The Brotherhood (The Eirensgarth Chronicles Book 1)

by Philip Smith

  “I think it would be better to have the whole floor cleared and not just half of it, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Of course, my lord,” Pontus said in a droning, high-pitched monotone. As Paige’s papa turned and saw his daughter walking over to him, a wide, bright smile broke out over his face.

  “Alwasu! What brings my little ray of sunshine out this early?”

  Paige rolled her eyes but embraced her father’s open arms with a tight hug. His surcoat smelled like the light, sweet pipe tobacco he smoked on occasion, mixed with the lingering scent of the hide. The soft, buffed leather felt cool against her cheek as she breathed in his warm, rich smell. All that was missing was the smell of the old pages of parchment in his library and she would have had the trifecta of what she considered the manliest of scents.

  “Dirgah wanted me to bring this to you and let you know we’ll have more than enough Cinniknots for the feast,” she said, handing him what probably only amounted to two-thirds of the original knot. Her papa’s eyes lit up as he inhaled the sweet aroma dramatically, feigning a fainting spell.

  “Oh, good ol’ Dirgah, always pulling through for me!” Papa laughed, scarfing down half the roll before handing the rest back to Paige. “Here, you eat it. I have to watch my figure or I’ll never fit into those tight hosen your mother makes me wear to these things.”

  Paige didn’t argue, nearly inhaling the rest of the roll. Papa looked downright impressed, while Pontus seemed indifferent to her existence as he muttered and scribbled on his slate with a piece of chalk. She looked about the Great Hall as men moved benches and prepared for the evening's festivities. Several of the village’s warriors were hanging surplus shields of various paint schemes on the roof supports of the seating areas, with blues, whites, greens and yellows standing out in stark contrast to the weathered wood.

  The platform itself was exposed to the elements, save for an awning that circled its rim over the benches and seats that helped make up the railing. There was enough space to comfortably seat almost two hundred people hip to hip along the benches running the length of the platform, with space for a hundred along its width. This didn’t include all the space across the table on the countless wooden stools, benches, chairs, and stumps being brought in from all around the village. Tonight they would seat nearly the entire village on this one platform, with room enough to dance as well.

  To Paige’s left was a small dais built where the Burgesses and chieftain’s family sat at raised tables. Before these tables, in the center of the platform, a stone fire trench was being stacked with wood for the bonfire, its ancient-looking boulders carved with all manner of effigies depicting griffons and dragons fighting amidst a tangled mess of vines knotting their way in and out of the design.

  One of the young boys filling the stone trough looked up and caught Paige’s eye as he dumped an armload of dried tree-branches into the trench. The ruddy, freckled lad made a face and stuck his tongue out at the princess. Paige returned the gesture.

  “Bentley, are you making faces at my princess?” Papa exclaimed, interrupting his own instructions to Pontus. He pulled off his glove and shook his three-fingered hand at the boy menacingly. “Draw your weapon boy, for I will not suffer my lady’s honor to go thusly offended!”

  The boy, who wasn’t any older than eight, grabbed a stout stick and brandished it like a bastard sword, trying to contain his laughter. The chieftain marched dramatically to the woodpile and armed himself with an equally formidable stick. He saluted smartly and then advanced on the boy, flailing his stick about whimsically. The boy charged him and began swinging wildly, laughing all the while. Paige chuckled as her Papa swung comically around and let the boy get a few taps on his arms and legs, crying out in mock pain.

  “OH! Oh, good heavens! Bless me, I am failing you, my sweet!” he cried out to Paige as he pretended to stumble backwards. Some of the other boys had also grabbed some small stick swords and were encroaching the mock battle, eager to have in on the fun. Paige jogged over and snatched a branch up for herself, flailing it above her head.

  “I’ll rescue you, Papa!” she cheered, and began to fence with Bentley and the five other young lads, allowing him to get up.

  “Ah, but the joke is on you. I AM IMMORTAL!” Papa shouted. He dropped his stick and snatched one of the lads up by the belt, then deposited him into a heap on the newly swept deck. The other boys all shouted protests as they leapt and scrambled on Alaire’s back. Paige laughed and jumped on the pileup, pulling off a couple boys and tackling them to the floor. She pinned one under her arm and began grinding her fist into the boy’s dirty blond hair, amidst his thrashing and howls of protest. Another of the boys grabbed her moccasin and tried pulling it off her foot, so she dispatched him with a swift kick, followed by catching his midsection in a scissor lock. The boy flailed and kicked, laughed and tried to crawl away but only managed to drag his captor along the deck with him a few feet. Paige was laughing so hard she failed to notice the deep-cuffed boots embossed with oak leaves planted just a foot behind her head.

  “Why, Derak of Oak’s Bough, fancy running into you here!” her father pronounced.

  Paige felt her neck flush with embarrassment as she whirled around and saw Derak standing behind her, his emerald shirt and trousers only serving to highlight the bright green in his eyes. Paige leapt to her feet, dumping the boys onto the ground and trying to straighten out her wrinkled clothes. Derak looked at her with confused interest before bowing in front of the village chief.

  “M’lord,” he said courteously.

  Papa waved off the bow. “Oh, enough of that. What can I do for the Fauxbre boys this fine day?”

  “My father sent me to ask where you want all the gourds to be delivered. He brought the cartload you requested.”

  “Perfect!” Papa grinned, slapping the lad on the back. “You may deliver them to the Pump House. Xandla will inspect them and then see to it they are filled and distributed.”

  “Of course, m’lord,” Derak said with a nod.

  “My lord, we really must finish the seating arrangements for tonight,” whined a wheezing Pontus as he tapped his slate impatiently. Papa chuckled and rolled his eyes.

  “But of course, Pontus. Lead on, you miserable old sot!” the chief jabbed, tossing his long arm over the short little man’s thin shoulders and walking back towards the end of the platform, leaving Paige alone with Derak.

  “It’s good to see you!” she blubbered, trying to fix her now unkempt hair. He nodded, regarding her curiously.

  “Is it common practice in Kapernaum to scrap with the junior village ruffians?” he asked with a coy smile.

  “It’s, um, I usually…” Paige stuttered, trying to think of anything she could say to save her shriveling self-esteem. It was evident that, while not repulsed, Derak regarded her behaviour as odd. Words whirred around Paige’s head, but she couldn’t seem to string any of them together coherently.

  “It’s alright.” Derak laughed, trying to reassure her. “Just surprised, is all. Not something you see girls participating in every day.”

  Paige knew he didn’t mean it in a condescending way, but she couldn’t help but feel a slight stinging sensation in her chest as the words hit their unintended mark. She was odd, and right now in her life, she wanted more than anything to feel like she wasn’t an outcast. The incessant backhanded compliments and constant ostracization because of her interests had finally rubbed her calloused, carefree attitude to a raw spot. And now it wasn’t just the village girls commenting on her odd behaviour, but an attractive and desirable bachelor.

  “Well, I suppose I’d better be off. Have to get all those gourds to the Pump House for what’s-his-face.”

  “Xandla.”

  “Yes, Xandla. That’s the one.”

  “Alright, then will I still see you tonight?” Paige asked, realizing only after it had left her mouth how desperate it sounded. But Derak merely smiled and nodded.

  “I promised you a dance, di
dn’t I?”

  Paige smiled sheepishly as he winked, turned, and jogged away towards the lifts. She stared after him until he was out of sight, then she sighed in exasperation, smacking her head repeatedly against the closest support.

  “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered to herself, keeping rhythm with her self-deprecation till she heard a soft chuckle.

  “Careful, Little Dove. You’ll dent the support beam, and wouldn’t it be tragic to have that fall on someone during the party?”

  “Why can’t I live up to any of their expectations, Papa?” Paige muttered, feeling just the slightest hint of a sniffle coming. She turned and gave her father a big hug. He patted her head softly and rubbed her back. She inhaled his smell again, smiling as she felt the nub of his missing finger slide across her back.

  “Who cares what they think, eh?”

  “I mean, I don’t want to care, but somehow I can’t seem to stop from caring,” she muttered into his shirt. The chief laughed.

  “That’s called ‘adolescence,’ Bobcat. I’ve been there. It’s rough. But I promise tomorrow night will come and go, and in ten years you’ll look back on that harvest dance as a mere blink of time that really didn’t matter much in the end.”

  Paige smiled, wiping her nose on her sleeve, which brought a sparkle to her father’s eye.

  “All you need to know is that you have always exceeded my expectations, Alwasu. Never forget that, no matter what anyone else tries to tell you. Okay?”

  Paige laughed and nodded as her father sighed and patted her shoulder.

  “You’d best be off to get ready soon, yes? Isn’t that the women’s way? To need six hours to get ready?”

  “Why are you asking me? How would I know?” Paige laughed, giving her papa one more hug.

  “Best be off, then, just in case,” Papa said with a wink. Paige nodded and chuckled before turning and heading back in the direction of home, eager to begin preparations for what was sure to be a night to remember.

  ◆◆◆

  Olivian ran the hairbrush through Paige’s long hair as the two princesses prepared for the most eagerly anticipated social event of the season. Now that the storehouses were filled to the brim with the year’s harvest safely dried and tucked away in the grain stores, they could begin to settle in and prepare for the long winter of the Wild.

  To thank the Creator every year, the tribe held an annual Harvest Moon’s Feast, complete with wild dancing, banquet tables overflowing with food, speeches from the Burgesses, theater entertainment, and rough sparring battles on the floor of the mead hall as the hours slipped by late into the night.

  “Ouch!” Paige cried as Olivian hit a tangle in her flaxen hair. “Could you yank it any harder?”

  “I might if you don’t quit whining,” Olivian warned. “Hold still, Ala!”

  “This is so stupid. Hair should not be this troublesome!”

  “It isn’t, unless you move around like a squirrel in a burning tree!”

  Paige rolled her steely eyes. Though she’d be more comfortable in pants and a practical shirt, her mother’s dress was perfect. It was a dazzlingly white with a scooped neckline and lace trim, with sleeves that went just past her elbow and opened up elegantly. The back laced up with a dark blue ribbon and a matching sash she’d borrowed from Olivian.

  Olivian wore the same style dress, but with a gold ribbon and a circlet of gold atop her head. She had already spent hours curling her own hair in twisted bits of paper. Once the older princess had finished her own dressing, she then attempted to prod, push, jab, and yank Paige’s hair into submission for what seemed like an eternity. She curled the bottoms of Paige’s locks that cascaded down to the middle of her back, then wove thin vines of baby ivy into several small braids to catch the majority of loose tresses. As a finishing touch, she was currently attempting a crown braid in Paige’s hair.

  “Now behave!” Olivian scolded the obstinate locks that fell to Paige’s mid-back. “I have to get you in place so I can go finish getting ready!”

  “Big plans?” Paige queried, wincing as yet another clump of hair was wrenched from its natural spot.

  “Yes, actually,” Olivian said, tearing out another tangle so hard it felt like she was trying to snap a fresh rope. “I have a dance to see to! Honestly, Ala, do you ever brush your hair?”

  “Is it the dance you’re really worried about, or will a special someone be attending?” Paige asked absently. Olivian always had a new crush that Paige kept a running tally of in her head.

  “Derak of Oak’s Bough is in town. Oh goodness, Ala, those green eyes of his? I can hardly handle speaking with him without stumbling over my words! I heard he was finished seeing that girl from Hayen’s clan because she wasn’t worth the two-hour walk through the mountains.”

  Paige felt her jaw tighten. Olivian set the brush down on the table and handed Paige some ribbons to tie into her hair. As her sister skipped across the room to her own vanity and began braiding her own hair, Paige turned to glare at her.

  “It’s odd you mention that, because I talked to him yesterday, and he said he’d be dancing with me,” Paige replied tersely. It had taken many interactions with girls like Olivian and Matildra to do it, but she had perfected the appearance of civility laced with a dripping dose of sarcasm.

  Olivian laughed.

  “What?!”

  “Oh, nothing. Just that I saw him only an hour or so ago by the Pump House with his brothers. He agreed to dance with me as well. Did it occur to you when he asked you that the first dance is always the Elder dance?”

  Paige frowned. She’d forgotten about that. The firstborns of each household were the ones that traditionally started the dancing. Usually it didn’t bother her, but this meant that her sister could corner Derak.

  “So what? Maybe he’ll say ‘no’, eh?” Paige snipped.

  “Oh, please, Ala. Boys don’t just say ‘no’ to me. You know that.”

  “Well maybe they should,” Paige muttered. Olivian sniffed, putting another ribbon in her own hair.

  “Don’t be daft, Paige.”

  “He asked me. You can’t just overrule that because you don’t like it!”

  “I have the right to dance with him first, and let’s be honest, we both know I’m the better dancer.”

  Paige’s face flushed. Olivian spoke the truth, and there was little Paige could do about it. She wasn’t surprised, though; it was just like Olivian to manipulate the system to get her own way.

  “So what?” Paige huffed through clenched teeth. “It’s a stupid custom! Old laws for old people.”

  “I believe this is what is commonly referred to as ‘your problem.’ Word from the wise, Ala—don’t try to steal him from me, or go running to Papa like you always do. Father won’t risk upsetting the Burgesses just because you went crying to him like a daddy’s girl.” With a flip of her perfect hair, the older princess pulled on her shawl, patted Paige on the head condescendingly, and walked out of their room.

  Paige glared at her fists in her lap, her knuckles turning white with the pent-up frustration. She had never been able to compete with her sister when it came to matters like this. Olivian had all the looks, all the refinement. Paige? Well, she’d managed to be the son her father never had. She took pride in knowing how to spar and hunt. She didn't mind that at all, but when it came to these womanly things, Paige always felt like she came in second place. If the other girls in town were around, she moved even further down the list. Though she told herself it was all right, deep down she doubted herself. Maybe she did need to start acting more like Olivian and Matildra?

  “Stupid customs,” she muttered, tossing the brush onto her nightstand. She stood, looking wistfully at her reflection in the polished steel. Usually, dressed in her boys’ pants and everyday hunting attire, she always thought she looked like her father. But now, with her hair down and her new dress on, she looked every bit her mother’s daughter. Paige didn’t consider herself a vain person, but tonight she felt
as beautiful as Elenass looked. She would show them. She’d stood down hundreds of wild animals in the forest; what were a couple of twittering gossips with painted faces to worry about? She pressed her lips together and shook her head defiantly. Olivian would see. They’d all see. More than one star can shine in a night.

  Paige tugged the bottom drawer open on her nightstand and retrieved the necklace from this morning. It went perfectly with the dress mother had sewn, and she smiled as she put it around her neck. The roses were beautiful against her fair skin, and the entire ensemble really seemed to accent the elven features she’d inherited from her mother.

  “Of course,” she muttered, touching the bare spot below the necklace where a locket would have hung. She needed a centerpiece to pull the whole thing together. She looked over at Olivian’s bureau. Immediately she imagined how her sister would persecute her if she borrowed something from there without asking, and she certainly was not going to ask now. No. It would have to be something else.