***
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.
