Two Queens (Seven Heavens Book 1) (11 page)

He let her down at the cabin. His mom stood at the door, wondering at the visit, but in a glance changed to one of unabashed welcome. “Enda, dear, welcome.” She led her in the house.

Orion knew better than to follow, given his mother's parting look, so he rode to the stream and let Kerry drink. He lay there, listening to the water gurgle on its way downhill, and thought about the horsemen. He wanted to hit them.

Was he just being rude, a stupid peasant? Of course people from different places acted differently, and why blame them: shouldn't he, of all people, know that? But the look in Kerdae's eyes came back. It was not he alone that thought so. The way they talked to her. Worse, about her. Like she was a thing, not a person. His friend.

He sighed. Maybe that was why his mother left. Maybe the young lord and the Heir of Westernesse were not that different. Maybe the whole world was cracked. He shuddered, the choking dust of this one afternoon sifting down over all he had heard.

But this was just one person. Maybe someday he could go west. He would know what a peasant felt like when a noble talked over him. He would know the peasant's pride, love of his family, his understanding and love-hate of his lot in life.

As the sun fell he walked through the woods, silent. What could he do? Nothing came to mind. He wondered what his mother thought. She would know, if anyone did, but how could he explain his thoughts to her? He couldn't explain them to himself.

Nothing was said of the matter until supper was underway. Devlin spoke up. “I will be gone early tomorrow for some weeks. On a hunting trip.”

“This is sudden. What will you be hunting?” Astra asked. Orion stiffened at her expression.

“I don't know. Some lords of Anatolia hired me as a guide.” He took another bite.

Enda, Orion, and Astra all started. Devlin chewed for awhile then, noticing the silence, looking up. “What?”

“The same men who were insulting our children this afternoon?” Astra asked. There was ice in her voice.

Delvin gulped. “Children?” He looked from Orion to Enda. “Oh, I'm sorry. It all makes sense now.” He hurried on. “I mean, no sense at all. Those senseless men... with no sense.”

Silence.

“I just figured if they want to spend money I may as well take it,” he said lightly. No good.

He tried again, “I mean, I do know where every weak cliff edge and quicksand pit is between here and Mt. Finola.”

The women relaxed a little bit.

“Also, they'll be gone in the morning and no more trouble. No more trouble at all.”

“Some weeks you said?” Astra asked.

“Yes. I would have asked you but, this is what we've been waiting for, right? I mean, I used to do this before we had the kardja herd.”

“Exactly,” Astra said, then she blushed.

“I'll be fine,” he said with a pointed look, “now let's not ruin our time together. I gave them a two-for-one deal, told them Orion was almost as handy as I was and lighter on his feet. Astra, at the price he promised we'll be set. A new start.”

Orion quickly looked around, trying to read their faces without his gaze being returned. The two parents' eyes were locked and Enda was looking at her hands.

“You're right,” she finally said. “It is fortunate.”

“Orion?” Enda asked.

Devlin gulped again.

“Why don't you tell her, Orion?” Astra said with emphasis on his name. “Go outside. It's still light and she's been cooped up in here for hours.”

Orion and Enda walked outside. “Orion? Is that your name?” she asked. He explained it to her.

She was very interested. “My mother was from far away west, too. I wonder if she would call me something different.”

“You never told me that.”

“You never told me your name.”

“I didn't know until recently.” He picked up a stick and swung at the grass. “What was she like?”

“My mother? I don't know. She died before we came here and I was just a baby. I imagine she's just like your mother, but with red hair.”

Nine

Kerdae didn't send for Enda. Orion wasn't two bites into breakfast before Devlin spoke through the day's happenings. Orion was to take Kerry and ride by the Western Spire, load her up with cheeses and dried meats bought from herders there, and meet his father and the Anatolians further east on one of Mt Finola's meadows. From there Devlin didn't say more. Orion guessed they would travel along the crags from water to water or as Anatolian whim dictated.
Devlin left before Orion was done breakfast. Kerry was already awake when he finished, a few grass stalks in her mouth. “Come on, girl,” he said and slipped the leather halter over her nose. With a quick jump and twist he was on her back. He directed her northeast by east and gave her lots of slack.

He wondered what game they would find. Only those seeking vengeance after a mauling sought one creature in particular: otherwise, one came across all sorts on the high ground.

That was what local wisdom held, anyways. Farmers on the westward plains kept the kardja on the hillsides; the kardja, in turn, pushed the human-shy wildlife further up the mountain. Orion hadn't heard what the Anatolians wanted. Bear would be in lower valleys not far from trout-filled streams, mountain sheep high on the peaks where few others ventured, and the rest of the hunter's desire spread between.

Orion thought they were going on a hunting trip. Why had Devlin asked for him to stock up so much food? Either they would be hunting for a very long time or his father didn't think much of the Anatolians' skill.

The day passed quietly. He had almost forgotten what it was like. No other human to talk to, listen to, or mind. It was delightful. The crisp morning air of early fall stimulated his lungs. A few times he jumped off Kerry to jog along with her, stirring the blood through his legs. It was no far journey for kardja and rider but it had been awhile. He was not a freeman responding to Liam's muster and there was no need to rush.

He flung himself on the ground and napped for a half hour in the late morning. Kerry drank at the nearby pool and wandered about, cropping the grass here and there. He woke, watched her graze for some minutes, then turned to see the trees above him. Leaves looked different from directly underneath than sideways. The light greens, nowhere tinted with the soon-to-come reds and golds, were no longer hid by their darker topsides.

He stirred himself and in a moment was off again on Kerry. An hour later he saw the Western Spire ahead. Another hour of wandering through meadows brought him to a herder's camp. They had a dozen kardja in close view with more clustered further away. Orion wavered between jealousy at their good fortune and pride for Kerry's self-evident superior breeding. And training. These were truly just overgrown sheep. But kardja nonetheless, and enough to keep a family fed and clothed.

As the saying went: twenty kardja, liberty; ten kardja, a livelihood; one kardja, a laughingstock. More than twenty was rare, most often with families with many children. On the other end, the only people with one kardja were lowlanders buying on a whim. The kardja keepers, or Khardjin as they used to call themselves, could not stomach such thievery of what should always be Anatolian. They despised the seller even more than the buyer.

All this flashed like summer lightning through Orion's mind as the herders—an old woman, her daughter too—looked him over. He showed them the shekels Devlin had given him and was led back into the tent. At the old woman's barking the young woman, wearing three strings of beads, flipped up a slashed pelt to grab some sacks beneath. Daughter-in-law. Orion felt embarrassed: it was not polite to see someone arranging her bed for whatever reason. Especially as her husband was not present.

He nodded, handed over his money, and walked back to Kerry. He asked for some string and proceeded to bundle the goods on her as they arrived. Once he reached for a sack and touched the woman's hand. They both pulled back their hands as if stung. Orion was glad the old crone did not see this impropriety.

Orion nodded his thanks and left. He wondered if his father's mother was ever like this old woman: old and cranky, a life of bitter disappointment one would think. Never happy. He'd seen enough of her sort on market days, but that was with benefit of diverting events. The other, maybe a year older than himself, bulging at the girdle, her eyes listless, only saving the spark of fear at their touch.

If it hadn't been for his mother, would this be his life? Is this who he would be in a few years, when Devlin's strength faded and he took himself a wife? He wondered if Enda would have that worn saddle look with her first child. Maybe it was the daughter-in-law's second. More children died than lived, it seemed.

He pushed these thoughts aside. Not today. Today he joined rich, well-fed young nobles. They would leave the life of the kardja-keeper behind.

For a split second Orion felt he understood them. Perhaps all they saw of life was old and decrepit and wearing out faster than water seeps through the hands. Why were they so reckless? If all died, why not? Then he was back to hating them. Their wealth, their easy lives, their camaraderie. Life wasn't fair.

Orion met up with the group as planned, with some trepidation. It felt strange to be at someone's beck and call and that someone not his parents. Was that what working with a weaver would be like? It was stranger still to see his father in such a position. His father bore it with good grace, better than Orion's. Perhaps he was able to stave off the thrill of the chase. Orion couldn't. For all his naivety, a couple trips with his father had shown him enough to despise the lowlanders' poor skill.

He learned to keep Kerry out of the way of their horses. The high-bred, sensitive animals found her presence disquieting. Kardja were social animals. Often poorer herders had mixed kardja and sheep herds: the former to provide some sense and defense against wolf bands, the latter to augment the fleece harvest. Though Kerry had never interacted with horses before, rarely seeing one, Orion didn't notice any dislike in her movements.

The horses' masters were less understanding and slower to appreciate her qualities. It was on the third day when Orion felt his anger reach a new height. The group had already ignored Devlin's advice thrice that day as to how to spring and approach their quarry. The young lord, named Riley, insisted on flushing it—a large bighorn sheep whose fresh tracks they had seen that morning—with their superior numbers deciding the advantage. Orion gathered this was how they hunted foxes from what they said. He wondered if they had any strategy other than be stronger and take whatever was wanted.

Devlin tried explaining the situation (their horses were not racing on level ground, the riders didn't know the terrain, and the sheep spooked easily and could keep the dogs off, if they had dogs worth speaking of) but could not find the perfect mix of the polite and emphatic. Riley found him impolite and inexpert and so heard nothing.

The horsemen fanned out and left father and son behind. Orion's ears still burned at how his father had been treated.

“Hold your temper, son. These boys need gentle handling.”

“Gentle? That is not the quality I would have mentioned. They'll blame you when they regroup with nothing, just like yesterday.”

“If I can't handle a few ill-favored words thrown my way, son, I should be as ill-equipped as those nobles. You'll run into their sort often enough, though rare for here. The mountain is too hard to let false notions survive long.”

Devlin tilted his head as a horn sounded away north of them. After the echoing responses died down into the crash of distant brush he continued. “I'm not here to be liked. I'm not even here for the hunt. I'm here because I know winter's coming and this is what I can do to prepare for it. Anything else—well, Orion, you ever seen one of those fat lowlander cows?”

He shook his head.

“They do nothing but chew, chew, chew. Like kardja they chew afterward too. Now down in the lowlands the ground gets really wet on account of there being no place for the water to go, and the bugs like that. So these bugs go after the cows and bother them all day long. What do you think the cows do?”

“Scratch themselves against a tree?”

Devlin laughed, hard. “You've seen too many bears. No, these cows just keep eating and eating.”

“They don't do anything?”

“Their tail swings about and slaps at them. Won't let the bugs have it easy. But that's it. Only the smallest part of their energy goes to dealing with the little bugs.”

Orion laughed. “So it's not worth getting angry at the little bugs who hired us.”

Devlin smiled. “No. We're the bugs. But they don't care what we think, they just slap at us. We just dance to their tune and take their money.”

Orion didn't know what he thought of being a dancing bug.

“All depends on how you look at it. Sometimes you need to become a pig.”

“A what?”

“A pig, like a boar. They dive right into the mud. No bugs can get to their sweet blood through that.”

“Ewww.”

“Trust me, it works. The moment I married your mother all the gossips gave me up for lost and never bothered me again. So horrified they were speechless.” He tousled Orion's hair. “Not that I'm comparing your mother to mud.”

The horns faded somewhat as the eager hunters left them. Devlin and Orion meandered along behind, reacquainting themselves with that part of the mountain. Here and there they pointed out flotsam and other havoc wreaked by the spring flooding. Kerry walked along behind them, now grazing, now walking on ahead.

An hour or so passed. No other horsemen had regrouped with the one whose trail they followed but ahead the low din of a commotion reached their ears. Several horns sounded together, then silence. Father and son rounded the spur of a mountain and came upon the hunters.

They stood there, some still horsed, two standing on the edge of a bench. It was a small outcropping of rock, unfettered by trees, giving a passable view at the surrounding dips and hills that made up the landscape. Orion noted to himself the lack of any bighorn and steeled himself for rough treatment.