Valor (Book 3)

by Sever Bronny

  “Well we won’t know until we try.” Bridget’s head swiveled between their doubtful faces. “Fine, you two can find an alternate way to get to the Occi. I’m going to talk to him on my own.” She wrapped the Dramask blanket around her shoulders like an old woman and marched off.

  “Yeah, good luck with that!” Leera shook her head. “Ugh, she’s so unrealistic sometimes. I bet the two of us can find out where the Occi are before she does.”

  Augum smirked. “I’m not waiting around behind some freezing bush.”

  Leera poked his chest with each word. “Don’t. Be. So. Smart. Anyway, I have an idea. Come on.”

  They strolled to the center of town where a group of men and women jovially shot arrows at a hay target. It had begun snowing again. The wind kept a steady pace and the trees swayed along.

  Leera stopped by the well, its sloped roof covered with a blanket of snow. “So what’s in town here …” She focused on a stall with a low awning, an anvil and a series of iron tools. A young man in a soot-stained sleeveless coat hammered at a horseshoe.

  “There’s the blacksmith.” She pointed at another stall with a multitude of clay pots. “The potter.”

  “What are we looking for?” Augum asked.

  “Don’t know yet. Someone old and wise, maybe the town sage or something. Just look for a really long gray beard. Old men with long gray beards are always wise, aren’t they?” She pointed at a closed stall with the words Lordrick’s Leathers. “Leather worker there. And there’s the weaver, the miller, the shoemaker—”

  “If I had coin I’d buy a pair of winter boots.” He was sick of his feet freezing in nothing but turnshoes. He had tried wrapping them in cloth but it only made walking more difficult.

  “… engraver … scribe … Wait a moment, a scribe might know where we can find the Occi, right?”

  “Isn’t that the girl’s mother we briefly met at the tavern?”

  Leera glanced at him, one brow raised. “You mean Priya, the very pretty one.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” yet she kept gawking at him as if waiting for him to say something particular.

  He snorted. “Oh for—she wasn’t prettier than you, all right? Now let’s go.” He pinched the cuff of her robe in the direction of the scribe’s house. Leera happily bounced along.

  He hid it well, but that was one of the hardest things Augum had ever said. He had been thinking about it now and then since the tavern. Why had Leera asked him if he thought that Tiberran girl was prettier? What did it mean? Was she comparing herself to her to get Jengo to ask her to the Star Feast? Or did she just simply want to know if she was prettier?

  They walked up to a sod house with a wooden sign depicting a quill, parchment and inkwell. Written underneath in the neatest hand was Panjita the Scribe. Leera opened the door.

  “Close it quick lest Panjita freezes to death!” barked a shrill voice from the corner. Leera slammed the door shut out of surprise, sending parchment flying off a nearby desk the size of a bed.

  “They shall pick those up,” said an old woman with a gray ponytail, clunky spectacles, and crimson sienna skin. She limped forward, cane in one hand, quill in the other. She was short, only up to Augum’s shoulders, and wore a very long cerise cloth wound around her waist and draped over her shoulder. Her face was bejeweled with tiny stud piercings.

  Augum picked up the parchments and placed them on the desk, already strewn with scrolls, inkwells, and bronze animal figurines acting as paperweights.

  The woman pointed her quill at Leera like a sword. “Does the freckled creature want to kill me? She leaves the door open that long and she might as well put Panjita’s head under a guillotine.” She waddled around the desk like an old bear, plopping down in a bentwood chair as worn as she was, one of its back supports broken. She hung her cane on its armrest, tossed the quill on the desk, and clenched her hands together.

  “What do they want?”

  Leera cleared her throat. “Hello, ma’am—”

  “—Panjita Singh is her name, and if the boy and girl can’t pronounce it they might as well get out now because Panjita doesn’t have time for imbeciles.” She leaned forward a little. “Panjita thinks the boy and girl indeed look like imbeciles.”

  Leera gave Augum an uncertain look. “Uh, hello, Mrs. Singh—”

  “—it hasn’t been Mrs. for thirteen years, now the girl better get on with it unless she enjoys watching Panjita melt with age before her eyes.”

  “Uh, right, sorry, Ms. Singh, it’s just that we wanted to ask you a question.”

  Ms. Singh looked skyward and raised her hands. “Well thank the Unnameables, a question, a real question, how will Panjita ever answer? Perhaps she would answer if the simple girl would stop roving about like a mole and simply ask the almost certainly trivial question.”

  Leera gaped.

  “Panjita is getting impatient, she’s thinking she’ll soon be hurling her inkwell and trinkets at imbecile brats that haplessly wander into shops drooling like brainless—”

  “—we need to find the Occi,” Augum blurted.

  Ms. Singh pushed on her thick spectacles. They immediately began sliding back down her nose. “Ah, so the boy can get to the point.” She stared at him with magnified eyes. “Does the boy have a death wish?”

  “No, of course not. We just need to find the Occi.” When Ms. Singh gave him a highly skeptical scowl, he added, “We’ll be well protected.”

  “Does the boy think something about Panjita’s appearance screams gutterborn? Is there something about her face, perhaps her oafish spectacles, that warrant such an unashamed bashing of her superior intelligence and worthy wit?”

  “Not at all, we really do need to find the Occi.”

  “Oh? So the boy and girl blithely standing in Panjita’s presence haven’t been dared to steal an Occi horn by one of their foolish chums?”

  “No, of course not. What’s an Occi horn anyway?”

  “Ah, feigning ignorance is a trick as old as time. That aside, have the boy and girl heard of the tales, legends and campfire stories told to children to scare them from going to see the Occi? Do the obtuse pair before Panjita know mothers and fathers tell their children that if they do not behave, the Occi will come in the night and snatch them away to hell?”

  “No, haven’t heard those,” Leera said, “but it doesn’t matter, we have a powerful protector.”

  “Oh, the girl must think herself ever so smart. Despite Panjita’s wild protestations, said girl will of course continue to think this way until she wakes up slow-roasting in a cauldron with her insides hanging out over the edge while little Occi children gnaw on her fingers.”

  Leera swallowed. Augum thought she had finally met her sarcastic match. It was time to change tactics. “So your daughter works at the inn,” he said in a conversational tone.

  Ms. Singh looked Augum up and down as if eyeing a diseased mule she’d never purchase. “Panjita does not appreciate a know-nothing Solian delinquent—and not even a man—approach her in regards to her only daughter. She finds this terribly offensive, for he is not nearly noble or rich enough for Priya—”

  “—no, that’s not what I—”

  “—Panjita is thinking of releasing the hounds of hell if the unsuitable does not remove himself from her premises.”

  “Think we better go,” Leera said out of the corner of her mouth.

  “The smartest thing the freckled Solian has said thus far. Panjita thanks the snotlings for wasting her precious time and asks them never to return again. If Panjita were younger, she would help their departure with a kick to the—”

  They closed the door a little too loudly for Ms. Singh’s tastes. There was a bang and then a rolling sound from the other side.

  “Well that went well,” Leera said in mock cheer as they strolled away.

  “Guess we’re back to looking for old men with long gray beards.”

  The Attempt to Save Haylee

  Augum and
Leera roamed about looking for a sage while the snowfall thickened. The town slowly emptied as people disappeared inside their homes, leaving them to stand around an Endyear torch, rubbing their hands and stamping their feet against the cold.

  “Wonder how Bridge is doing,” Augum mumbled, trying to get his teeth to stop chattering.

  Leera snickered. “Probably chased back to the house by that brute.”

  “Yeah. Guess I should check on Haylee.” He retrieved the pearl from his pocket and slowly unwrapped it. Leera gave him a worried look as he closed his eyes to see through the Orb of Orion. Inside that dark room, lit by a single candle, a sandy-haired figure in a red and black striped robe crouched by Haylee. Back in Milham, Augum felt heat flash through his body.

  “I’m sorry, Hayles, I had to do it,” Mya’s murderer said, feeding Haylee a spoonful of soup from a wooden bowl. She slurped it up, wincing, her head hanging.

  “If we didn’t teach you that lesson, what would stop the next traitor?” Robin raised her chin to look into her eyes. “Do you understand?”

  She only glared at him.

  “I know you’re angry, Hayles, but I had no choice. They would have thought me weak if I hadn’t sent the command. That’s what commanders do, Hayles—they make decisions, important ones. They command. How am I ever to become one if I can’t make those decisions? Stop being selfish and put yourself in my shoes, would you?” He shook his head slowly as if pitying a worthless peasant, hand still on her chin. “I’m important now. People look up to me, like they looked up to my father. You know he was a warlock captain in the army, Hayles. Everyone respected him. Even Mother—”

  “—he beat you both daily!”

  “Shut up! He did it because he had to teach me the ways of the world! He did it to make me a man.” Robin’s fist clenched, but then he sighed, letting go of her chin with a spiteful twist. “As for Mother … she was always so weak, so pitiful. But his men … they listened to Father. I listened to Father.” He paused, studying her. “You should look up to me, you know. Do you still look up to me, Hayles?”

  She spit in his face.

  He dug out a fine cloth and proceeded to wipe his cheek. Something about the way he did it reminded Augum of the Blade of Sorrows—methodical, patient, and dangerous.

  Robin folded the cloth, put it in his pocket, picked up the bowl of soup, and slowly poured it over her head. She hung there, taking it.

  Augum could barely restrain himself from yelling vile curses, but he knew that would make things far worse for her. If there was only a way to teleport in there, smash Robin’s face in.

  “You could have been right here with me, Hayles.” Robin stood up, tossing the bowl aside with a crash. “Instead, you chose those weak gutterborn rats, and for what? Look at you. Look at what you did to your parents. Look at what you did to your grandfather. I’ll give you one last chance. Tell me you’re very sorry and you’ll obey every single one of my commands from here on, and I’ll consider having you released. I’ll consider … taking you back.”

  Robin watched for longer than necessary to receive his answer.

  “Fine,” he said at last. “Have it your way, but when Auntie draws the knife across your traitorous neck, just remember that you had your chance. You better hope that crone gives up the scion instead.” He walked out while Haylee whimpered.

  Augum watched for a short while, conscious of his body growing colder back in Milham. When neither Erika nor Robin came back, he whispered, “We’ll get you out, Haylee, don’t you worry.”

  She began quietly crying.

  “We’ll get you out, I promise. Stay strong,” but his words sounded as useless as a wheelbarrow missing its wheel. With a heavy heart, he withdrew.

  “Robin was with her,” he told Leera once the pearl was tightly wrapped and back in his pocket.

  “What did that vermin want?”

  “For her to apologize and say she’d obey every command of his from now on. He talked about his parents a bit too. His father was a warlock captain in the army. Beat him and his mother daily.”

  “I know.”

  “You … you do?”

  “Yes. Everyone did. Robin used to come to school black and blue. But no one did anything because they were too afraid of his father. Even the teachers turned a blind eye.” She twiddled her thumbs. “But any time someone tried to help Robin, he would lash out at them. Brutally. Just like his father. There are stories … too many stories.”

  “So he was made this way.”

  “You were bullied too, Aug. Do you go around doing the same thing to others? People have choices. He chose his path a long time ago.”

  They stood in silence for a while, lost in thought, until Leera shook her head. “I really hope Mrs. Stone pulls through.”

  “Me too. Me too …”

  “There’s Bridge. Look at her smirking.”

  They watched Bridget approach, blanket fluttering from her shoulders, hair gathering snowflakes.

  “What are you so happy about?” Leera asked.

  “Nothing, just made a new friend, that’s all.”

  “You made friends with that brute?”

  “He’s not so bad if you just listen to him, you know.”

  Leera gave Augum a look as Bridget strolled by. “Hey, where are you going now?”

  “To the Good Medicine shop.”

  “Wait up for us—”

  “You two look like you need to sit by a warm fire,” Bridget said as they caught up.

  “We’re fine,” Leera replied, drawing her robe tighter. “So did you explain to him how brave the Henawa are?”

  “Nope.”

  “Okay … so did you tell him how good they are at ambushing? Or hunting?“

  “Nope.”

  “I don’t get it, what did you do?”

  “I told you,” Bridget said as she opened the door to the shop. “I only listened.”

  Leera rolled her eyes as the trio entered.

  “Hello, Achishi Zafu,” Bridget said with a bright smile.

  “What maniye girl want?”

  “Only to tell Achishi Zafu that his son, Chaska, is leaving.”

  “Andava maniye better not—”

  “—he’s leaving on his nemana.”

  The old man froze, watching Bridget a moment. Then he raised his chin and gave a proud nod. Augum and Leera exchanged perplexed looks.

  “He’s leaving tonight,” Bridget continued, “after the Star Feast, if there is one. He is going to hunt the winged demon.” She glanced out the window at the curtain of falling snow. “The weather is a bit bad right now.”

  The old man stared ahead with a small smile on his weathered face, as if reliving days of old.

  Bridget quietly turned and left, Augum and Leera following in a daze.

  “What just happened?” Leera asked when they stepped outside.

  Bridget slowly led them back to the Okeke home. “I told him his son is going on a nemana, a spiritual quest. In the Henawa culture, a boy is not a man until he returns from one. Chaska knew a lot more about the Henawa than he let on at first. He said his father told him all the Henawa stories, and that his father always lectured him for not listening to those stories, but, see, Chaska had been listening—and he’s determined to bring back the bones of a winged demon, which I’m guessing just means a large bird.”

  “But … how did you make him talk to you in the first place?” Leera asked.

  “I asked him if he’d come with me to the Star Feast.”

  Leera stopped mid stride, coughing. “You did what! You like him!”

  “No, silly, not like that. Well, I mean, he’s cute, but he’s also lonely and just wanted someone to talk to. I honestly thought I could help him.” She shrugged. “Besides, this opens the door for you two to ask someone.”

  Leera and Augum blushed, cheeks fire red.

  “Well, I have a person in mind already,” Leera said, suddenly skipping off to the Okeke home, nose in the air.

 
; “Someone’s in a good mood,” Bridget said, nudging Augum with a playful elbow.

  He forced a smile, but his insides prickled. Leera was going to ask Jengo to the feast, it was obvious—she was rushing to do it right now. Suddenly he didn’t want to go in at all and stopped.

  “Hey, want to see if, uh, if there are any games going on?” He glanced back the way of the village, the snow swirling in thick clouds.

  “What? It’s freezing. And aren’t you hungry?”

  He’d eat bark if presented on a plate. “No, not really.”

  “Well there’s nothing going on,” Bridget said as Leera disappeared inside the house. “I mean, look at it, it’s miserable out.” She stared at him a moment and sighed. “Just ask her.”

  “What? Ask her what, if she’s hungry?”

  Bridget gave him a sisterly look. “You know what I mean, Aug.”

  “I think I’m hungry after all.” He marched off to the house, leaving Bridget to groan and catch up.

  When he opened the door, Mr. Okeke, Mr. Goss, Jengo and Leera sat at the table. Leland played with a wooden puzzle toy while Leera held a private and giddy conversation with Jengo, who sat right beside her. It immediately confirmed Augum’s suspicions.

  Mr. Goss squinted. “Oh, hello, Augum! How was your morning?”

  “Fine.” He stamped his feet at the door to shake off the snow and proceeded to sit across from Leera.

  Bridget settled at his side. He felt her eyes on him.

  “Well now that everyone is here, let us begin lunch,” Mr. Okeke said, standing. “Jengo, if you please.”

  “Yes, Father.” Jengo flashed Leera a secret smile and got up to help. Mr. Okeke began lecturing his son on proper iron trading practices. Jengo dully nodded along.

  Mr. Goss took a sip of tea. “So, Leera said we are one step closer to finding Occulus’ castle.”

  “That all depends on whether or not Bridget’s future husband gets his father to tell us,” Leera said.

  “Oh? And what could this be all about?” Mr. Goss asked in a playfully scandalized tone.

  Bridget snickered. “Leera’s just exaggerating as usual, Mr. Goss.”