The Last Whisper of the Gods (5 page)

When the game was over, Sorial’s purse was lighter by 13 studs but he had made the purchase.

“That’s how it’s done,” said Alicia when she, Sorial, and Vagrum had retreated to a place where they could speak without having to shout. Using a coin provided by Alicia, Vagrum procured three skewers of venison cubes for them to snack on.

“You did that well.” Sorial was unsure how to respond. He knew she had saved him five studs, but he wasn’t sure why. “Thanks.”

Vagrum chuckled, his laugh a deep rumble. “It’s a hobby for her. Her father taught her, but the pupil has surpassed the teacher. She’s the best I’ve seen ’specially considering her age. All that shouting and stomping. You didn’t even get to see the tears. I almost feel sorry for the merchants she comes up against. I’d wager some of them lose money to her.”

Alicia beamed at the compliment.

“You remembered me?” asked Sorial.

“Of course. How many stableboys do you think I’ve met? Or do you imagine I spend all my time sitting on bales of hay in stinky places? You didn’t know me, though, at least at first. I saw that look. Am I that unmemorable?” She batted her eyelashes.

Sorial shrugged. He saw lots of people at the stable but, even with all the odd comings and goings at Warburm’s, there had been no one like her. Women were unusual, girls were a rarity, but a girl from nobility was a one-of-a-kind.

“I can’t tell any of the noble boys apart but you’re very different. Isn’t he, Vagrum?”

“If you say so, Milady. I’ve seen plenty like him. Used to be one myself, matter-o-fact. But I suppose he’s different for you.”

“Seen any more mice?” asked Sorial, not sure where to take the conversation. Talking wasn’t one of his talents even with someone he knew.

She smiled sheepishly. “You must think I’m a silly girl. I’m no longer afraid of mice.”

Vagrum raised one eyebrow. “At least not much,” he amended.

“That’s not fair!” She rounded on him. “It took me by surprise. How was I supposed to know it would be in the kitchen.”

“Her shriek was so loud that her father thought she was being abducted and came running with his sword drawn. The mouse was suitably frightened and ran away before he could behead it.”

“You can come back to the stable if you want to meet a few more. They’re all around and very friendly,” offered Sorial.

Alicia’s mood turned stormy as she realized she had become a source of amusement. “It seems to me you might show a little more gratitude to someone who just saved you five brass studs. I should charge a commission. But I guess it’s too much to expect manners from a stableboy. You were rude when I met you last time and you haven’t changed. Come, Vagrum, I think we’ve wasted enough time here. I don’t know why I bothered.”

So saying, she stalked from the marketplace, not even looking back to make sure Vagrum was following her. With an apologetic shrug, he hurried after her, leaving behind a perplexed Sorial.

* * *

The next day, he arrived at his parents’ farm several hours after sunrise. It was late enough to prevent an unwelcome encounter with his father, who would devote the day’s every daylight hour tending to the fields. Since his mother’s visit to the inn following the attack, he had seen her more regularly. The loneliness he sensed in her that day had stirred his compassion, so he had made it a point to spend more time with her - something he knew she wanted. Sorial no longer found it a chore to come to the farm, which he did once every two or three weeks. For the most part, he was able to avoid Lamanar, making the trips less burdensome.

“Good morning, Mother,” said Sorial, entering the front room of the two chamber cottage shared by Kara and her husband. It was a spartan hovel, with little in the way of décor. The wall opposite the door housed a fireplace and there were two rough-hewn wooden chairs set facing each other near it. The floor was packed dirt. The second room, a bedchamber, contained only a straw mattress. At one point, Sorial had lived here, but his only memories were of the fields. The dwelling was foreign to him; nothing in it stirred even the faintest recollection.

Kara’s face lit up as her son came in, and she rose to hug him. A recent growth spurt had allowed him to match her height. When he was full-grown, she knew the top of her head would come only to his shoulders.

“This is for you,” he said shyly, handing her the bracelet Alicia’s bargaining had won for him.

Surprise, quickly chased by joy then a bittersweet sadness transfixed her features. As she took the present with trembling fingers, tears pooled in her eyes. Sorial nibbled on his lower lip, unable to decide whether she liked it.

She turned it over in her hands but didn’t put it on. With her head bent, her long dark hair fell around her face, obscuring her features so Sorial couldn’t read her reaction.

“Is it okay?” he ventured after a long moment’s silence. “A girl in the marketplace helped me choose it. I thought it looked pretty.”

Kara slipped the bracelet on her left arm then looked up at her son. “It’s wonderful.” Her voice was unsteady. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him on the forehead. “Oh, Sorial, you don’t know how much this means…”

They sat facing each other in the cottage’s lone chairs, their knees inches apart. Since it was Summer, there was no fire. In fact, the room was suffocatingly hot. Sorial wondered whether they might be more comfortable outside.

As was often the case, their conversation started with neutral topics like the weather, the king’s decision to name a successor, and whether the fields were likely to produce enough grain to see Kara and Lamanar comfortably through Winter. Eventually, however, Sorial steered the discussion toward a subject that had been gnawing at him for some time, but which he hadn’t felt comfortable talking about until now.

“Mother, I hope this question won’t make you mad. I see how Father frowns at me every time we pass on the trail when I visit you. I know there’s something about me he don’t like and I can only think one thing. Is Lamanar my father?” It seemed a reasonable explanation for the negativity displayed by the man he named “Father.” After confiding the suspicion to Rexall, the other boy had agreed it was possible. For her part, Annie had tried to pacify him but, when pressed, she had admitted there was nothing of Lamanar in his appearance. There were likely only two people who knew the truth, and Sorial wasn’t going to approach one of them. That left his mother.

Kara sighed and, even in the dimness of the cottage, Sorial could see her face lose some of its color. This was a topic she had been avoiding. “I knew one day you’d ask that, but I prayed the gods to delay it. I’m not sure they answer prayers any more. But you’re too old to be lied to - maybe not yet a man, but mature enough to learn the truth rather than relying on fairy tales.”

“Then he ain’t.”

Kara shook her head. “Lamanar cannot have children. An... accident... when he was a young man left him as a eunuch.” For Sorial, that answered many questions. “There are many things in my past I’m not proud of, but the liaison that led to your conception isn’t one of them. You’re not the product of some dark alleyway dalliance or tawdry backroom coupling. You were planned and the day of your birth was one of the happiest of my life. It hurt Lamanar because he loved me but couldn’t fill the duty of giving me a child.”

“Who is my father?” It was a natural question. Although the name probably wouldn’t mean anything to him, Sorial felt it was important to know it.

Kara didn’t reply immediately. When she spoke, she did so carefully, considering each word. “I can’t tell you. Not because I don’t wish to but because there are circumstances about my life that no one - not even my child - can know. I wasn’t always the person you see now, Sorial - the hapless wife of a struggling farmer. But there’s danger to reveal more and the identity of your father is a closely guarded secret. As far as the world knows, Lamanar is your sire, and you mustn’t let
anyone
believe otherwise.”

The cryptic nature of Kara’s revelation elevated Sorial’s curiosity. “You can’t tell me that much and expect me to forget it! If my whole life is a lie, I deserve to know everything!”

Kara flinched. “
Deserve
, Sorial? You presume too much. I’ve told you this because I believe you’re old enough to know. Don’t make me regret my decision. And never think your life has been a lie. Certain things have been kept from you - for your safety and the safety of others - but all in you that’s good and true is real. We aren’t always masters of our fates. I’ve been a pawn for much of my life and, in a way, remain so to this day. Someday, I promise, you’ll know everything that’s hidden, even if I have to return from the grave to tell you it.”

“So Lamanar hates me cause I’m another man’s son. Does he know this man?” asked Sorial, trying another approach.
A name. Just a name, yet so much more…

“Lamanar has met your father. They shared talk and ale, but were never close. My marriage isn’t one of necessity, Sorial. And Lamanar doesn’t hate you. Rather, he fears becoming attached to you, so he keeps you at a distance. Someday, perhaps that may change. You might not believe it, but I think he’d like to bring you back to the farm and treat you like a proper son, but a sense of duty compels him to do otherwise.”

“Do I have any brothers or sisters?” He was determined to find out everything he could, although he knew it wouldn’t be enough. A few drops of water couldn’t satisfy a parched man.

“Two brothers and one sister, all much older than you. They were born before I came to Vantok, as were you. Your brothers are dead. I don’t know where your sister is, or whether she lives. She ran away long ago. I like to believe… but no matter.”

“Why can’t you just tell me everything?” Sorial’s frustration was evident. Sitting across from him was someone with answers to all his questions, but she wouldn’t say. “Don’t I have a right to know?”

“I wish to the gods I could tell you, but I can’t. Not now. Perhaps I’ve already said too much. You should have been allowed another year or two of innocence before your destiny found you.”

“Are you really my mother, or is that another lie?”

Kara placed her left hand on her belly. “For three seasons, I carried you here. My heart leapt with joy at every kick of your tiny feet and I wept with happiness when the midwife presented you to me. I’ll always be here for you, Sorial, no matter what.”

Sorial believed her. In fact, he believed every word she had spoken to him, even if too little made sense. He hated riddles. Yet, like the strange visitors who secreted themselves with Warburm at the inn, here was something else to ponder while mucking stalls and brushing stallions.

“How many others know about you and Lamanar?” he asked.

“Only a few, those who need to know, and they have been sworn to secrecy on the most sacred of oaths.”

An idea came to Sorial. “Warburm is one of them.”

Kara was surprised, and the tremor in her words confirmed Sorial’s suspicion. “Of course not!”

“You’re lying.” It was perhaps the first thing she had said to him today he was sure wasn’t true. She gave him a pleading look but said nothing.

“How am I supposed to react to this, Mother? Go back to the inn and do what I’ve been doing for years? Keep coming here and pretend we’re just an ordinary son and mother?”

The steel in Kara’s voice surprised Sorial. “That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do. This isn’t a game, Sorial. I’ll apologize as many times as you think necessary, but neither of us can change what is. It isn’t fair, but you’re old enough to know that little about life is fair. What you and I - and others - are involved in is in deadly earnest. Dangerous times.”

At those words, Sorial had a sickening flashback to staring down the muzzle of a pistol.

The night after the pivotal conversation with his mother, sleep eluded Sorial; for hours, an overactive mind denied his tired body rest as he tossed and turned on his lumpy straw bed. The next few days were days spent in a sullen funk. He did his chores but avoided contact with others, including his friends. Even the sunrises failed to provide their customary comfort. His mind churned, trying to figure out how things connected. But the evidence was too scant for him to piece together the fragments of a puzzle that would answer the most basic question of his existence: Who was he?

The rest of Summer passed uneventfully but Sorial didn’t again visit Kara. She made no attempt to contact him at the stable, although a part of him hoped she would. He missed the bond they had been forming - an estranged son and mother coming together - but he knew an encounter now would be awkward. What could they have to talk about? The secrets were too much of a barrier. Until she was willing to open up and be honest with him… Sorial didn’t only want to know everything, he wanted to
understand
everything, but a tiny part of him acknowledged that Kara could be right and he might not yet be ready for the truth in its fullness.

Harvest began with an unprecedented heat wave. The latter days of Summer had been uncommonly cool and rainy but the furnace blast from the south withered crops in the fields and unpicked produce on the vines. As always during times of excessive heat, the inside of the stable felt like an oven and stank to the point where even Sorial’s acclimated nostrils found the odor offensive. As someone who spent most of his time out of doors, Sorial had become used to weather extremes, but he preferred the cold to the heat. One could always pile on more furs or light a fire; there was only so much one could take off, even if propriety wasn’t a consideration.

On Restday morning - the ninth day of the heat wave - Sorial was doing his final cleaning of the stable in preparation for his afternoon off when a voice called his name from outside. “It stinks in there. I ain’t coming in.” It was Rexall, Sorial’s closest friend.

“I bet it’s worse at The Delicious Dancer,” replied Sorial, referring to the inn where Rexall worked as stableboy. He speared a mound of straw with his pitchfork and tossed it in the direction of one of the horse’s legs. The animal didn’t notice.

Rexall, a tall, stout boy of about Sorial’s age, stood resolutely outside, his freckled nose wrinkled with disgust. An immigrant from the eastern city of Earlford, Rexall bore the characteristic traits of the place of his birth: red hair, a fair complexion, and green eyes. His recent growth spurt, which had added a full handspan to his height, was accompanied by the first indications of facial hair. Rexall was trying to grow a mustache and beard. Thus far, all he had managed was a reddish shadow on his upper lip and a few wayward whiskers on his chin. It wasn’t impressive.

“C’mon,” urged Rexall. “We need to cool off. I’m sweating my ass off.”

“I’ll be done quicker if you help.”

“No thanks. I didn’t rush to finish at The Dancer so I could help you shovel shit.”

“Where we going?” Sorial always let Rexall plan their excursions; he knew far more places in which they could find trouble than Sorial could guess at. Spending an afternoon in Rexall’s company guaranteed an adventure. Together, the boys had gotten in scraps, been chased through the city streets by irate merchants, and nearly been arrested by the Watch. Normally quiet and reserved, Sorial became another person when paired with Rexall.

“Swimming.”

Sorial groaned. In heat like this, the riverbanks would be clogged with people and the water would be an impenetrable brown from disrupted mud and waste. Normally, people swam to clean off. Now, they were more dirty after being in the water than before entering it.

“Don’t make that face,” said Rexall. “I found a place where there ain’t no people and the water’s clean.”

“This is in the real world? Not those dreams you’re always talking ’bout? The ones where the women strip and suck you off.”

“It’s upstream from where everyone else bathes.”

“Of course there ain’t no people! That’s private land, owned by the nobility. Get caught there and they’ll cut off your balls and feed them to their animals.”

Rexall snorted in derision. “If they ain’t using it, I don’t see why we should be banned. It’s a crime against the gods to leave good bathing areas unused.”

“So you wanna sneak past the guards and avoid the dogs just for a quick swim?”

“There ain’t many guards and no dogs. The house is so far from the river you can’t see it. It’s perfect.”

Sorial grimaced. This wasn’t the first time his friend had described a scheme as “perfect.” Sorial bore tiny scars all over his body as a result of past perfect plots that hadn’t run their course as projected. Nevertheless, Sorial couldn’t deny that a few minutes in the cool water away from the crowds would be welcome.

“I’ve done it twice with no problems.” Rexall sensed a weakening of his friend’s resolve. “No people, no animals. The current is mild and the water ain’t no deeper than my chest. Worst case, we escape to the other side and take off through the high grass. On hands and knees, no one would be able to find us, even if they took the time to cross.”

Sorial considered. The rational part of his mind argued that this wasn’t a good idea, but the seductive lure of a cool, cleansing swim was too sweet to ignore. “Let me finish here, then we’ll go.”

An hour later, Sorial was stripping off his clothing and wading into the water. If anything, Rexall had exaggerated the difficulty of getting to this riverbank. There were no signs of dogs or human patrols. Perhaps the heat was limiting the activity of the landowner’s household guard. The two boys stayed in the high grass well away from the house and reached the river unchallenged.

Rexall’s claims about the virtues of the river were accurate as well. It was deep enough for immersion but not so deep that Sorial couldn’t stand, his toes curling into the cool mud at the bottom. The water’s progress downstream was gentle, never threatening to carry him away. Reaching the other side would have been a challenge had it proven necessary since it was some distance away.

“Told you! It’s perfect!” shouted Rexall, splashing his friend energetically. “This is the kind of place you find when you don’t play by the rules! The king should force nobles with land like this to open it to the public.”

“If he did that, we wouldn’t have a ‘private’ bath,” remarked Sorial. Rexall wasn’t known for thinking through some of his pronouncements.

After their swim, the two lay on the river’s grassy bank, their eyes closed and their naked bodies bared to the sun’s warm rays. Rexall’s fair skin was reddening but Sorial’s darker complexion showed no ill effects.

“D’ya ever think about the future?” asked Sorial, breaking the tranquility of their afternoon idyll.

“Not if I can avoid it. Ain’t no purpose to it. I worry ’bout things as they come along. I may be dead by the time the future arrives.”

“What’ll you do when you reach Majority? Stay at The Dancer or move on?”

“Sor,” said Rexall, opening his eyes and propping himself up on his elbows so he could look at his friend. “That’s two years off. Why should I give a fuck what’s going to happen in two years? That far out, ain’t no difference between planning and daydreaming.”

Sorial remained lying on his back, his eyes closed. “I dunno what I’m gonna do. Stay or go, it don’t seem to matter.”

“Hold on! I thought you were gonna to move back to the farm with your parents. It wasn’t that long ago you were talking ’bout how great it’d be. You always say how much you like the idea of working the ground. ‘A born farmer’ - weren’t those your words?”

“I don’t think that’s gonna happen. My mother… ain’t who I thought she was.”

There wasn’t much Rexall could say to that. He had never met Sorial’s mother or father.

“Maybe I’ll leave the city,” said Sorial. “Stay at The Wayfarer till I make enough to hire a pack mule and buy some supplies, then go. You could come with me. You’re always looking for adventure.”

Rexall saw no harm in humoring his friend. Two years from now, they might no longer know each other. Why not daydream… “Sure. We could head north, cross the Broken Crags, and go all the way to Syre. They say the women there’ll spread their legs for any man and the things they do…” He stopped abruptly, remembering Sorial had once told him his mother was a Syrene.

“If my mother’s an example, those stories are right.” There was bitterness in his voice. “She’s spread her legs for enough men.”

Rexall was shrewd enough to backtrack from the subject. “I wouldn’t mind visiting my people in Earlford.”

“I was thinking more of going south.”

“South? Ain’t nothing south. The Forbidden Lands. You wouldn’t want to go there. You can’t stand the heat and it’s worse there than here. They don’t have Winter down there.”

Sorial shrugged. “Maybe, but I’d like to meet an elf.”

Rexall laughed out loud at that. “An elf? Don’t tell me you believe those fairy tales. Next thing, you’ll be saying you wanna be a wizard.”

Sorial became defensive. “No one’s proven the elves are gone.”

“What proof? D’ya know anyone who’s met one? Do I? If they ever existed, they’re long since dead. The only things you’ll find in The Forbidden Lands are snakes and bugs. Big ones.”

Sorial wasn’t deterred. “You don’t believe nothing.”

“Only what I can see.”

They were quiet for a while. Rexall lay back down and again closed his eyes.

After a lengthy pause, Sorial said, “So you’ll come with me? If I leave, I mean.”

Rexall sighed. “Probably. That’s two years off. There’s lots of things I’m more worried ’bout now. Like getting laid tonight, for example. When are you gonna give me that introduction to Annie.”

“She ain’t a whore.”

“That just means she does it for free. I’m surprised you haven’t fucked her. She’s supposed to like ’em young.”

Sorial wasn’t happy with the way Rexall spoke about Annie. It was disrespectful and, whatever her faults, she deserved better. “We’re friends. She helped take care of me when I was little, after my parents left me with Warburm. She’s been nice to me.”

“I’m sure she has. And being shy like you are, you ain’t taken advantage of it. Believe me, Sorial, she won’t be
offended
if you try something. Arrange an introduction for me and I’ll show you what to do.”

Sorial didn’t want to think of Rexall with Annie. In fact, he didn’t want to think of anyone with Annie, even though he knew she rarely spent a night alone. “She said something ’bout having a special present for me when I get to Maturity.”

“You’re gonna wait two years to get laid?” exclaimed an incredulous Rexall. “Your cock’ll wither up and fall off from not being used!”

“I can wait.”

“Suit yourself. Waiting ain’t as much fun as doing it. Whores can be expensive, though, especially the clean ones, and it’s hard to find a woman willing to do it for free when you work in a stable.”

“Visnisk gets regular visits from a whore. She’s a maid but makes a few extra coins working around the inn. I don’t think Visnisk’s her only customer. They do it in the stable. I sometimes watch from my loft.”

Rexall shook his head. “Stop watching and start doing. Sorial, if it wasn’t for me, you’d spend your days sitting in that stable watching things happen around you without doing so much as dipping your little toe in. “

“We’re talking ’bout a different body part than the toe. And mine ain’t little.”

When it came to women, Sorial lacked Rexall’s forwardness and easy confidence. His friend didn’t have much more experience than Sorial - a few quick gropes in the dark with cheap whores - but that didn’t keep him from trying. Sorial, on the other hand, was intimidated by women. He wondered if he would ever feel comfortable enough around one of them to do more than stammer and stare. Looking down Annie’s blouse was one thing, but reaching out to touch… His face reddened at the thought. He could wait two years.

* * *

A week later, with the heat wave still in full bloom, Sorial visited The Delicious Dancer to ask whether Rexall was interested in repeating their riverside excursion. Upon learning that his friend wasn’t there, Sorial decided to go on his own. It was an uncharacteristically brazen decision on his part - breaking a law without Rexall to encourage him. After evading the guards, who were easily spotted and avoided, he spent an eventless day in the water and lying on the bank. The uninterrupted afternoon gave him an opportunity to think about his situation, something that was difficult to do within the confines of the stable, even when he was alone. Out here, surrounded by baking earth and cloudless sky, there was a freedom of the mind that couldn’t be experienced within the dim, suffocating interior of the stable.

As usual, the conundrum of his parentage was foremost in his thoughts. He didn’t doubt that his mother loved him and he believed her claim that a prior commitment was keeping her from telling him everything he wanted to know. But that didn’t curb the frustration and resentment. The fact that Warburm was complicit in the situation complicated matters. On more than one occasion, he had considered approaching the innkeeper, but he didn’t know how to do it.  After all, Warburm was his master and would punish anything he perceived as insolence.