by Anna Logan
She moved forward, putting her basket and a slip of paper on the counter. “I wrote a list.”
“Of course you did. Always on top of it, you Anduls!”
Talea leaned toward him with a conspiratorial smile. “Oh, but that’s just it, Mr. Skreni. I make a list because I’m not on top of it. If I didn’t write it down, I’d forget every item except the sugar and molasses! Though of course,” she winked, “that probably wouldn’t bother Naylen much.”
He laughed as if she had just made the cleverest comment he’d heard all week. It didn’t take much to make Mr. Skreni laugh. As a lonely widower, he was always eager for anyone willing to chat for a bit. Usually women ran the mercantiles in villages, but since his wife had died years ago from a mixture of sickness and hunger, Lord Vissler had allowed him to do the job instead. “Narone bless you, my dear. I’ll get these things for you right away.”
“Thank you.” She watched him bustle off into the interior of the building with the basket and list in hand. Being a rather short man, his mostly bald head quickly vanished behind the rows of shelves holding goods.
Talea meandered deeper into the mercantile as well, her gaze landing on the collection of fabrics on the near wall, beneath the window. She let her fingertips travel over the rolls. How long had it been since she’d had the material for a new dress? Seles always had her make the dresses a little too big, so they’d last longer, and since she hadn’t grown much in the past year, it had probably been two or three years since she’d had something new. In that time, she’d only ever bought enough material to patch tears. Oh, well. Money wasn’t especially tight at the moment, but it wasn’t abundant either. If she didn’t need it, she couldn’t buy it.
Still, she eyed the rolls of cloth. They were in muted, dull colors, without designs or fancy embroidery. She wondered what the materials used to make dresses for women of upper class or nobility looked like. All she had to go off of was one glimpse of Lady Vissler eight years ago before the couple divorced, as well as the stories from Brenly. Before her parents died, Brenly had been part of the upper class. When they were kids, she used to entertain Talea with vibrant tales of what such a life was like.
Well, not much use thinking about it. Unless Lord Vissler married a different lady who was less reclusive, Talea would probably never see the apparel of an upper class or noblewoman again.
A sniffle came from elsewhere in the mercantile. That was the failproof sign that Mr. Skreni had finished a task. If ever anyone mentioned it, however, he would flatly deny it and claim he did “no such ridiculous thing as sniffling”. She returned to the counter, smiling as the man carried over the basket, full of items. “There you go, my girl! Anything else?”
“No, thank you, Mr. Skreni.” She withdrew a small satchel from the pocket of her skirt, digging her hand in to fish out a few coins.
He scanned the merchandise briefly. “That’ll be twenty-one silvers.”
“Twenty-one?” she echoed, alarmed.
“Afraid so.” Mr. Skreni frowned. “Nothing I can do about it. Another tax raise.”
Talea barely managed to swallow a frustrated reply about Lord Vissler’s greediness. How Seles would scold her if she were to say such a thing. Besides, it was hardly poor Mr. Skreni’s fault. “Oh, well,” she pulled out a handful of coins, counted twenty-one of them, and put them on the counter.
“Thank you. You have a good day now, Talea.”
“Thanks, you too.” She hooked the basket’s handle over her arm and left the mercantile. The first thing she noticed was that she wasn’t the only one out and about in the middle of the village—three men with shiny black boots that went up to their knees and silver capes draped over one shoulder were outside. Lord Vissler’s men.
They were walking toward her. Talea shoved the satchel, nearly empty now, back into her pocket and set out at a swift pace away from both the building and the men. One of them said something and the other two laughed. The back of her neck tingled as she felt sure it had been directed at her. She held the basket closer and kept going. Hearing the mercantile door swing open and shut and boots thudding on the wooden porch helped ease the tension in her chest. A villager, especially a girl, being harassed by Vissler’s henchmen would be no new thing. People avoided them as much as possible, because they’d been known to take money or belongings from individuals for their own amusement and gain, or to tease and heckle passersby that were young and female, though Talea knew of no cases where it was taken further than that. Still, she felt better when she was out of the village, alone on the gravel path that wound through the woods to their meadow.
Not that it was their meadow. Lord Vissler owned every inch of land any of them lived on. And so he made sure to tax them for their residence on it. That greedy scoundrel. Raising the taxes again? Did he really think the villagers could afford it? Was he so stupid he didn’t realize that if they all started dropping from starvation, he would no longer have laborers bringing in the minerals, wood, and crops that were his source of income? I suppose he figures we’ll just work extra hours to earn more, and so he’ll earn more too. Meanwhile he’ll keep paying the teacher to threaten us on Eundays with Narone’s wrath if we don’t obey. Turns out he perhaps wasn’t so stupid after all. Not foolish, just a heartless tyrant.
She reached the haliop and stormed inside with a huff, muttering inarticulately. Because such was her fate: to live the rest of her life in a village, with nothing more to aspire to than a respectable marriage, as a laborer owned by an arrogant lord.
Or…maybe it wasn’t.
Talea set the heavy basket down on the counter in the kitchen and began removing items to put them in the pantry, her mind preoccupied with the light she had seen earlier. If there was another who had her same ability, maybe…well, maybe there was a reason for that ability.
A sigh escaped her lungs. Or maybe there wasn’t. Another or not, maybe she was still just a laborer with a freakish ability that made her weird, not special.
She finished putting the dry goods in the pantry. Gathering the meat, milk, cheese, fruit and vegetables, she left the haliop with them. Outside, she unlatched the trapdoor that sat a few yards away and descended the stairs into the cellar. The air was cool and damp. After arranging the food on the shelves, she climbed back out and lowered the door. Time for the rest of the chores.
As dusk approached, Talea heard boots stomping outside the haliop. The door swung open with its obnoxious creak, and there stood Naylen. His reddish-brown hair was a tousled disaster and coated with gray dust. They must have been using explosives to mine. It was a new invention, but one that had revolutionized the profession. He didn’t even look at her before he stuck his nose in the air and sucked in a deep breath. “Do I smell food?”
Talea rolled her eyes and threw the towel she held at him. “Of course you smell food, you eskik. When has...” she trailed off, the words dying on her tongue. She’d been about to ask when food hadn’t been there when he came home. But the answer was many times. Food and its level of abundance had never been consistent throughout their childhood. “Is that mud on your boots? Don’t you even think about dragging it around on my clean floors.”
Naylen smirked at her, brown eyes sparkling. “Clean floors?”
“Well,” she put a hand on her hip, “they’re as clean as dirt floors get.”
He wiggled his feet out of the boots and left them at the door. “Dad stopped to talk to some of the other men I think, so he’ll be here in a few minutes.”
“And Mom?”
“How should I know?” he went to the sofa and flopped onto it, raising another cloud of dust. It didn’t seem to bother him, as he stretched out on it with his hands behind his head. “Never know when Ol’ Vis is gonna keep her late.”
Talea went to the table and began clearing it off. There wasn’t much on it. One of the few items was a pair of Naylen’s gloves, which she promptly threw at him. “You sluggard. Shouldn’t you, you know, do something useful?”
> “Sluggard, am I?” Naylen smirked at her as he picked up the gloves and sat straighter. “Between the two of us, who was, you know, working all day and bringing in a paycheck?”
She pointed a finger at him. “That’s not fair. I can’t work, so it’s not a reasonable comparison. And it’s not as if I’ve been useless all day.”
“True.” Naylen got up and stalked toward the kitchen. “If that tastes as good as it smells, then yeah, you’ve been useful.”
“Oh, why thank you,” she said with mock gratitude, brushing past him to stir the potatoes.
Naylen disappeared into their divided bedroom. The door creaked again, and Seles appeared in the kitchen. “Hello, dear.”
“Hi Mom.”
“That smells good. Naylen and your father home yet?”
“Naylen is.”
Seles nodded and drifted out of the room. Talea stayed at the stove, checking the meat and stoking the fire underneath that heated it. The food was done. Hopefully her father, Loestin, would arrive before it burned or got cold.
As if on cue, another creak from the door.
Talea abandoned the stove to slip into the main room and greet her father with a smile, taking his work gloves for him.
Loestin, Seles, and Naylen sat down while she put out the fire in the stove and brought the meat and potatoes out to the table. She took her place across from Naylen with her parents at either side, the steaming meal between them. Loestin bowed his head and they all did likewise. “Our Creator, we thank you for Your provision and Your blessings, and we pray You find our service to You pleasing. Amen.”
“Amen,” Talea murmured in unison with her mother and brother. What the point was of saying the same prayer before supper each day, she didn’t know. However, the one time she’d questioned it aloud, Loestin had reprimanded her for not being willing to demonstrate her dedication to Narone, the Creator.
Talea dished out the food onto four plates and they all dug in. For a few seconds, the only sounds were forks scraping against the wooden plates and chewing, before Seles broke the silence, despite her tired frown. “So, how was everyone’s day?”
Loestin answered without looking up. “Alright.”
Naylen glanced at Seles with a shrug. “Same.”
Talea nodded to convey the same reply. Telling them about the tax raise could wait for later.
Seles looked back down at her food. “Did any of you hear the talk about the Stennots?”
Loestin paused as he was about to fork a potato into his mouth. He set the fork and potato back on the plate. They didn’t know the Stennots particularly well, yet he seemed quite interested. “No. What about them?”
She held his gaze. “Word is they’re leaving the village.”
Talea’s brow drew together in confusion. Leave? She waited to see if either of her parents were about to speak again, before jumping in. “What do you mean leave? Can they do that?”
Naylen tilted his head as he eyed their mother with a keen, discerning look. He spoke slowly, as if still thinking it through as he went. “Not without Vissler’s permission…which I bet they didn’t get or ask for. They’re going to run away, aren’t they?”
Seles blinked and looked away, not meeting the watchful gazes of her family. “I don’t know details. And really, it could just be a rumor.”
A response like that hardly cleared suspicion. Talea frowned. “So…why would they do that? Risk being caught and punished? I mean, do they think they can do better elsewhere? Won’t people just figure out they’re escaped laborers and—”
“Not so many questions at once, Talea,” Loestin interrupted. “We don’t know the answers.”
She pursed her lips and turned her focus back to her food. Was he lying? Hiding something? It seemed to her that they did know the answers. But what reason would they have for not sharing them? Her parents’ reactions only made the entire matter more perplexing. Why on Kameon would the Stennots try something so dangerous? Talea hadn’t had much for personal interaction with them, but still, they seemed like sensible folk. They were a quiet couple that kept to themselves ever since Lord Vissler had allowed them into the village a couple years ago. Their tan skin and dark hair made it clear they were Irlaish. She’d also heard they were San Quawr. Talea had picked up on gossip about San Quawr being persecuted in other regions, so perhaps the Stennots had fled from Irlai to escape it and come here. Here, where they were safe. Why then would they leave?
The only explanation seemed to be that they hoped to achieve easier lives. Being a laborer did not qualify as easy or comfortable, after all. Lord Vissler’s lifestyle as a noble was so starkly different from theirs that she guessed even being middle or upper class had to be a great improvement from lower class. At least the other classes weren’t owned by wealthy lords.
Talea stabbed a piece of meat with her fork and shoved it into her mouth. Hopefully, it was just a rumor. Even if she didn’t know the Stennots well, she could imagine what the consequences of being caught might be and did not wish for anyone in the village to face them.
Seles had fallen quiet, usually the one that led any conversation. Her face, that of a woman that had once been beautiful but had aged and tightened with stress, was taut.
Finally, Loestin tilted his head and spoke quietly. “Is something else wrong?”
Seles set her fork down with a quivering sigh. “Another tax raise. On everything! How are we going to afford that?”
Naylen’s reaction caught Talea’s attention. His brown eyes flashed. Talea couldn’t quite make out the expression, but knowing her brother, he was angry.
Loestin’s hand moved to his forehead, massaging as if to rub away a headache. “We’ll…we just will. We’ve always managed in the past.”
“Managed?!” Seles was in tears now. “We haven’t managed. We’ve survived!” she jabbed a finger in Talea’s direction. “We nearly sold our own—”
“That’s enough.” Loestin’s stern reply kept his wife from finishing.
It didn’t matter. She didn’t need to finish. Talea knew exactly what she’d been about to say. “We nearly sold our own daughter.” She pushed her chair back from the table and got up and fled into the kitchen. That was the closest her parents had ever come to acknowledging the event. She didn’t want it to be acknowledged, not like this. She didn’t want to have to remember that day, over eight years ago, when she’d been starving and scared and…
Talea shoved the memories from her mind and set to work cleaning the dishes she’d used to make supper. As she forced her mind to focus on the here and now, the discussion at the table drifted to her ears.
“We aren’t going to be the only ones facing this,” Loestin was saying, calmly. Calm. He was always calm. Too calm. Would he never show how he really felt? Would he never acknowledge the injustice that surrounded them? “Everyone in the village will. We’ll all just have to make do.”
Naylen’s voice came next. Talea knew he was anything but calm, still, he kept his tone soothing for Seles’ benefit. “Yeah, Mom. Besides, if we all really can’t afford it, Vissler will be forced to lower the tax. He can’t afford to lose workers.”
If Seles found that answer comforting, she didn’t show it. She didn’t respond at all.
“Talea,” Loestin raised his voice to address her, “you didn’t finish your food.”
Reluctantly, Talea dried her hands and returned to the table. It would be senseless to not finish perfectly good food. Especially now, when money was about to get even tighter, and the next meal wouldn’t be assured.
2
Dancing and Strangers
N aylen Andul, you pull my braid one more time, and by…by Grasmet’s honor, I swear I’ll—”
His eyes flashed with mischief. “You’ll do what? Sacrifice to Grasmet and hope he smites me as I sleep?”
She scowled. Grasmet was the Irlaish god of revenge. Naylen was only mocking her, more so by remarking on her claim, because he knew perfectly well that she believed in
the Irlaish gods about as much as she believed in fur on a dragon. “No, I’ll smite you myself, that’s what I’ll do.”
Naylen shoved his hands in his pockets and looked straight ahead, walking with his nonchalant gait down the path. She narrowed her eyes at him a moment more before continuing as well. Almost the moment she did, his hand darted out and gave her braid a tug. Talea growled and lunged to whack his arm, but he dodged with a triumphant grin.
“Naylen! Talea!” Seles spun around from her own ladylike walk down the path ahead to glare at them. “Stop this foolishness. For the gods’ sakes, you’re both far too old for such nonsense.”
Talea tried for a more sedate posture, inwardly thinking that she didn’t care much if she was too old. Fifteen didn’t seem too old for a little fun now and again. Naylen had the good sense to heed Seles’ reprimand as well, though Talea knew full well he wasn’t a stickler for propriety and decorum.
They arrived at the schoolhouse ten minutes later. On Eunday it was the assembly house. Instead of the village’s children gathering outside, it was all the villagers. There were about a hundred and fifty laborers in Vissler Village, and Talea knew all of them by name. After all, other than the Stennots and the kids that were younger than her, she’d known them her entire life.
With greetings and smiles, they merged into the congregation of people and made their way into the building. The Anduls, like most of the families, had a designated bench, and that was where they went. Not that any of them were actually assigned to a bench, but over time everyone sat in the same place and it just sort of became their spot.
Talea sat between her mother and Naylen and observed the other villagers filtering in. There was Mrs. Ennviy. She was a robust, preeminent looking woman, the widowed mother of six children. How she managed such a troop of little ones Talea would never figure out. Of course, the only reason she got by financially was because Lord Vissler was gracious enough to pay her extra, and because when times got tough, the other families pitched in. After all, a woman raising six children by herself as a laborer? Nigh on impossible.