Swords and Salt - the Complete Series

  Mishnal pointed to luggage stacked near the doorway. “Pick up the couple’s bags and show them to the honored visitors’ suite.”

  “The… ah… visitors’ suite?” Yanko had never heard of special suites for honored visitors. His uncle and the overseers slept in small rooms that had once been used to store whale oil, machine parts, and black powder for fireworks and blasting sticks. Half of them still held crates of food and kegs of plum brandy.

  “Last door at the end of the tunnel after the Y-intersection.” Mishnal’s narrowed eyes did not invite further inquiries.

  “Yes, Uncle.” Yanko secured two large canvas duffels to his back and managed not to grunt when he hoisted the trunk. He did find himself wondering if he was too young to throw his back out or if that could be done at any age. “This way, honored guests.”

  He trundled off down the tunnel, doing his best not to stagger under the load—or suggest that a lizard and a cart would have been more appropriate for moving the luggage. At the Y-intersection, he took the turn his uncle had indicated, leading the couple toward the end of the tunnel.

  “Watch out for dirt,” the desert man said. “You’ll get your robes filthy, and I don’t know what the laundry facilities here are like.” He sniffed. “If there are laundry facilities. The air down here is on the musty side, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Master,” the woman, Teesha, responded, though to which of the comments Yanko could only guess. She called everyone “master,” apparently. Odd for a Nurian woman. Maybe it was some custom from the desert city-states, something Song insisted upon.

  When he reached the last door, Yanko managed to set the trunk down without dropping it. Barely. He pulled the latch and entered warily, expecting crates of food. A low platform bed waited inside, however, with linen-covered side tables. Those tables had the precise dimensions of brandy kegs, but Yanko walked in with the luggage and didn’t draw attention to them. He swept a small pile of black powder under the covers with his foot. He hadn’t been wrong; until recently—perhaps as recently as ten minutes ago—this had been a storage room.

  “Where are the washing and lavatory facilities?” Song asked.

  “There’s a communal bathhouse down the other side of that intersection,” Yanko said.

  “Communal?” Song sniffed again.

  “I prefer privacy,” Teesha blurted, a worried crease to her brow.

  Yanko shrugged. “I’ll ask my uncle if anything can be done.” He opened the doors on a wardrobe against the wall, wondering if anyone had thought to provide hangers. He spotted a chamber pot at the bottom. “I suppose this will do in the meantime?” He smiled and waved it.

  “For… washing?” Song asked.

  “Not exactly.” Yanko looked at Teesha, wondering how long she had been traveling with the man. If he’d been in the Great Land for more than a day, surely he’d come across chamber pots. She had her fingers to her lips, her eyes still full of concern, and didn’t return his look. “For making water,” Yanko explained. “Do you use something different in the desert?”

  “Only the peasants pi—make water in pans. We have washouts that flush and take the excrement out of the city.” His lip curled.

  Yanko decided not to mention that half of the miners in the lower levels went down the nearest side tunnel to take care of business. Given that Song wanted to trade for salt for his people, he might not be impressed by such details. “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He smiled, though he was entertaining the thought of making vines grow out of the bed frame that night to smother him in his sleep. Father and Uncle Mishnal might prefer he study the thermal sciences, the better to hurl gouts of fire at people, but nature had a number of appealing offerings as well.

  “Do,” Song said coolly.

  Yanko let himself out and almost ran into his uncle on the way back.

  “They’re settled in?” Mishnal asked.

  “They’re… in their suite.” Yanko lifted his eyebrows. “Apparently Song can’t pee in a pan though and isn’t interested in using the communal facilities.”

  “Yes, I have someone looking for a bathtub now. I’ll… think of a way to address the rest of his biological needs as well.”

  So long as I don’t get that task… “This trade deal must be important,” Yanko said, more because he wanted to distract his uncle from delegating unpleasant chores than because he needed the details.

  “I’ve been told it’s imperative that the delegate have a pleasant experience here. Personally. By the regional chief.”

  “Ah,” Yanko said. After being ordered around by his uncle for the last few weeks, it was hard to imagine someone ordering him around, but it had to happen. Part of being an honored family was serving, even if the clan now had to serve lesser men than it once had. “Did you need me for anything else right now?”

  “You’ll spend two hours at the screw, then attend to your studies for three hours before bedtime. Check on those two—” Mishnal pointed down the hall, “—in the morning. They’ll dine with me tonight, but I have to visit town tomorrow, so you’ll need to make sure they’re fed. Offer them a tour of the mines if they wish it. The more attractive parts, it goes without saying. The grotto and the lake. I’ve got men building a boat down there, so they can sail around the night before their wedding. We have fireworks coming in to make the evening perfect. I’ve also given the sculptor girl your bunk number, so she can find you if she needs more nature information for the chapel. I’ve taken her off her regular duties. That must be completed without delay.”

  “I understand.” Understand that I’m going to be hard-pressed to find time with Arayevo for the rest of the week…

  He hoped she could stay until all of this was over. How much time would her forestry master allow her away from her apprenticeship? What if she didn’t have time to wait for him? He wondered what he’d do if she suggested running away together. Maybe she wasn’t enjoying her new profession any more than he was enjoying his own training. Yanko couldn’t leave his family and all that they expected of him. That was a given. Though… there were times when the idea was appealing. Shuck off the mantle about his shoulders, the duty he’d never asked for…

  If Arayevo suggested they leave, was he so sure he’d say no?

  Part 3

  After the endless day of work, Yanko’s muscles ached, and his gritty eyes implied he should find his bunk as soon as possible, but sleep wasn’t on his mind. He headed to the first level instead of the second, and the excitement of meeting with Arayevo refreshed him. By the time he reached her door, he fancied he had the energy to carry ten trunks down the tunnel, if she so wished it.

  He knocked, then promptly wondered if it had been too loud. Too eager. What if she’d gone to sleep? She had said she’d wait for him, but his chores had kept him busy until midnight.

  The door opened, and Arayevo stood before him, her lush raven hair falling around her shoulders. Behind her, a pair of candles lit the room in a gentle light. It was simple with a small desk and narrow bed, but it was far more than he had. And private.

  Arayevo looked him up and down and smiled, though it was a quick smile. A nervous smile? Maybe he had misread it—she was always so confident, that he had a hard time pinning her with the emotion.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d still be awake,” Yanko said.

  “I am. I was waiting for you. I’m glad you came.”

  Arayevo leaned toward him, and his heart soared—was she going to kiss him right there? He lifted a hand to touch her cheek.

  But she peered left and right down the tunnel instead. It was empty.

  “Come in,” she whispered.

  Feeling like he was doing something illicit—and liking it—Yanko slipped inside, closing the door behind him.

  “Please, sit down.” Arayevo waved to the bed.

  Yanko thought they might sit side by side on the edge, but she hopped onto the top end, crossed her legs, propped her elbows on her knees, and stared intently at him. Hm. He sa
t on the bottom end and mirrored her position. A couple of feet separated them, and he reluctantly admitted that it wouldn’t be the ideal angle from which to engage in a passionate kiss. Talk first and then smooch?

  He raised his eyebrows hopefully.

  “Thank you for coming up here this late,” Arayevo said. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you… well, almost since you left. My father… he’s not strict like your father and not so married to the old ways. He never punished me when I ran off as a child and got into trouble, not to the degree yours did anyway.” She offered an apologetic shrug.

  Yanko flicked his hand in dismissal. His father was the last thing he wanted to discuss tonight.

  “But all along, it seems he’s had this notion that when the time was right…” She grimaced. “He’s arranged a marriage for me.”

  “What? How? I mean, why?” His voice sounded whiny and petulant, but he didn’t care. How could the man take such a free spirit as Arayevo and force her into some contract with a stranger? Or maybe it wasn’t a stranger. “Who is it?” he added to his barrage of questions.

  “Nobody I’ve met. He’s from Tungstor Creek, out in the prairie lands. The son of someone Father served with in the war. He’s supposed to be a gifted practitioner, so Father thinks… I got this from Mother, so I’m not positive it’s the truth, but he’s worried about the future, and he’s hoping for gifted grandchildren. He wants the security that would bring for the family.” Arayevo pushed her hand through her hair. “It’s not as if that would even be a guarantee. I’ve heard of mundane parents having gifted children, and gifted parents can have children without any sort of aptitude. Look at your brother. With your mother, he should have had every bit as much talent as you do.”

  “It’s true that there’s no way to be certain, but blood does tend to breed like blood. My brother didn’t show an interest in anything except poking people with swords; that doesn’t necessarily mean the gift isn’t in there somewhere.” Yanko barely heard his own words. Even as he spoke, he was trying to think of ways he could assist Arayevo in getting out of this marriage. But, stuck here in the mines, he was blind to what was going on back at the village and powerless to affect change.

  “I don’t know why Father thought he had to foist this on me. He didn’t arrange marriages for my sisters. Lee Shu married a baker, and Yinyato a potter. By the fox’s hind teat, this is ridiculous.”

  “You didn’t have any warning?” Yanko asked.

  “No, he announced it last week at dinner, as if we were discussing something as blasé as the crops. They’ve never aspired to moksu status, but Mother says there’s trouble in the air and commoners will be pawns to be sacrificed in the future. I’m trying very hard not to sound like a selfish brat and say I don’t care, but…”

  “You don’t?” Yanko smiled. He wouldn’t judge her. He had always had trouble caring about the wider world, too, though a part of him was curious about what lay ahead. The month before, Prince Zirabo had alluded to troubled times ahead too.

  “I just… had other plans.” Arayevo blinked rapidly and looked away.

  She’d never been the sort to cry for no reason, and seeing the moisture in her eyes made a lump form in Yanko’s throat. He wanted to crawl across the bed and wrap her in his arms. Instead, he fiddled with the hem of his tunic and said, “I can understand that.”

  Arayevo smiled sadly. “I know you can. That’s why…” She reached out and took his hand. “I knew you’d help me. At least I’m hoping you will.”

  The warmth of her palm, pressed against the back of his hand, sent spirals of heat curling up his arm and all the way through his body. For a moment, it was all he could think of, and he may have even stopped breathing.

  “What can I do?” he whispered. We could get married first… before that other fellow arrives. What could our parents do? Would yours object? Would you? He looked up, wondering. “Did you want… Uhm, just out of curiosity, why didn’t your father think of my family?”

  The startled way she cocked her head told Yanko a truth he didn’t want to accept. Whatever she had come here for, it hadn’t been to suggest a romantic interlude with him. It seemed… she’d never considered it.

  “Your family?” she asked. “Your family is high moksu; it always has been. My mother cooked for your father and uncles. I… was your babysitter. We’re not… an acceptable match socially.”

  “My family isn’t exactly in the social stars these days,” Yanko said dryly, though he wanted to cry in frustration.

  “You’re still… By the wolves, your ancestors have been fighting side by side with the great chiefs for centuries.”

  So I should be punished? That has nothing to do with me!

  Arayevo held up a hand before he could blurt the words aloud. “Listen, Yanko, I appreciate you trying to help me, but talking you into marrying me… that’s not the favor I came to ask. I wanted to know…” She took a deep breath. “Do you know where your mother is?”

  Yanko stared at her, his jaw dangling open. He ought to close it, but he couldn’t quite manage the feat. “What?”

  “I can’t ask your father. He’d never tell me even if he knew. And he’d ask why I want to know.”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “I’m not going to marry some man I don’t know and do nothing for the rest of my life but raise babies.”

  “What about your work? Your apprenticeship?” Yanko asked numbly, still trying to process this interest in his mother. Nobody asked about her. Everyone back home spoke about her as if she were dead.

  “I want more than a life wandering around the forest, telling people which trees are approved for cutting and teaching children which mushrooms are safe to pick. I want to see other places, other peoples, and other cultures. I want adventure.”

  “I can… understand how that would appeal to you.” Yanko spoke the truth, though he cringed away from the idea of her leaving forever. What if he never saw her again? “But what does my mother have to do with that?”

  “I… Look, I know she’s considered a criminal, and nobody’s supposed to talk about her, much less be… interested in her, but I’ve always wondered about her. She was such a hero in the war, one of the most powerful female warrior mages in history, maybe one of the most powerful, gender regardless. And then the war ended, and she came home and only stayed for a couple of years before running off. Everyone’s so terribly ashamed of her, but I want to know her side of the story. I want to… I guess there’s a part of me that thinks I might understand her. Don’t you ever wonder why she made the choice she made?”

  “No.” His voice came out colder than he intended, and Arayevo withdrew her hand and tucked it into her lap. Yanko rubbed his face. “She left Father and her two little boys—Falcon was only three. I was nine months old. She abandoned us. And why? My Father loved her, treated her well. And we boys… I can’t imagine what, at that age, she could have seen in us that would have… disappointed her or driven her away.”

  “I’m sure it had more to do with her than with you.”

  Yanko’s shoulder felt numb when he shifted it in a listless shrug. His whole body did. This was so far from the conversation he’d imagined having with Arayevo this night. “If that wasn’t bad enough,” he said, meeting her eyes, “she became a murdering pirate. Preying on our own merchant ships, our own people.”

  “But why?” Arayevo asked. “That’s what I’ve wondered. There must have been some logical chain of events that would take a woman from hero to…”

  “Criminal,” he said flatly. There was no other word for it.

  Arayevo spread her hands. “Either way, I remember her. I was about six when she left. I thought she might remember me and… I don’t know. I want adventure and I crave the sea, to travel to the lands on the other side of it. I thought that if I could find her, she might let me sail with her a time, at least long enough to learn how to make my way out there.”

  “You want to become a pirate?”

&n
bsp; “No, but it’s like I said. I’d like to see the world.”

  “Why not join the navy then?” Yanko asked.

  “I’m not a natural at taking orders from people, and if you join and decide you hate it, you’re stuck for a minimum of five years.”

  Yes, Yanko was going to have to commit to those years as well, after he finished the five years at Stargrind. But his future had long since been decided for him, and to leave, to abandon his family… He wouldn’t betray everyone the way his mother had.

  “I also don’t want my mission in life to be hunting down ships from enemy nations and doing battle with them,” Arayevo said. “That’s what the navy is.”

  “We’re not at war with anyone right now, but, yes, I know. Training to kill people isn’t for everyone. What about the merchant ships? Maybe you could take a job as a cabin girl. Learn the ropes that way and work your way up.”

  “I’d be old for that job, but that’s my backup plan, yes. I’d like to try and find your mother first.” Her tone grew wistful.

  Yanko had a hard time figuring out why. And it stung that she wanted to run off with his mother and not with him.

  You didn’t ask if she’d run off with you. If she’s always assumed you were out of reach, maybe she never considered the possibility of a… romantic union. Maybe if you planted the seed in her mind…

  “Yanko.” Arayevo took his hand again and met his eyes. “I know you don’t understand, but it means a lot to me. Do you know where I can find her?”

  He was frustrated that this whole meeting had nothing to do with him, and a part of him wanted to push her away, to tell her to find her own answers, but if he couldn’t help, would she give up and stay? Marry some boy from up north? That thought was intolerable. If she went off on some quest, maybe there’d be a chance that he could find her again someday. And she’d still be unmarried.

  Aside from all that, he couldn’t manage a gruff answer with her gazing imploringly into his eyes. “I don’t know where she is,” he said, “but I could ask my uncle.”

  Her eyes brightened. “Would you? It’d mean so much to me.”