After a moment, Father peeled him away and set him back down on the ground. “Let me look at you,” he said, and Fox stood up straight. Father folded his arms across his broad chest. “You’ve gotten taller,” he said sternly. “Taller is no good, you’ll lose your nimble footing and then you’ll be useless to me.”
“Sorry, sir,” said Fox, grinning. “I’ll try to stop.”
A broad smile broke through Father’s thick, black beard, and he ruffled Fox’s hair. “Well, it’s the best I can expect, I suppose.” Then, laughing, he put his hand on Fox’s shoulder and said, “Let’s go home.”
They fought their way through the crowd to where Cobb was standing patiently with the other animals. Ponies, mules, and a handful of the tall, thick-haired goats that were sometimes used to pull the wagons. As Father carefully led their pony away from the herd, Fox caught a glimpse of Fire Merchant Terric’s reunion with his wife. The two were wrapped in such a tight embrace that Fox was amazed either of them could breath, and Terric’s wife was crying and laughing all at once.
“First winter alone for her,” said Father quietly. “How’d she take it?”
Fox raised his eyebrows, taking in the woman’s sobs. “About like that, without all the kissing and laughing.”
They left the chaos of the square behind and hiked up to the house together, Cobb following placidly behind them. As they walked, Father told Fox stories of the trade caravan. “The colors!” he said reminiscently. “The rich autumn reds and golds. Ah, you don’t see that kind of color here.” He talked about the southern fashions and customs, and told Fox about the time he got to sell his furs to the ruling house of Mirius.
“What was their castle like?” asked Fox eagerly.
“Big,” said Father. “Very, very big. I can’t imagine what they do with all that space. They have rooms so big, they should never get warm. And of course, their castle was nothing compared to Athilior. The seat of the High King,” said Father, answering Fox’s question even before he asked it. “Each of the Central Kingdoms have their own monarchs or lords, but they all have to answer to the High King.” He hummed in a dreamy sort of way and stared up at a lone piece of blue sky shining through the clouds. “Someday, I’ll take you to Athilior. It’s the most beautiful city of silver and white. There are universities and libraries, the famous temple district, and the biggest marketplace this side of the Westerling Sea.”
Fox thought of that morning’s breakfast of simple brown bread with a sigh, imagining what it might be like to have foreign spices and fruit. Every now and then Father brought back exotic treats, but they were gone all too soon.
The Sovestan lifestyle was simple, built around survival. The traders not only brought home money for their families, but many of the daily necessities that the people of Thicca Valley lacked. Father especially, his trade catering to the wealthy, kept the valley from disappearing. He bartered for needles and thread, cookware, knives, lanterns, buttons, fishing line. Tonight, when the three-day Homecoming Festival began, Father would set up shop at the Five Sides and start trading with the valley folk. And Fox, in his constant efforts to prove to Father that he was ready to be apprenticed, would be there for every moment of it.
Mother was waiting for them on the front porch, leaning against the railing with her arms crossed. Mother never ran down to the valley square with the other wives when the bells started to ring. She and Father had always preferred to have their reunions privately, it seemed. And so Fox, as he always did, turned left when they hit the front path and led Cobb to the stables, where he would remain until his parents called him in for dinner.
✽ ✽ ✽
Cobb went eagerly into his freshly cleaned stall and began tearing through his feeding bucket. Fox was completely ignored as he unloaded saddlebags and gear from the old pony’s back. He hummed quietly as he worked, setting packages aside to be sorted later and picking bits of leaf and snow from Cobb’s mane. He always took an extra long time brushing Cobb after the caravan’s return, knowing that it was impractical to groom the animals thoroughly while on the road, as well as giving his parents as much time together as they might need. Slowly and deliberately, Fox worked over every inch of Cobb’s thick, grey fur, singing softly.
Have you gone a-westerling
And seen the shining seas?
They say a buried treasure waits
Behind the salty breeze.
Have you ridden Merchant’s Way
And smelled the summer air?
The autumn gold and winter cold
Are barely moments there.
But if you go a-westerling
Or past the Southern Gates,
Remember me, wrapped in the hills
Where winter always waits.
Cobb had finished eating and was standing calmly, swishing his tail. As Fox began working a comb through the pony’s mane, he said quietly, “I bet you never get tired of it, old boy. The lovely autumn weather and the long walks.”
“He’s the lucky one, isn’t he?” said a voice from the stable door, and Fox jumped slightly. Father was standing there, leaning against the doorframe. “He gets the easy job.”
“I didn’t hear you come in,” said Fox.
“Trapper’s tread,” said Father. “The gods’ gift to we that hunt.” He joined Fox in Cobb’s stall and knelt down, cradling one of the pony’s hooves in his lap. “New song?” he asked.
“It started making the rounds about a month ago,” Fox said. Winter nights got very long in Thicca Valley. To pass the time, many of the valley folk would write new songs during evenings in the Five Sides. Favorites began to circulate, making their way into the mines and out to the farmlands, filling the air all year long. “I was there when Farradic finished off the last verse, and it sorta just stuck.”
“It’s beautiful,” said Father. “It’ll be one of the ones that lasts.”
They worked in silence for a bit. Then, as Father set down Cobb’s last hoof, he stood and stretched. “Have you ever been up to the mines and heard them sing?” He leaned against the wall, gazing out the window toward the northern mines. “Early in the morning is best, just after the rest of the valley begins to wake up and the men have already been at it for a couple of hours. They pick a song, and it starts off quiet. But then, it swells and echoes. It fills the mountain, and it’s like the earth itself is trying to speak to you.” For a moment, he simply watched the evening snow begin to fall.
Then he tossed his hoof pick into the grooming bucket. “For all of the colors and riches the southern lands have to offer, they don’t have anything that sounds like that.” He smiled at Fox.
“Dinner will be ready by now. And then, you and I have a Homecoming to get to, don’t we?”
“Yes sir,” said Fox.
They left Cobb dozing in his stall and made their way back up to the house. As they walked, Fox thought about the miner’s song. About how much Father seemed to love it. With the whole Merchant’s Highway at his feet, and the stories he brought back every year, Father still preferred Thicca Valley. And Fox, who spent every winter honing his skills and trying to prove himself, couldn’t wait to get out of it. As much as he himself loved his home, and all of the people in it, he was restless.
Fox spent his dinner watching Father across the fire pit. He watched as he and Mother exchanged quick kisses and held hands, and as Father took his time over every bite. He noticed for the first time how Father seemed to take in every stone as he looked around the kitchen. And then, all at once, he noticed how tired Father looked. This strong, laughing man was exhausted.
He had hints of grey in his dark hair that had not been there last summer.
As the sun outside finally dipped out of sight, the bells began to ring out in the valley square again. The Homecoming Festival was beginning, with the Five Sides at its heart. Within minutes, Father and Fox were on their way, laden with trade goods to set out at the tavern, and Fox decided to put his worries out of mind for a while. The Homecoming was a ch
ance to relax, to enjoy having the valley together after a long and lonely winter, and before the exhausting summer work began.
✽ ✽ ✽
Thick, wet snowflakes began to fall as they entered the valley square, and Fox breathed in the smells of the Homecoming. Fresh hickory wood being added to the bonfire; roasting pigs; hot cider; Borric’s pies and fresh honey cakes. Smoke filtered through the chilly air, wrapping around the rooftops and making the moonlight hazy.
“Stay for awhile,” said Father. “Have a good time. I’ll set up shop. And try to rescue me one of Borric’s blackberry pies later.”
As Father disappeared into the Five Sides, dancing broke out around the bonfire, sending long shadows darting across the shop fronts and the snow-powdered streets. Fox skittered off to the side to watch, enjoying the flashes of color from the Thiccan’s holiday finery. For a time he simply stood there, taking in the dance. And then a hand darted out of the crowd and clamped around his wrist, pulling him into the swirling mass. Kimic Lillywhite, the grainmiller’s daughter, was smiling across the circle at him. Fox suddenly found himself skipping around the square in a frantic Sovestan country dance, flecks of snow biting him on the cheeks and making his ears sting.
That first dance was followed by three more, until Fox’s lungs were on fire and he had to collapse on the leather worker’s shop windowsill. Kimic sat beside him, laughing and brushing snow from her hair. “Thanks for joining me,” she said breathlessly.
“Didn’t have much of a choice,” Fox said lightly as he loosened his scarf.
Kimic smirked at him. “Oh come on, Fox. We both know you’d never get out there yourself.”
Fox shrugged. “I like to watch. What’s wrong with that?”
“It’s just no fun, is all,” said Kimic. She leaned her head back against the shop window. “It must be hard, being a boy,” she said contemplatively. “You have to start working so much younger than us girls.”
“Lai works just as hard as any of the boys.”
Kimic rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but that’s Lai, isn’t it? She’s different.”
Fox felt a sudden rage surge up inside him, and he bit down hard on the inside of his cheek. He didn’t know why, but something about the way Kimic said “different” made him want to hit something. Forcing himself to speak calmly, he said, “Well, what’s so wrong with working hard?”
“Nothing exactly,” said Kimic. “It’s just a shame you boys can’t have more fun sometimes.” She sat up a little straighter and fluffed her skirt. “I can have fun until I get married.” And then, to Fox’s horror, she took one of his hands in hers and leaned in closer. “Don’t you want to have fun, too? Come and dance with me again.”
Fox stood so abruptly that Kimic lost her balance. “Sorry, gotta go help with the trading. Enjoy your dance.” And he scurried away, quickly putting as many bodies between himself and Kimic Lillywhite as possible. As he made his way to the Five Sides he jammed his hands in his pockets, disgusted. Of course she was flirting with him. Every year, there were a handful of youth who thought they would get special deals and trades if they befriended Fox. Young men and women who usually didn’t pay him any mind were suddenly acting like close personal friends. Kimic was a year older than him, and almost a head taller. She was always batting her eyes at the boys and spending her allowance on frivolous things. She would grow up to be one of those young women who would flirt with the married men, Fox was sure of it. And the way she talked about Lai, as though working hard made her less of a girl ... Fox was grateful for the chaos in the Five Sides, so he could put his mind to other things.
Father’s table was in the back corner by a window, and he was already surrounded by an eager crowd, all shouting out offers and vying for his attention. Before braving the storm of traders, Fox ducked into the kitchen and begged a fresh blackberry pie from Picck. Then he wove a path through the crowd and slouched onto the bench opposite Father, sliding the pie across the table to him.
“Oh thank Spirit,” Father said, and then he raised his voice to the clamoring valley folk.
“Alright, alright I know everyone wants to have their say, but give a man some room, please!” The crowd backed away slightly, leaving Father to eat his pie in relative peace. “It’s a madhouse this year,” he said to Fox through a mouthful of blackberry.
Fox surveyed the trade goods piled on the table and the floor around it. “Looks like you made a good profit this trip,” he said.
“Not only with these,” said Father, gesturing around with his fork. “I’ve arranged a special surprise that I think everyone will be excited for.”
Fox sat up on his knees and leaned in eagerly across the table.
“No sir,” said Father quickly. “You will wait with the rest of the valley, and be surprised when they are.” He finished his pie and shoved the empty plate across the wooden tabletop to Fox. “Take that back to the kitchen for me, and then I’ll need you to find the lavender candlesticks in one of those packages on the floor. Farradic wants them for his wife, and he’s made a solid offer.” He caught Fox’s eye, and laughed. “Don’t give me that stubborn little face, you look just like your mother. It was only a day behind us, so be on the lookout tomorrow. But that’s all the hint you get! Now off with you!”
✽ ✽ ✽
It. It was only a day behind, Father said. Fox and Lai sat in the Five Sides kitchen the next morning, trading guesses on what the special surprise might be.
“It has to be something big,” said Lai. “Or else he would have just brought it with the caravan.”
“Not necessarily,” said Fox. “Sometimes there are items he trades for that have to get sent later. Like some of the more expensive fabrics.”
“Hey,” called Picck from across the room. “If you’re gonna be in my kitchen, breathing my air, you’ll keep working for it.”
They turned back to the spring peas they were shelling and lowered their voices.
“What if it’s silk from Vathidel?” said Lai.
“Or silver pallet shells from the Red Harbor?” said Fox.
“You’re both wrong,” said a voice from the doorway. Borric stood there, a knowing smirk on his face. “See for yourself. It’s here.”
Lai grinned excitedly at Fox as they set their work aside and hurried out into the common room. The Homecoming was still in full swing, with waresmen haggling prices all around them. Out in the square, children and adults alike were playing games, although at the moment many of them seemed to be watching something off in the distance.
“Come on!” said Lai, grabbing Fox’s hand and pulling him outside. The morning chill was a shock after the warmth of the kitchen, but Fox tried to ignore it as he stood on tiptoes, trying to see what everyone was looking at.
“What is it?” he asked no one in particular.
The excitement in the square seemed to be swelling like a soap bubble, ready to pop at any moment. It seemed that people were not quite sure what was coming down the mountain road. And then a word began to be passed around the crowd. Fox heard it whispered from
Grainmiller Lillywhite to Miner Farradic. “Shavid.”
The Shavid. In Fox’s lifetime, they had never visited the humble Thicca Valley. But he knew who they were. Everybody knew who they were. The legendary Shavid groups traveled from place to place, never setting down roots. It was said that they answered only to the wind, and they danced for the kings. Shavid players and magicians were always welcome in the highest places, and yet they were coming here.
Fox turned and caught Father’s eye through the tavern window. Father winked at him, then turned back to his customers. Fox shook his head, amazed. Was there nothing Timic Foxglove could not do? And how could he, Fox, ever live up to the man’s legend?
He could spend his whole life trying, that much he knew. But for now, the Homecoming was about to get a whole lot more interesting. Fox had no idea how Father persuaded a Shavid company to come to the valley, or how long they were planning on staying, but he
was going to take advantage of every second.
Chapter Three
Shavid
The Shavid wagons were like nothing Fox had ever seen. Not the simple, sturdy carts that the caravan used, but tall, wide things painted bright colors and hung with everything from feathers and bells to cookware, making them clank and jangle as they paraded through the square. They were more like rolling houses than anything, with shuttered windows along the sides and brightly painted back doors. Even the horses that pulled them drew the eye, with ribbons woven through their manes and jeweled baubles dangling from their harnesses.
Fox had never seen so much color. Rich reds and oranges, and blues so bright they made the sky look drab. There were colors he couldn’t even name, colors that he could only dream about from Father’s stories. As he watched the Shavid come pouring out of their wagons, he rubbed his fingertips together, warming them slightly. These were colors so vibrant he wanted to reach out and touch every one of them, as though they might feel different than the colors in Thicca Valley.
And the smells. As each wagon passed, Fox caught a whiff of something new and beautiful and confusing. Something sharp and tangy from the wagon with the bright red door. Then a series of flowery scents from the wagon with the green door and yellow shutters. The last wagon smelled entirely of leather, but it was the richest leather smell Fox had ever experienced.
There was something ... soft about the scent that he couldn’t quite figure out.
The Shavid began setting up camp in an empty stretch at the western end of the square. Fox was amazed at how quickly and seamlessly they worked, almost like a dance. As he watched, three of the men began unfolding the side of one of the wagons, transforming it into a small stage at the heart of their campsite. Two more wagons were parked on either side, and they, too, were in the process of being transformed. Women were pulling out bright, patched awnings and long tables from the wagon sides, turning the wagons into selling booths before Fox’s eyes.
Windswept (The Mapweaver Chronicles Book 1) Page 3