by Jeri Baird
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Zander
Paal caught Zander as he left the arena. “Come on, champ. Let’s find some food. I was too nervous to eat before the contest.”
As Zander walked through the market, every villager smiled and offered congratulations. The men slapped his back, and the women touched his arm. It was that moment Zander realized every peasant shared in his win against the elders. His own smile grew larger, and he took the time to thank each one. “You’ll be there to cheer me on in the finals, won’t you?” he asked.
“Yes, yes,” they replied and nodded their heads. “We’ll be there.”
Paal grumbled, “I’ll die of starvation before we find the food.”
Zander smiled. Paal was in no danger of starving. The smoky aroma of the fire pit drew them past the copper kettle vendors until Zander stood in front of a meat booth. He had enough money for one roasted leg of lamb. When Zander offered the coin, the vendor beamed and waved him away.
“You’re one of us. No charge for the winner,” he said.
After Paal paid for a slab of grilled goat and they both snagged cups of cider, they found an empty high-backed bench across from the music tent. Zander leaned against the smooth wood and tapped his foot to the drum beat. He pulled a piece of meat off the bone and shared it with Shadow. As an afterthought, he handed a piece to Paal’s dog, Silk. What a strange name for a dog.
Inside the tent, a Protector played the fiddle and another danced with his wife. The men would compete with bows on the second day of the festival. Zander imagined how it would feel to win that competition. He hoped he’d impressed Moira. He could be a great Protector if she gave him the chance. For the first time in his life, Zander felt special. He was a winner. And he liked it. He liked it a lot. If he was a Protector, the villagers would always look up to him.
A peacock omen appeared at his feet. Blushing, Zander scooped the omen into his closed fist, hoping Paal didn’t see. He grimaced. He’d have to earn another sparrow token.
Paal punched his arm and snickered. “My father says if I earn any more omens, I’ll never make it back from the quest.”
Confused, Zander pulled away. “You aren’t worried?”
“Fate won’t take me. She’ll take someone like Odo or Kaiya. There’s always another peasant to take their place in the fields.”
Zander struggled to reply. Is that what it meant to be an elder? To disregard a person’s worth because of how they were born? Is that what Paal thought of him? That he was expendable?
Paal leaned back and licked the spicy meat sauce off his fingers. “You’re not worried, are you? You’re strong, and you know your way around the gulch. You’ll do fine.”
Father was right. The elders were all alike. Zander couldn’t stand to look at Paal.
Just then Father stumbled from the tent. Zander slouched, hoping he wouldn’t see him, but his luck had run out. Father headed his way.
“Zander,” he slurred. “Enjoying the festival?” He rubbed his eyes and stared at Paal, as if he couldn’t believe what he saw. “You’re Elder Rowan’s son? What are you doing with my son?”
Paal’s mouth dropped. “Don’t you know? Zander won our division in the archery tournament. He’s in the finals in an hour.”
Zander’s face flushed.
As he grabbed at the top of the bench to keep his balance, Father sneered. “You aspire too high, Son. You’ll never be a Protector.” He patted Zander’s head and lurched back. “Don’t forget your place in this world.” He left, shuffling past the bakery and disappearing around the corner.
“What’s wrong with your father?”
“You mean besides being drunk?” Zander could recite a whole list of things wrong with his father.
“He didn’t watch you shoot?”
“I didn’t tell him I was competing.” No way would he have told him. Father would have shown up drunk and embarrassed him.
“Why not?”
“You saw him. He started drinking before the festival began. He’s a jerk when he drinks.”
“Is he always like that?”
“He’s not so bad when he’s sober.” Zander muttered, “He’s just not sober often.” He stood. “Sorry you had to see him. Let’s take Shadow and Silk for a run.”
As they walked to the open area behind the arena, Zander was glad Paal dropped the conversation. Father was right about one thing. He had no business hanging out with an elder’s son. Paal wasn’t his friend, and he didn’t know why he’d confessed about Father’s drinking. He shook his head. As if it was a secret. The whole village had to have seen Father stumbling through the market.
At the clearing, Paal grabbed a stick. “Let’s see whether a dog or a coyote fetches better.”
A contest was just what Zander needed to take his mind off Father. He motioned Shadow to his side. “Sit.” Shadow sat at attention. It took Paal three tries to get Silk settled at his side.
Paal waved the stick in the air. “One, two, three, go!” He threw it overhand and the patrons raced off.
“Run, Shadow!” Zander grinned as his patron forged ahead of Silk.
At the last second, Silk leaped into the air, snagged the stick and whipped around to race back to Paal with Shadow on his tail. It seemed his patron needed more practice.
Each time, Silk beat Shadow by seconds. On the last throw, both dog and coyote jumped and each caught an end of the stick. They tumbled when they hit the ground, but neither let go and they raced back together. Zander laughed with Paal, but he couldn’t help wondering if there was a message in there for him. Maybe it didn’t matter if Paal outranked him. Maybe they could be friends.
With two tired patrons, Zander and Paal headed to the arena and spent time practicing while Greydon and Lash shot at a second target. Zander studied Greydon. Someone in his lineage had been Chahda. He’d let his dark blond curls twist into long dreadlocks. His blue eyes contrasted with Dharien’s brown ones. Would Greydon’s heart be pure like Elder Warrin’s or dark like Dharien’s? Drawn from his thoughts by Lash’s laughter, Zander scowled at Elder Terrec’s son.
“Hey, little boys. You can’t beat us,” Lash taunted. He pointed at Zander. “Especially you, scum. You got lucky and luck doesn’t last.” Lash snorted and turned to Greydon, who stood eyebrows drawn, tapping an arrow against the ground.
Zander met Greydon’s eyes and found him nothing like his brother. Greydon possessed a pure heart. His secret shocked Zander, but he didn’t have time to ponder what it meant.
“I haven’t had serious competition for many festivals.” Greydon grinned. “Let’s see what you can do, Zander, son of the furrier.” He clapped Zander’s shoulder. “It’s time to prove your worth.”
The crowd was still trickling into the arena when the proctor called the contestants to the front. He bellowed over the excited chattering crowd. “Finals begin in five minutes.”
Confident he could shoot as well as any elder’s son, Zander spent that five minutes centering himself. As the other three contestants chatted with their families, he stood alone facing the stands, aware only of his breath. Then he spread his awareness to the villagers in the stands who supported him. He pulled their excitement into his body, tempering it with control. When the proctor announced the competition’s start, he was ready.
Paal was called to shoot first. Relief flooded his face as the arrow hit a finger’s breadth off center, and he slung his bow over his shoulder before he jaunted to the sidelines.
Lash shot second and hit the bull’s-eye. “Beat that, low life,” he said as he shouldered past Zander, knocking his quiver to the ground and scattering the arrows.
Stooping to help gather Zander’s arrows, Greydon muttered, “Ignore Lash. He’s always been an arse.”
Remembering the times he’d hunted Elder Terrec’s land without permission, Zander smirked. At his turn, he s
ighted. His aim was sure, and his body calm. The arrow hit dead center. He started the competition with ten points.
Greydon shot a matching bull’s eye.
On his second turn, as he walked to the target area, Zander glanced at the elders in the front row of the stands. Elder Warrin appeared unperturbed, but Zander wondered what he truly thought now that Zander competed against his first-born son. He might be wishing he hadn’t asked Zander to participate.
When Zander pulled back the string, someone yelled, “You don’t deserve to be here.”
His heart thudded as Father’s words echoed back at him. He lowered his bow and peered into the stands. Was Father watching?
Elder Terrec laughed and shouted, “You’re a peasant.” The Odwa’s trait of red hair made him easy to spot in the stands.
Zander blushed, but he’d rather have Elder Terrec yelling at him than his drunken father. One by one, the peasants stood to show their support. He nodded to the crowd as their pride soaked into his soul. He would win for them. He couldn’t let the elder bother him. When he shot, he hit the bull’s-eye. For them and for him.
After the fourth round, Greydon and Zander were tied with forty-points. Lash followed with thirty-eight, and Paal trailed with thirty-six.
Dharien strode from the sidelines and glared at Zander. He called out, “Greydon, my brother. Looking for another championship? No doubt you’ll win the lucky seventh.”
Greydon’s eyes danced. “I have competition this time.”
Dharien spat. “Zander? A peasant? He can’t beat you!”
“He had no trouble beating you, little brother.”
Holding his laugh, Zander removed an arrow from his quiver and leaned the leather holder against a post. After he shot his fifth bull’s-eye, he pulled the arrow from the target. The tip pulled away, but Zander was unconcerned. He still had plenty of good arrows left.
As he passed Greydon, the older boy congratulated him. “Zander, you push me to my best.”
When Zander returned to the sidelines, Dharien had gone. Before his next turn, Zander pulled an arrow and glanced at the fletching. He gaped at the torn feathers. He pulled another and another, each one damaged. Only one person would have destroyed his chance at winning. Dharien! But who would believe him? The proctor would think he was trying to avenge Dharien’s earlier accusation. Zander glanced at the stands where Elder Warrin leaned forward as he watched Greydon shoot. Zander respected the man too much to accuse his son without proof.
When the proctor called his name a second time, Zander snatched a damaged arrow and trudged to the arena, his mind roiling. He’d shot bad arrows before, but never with so much depending upon a perfect shot.
He sighted, calculated, and adjusted his aim to compensate for an arrow that wouldn’t fly true. When he loosed the arrow, it zipped to the target and hit one circle from the center. The crowd gasped, and Zander’s dream slipped away. Greydon wouldn’t miss, and Zander had four more rounds with damaged arrows. His father’s words whispered through his head. You aspire too high. Maybe this was Fate’s way of agreeing with Father.
Greydon grimaced as he passed Zander. After he shot another bull’s-eye, the elders leaped to their feet applauding. When Greydon reached the sideline he pushed aside Lash’s congratulations and shoved Zander’s shoulder. “Are you throwing the competition? I watched you change your aim.”
What could he say? Zander reached into his quiver and pulled out his arrows.
Greydon scowled at the damaged feathers.
Zander uttered one word. “Dharien.”
At his brother’s name, Greydon’s face reddened, but he didn’t argue. He reached into his own quiver and pulled out four arrows. He handed them to Zander. “I want a fair match.”
Zander nodded his thanks, unable to speak. Greydon could have used the damaged arrows to his advantage. He surely wanted to win as badly as Zander. It took a good heart to do what Greydon did.
After Zander’s next bull’s-eye, Greydon intentionally shot to the left, putting him in a three-way tie with Zander and Lash. “I want it fair,” he avowed to Zander.
In the eighth round the three still tied, and Paal trailed by six points. On his ninth shot, Lash missed his mark but Zander and Greydon shot true. And when the four each hit the bull’s-eye in the final round, Zander and Greydon tied for first.
The proctor checked the rule book before announcing to the excited crowd, “In the case of a tie, each contestant will shoot progressively farther from the target until we have a winner at the end of a round.”
When Greydon handed him five fresh arrows, Zander shook his head. “The others are still good.”
Greydon pressed the arrows into his hand. “I want it fair. I have new arrows, you’ll have new arrows.”
After the fourth bonus round, they were tied with four bull’s-eyes each. At his fifth turn, Zander glanced into the stands. Dharien hunched in the front seats glaring at him. Next to him Elder Warrin appeared thoughtful, fingertips stroking his chin. He probably hadn’t expected Zander to challenge Greydon for the championship. Zander had proven himself. Maybe he should throw the match and allow Greydon to win. Then he remembered Elder Warrin’s words spoken that day in the woods. “It serves no one for a man to pretend to be less than he is.” Zander took a deep breath and resolved to do his best. On his fifth shot, the arrow flew true and struck the center.
When Greydon took his turn, Zander scanned the crowd. Merindah and Kaiya waved at him, and he smiled in return. He heard Greydon’s arrow hit the target with a thud.
The stunned crowd fell silent, and all eyes turned to Zander. As one, they stood and cheered.
Shocked, Zander spun around. Greydon pulled him to the center. As the crowd roared, the proctor presented Zander with a longbow and two dozen arrows worthy of any Protector.
Lash refused to shake Zander’s hand, which caused Zander a pang of regret. He’d seen Lash’s secret. Elder Terrec would take the rod to his son for his loss. Only winning would have prevented a beating. It was a secret he’d rather not have seen.
Greydon clasped Zander’s hand. In the moment where he should have let go, Zander held longer and said, “Greydon, you will make a fine and fair elder.” It was all he could say without revealing his favor.
Greydon’s grin faded.
The secret Zander had seen revolved around Greydon’s fear of living up to his father’s image. Greydon worried he wouldn’t measure up as the eldest son. And more than that, he would be expected to produce an heir. It would be unlikely.
Greydon liked boys.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Alexa
On the second day of the festival, Alexa stayed home. After the mess of the day before, she didn’t want to see anyone. Especially not Dharien. Mother asked her plans, and Alexa said, “I’m going to fast today to earn a butterfly token.”
Drinks were allowed on a fast. Mother brewed Alexa a pot of chamomile tea with honey. She kissed Alexa’s cheek. “I’m sorry you’re missing the festival. If you need me, I’ll be with Eva in the music tent.”
What Alexa needed was time to think. As she sipped the tea, the scent of the flowers calmed her jittery nerves. She was on her own to fix the mix-up with Dharien. He believed he loved her, but he didn’t really. And it wouldn’t be any better if it was Paal. Seeing the way Dharien had acted under the effects of the potion made her know one thing for certain. She didn’t want a husband who didn’t truly love her. Merindah was always so level-headed. Why hadn’t she talked to her best friend before she went to the fortune-teller? If she had, Dharien wouldn’t think he loved her, Melina Odella wouldn’t be angry, and Alexa wouldn’t be alone in her room during one of her favorite festivals.
She didn’t dare confide in Mother. Alexa wouldn’t be able to stand the disappointment Mother would feel with her. And what could Mother do? No, it was hers alone to fix. There had to
be a way.
While Fiona curled on her pillow, softly snoring, Alexa picked through her fabric and chose a blank cloth. She threaded purple into the needle she kept in her tunic hem. The tension in her stomach dissolved as she chain stitched around the border and then sprinkled dainty yellow French knots here and there. Zander had tried to keep her from giving the cup of cider to either of the boys, but he couldn’t have known she’d added a potion to it. She stitched his likeness and clothed him in white. She added Dharien dressed in red and Paal in yellow. Merindah brought violet to mind, and Alexa stitched her in a lovely dress with a flower ring in her dark hair.
Her tea grew cold and the hours flew by. Afternoon shadows fell across the floor as she stitched herself clothed in black—the color that matched her mood. After all, Melina Odella had given her the word “night” at the first day ceremony.
As she knotted the last thread of her signature in the border, the embroidered figures moved around the cloth, and she wondered—could she control their actions in life if she controlled them on the cloth? She threaded her needle with thick black cord and connected Zander to Dharien. She was still upset Zander had interfered with her plans. If this worked, maybe forcing him to stay close to Dharien would teach him a lesson. Changing colors, she created a white criss-crossed fence between Dharien and herself. She added a pale pink thread connecting her heart to Merindah’s.
On the cloth, Zander and Dharien struggled, unable to move far from the other. Alexa grinned at her revenge and hoped the fence would keep Dharien away from her. The pink thread cheered Alexa, knowing even with Merindah’s anger, they remained connected. Paal alone roamed free.
As she fell asleep, a butterfly fluttered across the room and dropped onto her pillow as a wooden token. If nothing else, Alexa had accomplished that. She left it out so Mother would see it before going to bed.
The next morning, Alexa fretted over going out for the last day of the festival. It wouldn’t hurt to earn another butterfly token, and if she could find a way to earn a turtle to counteract the hornet omens she’d earned for anger, it would be good. Not going meant she’d miss playing skittles. Mother had probably left to help set up the lanes with the nine pins. The women would roll heavy balls to try to knock them over amid lots of laughing. Mother always teamed with Eva and sometimes they won a purple ribbon. Alexa and Merindah always teamed up.