Chapter Two

Robert Thorinson scratched chalk against slate, scribbling his answer then eagerly holding it up. The headmaster looked up from the fire warming his pot of tea and gave an approving nod before returning to his stoking. Pleased with the speed of his own wit, the boy beamed with pride. The problem had been a difficult one, forcing several calculations before arriving at an accurate conclusion. Groans from the other children let him know not everyone enjoyed his victory, but he ignored their protests. He was nearly always the first student to finish assignments.

A pair of felt erasers collided with the back of his head and he spun in his seat, scanning the room and meeting the frowning faces of his twin brothers. Both shook their blonde heads, irritated at being beaten, especially on a day when the winner of the contest would receive an afternoon without chores. As he turned around a piece of chalk struck his ear. Whirling he locked eyes with Krist who mouthed a threat. Beside him, Franque silently pounded a fist into his palm as if letting Robert know what trouble he’d face when they returned home to the farm.

Robert ignored their taunts. He knew they were only teasing, for that was their way. He watched the pair slip from their chairs, taking advantage of the headmaster looking away to reach below the desk for a textbook. Robert mouthed for them to sit down, but they only smiled back and waved their goodbyes before sneaking out the door. No doubt they were headed to the river for an afternoon of fun.

Tara leaned close to his ear. “We should go with them,” she whispered. “I don’t want to stay.”

He shook his head. He never cut class or shared in his brothers’ trouble; it wasn’t his way. Even talking during class was something he refused to do.

“Come on,” she urged, a long lock of dark hair falling across her face and making her somehow prettier than she already was.

He hated that he found her so attractive. She was, after all, like a sister to him and the twins. Besides, she may be leaving soon.

“I can’t,” he finally said. “I have to meet with Mr. Yurik later and help with his new project. He’s close to another breakthrough.”

“Master Thorinson! You and Miss Tara may cease your chatter at any time,” the headmaster commanded. Looking around and noticing Franque and Krist’s absence, he asked accusingly, “Where are your brothers?”

“I don’t know,” Robert replied, “they were just here.”

“They said they were going to paint graffiti on your barn,” Tara lied, “and leave a bucket of flaming crap on your doorstep. If you hurry you could catch them.”

“Of course you would know, your kind are usually the source of such mischief.” The man became a flurry of dark robes as he darted to the door, turning only to remind the class they had chores—all except Robert who had won the contest. “And you can haul the trash, Miss Tara, since a little dirt won’t hurt your filthy buckskins.” Then he darted the opposite way the boys had gone, racing toward his homestead.

“There’s your answer,” Tara said with sudden anger, grabbing Robert’s hand and dragging him toward the door. “I want to go now.”

A girl’s voice froze the pair before they even stepped outside. “Mr. Genius may not have chores to do, but you do, Pescari. Go haul the trash, Tara, and toss in your smelly buckskins while you’re at it.”

The other children laughed, especially Sam Rawlins, the butcher’s son, and Peta Grenwich whose father was the blacksmith.

Robert felt the angry way Tara’s hand squeezed his tighter. “Don’t do it,” he said. “Ignore her.”

“I can’t ignore her,” she whispered. “I’ve been listening to her prattle on for weeks. The headmaster lets her do it and I’m sick of them both!” She whirled around to face Greta Greenbriar, whose family had recently moved upriver from Fjorik via Logan City. “You have a problem with my heritage?” she demanded.

“I don’t have a problem with your heritage,” Greta said, rising from her chair. She stood several heads taller and was set heavier than Tara, the sign of her northern blood. “I have a problem with your filthy presence in our school and our town.”

“Your town?” Tara balked. “I’ve lived here my entire life and I don’t remember inviting you to live in it!”

As Greta stepped forward, Robert urged his friend to back down. “Don’t do it,” he pleaded. “It won’t end well for you. You know how Flaya gets, especially regarding violence.”

“I don’t care what my mother thinks,” she said, “and forget what I said about it yesterday. I’ve been listening to this one talk behind my back ever since she got here, and I’ve had enough.”

“That’s right. I do.” Greta said with a smirk, “I’m always complaining about the stench of your buckskins and greasy Pescari hair.”

Tara stood taller, straightening the garb of her people. “The only stench here,” she replied, slowly tying back her hair with a string of Pescari beads, “carries along the wind as it passes between your legs.”

Greta charged in anger and Robert moved to step between the girls. Strong hands grabbed him as two boys intervened. Sam and Peta stood on each side, both holding an arm and laughing as the larger girl tackled Tara to the ground. The resulting flurry of hair-pulling and fingernail-scratching erupted with screaming, and Robert struggled to get free to pull them apart.

“Let ‘em fight, genius boy,” Peta growled. “Every Pescari deserves a beating at least once in their lives.”

“Yeah,” Sam agreed with a devilish smile, “Even the girls.”

Robert boiled inside, burning with anger at the treatment of his friend. Then he remembered the words of old Cedric when teaching the boys self-defense. Fight dirty and take out the big one first, he had said. Robert clenched his jaw and brought his foot up high into the air, stomping hard against the outside of Peta’s knee. It snapped awkwardly and the boy crumpled, crying out in agony. Now, with his right arm free, Robert smashed a fist upward into Sam’s nose, breaking it cleanly as blood poured down the boy’s chin.

By now Tara had the upper hand, her own face bloodied but determined as she pounded the girl cowering beneath her.

“Call me filthy again!” she demanded, but Greta only sobbed.

Robert shivered against the sudden cold in the room. He grabbed her waist and heaved upward, dragging his friend toward the door while the other children stared, dumbfounded by the sudden ferocity with which each had fought. As they turned, they met the headmaster’s wide-eyed stare from the doorway.

“You’re both expelled,” he said matter-of-factly. “And tell your no-good brothers they’re not welcome back, either! I will be reporting this to the constable!” The man turned his attention to the warming stove. “Sam, re-light that fire while I attend to Peta.”

Tara pushed past the headmaster, pausing only briefly to kick him in the knee. “Report that!” she snarled, then dragged Robert at a full run down the road toward the river. They never stopped until reaching its banks. There, they collapsed panting and laughing into a heap on the grass.

After a while, Robert admitted, “She deserved it. They all did, but you shouldn’t have kicked the headmaster.”

“Of course I shouldn’t have,” Tara agreed, “but it felt good. What do we do now? We can’t go to the river or your brothers will see my bloody face and go after them all.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, getting to his feet, “the river’s out of the question.” He reached a hand and she took it, letting him pull her into a warm embrace. Something in her changed then, collapsing into his arms and letting out the emotion bottled within. He hugged her like that for a while, letting her sob into his chest until all the anger had passed. Eventually, all that remained was an exhausted girl. “Let’s go see Mr. Yurik,” he offered. “He’s close by, and I was supposed to help him today. Plus, he knows medicine and can treat your wounds.”

She nodded, wet tears smearing against his shirt before taking his hand to be lead away. She abruptly froze and Robert turned.

A pair of riders sat upon horseback with sky blue robes and cloaks worn high upon their heads, mostly covering the faces of strangers. The matching symbols on their robes, however, were easily recognized from a distance. They were both autumn emotants.

“What are Dreamers doing here?” Tara asked quietly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, shivering as their watchful eyes chilled his spine. “Let’s go,” he urged and led her away down the lane toward Sippen’s workshop. Every so often he stole a glance over his shoulder to see if the riders followed. Thankfully they hadn’t, but he held his breath until he and Tara had rounded the bend.

Sippen Yurik was another longtime friend of Robert’s mother and had been among her travelling companions when she and Flaya settled the area. But, unlike Old Cedric and Sebastian, Sippen had chosen to live apart from the others, setting up his shop along the river. There was no town in those days, only a few homesteads and a trading post, and he had served many years as the closest thing to a blacksmith. But the little man seemed to age differently than other men, and swinging a hammer quickly became too difficult to sustain his career. He only tinkered now, selling lamps and useful items in the market square.

He was a small man, barely taller than a ten-year-old child and with a head too large for his shoulders. His crooked spine helped his appearance seem prematurely aged, and his skin was deeply scored with lines. The wisps of hair clinging to his head were completely white. What he lacked in stature the man clearly made up with keen intellect though, and was a clever inventor. But without the thick glass in his spectacles the man was nearly blind, and he depended upon Robert for finer detailed work in his shop.

He was bent over a magnifying glass when the children entered. Without looking up, he said with his usual stammer, “Yuh... you’re here uh... early, Robert. Wuh... what’s wrong?”

“We got into a fight, Mr. Yurik, at school.”

“Yuh... you did? Uh... or Krist and Fuh... Franque did?”

“Tara and I did,” Robert admitted quietly.

This caused the little man to look up from his work, adjusting his lenses to better see the girl and boy standing in his workshop. He frowned at the blood on Tara’s face. “Thuh... that’s suh... surprising. Tuh... tell me uh... about it.”

And Robert did. He told him how Greta and the others had been picking on Tara, demeaning her for being Pescari and how even the headmaster had stirred the pot. Sippen listened quietly, taking in every detail without flinching and nodded his heavy head at times.

“Suh... so Krist and Fuh... Franque weren’t involved?”

“No, sir.”

“Then it cuh... can be ruh... remedied. “Heh... here. Puh... pull up stools.”

“What are you making?” Tara asked, picking up a long copper tube polished to a shine.

Robert looked to Sippen and the older man nodded, letting him explain. “It’s an engine,” he said.

“What’s an engine?” Tara asked

“Something that creates kinetic energy to accomplish work.”

Her face revealed confusion, and Tara commanded, “Speak in Andalonian, Robert, not like a genius.”

“It moves things... any direction you’d like and does the work for you.”

“Thuh... this one is fuh... for a cuh... carriage,” Sippen added, beaming proudly.

“Instead of horses?”

“Exactly!” Robert exclaimed. “After we iron out some of the issues, this steam engine will use water to move the carriage instead of horses. Water’s cheaper than hay and doesn’t throw a shoe or break a leg.”

The look on Tara’s face was disbelieving, as if they described something too good to be true, so Robert showed her. He picked up a tiny boat with coiled copper tubing and a candle, placing it in a tub of water. Striking a match, he lit the candle and stepped back and waited.

“What’s supposed to happen?” she asked.

“Just wait,” he said with a grin.

Soon, the little vessel began to sputter and spin, then move in the water, racing faster and faster around the edge of the tub.

Tara’s eyes grew large. “How’s it work?” she asked.

“The candle is the source of heat, and the heated copper draws water up into the coil where it’s made even hotter and pushed out the back—hot water moves faster than cold. It just keeps pulling it in and pushing it out the back, just like that! The engine we put in the carriage is similar, but different. It keeps the water sealed inside the engine and uses it to drive pistons up and down, making the energy and turning the wheels.” He stepped back to let her poke at and play with the little toy, amazed by its simplicity and power.

“Robert,” she said, “you really are a genius.”

He blushed, “I’m not, Mr. Sippen is. He’s a really good teacher.”

“Yuh... you are tuh... too, Robert. Smart as yuh... your mother and father.”

Robert felt his legs wobble and head go a little fuzzy. Sippen had never mentioned knowing his parents. “Tell me about them,” he suddenly demanded. “Please.”

“I’m suh... sorry. I shouldn’t have. Thuh... that’s you... Eusari’s job.”

“She won’t,” Robert complained. “She always says I’ll learn more when I’m older, like she’s avoiding telling me a horrible secret.”

Sippen moved to an overstuffed chair near the hearth and collapsed wearily into it. “Wuh... well, you uh... are older, but thuh... that’s still her story to tuh... tell.”

“If you don’t mind,” Tara said, placing a hand on the tired old man’s arm. “It would mean a lot to him.”

“Uh... okay, but nuh... not all of it. Suh... some things I leave fuh... for Eusari.”

“Agreed,” said Robert, pulling up chairs for both him and Tara.

His parents, it turned out, had been only a few years older than him when he was born. His father had fought in the Brother’s War, just as Eusari had told him, but with a twist—he’d been an officer who commanded men despite having a learning disability that affected his ability to read. The letters twisted and changed places on the page whenever he tried, so he’d relied upon his wife to help him study tactics and maneuvers. That was how they’d bonded as friends, and that friendship grew into love.

“So she was smart but he wasn’t?”

“Nuh... no! Not at uh... all. They were buh... both smart. She huh... helped him to work around the reading, buh... but his muh... mind wuh... was sharp.” The old man’s eyes fogged over a bit as if remembering a dark memory of the boy’s parents. “And his huh... heart wuh... was good. Buh... Braen luh... liked him, even if they didn’t guh... get along.”

Robert paused. “Who was Braen?”

“Huh?” Sippen seemed startled at the question. “Whuh... what did I suh... say?” The little man’s eyes suddenly filled with a deep sadness, as if they’d stirred up a memory best forgotten.

“You said ‘Braen liked him, even if they didn’t get along.’ Who’s Braen?”

“Nuh... no one. Juh... just an old fuh... friend.” Sippen suddenly lit up. “Shuh... show her thuh... the steam carriage!”

“Oh, yeah!” Robert had nearly forgotten the reason for bringing Tara along. He grabbed her hand and led her outside to the barn. “You’re going to love this!”

And she did, marveling at the smooth curves of the tubing and the copper stove in the center for boiling water and making steam. It was less of an invention as it was a work of art, but innovative, nonetheless.

“Can you take me for a ride?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Robert admitted, “but soon. We need to set the drive shaft.”

“Wuh... why don’t you huh... help, Tara?” Sippen urged from the doorway. “I’m nuh... not feeling wuh...well and need to luh... lie down.”

Suddenly forgetting her worries and the fight at school, Tara smiled broadly. “Yes, Robert. Let me help. I’m not ready to go home.”

“Okay,” he said, pulling down a cylindrical piece of metal from a shelf. “Grab the other end and help me slide it underneath.”

“Who do you think he meant earlier?” Robert asked, holding the shaft in place while Tara inserted the pins. “I don’t know of any Braen except Braen Braston. Surely he didn’t mean him?”

“I remember Headmaster talking about him with Greta. Wasn’t he a pirate from Fjorik?” She slid the final fastener in place, but the pair remained beneath the carriage with heads very close. Her hair brushed Robert’s cheek.

He lay perfectly still. If she knew the effect her closeness was having on him, she hadn’t let on. He hoped the moment would never end. “He wasn’t just a pirate,” he explained. “He was the exiled prince of Fjorik and a revolutionary. He founded the Dreamers and they and his army attempted to topple the Esterling Empire.”

“That’s right,” Tara remembered, laying just as still as he. “Braston did horrible things in every city he conquered. Didn’t he also go mad?”

“That’s how the story’s told. He went so mad they called him the Demon from the North. He was awful and forced the Dreamers to fight despite only being children.”

“I don’t understand. If the Dreamers fought alongside him, then why do they serve King Esterling now?”

“This king isn’t the same one. There were two princes who fought a civil war. They destroyed each other, but a third son of King Charles emerged from hiding and saved the city from Braston’s army. It was his rifle shot that killed the demon in the end. After that, the leader of the Dreamers agreed to a truce and now they serve the king.”

“I heard our mothers talking,” Tara whispered, her check inching closer to Robert’s. “They said the Dreamers are as bad as the Falconers of old.”

“Falconers don’t exist,” Robert replied just as quietly. He could barely breathe with her mouth so close. All he could think about was touching her lips with his own. But that would end our friendship, his rational mind cautioned. “They disappeared during the war.”

“There are rumors,” she said, nearly as out of breath as he, “they’ve come back.”

“From the stories Mother has told, I hope that’s not...” Robert’s words were suddenly cut off by Tara’s soft mouth against his own. Though startled at first, he gave in and turned his body as much as he could while lying beneath the carriage. He kissed her gently, afraid and excited at the same time, but she responded by a passionate flick of her tongue that brushed against his.

“Where’s Sippen?” a gruff voice suddenly asked from the doorway. It boomed into the barn and startled both Robert and Tara. Each tried to sit up, suddenly embarrassed by the state in which they were caught, striking their foreheads against the cold steel of the under carriage. “Robert! Is that you under there?” the voice demanded.

The boy slid out from beneath the vehicle and stared up at an older man with more years on him than Eusari and Sippen. Robert had once guessed him around fifty-five summers, but it was difficult to tell with the extra pounds he carried around the midsection and along his neck. He rested his weight atop a wooden peg strapped to his upper thigh. Both middle fingers were missing from the man, as he often reminded the neighbors with his raised fists.

“It’s me, Cedric,” the boy replied, blushing bright red as Tara joined him in staring up at Eusari’s foreman.

“What’re you two up to beneath that wagon?” the man demanded, eyeing them suspiciously, but then turned before they could answer. “Where’s Sippen? I need to get all three of you back to the farm.” As quick as he had spoken the man ambled away, hurrying to the workshop as fast as he could wobble atop the pegleg. “Sippen! Get out here! Eusari demands it!”

Robert and Tara exchanged a look then broke out into laughter. Before either could say anything, the girl pulled him close and they kissed again.

“I liked that,” she said slightly out of breath while pulling away.

“So did I,” he answered truthfully.

“Then don’t wait so long before the next time, and stop daydreaming of flying away,” she commanded, jumping to her feet just as Sippen entered the barn with Cedric Krull.

“We’ve guh... got to guh... go,” he stammered. “There’s truh... trouble.”

“A whole heap of it!” Cedric agreed. “And it’s all you two lovebirds’ fault! I was in town and heard the constables say they’re riding out to the farm to arrest the pair of you. They said something about assaulting your teacher and some students?”

Robert swallowed hard. “I’ll get the horses,” he said with worry racing through his heart.

“There’s no tuh... time. Let’s tuh... take the carriage!”

“That blasted thing better not blow off me other leg,” Cedric protested.

“Don’t wuh... worry. It’s suh... safe,” his old friend promised. “Geh... get in.”

The adults climbed in the front seat and Robert helped Tara into the back, then dashed to the front to light the pilot lamp. With the turn of a handle the copper pot began to hiss, building up pressure like a tea kettle. He watched Sippen tap a gauge before nodding and pulling a large lever toward him. All at once the wheels started to turn slowly toward the barn doors which the boy opened wide. Once the carriage rolled free he shut the doors and hopped aboard, sliding next to Tara. She instantly grabbed his arm and hugged him tight. He tenderly whispered, “It will be okay.”

But as they rolled through town toward the setting sun, he noticed two hooded figures perched atop horseback. Their heads turned as Sippen drove past, leaning closely in a private conversation but with eyes locked on Robert. He could make out the symbols on their sky blue robes with more distinction from this distance and stared with awe at the crest. The woman whispered something and the man nodded but they again held back and did not follow.