The Silver Serpent Read online

  Chapter 2|Breaking

  “Boy! Where have you gone?” Mistress Faun’s footfalls echoed in the narrow stairwell. “Answer me, Boy!”

  “So much for the manhood ceremony,” Oskar mumbled, stashing the book under a pile of rags and looking about for something to help him appear industrious. The morning ritual now felt like a distant memory, and he was back to ordinary life. “I’m up here, Missus!”

  “What are you doing up here, young oaf? Oh, never mind. I have something for you.” Faun proffered a small cloth bundle. “Scraps of meat,” she said. “I was going to give them to the dogs, but I though your family might like to have them instead.”

  A tall, slender woman, one needn’t look twice at Faun Van Derin to know where Hierm had gotten his golden locks, and most of his other features. Only her face kept Mistress Faun from being considered beautiful. Not that hers was an ugly face. Rather, it was severe. Her features appeared to have been carved in granite. Her eyes were not the deep blue of Hierm’s, but the pale, icy blue of a harsh winter morning. At any rate, she was striking.

  He forced a grin and accepted the greasy bundle. Faun knew very well that his family was not poor, yet she took great pleasure in lording over him, even going so far as to refer to him as “the poor boy,” with emphasis on “poor.” Once she had even walked him outside to show him to a visitor from Archstone, and boast of her generosity in providing a job for him.

  He ignored her as always. It was not for the meager wages that he worked in the Van Derin’s warehouse. It was the books. Lord Hiram owned three books, which was, as far as Oskar knew, three more than anyone else in Galsbur. They were ancient, musty-smelling tomes with delicate brown pages and cracked leather covers. He loved the feel of them in his hands, and the odor of the old pages. The fading text, painstakingly copied by some nameless scholar, held stories that set his imagination awhirl. Hiram’s interest in books was limited strictly to possessing them. Oskar had never seen the man so much as look at one. Consequently, he had not yet noticed when Oskar slipped one of the battered tomes from the office and secreted himself in this upstairs room, poring over the stories and histories, copying maps and interesting passages on whatever scraps of paper he could scavenge.

  “Thank you, Missus. Most kind of you.” Clutching the bag to his chest like it was the greased pig at Arskhain, he aped a foolish grin, hoping she would go away. His hope was in vain.

  “Why are you up here?” Faun scanned the room through narrow eyes, delicate hands on rounded hips. “You should be down in the warehouse unloading wagons.”

  “No wagons as yet,” he replied. “I was just looking to see if there was something up here I could clean or organize. Don’t want the Master to send me home, you know.”

  “Well aren’t we the industrious one?” Her voice had a patronizing tone that would have been lost on Oskar had he been half as slow-minded as she thought him. Her gaze fell on the pile of rags. “Hand me those old bits of cloth. I’ll have them washed and your mother can make herself a dress from them.”

  “No thank you, Missus,” he said, desperately trying to think of a reason not to pick up the bundle. “Mother has dresses.”

  “For your sisters then,” she said. Her eyes locked with his, and for a moment he thought she was angry. But then she laughed, or at least he thought it was a laugh. It sounded more like dead corn husks rattling in the breeze.

  “You need not worry that it will be taken from your pay,” she said. “No, you poor boy. This is a gift from someone fortunate,” she touched her chest, “to someone unfortunate.” A long fingernail pointed between his eyes. “Do you understand?” She asked the question in a loud, flat voice, as if he were hard of hearing.

  His face reddened. “Yes Missus,” he said, his voice low. What was he going to do? “I’ll bring them along in just a moment.”

  “Oh, just stop,” she said, her voice exasperated. “I’ll get them myself.” Before he could protest, she glided past him and retrieved the bundle. Her eyes widened when she found the book.

  “This is one of the Master’s books. What are you doing with it?” Her icy tone froze his marrow. He could do nothing but stare at the floor. At the very least, this would be the end of his employment with Van Derin and Sons. He held his breath, waiting for the explosion. Strangely, Faun’s face registered surprise, then comprehension.

  “You wanted to learn to read, you poor fool.” She threw her head back and laughed. “Even if you could learn to read, you could never read this.” Again she laughed. “Do you know what this is? Of course you do not. This is Patrin’s Conquest! It’s all maps and military history.”

  One by one, Oskar tensed and relaxed each muscle of his body: first his shoulders, then his back, his hips. Anything to hold his emotions in check. The laughter continued unabated. He knew what was in the book: the tales of kingdoms conquered and riches plundered, and the quest for the lost city of Murantha. He had spent most of the morning copying the maps onto scraps of paper using a bit of charcoal. He was no idiot.

  Mistress Van Derin had regained some degree of composure.

  “You poor young fool,” she crooned, reaching up to stroke his cheek as if he were a favorite pet. “You just didn’t know any better, but not to worry. We shan’t tell the Master. Just you keep yourself out of his office. Am I understood?”

  Even if he had wanted to answer, he could not. Hot anger clamped the muscles of his jaws closed. He simply nodded.

  “Very well. Don’t worry too much, Boy. Someone of your station has no need of reading.” She whisked away, leaving him to watch her graceful retreat.

  His anger dissolved when he realized how close he had come to being head down in the manure pile, as his gran was fond of saying. Twisting his mouth into a self-deprecating smile, he contented himself with admiring Faun’s backside as she descended the stairs. She certainly was not shaped like a woman of nearly forty summers. Cursing himself, he followed her down the stairs.

  Faun left him in the warehouse with an admonition to stay out of further mischief until a wagon arrived. When he was certain she was gone, he headed to the back corner where he had rearranged some old crates to make a hiding place. His breadth of shoulder and ample waist made it a tight squeeze, but it was a comfortable spot to while away his time, and he could be on his feet at the first sound of someone entering the building.

  Cracks in the wall filtered in adequate light for reading. He reached into his cloak and fished out the crude map he had copied the day before. He held it in a dusty, golden beam and whispered the names that conjured up fantastic images in his mind.

  “Halvala, Riza, Cardith, the Claws…” He longed to see these places that existed for him only in faded ink and weathered paper. Sometimes he thought himself the only one in Galsbur who knew there was a world beyond their quiet village.

  A slamming door snatched him from his daydream.

  “How could you do it?” He was seated against the wall of Lord Hiram’s office, and Hierm’s voice came through clearly. “You know how much I want…”

  “Settle yourself.” Lord Hiram sounded agitated. “I have my very good reasons. You are a boy no longer.”

  “Then let me make my own choice, Father! Stop controlling me. Have you forgotten that this very morning you declared me a man?”

  Oskar smiled. It seemed that neither Van Derin put much stock in the manhood ceremony. He felt only a slight tinge of guilt at eavesdropping. Life in Galsbur was too boring to pass up something as interesting as a quarrel within its leading family.

  “A ceremony does not make you a man any more than that fool sword makes you a blademaster. You will be a man when you begin acting like one. And while we are on the subject, I have spoken to...”

  “No, Father! I won’t hear it. No betrothal. No job in the warehouse. I want to learn the sword. Just because I do not choose your life does not make me less of a man.”

  The bang he heard was most likely Hiram’s fist on his desk.

/>   “What makes you believe you can apprentice the swordmaster when you cannot even best a girl? Oh yes, I have heard about your little duel, as has most everyone else in town. A fine show indeed. When I went to see your precious Master Yurg yesterday, I believed I would have to persuade him with gold, but it turns out he had already decided not to take you on. What say you to that?”

  Oskar winced. If Hiram was telling the truth, that bit of news would cut Hierm to the quick. He did not hear the young man’s reply because a wagoneer, a paunchy fellow with a sour face and gray-streaked brown hair, chose that very moment to pull his wagon into the warehouse. With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet.

  Some day he would escape from all of this.

  Shanis sat alone. A single candle cast long shadows across her sparsely furnished room. She stared at nothing, her lips mouthing curses at unseen recipients. A deep growl in the pit of her stomach interrupted the silence. The aroma of roast venison still hung in the air, but she was not about to eat. Perhaps after Papa went to bed.

  Rising from her chair, she moved the three steps across the room to her bed, where her belongings lay in a heap. Twice already, she had packed everything, once even going so far as to don her travel cloak, and twice she had changed her mind. Now the urge rose anew.

  Her sword hung in its scabbard on a post at the foot of the bed. She drew the blade with loving care and held it aloft, watching the candlelight waver on its shiny surface.

  “Do you ever put that thing down?”

  She leapt to her feet and thrust the sword in front of her as if preparing to ward off an attack. So much of Master Yurg’s training was ingrained her that she felt she scarcely needed to think with a sword in her hand.

  Chin cupped in his hands, Hierm leaned on the windowsill, beaming like a fool. “Careful, or you’re going to hurt me one of these days.” He heaved his lanky form over the sill and fell hard on the dirt floor.

  “What do you want, hairy mule?” She turned her back so he would not see her smile, and sheathed her sword. It slid home with a wicked whisper.

  “Not much.” He shifted into a sitting position, his back against the log wall beneath the window. “I just thought I’d give you the chance to apologize.”

  “Apologize to you? I’d sooner...” She clenched her fist as the anger shot through her. Then she saw his impudent grin and relaxed. “You’re right. I apologize.”

  Hierm looked as though he had been run over by one of his father’s wagons. He clutched his chest, crumpled to the floor and began twitching. His foot struck the wall with a loud thump.

  “Sorry,” he whispered, sitting back up and brushing his cloak.

  “Don’t worry. I’ve been hitting and throwing things for most of the evening. Papa started ignoring me after a while.” As if to emphasize her point, she aimed a fierce kick at the wall between her room and Papa’s. The thud resounded through the modest cabin, but predictably, her father ignored her.

  “Your father builds a solid house.” Hierm whispered, still seated on the floor.

  “I don’t give him much choice,” Shanis laughed. “I’ve kicked a few walls and doors in my lifetime.”

  “Remember when he made you sleep in the barn for a week?” Hierm rolled onto his back and laced his fingers behind his neck. “It was wintertime, as I recall.”

  “Don’t remind me. I nearly froze.” She shivered at the memory, still feeling the cold seeping into her bones. She had thought she would never be warm again.

  “Considering the condition of your room, I dare say you were better off in the barn.” Hierm’s eyes danced with mischief.

  “It wasn’t my fault. Thatch just makes for a weak roof.” Shanis shielded her face from her friend’s incredulous stare.

  “Shanis, you climbed onto the roof and hacked a hole in it with your sword.”

  “Not a large hole. I fell through before I could do much damage.” She paused. “Of course that made me so mad I threw a chair and broke it.” Papa was so angry.

  “He laughed about it when he told my father.” Hierm smiled and stared at his boots. “Did you know that you’re the reason you don’t have glass in your windows? He told my father that he had set aside…”

  “Wait! Papa laughed?” Stunned, Shanis dropped to the floor alongside Hierm. “But he made me sleep in the barn...with bugs.”

  “He thought it was what you deserved. My father suggested that you be put out with the pigs.” Hierm grimaced as he spoke of his father. “You do sometimes get a bit out of control.”

  “Tonight was another of those times,” she said, forcing a smile as she sank to the floor next to him. “I asked him why he made me spend my life learning the sword when he knew I could be anything more than someone’s wife. He said he could not talk about it, and that I should trust him. I started screaming, and he told me that my mother would not approve of my behavior. That’s when I started throwing things.” Hierm chuckled, but she could not share his mirth. “I don’t even remember my mother, and he never talks about her. Why now? None of it makes any sense.”

  A warm tear slid down her cheek. She tasted salt in the corner of her mouth. Before she could wipe her face, she felt Hierm’s arm around her shoulders, pulling her close to him. She lay her head on his shoulder and tried to imagine they were children again, exploring the forests, battling imaginary monsters with swords of reed plucked from the banks of the Vulltu. She could be anything she wanted back then, but now she was a young woman and everything had changed. Rather, nothing at all had changed. Galsburans would always be the same. One of them in particular.

  “How is your loving father?” she asked, straightening and pulling away from Hierm. “Still pretending I’m invisible?”

  “He took notice of you today,” Hierm said. “I got the rough edge of his tongue for losing to you.” He was silent after that. For so long, in fact, that she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Finally, he took a deep breath. “My father asked Master Yurg not to make me his apprentice. He wants me to join the family business. He thinks the sword was just childish folly.”

  A sudden determination filled her, and she sprang to her feet. Taking him by the hand, she hauled him up to stand in front of her. “Hierm, I will never be anything if I don’t get out of here. Perhaps you should do the same.” She placed a finger across his lips before he could reply. “You need to be home. We’ll talk soon.” With that, she gave him a rough shove toward the window. He climbed out and headed down the path toward the road, with only a single glance back. She leaned out the window to watch him go. Diamond stars scattered across a velvet sky colored the world a faint gray. Elbows propped on the sill, she watched until his tall, lean form faded into the darkness.