A Single Spark Page 5

  These were not a people that used currency, from what I understood, so when Father said we needed to provide something of value, I grew curious, asking him, “What exactly are we exchanging?” I envisioned us having to part with some of our more desirable items and I frowned. He gave me a faintly annoyed look, possibly wishing I hadn’t asked. “We are to participate in their summer feast, and we will trade some of our belongings.” He grunted, offering no further details which only proved to twist a new knot in my stomach. What did ‘participate’ mean, exactly?

  Camp was set up quickly, leaving us with the remainder of the afternoon to rest, awaiting the time before we would head into the village for the meal. Tonight was their summer solstice feast, the closest thing they would get to a festival. It wouldn’t be like our feasts or festivals, I was certain, though I couldn’t deny my interest in seeing a part of their culture that I was sure precious few outsiders would ever get to see.

  Rhian, on the other hand, was nearly in a panic. She held to the utmost certainty she would have to eat something disgusting and one of the other members of our entourage, Pedr, was trying to convince her that they would very likely offer something she could tolerate. I heard him add, “But more importantly, they are our hosts and as a proper guest, you must at least pretend to like it.” She did not like hearing that and she scowled at him before stalking down to the water’s edge, a frustrated Pedr following.

  A bonfire had been lit in the center of our camp and its cheery glow beckoned me. I wandered towards it in the hopes of shedding the chill that had taken hold of me. The crisp air and the whistling wind carried the cold dampness from the days of rain; the warm fire was a beacon of salvation against the cold as it beckoned us into its warm embrace.

  Madox arrived at the fire shortly after I did, blowing on his reddening hands as he tried to warm up. He eyed me through the mop of curly brown hair that bent and twisted as the wind caught it, dipping his head respectfully. “Lady Carys. I trust your tent set up is to your liking?”

  I smiled and nodded to him, holding my own hands out to the fire’s warmth. “Yes, thank you Madox.” My eyes remained on him for a moment, noting the details of his features. He had dark brown hair, the locks having grown shaggy and longer than most Taurovans wore their hair, not quite long enough for a ponytail that was the style of some men, but a wavy in-between that spoke of the fact that he didn’t fit in society’s traditional order. Warm brown eyes held a genuine kindness, occasionally reflecting the humor that he had buried deep inside. Unlike the persistent jovial attitude that my brother and Brynmor shared, Madox’s amusement came to light only rarely, but when it did, I was always glad to be around.

  He had come to our House only a few months ago, known already by my father through his connections in the army. Madox had been the victim of some form of dishonor though I had no knowledge of the details and Father insisted that those details weren’t important. Father trusted him and so we were expected to do the same. Madox’s protective and considerate nature made that trust easy. Perhaps my curiosity outweighed my good sense, but I asked anyways. “You were once in the Taurovan army, yes?”

  There was a distinct hardening of his features at the question, which only led to more curiosity. I suppose I should have left well enough alone, but Madox was one of the few I considered a friend, even though he was our guard. “Yes, Lady Carys. I was.” He said, his voice tight. I knew he would not wish to speak of it, but I saw little point in hiding behind half-truths and silence. If I am to trust the man with my life, I have every right to know about his past. I felt justified with that thought and continued my gentle press for information.

  “I have heard you were dishonorably discharged.” I said quietly, glancing over my shoulder briefly, not wishing any others who were passing by to hear. I was curious, but I wasn’t an insensitive idiot. “You know of our family’s dishonor well enough, Madox. You are in good company here, and while I won’t press for the details, I find myself wondering how your dishonorable discharge came about.”

  He huffed a little and turned his head slightly towards me, though not quite looking at me. He grunted, voice low but still maintaining a respectful tone despite his annoyance. “If it’s all the same to you, Lady Carys, I would rather not discuss it.” I let out a faint sigh, hating the masks that everyone felt pressed to wear. Myself included. Will there ever come a day when we no longer feel the need to pretend to be something we aren’t?

  I did not get a chance to respond to Madox when Father called out to everyone. It was time to head to the village for their feast, and while most of our company looked less than pleased at spending the evening with a people they believed to be little more than savages, I was curious to see this new culture that so few had ever interacted with. If we were to start fresh as a family in a new land, we might as well understand what the new lands were all about. We were handed the perfect opportunity with this feast, and to quote Derryth, our beloved cook, it was time to take the bull by the horns.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Someone had taken that adage literally, it seemed. A large bull had been slaughtered for the feast, the creature’s head mounted ceremoniously on a post while the body was roasting over the massive bonfire the villagers had built up in preparation for the newcomers. The feast laid out was beyond anything I had imagined, and while I had no idea what any of it was, the aromas that drifted through the village made my mouth water. The spices and flavors were like nothing I had ever tried, or even heard of. I had made the decision to not ask what anything was, knowing that it would likely prevent me from partaking, and I wanted to be brave enough to eat what they provided. Somehow I believed they would judge me on my strength of character by this simple thing, and I refused to be found lacking.

  I spotted our cook, Derryth, talking enthusiastically with one of the village’s cooks, who was smiling graciously at our elderly chef. They seemed to be discussing her spice selection and preparation methods. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of this food ended up on our dinner plates in the future, and I chuckled softly.

  Rhian was sitting next to me wearing an irritable frown, and her constant complaining was starting to wear on me. She was horrified at nearly every dish that was passed around, assuming it had to be entrails or something equally unworthy of her overly refined palate, and the precious few items she had taken onto her plate were only picked at with the greatest of hesitations and a vocal commentary on how horrible this festival was. Finally I had enough.

  A dish came my way that smelled spicy, so I took some, curious to try it. In all honesty, I had no idea what it was, but it was going to provide me with some mild revenge, giving me some way of teasing my sister. “Mmmm.” I mumbled as I took a bite. I didn’t have to fake my enjoyment of the taste, and Rhian looked over to me, almost looking curious as to what I was eating. I held my dish out towards her and nodded my head to encourage her. “Try some, Rhi. It’s delicious.” She scrunched up her nose, peering into the bowl before she grimaced.

  “What is it?” She asked cautiously. I could see she was curious, probably because she was starving after rejecting every plate that was passed around. It only took one bite to know they were tiny potatoes in a spicy sauce, but I couldn’t resist. I gave a low groan of ecstasy, exaggerated slightly as I popped another into my mouth with a deliberate and dramatic flair. “They are fried eyeballs, Rhi. Try one!” Well, my teasing had the desired effect and she screeched, jumping up from the log we had been sitting on, earning herself several surprised looks from the people nearby. Madox was on my other side and he barked out a laugh, finding my joke and my sister’s reaction comical.

  Rhian, on the other hand, looked furious. She threw her still empty dish at me, the crude wooden bowl hitting my shoulder as I ducked, clattering and bouncing along the ground to rest at my Father’s feet. She snapped angrily. “You...you are awful, Carys!” She flounced off to sit with Iolyn and Brynmor, who were currently deep into their cups, sitting between them with the flourish
that you would expect from an over dramatic adolescent. She sat there fuming, glaring at me while Iolyn and Brynmor talked and laughed over her head, ignoring her completely.

  Madox was still laughing, his palm pressed to his face as he tried desperately to get himself back under control. He cleared his throat and tried not to start laughing again. “That was perfect, Lady Carys. I know I shouldn’t laugh, but that….that was entertaining.” His shoulders started to shake a little as a renewed laugh threatened to escape him.

  I snorted and rolled my eyes, piercing another little potato with my fork. “Rhian and her over-reactions can be highly entertaining, yes.” I said dryly as I studied the potato. “Just be wary of flying objects.” I added, an amused smile beginning to form. My shoulder actually stung a little where her bowl struck me, and I thought I might even end up with a bruise. When I turned to see the fate of the dish, I saw Father glaring, alternating between Rhian and myself. He gripped the dish and rose, heading over to talk with Rhian, though I sighed knowing I would be next.

  The lecture was already playing out in my head...it would certainly not be the first time I had received such a reprimand, and there was no doubt it would not be the last. I was saved, even if temporarily, by the revelries as the villagers took up their primitive instruments to begin their music, a song in a language we didn’t know coming from an older woman. Their language was different than ours, though in listening to many of them speaking through the course of the evening, I was beginning to pick up a few of their words. I always did seem to have an ear for languages, and this was no exception.

  Father finally informed us on the way to the feast that one of the things the villagers insisted upon in exchange for goods and supplies was our music, song, and dance. That was what he meant by participating in their feast, not just the eating and drinking, I had thought with a gentle chuckle. I had thought it a strange request beforehand, but now seeing how the evening’s entertainment was progressing, it seemed a completely natural request.

  When the villager’s song ended, a blushing Rhian was more than thrilled to play and sing for them. Even Iolyn took a turn, singing as our sister played. He rarely sang, which I realized now was a shame for he had a pleasant voice, the low tenor resonating perfectly with Rhian’s lute. When my turn came along, I shared a tale of our family’s history, the tale of battle won by the hand and boldness of our ancestor, Egon, who’s many feats of heroism earned him a House and title of his own.

  I had never considered myself much of a storyteller, though I did manage to hold their attention, even those who were reaching the dregs in the bottom of their cups. It was after I finished my tale that I learned that the villagers had no books and never wrote anything down. Everything from their own history was passed down by way of stories told around the campfire, the tales woven into song, and re-enacted in their dances. I found the idea fascinating, though understood why they wished for us to share ours with them. It was a way of connecting and relating where there was little else in common.

  After I took my seat, a dance was performed by the younger women that depicted their struggles against old foes that was hauntingly beautiful, the graceful movements captivating and so different from our dances in Taurova. Some things need no translation, I mused as I watched, finding myself connecting with their history through the languid movements of the dancers and wishing now I could dance so gracefully.

  Our own family’s history was written into books, all packed into a trunk now carried by the wagons, and I wondered how the story would change now that we had struck out for new lands? One could capture the details...who said what and when, but what of the heart and mind? What of intentions and motivations? Those were never included in the Family Chronicles, and knowing what I know now, I see that that is where truth is lost.

  CHAPTER 6

  Leaving Gan’bataar several days later was both a relief and a sorrow. I was glad to be on the move again, heading towards whatever lands happened to lend themselves to a new life, yet there was something uncomplicated about these people and I found it interesting, though doubted I could ever live in such simplicity. They had been wary of us, but after the feast had accepted us with a new sense of kinship, particularly when we gave them some of the tools and trinkets we had brought with us.

  Our wagons clacked over the rough stone road, jostling us somewhat as we passed through the Scarlet Ridge and into the realm of the West. When the villagers in Gan’bataar said the lands to the west were virtually uninhabited, they had not been jesting. We traveled for a long time before seeing any other signs of people, only the occasional wisp of smoke far off in the distance providing any evidence of the handful of citizens who called this area home.

  The road wove its way through the hill country, carrying us northwest until we reached the elven woodlands. We had read the few written tales of elves through history, though their highly reclusive nature made them a rare sight out in the world at large as they rarely interacted with any but their own kind. The road turned straight west once again as we passed along the edge of the forest, and we couldn’t keep from craning our necks every time a shadow moved among the trees. To see one of the elusive elves would be a sight to behold, and our search was a suitable distraction from the dullness of our pilgrimage.

  Perhaps I was growing accustomed to sleeping in tents and making camp, but for me, it seemed to get easier as our journey went on. Rhian, however, was growing more irritable with every passing day. The girl loved her comforts and being deprived of all of them was not being handled well by the teen. She was rarely soothed from her vehement outbursts, and finally most were forced to ignore her entirely.

  Both time and the caravan marched onward, crossing rivers and passing through abandoned grasslands, only the occasional camp appearing like a lone island in the sea of brown. There was hardly a sound here, no wildlife to speak of, and even the musty smell that rose from the grasses spoke of its abandonment.

  If that wasn’t enough, the summer was hot and relentless in this part of the world, the dry grasses swishing with every arid breath of wind as we continued in our trek, trying to fan ourselves with parchments and books while beads of sweat rolled down our skin and soaked our clothing.

  It was our fourth day in the Badlands when our caravan was forced to halt. The terrain of this land had proven unpredictable, and as we rounded a rocky hill, we were greeted by a most unwelcome sight.

  The road narrowed as it passed through a thin gorge, though the way was blocked by what might have been one of the only large trees in this dreadful land. Our entire entourage fell silent as dismay filled us, eyes moving from the fallen tree to where it had once grown on the top of the rocky hill.

  “Hold up, everyone!” My Father’s voice echoed off the rocks as his hand lifted, officially bringing us to a stop. “Madox, with me.” He ordered, dismounting as the guard nodded and did the same, following my father on foot toward the blocked path.

  They returned only a few minutes later, though it felt much longer in the fading light of day. I shaded my eyes as I looked upwards into the skies, trying to mentally calculate how much daylight we had left. Not long enough, was my discontented opinion.

  Father stood tall as he addressed us with his instructions. “We are going to pause here for about an hour while we work to remove this obstacle. Stretch your legs, have some dinner, and we will be back on our way by sunset.” He beckoned a few of the wagon drivers as the rest of us climbed down from our wagons and horses, setting them to the task of hacking through the trunk by ax.

  It had been too long since we had stopped in a town to resupply (and sleep in real beds), and while I realized it was because there were no places to stop, traveling for so long with no rest stops was wearing on me. To say my back ached was an understatement, and having the chance to walk around and stretch, even for a little while, was a treat.

  Our ‘dinner’ was nothing special as Derryth complained of having no proper ingredients and bemoaning the fact she was force
d to serve us jerky, fruit, and water. Rhian finished her meal in a hurry and got up, quickly speaking the second she knew my mouth was full. “I saw some flowers up on the hill, so I’m going to go pick a few, alright? Bye!” She whirled around, leaving her dish on the tree stump she had just vacated and headed up the hill before I could finish chewing and refuse.

  “Wpfhh!” I protested through my full mouth, my surprise deepening into a frown as she took off. I watched her like a hawk while I swallowed my last few bites though, much to my relief, she stayed in sight. One thing to be grateful for, at least. She was picking a couple of red flowers that were probably just weeds, wandering slowly up the hillside as she gathered her bouquet. Whatever keeps her quiet for a few minutes, I sighed.

  “Carys!” I heard Father call out from the wagons, drawing my attention, turning my head towards him as much as I could without taking my eyes from my sister as he added. “I need to speak with you!” I sighed, rising from the boulder which served as my chair, motioning to Brynmor and gesturing towards the hill where Rhian was picking ‘flowers’. Brynmor glanced over to her, then back to me with a nod of understanding.