The Song of Gaál - Sixteen

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Sixteen ….......

Spring and summer sped away. The lessons in the yard became grueling and harsh. Kisertet relentlessly pounded at Cassava, swiping the sword or knife from Cassava's hand, pushing him with the hilt of his own, forcing Cassava to an edge where his actions and reactions became reflexive to an onslaught. Cassava often came from his lessons battered and bruised, sometimes bleeding from cuts where Kisertet pushed and prodded, taunting Cassava's small stature. Mirriam sometimes sat on the stone bench watching the two dance their intricate, deadly steps around each other. 

During one afternoon of exercises, Cassava managed to turn the dance and was soon looking down at Kisertet lying on the ground. Cassava's face flushed with satisfaction and his lip curled to a hard, one sided smile. 

He heard Mirriam exclaim loudly from the porch and his glance toward her was his undoing. Swift as a snake, Kisertet shot his leg out and swept Cassava from his feet. “Your distraction will be your death.” Kisertet told him before turning and heading back inside.

Cassava groaned and swept his arm over his eyes, berating himself for losing attention. He heard Mirriam rushing toward him. “Cassava.” Felt her kneel beside him. “Do you hurt?" Felt her hands on his arm, tugging it away from his face. "Has he hurt you?”

Cassava allowed her to hold his arm up and he turned his eyes toward her. “I am not hurt.” He watched as she looked steadily at his hand, her tiny finger pointing to a new scrape and then dried blood, and then another bruise. “It does not hurt.” He told her, gently pulling his arm from her grasp and getting up from the ground. He helped her to her feet and headed inside, leaving her watching his back as he walked away.

**********          **********          **********

Kisertet's rough physical exercises were always pushed aside once the music began to fill Cassava's mind. While the days were filled with lessons, the evenings were filled with song and the teaching he longed for. He pondered Kisertet as he watched the man's fingers on the lute. Trying to put the man with the lute in the same place as the man with the sword made his head hurt, so he chose not to attempt the comparison. Mirriam sat quietly as she too listened to the songs. They had not spoken again of the night he returned from his journey nearing a year behind them. Cassava was glad for that as he did not want to be pitied by the girl.

Final notes of a song drifted away and Kisertet set the lute down. He turned, standing, to face Mirriam and advised her it was time she was abed. Cassava watched the girl bid a good night and leave the tower room. 

Kisertet moved to the decanter that was half-filled with the dark red wine that he seemed to like best. With painstakingly precise movement, he poured for himself and with glass in hand, sat on the chair across from Cassava. Cassava watched the man, knowing that he was not yet dismissed this evening. Minutes passed. The room was silent. Kisertet's watching blue eyes unnerved him. His right hand came unbidden to his left wrist and he looked down at his knees, trying to escape Kisertet's gaze.

“Cassava,” came Kisertet's voice, “I have a task for you.” The man paused, and only spoke again when Cassava looked over at him. “There is a young man in the village south of Castle Sotete that is a potential danger to Mirriam.” Cassava canted his head slightly, listening intently. “I received word from her family's steward that this man, Gerjen Abos by name, is claiming our Mirriam as his betrothed since her birth.” Cassava squinted. “This Abos fellow is reportedly from a wealthy family in the Saligo holdings. I do not recall Mirriam's father ever speaking of a bride promise for her. The steward surely would know if this were truth, and with his most urgent message, I am certain it is not.”

Cassava could not imagine Mirriam as a bride. He felt his stomach drop and his hand gripped his wrist until his fingers curled in from the pressure. Kisertet turned and set down his near empty glass. He leaned forward on his knees watching Cassava. “You will travel to the village and find Abos.” Cassava sat still, his face showing no emotion. “He is fair haired and fair skinned, and will speak a fine tongue. Follow the man, watch what he does, hear what he says, see who he is with, and if what the steward tells is truth, do not allow the man to continue his journey.” Kisertet rose from his seat and gave a one sided smile to Cassava. “For our Mirriam. You leave before dawn. It is a ten day walk, prepare yourself.” And Kisertet walked from the room.

**********          **********          **********

Entering the village unobserved was not difficult. Despite its small size, the village square was as active as a honeybee hive. A thriving little community sitting several days' ride below castle Sotete, the land supported gardens and livestock and the village was frequented by residents of the other Sotete villages to the north. The rhythmic clang!clang! from the blacksmith, the hawking of merchants under tents and slant roofs and the high pitched squeals of children were carried on the breezes from the hills, touched Cassava's ears and continued south, out across the small plain and into the forests below. Cassava stood beside the stable fencing watching the comings and goings of the people in the center square. Heavy footsteps sounded behind him and he turned, looking up at a tall, burly man who wore a long beard and wide smile.

“Wo ho, boy, admirin' tha horsies, now are ya?” The man greeted. Cassava nodded and tried to offer a smile in return. “I've not seen ya 'afore, here wit'ya Da?” Cassava nodded again. The man slapped him hard across the shoulder, jarring Cassava forward, as he moved away, “take care ta stay back from ta hooves, boy, an' no apples for da beasties, lest 'em git drunk!” Cassava watched the man walk around the fencing and head toward the inn that sat at the corner of the marketplace, noting the man swaggered a bit unsteadily himself.

Pulling his bag over his shoulder, Cassava followed the same path, heading toward the inn. A little blonde haired girl ran by, a small boy chasing her, leaving her peels of laughter on the wind. He watched as the two children rounded the corner by a table filled with cloth and pennants. The boy grabbed at a colourful horse head beside the merchant's tables. Cassava watched as the boy straddled the stick-body of the horse, lashing an imaginary whip and continuing his chase of the girl.

Fascinated with the toy, Cassava approached the merchant's table and gazed at the remaining stick horse. He ran a tentative finger along the wooden nose and wondered if Mirriam would like a toy such as this. The merchant called out to him and he jerked his hand down, watching the woman walk toward him. 

“Bring your Da by,” she told him, “two silver coins an' take the toy home.” Cassava nodded slightly and offered a lopsided smile, feeling uncomfortable under the woman's gaze. He had some coins, though not silver, and carrying a heavy wooden toy would not be wise, he thought.

He moved away from the horse and stopped in the front of the table, looking at the fabrics set on display. He listened to the people around him and wondered how he would know who Gerjen Abos was. “Listen to the talk.” was all Kisertet offered. Kisertet himself did not know Gerjen Abos. How did Gerjen Abos know where Mirriam was, if not that he was truly what he said he was, or perhaps the man still in Saligo told him? The caretaker of her home? Why would he do that and then send word to Kisertet to warn him? He shook his head and rubbed his eye; the thoughts brought more thoughts and more questions, and he needed to concentrate. He needed to remain alert and aware and not have his mind muddled. He knew he was on Tolvaj lands. In his worst luck, the Master of Sotete would be making his rounds to the villages. He poised himself and cleared his thoughts.

Shifting his pack higher on his shoulder, he turned to walk toward the inn. A flash of colours and movement caught his eye and he stopped again, seeing a shining, fluttering cloth lifting and falling on the breezes. 

“A fine cloth for your Momma?” The merchant asked from behind Cassava. He inclined his head, nodding slightly and looked up to the merchant. On impulse, he took his copper coins from his pocket and held them up to the lady. “Ah, a surprise for Momma.” She suggested with a wink as she took two of the coins and moved to the back of her stall. 

Cassava watched as she snipped a strip from the cloth and returned, handing him his purchase. “Your M'am's lucky to have a thoughtful boy as you.” Cassava ducked his head in a nod, tucked the cloth into his pocket and turned away from the merchant, continuing toward the inn.

The Song of Gaál - Fifteen

*** Warning ***
Picture Intense ^_^

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Fifteen ….......

Kisertet's estate bordered the Suiken River. The Suiken River itself originated high in the mountains that towered over Castle Sotete, a seven days' ride from the estate. Slowly making its way through Kisertet's lands, the Suiken River lost its monstrous churning rapids this far from the falls. A small brook fed by the river tumbled lazily through the western yards. Cassava knew the land well, having lived in the manse and walked in the yards for nearly four years. The lands were lush and fertile, feeding orchards and willow trees, the kitchen garden and the simples garden. After a rain, the collective moisture would form into a low fog that crept along the river and brook, sweeping low across the grasses and circling the house. Cassava found that when the fogs wended through the trees and gardens, surrounding the manse itself, the cut stone manse appeared to be lifted from the grounds, floating to the heavens and the stars.

Tonight the grounds were clear. The fogs stayed wherever fogs stayed on dry days. Few lights flickered in the windows of the great house. A slow swirling stream of smoke from the chimney lifted to the sky, illuminated by the full moon. The light grey stones of the manse reflected moonlight where the stone cutters' work left a near glass surface on the rock. Years it would have taken to build this house, the age unknown and the original master long gone. Kisertet stayed here since the marriage of Malika to Levente. Cassava frowned and shook off the ghosts of his thoughts. He waited near the western side of the manse, watching the path from his place beneath a large hydrangea. Cassava saw Levente and his two men approach the manse and enter the stables. He waited for Levente and his men to enter the house. Only Levente made his way to the door, having left the two men to care for the horses.

Cassava grit his teeth, an angry gleam in his eye as he rubbed his left wrist to redness with his right hand. He could not go in now. He could not assure himself Mirriam was well. He could only trust that Kisertet would not deface his friends' memory, Mirriam's parents, by allowing Levente to take Mirriam. The thought caused Cassava's blood to chill and he shivered.

Levente mounted the stair and was received by the opened door. Cassava moved through the shrubs that nestled close to the stone walls. He made his way around to the eastern wall, crawling low until he reached the stone step of the back entrance. He glanced up at the small window that was in Mirriam's room. Dark. Let her be sleeping, he willed.

He continued along the edge of the house, he could hide under the stone bench Kisertet had brought in for Mirriam. She would sit and work her stitches or write her letters while he and Kisertet practiced swords in the yard. Until Eszerbet came. When Eszerbet came, Mirriam had no time for herself, rather, she would be chasing after the rebellious baby that Kisertet claimed was his own.

Looking in through the dark window pane, Cassava could see only the flickering fire from the center room, Levente and Kisertet were not in the hall as he had hoped. If the men were in the center room, he would have less chance to hear words spoken between them. Moving to the door, he gently pressed the latch, finding it unbarred from the inside. 

The great door swung in silently and Cassava stepped low and through, squeezing himself as small as possible to prevent drafts. He heard the voices. They were in the center room. Kisertet's slow smooth voice sounded to be placating an unruly child. Levente's rumbling voice was loud with his angry reply to words Kisertet spoke. 'Please, Ana, be safe,” Cassava wished, only thinking his silent name for her, the little girl he was told was his responsibility to keep well. He needed to get to the back stair. He needed to reach Mirriam's room to be certain she was there. The need to see her welled into his heart till it felt as though it would burst. The words from the center room tumbled one over the other and lost meaning. Cassava started to creep along the outer wall toward the kitchen stair when his name spoken in a spitting rage caused him to stop. He darted to the sideboard and hid in the shadow at its side, listening.

Levente raged on to Kisertet. “I saw him, Gaál! You show me where the body is. I saw the boy!”

“Listen to me,” came Kisertet's calm reply, spoken in his smooth, silken voice, “I burned the body so that it could not be found. There is naught left but ashes that I am sure have been consumed by fish. Perhaps were you to catch a salmon, you would have the boy again.” Cassava could hear the sarcastic smile adorning Kisertet's face. Levente stomped and growled, his reply not comprehensible.

“Calm down, Levente,” Kisertet continued, “even had I not burned it, it has been so many years, any remains would not be recognised. I assure you, brother, you did not see that boy. Cassava is dead.” He stated, his authoritative voice forcing finality.

Minutes passed during which Cassava only heard the faint crackle from the fire in the other room. The house was still. The long silence was broken by Kisertet, “Tell me truly what brings you here tonight, Levente? You left but a few days ago and I find you at my door at night speaking of ghosts.”

“It was not a ghost.” Levente stated in a defeated tone.

Boots shuffled. Glass tinkled. The faint sound of liquid being poured carried to the hall. “Here, brother, you do look as though you have seen the dead.” A pause. A boot step on the wooden floor. “How is my dear sister these days, Tolvaj?” Cassava held his breath.

“Fine that you should ask now, where were you when the baby went missing? And Malika, barren as barren can be. Did you know that Gaál?”, Levente growled, “Did you know you left me no means for an heir?”

“What has that to do with me?”, came Kisertet's reply.

“You made the bargain!” Levente exclaimed. “You promised your sister in return for my agreement with your plan. You ...”

Kisertet cut off the words, his voice raised in timbre that indicated his anger, “I had no means of knowing Malika was barren, Levente. How would I have known that? If your precious heir is so important, have one on the maid, she is willing enough.”

Levente replied with biting anger, “Ursula swung from the tree in the yard the morning after the infant disappeared.” 


Cassava blinked. She wanted her child. She cried for her child. He caused her death. 


“The girl is too young, the villages have no others of an age suitable.” Levente's voice filled with loathing. “I will not molest a child, Gaál, unlike others on your sacred lands.”

Silence.

“Odd,” Levente continued, his rough voice taken to a deadly quiet tone, “the infant grew dark hair, Gaál, much like yours.” Cassava gripped his wrist until his fingers numbed. “Have you no care for the infant, Gaál? Was it yours? Did you take it? Kill it?”

“Why should I care for a pauper's child, Tolvaj?” Came Kisertet's silken, terse reply. Cassava heard an undertone of tension in the voice that he knew well.

“You cannot tell me you were not with her,” Levente stated. “You cannot say that the child was not yours. No one else was she with but you, you scoundrel!”

“It is of no importance to me,” came Kisertet's response.

“No! Nothing matters to you, Gaál,” Levente spit, “except your precious castle! Where is my return? You use my lands, my gold, my guard, when will this endeavor come to fruition, Gaál!?! I am anxious for the end! To be rid of your curse!”

Kisertet's response was gentle as though to coax a reluctant horse to obey. “You, Sir, have a landlocked castle. You, by my tolerance, will receive what was promised. Now go. Leave. This visit is over.” And Kisertet escorted an angry Levente to the front door.

An hour easily passed. Cassava stayed curled in the shadow against the sideboard in the hall. His ears and thoughts reverberated with the conversation he overheard. Nothing made sense.

“Come out now, Cassava,” Kisertet's voice called from the center room.

Cassava blanched. He should have known that Kisertet would not miss his arrival. He stood and allowed the blood to refill his legs. He walked the longer way to the room, allowing his legs to become steady after sitting curled for so long. Kisertet stood near the mantle, watching the entry to the room. Cassava rubbed his wrist and looked up at the man's menacing smile.

“Come in, by all means, come in, little ghost,” Kisertet sweetly invited. Cassava's throat worked and he stepped forward. Kisertet's patience ceased to exist and he crossed the floor in two steps, grabbing Cassava's left wrist and slapping his knuckles against Cassava's face.

“Do you have no regard for what I have taught you!?! You were seen! And by Levente of all men! What were you thinking?” Each line punctuated by the sound of hand to face as Kisertet slapped the left side with his knuckles and the right side with his palm. Cassava clenched his fist and averted his eyes, a grimace on his stinging face. “Remove yourself from my sight.” Kisertet growled, pushing Cassava so that he stumbled and fell back. “Go!”

Cassava stood and made his way to his room. His face burned painfully, his knuckles white from clenching his hands. He squinted with anger and punched the door with all of his might, doing nothing to calm his fury. Yes, he was seen. Yes, he was not careful. Yes, he called this punishment on himself.

He forced an exasperated breath. His hit to the door did not even give him the satisfaction of a dent in the heavy wood, just redness on his fingers. He shoved open the door and abruptly stopped. Ana... Mirriam. She stood in his room, her eyes wide and frightened, her hand to her mouth, slightly trembling. He watched her blue eyes quiver in their tear bath and hated himself for scaring her so. She was safe. He felt a lightening of his heart.

She tentatively approached him, raising her hand to his cheek, where Kisertet's knuckles had reddened and bruised the skin. 

Cassava flinched from the contact and she dropped her hand quickly, having seen the scowl on Cassava's face. “He hurt you,” she whispered, her voice shaking.

“No.”

“Your face,” she said, reaching her hand out again. Cassava turned his face away from her, his eyes fixed on her tiny toes. How does she walk?

“Cassava,” Mirriam sighed, “I was afraid for you. I was so,” her breath caught... Cassava looked up. She composed herself, biting her lip. Her tears fell, “... so afraid … that... that you would not come back. And they were... they were loud, and I heard... I heard... ” Cassava watched in a spellbound moment as she crumpled to the floor, sobbing quietly, all the while pangs of guilt slammed into him.

To see her on the floor crying for him thickened his throat. He leaned down toward her, taking her arms and lifted her up, guiding her to the bed. 

His face reflected the anguish his mind felt and he swallowed hard to push back the growl that threatened to erupt. Kneeling before her, he took her hand. “Mirriam, I am here, I am not hurt, do not cry.” She sniffled and rubbed her eyes with her free hand, leaving the other in the gentle cradle of Cassava's own.

He did not know how to help her, to reassure her, to have her stop crying. The only thing he knew to do was cause hurt. He only knew to make others angry, to upset them. He could surrender to her punishment if she hit him, but the tears, he could not withstand. This small girl had not a wicked thought about her. She accepted what was before her as truth and promise.

A flash of Eszerbet's angry, jealous, spoiled habits came to him, so opposite Mirriam. Mirriam coddled the child, and he understood now, because Eszerbet was really just a baby, tossed to the world. And he did that to her. He himself. Three years to his eleven, she was, barely weaned. Mirriam, Ana, she was a baby as well. Seven years only. A little girl who never asked for herself, whose family was taken from her, and who was tossed into his life carelessly. He failed. She cried.

Mirriam's eyes were watching him while his thoughts wandered too many paths on their own. “Will you sing to me, Cassava?” He blinked. Dark eyes dropped to a hand, a dark hand, holding small pale fingers loosely. He stared at the two hands and sang quietly, soft words meant to guide safe journeys in dreams. Wrapping Mirriam in song, he bid her to sleep there on his bed. “You as well.” She told him. And who was he to refuse this girl who cried her tender tears for him.

The Song of Gaál - Fourteen

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Fourteen ….......

Four days' walk from the traveler's hut, Cassava met the Suiken River. He crossed the small wooden bridge and walked along the bank, leaving the path. He had passed by the small clearing where he and Eszerbet spent their last night and had quickly decided he wanted to follow the river north once he reached it. He often clenched his fists as he continued toward Kisertet's estate, trying to shut Eszerbet's permeating cries from his mind.

Remembering the husband and wife who had her in their charge eased his conscience some. From the brief meeting with Ubrin and Riata, he felt that Eszerbet would be well cared for. His mind wandered to thoughts of Eszerbet in the hands of Andronios. That thought led to Kisertet and his desire to end a two hundred years' grudge, with the same people who took the life of Kisertet's own father.

A father. Cassava chewed his lower lip, his thoughts down that path blank. He had no father. Certainly, a man at some time knew his mother, or he would not be here. And there; that word. Another word that brought nothing to him. No face. No voice. No smell. No feeling. Unwanted. A mother surely at least wants her child. Ursula's tear stained face and wrenching sobs filled his mind. The night Mistress took the baby from her, Ursula had cried and begged and pleaded for the infant. Ursula wanted her child. And Kisertet. How could he not know that he fathered the baby? Kisertet waited for its hair to grow, to see the colour. Perhaps that was what his father did, waited for the hair, and seeing it was wrong, never came for him. And his mother, knowing that the hair was wrong, left him. Cassava felt a bug crawling down his cheek and brushed it away, the backs of his fingertips coming away slightly damp.

Ten days into his journey back to Kisertet's estate, Cassava's eyes caught sight of prints in the mud at the edge of the river. The slow, twisting water path seemed to ebb, filling the shallow prints before emptying, only to fill again. He looked closer at the print that resembled a horse hoof. Perhaps a deer, for he saw deer at times, drinking at the water's edge. It was difficult for him to tell, it seemed large for a deer, but it was not a very new impression and the water may have washed the edges out. He expected that it would disappear by the night, with the river circling through it as it did. On the chance that there was another traveler on the road, Cassava moved a bit away from the river, taking caution and staying to the brush and bracken that grew along the banks.

His sleep that night was uneasy and not restful. The smallest sounds set him on edge and alert. In the predawn, he gave up trying to sleep, rose and quickly forced pemmican from Riata's food pack into his stomach. He washed his face and hands in the cold river and made sure the leather straps on his arms and torso were secure and his knives at easy access. He replaced the knife at his right hip and the small file at his ankle in his left boot.

Breezes swept gently through the trees and Cassava walked upon the dappled light that danced on the ground. Birds twitted and chirped around him. The river murmured below him. If he could just dismiss the uneasy feeling, he would find the walk enjoyable, but his every nerve was teased to awareness. He tried to keep his thoughts focused on his return to Kisertet's estate, being sure Mirriam was safe and listening to Kisertet's music. Even seeing the stubborn horse Bence would be nice, he thought.

Levente's face flashed in his mind and he tensed, stumbled to a stop. Was he gone? Would he have left already? He will need to be cautious when he reached the estate. He would have to watch the grounds and see if any other horses were in the stables for he doubted that Levente would have made the journey on foot. Would he have men with him? Waiting for evening before approaching the manse would be best, he concluded. Cassava moved under a thick copse of trees and sat. Evening arrived faster than he expected and his stomach grumbled; he had forgotten to eat since morning, so caught up in his ruminations. Leaning back against a tree, his belly settled with an apple, he dozed. Dreams of Mirriam in the harsh, damp cellars of Castle Sotete tore away at his rest. He gave up trying to sleep. Growling to himself, he got up and resumed his walk, in the damp early morning.

The song of the forest abruptly changed to a cacophony of crashes through the underbrush. Cassava ducked below the thickest growth he could find near him. The animal's run continued and passed him where he lie. Moments after the animal ran by, heavier steps sounded and the voices of men carried along the path. “This direction!” a man's voice called out. Cassava stilled. “Overtake it, Tomas, go south.”, the voice called again. “Aye!” came the response and a rider moved away. Closer they came, but slower in the ride, the brush was thick and overgrown, hindering their movement. “Damn animal! Leave it!” Another man bellows, his loud, gravely voice echoing in Cassava's head. “Night will come faster in this gods' forsaken place. We go!”

Cassava's blood went cold. He curled closely to himself on his knees and elbows, sinking slightly into the loamy ground under the forest growth. The horses moved closer to where he hid. He kept his eyes low, peeking up under his brow to watch the man. Cassava tightly gripped the knife that seemed to have miraculously appeared in his hand, so subconscious was the action to the threat before him. “Water the horses here, there is a path leading down. We leave for Sotete tonight.” said the gravely voice that set Cassava's skin crawling with chill. Anger and fright soured his stomach.

The men dismounted and moved along with the horses, taking them to the water's edge. Each step brought them near Cassava's small niche in the brushwood. He mightily hoped the horses would follow the men and step around, not try to push through, where he hid. Cassava ducked his head to prevent any chance of his eyes reflecting light.

Three, there were three men. They carried swords and bows. They carried large daggers on their hips. The filtered sunlight glimmered on their mail shirts. His thoughts whirled with strategies. He could follow when they moved and cut their throats while they rested. But if they did not rest, the horses could alert the men of his presence. He could move silently, he was certain, but would the horses become uneasy being trailed? The creatures were more aware of their surroundings than the men who claimed to be their masters. All within a moment, ideas and actions and outcomes were born and died.

It seemed hours, but in truth, in minutes, the men started to move back to the traveler's path. Cassava watched through the foliage until they disappeared from his sight, his dark eyes storming, boring into the back of the man who left him for dead a lifetime past. Silently he crept, toe to heel, following the small party. The men spoke of the deer that ran from them after being hit with their arrow. They carelessly laughed that the deer could still run. Cassava snarled, feeling as though his blood was on fire. The idea of an injured animal so easily left to suffer infuriated him, and distracted him. His foot set down on a dry limb that snapped loudly in the forest hush, and Levente spun around, his cold blue eyes wide and fixed on Cassava.

“Halt!” Levente's voice boomed. He spun the horse and pointed to where Cassava stayed still as a stone, half hidden in the trees. “The boy! Get that boy!” Levente ordered, each word articulated with crisp precision. Cassava ducked back into the bracken, tightened himself into a crawl and forced himself through the underbrush away from the path. Two men rushed down the path in his direction. He watched their booted legs hurry by, neither noticing the slight movement of the small branches as he delved deeper into the forest growth.

“There is no boy, Sir!”, one man shouts, quite near to Cassava.

Levente's reply was angry and shaken, “I saw the boy! Find him!”

The man near Cassava emitted a short, harsh sigh and moved away, his foot falls loud to Cassava's heightened hearing. A short distance away, the second man also informed Levente that there was no boy. Levente growled more words and the two men searching stepped closer to Cassava, disagreeing with Levente as gently as they could; a boy was not here at all and would not be walking so far away from the village on his own.

“Addled, he is, going on about boys, haunts and shadows,” one of Levente's men commented to the other. Cassava held his breath until they moved back to Levente and the horses.

The men convinced Levente, after a time, that the forest behind them was not hiding a boy of any sort. Fools, Cassava thought, foolish men. Their search was halfhearted. Had they taken Levente seriously, they would have seen Cassava's flight for cover. His tracks were surely there for anyone with a care to find and follow. He had to be better. He had to move beyond sight, leave no traces. His racing pulse gradually slowed and he shivered with the draining of the adrenaline from his blood. The men seemed to have searched only to pacify Levente. This gave him much to think about during the hours he stayed hidden in the brush.  

The Song of Gaál - Thirteen

*** Warning ***

Sensitive situations

Violence; Nudity;

Hard R Rating

Please do not read if you are easily disturbed.

(All characters, places and events reside solely in my imagination.)

The Song of Gaál

…....... Thirteen ….......

A sense of presence woke Cassava from his light sleep. His hand moved slowly to the knife at his hip. He peered from under his lashes then opened his eyes fully. Eszerbet was just waking as well, and he watched as she shoved off the quilt and sat atop her bedding. Cassava rolled up and ran his hand through his hair, patting the cowlicks down. 

He reached for the waterskin and drank deeply then poured water into his cupped hand and splashed his face. Eszerbet giggled. Retrieving the food bag, he moved beside her and handed her half of a raisin bread. Cassava watched as she took a bite of the dry bread, crumbs escaping her hand. Eszerbet flashed him a bread filled smile. His stomach turned and he stuffed his share back into the pack, appetite lost. While Eszerbet ate, Cassava packed their bedding.

As the trees they walked beneath gradually thinned, Cassava caught first sight of a structure in the distance and slowed his pace. He pulled Eszerbet off the path, surveying the small clearing and building ahead of them. It was a simple place with vines clinging to the dark timber walls. He could see a wash basin near the wall and itched his neck, thinking how wonderful a bath would feel after nearly two weeks of washing up in streams. The place was quiet save for the song of birds.

He reached for Eszerbet's hand and they walked toward the front door just as a large man rounded the corner. Cassava stopped suddenly, nudged forward slightly when Eszerbet bumped against him. He raised his eyes taking in the large man's stern and fit appearance, noting that the man did not carry a visible weapon. Their eyes met as they both assessed each other, dark brown to grey-blue. The man's steely gaze ran from Cassava's face to foot to head and back to his face, a slight frown between his eyebrows.

The man moved forward and Cassava pulled Eszerbet closer to him. “Well met,” the man said with a brisk nod, his hard face softening with a smile. “Cassava, yes?” The man did not wait for response but went directly to Eszerbet, squatting down on his heels to look at her. “Here here little lamb,” the man said jovially to Eszerbet, “has this boy kept you happy?” Eszerbet gripped Cassava's hand tighter as she tried to push behind him, all the while staring at the stranger greeting her.

The door of the traveler's hut opened and a small, thin lady came to them. “They are here then, and very good.” The lady placed a hand on the man's arm as he stood. Her smile lit her face and her kind eyes twinkled in the sun. She glanced at Cassava and then knelt to Eszerbet, holding out her hand. “Come with me, sweeting, come come.”  Eszerbet took a step toward her and turned back to Cassava. She hid behind his legs and peeked out at the lady and man. “No.“ Eszerbet stated succinctly. 

Cassava watched the lady and felt gradually more at ease, her kindness unchanged despite Eszerbet's obstinacy. “Wella,” the man began as he shifted his weight and rubbed his neck. “I will bring over some more wood for the fire, make these two a nice warm meal, aye, Riata?” Riata smiled brightly at the man and watched him walk toward the wood pile before turning back to Cassava. “Come on inside;” she said as she stood, “there are not many travelers this way anymore, so we are the only ones here.” She led the two into the hut and fussed around the fireplace heating water. “There is a basin in back if you want to wash up,” Riata informed Cassava over her shoulder.

Cassava looked around the room, noting only one door and two small side windows. The floor was darkened hardwood, scuffed and scratched, reflecting the number of people who made use of the place. A small cot piled with faded bedding and a dark wood bench sat near the floor to ceiling fireplace. A large tub for bathing was in the corner. Against the far wall was a small table and two stools. Cassava did not see a smaller basin for washing inside. He led Eszerbet to the bench and asked her to stay put for a moment. She clung to his hand when he turned to walk away. “Cassa, no.”

Riata turned, looking at the children. She laughed a small laugh and winked at Cassava. “Is “No” the only word she likes?” Cassava bit his upper lip quick and looked at Eszerbet, who was looking at him. “Cassa is mine Fairy King.” Eszerbet said, her little face tilted up to watch Cassava. Riata laughed. “Oh, is he now? Come come, little imp, want a bath?” “No!” Eszerbet screamed. “We will clean you up sparkling, come, lamb, come with Riata.” Riata coaxed. Eszerbet planted her feet firmly when Riata stepped toward her. “No! Not you!” Eszerbet yelled and swung her free arm at Riata as if to hit her away. 

“I will bathe her” Cassava told the lady, looking down at the little girl who was breathing heavily in her anger, eyes blazing at Riata. “Ah, her Fairy King,” Riata grinned at him. “Go ahead, go, it is just in the corner. I will bring the water.” And Cassava led Eszerbet to the bath, where after a time, she was clean and sleepy.

Cassava lie curled on a small cot he shared with Eszerbet, the hot supper making him drowsy. He listened halfheartedly to the man, Ubrin, and the lady, Riata, talk in hushed tones across the room. An intermittent pop and fizzle came from the fire. Little sucking sounds came from Eszerbet as she dreamed, her thumb in her mouth. Cassava stretched one leg slowly down, shifting the knife at his side so that the leather belt stopped digging into his hip. The bedding was soft and the faded coverlets gentle and light. His breathing became slow and rhythmic as he drifted toward sleep. Riata's voice broke him from his dozing state, bringing him instantly alert. He did not notice that her voice was louder or in any way harsh; he could not discern what woke him. He tilted his head slightly so that both ears were open to the room. He listened.

“...should never have sent that child alone with the baby,” he heard Riata say. “He trained him, Ria, I trust his ability. The boy knows how to protect himself, you saw his look, you...” “It makes no difference, Ubrin,” Riata whispered with a hint of anger, cutting off Ubrin's words. “..do not defend Kisertet on this, he should have brought Eszerbet himself.”

Cassava heard Ubrin shuffle and adjust in his seat, the wooden chair creaking under the weight. A finger tapped gently on the table. A feminine sigh carried over to the cot. “Ubrin, is this right? I know he is your friend, but these are just children, used as pawns for his agenda.” Cassava heard wood rubbing on wood. Ubrin's voice was gentler and lower when next he spoke. “Ria, sweeting, he had to send the boy. He received word Levente was on his way to the estate...” Riata's quick intake of breath expressed her surprise at this. 

Cassava clenched his fist around the blanket and his teeth on his tongue until he tasted bitter blood. Is that why he was sent away with Eszerbet? Was Levente coming to ask about Eszerbet? Levente believed he was dead. What would have happened if he was still there with the girl when Levente came? Cassava would have killed Levente, he was certain. What of Mirriam? Would Kisertet have told Mirriam to hide away? Is she well? He clenched his eyes, a worried frown deep upon his brow.

His fingers moved to the puckering scar on his abdomen. His face grew hot from the anger growing in his heart. His breaths became harsher, his ears hearing this before he had the good sense to keep still and listen. He left the thoughts of Levente to the side and willed his heart to slow and his breaths to level. He listened to the couple talk in their low tones. “....saved him, Ria, surely he will not wish him dead now.” “But his look, Ubrin, so cold and stern, he seems to have no emotion.” Riata murmured. 

“Come, come to me my cherished. Ah, there is my Ria.” And Cassava heard the soft sound of cloth on cloth as the couple laid their bedding out. He heard Ubrin whisper muffled words and then heard the sound he himself made when he sucked a drop of blood from his fingertip. He heard subtle feminine whispers and a low moan. His body stiffened and he tried to find the dark place within himself that silenced all the sounds around him. It was a place he had not needed for some time. Another sound from Riata, although he did not think it was an unhappy sound. He puzzled on this. He knew what Ubrin was doing. He suffered through the torturous nights beneath Mistress' window, ears held muffled with the blankets and pillows. Riata was neither silent, as Malika was, nor crying, as Malika always did. His stomach turned and he pressed his ear back to the cot, shutting out at least half of the sound. After a time, he heard nothing but the fire crackling and Eszerbet's soft baby sighs.

The morning came swiftly. Cassava bathed and dressed. He ate the warmed stew Riata set for him. Ubrin talked of the journey he and Riata would make with Eszerbet. They would continue further south to their own home and once Kisertet's word came, they would take Eszerbet to Andronios to complete Kisertet's request. They assured Cassava that she would be well and safe, although he did not express he held any concern.

After his meal, Cassava stood and accepted a pack filled with foods from Riata. “You stay to the path, yes?” She bade him. He nodded. “You are a strong, smart boy, Cassava, without the little mite, you will be home again swiftly.” Cassava looked down at Eszerbet, who clung to his arm. He unwrapped her fingers from his clothing and turned, walking out of the hut. “Cassa! Cassa! No!” Eszerbet screamed and ran to him, clinging to his legs and sobbing. “You stay, Eszerbet. Stay with Lady Riata.” He told her as he gently tried to pry her fingers from his leg. “No! No! No!” She screamed. Riata came immediately to scoop the girl up. “Go on, Cassava, stay safe.” She told him and nodded for him to continue. Cassava walked from the traveler's hut, his hand clenched, trying to shut out Eszerbet's cries.