Tarnava — 14 YBB
So you are from Murentam, yes? A beautiful place. I was there many years ago when we had that business with the dragons.
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Murentam Valley — 15 YBB
The five of them — Saf, the twins, Divia and Ahera, were pressed up against the wall outside Sir Henerick’s council chambers, trying to catch everything he was saying.
“By the gods!” that was as vulgar as his swearing ever got, “this is just the thing we need. There’s an Imperial Writman coming soon. We’ve got monsters in the mountains killing sheep and we’ve got a killer in the castle killing men. And, not to be callous, but in Kar we lost a decent blacksmith. We’ll have to send someone to go find a new one..” They heard his rant trail off.
“I wonder, perhaps, milord.” It was Jamin, the captain of the men-at-arms. “Remember Nota the serving-girl who died a few weeks back? There was nothing wrong that we could find with her, so we thought it was some illness. Now I suspect, I don’t know, poisoning. There is no wound on the latest unhappy victim either.”
The five eavesdroppers looked at each other. They had known Nota. She had always been friendly to the young orphans and let them sneak off with chunks of bread from the kitchens. Divia in particular seemed traumatized by the thought that Nota might have been murdered. But who would want her dead?
A new voice came from the council chambers. “You old men, talking talking talking” It was the insolent baritone of Young Henerick. Heir to his father’s lands and castle but not heir to his father’s easy and sincere demeanor. “What is our evidence? Does anyone have a theory?” Silence greeted his questions. His voice was one the move now. It sounded like he was walking around the room. “Or is it possible, since this new body has no marks, that it too is no killing? A drunk who took a tumble perhaps..”
Sir Henerick said quietly. “Show him, Jamin.” The eavesdroppers heard something flop onto the thick oak of the council table. There was only silence for the next few seconds.
Mina was in the council chamber too and she was the one that broke the silence. “I think we understand.”
Sir Henerick set the task to Young Henerick to lead the search for whoever or whatever had killed the man, and also to lead the search for whoever or whatever was killing animals in the pastures. The old knight was always trying to get his son to take up something other than hunting.
“We must clean up the mess in this valley before the Writman arrives, or he will clean it up for us. And Writmen have a notoriously.. aggressive.. cleaning style.”
Chairs clattered against stone as the occupants of the room stood up to leave. Ahera nodded with her head down the hall towards the courtyard. Saf started to get up with the rest of them. There was so much to talk about. Nothing this exciting had happened at Murentam since Luchta had gotten with child and no one knew the father. Saf didn’t have any theories yet but..
“Who’s that!” Young Henerick’s shout rang from the room. The eavesdroppers froze. Had they been found out? But it was from the opposite end of the room that they heard a side door yanked open and the sheepish apologies of some servant girls. Apparently the five orphans hadn’t been the only ones listening in.
Undiscovered, they slipped down the corridor and into the small cloistered courtyard on the south side of the castle. They sat on a bench in one of the arcaded adjoining walkways, facing the lone willow tree the dominated the humble garden. None of them had any good ideas. Even Ulliam and Ahera, who loved to gossip, couldn’t think of any good candidates. The whole thing felt too serious to lay on someone lightly. Some of the men-at-arms could be arrogant or violent when drunk, but still, these were people they had grown up with and known forever.
“I think he’ll be found for sure.” Ulliam said, “No one can keep a secret in this gods-damned place.”
*****
The castle was abuzz for the next few days. Whenever Saf was walking back to the living quarters from some work in the fields or from hauling material up to the castle, he saw servant girls and men at arms in little knots talking about Kar, and now, Nota. Jamin’s theory had escaped the council chamber immediately, thanks to the two sets of eavesdroppers. At least two.
The weather got hotter and the meadows and mountainsides got greener. It was the kind of oppressive heavy heat of late spring that usually made Saf want to laze on his mat in the shade of his room or go down to one of the pools in the streams and float on his back. But he couldn’t help getting excited a bit. Not only was there a killer apparently on the loose in Murentam and some beast or monster devouring livestock, but he was nearing his seventeenth birthday. Not many people knew their birthdays. He was proud of having a birthday. It was one thing he could hold on to, even if he didn’t have most of the things people normally had, like parents.
Turning seventeen meant being an adult, and it also meant getting a big part in the Goddays festival of high summer. There were lots of games and competitions and rituals for both the boys and the girls, and it was also when they would perform the Testing. That was what Sir Henerick had been worried about, since the Writman that came to do the testing also had the authority to and the power to do anything else he or she wanted.
After the festivities it was traditional that the matchmakers tried to make marriages from among the eligible young men and women. Those that excelled at the games and competitions were considered better matches. Of course not everyone got married that way, and most boys married much older in their twenties when they had worked their way into a farmstead, but still it was thought very lucky to get married during the festival. Without a farm or a trade he had no prospects of getting married at any point in time.
Saf muttered a little charm he had learned that invoked Birmissa and snapped out of his daydreaming about the Goddays. He was walking towards the main castle yard behind the gate. Jamin and Young Henerick had summoned all the young men. They filed in gradually, from the gates if they had been in the fields, or from the side passage that tucked into the walls. They sat in gaggles under the oak trees, under the eaves of the stables, and on the steps of the great door of the castle. Finally Jamin called them to attention in the center of the courtyard. Young Henerick stayed in the shade. Saf and many of the others covered their eyes with their hands. Jamin was facing them from in front of the castle gate and they had to look into the late morning sun.
“Some of you are old soldiers. And some of you will be young ones, if you have strength in your arm and courage in your heart..” Jamin was a stocky man with the pale skin and dark shaggy hair of a Westerling. His small frame belied his booming voice. “As you know there is a murderer who has come into our castle. Security has grown lax. And then there are the attacks on the flocks. Sometimes the herders have only found a head or a hoof and burn marks. Naturally, the villagers fear a dragon. Impossible of course.” Saf heard nervous chuckling from the assembled crowd. “What scares me more is the intact carcasses that we find. Long gashes down the side. Dozens of tiny cuts on the neck. Some of you have been the first to find these yourselves. What beast kills but doesn’t eat?” Jamin paused and squinted at something, maybe just for effect. “The herders will not bring their animals up into the high summer pastures unless we stop the killings. More than anything we need to be seen. To reassure. They are villagers, simple people, not castlemen like you.” Some of the veteran soldiers came out of the armory bearing practice weapons and shields. They were the ones that had served with Henerick under the Blue Banner in the Messagatian Wars. The confirmed fighters. Jamin completed his speech: “We are building a new guard force in the valley. It is time to decide who among you is man enough to bear arms with us.”
Saf received a wooden sword and buckler and was paired up with Baram, one of the shepherd boys who tended the castle’s own flocks. Baram banged his sword against his shield theatrically. All around the castleyard men were bludgeoning each other with practice weapons and shoving each other with shields while the men-at-arms watched and evaluated. Saf felt queasy. He had always dreamed of being a warrior.
How else to leave Murentam? How else to get rich young, by looting the towns of the Akhanians, or die young, on the spear of some barbarian from the Beastlands. Either way you didn’t stay poor long.
But now that he saw what he had to do to become the lowest kind of warrior, a mere militia member, he was having his doubts. Men groaned and reeled in pain around him. The solid Thwacks of wood hitting flesh filled his ears. Images of distorted limbs and dark purple welts filled his mind’s eye.
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Focus, Saf told himself, Focus. Baram stalked forward. Adrenaline surged. Saf could feel every muscle in his body. Focus. Steady, loose arms. Focus. Baram’s eyes flicked briefly, giving Saf only the slightest warning as the shepherd boy rushed the last few paces. Focus. Saf raised his shield to absorb a wild blow that rattled his entire body. Focus. He swang from the other side and connected with Baram’s hip. The other boy seemed not to feel it. Baram was already bringing his blade back for another strike. Saf’s unsteady shield failed to block the shot to his shoulder. He could barely feel it through the adrenaline. He was invincible. Focus. Swing. Focus. Swing. Focus. Swing. Focusfocusfocusfocusfocusfocusfocusfocusfocusfocusfocus. His internal monologue blurred into a mindless mantra.
“Stop! Tie!” A gray-haired older man disarmed them with a few effortless sword-strokes and pushed them apart. Saf regained his composure. A steady buzz of incredible pain was building. He had traded blow after blow with Baram and neither of them had blocked anything. Saf felt embarrassed, but the man-at-arms was generous about their brutish display. “Every man’s like that at first. But you got to learn to be smart, to protect yourself. Protect the men next to you. There’s lots of things out there under Oruvar’s throne that are stronger than men, faster than men, but there isn’t many that can fight together and smart like men can.”
Saf didn’t need any motivating speech. He had never felt anything like that in his life, the way time sort of slowed down and sped up all at once. He could do this.
The old man motioned him to switch over to a new partner. Saf tried to take a step and the crippling pain roared through him. He almost fell to the ground. Gritting his teeth, he pushed through it and walked gingerly over to his new spot.
He saw Tammus’s hulking form opposite him. His friend really was big. You never quite noticed someone’s body until you wanted to beat them up, Saf thought. This time Saf came up with a plan. He would close fast, get inside Tammus’s reach, strike hard to disarm him, then step back to punish him with impunity.
Jamin was watching this match. He waved a hand to tell them to start. Saf let out a roar to drown out his pain and charged forward. He darted right up to his friend, almost touching chests. Tammus tried to land a blow but with Saf so close, it had no momentum behind it and clanged uselessly off of Saf’s shield. Saf marshaled all his strength and jammed his sword up across his body so that the wooden hilt slammed into Tammus’s forearm. Tammus grunted and his sword fell to the dirt. My plan is working! Saf didn’t have a chance to savor his success. Tammus brought his shield up in between them and leveled a huge bash into Saf’s chest.
For the next few seconds Saf writhed on the ground in pain. He saw Tammus standing over him, unwilling to land more blows on a defenseless man.
“That’s over.” Jamin said flatly. “Well done boy.”
For a moment Saf couldn’t believe his ears. Well done! Jamin had noticed his clever tactic and, despite the loss, had complimented him for it! Then he realized Jamin was talking to Tammus. Of course.
Anger warred with pain inside Saf. He looked around. Most of the fights had stopped. The men were watching Young Henerick’s bout with a would-be fighter. The young knight seemed to think that the one-sided beatdown he was giving was instructive. He was yelling “Like this!” every time he slammed the middle of his wooden sword into his hapless opponent. Finally the opponent crumbled to the ground. Young Henerick stood panting over him.
The knight looked around. “Who’s next? I’ve got a few more things to show you newlings!” His wild eyes roamed the crowd. They alighted on someone behind Saf. “I need a volunteer,” the knight grinned. “You volunteer!”
Saf turned around to find the unfortunate man Young Henerick had chosen as his next victim. There was no one behind him.
Shit.
The knight strutted towards him. Saf felt the anger and pain welling up within him again. He didn’t want to be a practice dummy. He wouldn’t be beaten like this. He wouldn’t let his dreams die in the dirt of the castle yard. If he could prove his worth against Young Hen, a true knight, they would have to take him as a fighter.
Saf pretended to be so hurt he could barely move. He didn’t have to pretend much. Young Hen hesitated a fraction of a second as he noticed Saf’s condition. But he kept moving forward. “Always try to put them off balance!” the knight shouted. He feigned at both sides of Saf’s body but ultimately went for a swipe at his right leg. Focus. Saf faked a strong reaction to the hit against his leg, falling to the ground. “It really is that easy against an untrained opponent.” Young Hen was talking to the men. Now.
Saf sprang back to his feet and put all his strength and momentum into one giant blow, surging into Young Hen’s neck. The knight reeled back, gasping for air and clutching his throat.
Jamin leapt in between Saf and Young Hen. “Enough!” he shouted.
“You good-for-nothing lout! You mudborn prick! Your mother was a whore and your father was an ogre!” Young Henerick had recovered enough to hurl insult after insult at him.
It didn’t quite register for Saf. He was basking in the thought that he had finally beaten someone, and Young Hen nonetheless.
Saf only caught the last thing that was said to him. “No honor! You’ll never be a fighter!”
*****
“I didn’t think it would go over that badly. It was just a little ruse.”
Saf was still bedbound, two days later. The beatings he had taken had been even worse than they felt at the time.
Divia sat, cross-legged, on the ground next to his sleeping mat.
She sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t. It’s a wonder you’re still here at all.”
She put a satchel down next to him. “I got you some strawberries.” Her hair was the color of strawberries. He should say something about that, he thought. It would be a nice complement. “Thanks,” he said.
“Happy birthday” she said.
“By the gods you’re right! My birthday!” he was giddy. He put on his deepest, graveliest voice “I am a man now.”
*****
They buried Kar, the murdered man, that afternoon. All the castle, from Sir Henerick to the scullions, turned out to walk the short distance to the burial ground in the meadow. Saf was nervously aware of Young Henerick, but the heir to Murentam didn’t pay him any attention, or was pointedly avoiding looking at him.
A priestess came up from the village to say the simple rites. Kar had died in Birmissa’s portion of the year, so the priestess said some archaic words that consecrated his soul to join her host, to be distributed among all the crops of the land and the trees of the forests among other things which Saf could not quite understand.
There was a cool wind blowing down from the upper valley and it bent all the grasses in the meadow in the same direction, towards the north. The wind had blown away all the clouds and the heat of the last weeks. Saf could see clear down through the valley, the village of Murentam below the castle and the village of Affertam just visible. A patchwork quilt of farmland snaked between them, hugging the Mur river. Some of the steepest parts of the valley side, the towering cliffs, had shimmering ribbons of water tumbling off their crowns to the green floor below. A magnificent day to bury someone.
After the priestess had completed the rites, some men heaped dirt in to cover the grave and piled on a small cairn of rocks to mark the spot. It wasn’t the elaborate ceremony that great men got. A poor man’s death.
I don’t want to die like that. He looked around at the hundreds of little cairns in the surrounding meadow. It felt like a disrespectful thought, but it was true. I want men to mark my death. He sighed. And how was that to happen? He had lost his chance to join the castle militia, which meant in a real war there was no chance he would be taken. He wasn’t a warrior, and after his clash with Young Henerick, he was lucky even to be a lowly manservant.
As the rest of the party trudged back to the castle and their day’s work, Kar’s wife and six children hung behind at the grave.
*****
In the sleeping quarters that night, Saf tried to ignore the twins’ excited chatter. They had been chosen for the militia. Ulliam thought they might be sent very soon to clear out all the caves in the mountains. Tammus thought they would train a while longer before doing any real work.
Saf was thinking to himself about his day. As birthdays went it hadn’t been great. Usually the kitchen maids gave him some treat and he got the day off from work, but everyone except for his four friends had ignored him. They couldn’t risk indulging him after the incident.
He turned over on his pad, feeling the press of the uneven stone floor on his back, and tried to go to sleep. He was trying to think of an object that he could tell the twins to stuff in their collective mouth when the door creaked open. Immediately the five were completely alert. Everyone in the castle was on edge because of the murder, or murders.
It was Mina. Her face was outlined by the flickering candlelight.
“Happy Birthday, Safram,” she whispered.
Wrapped up in her skirts she had three oranges for them to split, and each of them ate their portion eagerly. Saf had juice dribbling down his chin as Mina pulled him out into the corridor to talk.
“Young man.” Mina was always serious, but something about her tone made Saf really pay attention.
“You’re of age now. You know about the Testing that happens during the Goddays?”
“I know about it. I know that in all the Empire less than five hundred succeed.”
“No one succeeds, boy. It isn’t a reward they get, it’s a terrible punishment.” Mina paused. She was choosing her words carefully.
“If you see any marks on your skin, like a Mage has.. or feel anything strange.. come to me first, and by the gods do not show or tell anyone whom you do not absolutely trust.”
Suddenly the corridor felt cold. Saf shivered. “What do you mean ‘a mark like a Mage’? I’m not a lackwit, I know Mages have to get their marks engraved on their skin. It doesn’t just happen.”
“What is normal doesn’t matter. You aren’t normal. None of you are. Did you ever wonder why you five are the same age and the only orphans at Murentam? Why we have never taken on anyone younger or older? Why I’ve looked after you so closely?” She glanced back down the corridor.
“I shouldn’t tell you anything more than you need to know. I hope I will never have to speak about this again, and this conversation will just be one mysterious memory in an otherwise ordinary life. But you must be careful. Very careful.”
Saf was speechless, processing. Mina kissed him firmly on the forehead and turned around to leave.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She sounded very tired now. “Please make nice with the Young Lord. Sweet dreams.”
Back in his alcove, lying on his sleeping mat, Mina’s words churned in his mind. A strange feeling, she had said. Well, he hadn’t had any strange feelings. None at all. Was that a tickle he felt on his shoulder? And a little spasm in a back muscle? I’m imagining things. This will all make sense in the morning. The numbness of sleep washed over his mind.