He nudged the leaf on the right. “Something must be done, Dell,” leaf-Mortlebee said. “Everyone in the village is starving. It can’t go on like this.”
Then he poked the leaf on the left and continued in an even squeakier voice. “We are doing everything we can,” leaf-Dell said. “Our family prays each evening.”
“We must do more. It’s not Kale’s fault we have no food. It’s those blasted clerics. Lackma knows we can’t give him all he asks. Yet he demands more each time.”
“We can’t do anything about him, Mortlebee,” leaf-Dell squeaked.
“We must stand up to him.”
“Bend like the willow tree until the storm abates.” Leaf-Dell quoted the scrolls like the good leaf he was.
“Kale can’t know what’s happening to us. We have to make our own decisions,” leaf-Mortlebee said like the blaspheming leaf he was. Then the idiot leaf went and made it worse. “We should show him that we won’t be pushed around. If we fight back, then they’ll leave us alone.”
Mortlebee sprang to his feet, scanning the darkness, looking for anyone watching and listening. He’d said the last part louder than he’d intended. Idiot. He’d just repeated what had gotten him in trouble the last time. One of the elders had been passing by on the Eagleview trail, had overheard the conversation, and had told Elder Daimell, otherwise known as Father.
Mortlebee flicked both of the fern leaves away and resumed rubbing the coldest parts of his body. He glanced at the silhouette of his house. Father would expect Mortlebee to be contrite when he returned from the cold, to have understood what he had done wrong and to promise never to speak so again.
What if I can never do that? He could lie, of course, but that would only make things worse. The problem was his impure heart, after all. Unless the real problem is actually that my family and the rest of the village is slowly starving to death. There it went again, that little voice, determined to get him into trouble.
Mortlebee’s gaze flicked in the direction of the heather trees. Some of Zubrios’s clerics were said to be able to do magic, but no one had seen evidence of that from Lackma. What if Lackma knew that the Tockians had magic? He mightn’t see them as such an easy mark then. Mortlebee didn’t think violence was necessary. He had been exaggerating when he’d told Dell they should fight back. He had wanted to put forward an extreme position so the other boy could talk him down to a middle ground. Of course, the elder had dragged both boys away from the creek by their ears before Mortlebee figured out what that middle ground was.
“Fighting back only leads to escalation,” the scrolls of Kale said. On that, they were very clear. Possibly, that was the central point of all the scrolls. Mortlebee remembered the magic bow he’d found and imagined confronting Lackma with it. How much would I be sinning? Mortlebee wouldn’t have to use it. He just had to scare the cleric. “The threat of violence and violence itself are two branches of the same tree.” The scrolls of Kale didn’t provide much flexibility to his followers.
Mortlebee’s backside was beginning to freeze, so he sprang back up and resumed his hopping. His heart was impure, and the cold night air wasn’t helping. Mortlebee wondered if he could remain false to the principles of Kale for a few more days until after Lackma left them alone for good. Then he could return to the fold and beg forgiveness. Afterward, he could spend as many nights out in the cold as was needed to cure his heart.
Mortlebee had found it easier to accept the principles when his family had more to eat in the evenings. Elder Daimell explained the senselessness of war and how peaceful capitulation was the only way to avoid the cycle of slaughter that plagued mankind down through the ages. No one ever truly won a war—the destruction always left both sides worse off. And so it was with all violence between men. The teachings had made sense in the classroom.
A horse neighed, and Mortlebee squinted down the trail. He saw nothing, but he heard the distinctive clip-clop of an approaching horse, and that was enough to tell him who was coming. Only one person rode a horse between the villages.
He ran to his house, threw open the door, and stepped inside. “The priest is coming.”
His two sisters giggled. Mortlebee’s hands dived down to cover his crotch, and he twisted sideways.
Father picked a blanket from a chair and threw it across the room. “Cover yourself.” He walked past Mortlebee and waited for Mortlebee to join him outside.
Mortlebee, red faced, wrapped the blanket around his waist. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“Your punishment does not give you the right to parade your nakedness in front of others.”
“No, Father.”
“You were glad of the interruption, I’m sure.”
“No, Father. I mean, yes, Father.” Mortlebee blinked several times. He wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be glad that the cleric’s arrival had cut short the punishment.
“Did you think on what you said?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And?”
Mortlebee didn’t know what to say. He had never lied to his father before. “The cold served to focus my mind.”
“You need more time?”
“No!” Mortlebee searched his mind frantically for a way to avoid having to spend another night in the cold without lying to his father. “I need to reflect further on what I did. Over a longer period of time. During the daylight. While clothed.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“It is? Reflecting is good, right? You told us that.”
“Of course. One should be always reflecting. But in this instance, it shouldn’t take so long to see clearly.”
Lackma and his horse became visible. The horse’s flank was tinged with an orange glow as it reflected the firelight from inside the house.
“Think long and hard tonight and tomorrow, and we’ll discuss it again tomorrow evening.” Father turned and bowed his head toward the rider. “Cleric Lackma, you honor us with your visit.”
You’d honor us more if you showed us your backside and disappeared from our lives, the little voice inside Mortlebee said.
“Ull Lackma, now. I’ve been awarded the eagle crest for my good work in Tockery.” Lackma showed them the gold emblem pinned to his chest, displaying the profile of an eagle’s head.
“What promotion will you get when we have all starved to death?” Mortlebee blurted out.
Father shook his head sadly. “Go inside and get dressed, son.” The disappointed look was worse than any shout.
Mortlebee lowered his head and returned inside their single-room house. He heard Father apologizing to Lackma.
“It’s fine,” Lackma said. “A bit of forthright discussion is at times required.”
Mortlebee scampered inside and darted to the fire. He crouched before it, allowing its glorious heat to wash over him. Mother brought him clothes, and he put them on under the blanket. His sisters whispered to each other and giggled. Mortlebee glared at them, but that just made them giggle even more. From outside came the modulating hum of voices as Father talked with Lackma.
The warmth cause spikes of pain as parts of his body thawed out and blood began to flow again. Mortlebee moved away from the fire and rubbed his toes and the bottoms of his feet, where the pain was worst. Mother crouched down close to him and put some bread and cheese in his hand. “Don’t let Father see you eat that,” she whispered.
Mortlebee stuffed the food into a pocket just as Father entered with Lackma behind him. Mortlebee wiped the breadcrumbs off his hand on his pants leg.
Father addressed Mother. “Lackma mistimed his journey back to Leeside, so he will be staying with us tonight.”
Mother gave him a pained look then smoothed out her features and addressed Lackma. “Welcome to our home. We haven’t much, but what we do have, we will of course share.” She moved to the corner where she kept kitchen supplies.
“We only have one room, but we’ll set aside a place for you beside the fire,” Father told him. He shooed Mortlebee
and the two girls into the far corner.
There, the three of them mock-fought over blankets before finding comfortable places to settle down for sleep. Because they were farther away from the fire than usual, they made sure to stay close to each other.
Although they added layers rather than shedding them, during the process, Mortlebee caught a glimpse of Kataya’s bare midriff. Ribs shouldn’t stand out that starkly on anyone, and certainly not on an eight-year-old girl.
In contrast, Lackma’s round, pudgy face was bowed over a plate of bread and cheese, chewing noisily. He was a short man with black wispy hair and ate with his mouth open. Mortlebee forced back the anger that flared up and instead reached into his pocket and took out the crust of bread and chunk of cheese Mother had given him. He showed it to Kataya and Hessina, touched his finger to his lips, and divided it in three.
The mouthful did nothing to ease Mortlebee’s hunger, but the happiness at sharing with his sisters more than made up for that.
“Good bread,” Lackma said, his mouth still full of food. “You don’t have a morsel of meat to go with it? Or some mead to wash it down?”
Mortlebee’s happy feeling deflated in an instant. Is having a pure heart possible with the likes of him around?
Mother handed him a mug. “Only water, I’m afraid. And we’ve no meat to share. I’m sorry.”
Lackma grinned. “You keep the good stuff for yourselves. That’s fine—I understand.”
“We do not,” Mortlebee shouted, unable to stop himself.
“Mortlebee, that’s enough,” Father said.
“A bit of spirit in the young is no harm,” Lackma said. With a piece of bread, he gestured at Father, who was sitting at the other end of the fire. “It’s a bad state of affairs when the village elder has no meat at his table.”
“We’ve had a hard winter,” Father said, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders.
Tell him we can’t afford to pay his ridiculous tributes, Mortlebee ordered mentally.
“You know it doesn’t need to be so hard for you,” Lackma said. “Just agree to let us set up our temples in your villages. We’ll reduce your burden.” He looked over his shoulder. “What does your opinionated son say?”
“He’s said enough,” Father said before Mortlebee could answer.
“Let him speak. Words never hurt anyone.”
“Respectfully, I disagree,” Father said. “Words have caused more harm in the world than all the swords put together.”
“Come now,” Lackma said. “That’s not possible.”
“I’m not trying to convert you to our beliefs,” Father said. “But the scrolls of Kale explain that most wars and other evils have come from the wrong words or ideas at the wrong time.”
“You and your queer religion.” Lackma chuckled. “If the boy isn’t allowed to answer, then what does his father say?”
“The Council of Elders have said no to any temples in Tockery.”
“And you?”
“I say no.”
“Still? What are you afraid of?
“It’s not about fear.” Father had explained to Mortlebee that the cleric’s temples didn’t have real religious purpose and were just used by the Lord Protector to recruit the youths of Tockery and use them as soldiers.
“If you aren’t afraid that your son and daughters will convert to the religion of the Lord Protector, then there shouldn’t be a problem, right? We’ll just have empty temples.”
“Because we trust someone doesn’t mean we throw temptation in their face.”
Lackma chuckled again. “A wife might trust her husband, but she won’t bring him to visit the house of a woman of ill repute, is that it?”
“Sir, there are children present.”
“As you say.” Lackma bowed his head. “You are correct that I haven’t read the scrolls of Kale. But your religion is weak—do you know how I know this?”
Because following the scrolls means we have to let your sorry ass push us around, said the little voice in Mortlebee’s head.
After receiving no answer, Lackma continued, “Because you and many other Elders can’t provide any meat on the table for your family. The Lord Protector rewards those who follow him. Just as good merchants, good noblemen, good tradesmen prosper and grow rich while bad ones wither and are replaced, so too with religion. The religion of the Lord Protector is on the rise. It’s just a matter of time.”
“I think religion means something entirely different to you than it does to me. If you are finished eating”—Father nodded at the plate—“perhaps we should turn in for the night. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
Lackma picked up the last bit of bread and cheese off his plate. He studied it for a moment then threw it into the fire and watched it blacken and melt into tar. Then, realizing all gazes were on him, he looked up. “Sorry, did someone want that?”
If no one else was here, I’d strangle that priest with my bare hands, Mortlebee thought, shocking himself both with the thought itself and how strongly he felt it.
“No matter. It’s gone now,” Father lay down on his blanket and turned his face away from the priest.
Lackma looked toward Mortlebee and his sisters. “A few of the Lord Protector’s temples around Tockery, and the bread would be much more plentiful. Persuade your father to think reasonably about things.” He opened up a bedroll, slid into it, and curled up on his side, tucking his hands under his head.
Mother tidied up anything out of place then poked at the fire so the flames died, leaving the embers to provide heat through the night. She found a spot by the wall, away from the priest, and curled up.
Mortlebee glared at the cleric’s shape. Lackma knew how much suffering he was causing—that stunt of throwing the food into the fire had made that clear—and he didn’t care. Father probably wasn’t wrong in refusing to allow the temples. When the clerics had first come into Tockery fifteen years before, they had only looked for a small amount of tribute. One or two temples would swiftly become more, and having a hungry populace was the best way to recruit.
Of course, refusal was unlikely to stop them for long. The clerics presently want the Elder’s blessing, but if they don’t get it, then what? No one in Tockery was going to stand up to them, not with the precepts in the scrolls of Kale to follow.
Lackma’s snores vibrated through the one-room house. Mortlebee lay awake long into the night as the embers dimmed and faded, thinking about the glowing bow.
Chapter 4
“I don’t like that smile, child—too much hope in it. You mustn’t forget you are just a woman.”
“Oh, Mama, don’t be silly,” Suma said.
“Just a woman.” What a thing to say. Suma’s mother had forgotten how horrible it had been to be a girl and ignored by everyone who mattered—like a puppy having outgrown its cuteness yet not old enough for the hunt. Today, I will take my place at the banquet table as the daughter of the Duke of Delmoria and a woman grown. She had been waiting for the moment for several forevers.
“I’m not going to let you ruin my day,” Suma said.
She would have preferred entering through the main doors, but the side door was closer to their chambers, and that was where Mama made for, pushing open the narrow door and entering the great hall. Suma straightened her dress around her shoulders and followed.
As she had feared, no one noticed their entry. Torches blazed along the walls, and the rumble of dozens of overlapping conversations floated above their heads. Suma took slow, deliberate steps, falling behind Mama, who scurried ahead.
Three long tables stretched down the length of the hall, leading up to the high table, set widthwise. The far end of the lengthwise tables was empty of people, with no places set and several hounds curled up underneath. The center of the hall was dominated by the common soldiers, surrounding themselves with off-color jokes and raucous laughter. The sergeants and more important soldiers were closer to the head table, keeping a watchful eye on the behavior of their men, and
farther up, the lesser nobles threw jealous glances at anyone higher up than them.
Mama noticed Suma dallying and returned to her. “Now child, I must warn you, this isn’t going to be what you expect. You’ve read all those storybooks, and I don’t know what they’ve put in your head, but—”
“Hush, Mama. I’ve got this lovely dress on, I’m all made up... Let me enjoy the evening.”
“Tonight isn’t about enjoying yourself. It’s about...” She shook her head. “How do I tell you? You simply don’t know your father.”
Father. I can’t call him that, can I? She’d always thought of him just as the Duke in her head. He’d paid no notice to Suma all her life, but that was understandable, as she’d been just a girl. “Where am I sitting, Mama?”
Mama pointed out a seat.
“Only two down from him.” Her voice rose in anticipation.
“You never listen to me. I’m trying to explain—”
“I do listen to you, Mama.”
Mama sighed. “I guess we all have to learn the hard way. One way or another.” She took her seat on the edge of the high table.
I’m closer to the Duke than Mama. I wouldn’t have expected that. Perhaps it’s because it’s the first time I’m attending the banquet. Maybe he’ll talk to me. Suma wasn’t sure whether to be excited or terrified by that thought.
Suma spotted Arron and Balti close to the high table, with Arron on his seat and Balti grappling with him. As usual, her two preteen brothers were fighting. She pulled Balti off his brother and plumped him on his seat. “No fighting now, you two.”
“What kind of stupid dress is that?” Balti said.
“It’s an awful yellow color,” Arron said. “And look at those puffy shoulders.” He made a grab for the fabric, but Suma danced backward.
The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1) Page 3