The story is set in a town in Genda (Canada), somewhere in eastern Ontario near
Quebec (hence some French influence). The time frame is approx. 25th
century. Weather patterns have settled after the long drought and it is a
period of ‘peace and prosperity’ including trade with Rosh across the northern ocean protected by the
Genda navy (SR pp238-9) and the southern neighbours Meriga and Meyco. As per
Star’s Reach (SR p52) the Circle has less influence in Genda and one character
has pale skin and red hair (SR p94, p108).
I have also assumed a lower level of mutation and social mores more
like contemporary ones than those in Star's Reach's 26th century Meriga, and
religious belief is more evenly split between Old believers (SR p142) and
Gaians, but a change in ‘religious sensibility’ is occurring. I’m happy to
tweak these aspects to better fit the Star’s Reach ‘canon’ if I have drifted
too far off course.
The Prisoner of Genda
Jail window (Photo: Minette Ortega- Ounigian via tumblr )
Cold sweat chilled
the back of his neck. His breath came in shallow gasps and hung silver in the
frigid air. With a grunt he hefted the pole against the town wall, and then
turned it so the foot holds he had notched faced outward. His eyes lifted to the
curved quarter moon that hung low in the black sky. A grey cloud drifted across
and its rim glowed briefly before blocking the moonlight. He grasped the pole
and clambered up to the top of the wall. He steadied himself, pulled the pole
up to vertical then shoved it into the darkness so it fell lengthways along the
base of the wall. Hopefully no one would notice and raise an alarm for a few
days at least. That was all he would need.
The stink of pigs rose to his left. To his right a dark smudge of smoke
rose into the sky and bent lazily to the south. He had dragged his crude ladder
a few meedas further away from the house. Far enough he hoped, to avoid the
greenhouse, and with luck, land on the compost heap.
He couldn’t be sure. Even in three years the town had changed. The wall
was enlarged to the west and on the east side a new gate had been constructed facing
the road to the city. He wondered how his family further north were faring. He
hoped they too had prospered, but he didn’t plan to stay even if he could.
He patted the breast pocket of his coat, mumbled a prayer, and leapt. The
crash of glass shattered the silence and sharp edges scratched his hands. He
landed heavily on the ground in a shower of shards. “Sackemon!” He rolled to a
halt amongst some low plants. He strained his eyes to make out the door. He
stood and felt his way along the thick stone wall at the rear of the greenhouse.
It felt warm as it released the heat from the day’s wintery sun.
A shaft of light swung across the glass above him and he heard running boots
thumping on the earth outside. He slunk into the deep shadow in the corner of
the greenhouse. The door creaked open just a few meedas away. A short gleaming
barrel poked through the gap, followed slowly by a cautious face and then two
figures in thick red jackets. Sackemon, Mounties.
“Gotcha! Raise your hands where we can see them.”
He looked behind and winced as the lantern glare seared his eyes. He shaded
his face with both hands and squinted at the men. Two Mounties. Faces almost as
red as their coats. He smelled beer on their breath. Off duty, on the way home.
He shook his head. Bad luck or not, he was too close to give up now.
“Get up.”
He half rose, staggered and fell sideways into the plants.
“Get up. No funny business.”
He rose slowly, arms raised, threw a fistful of dirt at the Mountie
with the gun then ran for the door. The lantern bobbled. He heard a voice
shout. “Get him!” A truncheon blow landed on his head and he fell to the ground
again. The Mountie with the gun pointed it at his face. “Don’t move a senamee. Check
his pockets.”
The other man handed over the lantern and reached inside his coat. He
removed a knife and a small tomahawk slung from a wide leather belt. He reached
into the coat pockets. He smiled as he raised a small clinking bag of coins. He
weighed it in his hand. “Just reward for a hard nights work, eh?” The other
Mountie grinned. The money bag disappeared into a red pocket and the Mountie
patted down the prisoner’s legs. “That’s it.” He picked up the knife and
tomahawk and raised them to the light. “Navy issue knife” He looked again at
the prisoner still shielding his eyes. “Looks like we might have ourselves a
deserter.”
The other nodded. “His coat looks Rosh made.” He stretched out a hand
to push aside the prisoner’s hands and stared at his face. “On the run are we?”
The prisoner jerked his head away and said nothing. The Mountie shrugged. “Let’s
get him to the lockup.” He kicked the prisoner’s leg. “Get up. Jail’s the only
place you’re going tonight.”
****
A loud voice
rang out over the hubbub of the busy tavern. “Quiet down now, it’s time.” The chatter in
the room stilled. A tar player in one corner continued to strum but was quickly
silenced by an icy stare from the hard faced woman at the bar. She turned and
adjusted the volume on the radio.
“Today the Meer of Genda, heronna Magg Winn the fourth, has announced
that next year, the thirtieth of her gummint, will be celebrated by a grand
tour. She will visit cities, towns and hamlets throughout the country to meet the
people and enjoy the local hospitality. The itinerary will be selected by a
juree of citizens and ministers. All munees of Genda are invited to put forward
their proposals for consideration.”
“In the north, the Genda navy yesterday intercepted and repelled an
Arab pirate incursion off the coast of Greenlun.” Rouss’s ears pricked up. “The
Genda forces suffered no casualties in the action.” She exhaled and continued wiping
down the bar. She wore a loose black blouse buttoned to the neck, decorated
only by a small wooden cross and wisps of deep auburn hair that escaped her messy
bun.
A man entered the tavern and closed the door. He turned and removed his
hat, eyes searching the room. He finally found what he was looking for and
strode through the room toward the end of the bar. He stopped in front of her his
hands wrestling the hat in his grip. “Rouss darra Sage,” he whispered. “My wife’s
pains have started. She asks that you come.”
The woman eyed him warily with her green eyes, one finger slowly
lifting to touch the cross at her throat. “Are you sure it’s me she wants?”
He nodded rapidly several times. “Yes, please come. You delivered her
sister’s baby and she gives thanks to Mam Gaia every day for your help.”
“What of sister Fauney?”
“She is away, visiting the city temple. And anyway my wife asks for you.”
“I will need to get my bag.” The man nodded. She turned and whispered
to the young brown haired woman beside her. “Tarshay, I have to go.” She took
off the money pouch tied around her waist and handed it to her. Rouss nodded to
the woman behind the bar. She nodded in return and then leaned closer to the
radio.
“The gummint announced today that settlement of the northern
territories will increase this summer. The Minister of Guilds and Merchandise Trade
also welcomed growing exchanges with our southern neighbours Meriga and Meyco…”
****
Three sharp raps on the door jolted Rouss awake. She brushed her hair from
her pale face and glanced at the window. Light crept in around the edge of the heavy
curtain. “Who is it?” she called.
“Tagair sunna Boise, Mam. Mister Bartim sent me to do some more work on
your eaves.”
She groaned and pulled back the covers, swung her feet onto the cold
floor. She felt for her slippers and slid her feet inside. She stepped to door,
pulled her coat on over her night dress and slid back the bolt. As the door
opened she shivered in the frosty air.
A young man stood there clad in a fur hat, leathers and jacket, wearing
a tool belt and carrying several lengths of wood over his shoulder. “I told him
the roof was fine. A little sagging doesn’t matter.”
“Yes, Mam I know, but he insisted.” He put the wood down beside the mulch
covered herb garden.
“You must be just about due to be a Mister yourself?”
He stood a little straighter. “Yes Mam, next summer.” Then he sagged.
“If Mister will let me. He says I’m not ready.”
“Is that so?”
He shrugged, then looked up and down the lane and lowered his voice.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I’ve been thinking, since I’m soon to be a Mister and I have a little
money saved and…”
Her eyebrows lifted and her mouth curved with amusement. “And since
you’ve had your eye on certain young woman for longer than I can remember?” His
face reddened and he looked away. “I’ve see the way you look when you talk with
her in the tavern.”
He raised his eyes to hers. “Do you
think…does she…would she?”
She smiled and tucked a lock of red hair behind her ear. “I think it’s
time you had a real talk with her.”
“But…” His face twisted in anguish. “I never know what to say, apart from
the weather and the news. What I really want to say is how her laugh sounds like
a song bird in spring and her freckles are like drops of sunlight on her skin.”
Rouss laughed. “That would be a good start. Maybe it’s also time to
tell her about your plans and find out what hers are?”
He bit his lip and nodded. “There is another complication.”
She pursed her lips. “Her father?”
He nodded.
“I think it is time I had chat to your Mister Bartim about several important
matters.
He fidgeted on the doorstep. “Can I start on the roof now?”
She sighed. “Yes.”
****
“Hallo. Garint
sunna Jardin?” The Mountie shouted loud enough to be heard three lanes away.
Garint rounded the corner of the house, his left leg dragging as he
limped toward him. A grin creased his broad face. “I was in the greenhouse
looking at the damage. I’m glad it wasn’t me that fell through that glass.” His
ears stuck out through his unruly hair but his beard showed signs of occasional
brushing. His clothes were rumpled and dirt stained.
“We want you to come and have a look at the prisoner. If you know him
it might help explain what he was up to.”
Garint wiped his hands on his pants. “Just a moment. I have something
to deliver on the way.” He ducked into the small house and emerged with a burlap
bad tied loosely at the top with string.
As they walked toward the jail the Mountie prattled on. “Strange fellow
this one, wears Rosh clothes and carries a Genda navy knife. We reckon he’s a
deserter. Wouldn’t say a word when we nabbed him. He understands though, you can
tell it in his eyes.”
Garint asked him to wait as he went to Rouss darra Sage’s cottage and
knocked on the door. She opened it with a smile. “Morning, Garint sunna Jardin.”
She wiped flour from her hands on an apron.
“Morning. Some vegetables for you.”
“Thank you Garint. I’ll return your book tomorrow with a loaf of bread.
I’m busy this morning.” She had to shout to be heard, as she pointed to the
builder’s prentice hammering in a nail under the eaves.
Garint waved goodbye and rejoined the Mountie. They reached the jailhouse
and followed the jailer’s slow heavy footsteps down the dim narrow corridor to
the cells. The other Mountie waited by the door. The jailer jangled his ring of
keys with a flourish and rattled one in the lock. The prisoner looked up from
where he lay on the narrow bed, huddled under a rough woollen blanket.
“Get up.” said the Mountie. “This is the man whose glass you broke.
That kind of salvage is expensive and hard to replace.”
Garint took one step forward through the doorway.
“Do you recognise him?” asked the Mountie.
Garint watched carefully as the man dropped his feet to the floor and
stood up, head still lowered and all but his bearded face covered by his hat.
“Well?”
The prisoner lifted his eyes for a split second and shivered, ending
with the barest shake of his head.
Garint frowned, licked his lips slowly, then shook his head. “He doesn’t
look familiar.”
The Mountie stepped into the room beside him, slapping his wooden
truncheon rhythmically into the palm of his hand. “What have you got to say for
yourself?”
The prisoner coughed and took a breath. A deep resonant voice boomed from
his throat. It made Garint think of the Rosh baritones he had heard on the
radio. “I’m sorry about your glass Mister. I meant no harm. I hope I am able to
make amends.” He paused. “Please check the soil very carefully for glass.” The
last sentence he said with a deliberate slowness.
“You should be you on your hands and knees in the dirt doing that, you
bucket of pig swill.” The Mountie raised this truncheon. The other laid a hand
on his arm. “Leave him. That’s enough for now.” He motioned Garint out of the
room. “The judge comes to town next week. You will be asked to describe the
damage and estimate the cost to replace the glass. You might have to travel to
the city for that eh? The judge might also order amends.”
The jailer locked the door and replaced the keys on his belt. He looked
into the room through the small barred opening in the heavy wooden door. The
prisoner’s breakfast, a slab of bread and smear of butter, was half uneaten . A
broad smile the creased the jailer’s face. “Not hungry, eh? What were you
expecting, coffee and crussins? Pancakes and maypa sirp? This ain’t some fancy
Otwa hotel.” He turned and shambled away chortling at his own joke. “Coffee and
crussins. Ha!”
****
Rouss darra
Sage chatted quietly behind the bar with Tarshay as they tidied up after the
lunch crowd. The patrons had thinned out already as people decided that had
better do something useful with what remained of their day since half the
morning had been spent in a hastily called town meeting.
In the corner, in his usual seat Mister Bartim leaned back on his chair
watching her. Rouss glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. He still wore
a formal jacket from the morning’s town meeting which gave his stern face a
certain elegance. He needed to smile more. She interrupted her train of thought
and admitted he wasn’t the only one. Perhaps he wouldn’t make a too bad a
husband. She felt her face flush at the idea. She looked at the frayed cuffs of
her blouse. Oh Leymo, you went off to find adventure and bring back money for
our future, and look at me now.
Bartim raised his arm and waved, “Rouss darra Sage, come and sit with
me a minute. I’d like to talk with you.”
She folded the dish cloth on the bar, winked at Tarshay beside her, and
then walked over to his table. “Eldmin and Mister.” He nodded as she pulled out
a chair and sat facing him across the solid wooden table. To his left a chess
board sat, its pieces stood at attention, ready for play. An empty beer mug
rested between his hands. “It so happens I have some things I want to talk to
you about too.”
“I’m pleased.” He smiled. “You look lovely as always, although a little
colour would suit you better.”
Rouss responded with a tight smile. The jacket enfolded his broad frame
a little tightly spoiling the effect a little. “I heard the town meeting this
morning was interesting?”
Bartim shook his head. “A kerfuffle as usual. Warden Lormah thinks he
can convince people of anything as long as he lets them vent. And he thinks it
keeps the Gaian Eldmin happy to ask the questions too. In my view it’s better
to give people two options you can live with and have them exhaust each other
fighting amongst themselves.”
“There were some good suggestions.”
“Hrumpf. Planting in the wastelands? None of us will be around long
enough to see any benefit from that.”
“Reclothing Mam Gaia for our children and grandchildren is no waste.”
Bartim touched the cross at his neck. “Building a monument would be
more appropriate for the Meer. A fitting legacy.”
“And more lucrative for the builder,” Rouss smirked. “I took you for a
more public spirited individual Eldmin Bartim.” Bartim’s brows lowered and he
suppressed a look of irritation. “I thought the library idea was a good one too,”
said Rouse. “There are lots of books that people would benefit from.”
Bartim grimaced. “Your friend Garint outdid himself with that one. ‘Books
are a gift from our ancestors,’ he said. You should have seen Eldmin Terrea’s
face. She went pale as a ghost. The Gaians are as touchy as our church when it
comes to old books.” He shrugged. “I like the Warden’s idea of a commemorative arch,
I’ve always wanted to build one of those, but I’ll be happy to create whatever
the council decides.”
“If you win the commission of course.”
“Of course.” He waved a hand in the air. “Anyway that’s not what I want
to talk about.” Bartim pushed the mug aside and spread his hands on the table.
“It’s been some time since we last spoke Rouss darra Sage. I am curious to know
your thoughts.” He eyed her closely but she displayed no reaction. “I am a
widower, you are a widow. We have both experienced the grief of losing a child.
We understand each other.”
Rouss felt her chest tighten. Seeing one’s own flesh and blood emerge
lifeless into the world was an anguish she would not wish upon the vilest creature
on Mam Gaia’s round belly.
Bartim continued. “My daughter is nearly grown. We can have another child
and make a new family together. Have you decided yet to accept my proposal?”
She held her breath momentarily then shook her head slightly as she exhaled.
“I have told you Mister Bartim. I cannot make such a decision until I know for
sure what happened to my husband.”
“It’s been over three years Rouss, your mourning is excessive, many
people think so.”
“I do not live my life based on what other people think.”
He nodded. “Indeed, and that is an admirable quality. All the same, it’s
time to let go of the past and build a new life. I’m offering you a fine home,”
he smiled, “with a roof that doesn’t leak, a secure future…”
“I will give you an answer Mister Bartim, when I feel clearer about my
situation.” She took a breath. “Right now I have a few other things I would like
to discuss with you.”
He sat back and rested his hands on the table, a hint of amusement playing
on his lips. “Please speak your mind.”
She took a breath. “Firstly, while I appreciate you concern and generosity,
there is no need to have Tagair come and fix things at my cottage.”
He waved one hand in the air. “It is nothing. Things are slow this
winter. He needs something to do. Idle hands make for the devils’ work, yes?”
“He is old enough to look after himself. He’s almost ready to be a
Mister, is he not?”
“In a year or two perhaps.”
“Why the delay?”
“In my judgement he’s not ready.” He smiled thinly. “Although I do
concede that he is more useful to me than all the junior prentices put
together.”
Rouss forced her jaws to unclench and spoke softly. “There is also the
matter of the young woman he…”
Bartim’s hand slammed down on the table. “No. I will most certainly not
allow him to marry her. She’s too young and he is…” He dropped his voice. “He
is not suitable.”
Rouss leaned forward over the table and hissed. “Is that your judgement
talking or something else entirely? You cannot treat people like…” she motioned
toward the chess board, “like pawns in a game.”
His face flushed and his eyes narrowed. He took a breath and stared at
his calloused hands. Finally he raised his eyes and smiled. “Rouss darra Sage,
I am concerned for her welfare, as I’m sure you can understand. I feel she has
missed the guidance of her mother and lacks the necessary...” he paused,
raising his eyes to hers, “…judgement in such matters. It is partly my fault. I
regret allowing her to work here with my sister-in-law. Too many unsavoury
characters. “
Rouss bit her lip to repress a smile. Bartim caught the glint in her
eye. “You would not think it so amusing if she were your daughter I’m sure.” He
glowered at the table then brightened a little. “Well now. Perhaps that is a
solution to all our disagreements. If you were to become her step-mother to
keep an eye on her I could consider allowing Tagair to court her, and then, in
time, consider a marriage.” He raised an eyebrow. “What do you say?”
Rouss darra Sage’s mouth tightened. “I understand your protectiveness
but if you are reluctant to train up a new senior prentice, how can you commit
to a marriage and raising another child. And ‘In time’ both your daughter and
your prentice will do as they wish, if you continue to be unreasonable.” She
stood up abruptly almost knocking the chair over. “Good day.”
“Please think about it soon, Rouss darra Sage. Neither of us can wait
forever.” He watched her weave through the empty tables, grab her coat from a
peg on the wall and slam the door on her way out. He scowled and looked over to
the bar where Tarshay stood, head down, arranging mugs behind the counter. The
clock still said it was early but he decided he didn’t care. “Daughter,“ he called.
“my mug is empty.”
Rouss left the tavern and strode towards her cottage. At a cross road
she hesitated, then turned south. The arched church door was propped slightly
ajar with a smooth round stone. She slipped inside softly, knelt briefly in the
aisle and sat down in a pew near the back. Rouss sat with her eyes closed and
tried to calm herself, seeking some clarity over the tangled thoughts filling
her mind.
Several women were sitting in the front pews. One glanced around and nudged
the woman next to her. “Look, it’s the black widow. Praying for her ghost to
return,” she whispered loudly.
“I heard she’s turning Gaian,” the other replied. “That’s why half the
believers in town won’t use her as a midwife.”
“I wouldn’t either if it were me.”
“You silly fool. We’re both too old
to be bothered with all that nonsense.” They both tittered.
Rouss waited silently for what seemed like an age, ears burning and
face set in a scowl. When she decided she had stayed long enough, she abruptly rose
to her feet and left.
****
Tarshay
darra Deros knocked on the jailhouse door. “Come in,” said the jailer, not
bothering to get up. She entered and nodded to him. “Dinner for hizonna.”
“Very funny,” he muttered and continued to scowl at the radio in front
of him on the table as he twiddled the dials with his stubby fingers. Behind
him a dishevelled bed stood against the far wall under a small curtained
window. She transferred a heaped plate of meat and vegetables and a large mug of
beer from her tray to the table.
“And the prisoner? Vegetable soup tonight.”
“Too good for the likes of him.” The jailer jerked his head toward the corridor,
“Cell two.”
She walked slowly down the corridor, peeked in the window at the man
lying on the bench, then placed the bowl on the floor and knelt to unbolt the
food hatch. The prisoner jerked awake at the sound. She slid the food inside
and closed the hatch. The prisoner leapt up and stood by the door.
“Thank you sister,” he said loudly. Then he whispered. “Stay a moment.
I have a message for Garint sunna Jardin.”
She shrunk back from the door, eyes wide, whites glowing in the gloom.
“Lock the bolt. I mean you no harm. I want you to deliver a message,
that’s all.” He took a half step back. “Please, I beg you this one favour.”
She crouched down and bolted the food hatch, then stood up by the small
barred window. “What is your message?” she whispered, glancing down the
corridor to where the jailer’s radio warbled, accompanied by the discordant clang
of his fork on the plate.
“I will ask Garint sunna Jardin to come here tomorrow to discuss
amends. Ask him to bring some things for me when he comes. It is very
important.”
She shrunk back again. “You mean to escape.”
“No. You know Garint would not help anyone do such a thing.”
She hesitated for a moment then nodded and swept a lock of brown hair
from her eyes with a slender hand. “What things?”
He whispered his message quickly through the bars, then she departed.
Marin’s stomach rumbled. He picked up the bowl and slab of bread, murmured
a blessing on Mam Gaia and devoured the meal like a starving man who had
suddenly been admitted to a feast.
****
Rouss sat on her bed. Her chest heaved beneath her black blouse and
sobs erupted from her throat. Each time her eyes dried she picked up the letter
and read it again, until the tears flowed once more. Finally she felt able to
get up and make herself a late supper. When she read the letter again afterwards
she found her eyes could at last stay dry. Leymo sunna Seena had died at sea as
she had been told. Marin had found a sailor at an outpost in Greenlun who was
on the ship with him when it went down.
And now Marin was finally back but for some reason couldn’t come in
person. What could have kept him? Rouss emptied out her mug of cold tea.
Outside the window the bulging curve of the moon hung suspended like a beacon over
the north side of town. She held the letter tight to her chest and whispered. “A
blessing on your dreams Marin sunna Elevar.”
A wave of relief swept over her and brought new tears to her eyes. It
was followed by a chill wind of shame. She had loved Leymo and hoped day after
day for his return for three years. Why then did it feel like she had been
released from a huge burden?
****
Morning sun slanted in through the open jail house door. The jailer stood
by his table, legs spread to support his bulk, and shrugged apologetically. “Rules
say I have to check your pockets before you can visit a prisoner.” Garint nodded.
The jailer’s hand snaked into one pocket and withdrew a well-thumbed book. “Still
reading enough for the rest of us put together, eh?”
He replaced it and his pudgy fingers fished in another pocket.
“Well, well. What have we here? A mirror!” His yellowed teeth grinned.
“It seems Gimpy Garint has decided to spruce himself up today. Now why would
that be?” He rubbed his chin in an exaggerated mime of thoughtfulness. “It’s
not Semba so it can’t be Nowell. No, you’re Gaian anyway, but the Solstice has already
gone too. Hmmm.” He stroked his chin again. “We then, I reckon it can only be
one thing.” His mouth curved in a sly grin. “And just who is the lucky lady?”
Garint’s cheeks flushed red. “No. I …”
The jailer laughed and clapped him on the back with a meaty paw. “It’ll
be our secret, eh? Just be sure to let me know first. It’s not often I get to hear
real gossip before everyone else.”
The jailer turned and jangled the ring of keys. “Come on. I’ll take you
to him. Amends is the least of his problems I reckon, if he’s a deserter. Yell
if you need help.”
“I’ll be fine. I know how to use these.” Garint held up his fists and
flashed a lopsided grin.
The prisoner stood by the door and waited until the jailer’s footsteps
had retreated along the corridor. He turned and whispered. “Did you find the
letter? And deliver it?”
“Yes. I put it under her door. She was out.”
“Any reply from her?”
Garint shook his head. “No. I didn’t see her this morning. I came
straight here when I got your message.”
Marin frowned, then looked Garint in the eye. “Sorry about the glass. I
was aiming for the compost heap.”
Garint grinned. “You only missed by a few meedas. The compost heap is
in the same place, in fact I made it bigger. I also built another greenhouse
last winter and you managed to hit that instead. Winter vegetables bring in
good money until the frosts leave the fields outside the walls in spring.”
Marin nodded. “Things are going well for you cousin. I’m glad. Now it’s
time for me to get the wind back in my own sails.” Garint eyed him curiously
but he abruptly changed tack. “How is your father?”
Garint dropped his gaze. “He returned to Mam Gaia last winter. A flu
got into his lungs.”
“I’m sorry.” He paused. “Any news from my family?”
“They were in good health last I heard.”
He nodded and put an eye to the barred window again and squinted down
the gloomy corridor. “Did you bring the things I asked?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Take off your clothes.”
Garint froze. Marin’s gaze pierced him. “I must see her, cousin. You
know how I feel about her. I will be back for you as soon as I can. I promise.”
Garint’s eyes narrowed, then he nodded slowly. They exchanged clothes
and Marin pulled a shard of glass from beneath the thin straw mattress on the
bed and used the mirror to trim his beard to a similar length to Garint’s. “Did
you look after her as I asked cousin?
“Yes. I gave her vegetables and loaned her books and built a big inside
window ledge for her herbs.”
“Thank you for that.” He continued his rough trimming. “Have you found someone
to share your house?”
Garint shook his head.
Marin shrugged. “Maybe just as well, with that leg. That is not
something you want to pass on to the next generation.
Garint scowled. “My leg is not a mutation. Father said my big head got
stuck coming out when I was a baby is all. I can have healthy children.”
“If someone will have you.”
Down the corridor the jailer’s chair creaked. “Are you alright in there
Garint?” he called.
Garint cast a look at Marin. “Yes. Another minute to or two will be
enough.”
Marin spat on the handkerchief from Garint’s coat pocket, wiped some of
the dirt off his face. “How do I look?”
“A spitting image,” said Garint, his jaw tight.
Marin grinned and grasped his shoulder. “They all said we looked alike
enough to be twins when we were young. We will find out if it’s still true.” Garint
pulled on the Rosh overcoat and the fur hat.
Marin smiled. “Good. You look just like a prosperous Rosh merchant...who
has perhaps fallen on hard times.” He chuckled. “I spend most of my time lying
on the bench under the blanket so you can do the same to avoid them seeing your
face. If you have to send a message, tell the young woman who brings the food.
Just pretend you’re me” He pulled Garint’s hat low down his forehead and let
the flaps drop down on each side of his head. “Is the sunwater tank at your
house full? I badly need a bath.”
Garint nodded.
“Good. Now, call him like you‘re in a hurry to go home to your greenhouses.”
Garint shouted out to the jailer, then lay down on the bed and pulled
the blanket over his head. “Don’t forget to limp,” he hissed.
The jailer waved Marin through the door. “Remember to tell me all about
this mysterious woman, eh?” he said, but received only a grunt in reply.
****
Marin stood at the door in the dim light of the early evening, stomach
churning. He slowly raised his hand and tapped on the door, then took a step
back. The few seconds it took before he heard the bolt drawn back seemed like
an age.
“Marin sunna Elevar! Come in!” Rouss pulled him inside and threw her
arms around his neck. “Marin, thank you so much for your letter. You have lifted
a great weight from my heart.” She released her grip, stood back and gazed at
his face. “You are a true friend. Leymo sunna Seena would be very pleased today.”
Marin took a deep breath. “I did what I had to do.”
Rouss waved him to a chair. “I feared you would not return like Leymo. Let
me make you some tea.” She bustled around the kitchen bench as Marin sat and watched.
She chatted happily filling him on all the news he had missed. She finally placed
two mugs of tea on the table and sat down. “I can’t stop smiling. It’s so good
to see you.”
He cradled the hot mug in his hands. “I am glad to see you too Rouss.
Very glad.” He stared at his tea and bit his lip. “Rouss, I have something else
to tell you. A confession of sorts.”
She looked at him keenly, auburn eyebrows raised.
“I didn’t do what I did for Leymo.
At least not all of it. I did it for you, and myself.” His eyes pleaded with
her for understanding. “Rouss, I have loved you since I first met you, even before
you married him, but I could not say a word to you then, nor since, not until
now.”
Rouss’s gaze was riveted on his face. “What are you saying?”
“I can’t stay here,” he waved is hand vaguely in the direction of the
town centre, “but that is not such a bad thing. This town is...there is so much
more outside these walls. Come with me to the north, Rouss. There are fantastic
opportunities there, land for the taking.” He paused and pulled a book out of
his coat pocket. “Have you read this book of Garint’s? It talks of all the
things going on there now that the ice is retreating. It’s not fantasy, it’s
real. I’ve seen it.”
“I’ve read the book.” She shook her head. “Are you sure it is not just
repeating the mistakes of the past? Perhaps Mam Gaia has cast off her blanket
of snow for the benefit of her other children, not us?”
“Mam Gaia has changed. Why not use it to our advantage? There is plenty
of room for all her creatures. We can make a new life Rouss, something great
for ourselves and our children. I have money saved. I buried it in the forest to
the east for safe keeping.”
She raised hand to stop him. “Marin sunna Elevar, I don’t know what to
say. I have always regarded you as a brother, as did Leymo.” She stood and
walked to the fireplace, hands clasped tightly in front of her. She stared into
the flickering flames for several minutes. Marin watched her gravely, hope warring
with dread in his heart. His throat constricted so he could not take even a sip
of the tea. At last she turned and spoke. “Marin. This is all so unexpected. I
need time to work out what I truly feel.”
“It will be a great opportunity for both of us, Rouss. Trust me.”
She looked at him closely. “Those are Garint’s clothes.” Marin nodded. Her
eyes widened. “People said a stranger was caught climbing the wall two nights
ago. That he is a prisoner in the town jail.”
Marin nodded. “That was me.”
“How did you get out?”
“Garint helped me.”
“How? Where is he?”
Marin raised his eyes to hers reluctantly. “He is in my cell. We
swapped clothes. We have always looked alike, apart from the leg. I got the girl
who delivers the food to give him a message.”
“You can’t leave him there!”
“I would never do that. I will go back and swap with him again once we
have made our plans. Then I will work out some way to get free if the judge
decides not to be lenient.”
Rouss paced the floor. “The young woman with the food. Did she have
brown hair and freckles?”
“Yes.”
Rouss shook her head. “You are lucky we are not all behind bars. She is
an Eldmin’s daughter.”
Marin blinked. “I didn’t know. She was reluctant at first but I
convinced her I meant no harm.”
“We must get Garint out. Where does the jailer keep his keys?”
“On his belt I think. Why?”
Rouss frowned. “It will be difficult then.” She glanced at her medicine
bag in the corner and bit her lip. “I have an idea. Go back to Garint’s house now.
Stay there until this time tomorrow night.”
He nodded, then hesitated as he picked up Garint’s coat. “Promise me
you will consider what I have said.”
Her eyes moistened as she studied him. “I will be unable to think of anything
else. Now go.” She opened the door and glanced out into the lane. “And stay out
of sight of your friends in the red coats.”
****
The swelling
moon emerged from above the rooftops as Marin skulked down the lane to the
cottage. Rouss flinched at the knock. She opened the door a crack. “Marin.
You’re early. Quickly.” She opened the door wider and he stepped inside.
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait.” He looked at her black blouse, skirt, and
coat topped by a long black cape. “You still wear the mourning clothes?”
She gave him a thin smile. “Tonight will be the last time.” She turned
to face the mirror on the wall beside the door and pulled the hood over her
head. “Stay here until I get back.” She nodded toward a neat stack on the bed.
“Get changed into some of Leymo’s clothes. I think those will fit you.”
He nodded and stepped toward her. “Rouss.”
She raised to gloved hand to stop him. “Please Marin, wait until I get
back.”
An hour later Marin paced the path behind Rouss’s cottage. He watched
his breath form hoary clouds in the air in front of him.
Inside Rouss buttoned up a green blouse which matched her eyes. The shimmering
chinselk traced her curves from her shoulders to the belted waist of her
flowing skirt. She fastened a silver chain around her neck and placed the cross
carefully in a drawer. She hummed to herself to try and stop her mind from racing.
She brushed her hair in the mirror and chose a colourful clasp to hold it in
place. She bent down and opened a cupboard, searched in the back for an old
bottle, covered with foreign writing. She drew it out and blew off some dust,
frowned at the worm lying at the bottom, and removed the cork. She filled two small
glasses and placed them on the table, then went to the back door. “Marin,” she
whispered. “you can come in now.”
Marin stepped back inside and draped his coat over a chair. His eyes widened
as they took in her transformation. “You look more beautiful than ever.”
She dropped her eyes and waved at the chair. “Please sit.” Marin did as
she bid and her red lips parted to speak before a loud knock interrupted her.
She put her finger to her lips. “Who is it?” she called.
“Rouss darra Sage, it’s me, Bartim. I’ve come to talk with you again. I
feel we parted unhappily last time we spoke and I would like to set things
straight.”
She looked at Marin. “It’s late Mister Bartim. Perhaps tomorrow would
be more appropriate?”
“I fear I have already left this too long. I have been thinking about
the things you said.”
“I am pleased to hear that Mister Bartim, but I don’t feel this is the
right time or place to continue that conversation.” She looked at Marin and her
face contorted in desperation.
Marin slid one hand inside his coat and pulled out a knife. Rouss glared
at him and shook her head. The door latch scraped as Bartim tried the handle.
Rouss spun and lunged for the bolt but too late. The door opened and Bartim
stepped in. He stopped in mid stride. “Who is this?”
“An old friend. Marin sunna Elevar, this is Eldmin and Mister Bartim.”
The men exchanged the barest of nods.
Bartim looked her up and down. “He is obviously someone worth dressing
up for.”
Rouss blushed. “He has brought me news of Leymo sunna Seena.” She took
a breath. “Marin has confirmed that he died at sea in a terrible storm.”
Bartim nodded slowly and gestured to her clothes. “So, you are now
ready to live again?”
“Yes.” She flashed a glance at Marin.
“And you will accept my proposal?” He moved toward her.
“Not so fast.” Marin stepped between them, the knife still clutched in
one hand behind his back. “I have known Rouss for many years and loved her all
that time. She is coming with me to the north.”
Rouss raised her hands. “Sit down, both of you, and hear me out.”
Marin and Bartim reluctantly lowered themselves into chairs on opposite
sides of the table. Bartim picked up the glass, sniffed its contents, and
downed it in one gulp.
Rouss paced the room and wrung a handkerchief in her hands. “I have
done a lot of thinking these past few days. About our discussion Mister Bartim,
the news of Leymo, Marin’s return and escape…”
Bartim stared at Marin, his eyes ice cold. “You are the prisoner?”
Marin nodded, returning his glare. “It is not important. I will replace
the glass.”
Rouss dabbed a tear with her handkerchief. “I have never felt more
confused at any time in my entire life, but I think I am clear now.”
She nodded to Marin. “One of you asks me to leave my home and venture
into the wilderness and make a life somewhere I have never been.”
She turned to Bartim. “The other allows me to stay in familiar
surroundings, but I fear will require to me compromise too much. And that is not
how I want to live, nor how I wish bring up a child, if Mam Gaia should bless
me again.”
Bartim scowled. Rouss blew her nose into the handkerchief.
“I have come to realise that I have other choices which I did not even consider
before. My roots are here and my skills are still in demand, at least enough to
keep bread on the table. Making babies is a growing concern in town these days.”
She attempted a smile. Neither Marin nor Bartim responded. The grin wilted on
her lips. “I fear neither of you will like what I am about to say.”
“What?” Marin pushed back his chair and leapt to his feet, hands
clenched at his side. “You can’t be thinking of accepting this oaf’s proposal.”
“You can curse me all you wish from your cell, deserter.” Bartim rose, placed
his hands on the table and leaned forward glowering. “I will see you rot in
jail.”
“Stop it!” Rouss cried.
Knock, knock, knock.
The rapping on the door froze them all in a bizarre tableau.
Knock, knock.
Rouss turned her head toward the sound. “Come in,” she croaked, barely
able to get the words out.
The door opened and Garint limped inside, hair and beard brushed and
wearing clean clothes. “I thought I’d get changed before I came over. Those
Rosh clothes are...” His voice trailed off at the sight of Bartim and Marin.
Rouss smiled and rushed to embrace him. “Garint. Thank goodness you’re
safe.”
Glossary
Stars Reach words used
|
New words coined for this
story (in rough order of use)
|
||
Darra
|
daughter of (e.g Rouss darra
Sage)
|
Sackamon
|
exclamation derived from Sacrament
– Quebec French meaning “God Dammit”
|
Gaian
|
Religion based on worship of Gaia (Mother Earth)
|
heronna
|
Her honour (official title)
|
Genda
|
Canada
|
juree
|
jury
|
Gummint
|
government
|
munee
|
municipality
|
Mam Gaia
|
Earth (seen as a goddess)
|
crussin
|
croissant
|
Meeda
|
metre
|
maypa sirp
|
maple syrup
|
Meer
|
Leader of Genda
|
Eldmin
|
Alderman/Alderwoman of the town council
|
Meriga
|
the former United States
|
hizonna
|
His honour (official title
|
Meyco
|
Mexico
|
Nowell
|
Christmas (from the French Noel)
|
Old Believers
|
Christians
|
chinselk
|
Chinese silk, obtained via trade with Rosh
|
Otwa
|
Ottawa
|
||
Prentice
|
apprentice
|
||
Rosh
|
Russia
|
||
Semba
|
December
|
||
Senamee
|
centimetre
|
||
Sunna
|
son of (e.g. Garint sunna
Jardin)
|
||
Constructive comments welcome :-)
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