Twenty
Sandon grunted as the padder stumbled and made yet another misstep. Damn the animal, damn the weather, damn the
Season. And damn Men Darnak and his
whole cursed family. A gust of wind
slashed rain into his eyes and he tried in vain to blink the water away. When that failed, he tried wiping at his face
with the edges of his hood, but all that succeeded in doing was spreading the
greasy moisture around some more. The
padder grumbled again, and for once, he felt some empathy with the beast. For the past hour, he’d been running over the
message he was to deliver to Roge Men Darnak.
Well, that had been the plan. As
soon as he’d reached the Men Darnak estates — strange to think of them like
that, belonging to a different Men Darnak — he found himself headed back out
into the blustering wind and sharp-toothed rain...again. Roge had not been in residence. One of the local landsmen, once he’d gotten
over the shock of dealing with a bedraggled and shivering Atavist, had pointed
him in the direction of the Ka Vail estate.
Sandon had taken the news with a deep sigh and headed back out.
Aron Ka Vail. He mulled over the last time they’d met. How different would this meeting be? It was strange how things played out.
Blinking away yet
another watery skein from across his eyes, he tried to make out something of
the way ahead. A sudden white-orange
flash, and immediately thunder rumbled not too far away. The wind tugged at his beard, at his clothes,
staggered the animal beneath him and plucked at his temper. He couldn’t take too much more of this. The occasional lightning flash only served to
confuse the landscape in front of him, turning it into a meaningless smudge while
his vision had to continually readjust to the variations. He leaned forward, gripped the front of his
saddle and attempted to pierce the gloom.
There. Was that a vague light up
ahead? He wiped at his eyes. Yes, there was a definite light further down
the valley. Right then, the padder chose
to stop dead in its tracks, its feet disappearing into muddy pools in what was
left of the roadway beneath it.
“Damn you, animal. Not now!” he shouted through the wind,
digging his heels into its flanks.
“Don’t do this to me. Haven’t you
already done enough, you —?”
He picked a few more
terms, but the padder simply refused to budge.
Sometimes Sandon really, really hated the Return. Muttering to himself, he slid from the
animal’s back, his feet landing heavily in a puddle and splashing muddy water
all the way up his calves. Gritting his
teeth against the wind that buffeted him from every direction, he sloshed
around the padder’s front and started to pull.
It almost had the desired effect; the padder shifted, but only enough to
face its back to the driving rain.
Sandon rolled his eyes, looked up at the sky and immediately regretted
it. Oh, damn Leannis Men Darnak. If only he could see what he had wrought. Shaking
streaming water from his nose, he went back to trying to shift the truculent
beast.
Again, the animal
refused to budge. He tugged and pulled,
cursing it, but all he managed to do was land flat on his back in a mud
puddle. If he hadn’t known any better,
he might have thought that the padder was grinning at him. He climbed to his feet,
his teeth bared, and retook the reins.
There was something about leading animals that he’d forgotten. Someone somewhere had told him
something. What was it? He gritted his teeth and uttered a growl at
his own stupidity. You were supposed to
face away from them. Looking at their
face was like a confrontation, and of course, they’d resist. He turned around and tugged gently as he took
a step forward. Reluctantly, the padder
took a step. Sandon took two more, and
the beast started following. They were
underway again, Sandon’s sodden robes slapping about his legs.
He peered through the
curtain of rain, trying to make out any more detail. He’d never actually visited the Ka Vail
estates before. The continuing rain made
it virtually impossible to determine anything clearly, but he did note
something strange. Down and off to one
side, something snagged his attention.
There was a sudden flash of brightness.
It was too bright for a lantern, and it was made indistinct by the
sheets of water refracting the source.
The light blinked out, then appeared again. It seemed to fade, grow strong, and then
disappear off behind the buildings.
Sandon frowned. If he didn’t know
better, he would have said it was a groundcar heading off into the night. But that was impossible. Nobody used groundcars this far into Storm
Season. Curious. He put it from his mind. Who knew what he was seeing in the midst of
all this. Shaking his head, he continued
his trudge down the hill. When he was about halfway down, the rain eased, sputtered and
trickled to a final halt.
Typical, he thought. He couldn’t
even claim shelter, as was his proper right.
He led the padder
through the outer gates and up the broad roadway across tufted seasonal
grasses. Further ahead, it divided into
two smaller paths, one leading off to the left to the clustered stables and
storage garages, the other leading to the house proper. He thought for a moment about stabling the
beast, but the less time he spent here the better. He could find the Men Darnak boy, deliver the
message and be on his way, back to locate the Principal and resume his
observation. He’d worry about when he
was finally going to get some rest later.
The pathway split, and he
took the right bend. Shortly after the
paths divided, he found a broad railing.
He cinched the padder’s reins and headed for the house.
He hoped he’d not spent
all that time riding through the downpour for nothing. Another thing he really hated about the
Return. If you wanted to deliver
messages to anyone, then someone had to make the journey. Storms, wind, rain, quakes, tremors — none of
it mattered, and Principate business was all about communication of one form or
another. He reached down and flapped his
robes about his legs, trying to shake some of the moisture and the weight from
the cloth. He would have loved nothing
better than to be able to pull off the homespun, ring it out and get into
something dry, but he couldn’t even afford that small luxury these days.
The back section of the
house sat in darkness. Some scant light
seemed to be coming from around the front, so he headed that way. As he rounded the corner, a figure strode up
toward him out of the gloom in the direction of the garage buildings.
“What are you doing
here, Atavist,” said a pompously familiar voice. Sandon stopped and turned to face the
figure. What was Edvin doing here? The stocky and officious little functionary
from Karin’s household was the last person he’d expected to see. Edvin bustled up to him and planted his hands
firmly on his hips. “Well?”
Sandon just stared at
him.
“You will get nothing
here, you know,” Edvin continued. “The
rain’s stopped. You can’t call for
shelter. Guildmaster Ka Vail wants
nothing to do with your sort. Now I
suggest you take your mangy excuse for an animal and get out of here.”
Edvin seemed not to have recognized him, and why should he?
“And I suggest you hold your tongue,” said Sandon quietly.
“What?” Edvin’s jaw dropped. “You have no right to be here. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll be on
your way.” He stepped forward and put
his face right up close. “I know all
about your sort, and nothing would give me greater pleasure than to help you.”
Sandon had just about had
enough of the self-important idiot’s bluster.
He was tired, he was wet, and he’d been running all over the countryside
on some mad errand to deliver a simple message.
He reached out and grabbed a fistful of Edvin’s shirt.
“And I told you to hold your
tongue little man. You’ll shut your
mouth, or by the Prophet, I’ll shut it for you.”
Edvin struggled to break the
grip, but Sandon had a good handful of cloth, and he drew him closer. “Do you understand me?”
Edvin blanched, continuing
to struggle. “Help! Out here!” he screamed in a high voice. “There’s a mad Atavist out here. He’s got me.”
Sandon leaned in closer and
shook him. “Shut up, I said!”
A commotion from the front
brought running feet. Two more household
staff appeared at the corner. They
quickly assessed the situation and raced to Edvin’s aid. With a deep weariness, Sandon suddenly
realized how stupid this was. He
released the handful of cloth and stepped back.
“He’s mad. Get me free,” said Edvin. The staff members closed in on Sandon, one on
either side and grabbed his arms. Edvin fussed about with the front of his clothing.
Sandon sighed. The man was going to make everything of this
that he could.
“What are you doing here?”
asked one of the men restraining him, tightening his grip.
“I have a message for Roge Men Darnak.”
The man’s grip loosened
slightly.
“From the Principal.”
Edvin pointed at him. “See!
What did I tell you? He’s mad.”
Sandon tried to shrug free
from the two holding him. There was
nothing that would have given him more satisfaction than grabbing Edvin by the
throat and shutting him up properly.
“What’s wrong with you, you
idiot?” he said.
“What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with me? Roge Men Darnak is the Principal you
fool. Get rid of him,” he said. Now he was even ordering around the Ka Vail
staff.
“Wait,” said Sandon. “Not that
Principal. Principal
Leannis Men Darnak. His father. I have a
message for Roge from his father.”
Two more figures appeared at
the side of the house. “What’s all this
noise out here? What’s going on?” Sandon recognized the voice of Aron Ka
Vail. Beside him was another
figure. Was it Roge? No, too slightly built for Roge.
“Guildmaster,” said
Sandon. “I have a message for Roge Men
Darnak.”
“Message?” said Ka
Vail. “Who is that?” He wandered forward, peering through the
gloom. “Who has a message?”
“There is no message,
Guildmaster,” said Edvin. “This Atavist
has clearly taken leave of his senses.
You’ve seen the sort.”
Ka Vail came closer. “You,” he said to his men. “Let him go.”
He stepped closer, his head slightly forward, eyes narrowed. “An Atavist, hey? And why would an Atavist be
bearing a message for Roge Men Darnak?”
“Send him on his way with a
well-placed foot, Guildmaster,” said Edvin from the side.
Ka Vail whirled. “You shut up.” He turned back looking at Sandon
suspiciously. “I may be old, but I’m no
fool, Atavist. I’ve seen one too many of
your people recently. And none of it has
led to any good. Now, what are you doing
here?”
“I come with a message for Roge from Principal Men Darnak.”
“Who?”
“Leannis Men Darnak.”
Ka Vail seemed to consider
this for a moment. At the same time, the
other man stepped forward.
“Leannis Men Darnak. Speaking of old fools,” said Ky Menin. “Well, Roge, or should I say, Principal Men
Darnak is no longer here. He has left.”
Sandon gave a growl of
frustration. “By the Prophet,” he
muttered.
Ky Menin peered at him
suspiciously. “You’re a very strange
Atavist. And why would Men Darnak have
an Atavist running messages for him?” He
continued looking suspiciously. Sandon
felt suddenly very uncomfortable.
“I was sent with the message
by the Principal. I am called
Tchardo. And as the Prophet willed it, I
was taken on by Witness Kovaar to the Principal’s party.”
Ka Vail turned to his fellow
Guildmaster. “Men Darnak has been known
to do stranger things, Karryl. And that
Kovaar’s a strange enough bird. I see no
real reason to doubt it, but it leaves us with a slight problem.”
“Well, perhaps,” said Ky
Menin. “So what is this message?”
Sandon looked at Ky Menin
and back at Ka Vail, knowing that he had no choice. Slowly he recounted the tale of the Men
Darnak party’s ejection from Karin’s estates and the disrespect with which she
had treated the old man.
“And so,” he finished. “The Principal has sent me to inform Roge
that he will be traveling to his holdings and to make ready. That man over there,” he said, pointing to
Edvin, “can confirm everything I have told you.”
Ky Menin turned to Ka
Vail. “It rings true. The old fool doesn’t know when he’s
done. But then you would never expect
him to.”
Sandon felt the seed of anger
start to grow within him. “And you would
do well to show some respect for your Principal.”
“He’s not my Principal any
more, Atavist,” Ky Menin said quietly and calmly. “And you should learn your place.”
“And you know yours?” Sandon
hissed.
“That’s enough,” said Ky
Menin. “You will speak when I ask you to
or not at all.”
“What gives you the right?”
said Sandon. “The Prophet will see to
proper order.”
“I have more right than you
will ever know,” countered Ky Menin with a slight sneer.
Ky Menin’s attitude, Edvin,
the whole thing suddenly became too much.
Sandon barely restrained the urge to reach out a hand, ready to wipe the
sneering smile from Ky Menin’s face. He
had to remember who he was supposed to be, to retain control. The Guildmaster stepped quickly back, noting
the tension, and gestured to the Ka Vail staff.
“Hold him.” No sooner had he said
it, than Sandon was grabbed firmly again from either side.
“No!” Sandon said through
gritted teeth. He struggled, trying to
break their grip.
Ky Menin watched him with a
slightly amused expression. “So, Aron,”
he said. “It appears we have another
problem. I suggest we lock him in one of
your garages until I work out what we’re going to do with him. Let him sit and be intimate with all of the
technology he despises so much. He might
learn a lesson or two in there.”
“We simply can’t do that,”
said Ka Vail.
“Of course we can,” said Ky
Menin. “Who’s going to stop us?”
“But we risk offending Men
Darnak, and in the current circumstance...”
“And so what?” Ky Menin’s voice had become firm. “Leannis Men Darnak is the past. What do we care if we offend him? Go,” he said to the other men. “Take him.
Lock him up. Let him think upon
his blessed Prophet and what he truly believes.”
Sandon glared back over his
shoulder as he was dragged away toward the storage sheds. Ka Vail and Ky Menin were returning to the
house. Edvin was standing there
watching, a smug grin on his face.
Finally, all the fight just went out of him; he was just too tired to
struggle any more.
#
The groundcar stuttered once
or twice as they pulled out of the holdings and headed into the open
countryside. Jarid, one hand hanging
beside his seat, fingered the tool thoughtfully. He knew exactly what he was going to do now,
but he had to find the right moment…far enough away from the estates, but not
too far along their journey. He needed
to get back, to warn them of the terrible thing that had happened….
Roge was concentrating
on the way ahead, thankfully not talking for the moment, though occasionally
lapsing into brief mutters to himself. Jarid watched through narrowed eyes. He traced the side of Roge’s cheek, his neck
in his minds eye, looking for the spot, testing the action in his head. He kept part of his attention on the
surrounding landscape, what little he could make out in the darkness and the
rain. Water spattered against the front
screen, running in rivulets and waves, blurring the dim smudged image of the outside.
There! There was what he was looking for. A stand of trees lay off to one side. Mostly, the surrounding countryside had been
cleared of trees, but a few remained here and there. Here was his opportunity. Taking a grip on the tool’s handle, Jarid
took a deep breath and slowly let it out.
Then, in one quick motion, he lifted his hand, slamming the tool into
Roge Man Darnak’s neck.
Roge’s eyes went
wide. A strangled cry and his hands flew
to his throat. Jarid pulled back,
wresting free his makeshift weapon and plunged again. As Roge scrabbled at his neck, trying to dig
the shaft from his neck, Jarid leaned across and slapped the controls, bringing
the groundcar to a halt. There was
blood. Blood all over his hands, all
over his clothes and the smell of it filled the confined space. Roge was struggling, bucking, making
strangled sounds in his throat. Once more for good measure.
He gripped the tool, yanked it free and then plunged it back into Roge’s
chest, burying to the handle. Then he sat back and
watched as the last of Roge Men Darnak’s life left him.
It didn’t take him long
to set the controls, pointing the groundcar toward the cluster of trees. As he watched the vehicle plow into the heavy
ajura wood trunks, the rain beat down upon him, sluicing his face and hair,
washing the Men Darnak blood away. With
one last look at the crumpled groundcar, Jarid nodded his satisfaction, slipped
the tool, the evidence away, and turned, starting the long trek back to the
estates.
#
Markis looked around at
his companions and around at the camp in which he now sat. A few wagons, the small canal with the
longboats moored in place with thick ropes, the shed, cobbled together from
bits of old metal and wood providing some sort of shelter from the weather; all
of it so unfamiliar. Nothing seemed to
make sense any more. All he really knew
was that he had to keep low for a while.
Maybe with time, all this strangeness would simply blow away.
And speaking of blowing,
he’d been heading back to the mines when the most recent storm had descended on
him with a vengeance. Desperately
seeking somewhere out of the elements, he had stumbled upon this camp, this
small way station used by the population of itinerant workers that roamed the
countryside.
“Hey,
Marky. What you
doin’ ‘ere, staring at the water, eh?”
“Hmm? Oh, hello, Abaile. Just thinking I suppose.”
“Well, thinking too much
never did no man no good, Marky. Come get something to eat and something hot
to drink.”
Markis pushed himself to
his feet, brushed off his thighs and glanced over at the shelter where the rest
of the men were clustered around a fire.
His companion, Abaile seemed to be the main speaker for this small group
of half a dozen travelers. He was a
tall, rangy man, bordering on the edges of middle age. Everything about him exuded an aura of
unkemptness, and the same was true of his fellow workers. They were currently on their way to some of
the larger estates, looking for whatever employment might be on offer. Abaile had already made it quite clear that
they were not particularly fussy about what they managed to get. They’d do anything if it paid. Bands like this roamed the countryside,
working the factories in Clear and migrating to farm work in the less-forgiving
Storm. There were always tasks in the
weather’s height that groups like this were eager to do for little pay, some
food and a place to sleep when the day was done.
“Thanks,” said
Markis. “Have you worked out where
you’re going yet?”
As they wandered back to
join the group, Abaile explained again.
“No, Marky, as I told you, we don’t make no
plans like that. We take what we
get. We’ll head on up to the big houses,
ask around. That’s the way it works.”
“But
what about your families?”
They hunkered down
around the fire together and Abaile looked around the faces of his companions
and grinned. “Our families,” he
said. “Yes, well. I have a woman or two in a couple of the
bigger camps around the place, and I’d be sure there’s offspring there with a
couple of them.” He shrugged, still
grinning, and one or two returned the grin.
Markis scratched his
head. “But I don’t understand how it
works. How can that be right?”
Abaile reached for a
bowl and spooned himself some of the hot mess bubbling away in a pot over the
fire. He tossed Markis a bowl and said,
“There, help yourself.”
“There ain’t nothing to be right,” he continued. “It just is.
It’s about the work, and that’s it.
We get it where we find it. We
can’t be going around tied to one place, now can we? We got to follow the work, and the only way
sometimes is to be there first, or we don’t get it. Rather be sweating and tired than
hungry.” He frowned at Markis, crouched
there with an empty bowl in his hand, and gestured at the pot. “Hey?”
Markis reached over and
spooned himself a bowl of the nondescript stuff, hesitantly lifted some to his
mouth and blew on it. Cautiously, he
tipped the very end of the spoon between his lips. It actually didn’t taste too bad.
“But how do people come
to do that?”
“How do you mean? Some of us are born to it. Others, well, you know. There’s a bit of trouble here, a problem
there, they have to find somewhere to go.
I’d say more on that, but it wouldn’t be right. Just like we’re not going to ask why you’re
here, Marky, if you see what I mean.”
He did see. He still couldn’t really understand what such
a life must mean to these people. How
could anyone just drift from place to place on the hope they could earn enough
to feed themselves? Of course, he had
known about these bands of itinerant workers, and even employed them himself on
a number of occasions. There were many
opportunities within Primary Production for groups such as this. And now, he might as well just be one of
them.
As he lifted another
spoonful to his mouth, he came to a decision.
If he stayed with Abaile and the others, then he would be out of the
public eye. Here he could wait for
things to calm down, find out something more of these people at the same time,
and when it was right, he could seek out his father and put things right. Just maybe, he could learn something that
would assist the Guild and its work. He
would show his father his worth, despite what Jarid might have said to turn the
old man against him.