faster than I can count. What is this new favor, then?”
“My favor is indeed a request, and you are gracious to honor me and my lord who sent me,” she began. “There is one within your kingdom’s walls who is not favorable to my lord.”
“This is unwelcome news. There is a heretic within my gates? Another who is practicing religion within my walls? I will not stand for these god-worshiping felons to pass freely in my country!” The king stood and breathed heavily. “Tell me this man’s name, and by the legacy handed down to me from this royal crown, I will make an example of this . . . trash.”
“It is not known to me the name of this man, or his appearance. I only know where he came from and when,” she said.
“Please, then, tell me what you know, and my guards will find this man and punish him,” the king said sternly.
“The man came from the direction of the small town of Fur-lol or beyond, and he arrived in your town twenty-eight days ago through your main gates. Please, Your Grace, find this man and keep him from spreading his poison.” She looked deeply into the king’s eyes.
“Have no fear. These favors are the will of the land, and the law! Erolos!” the king yelled, and a knight appeared before him who wore a bright red mane across his back and galvanized shoulders. The knight stood at attention, and the king told him the details Angela Dragus the Righteous had given.
“Find this man, and put him in my dungeon. He will be hanged for Practice of Religion,” the king told his captain of the guard. The knight bowed and went off through the doors. “You guards may leave as well.” The two guards at the doors left behind Erolos.
“I give you my eternal gratitude. You are indeed as they say of you. You are a wise, strong, unwavering king.”
“All right, enough with that,” the king said in a calmer demeanor. He leaned forward in his throne, six steps above Angela Dragus, who stood eerily still and with her chin slightly lifted. “How long must this go on? I’m growing tired of you entering my chambers, asking favors of me, and acting as if your lord has any power over a king of one of the castles
of Essill.”
Angela Dragus the Righteous took slow steps toward the king, who sat above her on the golden throne. “Oh, Hollon, you mustn’t think like that. Everything I do here is to help you and your kingdom. And as for my lord, he may not have direct power over any of you kings, but he knows what you are really building down there in your bellows, deep beneath our feet.” She climbed the stairs to stand directly in front of him. “If the House of Publica and Excise knew what you were planning, you probably wouldn’t have that pretty head anymore, let alone all of your golden toys.”
He stood squarely to face Angela Dragus, and though he was taller, she did not flinch. “I do not take kindly to threats.” He raised his long sword up to her throat. “I could cut you down and bleed you out before you could cast one of your spells.”
“Maybe.” She smiled and leaned in closer to him, and a streak of blood ran down her neck. “Are you sure you want to try? Hmph, didn’t think so. Anyway, you need me just as much as I need you,” she said as she turned her back and walked down the velvet staircase.
“Speaking of, have you found it?” the king asked as he sheathed his sword at his hip.
“No,” she said as she made her way out of the throne room, letting the large doors close loudly behind her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
GAR and Zaan had woken up about an hour ago, drunk their coffee, and ate breakfast. They were now out back behind the tavern, where they were doing some light sparring with swords from the armory. They liked learning how to use the weapons since they worked around them at the armory, and Bomby had been giving them lessons in their free time.
Gar and Zaan had become good friends over the last couple of weeks, and they still lived in the same room and spent almost all of their time together. It had been a full month now, and they had become acquaintances with other people at the tavern. Zaan was beginning to feel like this was home.
It was Friday, the day they would collect their pay and have the weekend off, so after their morning sparring, they walked to the armory. Zaan went about helping Alli set up her hearth and get all of her tools and supplies organized the way she liked.
He would adjust the heat of the forge when she needed. It was hot, hard work, but he enjoyed it. The exhausted feeling at the end of a long day caused him to sleep like never before. He was especially excited tonight, because after the shop closed there was to be a party for Tilda’s forty-second birthday.
At the end of the workday, the fires were left cool, the curtains were drawn, and all the tools were cleaned and hung back in their specific locations. Zaan was the last one there, sweeping the remaining debris from the floor. As he swept, he heard a side door open—it was Gildur.
“Zaan, how ya doing?” he asked.
“Fine, sir.”
“Good. Just wanted to let you know I’m glad you proved to be a hard worker, and you’re getting a small raise next week. It ain’t much, but an extra five shims a day won’t hurt. You’ve earned it.” Gildur said this to Zaan with a casual, businesslike tone, then turned and walked back out the door from which he’d come.
Zaan stood there with the broom in his hand. He hadn’t moved since he saw Gildur enter the room. Noticing his mouth was hanging open, he closed it, and his lips curled into a smile. He raised the broom and yelled into the air, “Yes!”
***
All of Gildur’s employees met at a place called Tavern of the Twisted Tale. As Zaan walked in he was met by the friendly faces of his coworkers. They were all laughing and drinking, and the tavern sounded as if it had twice as many people in it as it seemed to.
“Hey!” Gar said, and ran over with a mug of mead for Zaan.
“Thanks.”
“What’s wrong with you? This is a party. Don’t be mopey.”
“I’m not mopey . . . Gildur just gave me a raise.” Zaan couldn’t hold back his smile when he said this.
“What? Way to go, buddy!” Gar said as he threw an arm around Zaan’s neck and ushered him over to the bar.
“Bartender, this lad deserves a real drink. What’ve you got that’s strong?”
“Are you drunk already?” Zaan asked.
“Phew . . . no,” he replied, and took a drink. It poured out of the corners of his mouth and onto the floor. “Well, maybe a little.”
The barkeep poured a stiff brandy for Zaan, and he drank it. He didn’t care for hard liquor, but this was a celebration.
“Where’s Gildur, and Bomby? I don’t see either of them,” Zaan asked, looking around.
“Bomby’s over there, head down on the bar, quite classy if you ask me,” Gar said. “Gildur usually doesn’t come to these things. He thinks it’s in poor taste to drink with employees. You sure you aren’t wondering where someone else is?”
“What do you mean?”
“Trying to play cool; I get it. Don’t worry. She’s just going to be fashionably late, I’m sure,” Gar said.
Zaan began to reply, but then Gar’s smug expression shut him up.
Half an hour later, Zaan was debating with Gar who could run across the city faster, when a roar erupted from all the people at the tavern. He turned to see Tilda walking through the double doors, looking ravishing in a dark blue dress that wrapped her frame perfectly. Her long, slender arms were bare in the candlelight, and her golden braids framed her angelic face perfectly.
“She looks amazing,” Gar said, and took a bite of the stale bread from the bar top.
“Yeah,” is all Zaan said.
Tilda went over and talked to the group on the other side of the bar from Zaan and Gar. Alli nudged Bomby hard enough to get him to wake up from his nap.
She eventually made her way over to Zaan and Gar, and they had a nice conversation about work at the armory, and talked about Gildur, and she congratulated Zaan on his raise. His nerves calmed as the night went on. He felt that he was becoming more comfortable around her, but he knew the liquid courage had something to do with it.
Tilda went off and mingled and seemed to be having a good time. She and Alli talked at the fireplace, and she swayed with her drink in her hand as she smiled with Alli. She glanced over at Zaan and tilted her head in a curious manner.
It was then he realized he had been staring at her, and he quickly looked away, into his half-full mug of mead. Stupid.
While watching the foam bubbles stir in the amber liquid, he felt someone standing next to him.
“Hey, you want to get some fresh air?” Tilda asked.
He looked up at her. “Sure.” He stood up, and they walked out together through the double doors and onto the wooden patio, under the clear night sky. They sat, and she produced a pouch of tobacco and a rolling paper.
He watched as she rolled the cigarette expertly and lit the tip of it on one of the candles on the thatch table in front of them. She took two drags and delicately blew the smoke up into the light of the moon.
She held it out for Zaan, who grabbed it and took a long, smooth drag. He let it out into the moonlight. “That’s good, thanks.”
“I didn’t know if you smoked. I’ve never seen you do it around the shop,” she said.
“Yeah, come to think of it, I haven’t seen you smoke either. I do it very rarely. I suppose the last time I did I was back home, and it was probably with my father,” he said. She handed the cigarette to him again. He took a drag, and he tasted her lips on the end of it.
“So, you’re from the south right? I remember Gar telling me something about it.”
“Yeah, Fur-lol.”
“Small town, I take it. Is it nice?”
“It’s exquisite. You can sit for hours and watch the pastures and crops blow with the wind, in the light of the sun, or the moon.”
“That sounds like a nice place,” she said.
“Where are you from?” he asked.
“Oh, we don’t have to talk about me,” she said, extinguishing the cigarette on a bowl-shaped rock at her side.
“No, I’m curious, I picture you from a big city, like this place. You probably went to a good school, and traveled a good deal . . . Am I on the right track?”
She nodded.
“From where, then?” he asked.
“I’m from Vallenhalen.”
“I’ve heard it’s a magnificent city. I’d like to go there someday. So what else? Tell me more about where you come from.”
She looked up at the moon, then grabbed Zaan’s mug of mead and took a sip. “It’s not all pleasant, where I come from.”
“I’m sorry . . . I didn’t mean to—”
“No, it’s okay. They say it’s good to talk about these things. You see, I was married. For a long time actually, fifteen years.”
“That is a long time. Where is he now? Did it not work out?”
“He died.”
Zaan scratched his head and brushed his hair back behind his ear. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. It was a long time ago.”
“How did he die? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“No, that’s fine. He was a collector for the House of Publica and Excise, a monater. He was doing his job, collecting taxes up at Garmos Castle, and . . . someone killed him.”
“That’s really sad . . .”
“Yeah, but bad stuff like that happens. It’s just worse when it happens to a good man like he was.”
“What was his name?”
“Brand, Brand Hildenbred. We would have been married twenty-five years this month.”
The double doors to their side burst open suddenly, and the bustling noise from inside was let out. “There you are!” Alli said to Tilda. “Come on. The fiddler just came in! Let’s dance.”
Tilda stood up and walked past Zaan, then turned back to him. “Thanks for listening.”