Servant: The Dark God Book One (Volume 1) (28 page)

Talen’s family could never afford such things. When people came visiting his home, they simply said, “Hoy,” and waited for someone to respond.

He struck the bell twice.

He heard footsteps as someone came to the door. He hoped it was not Atra. Then the door opened, and Talen saw a serving girl of maybe twelve years.

“Good day,” said Talen. “I need to talk to the glass master.”

“You’re Horse’s son?”

Talen nodded. Da had earned the name a few years back. They did not have Iron Boy then. On a wager, Da had altered his harness, hooked the plow to himself, then told Ke to keep the lines straight. They had plowed their whole field that way. Not as deeply as a horse might, but deep enough. So he had earned the name Horse.

“I’ll take your request back to the mistress. You can go on around to the well to water your mule.”

As Talen walked back off the step, he got a feeling someone was looking at him. He turned and he saw a curtain slide back into place. Talen could just see the outline of someone through the curtain and wondered if it was Atra.

Talen smiled, and then the person moved the curtain slightly, very slightly and stared at him.

It was Elan. Mad Elan, Atra’s older half-wit sister, hiding where she obviously thought Talen could not see her. She had a mole on her face from which long hairs grew and an awful habit of chasing boys and giving them huge slobbery kisses. As a child Talen had been terrified of her. She had caught him once, and he’d had to screamed bloody murder to escape. She still put him on edge.

Some had suggested the glass master sacrifice her. It was common for the lame, blind, maimed to give themselves up to the Divines. When a war is being waged and you cannot see, you can still give Fire to those who can. If you cannot lift a sword, you can give Fire that will allow a man to wield his sword with incredible might. In fact, the glass master had offered her up once for the war weaves a few years back. Or so it was said. But they hadn’t needed her or hadn’t the time to draw her. And so Elan was still with them.

He hoped Elan had learned to keep her affections to herself. Him being chased around the glass master’s yard simply would not do.

He motioned Nettle to take the wagon around to the trough. He could smell the smoke from the glass works, but he could also smell the cold well water, a whiff of leather, hay, a rose, Nettle, Iron boy—far too many smells.

He glanced to the back of the house where the women were. Their talking had quieted. One woman sat breaking beans and glanced his way. Then Atra walked past the other woman, picked up a basket, and walked out of his line of sight again.

The sound of footsteps behind him caught his attention. He turned slightly. Someone holding a long arching stem of wild, white rose darted behind a tree trunk a few paces away.

“Hoy, Elan,” said Talen.

She quickly moved farther behind the tree.

You couldn’t tell for sure because her face defied a precise age, but he guessed Elan was perhaps twenty-five years old: well beyond the age of marriage. But did half-wits even think about such things? Did she dream of some handsome man giving her children? Did she know that such a dream would never become reality for her?

“There’s a fine scent on the breeze that I cannot identify,” he said. “I wish I knew what it was.”

Elan didn’t move. Talen walked over to the well and pretended he wasn’t paying attention. A few moments later Elan sneaked out from behind the tree and tip-toed up behind him. Talen looked up at Nettle who was grinning, then turned to greet her.

Elan was standing almost right behind him. The rose stem in her hand was about three feet long and bent over to the ground. She held it out to him, beaming with delight.

“Muffin,” she said. She had a yellow ribbon tied in her hair. It did not do anything for her. In fact, it looked as if it had accidentally snagged there.

“Talen,” he said. “You must call me Talen.”

“Muffin,” she said and smiled her huge smile. She was missing a few teeth. And while he could see no long hairs growing from the large mole on her cheek, he could see a distinct shadow of a moustache.

Talen shook his head. She’d called him Muffin Bunny ever since she’d caught him that one time.

Elan straightened and said something.

Talen couldn’t understand her. She spoke like she had a severe sore throat. “What?”

“I had a man call. Da made a good bargain.”

At least that’s what he thought she said. A man called for Elan? “Really?”

“I a strong worker,” she said. “I better than a watch dog with babies. I not some cheap servant.”

“I’m sure,” said Talen.

“He paid gold.”

That surprised him. Who would pay gold for Elan? She was not bright, but maybe she was indeed a hard worker. Life had many simple tasks. Maybe the best deal the glass master could get was to sell her as a servant. He wondered if the purchaser truly was interested in her or was only trying to curry favor with a rich man.

“I hope it goes well for you,” said Talen.

“Muffin Bunny,” she said. “You wet.”

Back at the house, Atra stepped outside. “Elan,” she called.

“He here,” Elan shouted back.

Atra walked down a path that led from the back door of the house. She was wearing a sky blue, sleeveless surcoat. The armholes were huge and showed her bright red tunic underneath. The effect with her black hair was stunning. And yet, these were working clothes. The sky blue of the surcoat was from woad, not the expensive mollusk blue. And the red was not the scarlet of the grain, but something else. Beautiful, but practical.

Talen’s heart quickened. He took a breath. His hair was sopping wet and a mess, so he released the tong that held his long hair together, smoothed back as much water as he could, and quickly retied it.

Atra smiled at him with a bit of chagrin then addressed Elan. “You’re not done inside yet.”

“I found him,” said Elan. “I found him, Atta.”

“Elan,” said Atra a bit more forcefully.

Elan sniggered then walked back to the house. Before she went inside, she shouted out, “Atra told me a secret.”

Atra only rolled her eyes.

Elan was a half-wit, but she had clearly enough wit to tease her sister. Talen smiled. There was more to Elan than he had suspected.

“A secret?” asked Talen.

Atra shrugged. “Don’t listen to her.” Then she looked up at Nettle and waved. “How’s the Captain’s son?” she called.

“Loafing,” he said.

Talen looked at Atra’s smooth cheeks and nose. He looked for a pimple, and saw none. How was such skin possible?

His father had once told Ke how to look at a beautiful woman and still keep your wits straight. “Look her right between the eyes.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Ke had said. “I’ll be staring at her cross-eyed. That’s sure to impress her.”

“No, you won’t,” said Da. “Look at me. You can’t tell I’m looking at your nose, can you?”

“Cross-eyed,” said Ke.

“I am not.”

“Are.”

“Am not.”

They had argued until Da finally chased Ke out into the pasture.

Atra turned to Talen again. “So what brings you to our vale?”

Nothing bespoke confidence more than the eyes. Talen wasn’t going to be the shy little boy staring at girl’s noses, so he looked her right in the eye. And promptly forgot what he was going to say. All that came into his mind was Nettle’s line about breeding. The silence stretched on a bit too long.

“The sun burns brightly,” he finally said. “And so does your face.” He cringed inside. What kind of an idiot statement was that?

Nettle laughed and tried to cover it with a cough.

Atra looked at him quizzically, then gave him that chagrined half smile again. Something was off. When he’d last seen her, they’d spoken and it seemed the stars and moon and torchlight had danced in her eyes. All that was gone.

“You’re wet,” she said.

“It’s quite hot out,” he said, “isn’t it?”

“Not too bad,” she said.

Talen waited for her to go on, but his question was clearly not one of River’s helpful types.

“Right,” he said. “Well, it’s been a dusty road. My Da was summoned to the Council. We’re on our way back.”

“I’m surprised you two dare to travel alone,” she said. “We heard about the creature coming for that woman. To think she’s loose again to work her depravities. My Da hopes the Skir Master mounts a hunt the likes of which has never been seen. When he catches her, Da will volunteer to fetch the crows that will pick her head to a nub.”

“Oh?” said Talen.

“Yes, he’s been quite affected by this whole thing. Did you know those people?”

He thought about the two hatchlings back at the house. “What do I know?” he said. “Nothing. Except that this woman should be brought to justice. Tell me what you’ve heard.”

Atra began to talk, repeating many of the same rumors Talen had heard today. He nodded and added a comment here or there, but mostly he just let her talk.

She was definitely an irrigation ditch.

Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe “tell me” was one of those helpful questions. Thank the Creators he’d stumbled on it.

He began to hope that he’d mistaken the shift in the feeling between them and that her talking would restore the ease they’d shared the time before.

As she talked Talen looked at her eyes. He concentrated on them. He noticed that they were not all of one color. There was a darker ring of brown inside a lighter one. Talen wondered if that’s what perhaps made them so beautiful. But he decided against it. It was more their size and the loveliness of her brow.

Then Talen realized she had just said something and he had no idea what it was.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I fear the new baker puts more than flour and honey in his small cakes. What did you say?” Da was right. She’d gone from sleth to something else and he’d missed the whole journey looking into her eyes.

She shook her head. “I said that it seems Koramites are out of favor.” Her mouth was drawn in a line of disappointment. Had she just told him he was unwelcome? His heart began to sink.

“Well, not all Koramites I hope.”

She did not reply immediately, and Talen’s heart began to sink. “You can’t judge a whole people by the actions of a few.”

“No,” she said. “But some people do.”

Then she changed the subject. “Would you like to see my new saddle?”

“I’ll gladly view anything you want to show me.”

She looked at him a bit shocked.

“Anything having to do with saddles,” he quickly corrected.

The delight he’d enjoyed before flashed across her face, but then faded. Talen needed another helpful question. He couldn’t quite believe, didn’t want to believe she’d said what she had about Koramites. Maybe she didn’t lump him in that group because he was going to be part of the Shoka.

“Tell me about your saddle.”

Atra turned to Nettle. “Does the loafing Captain want to see a saddle?”

“Naw,” he said. “One saddle is pretty much like the other.”

“Your loss,” she said and turned to Talen. “This way.” And she walked into the stable.

“Fish monger,” Nettle mouthed.

Talen rolled his eyes and followed Atra to the back of the stable. It wasn’t proper for a boy and girl of courting age to be alone, but Talen decided they weren’t really alone: they were just going to look at a saddle. Nor were they courting. Besides, Nettle was in the yard. They would come right back out.

She laid her hand on one of the finest saddles he had ever seen. The leather had been dyed black. It was beaded and tasselled and had silver trim worked around the edges. The many tassels of green and scarlet all ended in a bead of silver as well. The horse blanket was indigo blue. Her horse was black and well-muscled. Such a saddle on that creature would look magnificent! Talen felt the smooth surface. “It’s perfect,” he said.

Atra told him about the quality of the silver, which required frequent polishing, and showed him the fine stitching of the leather work. He wondered if he would ever be able to afford such a saddle. He might. But a saddle wouldn’t be enough. That was the way of the fine things. You couldn’t just purchase one. You had to purchase sets and pairs. A fine blanket to go with a fine bridle to go with a fine saddle for a fine horse. Fine horse combs. Fine servants to take care of the fine horse. He could work all his life to have the wealth contained in only the glass master’s stable.

Better to be plain than servant to such a master.

“You’re a graceful rider, Atra. You’ll look stunning at the races.”

She smiled. “You won a number of contests at the dance.”

Talen had won nothing. There hadn’t been any contests. “I don’t remember receiving any prize.”

“It wasn’t a public contest. Just among us girls.”

What was she talking about?

“We rated you all during the King’s March.”

There were a few dances just for the men. He loved the King’s March more than any of the others.

“A prize for hair, one for shoulders, for hands, for eyes, one for every significant part.”

“That sounds like a lot of prizes,” said Talen.

“You took one,” she said.

So perhaps she was simply tired. Perhaps that explained her demeanor. This was going far better than he had ever hoped. “So what is my claim?”

He waited and when she didn’t speak, he asked, “You’re not going to tell me?”

“Talen, things have changed. You should probably not come around anymore.”

She said it with kindness, but his discomfort at her rejection left him fumbling for a response. He motioned at his clothing, knowing it wasn’t the reason why. “I know my sodden appearance leaves much to be desired”—he tried a jest—“Next time, I’ll dress down for the occasion.”

“Talen,” she said then looked past him at the door to the stables. Her eyes widened a bit.

“What’s going on here?”

Talen turned. The glass master stood with his hands on his hips. Talen had met the glass master when Uncle Argoth had introduced them last spring. He’d complimented Talen on his aim with the bow, but today the man had a hard look that suggested to Talen there was probably no helpful question that would ease this man into a conversation.