The Silver Serpent

The Silver Serpent by David Debord

  Published 2010 by Gryphonwood Press www.gryphonwoodpress.com

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is entirely coincidental.

  For my daughters, Kyla Renee and Erin Elizabeth, with pride and love.

  Chapter 1| Stuck

  The branch spun as it rode the river. It shot through a stretch of white water, bouncing in the froth. How far would it go? To the sea? No. It lodged against a rock. Held fast by the current, the stick seemed to strain against the immovable object, trying to break free, but to no avail. Likely, it would remain there until it became waterlogged, then sink to the bottom, forever mired beneath the crystalline depths, in plain view of the world around it, but stuck.

  “Just like life. You dream about what lies ahead, and then something grabs you. For the rest of your life you’re stuck.” Shanis swatted at an insect hovering at her brow, and cursed when she succeeded only in slapping herself in the face.

  “Are you all right?”

  The voice took her by surprise. She whipped her head around, annoyed that she had not heard anyone approaching.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” the young man said. “Aren’t you coming to the ceremony?”

  “Wouldn’t that be wonderful?” She hefted a stone and hurled it into the river. “Stand by smiling like a good girl while you boys are told you are now men. What possible reason could I have to watch that?”

  “Because you’re my best friend?” he asked, laying a hand on her shoulder and turning her to the path that led back to town. “Because you’re happy for me? Because you cannot bear to be away from me for more than a few moment’s time? Because you admire my unsurpassed swordsmanship?”

  “Nice try, Hierm.” She gave him a shove that sent him stumbling into the thick bole of a chanbor tree. “You can’t handle me. You need someone shorter and weaker than you.”

  “You are not taller than me,” he said. “And you’re not stronger than me, either.” He saw the expression on her face and raised his hands in a defensive pose. “We are of even height and strength. Fair enough?”

  “If that is what you need to believe, so be it.” She had inherited her father’s height, and at least some of his breadth. She was taller than most of the men in Galsbur, and as strong as many of the young men, making her the subject of stares and whispers among the other girls in town. “Just don’t try to claim you’re better with the sword.”

  “So that’s what’s bothering you,” he said, grinning. “You think you are bigger, stronger and better than everyone else, yet we are the ones who are going to be recognized as men, while you are still a girl. Is that what you want? A sixteenth nameday ceremony, so you don’t have to wait for your wedding before you’re considered a woman?”

  “You are truly a stone head sometimes,” she said. She could not believe that he didn’t understand. “I’m not saying I’m better than everyone else. What bothers me is that some of you young men will be chosen as apprentices. One of you in particular.” Stopping in the middle of the path, she folded her arms across her chest and turned to face him, tapping her foot on the hard-packed earth.

  Shafts of slanting morning sunlight filtered through the trees and shone in his pale blond hair, making him appear to glow as realization dawned on his face.

  “Master Yurg has never chosen an apprentice,” he said. “No one knows why Galsbur even has a swordmaster. Ham Lurel might choose Oskar, but only because Oskar is strong enough to heft a hammer. I shudder to think what kind of damage the oaf would do at a forge.”

  Shanis could not help but smile at the thought of the big, bookish Oskar trying to shape iron.

  “Truly, I think you need not worry. Most likely, I will end up working for my father. Laman is already learning to run the business, so I suppose I will guard the wagons or something equally unimportant. At least it will be a good use of my sword.” His sheepish smile and the twinkle in his blue-gray eyes belied his sincerity.

  “You know Yurg is going to choose you,” she said, resuming their trek through the cool, shady forest. “He works with you almost every day.” She omitted the fact that the swordmaster also included her in these lessons. Her father had raised her like a boy, and arranged at an early age for Master Yurg to instruct her in weaponry. But now that she was approaching marriageable age, it felt like everyone expected her to suddenly become something she was not.

  “Shanis, I know how you feel…”

  “No, you don’t. You are a man, so you could not possibly know how I feel. What’s more, you are going to be the swordmaster’s apprentice. Your father could afford to send you to the academy if he wanted. In the meantime, I’m stuck here waiting for some farmer to make me his bride. And you want me to stand by and pretend to be happy while you take what should be mine?” There, she had said it, and it sounded every bit as selfish as she feared it would, but it was true nonetheless.

  “Why shouldn’t he choose me?” Hierm’s voice was tinged with hurt and a touch of defensiveness. “It has nothing to do with my father being firstman. He disapproves of my learning the sword, and only tolerates it because I’m the younger son. But as far as the other youth my age, I am the best swordsman in Galsbur, and if Master Yurg wants to choose me as his apprentice, then that is precisely what he should do.

  “You are the best of the young men in Galsbur,” she said, her implied meaning clear.

  “Is that a challenge?” Hierm asked, neither looking at her nor breaking stride. “Because if it is, there is still time before the ceremony for me to correct your misconception.”

  “I’ll make you a wager,” Shanis replied, glancing down at the man’s tunic and hose she wore in part for comfort and in part because it offended most of the townspeople. “The loser wears a dress to the ceremony.”

  “Are you mad?” Hierm’s eyes were wide with surprise, and he missed a step. “My father would…”

  “So you admit that I’ll win?” She was taking a reckless chance here. Master Yurg seldom let them practice against one another, but they had squared off with makeshift wooden swords enough to know that they were almost evenly matched, though Shanis believed herself to be the more skilled, if only by an eyelash.

  “Fine,” Hierm said through gritted teeth. “My mother says you need to learn a touch of humility.” He clammed up, apparently having said more than he intended.

  “Your mother,” Shanis said, envisioning Mistress Faun Van Derin’s pinched features and severe expression, “would have me in skirts, learning to dance. Maybe she’ll teach you once she sees how lovely you look in a dress.”

  Shanis swept the weighted wooden practice sword in a vicious arc, all the time scowling at Hierm, who pointedly ignored her while shrugging on his padded leather vest. It was a good thing that no one was home at Master Yurg’s house. He would not approve, but Shanis had a need to release the frustration boiling within her. Hierm was, perhaps unfairly, the focal point, but he was taking what should rightly be hers. Being born female was not something that should be punished.

  “You know how this is done,” she said. “Three points or a killing blow. And you may not leave the circle. Are you ready?”

  “Let’s get on with it,” Hierm said, glancing at the sun with narrowed eyes. “My father will have my hide if I am late.”

  They faced one another in the center of the circle she had scratched o
n the ground. Hierm held his practice sword motionless before him in a two-handed grip. Shanis’ hold on her weapon was relaxed, her anger held barely in check beneath an icy calm.

  “Begin!” she said.

  Hierm leapt forward with an overhead blow. She parried his stroke, the loud clack of solid wood ringing in her ears. She felt the vibration all the way down to her elbow, and relished it. She never felt more complete than when she held a sword. It brought back distant memories of her father teaching her the basics of swordplay with branches almost too heavy for her little arms. She had always felt she was meant to wield a sword.

  She countered Hierm’s attack with a waist-high slash. There would be no surprises. Years of training together had revealed their strengths and weaknesses. Hierm continued his furious offensive, seeking to keep her off balance. Shanis took a different tack, utilizing forms which made use of her agility. She warded off Hierm’s blows with relative ease, waiting for him to make a mistake.

  The error came quickly. Hierm reeled off a series of blows that she immediately recognized would culminate with a powerful upward slash to her midsection. She risked a quick thrust at his throat. A bob of the head was all that he needed to avoid the half-hearted attack, but his footwork was now off. Something, most likely stubbornness knowing Hierm, led him to complete the attack. Or, rather, to try and complete it, because when he spun to deliver the final blow, Shanis scored with a deft thrust to the midsection.

  “Point,” she shouted, stepping back and waiting for Hierm to acknowledge the blow.

  A chorus of cheers drew their attention to a cluster of children who had stumbled across their makeshift dueling ground in the woods behind Yurg’s house. The little girls were taking great pleasure in Shanis’ success, while the boys urged Hierm on.

  They returned to their places and resumed their match. This time Shanis took the offensive with quick, short strokes that Hierm was hard-pressed to ward off. She forced him to give ground, knowing that if she drove him from the circle, she would be the winner. She took a nasty swipe at his head. He ducked underneath the stroke and circled to his right, trying to gain maneuvering room.

  Shanis’ concentration slipped for a moment as she savored the way Hierm’s face reddened at the taunts from the girls who watched them. Was he thinking about what his father would say, or was he just angry at the thought of being whipped by a girl?

  Hierm gritted his teeth, growled and barreled forward. He reeled off three vicious swings, lowered his head and threw his shoulder into her chest, knocking her backward. She pretended to stumble. Thinking he had the advantage, Hierm pressed the attack. Shanis dove forward, rolling under his down stroke and inside his guard. She sprang to her feet with the point of her sword at his throat.

  “Yield.” All trace of anger was gone from her voice. Hierm had no choice. He let his wooden sword clatter to the ground and stared at her, his eyes dull and his face without expression. “Say it,” she urged.

  “The ice take you if I’ll ever yield to you,” he muttered. “I have to go.” He stalked away, ignoring the children who whispered and laughed as he passed by. He stripped off his leather vest and tossed it on the ground.

  She immediately felt remorse. What had changed, save the fact that her best friend was now angry with her? No one would care that she had beaten him with wooden swords. She was still a young woman, and in Galsbur that counted for very little. Small hands tugged at her tunic, and she looked down at the beaming faces looking up at her in adoration.

  “Will you teach me to do that?” A little girl with brown eyes and a freckled face asked.

  “Perhaps another time,” Shanis said. “I really have to go. Detaching herself from the children as gently as she could, she gathered the swords and Hierm’s vest and hastened away.

  She returned the items to Master Yurg’s barn and caught up with Hierm at the edge of the town green. A crowd had gathered around the ancient oak in the center of the grassy oval. Before she could apologize, Mistress Faun emerged from the throng, followed by Lord Hiram.

  “What have you been at?” Faun scolded her son. “You are a mess. Your clothes are dirty and you are all sweaty.” She smoothed his hair and tried to straighten his clothing, but soon surrendered with an exasperated sigh. She glared at Shanis with cold eyes, making it clear she knew to whom she should affix blame.

  “Everyone has been waiting for you,” Lord Hiram said. Hierm lacked his father’s angular body, long chin and hooked nose, but Hiram’s blue-gray eyes, so like a stormy sky, were the twin of his son’s. “Let us go before you embarrass me further.” Hierm shot her an unreadable glance as he followed his parents.

  Shanis let them get well ahead of her before making her way over to the crowd ringing the tree. She spotted Mistress Anna, Master Yurg’s wife, and shouldered through the throng to stand beside her. The white-haired woman greeted her with a kind smile. She wore a simple blue dress, and her snowy hair pulled up in a bun. Despite her age, the beauty she had once been was evident in her high forehead and delicate cheekbones. She was Shanis’ image of nobility; not Mistress Faun with her expensive clothes and jewels.

  “They are starting, child,” Anna whispered, laying her hand on Shanis’ shoulder. Shanis’ mother had died when Shanis was only a baby, and Mistress Anna had been, if not a mother to her, a grandmother. She adored the kindly woman, though Master Yurg remained a stolid, distant figure.

  A hush drew over the crowd like a thick blanket. Lord Hiram had donned his sign of office: seven cords of different colors braided into a rope worn draped around the back of his neck and down his chest like a stole. Each color symbolized one of the gods of Gameryah. Unlike most nations, Galdora did not adhere to a single god, but worshiped all seven. He stood in front of a fabric-draped table in the shade of the ancient tree. The items needed for the ceremony lined the edge.

  Shanis’ eyes flitted to the carvings in the oak. They had fascinated her for as long as she could remember. Some of the primitive images were obvious: The sun symbol for Rantor, the whirlwind for Vesala. All the gods were represented, but some of the icons defied interpretation. No one talked much about it, but Shanis wondered how this tree could be old enough to be adorned with symbols older than memory.

  At Hiram’s signal, the young men came forward to kneel before him. Four youths from the town and surrounding area had reached their sixteenth summer: Hierm, Oskar Clehn, Natin Marwel and one she did not recognize. The annual ceremony drew families from remote parts of the countryside; families whom the townspeople would not otherwise see, save at harvest time and the occasional Seventhday market.

  “We gather to recognize and honor the passage from boy to man,” Lord Hiram said. “May the gods look with favor upon us gathered here, and those who submit themselves this day.” He turned his attention to those who knelt before him. “Recite with me the Vow of Manhood.”

  Despite her frustrations, Shanis could not help but feel a tremor of excitement as the young men recited the ritual vow in unison.

  “Upon my honor and in the sight of the gods, I pledge to uphold the obligations of manhood. I will protect and provide for myself and mine through the strength of my hand and the fruits of my labor. My words and deeds will be worthy of honor and respect. This is my vow.”

  Lord Hiram took a stone disc and one-by-one touched it to each young man’s forehead, and said the ritual words. “May Kordlak grant you strength, wisdom and courage.” He repeated the ritual with two more objects; a golden disc inscribed with a stylized sun image for Rantor and an alabaster stone carved in the shape of the moon for Lunmar. He used an eagle feather to fan each young man’s forehead in honor of Vesala the wind goddess, and anointed them with earth and water for Dagdar and Boana respectively. For the fire god Arscla he lit a bowl of lamp oil and carried it down the line, with each youth passing his hand through the flame. Each time, Hiram repeated the ritual words, changing only the name of the god or goddess.

  When the ritual was finish
ed, Hiram ordered the group to stand and face the crowd. One by one, he introduced them. He saved Hierm for last, placing a hand on his younger son’s shoulder and saying, “I present to you Hierm Van Derin, this day a man.” His smile looked odd on his usually stolid face.

  The ceremony was not over, though. The town council, comprised primarily of tradesmen, formed a line behind the table. There was little suspense in this part of the ceremony. Most of the townspeople’s needs were supplied through Lord Hiram. The town mercer, he bought and hauled produce to market, and brought in and sold most of the items people needed. Thus, there was little call for many of the craftsmen and tradesmen a larger town would have. Consequently, there was little need for apprentices, but it was a part of the annual rite nonetheless.

  “Master Ralman,” he addressed the town thatcher, “do you take an apprentice?”

  “I do not,” the small, wiry man replied. The question was posed to each man. Oskar, notoriously lazy, relaxed visibly when Ham Lurel declined to take an apprentice. Master Yurg was last.

  “Master Yurg,” Hiram’s voice had an odd tone, “do you take an apprentice?”

  Shanis bit her lip. A part of her, albeit a very small part, wanted to be happy for Hierm, but she could not. Now she was determined not to let her disappointment show. That was the best she could offer him today. She looked at Hierm, who was making a point not to meet her eye, and then to Master Yurg, who was slow to answer.

  “I do not,” he finally said, twisting his lips into a tight frown beneath his thick, white moustache. He folded his arms across his chest and stared at Lord Hiram with a defiant expression on his face.

  Shanis sucked in her breath. Mistress Anna made a puzzled sound and squeezed Shanis’ shoulder as Yurg made his announcement.

  Hiram, for his part, was unfazed. He returned his attention to the assembled. “Let us share words of congratulations with these, the newest men of our community.” He stepped back as well-wishers converged on the young men.

  Shanis lost sight of Hierm in the crowd. She was uncertain as to whether or not he would want to see her, so she held back. Mistress Anna excused herself and left Shanis standing alone among the milling throng. Her head was abuzz with possibilities. What did it mean that Master Yurg was not taking Hierm as an apprentice? Had Lord Hiram put a stop to it? She could easily imagine Hierm’s father doing that very thing.

  She felt a strong hand take her by the shoulder and turn her about. Master Yurg’s cold stare withered her. Though he was a hair shorter than her, he always seemed to be looking down at her.

  “Are you pleased with yourself?” His deep, raspy voice resonated with anger. His moustache and bushy eyebrows seemed even whiter against his reddened face.

  “I don’t know what you mean,” she said, painfully aware of the timidity in her voice. It galled her the way Yurg could still make her feel like a small child. She had no reservations about shouting, stamping her feet and even breaking things to get what she wanted from her father. Yurg was, for some reason, a different story.

  “You and my other pupil,” his lips twisted as if the word was souring in his mouth, “held a duel.” He pointed a scarred finger at her. “Without my consent and without my supervision. I would know why.”

  She hung her head and scuffed the toe of her boot against the soft turf, kicking up a clump of grass. The conversations around them quieted as people took notice of the exchange.

  “Hierm and I were talking. Well, we were arguing,” the right words would not come. “I couldn’t abide the things he said to me. He thinks himself the better swordsman. I wanted to show him he was wrong. I was so angry…”

  Her words hung in silence between them. She looked up at Yurg, who was staring daggers at her. The creases at the corners of his eyes deepened. When he finally answered, his voice was as cold as a midwinter gale.

  “He made you angry? If an opponent can make you angry, he can kill you just as easily. For all the gifts you have with the blade, you can not grasp that most simple concept.”

  She caught sight of Mistress Faun approaching. “Must we talk about this right here? Right now?”

  “We are not talking about anything. You are the student and I am the teacher. I am pointing out a mistake that you made.” Yurg’s glare challenged her to defy him. “I will not have a pupil who chooses not to meet my expectations.”

  “Is that why you did not take Hierm as an apprentice?” Shanis was horrorstruck by the sudden thought, but she had to ask. “Master Yurg, please don’t hold him responsible for what I goaded him into doing.”

  “Hierm is a man now, and responsible for the choices he makes. As are you. In any case, it is not the place of the student to question the master. Is that clear?”

  “What is unclear to me,” Shanis said in a harsh whisper, “is why you ever took me as a student in the first place.” The familiar anger enveloped her like a mother’s arms, and her courage rose. “You will not take me as an apprentice because I am a girl. For as long as I can remember, I have wanted nothing more than to be a swordsman.” She forced a cynical laugh. “Do you hear me? A swordsman! None of it has been to any purpose!”

  “It has been of more purpose than you know,” Yurg whispered, taking her by the shoulders and pulling her close. “You will keep a civil tongue, do you hear?”

  “Is this how you train your pupils, Master Yurg?” Mistress Faun’s words dripped with contempt as she glided up next to Yurg. “I always said that such a long-legged girl should be taught to dance. Truly a shame.”

  “Dance?” Her temper had finally gotten the better of her. She rounded on Mistress Faun, her fists clenched. “Lady, I’ll teach you to dance!”

  White light flashed across Shanis’ vision. Her cheek stung where Yurg struck her. She shook her head to clear the ringing in her ears, and looked at Yurg through teary eyes.

  “I told you to keep a civil tongue,” he said, still in that infuriatingly calm, cold voice. “You go to my house right now. Anna and I will be along soon, and we will talk about respect for your elders.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you,” she said, tears streaming down her face. Yurg had slapped her once before, years ago, for taking a similar tone with him. But to do it here, today, in front of everyone. To treat her like a child while her friends were named as men... It was too much. “I’m leaving this town forever.” She turned on her heel and dashed away, Yurg’s calls ringing in her ears.