Six Heirs

by Pierre Grimbert

  She wasn’t surprised to learn that her distant cousins had recently been assassinated for no apparent reason. Surprised, no. Saddened, yes. The tragedy merely confirmed her fears.

  The door was blocked; locked, maybe. Lana circled the house, hoping to find another entry, but there was none, unless perhaps through the roof.

  The priestess quickly rejected this idea, unable to imagine herself scaling a wall. There was only one thing to do.

  She grabbed a heavy stone and began hammering away at the wood, praying to Eurydis that no one would catch her. No fool, she had been sure to keep her relationship to the victims a secret and had no wish to blow her cover by being caught breaking in.

  The lock finally gave, and Lana broke the door open, splitting the stile close to the lock with a few of the strongest shoulder blows she could deliver—which wasn’t much.

  Breathless, she examined the house. It was all dark. Hideously, horribly dark. Under normal circumstances, she would never have entered.

  But these weren’t normal circumstances.

  She mustered her courage and walked in with determination. She headed straight for a sealed-up skylight and set about removing the boards the same way she had opened the door. Her crashing blows echoed violently within the stone walls, and she began bashing faster and harder, allowing panic to overwhelm her.

  Once the skylight was cleared, the room became sufficiently lit.

  Lana gave herself some time to rest and think. What she was looking for certainly wasn’t in this room, which served as both a living and dining room. But she couldn’t lose hope. The few pieces of furniture still in the room were in a sorry state. The aftermath of a looting, perhaps? Or a fight between her cousins and the Züu. Or both.

  Lana felt the anguish and tears returning. Ith was so far away! And more than that, she was so alone, facing events she didn’t understand, facing situations too dangerous for her, facing violence...

  She went back outside to collect her thoughts. The house’s morbid atmosphere was getting to her. After a short prayer for strength and encouragement, she felt a little better and resumed her investigation.

  She was looking for something, something very important. Something vital. It was certainly worth a bit of suffering.

  So she searched the cottage inside and out, clearing the boarded-up windows in each room she entered. As she searched, she tried her best not to think of these cousins she didn’t know. To avoid, for example, thinking about whom those toys belonged to, or who had bought them. She didn’t want to imagine them living their daily lives, and to admit, finally, that she regretted not having known her own family.

  As time went by, she felt her hopes diminishing. Reluctantly, she finally concluded that the object was not here. No longer here.

  If it even existed. Which she still doubted.

  There was only one way to know for sure. To know everything.

  She abandoned the small cottage after she prayed to Eurydis for her cousins’ rest. Then she shook most of the dust off her clothes, and mounted her horse to return to Mestèbe.

  The things she planned to do to uncover the truth demanded a lot of preparation, both physical and spiritual.

  After all, she could end up dead.

  Yan awoke shortly before dawn. Grigán was already up. Again, the young man hadn’t even heard him; it was almost irritating.

  He threw on some plain clothes and left the tent. The sky was gray and overcast: it was going to be a rainy day.

  The warrior was nowhere in sight, but that certainly wasn’t a reason to worry. Corenn and Léti’s tent was still closed up. After the emotional night before, Yan hoped they had managed to get a good night’s sleep.

  He usually went for a swim in the morning if it was nice out, or if not, he would just rinse himself off using the water basin in the house. Then he would join Léti for a small breakfast before tending to his daily tasks.

  As for washing up, things didn’t look promising. At least he would probably be able to find something for breakfast. To his delight, only a few yards into the woods, he happened upon a young lubilee tree whose fruit, though a little sparse, would be just the thing. Léti loved these sweet, nourishing oblong fruits, from which Norine used to make a delicious liqueur.

  Not long after, he stumbled across an abandoned vorvan nest that still harbored three eggs. Two others had been cracked open and sucked dry, perhaps by a scavenging blackbird, which would explain the nest being deserted. Yan collected the eggs, hoping Grigán would allow him to light a small fire. Raw eggs weren’t his favorite.

  Finally, he found a hazelnut tree, whose branches he picked bare. No one would eat any for breakfast, but he had never been able to pass by a hazelnut tree without collecting a sackful.

  As he returned to camp, he noticed the Lorelien forest’s richness. A walk in Southern Kaul’s brushland would have been far less fruitful.

  Grigán was back as well. He was busy sealing the waterskins he had left out overnight. They were now full of rainwater.

  I should have thought of that, Yan said to himself. There were two wells in Eza, which provided far more water than the two hundred or so villagers required, so it hadn’t even occurred to him that they could be in need of water, despite the fact that he himself had installed a little rainwater collection system in Norine’s home.

  The warrior had also gone out to look for food, even though they still had some provisions left from the day before. He had collected a bunch of pitted fruits and shot a sea pheasant. Yan was a little disappointed that he wasn’t the only one who thought to search for food. He placed his findings with the others and went over to Grigán.

  “Good morning.”

  The warrior looked at him, somewhat surprised.

  “Good morning to you.”

  “Did you sleep well?”

  “Yes. Thanks.”

  A silence fell over them. It was clear that Grigán preferred to busy himself with the waterskins than to share in polite conversation. Yan left him alone, and then, taken by a sudden wave of inspiration, rushed over to the tent. He came out with the bow and arrow Grigán had entrusted to him.

  He wandered away from the camp so he wouldn’t have to endure the warrior’s critical eye and his inevitable scoffing. He stopped after a hundred or so yards and chose a target: an odd marking, like a knot, in the bark of a distant tree.

  It took him at least a milliday to draw the bow properly and take aim. At last he released the string, dreading pain, the immediate punishment for a poor shot.

  The arrow flew straight, but missed the target by two yards, flying off into the bushes. Yan saw that he was going to lose all his arrows practicing that way. He recovered the arrow and decided on a new target: a tight cluster of young tree trunks that would stop even his worst shots.

  He shot about twenty times, his greatest success being an arrow that came within a foot of the target. His arm was growing tired and he was beginning to get discouraged. This was going to be harder than he’d thought.

  “Can I try?”

  Léti stood several feet behind him. She must have been watching his last few shots. Yan didn’t exactly feel brilliant, especially since Léti apparently didn’t take to the idea of him using a bow.

  But on the other hand, why then would she ask to try?

  “By all means.”

  He handed the weapon over to Léti, whose face lit up. Of course! He’d been so stupid: she was feeling excluded by the two men. He should have seen it sooner; Léti wasn’t the type to let herself be coddled.

  He did his best to pass on the advice Grigán gave him, and she took position.

  “What were you aiming for?”

  “The slightly curved trunk, that one in front. But it won’t stop moving,” he added with a chuckle.

  Léti smiled and slowly pulled back the string. It really was difficult. Her face tensed up, she gritted her teeth, and flexed her muscles with all her strength. But still, the bow didn’t bend much. Her strength ex
hausted, she released the arrow, and it made a small leap to land flat on the ground, a dozen yards ahead.

  “That’s all right,” Yan said immediately, to console her. “It’s because it’s too taut, that’s all. We should be able to find bows that aren’t so rigid.”

  He reached out his hand to rid her of the weapon.

  “Wait. Give me another arrow, please.”

  Yan complied. In his opinion, it was pointless: she had already worn out her arm drawing the first arrow and could only do worse with the second.

  Léti nocked the arrow, took position, and drew. Then she aimed her bow up, with the arrow practically pointing toward the treetops. Yan thought she wasn’t strong enough and moved to help her, but she released the arrow before he could.

  The arrow followed a curved trajectory and hit the targeted trunk dead on, sticking into the wood for a brief moment before falling to the ground.

  Yan stood agape, his eyes glued to the nick made by the arrow. Léti let out a wild cry of joy and turned to him.

  “Did you see that? I did it, Yan! I did it. I’m no worse than any man. I did it!”

  As for him, the fisherman felt a lot worse. Léti really had all the talent and he had none.

  He didn’t feel jealousy, but rather genuine admiration for the woman he so often felt unworthy of. He examined her perfect face, her head of lush brown hair, her sparkling eyes that glowed with a zest for life, and her mouth that opened to reveal a joyful smile. She must always be so. Yan promised himself he would do anything so that she would be that way forever.

  Léti went to get the arrow, which she handed over to him with the bow.

  “Here. I don’t want to start off the morning arguing with Grigán the Grump. I have my answer, let’s go eat.”

  Yan wondered what answer she was talking about, and more importantly, to what question. But he didn’t ask; he thought it best to try and keep her in a good mood. Besides, he didn’t want to become another target for her nicknames.

  They enjoyed the fare they had collected that morning and some leftovers from the evening before. Corenn also looked better; she, who had remained reserved all evening yesterday, was now leading the conversation and teasing the two men about their culinary talents, which according to her were limited to “picking something off a branch.”

  Yan protested a little as a matter of form, and even Grigán shot back one or two deliberately aggressive replies. But no one took any of it seriously, and soon they took to the road for a new day of traveling.

  A drizzling but insistent rain began to fall midmorning, near the end of the second deciday. They all covered themselves as best they could, hoping the rain would stop soon. Which it did. Only to start again, and this time even harder.

  Little by little, the trail became a road as other trails crossed and joined it. When they came to one of the larger forks in the road, Grigán guided his troop onto the path that turned north.

  “I thought Bénélia was right in front of us,” said Corenn, surprised.

  “True, it is. But I’d rather take a detour and reduce the chances that the Züu will find us. If they’re still looking for us. They can’t possibly already know about the deaths of the three others.”

  “What did you do with the bodies?” Yan asked, it suddenly occurring to him.

  “Left them there. If you want to live a long life, never linger over a corpse. Especially in the Upper Kingdoms,” added the warrior with an enigmatic smile.

  “Did you search them?”

  Grigán squinted.

  “Why should I have searched them?”

  “I don’t know, maybe you could have found a clue, or at least some items we could have used. You weren’t tempted to take their purse, for example?” Yan finally dared.

  Grigán stared at him sternly. Even through the curtain of rain, the young man could feel his intense gaze. Curses, he had yet again offended the warrior’s strange sensibilities.

  “That’s what you would have done? Robbed a corpse?”

  Yan only had to think for a moment.

  “No, I don’t think so. No. Of course not,” he declared sincerely, after a moment of thought.

  “Good.”

  Grigán looked serious. Yan promised himself he would learn to hold his tongue. He glanced over at the two Kaulien women. Corenn was wearing a slightly amused smile, and Léti seemed annoyed, by the rain perhaps.

  Whatever they thought, he felt as though he had been chastised like a little boy in front of his friends. And that had happened far too often recently. So, somewhat stupidly, he continued the argument, “Still, I would have searched their corpses. You should have, in my opinion.”

  “Should we go back, then?”

  Sensing an argument on the horizon, Corenn intervened.

  “We left the path immediately afterwards so we wouldn’t be spotted. We couldn’t have done anything either way. So it’s useless to fight over it.”

  “Lady Corenn, I greatly appreciate your intelligence,” responded the warrior. “And you know what a compliment that is, coming from a narrow-minded old bachelor like me.”

  “I do understand and thank you, Master Grigán. I hope you remember it later, when we have a difference of opinion,” she answered with a mischievous smile.

  “May such a day never come, for it would see the sacrifice of my freedom for a woman, Lady Corenn. I prefer to be wrong with you than to be right against you.”

  Yan couldn’t believe his ears. Corenn and Grigán had completely forgotten about him. And why were they talking like that? He turned to Léti to see her reaction. The young woman was watching her aunt and “uncle” with a wide smile; he couldn’t understand why. Very well, since everyone was ignoring him, he would ignore everyone.

  He didn’t last long. His good nature kept him from pouting for very long, his good sense warned him against such ridiculous behavior, and, of course, no one was paying him any more attention than before.

  The little group passed a trio of horsemen about a league after they’d turned north. Grigán didn’t give the order to take cover; in fact, he wasn’t scouting ahead anymore either. Yan supposed they must be safer, now that they were on one of the many side roads.

  They moved along in silence for a few leagues, passing or being passed by a number of pedestrians and riders. They even saw an ornate wagon, pulled by six horses, with two uniformed men bearing an arrogant expression copied from their passenger—apparently a Lorelien noble. Yan followed the carriage with his eyes for as long as he could. One never saw and would never see such splendor in Kaul. Could he one day travel in such a fashion?

  They traveled through two villages much like Jerval or Eza. Yan didn’t even ask for their names. At the end of the third deciday, which marked the apogee, and when they were passing through yet another village, Corenn stopped her mount in front of a rather large building.

  “Grigán, what do you say we stop at this inn? So much water’s fallen on my head this morning that I think it will take a hundred years to dry out.”

  “Lady Corenn, I’d love to indulge you, and I admit that I wouldn’t be against a goblet of wine and a hot meal in front of a nice fire. But caution prevents me; even if we can ride safely, I fear we must wait until Bénélia before we can expose ourselves to so many strange faces.”

  “Of course, you’re right,” Corenn recognized. “Watch over us, Master Grigán, or I would quickly let my fatigue overrun my good sense.”

  “I doubt that could ever happen, Lady Corenn. But it will be a great pleasure to look after you.”

  They got themselves back on the road at a slow trot. Léti approached Yan quietly.

  “Did you see that? They’re courting one another.”

  Yan hiccupped with surprise. Suddenly, the urge to laugh came over him, but it flamed out under Léti’s serious gaze.

  “They aren’t courting! They’re just talking...”

  “Of course they are. Did you see how they spoke to one another?”

 
Léti looked thoroughly convinced, and very pleased to boot. Yet again, Yan felt a bit stupid. What, he had to call her “Lady Léti” to make her happy? He wasn’t against trying, if she didn’t laugh in his face, as she probably would. Something escaped him. For a while now, a lot of things had been escaping him.

  He examined the warrior and the Mother, the combatant and the diplomat, the lawless man and the Law. No, they had nothing in common, except their age. How could they get together? Did Léti think that Grigán was going to ask Corenn for her hand on the Day of the Promise, like a shy young man asking a hesitant young woman?

  The idea made Yan want to laugh again. He could imagine that fateful day with slightly less apprehension. He resolved to think of the same thing every time the subject tormented him. In other words, practically all the time.

  They came across more and more people the closer they got to the river. Farmers, horsemen, merchants and their caravans. Yan scrutinized each one of these unique characters with an avid curiosity.

  One of them was leading a pack of strange animals, a sort of cross between a dog and a sheep. Another carried a bizarre weapon, like a sword with two blades, one on either side of the handle. And there was another leading a donkey loaded with baskets of pink-colored fruits. There was a group walking in single file, their heads down, chanting a few unintelligible words—followers of some unknown cult. A man was encouraging his six wives to pick up the pace to avoid losing sight of his horse. A couple of others were arguing in a strange language. That woman over there...

  “Don’t stare at people like that, Yan,” Corenn told him.

  “I don’t mean to be rude,” he mumbled, “but they’re all so...strange!”

  “You seem just as strange to them. Everyone seems strange through the eyes of another. But courtesy demands that we overlook these details.”

  “It’s not just a question of politeness,” Grigán added. “One of those men might try to start a fight with you.”

  “Just because I’m looking at him? Come on!”

  “Keep it up, and you’ll see. I bet before dark you’ll hear a few insults or get a punch thrown your way.”