Chapter Three

Eusari sat across from Flaya, snapping beans and removing the strings. It was easy work, except when your hands throbbed from fifty summers. Though she felt young inside, a hard life had aged her body. Sometimes her hands ached but other times her hips and knees cried out with creaks and pops reminding her to slow down. She eyed her friend doing the same, though defter and with less pain. It was a Pescari trait, it seemed, to enjoy longevity free from aches.

Flaya still wore her hair long and in the traditional braid, though what had once been pitch black had long turned to silver. Eusari touched her own, worn no longer than her shoulders, and only then so she could tie it back in summer as it was now. Her raven hair was streaked with grey, appearing far less regal than her friend. They’d both seen some years, these women, and this was their life of choice.

Flaya let out a heavy sigh and looked up from her work.

“What is it?” Eusari asked dryly.

“I’m concerned about our children,” she said matter of fact. She also somehow never lost her Pescari accent.

“There’s no need to worry,” Eusari insisted. “I’m sure they’ll be home soon. Robert usually stops at Sippen’s after school, and I’m sure she went with him. Or she’s with Franque and Krist”

“My Andalonian is not very good,” Flaya corrected, “but I did not say I was worried. I am concerned she is out with the boys.”

“The boys are like brothers to her, I’m sure it’s still innocent.”

“She’s nearly a woman, and it’s time I take her to find a Pescari husband. Brothers or not, eventually boys turn into men and notice the woman close at hand.”

Eusari chuckled, though she hadn’t meant to. “There’s nothing wrong with your Andalonian, Flaya, so stop claiming there is. I get your point.”

Collette snickered from the kitchen where she stirred a pot of stew. Always stew it seemed, an easy way to feed so many grown men in the household.

“Mind your business,” Eusari told the maid, but then regretted it. The woman had been in their household as long as the others and had proven quite useful.

“You could cook it yourself if you wish, ma’am,” the woman retorted with a smile. She knew, of all tasks Eusari loathed, the mistress of the house hated cooking the most.

“You’re doing fine.”

Collette tapped the spoon against the cauldron with satisfaction, pleased she’d won the sparring match.

Eusari allowed her this one victory and turned toward Flaya. “Are you certain taking her to New Weston is the correct path? She’s grown less Pescari each year and seems more at home here.”

“That’s exactly why I must take her to New Weston. The Pescari there live the way we had always hoped—under the eye of Felicima and with respect for tradition.”

“Tara is a spirited girl and won’t adapt well to tradition, especially in a culture where women are subservient.”

“She will learn to obey.”

“She’s sixteen summers and, if she hasn’t yet learned obedience, then she never will.”

“You would know,” Flaya snapped, signaling she was done discussing her daughter.

But Eusari persisted. “If you take her now to New Weston, you’ll lose her completely in another year. Take more time and consider if this is really for her, or for you.”

Flaya grunted and stared down at the bowl of beans in her lap. “I see fire in her eyes, Eusari, an unquenchable one I’ve seen before.”

At this, the Andalonian woman paused. She and her friend were kindred in so many ways, and they had agreed many years before to assist each other in raising the children. This sudden urge to immerse Tara in their culture had indeed stemmed from a deeper worry. Eusari opened her mouth to speak when the front door burst open. Sebastian hurried inside, out of breath as if he’d run from the outermost fields.

“There are constables riding to speak to you, ma’am!”

“Constables? Not a single lawman, but more than one?” she asked and Sebastian nodded.

“Finn Olsen brought some out-of-towners along as deputies,” he said with large eyes filled with worry. In times like this he acted like the terrified child she’d taken in years ago. He was a sweet boy and did grow into a strong man, but one with a wounded mind that never quite healed.

Eusari exchanged a look with Flaya and rose, setting her bowl aside to finish later. “Where’s Cedric?” she asked the farmhand.

“He rode into town hours ago in search of extra labor,” he replied. “He said we wouldn’t be able to plow properly without extra hands.”

She nodded. Though the foreman never ran it by her, she fully trusted his decisions. “Stay here, Flaya. I’m sure this has only to do with Krist and Franque and nothing to do with the others.”

“Actually,” Sebastian said with averted eyes, “Constable Olsen said it has to do with Robert and Tara.”

Flaya rose abruptly, setting her bowl of beans on the chair. In a flash she had pushed past them both and darted outside to face the constables.

Eusari followed close behind. As she emerged, she noticed right away Constable Olsen and the others had dismounted. So this is more serious after all, she realized, not at all like his previous visits. Usually he returned with her boys, leading them by the ears.

“What brings you to my farm, Finn? Have our children irritated your constituency?”

“If only it were that simple, Miss Thorinson,” he replied with hat in hand.

She watched his body language and that of the others. She did not know these men, but the fact he brought them meant he would leave more than a warning this time. Someone would be arrested before the sun completely fell.

Flaya anxiously eyed Felicima nearing the horizon, willing her to drop. The Pescari woman would not hold back anger once the sun was out of sight.

“Why can’t it be simple, Finn?” Eusari demanded. “They’re children, not yet of legal age to be held accountable. What crime do you allege they committed?”

Movement by the barn caught her eye and that of the constables. Everyone turned to watch as Franque and Krist approached. The constables all settled when they realized it wasn’t the two children they sought.

“Robert is nearly of age, Miss Thorinson, and will be by the time the trial rolls around.”

“But he isn’t, yet, is he?” she demanded, her voice suddenly fierce enough to cause the other men to jump. “And I’m not letting you take him into custody until he is!”

“Assault, ma’am. He dislocated the knee of the blacksmith’s boy, Peta Grenwich, and broke the nose of Sam Rawlins.”

Krist laughed out loud at this and all eyes shot the boy a quieting glare. But he hadn’t noticed. “You hear that, Franque? Robert’s got some spunk to him after all. I kinda regret skipping school now, don’t you?”

Eusari cut him off angrily. “Skipping school? I’ll deal with you later. Get inside the house!” Turing to Constable Olsen she added, “Two on one sounds like a fair fight, not an assault. Who’s the witness?”

“All their classmates and the headmaster, but he’s enough since he’s an adult and claims to have witnessed the entire event.”

Felicima had finally disappeared into a soft glow.

“What of Tara?” Flaya asked abruptly. “What role did she play?”

“Your daughter bloodied Greta Greenbriar pretty bad and assaulted the headmaster. He claims she kicked him in the groin.”

Franque and Krist, who hadn’t yet heeded their mother’s command, laughed in unison.

Without turning, Eusari addressed them. “Get in the house now!” Her tone sent them scurrying inside.

“That doesn’t sound like my Tara,” Flaya said shaking her head. “She is Pescari, and our people shun violence unless provoked. I’m certain there’s more to the story.”

One of the out-of-towner constables let out a chiding laugh and said, “Ma’am, I was there in Old Weston when your people destroyed it. Don’t repeat your lies about nonviolence around me. There isn’t a Pescari around who wouldn’t pick up a sword or bow out of anger.”

Flaya stepped forward to argue but Eusari moved between them. “You haven’t answered my question, Finn Olsen. They’re underage so why are you here with deputies?”

“There are enough witnesses in that schoolhouse, and each is willing to testify in front of the magistrate that your children started it. I have to bring them in.”

“You can’t have Tara,” Flaya insisted. “She is Pescari, and we try our own under Felicima’s law! Your king decreed it so!”

Eusari agreed. “That’s right! The law clearly states that, in crimes against the person, a Pescari citizen can only be tried in front of a jury of peers. A tribal jury of peers.”

“Up here that isn’t possible,” Constable Olsen argued, “and the law is clear that in the absence of a tribal jury the magistrate can take jurisdiction.”

“That’s why we’re returning to Weston,” Flaya abruptly answered. “Her ritual approaches, and I am taking her back to our people in the morning.”

“That’s too late, I’m afraid. You’ll need to leave tonight,” Constable Olsen said with a sigh. “If she’s still in this province come sunup, the girl’s father will be looking for blood. And you know how angry those northerners can be!”

“We’re not afraid,” Eusari growled. “Let him come.”

“They’re refugees from Fjorik, Miss Thorinson, and a whole pack of them. They’ll burn this town down and then move on to another if justice isn’t served.”

“And by running off a girl, they’ll view justice as served?” Eusari demanded.

The constable from Weston sneered and replied, “By running off Pescari they’ll view justice as served.”

“That settles it,” Flaya stated. “We’re leaving tonight.”

A rumble suddenly became audible from down the road, a cross between a tea kettle boiling over and a hissing cat. All eyes turned toward the noise.

“What in Cinder’s Crack is that?” asked Constable Olsen.

“It’s a horseless carriage,” one of the other constables replied in awe.

“There’s Robert and Tara now,” Eusari pointed out. She could make out Cedric and Sippen in the front seat and the children just beyond them in the rear of the vehicle. “We’ll let them answer to this nonsense for themselves.”

“Why does it take four constables to talk to a pair of kids?” Cedric demanded as they drove up the lane. Then, before waiting for an answer, he stood in the carriage and loudly asked the constables the same question. Shaking his fists and imaginary middle fingers, he added, “Come and take them!”

“Be quiet, Cedric!” Eusari shouted and the one-legged man sat back down abruptly.

“I know that voice,” he said, smiling to those riding in the carriage. “The old Eusari’s showing through!” His remark made both him and Sippen laugh.

Robert and Tara exchanged confused glances. They only ever knew the calm and doting Eusari, slow to anger and never cruel. Whatever bothered her now had hissed out angrily.

Once Sippen pulled to a stop and shut off the engine, the constables stepped forward and surrounded the vehicle.

Once again Eusari showed a darker, more assertive side and challenged all four men. The sharpened edge of her voice caused Robert to cringe. He’d never seen his mother this angry.

“I’m his guardian,” she growled, “and I’ll do the questioning!”

The men stepped back and she approached the carriage.

“What happened at school today, Robert?” she asked with a quieter tone, the loving and supportive mother returning. Even her face appeared more serene and in control, whereas earlier she’d seemed nearly rabid.

“One of the girls attacked Tara, and two boys held me back from breaking up the fight.”

“So it was self-defense?” Eusari asked, “For both of you?”

He nodded and heard Tara whisper, “Yes,” beside him.

“What about the headmaster? Why is he saying otherwise?”

“That scrawny little bigot wasn’t even there,” Tara hissed. “He’s a liar and only arrived after the fight was over!”

“He says you struck him,” Eusari asked gently. “Did you kick the man?”

“I did,” Tara replied without remorse, “and I’d do it again.”

“There you have it, an admission of guilt,” Constable Olsen said stepping forward. “Only the magistrate can determine self-defense, so I’m afraid I’ll have to take them both into custody unless Flaya keeps her word. Take her and leave tonight.” Constable Olsen commanded. “If there’s a trace of you in the morning, we’ll arrest her on sight.”

Two deputies grabbed Robert by the arms while Constable Olsen brought out a pair of iron shackles.

“What is this?” Robert demanded. “I don’t reach my seventeenth summer for a few weeks. Surely you won’t try me as an adult for self-defense?”

“No,” Eusari exclaimed loudly and definitively, “they won’t.”

“We have to, Miss Thorinson.”

“No, you’ll take me into custody instead as his guardian. I will stand against these charges.”

“That won’t work,” Finn argued.

“Yes, it will,” she insisted, “you said it yourself. He’ll be eighteen by the time the magistrate hears the trial, but he’s not old enough to be charged today. No, if you want justice served, you’ll have to serve it against me.”

Olsen turned to the others who shrugged indifferently. As he’d said, someone was getting arrested on this night, and he just wanted the matter resolved and closed. He stepped behind the woman, clamping the shackles loosely around her wrists.

Eusari complied willingly, despite her face screaming defiance.

“We’ll be taking you to Loganshire for the hearing, so you’re allowed a few personal items for the journey.”

“Sippen,” she said without emotion.

“Yuh... yes, ma’am?” the little man stammered.

“Pack me a bag of things I’ll need.”

“I can do it, ma’am,” Sebastian offered.

“No! Sippen knows what I’ll need. Also, include Amash Horslei’s letter. I may need that after all, it seems.”

“Are you shuh... sure, Eusari?” Sippen asked. “Thuh... that will chuh... change everything. He will nuh... know and send for him.”

“I’ve no other choice, Mr. Yurik,” she said sadly. “No matter what we do or don’t do, it’s too late to stop change, because it will be different soon. For all of us.”

The little man nodded and went inside. By the time he returned with an overnight bag, the constables had already lifted Eusari onto a horse. They searched the bag for contraband and weapons. Finding none, they strapped it to the saddle.

“Sippen,” she said, “don’t let Cedric or the boys interfere. I’ll be home in a few days or a couple of weeks.”

Constable Olsen spurred his horse forward, leading Eusari’s and the other constables away.

As they turned onto the main road, Franque and Krist emerged from the house and stood next to Robert.

“Okay, boys,” Cedric said with excitement, “we know where they’re keeping her tonight and which road they’ll take in the morning. I say we catch them by surprise as they’re leading her out of town, bust her free and head south across the Steppes of Cinder. By the time we reach New Weston, Flaya’s people will grant us asylum.”

“No.” Sippen said without stammering. “We’ll do no such thing.”

Robert turned to watch as Flaya pulled Tara onto her horse. “Please don’t take her away,” he begged the woman.

She looked right through the boy about to become a man, spurring forward at a gallop and toward their home to pack.

Robert waited, watching for Tara to turn back even a single glance, but she was either too afraid or unwilling to do so. In no time at all, they disappeared into the forest.

“What do we do, Sippen?” he asked the little man.

“We wuh... wait for yuh... your mother to ruh... return,” he said, then led Cedric and the boys inside.