Souls of Aredyrah 3 - The Taking of the Dawn (10 page)

Alicine gawked down at her own well-worn
dress. She had already spent part of the morning pulling her and
Dayn’s rumpled clothing from the trunk that Eyan had dragged down
from the loft in the barn. The stored clothes had not been dirty,
but in need of a good airing, so she had shaken them out and pinned
them to the line that was stretched across a sunny patch of yard
beside the house.

Alicine spun and headed out the door. It was
still cool, but warming fast. As she rounded the house and crossed
the yard toward the line, lady beetles spiraled from the grass,
clattering noisily around her. She waved them aside, then stopped,
surveying the clothesline. To the left, a row of Dayn’s trousers
and tunics could be seen, lifting and falling with the breeze. She
moved her eyes along the line toward two homespun skirts, an
oatmeal colored blouse, and a few discreetly placed undergarments.
On past, three dresses hung shoulder to shoulder, their modest
Kiradyn style in such contrast to the skin-revealing clothing she
had worn in Tearia. Originally dyed in rich earth-tones, the
dresses now seemed dull and tired, but even worse, confining. At
the end of the line, her Summer Maiden’s gown was pinned, clean but
tattered. Alicine heaved a sigh. Everything she owned was either
faded, patched, or inappropriate for the Gathering.

“I don’t suppose you packed the sarong,”
Dayn’s amused voice said at her back.

“Funny,” she retorted. She turned and noted
the dressing gown he was still wearing. “Your legs are
showing.”

Dayn looked down at himself. “Maybe I’ll wear
this to the Gathering. It sort of looks like something a Jecta
would wear.
That
would certainly make an impression.”

“Hmmm….looks more Tearian, I think.” Alicine
walked around him, assessing him up and down. “If you belted it, it
would resemble one of Reiv’s tunics.”

“And I wouldn’t have to wear my boots!”

They laughed, but then Alicine turned back to
the line. She sighed again, and shook her head. “Nothing. I have
absolutely
nothing
to wear.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Dayn said. “You’ve got
what, four dresses. Just pick one.”

Alicine rolled her eyes. “You don’t
understand. I haven’t seen these people since the Festival. I’d at
least like to look presentable.”

Dayn stepped between her and the line and
crossed his arms. “Why do you even care? I thought…I mean, after
all that’s happened, I figured you’d have moved beyond all
that.”

“Beyond all what?”

Dayn hesitated, then said, “Before we left,
you always cared so much about how you looked and what people
thought of you.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“It’s one thing to try to look good for
yourself, it’s another to do it for people who don’t really matter.
Like the townsfolk.” He gave her a condescending look. “When I
think of all the times you hobnobbed with them…I just think it’s
beneath you, that’s all.”

“I did not hob—”Alicine grew flustered. “You
don’t know what you’re talking about! You were never in town enough
to know how things work. You have to play the game, Dayn.”

“Which game? The one where my face gets
rubbed into the dirt? Is that the game you’re referring to? If it
is, then believe me, I played that game plenty of times.”

“That’s not what I mean and you know it! It’s
just that people from Kiradyn are different. They have certain
expectations, and if you don’t abide by them, then you’re
nobody.”

“You mean like me?”

“Of course not! You’re putting words into my
mouth.”

“Am I?”

“It doesn’t matter what they think of you,
Dayn. You’re—”

“So it doesn’t matter what they think of me,
but it matters what they think of you?”

“Yes. I mean…well…yes.”

Dayn stiffened his spine. “I see. Well,
that’s beside the point anyway. The people coming to the Gathering
aren’t from town, so they won’t care one whit about your
clothes.”

“Well, I care!” Alicine snapped.

“Why? So you’ll look better than them?” Dayn
cocked his head. “That’s it, isn’t it? You don’t want to be like
them; you want to be better than them.”

“What’s gotten into you? You’re making it
sound like I’m a snob or something!”

“No, but you sure have your priorities
twisted around.”

Alicine stomped her foot. “You’re the one
doing the twisting! I just wanted something nice to wear to the
Gathering.”

“Well, I guess it doesn’t matter what you
want. You’ve got four dresses hanging there. I suggest you pick
one.”

Dayn grabbed a pair of trousers and the first
shirt he could lay his hands on and snapped them from the line. He
turned and headed for the house, storming past Eyan who had just
stepped off the porch. As Dayn’s heavy footsteps hit the porch
boards, Eyan paused to watch him disappear through the door.

Eyan walked toward Alicine. “He’s angry
again?” he said when he reached her. “Why is he always so
angry?”

Alicine blinked. Eyan was right. Dayn
was
angry a lot. Before, when he was just Dayn, before he
had gone to Tearia and learned his true name, he had been
mild-mannered, at times almost docile. But now…

“He hates it here,” Alicine said.

“Why?”

“He wants to be someplace else.”

“Where? That place ye went to before?”

“Yes.”

Eyan tilted his head. “I don’t see why. It’s
nice here. But I don’t know very much because I’ve never been
anywhere but here.”

Alicine studied Eyan’s face. “You really
haven’t been anywhere else, have you. That’s—” She shifted her
attention to the line. “Never mind.”

“That’s what?”

“That’s sad is all.” Alicine felt uneasy at
having said it. Eyan’s exile from society was sad, but did he think
so? He had been protected, but as a result knew little of the
things a young man his age should know. He was innocent, almost
childlike, and could easily be wounded by those who might not
understand him. Maybe Dayn was right. Maybe the Gathering wasn’t
such a good idea.

Back to ToC

Part Two: Parting
Seas

Chapter 9: The Big
Shell

R
eiv stood in the
doorway of the hut, gazing out through a drape of cockles toward
the beach dunes beyond. The sun was high, casting a dazzling light
upon the sand’s golden crests, and soft gray shadows along their
drifts. Waves clapped against the shoreline. Distant voices stirred
with the hum of a late-morning breeze. Reiv pulled the salty air
through his nostrils, relishing the musty ocean scent. It had not
been that long ago that he had feared the vast waters, but since
coming to the seaside village of Meirla a few months prior, he had
come to love the sea as his own.

He arched his back and stretched his arms,
working the tightness from his muscles. He’d slept hard that night,
and his joints felt achy and thick. Bedding on a pallet had a way
of doing that to a prince raised with down comforters and plump
feather pillows. But he was no longer a prince; now he was a Shell
Seeker living with four other people in a palm-frond hut, missing
the comforts of a real bed, and longing for the privacy he once
knew.

The people Reiv lived with all had cots, but
he didn’t really mind. He had, in fact, acquired one of his own
recently, much to his delight at the time. It was constructed of
reeds and strapping, layered with piles upon piles of soft palm
fronds. In the brief time he’d slept on it, he’d come to think it
every bit as nice as the royal bed he’d once owned. But then his
aunt Brina had come to live with them, and he’d had no choice but
to turn it over to her. Brina was a strong woman, but her royal
disposition was not accustomed to a mat, and Reiv’s pride would
never allow a woman to sleep on the floor while he slept on a
cot.

He lifted a hand to his eyes and scanned the
sunny landscape. Brina could be seen marching toward him, returning
from the fresh-water springs beyond the palms. A large reed basket
was clutched in her arms, and an expression of distaste was
plastered across her face. Even through the distance, Reiv could
see that her lips were primed for a reprimand. But he wasn’t
concerned. Brina was more a mother to him than an aunt, and he was
accustomed to her frequent lectures. When he had been Prince, her
terse words were usually rebukes of his youthful rebelliousness.
Now they were focused more on his work ethics, or what she
considered his lack of them.

“Well, I see you are
finally
up,”
Brina said as she brushed past him to the drying line. She plopped
the basket onto the ground, then pulled out a wet garment and flung
it across the line. She shot him a look. “Sleeping all morning,
lazy child. You will not find many shells reclined on a
bedroll.”

Reiv strolled toward her. “I find plenty of
shells, in case you have not noticed,” he said. “Besides, it is not
that late. Look…it is barely high sun.”

Brina scowled and snapped another garment in
her hand. “High sun indeed. While you slept like a prince, I tended
your horse, hung fish to smoke, washed your clothing—”

“Fine…fine,” Reiv said, raising his hands in
defense. “I will go right now if that will make you happy. I
certainly would not want to interrupt your martyrdom. You are so
good at it.”

Brina spun to face him. She tossed the
garment back into the basket and thrust her fists to her hips.
“Martyrdom? I will thank you to reconsider that remark!”

Reiv could not help but laugh. “Very well,”
he said. “It is reconsidered.”

“Well it had better be! And while you are at
it, you might reconsider a few more things…those sleeping habits of
yours for one…buried under the blankets ‘til all hours of the
morning…you should be ashamed.”

Brina shoved a strand of white-blonde hair
from her eyes and swept it behind her ear. She had never been
meticulous about her hair, but since coming to live with the Shell
Seekers, it had gotten downright undisciplined. It didn’t help that
she now had a multitude of daily chores to do, chores that servants
once did for her. Nor did it help that she no longer had a dressing
table of hair clips and grooming tools at her disposal. But still,
considering everything, she had adapted well to the more earthly
realities of life.

Reiv gave her a hug. “I am sorry, Brina. You
are right. You are always right.”

“Hmmph!” She turned and reached into the
basket, then hung another piece of laundry over the line. “Well I
am certainly right about this much—Kerrik will bring in the best
shells today, and I will hear no complaints from you when he
does.”

“Ho, no,” Reiv said with a chuckle. “The
sprite will not beat
me
today. I am feeling lucky.”

“It will take more than luck to beat that
boy. He has been diving since dawn.”

“We shall see who beats who,” Reiv said,
turning and ducking back into the hut. He stepped toward the
grooming table and raked a comb through his long, red hair, then,
after binding it at his back, leaned toward the reflective plate to
outline his eyes with kohl. It was a Shell Seeker custom to
decorate one’s eyes, and though Reiv did not wish to waste time
with it now, he at least made an attempt. He grabbed his belt,
knife, and hunting bag and secured them at his waist, then before
leaving, scrubbed his teeth with a leaf of mint.

He tossed the leaf aside and hustled out the
door.

“How many shells will you be finding today,
Brina?” he asked as he walked past her.

“More than you at this rate,” she said. But
in truth she had never dipped a toe into the sea and likely never
would.

Reiv laughed and continued on, his feet
crunching across the sand as he made his way toward the water. He
scanned the teal surface for a sign of Kerrik, but saw no hint of
him. The boy always headed out early, an advantage when it came to
finding the nicest shells. But Reiv usually managed to hold his
own; he had a knack for finding those hard-to-reach treasures
tucked between the rocks. Jensa, Kerrik’s older sister, would also
be out and about. She and her older brother Torin were always the
first ones up. As the accepted leaders of the household, Jensa and
Torin were surprisingly generous in regard to Reiv’s need to sleep
late; he seemed to require it more than the average person. But
they still expected him to work late in order to catch up. And
there was a lot of catching up to do.

During the earthquake weeks before, the sea
had become violent and unpredictable. Many huts were dragged into
its depths, while others were shaken to the ground or crushed
beneath the weight of falling palms. For a while the Shell Seekers
dared not venture into the waters; the tides were swift and
unforgiving. But now the sea was finally calm and most of the huts
rebuilt, except for the one Reiv hoped to have for his own one day.
But there was no time for dreaming of huts; there was only time for
seeking.

Reiv spotted Kerrik’s head bobbling offshore,
then saw his feet kick into the air as he dove beneath the surface.
Reiv could not help but beam. It had not been that long ago that
the boy lay bleeding on the sand, his wounds from an encounter with
a monstrous sea snake so severe that recovery was doubtful. But now
there he was, diving as if he had never been injured at all.

Kerrik bobbed back up. He turned his grinning
face toward Reiv. “Oy, Reiv,” his high-pitched voice shouted. He
hoisted a large shell out of the water and flaunted it in the
air.

Reiv waved and continued his approach. “So
you have a fine one already, do you,” Reiv muttered. “Well, we
shall see who comes out with the greatest catch today.” He stepped
into the water, determined not to waste a single moment more, but
angry voices suddenly diverted his attention. He stopped to look
down the shoreline. Jensa could be seen in the distance, facing a
dark-haired young man about her age. Her arms were waving as her
mouth contorted angrily.