Gattlin lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling late into the night. Nothing felt right. Thoughts floated through his mind, each one hurting more than the last. Asabet, his mother, filled every one.
He stood up suddenly, throwing on a shirt, tying on his boots. He grabbed his knife and his rucksack and cloak and leapt out the front door into the night air.
…
The following morning broke clear and bright. Verdeyan lay on the roof, letting the sunlight soak into her skin. A harsh voice broke the silence.
“Gattlin! Where are you?” Jonalla stormed up the stairs.
“Wench! On your feet! Get me something to eat!”
She grabbed Verdeyan by the arm. The girl gasped as Jonalla jerked her upright.
“My son needs breakfast. Now!””
Verdeyan stumbled down the stairs, preparing for a long day beneath Jonalla’s ever-watchful gaze.
In the kitchen, she fumbled with a petrified wood bowl, pouring water in it, then placing several eggs in the water.
Over the fire, she brought it to a boil, listening to Jonalla’s footsteps in her room overhead.
She allowed the eggs to boil five minutes, then removed them from the fire. After allowing them to cool, she peeled them, then sliced them in two. Then Verdeyan set them on a plate and placed martinells around them.
“Breakfast is ready,” Verdeyan called when she finished.
Jonalla came down the stairs, frowning.
“I will not be shouted at,” she reprimanded, eyeing the food.
Verdeyan stood, silently holding the plate.
“If I’m lucky, it will be edible. You take Aspen.” Jonalla snatched the plate from her.
Verdeyan picked up the child as he teetered down the stairs. She sat on the beaten lounge, holding him.
“Your master,” Jonalla said, “My indecent failure of a brother, has left, you know.”
Verdeyan nodded, not making eye contact.
“And I have no way to know when he will return.” She took a bite of egg.
Verdeyan watched hungrily.
“I am going to town this morning. You will come with me.”
She finished her meal, shoving the plate at Verdeyan.
“Clean this up. And fix Aspen some gruel.”
An hour later, a dressed and fed trio appeared at the door of the house.
They crossed the catwalks and clambered up the stairs.
By the time they reached the summit of the stairs, Verdeyan’s feet ached. Her back throbbed from holding Aspen.
The cold wind howled as they walked across the market square, all but deserted by the buyers who had opted to stay warm indoors.
Jonalla hurried them into a commercial building on the far side, ignoring the old men sitting on the porch who greeted them.
Inside, a woman in a green silk robe sat by a fire. She had her feet up on a stool, enjoying the warmth.
She looked up slowly when they walked in. “Oh, hello, Jonalla, fancy seeing you here,” she said, smiling.
“Hello, Shakoba.” Jonalla didn’t smile.
“Jonalla, I am truly sorry about your mother,” Shakoba continued.
“Yes, yes,” she nodded dryly.
“So, what can I do for you?” Shakoba said, trying vainly to set aside the awkwardness.
“I need your input.”
Jonalla pointed Verdeyan to step outside onto the porch, taking Aspen in her arms.
“Oh, really? Well, that’s what I do. So. Young or old?”
“I don’t care.”
“Let me guess, going for rich then. Hmm, I know of a man. Naolth, the woodcarver is a widow, wealthy. I will go with you to his home immediately if you wish,” Shakoba said.
Jonalla nodded.
They turned to walk away, across the square. On the far side lay the woodworker’s, where men sawed through blocks of oak with saws made from mullar bones.
In the saw yard, Shakoba approached a man who held a large blueprint. He was waving his arms, shouting, “No, no, to the left!”
Verdeyan suppressed a laugh at the irate man.
“Yes miss?” he said as he saw the four approaching.
“I’m sorry we caught you at a bad time,” Shakoba began, “but there’s someone who would like to speak to you.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, pulling off his hat to wipe his brow.
He ushered them into a corner away from the workmen, where the ground was littered with chips of wood and sawdust. Aspen sneezed.
“This is Jonalla, daughter of Asabet. She wishes to be your bride,” Shakoba said, beaming.
“Then we shall be married in four day’s time,” Naolth said, extending his hand to Jonalla, who took it, a satisfied smile upon her face.
“I’ll show you to her home, if you need to speak with her further,” Shakoba said.
With that, they headed away from the saw yard, back into the square.
Jonalla spotted two men, a brown haired one followed by a blond.
It was Lesu and the man from the funeral.
She hurried forwards, a plan forming in her mind.
“Wait, I need to speak to you,” she called.
Lesu and the man turned around, surprise tinting their features.
“You were at the funeral,” Jonalla said shortly.
“Yes. Is it me you wish to speak to?”
“Yes. I want to take you up on your offer.”
“Ah, yes.” Rosh’s eyes sparked with interest.
Verdeyan took a step back, setting Aspen on his feet.
“Come here,” Jonalla commanded her.
Verdeyan stood transfixed by fear. She recognized the man. She’d seen that leopard-skin robe before.
“Come here!”
“No. Leave me alone, please,” she said, backing away.
Rosh shrugged. “I saw her at the funeral. She needs discipline, though.
I’ll make a flat offer of four hundred blue johls.”
“Six hundred, or nothing,” Jonalla fired.
“Five-fifty then. We have a deal. I will come to your place of residence this afternoon to pick her up.”
Rosh nodded solemnly as he walked away.
Verdeyan’s vision became blurred as silent tears welled up in her eyes.
She slowly made her way behind Jonalla, down the long stairs back to the house.
…
Verdeyan stood in the kitchen, trembling in her tunics. She wore both layered over one another as she had no bag in which to carry them.
“There you are. Wench. You have a new master now. Go on.” Jonalla said coldly. Verdeyan shivered, hanging her head as the door creaked open.
A tall man with deep blond hair stood, wrapped in a leopard-skin robe stepped forwards.
She fell to her knees, her breath catching in her throat.
Jonalla laughed darkly, running the coins in the basket through her fingers. Large carved pieces of amber clinked against each other, and she laughed.
“Thankyou, Rosh, is it?”
“Yes. I’ve needed a new slave for work in the lower trees. I was hoping for a flight-ready one, but I suppose I will have to find other employment for her until her flight feathers return.” He sighed, shaking his head.
He took her roughly by the arm, dragging her to her feet, outside the front door of the house.
Rosh removed a length of rope from beneath is robe, shoving both arms behind her back, tying them in place.
“Agh! My wing—” she moaned, cut off when he slapped her in the face.
Her face burned as he pushed her ahead of him, like a opossum lead to the place of slaughter.
He hustled her over catwalks and between houses.
They reached a shack where a man with a mullar stood, waiting.
He placed Verdeyan on the beast’s back between its leathery wings, and tied a rope around her waist to hold her on. This was tied around the mullar’s neck, to secure her place.
Its flea-ridden fur itched beneath her cheek as Rosh tugged the reins, sitting on its neck. The beast bellowed a loud roar and then leapt into the sky, its broad leathery wings battering the air.
For miles they flew, Old Locher rapidly shrinking in Verdeyan’s sight.
Sheer terror permeated her mind.
.....
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