“By all means.” Simeon kept a brave face on even as his insides quivered. The fear of pain is worse than the pain itself, he told himself. One of the instructors had told him that, and he liked to repeat it in his mind—even if recent experience had shown it to be far from the truth. “Do your worst.”
Abel lifted the spear in his hand and aimed it. Simeon scrambled backward. Do they intend to kill me? Now? He’d thought he was willing to face death, but since it was upon him, his mind screamed in panic.
Abel threw.
The spear pierced the ground between Simeon’s feet, spraying mud into his face. He stopped moving.
“Spear for the brave,” Abel said.
Freid chopped his axe into the ground on Simeon’s left. “Axe for strength,” he said.
Gorms stuck the sword into the mud on Simeon’s right. “Sword for skill.”
Abel pulled a bow from his back and threw it. Wood hit Simeon in the forehead, and the bow bounced away. “Bow for stealth.”
“You need new lines,” Simeon told them. “I’ve heard all those before.”
“It ends,” Freid said. “Your final tests have been waived. All you have to do is chose one of the four weapons. Then you are raised, and everyone in the tribe is raised.”
“Not everyone,” Simeon said. Xelinder wouldn’t be.
“No one is happy about what happened. You aren’t the only one to have lost a friend,” Freid said. “But you’ve had your protest. Choose a weapon now. You know why we have to make you.”
Simeon nodded. “Tribe runs together, tribe learns together, tribe fights together, tribe stays together, tribe is raised together.” They’d all said it thousands of times. The boys of Medalon around the same age were co-opted into the tribe called Blue Fox. If one boy fell behind in skill or effort, the other members of the tribe made sure he caught up, whether that meant helping him improve or punishing him for falling behind—often both. Until every member of Blue Fox went through the final initiation by voluntarily choosing their weapon, none of them could leave the tribe and become raised as Pizarrian men. “I’m sorry about how it affects the rest of you. I have to do what feels right.”
Gorms rushed forward and kicked Simeon in the side. “Just pick up one of the bloody weapons. It’s not that bloody hard.” He kicked again. The first one hadn’t hurt badly, but the second kick found a tender spot, and agony spread across Simeon’s whole lower torso. Simeon rolled over, clutching his side.
“Stop,” Freid told Gorms. “That has been tried and hasn’t worked. We’re not here to beat him this time.”
Good to know I’m not getting beaten today. Simeon took short, shallow breaths to ease the movement in his chest.
Freid leaned down in front of Simeon, putting his hand on the hilt of the sword. “Listen, Simeon, we are going to leave these weapons here. Give you time to think and decide which one to choose. Remember: bravery, strength, skill, stealth. But more importantly, bow and spear are hunting weapons, and axe and sword are fighting weapons. I know you know all that, but you aren’t thinking straight right now.”
“I think he’s trying to say: Choose the spear, already,” Abel said.
Freid ignored him. “We tried to make you see sense, but this has now gone beyond tribe. We won’t be back.”
Simeon’s spluttering cough hurt his side. “Seriously? I’m going to miss little tribe chats like this one.”
“You are the smartest one in our tribe. So use that brain of yours and think how this ends. Word of what happened has spread beyond Medalon. And your protest is making everyone here look even worse. The men of the village aren’t going to do nothing. As I said, this has gone beyond tribe. If you don’t choose a weapon today, then you will when they come for you. Make it easy on yourself. Please.”
Freid straightened and turned to depart. “Come away.”
Abel followed him down the slope.
Gorms paused for a last look. “Freid’s wrong about you. You may be intelligent, but you sure aren’t smart.” Then he too left.
For some reason, what Gorms had said seemed impossibly funny to Simeon. He fell onto his back and giggled to himself. “You may be intelligent, but you sure aren’t smart.” If Simeon had been considered the smartest in the tribe, Gorms had been considered the dumbest. Yet what Gorms had said was the truest thing he’d heard in his life.
The sky was overcast, gray and foreboding. It looked like rain but perhaps not for a while yet—it was a sky that preferred to threaten. Close by, a chirping bird hopped from branch to branch in the hedgerow, probably wondering about the idiot lying in the wet grass and staring at the sky. Simeon wondered himself. “You may be intelligent, but you sure aren’t smart.”
The spear leaned away, on the edge of toppling over. Abel was right about that being the weapon he should choose. He sighed and turned away from it, pushing himself to his feet. Then he saw the fifth weapon.
But no, it wasn’t a weapon. It was just a staff. His tribemates hadn’t brought it, though, and Simeon didn’t know where it had come from. It was unusual looking, too. He reached down for it, then he paused, his fingers hovering. He double-checked to make sure there was no spear point on either side. Definitely just a staff. Not a weapon.
His fingers firmed around its center, and he lifted it. Before his back had straightened, the staff glowed. Simeon froze. A golden shimmer started on both ends and spread along the staff’s length then up his arm before disappearing.
Simeon just stared at the staff for a moment then looked around. His tribemates were disappearing over the hill, and no one else was in sight. Simeon turned the staff over in his hands, but it didn’t do anything strange. It surely had to be magic of some kind. Perhaps I can turn on the glow again. If a way to do that existed, Simeon couldn’t see it since the staff was perfectly smooth with no markings. It was beautiful though, made of a dark wood with a faint grain running through it. He shook his head confusedly then started back for the farmhouse. Maybe it would make sense a bit later.
As he descended the grassy slope toward the back of the house, the staff became useful immediately, though not due to any possible magical powers. Leaning on the staff allowed him to ease the pressure on his left side, which was still hurting from Gorms’s kick.
He opened the back gate, closed it behind him, then turned to see Tarla rushing toward him.
“I’m so glad you did it.” She was blinking back tears.
“Did what?” Simeon asked. Then he realized what she was thinking. He raised the staff to show the lack of a spear point. “It’s just a staff. I didn’t choose a weapon.”
She slowed, the animation draining from her. Her arms, half raised, fell limply to her sides. More than his own hurts, Simeon hated what his decision did to those around him. His tribemates. His birth mother.
“They left the four weapons up there on the slope, did they? I’ll go retrieve them,” Tarla said.
As she moved past Simeon, he reached out to stop her. “Don’t. There’s no point.”
“They’ll be in the house, ready for you to make your choice when you come to your senses.” The wind blew her long brown hair, usually tied up in a cap, across her face, and she brushed it away. She wore thick mud-splattered boots and coarse homespun pants and jacket. Most knew her as Medalon’s representative on the Women’s Council, but she was happiest when out farming in the fields by herself. “I have to do all I can to fix this. It’s mainly my fault. Everyone says it.”
“Everyone is wrong. It’s nothing to do with you,” Simeon said.
“I should have given you up when the time came for it.”
“Never.” Simeon’s heart broke to hear her say that.
Birth mothers were supposed to leave their children to the village’s baby-mothers after they were off the breast. The children would move on to kiddie-mothers, and from there, the boys would join tribes, and the girls would start their apprenticeships. Tarla had taken care of Simeon while managing her farm and being a counselor
, all the way up to his joining of the tribe.
“You have been everything to me,” he said.
“I was an idiot. Everyone said so at the time, but I didn’t mind working twice as hard as everyone else when I got to have my little child with me. If only I’d known it would come to this.”
“You taking care of me when I was younger has nothing to do with what’s happening now.”
“I shouldn’t have kept you. And I shouldn’t have let you stay when you sneaked away from your tribemates for a night. I gave you an escape, let you think you could let your tribemates down.”
“No.” Simeon shook his head. “I am the only one standing up for all my tribemates. Everyone else wants to forget one of them.”
“Simeon, the boy died. I know you cared for him. I know it shouldn’t have happened. Everyone has to go sometime. It was just his time.”
It was Simeon’s turn for tears. “It wasn’t his time.”
“It’s time to look forward. Freid tells me that it becomes Men’s Council business after today. Tell me one way that this goes well for you.”
“I have this.” Simeon raised his staff. Why did I say that?
“A staff?”
“It’s magical. It came to me at my moment of need.” The words sounded stupid coming out his mouth, but Simeon realized that was what he had begun to think. A glowing staff appeared at his side just when everything looked bleak. That meant something—he wasn’t sure what, but something.
Tarla looked at the staff then back at Simeon. “You really believe that?”
“It glowed.” He wished the staff would start glowing again so he didn’t feel so stupid. That or make him disappear.
“And if it turns out that the staff doesn’t save you?” Tarla asked. “When the Men’s Council gets involved...”
“What was that phrase you used earlier? Everyone has to go sometime.” As soon as he said it, he regretted it.
Tarla’s face folded in on itself for an instant. Then she regained control of herself before the tears came. “I’ll collect those weapons. No point letting them go to rust.” She stamped up the slope.
Chapter 6
Even under cloudy skies, daylight was too bright. Sheltered people liked to operate in it, though, so Twig decided to brave it to visit the spice seller. She stood in the alleyway for a moment, watching the endless streams of people walking along the market street. She didn’t understand where all those people were going in such a hurry. Sheltered people were just weird.
She moved into the streams and dodged her way across the street, moving silently. The sword’s hilt was wrapped in an old undershirt, and she held it close to her body. Rain people were usually invisible to others, but glimpses of the sword blade attracted one or two glances. She hurried into the spice shop.
She took a deep breath, sucking in the heady aroma created by the combination of all the herbs and spices in the shop. Twig liked to think that was what paradise would smell like. Not that there was a paradise for rain people—some of the religions talked of one, but she knew rain people didn’t get happy endings.
Bareth was bent over the counter, writing in a ledger. He looked up and smiled broadly, crossing the shop floor to greet her. He was short and bald, with twinkling eyes and a mouth always ready to break into a laugh or a smile. Twig had first been suspicious of his seemingly constant happiness, but she had come to see it as a sheltered person’s quirk, just another thing she would never understand.
“Great to see you.” He gave a curious look to her sword. “It’s been a while. You look all healed up, though certainly not fattened up.” He reached out his arms, offering an embrace. When Twig backed away, he let his arms fall to his sides. “So what brings you here?” he asked. Then he continued hurriedly, “I’m delighted to see you, and of course you’re welcome to come around at any time.”
“I’m here to buy some spice,” Twig told him.
“So you come as a customer. How wonderful. And what type of spice would you like?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
Bareth tilted his head to one side. “What will you be using the spices for?”
Twig shrugged. “For whatever it is that spices do, I guess.”
Bareth broke into a laugh. “You don’t have a clue what spices are for, do you?”
Twig scowled at him. She hadn’t come to be made fun of. “And sellers aren’t allowed to laugh at customers.” Twig wasn’t sure why exactly, but that was something she’d heard. “I want the spices to make the world smell nice.” She was sure that wasn’t what spices did, but that was what they meant to her.
Bareth laughed again. “I have sold many spices over the years, but none for such a noble task. For that, I’ll give my spices for free. Which ones smell the nicest to you?”
“I have topaz. I can pay.” Twig took Krawl’s purse from her belt and gave it to him. She was taking the chance to repay Bareth for helping her.
Bareth went behind his counter and spilled the crystals from the purse. A fat green crystal lay among the yellows. He fingered through them. “Quite a haul. One emerald kopec and enough shards to make up several topaz kopecs. Where...?” He glanced down at the sword. “Why are you giving me this?”
“You deserve it for helping me, and I wouldn’t know what else to do with it.” She could buy some street food and maybe an old cloak with a few of the shards, but the rest would just make her a target.
“Have you eaten in a while?” he asked.
“Ate not too long ago,” she said, though her stomach growled. With the excitement of what had happened the night before with Krawl, she hadn’t even fought off the rats for the food in the garbage.
Bareth took more heed of her stomach than her mouth. “I know a good place to go, a better use of the money than giving it to me.” He scooped up the crystals and returned them to the purse. “I don’t suppose you want to leave that behind?” He nodded at the sword.
“No.” Twig gripped it more tightly. It also made her a target, and it was more visible than the money, but she was going to keep it with her.
“Best not to walk about with it out in the open.” He disappeared into the back room and returned with a ragged brown blanket. He unrolled it on the counter. “Put it down there, and we’ll roll it up.”
Twig hesitantly placed the sword on the blanket.
Bareth leaned closer, studying the blade. “Still has some blood on it.”
“I cleaned—” Twig closed her mouth with a snap, realizing her mistake too late.
Bareth’s lips compressed into a thin line. “I see.” He rolled the sword into the blanket and handed it back.
Twig took it in her arms.
“Follow me.”
Bareth asked the shopkeeper next door to watch his shop then led the way down the street. Twig stayed directly behind Bareth, trying to blend into his shadow. Bareth made staying unnoticed difficult, for he waved to other shop owners that he passed, shouting greetings and trading jokes. Most of them threw strange glances at Twig and the bundle she carried in her arms. It felt unnatural to be noticed by so many people, and Twig was glad when Bareth left the street and entered a small cafe.
Twig’s stomach spasmed at the smell of cooking food. Bareth greeted the old woman behind the counter then led Twig to a table in the corner. By the way the old woman’s eyes narrowed at the sight of her, Twig suspected she would have been kicked out as soon as she entered, without Bareth. Though if Twig had arrived by herself, she would have fled before the woman had looked at her.
She had never been in a place like that before, common as they were in the sheltered world. Everything felt wrong. At least the chair Bareth directed her toward sat in the corner, so she didn’t have to watch behind her. She crouched upon her seat, her gaze shifting back and forth. Everything was so bright, so open. A child openly stared at her, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw others watching also.
Her gaze was drawn to the entrance. She could dodge between the tables of
the other customers and escape before anyone could catch her. It isn’t a place for a mouse, not in the daylight. What was I thinking to come here?
“Hey.” Bareth sat opposite her and claimed her attention. “What do you want to eat?”
Twig shrugged. She wasn’t sure exactly how food worked in a world where you didn’t have to fight off the rats for it.
Bareth gestured at the other tables. “Any of the dishes look good to you?”
Despite her urge to escape, her mouth hadn’t stopped salivating. She really did need to eat, and everything smelt amazing. She didn’t know how to handle the plates and knives and forks, though. “It all looks too fancy to eat.” She’d eaten with her fingers when she’d stayed with Bareth before.
“I bet it smells nice, though. I’ll order for you. I guess you aren’t picky. I’ll get something plain and wholesome.”
Bareth got up and went to the counter. Twig’s gaze shifted back and forth again. Most of the other customers were no longer paying her any attention, and she shrank into the chair back a little less. Being invisible in plain view was something she knew about.
Twig considered why she’d come. She wanted to thank Bareth, of course. She hadn’t lied about that. When she had broken her arm the summer before, she had been in real trouble. She had wrapped it up inside her jerkin and ignored it as much as possible, but when it didn’t heal well, she got weaker.
Zeeists helped those in need, and a woman had told Twig about the spice seller. So Twig turned up on Bareth’s doorstep, half dead, not knowing what to expect. Without hesitation, he helped her inside, put her into his bed, and summoned a doctor. She passed out with the pain when the doctor rebroke her arm.
The next morning, bandaged up and feeling better, she tried to leave but wasn’t as strong as she had thought. Bareth needed to lift her back into her bed. He fed and nursed her without asking for anything in return. After two weeks, Twig had left without saying goodbye, knowing she could never repay her debt to him. But she could give him Krawl’s topaz. Sheltered people put a lot of weight on topaz.
The Silver Portal (Weapons of Power Book 1) Page 5