The moon was a bright sliver, high in the sky this early in the night this late in the season. The silver light from the moon and the stars cooled away the heat of the day and cleared her mind. She looked up into the tangle of branches over the cottage as she wiped the sweat and dirt from the tight muscles along his stomach. Before leaning him forward again to wash off his back, she bent to unwrap his boots. They were Voferen guard boots and she had seen their make once before, when a front of the roaming guard had billeted down in Pace, looking for recruits. She pulled the boots off and set them aside, planning to spend her night deciphering their construction. His feet were clean because he hadn’t taken his boots off in days, but they were fish belly white and horribly wrinkled. She dried them off and set them on a fur scrap pulled from her pile of unfinished projects.
Her mind safely on the fascinating construction of the boots, she kneeled up and began unwrapping the waist of his filthy, blood and ash covered pants.
“Don’t.” His hands gently stopped hers.
Startled, awakened, embarrassed, she dropped back to a crouch and began gathering the cloths into the bowl of water and his clothes into her arms. Getek kneeled forward out of the chair to stop her.
“I’m sorry.” He took the boots from her uncertain hands and set them aside. “I haven’t been awake long at all.”
She nodded curtly, not looking at him, frantically gathering random items and staring into the dirt.
He forged on, aware it was probably a mistake but too tired to stop himself. “But I like you. And I know you don’t want to know how I like you.”
She looked up at him, still for an instant, no innocent blush on her neck, the ice in her eyes melting into a mask of surprise and desire. For one instant. Then the fierce blush of anger rushed into her face as she looked down again. She grabbed the bowl of dirty water and stood. Or tried to. Getek had kneeled on her apron and she fell into him, spilling the bowl all over him, dropping the wet and filthy cloths into his lap. He caught her. Caught her against his chest and raised her to standing before they both fell back into the chair. Grabbing his arms against the momentum, Vyck tried to pull herself up. She arched her back and tilted her head to right herself and he was there, kissing her, holding her neck in his strong hand and shooting fireworks into her spine. For a moment she forgot reality and lost herself in him.
But she couldn’t forget the pain that came with such pleasure so she reached down deep into her wounded soul and shoved the man away from her. Determined not to let him see her disappointment Vyck ran away.
Getek followed her around the house, hanging on to the wrappings of his pants, just as determined not to let love escape now that he’d found it really did exist in her.
“Vyck, please…”
She turned and put a steel hand up against his approach.
“When he had less seasons than Ker, Hardt nearly drowned. He was sick for many suns and I spent every day with him because my family wasn’t very good at that sort of thing. Finally he started improving. But because he was getting better the family became less attentive and I was afraid he’d be neglected and worsen if I left him. So I tied back my hair and stayed through sundown one time and into the night. My bond felt I should spend my nights with him, so he came to my family’s shack and took me home. When he slept, I took his hunting knife and few other possessions of mine, stole Hardt, and ran away down here. Every man I’d ever known was like him and I haven’t looked twice at a man since I ran away.” She turned away from him and threw a dirty cloth at the waterbarrel. “Until I saw you. But I’m old and scared and angry and bitter, Tek. So don’t waste your time wanting anything from me.”
The truth was, as Getek had heard it when visiting Pace in the roaming guarde, her cruel and possessive lover had torn her from Hardt’s sickbed by that ponytail and dragged her to their home across that same river which had nearly drowned her nephew. She had, later that same night, hacked off her hair with his hunting knife and strewn the thick locks over his sleeping body before stealing away with unloved little Hardt. Now Getek was sure this was the unfortunate passion-driven woman he’d been told about and he vowed to love her gently and only as she wished.
He gathered the wrappings of his pants and tied them while she waited for him to storm off. She believed Hardt’s friendship with the guardesman would be over now as he would want nothing to do with either of them. Gripping the edge of the waterbarrel, she held back the anger and regret and doubts tumbling in her belly.
But he didn’t leave. He spoke where he stood. “I have never before met a woman who impresses me as much as you do, but I understand fear and experience so I will give you my friendship and abandon all thoughts of a different love.” He turned away, swallowing his disappointment but turned back to her one more time. “Thank you for telling me. It’s easier, knowing why.” He wished her good night as casually as he could manage and went in to bed and to sleep.
Now, on the thirteenth night, Vyck angrily pulled the stew away from the fire, exasperated with herself for thinking of him again. Remembering his touch wouldn’t help her resolve. Rejecting him had been easy compared to this continuous battle against her own desires. Try as she could to comfort herself with the brevity of past regrets, she couldn’t recall one suitor who troubled her resolve as much as this one. She couldn’t even go hunting to distract herself and Hardt was of no use to her in his condition.
Throwing her hands up in defeat, she stalked off around the house to douse her head in the waterbarrel next to the keg. Thinking about how hard it was to not think about him was not not thinking about him. It was like she had only seventeen again. She shook the water out of her hair and ran her hands over the growing mess. She preferred to have Hardt cut her hair but if he didn’t shake off this lethargy soon, she’d be forced to butcher it herself. She realized she’d become spoiled as Hardt had grown into a person who could help with all the chores of life. She’d really enjoyed those early seasons when he’d been all her care but still it was nice now to have him taking care of her too.
“Vyck?”
She dunked her head back into the water and fought back the rising tide in her belly.
“Vyck?”
Getek called again as she came up, gasping. She ran her hands up her face and through her hair, took a deep breath, and walked around to the front of the cottage instead of running wildly in the opposite direction.
He was standing by the curtained doorway, peeking inside. He looked clean and rested and had on casual clothes instead of his leather hunting gear.
She paused at the corner of the cottage wiping her hands on her apron. “Hi.”
“Hi.” He stepped down from the doorway and smiled apologetically. “I didn’t bring Ker. Sorry.”
She wandered over to the hearth and stirred some hot leaves into the stew. “S’alright, contrary to popular belief, I can converse with adults.”
“How have things been?” He followed her over to the hearth and sat himself down on the old back breaking stool.
“Lots of people dropping by. Don’t like that.”
“Sorry.” He stood.
Vyck considered for a moment then waved him back to his seat. “You’re okay. I guess I should be nice to you, now that you know my secret.”
“I know bigger secrets than yours.” He taunted her.
And it worked, she stopped what she was doing and looked at him. “Now why would you do that? I know you’re not going to share.”
He smiled. “Not Stray secrets certainly. But I think a few Voferen Kahago tales might be safe for your ears.”
She turned back to the stew, uncertain of what to do with the conversation.
He saved her, “Is this a basket of Kilalee’s sausage bread sitting here on your hearth?”
“Brought it by herself. We even get to keep the basket.” The uncomfortable silence fell again. She searched her mind for something to say and finally gave up. “I’m out of conversation. I hope you came by for a reason.”
Getek rested comfortably on his stool. “Actually I have news for Hardt. Noah told me I might find him awake if I came by about now.”
“Stop torturing Vyck. I’m awake.” Hardt mumbled thickly from where he stood, leaning in the doorway.
Vyck moved quickly to his side to help him down the stairs. She led him over to the table where Getek met them and took the boy from her, helping him to sit while she gathered the salves and soap.
“I’ve been here for a while Hardt.” Getek poured him a cup of juice from the pitcher on the table. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m good, thanks. What’s the news you have for me?”
The boy was pale. He eyes were dark and he’d lost a great deal of weight. Getek wanted to ask what the dTelfur had done to him, but refrained. The shoulder wound looked well cared for and while Hardt looked uncomfortable about Vyck’s cleaning, he resigned himself to it for her sake. He wouldn’t let her clean the dragon wound though and the scratch looked painfully red and infected. His forearm was swollen around the infected area. But the bruises on his face had mostly faded to rotten egg green and yellow and his burns were practically unnoticeable.
Getek reached into his pouch and pulled out a silver band, engraved with a flame and four grooves. He set in on the table in front of Hardt. “The guarde have asked that you be awarded a ring of honor.”
Hardt looked up, but he didn’t reach for the armband. “The guarde? Our twenty hunters?”
“The new arm as well. And we’ve got enough interest for a third arm to start training after the next full moon meeting. Three arms will make a full wing. Hardt, the families are all grateful as well. The Mytree, Sirte’s parents, Brower’s kids, Kalina, Heigna’s father and that beastkeeper she works with, even Calien’s parents. Everyone has heard the tale and they want to say thank you.”
Hardt closed his eyes.
Getek went on. “I understand how hard it can be to accept an honor like this. But the awarding will empower the front.”
Hardt opened his eyes. “They want me to take all the blame.”
“We feel the credit is rightfully yours. Hardt, whatever happened out there that hurt you this deeply isn’t going to go away whether you accept this honor or not. But by accepting, you give the community a chance to recognize and honor their new guarde. And until that happens, we’re just a bunch of fools running around with queue wraps tied to our arms.”
Vyck set bowls of stew in front of both men. “Stray isn’t big on ceremony.”
“We’ll keep it simple. The arms stand together in formation. A short explanation of the ring’s significance will be given by myself or the kimoet’s messenger, and then it will be clasped on your arm.”
Hardt looked up. “The kimoet’s messenger?”
“I am required to inform the kimoet of any honor presented to a guarde so they may judge whether the action merits their additional thanks. Talee ran off with the message this afternoon. We wouldn’t present the ring until she returned. I was thinking we could do it at the Stray anniversary full moon. You don’t have to even say anything.”
“The anniversary isn’t for several moons yet.”
Getek looked up at the rising moon and then off in the direction of the creek. “I don’t expect Talee to come rushing back.” Vyck acknowledged his grin. “And this will give us time to train up the new arm so we can present a full wing to the shale.”
Vyck saw a kindness in his timing. “And the fervor will die down some by then.”
He shrugged. “It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? For both of you.”
Hardt pushed himself away from the table and went over to the hearth for a hoska. He dribbled honeycream in the crevices and took a bite as he returned to the table. Cream dripped down the side of his chin, coating a tiny burn scab as it fell. At the table, he sat, handed the rest of the hoska over to Vyck and picked up the armband. For a moment his face contorted into a mask of grief, but it passed as he regained his self-control.
He handed the ring to Getek. “I’ll accept it. We’re going hunting for a while, to get away from all these visitors. When we come back I’ll return to training. But I want to trade with Kaminsk or Noah.”
“You want to be a healer?”
“And in a different front.”
“I can do that. And I’ll mention to Jaydee all the visitors. She’ll get them to stop.” Getek put the band back into his bag. He had expected a comment on the appropriate design, after all it was the first ring of honor he assumed Hardt had ever seen. But again he refrained from prying into Hardt’s thoughts.
“I need a bath. You can walk with me to the creek and we’ll talk about the weather.” Hardt stood and went inside the house for clothes.
Getek helped Vyck clear the food to the hearth. It didn’t take long and soon they were again at the hearth with nothing to say.
“Make sure he’s strong enough to walk back before you leave him. He’s not used those muscles in a while.”
“I will. You should hunt to the east. The air is pretty smoky if you go west any distance.”
“Thank you.”
He could tell she was trying very hard to be social with him. She stayed by the hearth, inventing activity for herself instead of leaving him to wait for Hardt alone. For his own part, he couldn’t forget kissing her and couldn’t think of anything sensible to say. After a few more uncomfortable moments, he put his hand out, palm up, to say good night.
“Thank you for the stew. It was good. I’m glad we talked.”
She wiped a hand on her apron and held it, palm up, under his very briefly. “Yes. Good night, Getek.”
“Oh, please, call me Tek. I liked that. No one uses nicknames anymore.”
She chuckled ruefully and walked away. “Okay.”
“So tell him.” Hardt was standing in the doorway again, this time leaning on a beautifully carved staff.
“Hardt…”
The boy smiled at her, “Oh, who is he gonna tell?”
Vyck sighed at the boy and turned back to Getek. “My full name is Sruvyck.”
Eight
∞
Brower, as liaison of the first front, had the privilege of presenting the circumstances of Hardt’s honor to the assembled Stray. He stood on the musicians’ platform on the spot where Ladamé’s drums would soon be erected, holding the sheets Getek had earlier written out for Gaetana, the kimoet’s messenger, to deliver to the Kahago records. Brower was no more able to read than the rest of the shale, but he enjoyed the power of holding the words. It was well past highnoon now, but Getek had asked that the ceremony be delayed while the late Strayfolk wandered in to center.
When enough folk had arrived, Getek presented the nearly full wing to Gaetana with a promise of service to the land at the request of the kimoet. The traditional listing of the guarde’s names was not handed to the messenger and she appeared quite upset at this omission. Getek, knowing the Stray predilection for secrecy, had warned the guarde that the messenger would want their names for a Kahago record of all Kaveg’s guarde. During her visits to the training, he called everyone by their titles and said nothing as many of the Stray in his fronts introduced themselves as Jaydee or Garce. Hardt was, by virtue of being responsible for her visit, unable to join in the anonymity and Gaetana grilled him at length about the unusual design of his personal spears and how he had learned to hunt. But when she questioned Noah about Hardt’s parentage, the boy unblinkingly told her, “He’s my brother.”
The presentation of the arms and the new trainees accomplished and recognized by Gaetana and the attending Stray, Brower stepped to the center of the platform. For a moment he basked in the power as all eyes turned to him, waiting on his whim. He took a breath, held the papers up over his head, and shouted.
“During the first hike of the first front of the first wing of Stray, the guarde was attacked by the dTelfur and their dragons.” He waved the papers a little, encouraging the crowd’s cheers, then looked around at the fac
es until they quieted. Now he spoke more softly. “Hardt was away from camp, hunting for our next day’s rations. The dTelfur, hoping to take us down one by one, saw Hardt leave the camp and attacked him when he was alone. They sent dragons to burn the rest of us in our sleep.” Again a pause for the uproar. “But we fought them off and followed the sounds of Hardt’s fight into the trees where we found him struggling with a dragon with his bare hands. The dragon flew off shortly after our arrival, abandoning Hardt and taking in its claws only the dTelfur warrior Hardt had killed. As it left, it blew flame into our midst and set the forest on fire. Our front is presenting this ring of honor to Hardt in appreciation for his courage and skill defending us and our countryshale against the dragons and their kind.”
The cheering rang through center as Brower presented the sheets to Gaetana and as Frair and Getek clasped the band on Hardt’s left arm. It continued as Hardt pressed palms all around the front and with the kimoet’s messenger. It continued as the guarde dispersed and Hardt disappeared into the forest, ringing in his ears as he made his way home. The cheering had either died down or faded out of hearing by the time Hardt dropped the Ring of Honor in the willow creek.
Noah, following his friend, fished the ring out when Hardt was out of sight and slipped it into his pouch. He continued out to Vyck and Hardt’s settlement and peeked in through the curtain to see Hardt safely asleep in his aunt’s bed before he returned to the festival to report to Vyck.
Ladamé and other musicians had taken over the platform by the time he returned and all but one front of the guarde had shed their leather arm bands and were mingled with the crowd of eating and dancing Strayfolk. His mother, Jaydee, had hold of Gaetana’s arm and ear and steered her away from the more secretive shalers as the blond vainly continued trying to collect the names of all the guarde.
Getek snuck up on the boy, “She doesn’t understand.”
Noah spun around, startled from his scan of center. “What?”
“Gaetana doesn’t understand why the Stray won’t share their names. She can’t believe that anyone altruistic enough to join the guarde could have a past so evil that they would wish to hide.”
Hardt's Tale: A Mobious' Quest Novel Page 8