A Call to Arms: Book One of the Chronicles of Arden (2 page)

True darkness had fallen across the field now and Gib had no choice but to cease his labor. He stored away his tools in the shed which also housed the family’s livestock—a pair of goats and a few hens—and then followed along the path toward the house. The outline of the cottage was visible against the darkened sky as he made his approach, and smoke was rising in gentle wisps from the vent at the peak of the thatched roof. Relief washed over him in a wave as the boisterous laughter of conversing siblings could be heard from inside the house. It felt good to be home.

Gib pulled the door open, cursing under his breath as the hinges groaned in protest. He’d little time to dwell on that, for almost as soon as Gib had closed the door, Liza swept up—seemingly out of nowhere—and all but threw herself into his arms.

“
Gib!
You finally decided to come join us!” Liza taunted in playful jest as her arms closed around his shoulders. “You’re shaping up to be just like Pa, you know that, right? He wouldn’t stop working until it was so dark that he almost broke his neck trying to get back to the house!”

Gib chuckled and returned the embrace. Liza smelled of leather and scented soap. Her mouse-brown hair was tied with a ribbon at the nape of her neck, though a number of rebellious ringlets had escaped during her travels and were now congregating around her ears. All the Nemesio children had the same curly brown hair and large chestnut eyes. Liza frequently reminded them they had inherited their looks from their mother. Gib would have to take Liza’s word on that because he could hardly remember what his mother looked like now.

“You look taller,” Gib remarked, holding his sister at arm’s length.

Liza smirked, eyes glittering with mischief. “You don’t.”

Gib’s head fell back as he laughed. “Well, damn.” He could hear Tayver snickering from the far corner of the room.

“What about me, Liza?” Calisto asked as he pulled on the frayed edge of his sister’s tunic, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. “Have I got any bigger since you were last here?”

Liza leaned down, pretending to scrutinize him with a withering gaze. She was quiet for several moments before nodding her head in approval and replying, “Hmm. I think you have, Cal. At this rate, you’ll surely be taller than Gib by this time next year.” She gave the youngster a wink and Calisto grinned proudly.

Gib snorted but couldn’t think up any other form of rebuttal. He extended an arm to gently poke his brother in the ribs and force a change in the topic of discussion. “Hey Cal, didn’t you say dinner was ready?”

The young boy’s eyes widened. “Oh, right!” He scampered toward the open hearth, which was situated against the far wall of the room. A large kettle of pottage simmered above the fire pit. The flames had long since burned low and now only glowing embers remained to keep the stew warm and illuminate the cottage. Calisto used a ladle to stir the contents of the pot while Tayver brought over wooden bowls.

“We only have enough bowls for three of us,” Tayver muttered as he handed the utensils to his younger brother. “The other one is full of water from the leak in the roof, up in the loft.”

Gib was certain Liza would have something to say about that, but fortunately she was merciful and kept quiet. Fixing the thatching on the roof was yet another project Gib just hadn’t had time to get to yet. He and Tayver had been so busy with the crop and he couldn’t ask Calisto, only nine, to climb up there and risk falling.

“You can have my bowl, Liza,” Cal offered, always a hero.

Gib shook his head, getting a word in before his sister had the chance. “No, you go ahead, Cal. I’ll wait to eat. I’m not even that hungry.” As if to mock him, Gib’s stomach gurgled in protest a moment later and he held back a grimace. He was starving. But he was the head of the household now and it was his job to see the family had full bellies at the end of each day—and so he would wait.
 

Gib scraped the last bit of food from his bowl, savoring the taste. Pottage was best when it was fresh but by tomorrow the leftover vegetables would already begin to mush together in such a way that it was like eating slop meant for a pig.

The fire pit crackled with renewed life as Liza added another log, this time not for cooking but for warmth. Tayver and Calisto had long since retreated to the loft. The boys always slept up there, except during the colder months when it was impossible to ward off the bitter winter air except by lying directly in front of the hearth. Gib had vague memories from his childhood of the entire family bundling up and spending the long winters sitting around the fire, telling stories and sharing merriment despite the fact they were always cold. Things had been different in those times. The walls of the cottage had resonated with the sound of laughter. Now only silence remained. They had no time for play or merriment, only survival.

Liza sighed in a weary sort of way, pulling Gib away from his dark musings. He raised his head in time to see his sister sit down beside him at the table and watched as she extended her hand to take hold of Gib’s forearm.

“You’ve done an admirable job with the upkeep of the farm,” she said in a quiet voice. “Pa would be proud of you, Gib.” Liza squeezed his arm and her grip was firm, strong like their father’s had been. A pang of sorrow stabbed Gib in the chest.

Gib forced a smile, but he didn’t feel proud. He felt tired and stretched past his limit. Truth be told, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could run the household by himself. It was such a monumental task for a boy of thirteen.

He knew he was being silly, even selfish. Thirteen was practically manhood in a poor family where a child was fortunate to survive birth and damned lucky to see his tenth winter. In another few wheelturns, he would be expected to marry and start a family of his own—more mouths to feed and worry about when he could barely ensure that Tay and Cal kept from going hungry. It all seemed like a cruel joke. How could anyone keep their right mind with so many responsibilities to fulfill?

“I don’t know how Pa did it,” Gib admitted. “I don’t know how he managed to keep four children clothed and fed after Ma died. He’s more of a hero than he’ll ever know.”

Liza’s smile was stern as she squeezed her brother’s arm again. “He did what he had to do. As will you.” Her brown eyes shifted toward the loft, perhaps to reassure herself that the two younger boys were sleeping. The firelight illuminated her face and for the first time that evening, Gib noted the worry lines surrounding Liza’s eyes. She had seen only five winters more than Gib, but Liza appeared as worn down as Gib felt. Was the stress of her sentinel job already taking its toll on her or was something else eating away at her conscience?

Liza lifted her face and the smile that had been present the moment before was gone. “I have news for you.”

The sentence was simple, but Gib could feel the weight of the words pressing down on his chest, threatening to suffocate him. He’d known. Little chance existed Liza was here for pleasure. She was here to deliver bad news, he was sure of it. Gib held his breath and waited for her to continue. The silence was insufferable.

She seemed to sense his dread and glanced back toward the loft as if to be sure the younger boys were out of ear shot. Her mouth pressed into a thin line as she reached into a deep pocket on her uniform. Gib winced at the sight of a small scroll sealed with the royal emblem of Arden—the rising phoenix. This wasn’t just something bad, it was something important.

Liza reached out to hand the document to Gib, but his arms were suddenly as heavy as lead and he couldn’t lift them. Instead, he felt his mouth open and the hushed words spilled out without consent. “Is it war then? Are you going to leave us as well?”

She flinched as if she’d been bitten and withdrew the scroll, holding it in her lap. “You know I would never willingly leave any of you, don’t you?”

Gib lowered his head, feeling foolish. “I’m sorry. Of course I know you don’t have a choice. I just—what am I going to tell Tay and Cal?”

Her dark eyes met his in an unknown emotion, and Gib’s guts turned to ice. Liza’s voice trembled. “This conscription isn’t for me.”

Oh Gods
. He couldn’t breathe. His lungs had collapsed and his throat closed up.
No air
. He slammed his eyes shut, shaking his head. This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be for him, could it? He was the eldest son of his family but did that matter when his elder sister had already joined the sentinels? He didn’t know. The laws concerning the entry of women into the military were still so new and unrefined.

“Uh.” His lungs shuddered back to life and he gasped for air. “It’s a draft notice? For me?”

Liza couldn’t meet his eyes. Her cheeks were an ugly red. “I tried, Gib. You have to believe me. I tried to convince my sergeant it was unnecessary for you to be drafted seeing as I was willing to go to war. He wouldn’t listen. You know how they are! He feels that it’s still ‘a man’s responsibility’ to go to war for his family.” She turned her face away from him and spat. “Fools, all of them. Who are they to decide who is
worthy
of going to war and who isn’t?”

Gib nodded, knowing it was true. A lot of hard feelings were going around about the recent changes that had given women permission to join the army. Indeed, Liza was the only girl from their entire village who’d ever gone to Academy to become a soldier. It had earned the scorn of many of their neighbors at the time, and some of them, especially the women, would still give Gib a sideways look in the market. It was widely whispered that his sister didn’t know her place and that she tempted fate by remaining away from home and not marrying.

She set down the scroll, still rolled tightly and sealed, and took his hands in hers. He wondered distantly when his had grown to be the same size as hers. “It’s not war yet.” It was meant to be a comfort, but it did little for his trembling nerves. “And if the King and Queen have their way, it will never come to that. It’s the damned High Council—”

Gib understood. “They’re still pushing for war.”

“Over a ridiculous land dispute.” She sighed. “Be that as it may, you’ve been called and you have no choice but to answer.”

“Yeah.” His voice sounded distant even to himself. He didn’t remember taking his hands from his sister’s but the next thing he knew, he was picking up the parchment and clumsily peeling at the wax seal. It fell open easily, as if it didn’t carry the command for him to drop his life where it was and march to Arden’s aid. How could something so harmless looking be such a threat? But it could be the very thing to seal his doom. It was calling him to a war he may not come home from. A shiver raced up his spine.

The text was laid out in fine, unsmudged ink, and it was obvious that whoever had written it was well schooled. The letters flowed together and the line of script was straight and appealing to the eye. Gib squinted, wishing that any of those things would make it easier for him to read it. Raising two brothers and working the farm had left little time for proper schooling.

Liza reached forward to help him. “Here, let me. We had to do some basic schooling at Academy.” She took up the scroll and scooted closer to the fire, her dark eyes reflecting the guttering flames.

“Let it be here-by known,” Liza began, her voice choppy as she picked away at the message. Gib was proud of her. The women from the market who thought little of her surely couldn’t read at all. “By dec–declar–ation–declaration of King Rishi Radek, on behalf of the country of Arden, one Gibben Nemesio has forth–with–forthwith been called upon to aid the army of Arden.”

She swallowed and Gib felt like he couldn’t breathe once again. They both took a short break there, letting the severity of the situation settle over them before she pressed on. “Soldiers are to report to Silver City for training. Failure to com–comply will be judged treason.”

The air around the two siblings was heavy with their shared silence. No words could describe the rolling pain in his guts as his mind ran swiftly with all the possibilities of death and hardship that might befall him. The full realization of what he needed to do crashed over him like a wave.

“How can I go, Liza? What about Cal and Tay? They’re not old enough to take care of the farm on their own! The field is still two days away from being fully reaped. I have to fix the door and the damned roof is leaking—who will take care of them if we’re both gone? They’ll never make it through the winter. I can’t leave.”

“Gib.” Liza’s voice was stern, steady, a grounding force within the chaos. “You have no choice. You have to go. Before I came home I stopped across the road to see the Fadells. Baria said she would keep an eye on them like she did when Ma died.”