A Thread of Time: Firesetter, Book 1 (11 page)

“Don't remind me,” the Duke scoffed, as
the King refilled his cup.  “She is pretty, Mike.  A beautiful smile, above all
else.  Show me your teeth, girl.  I always look upon my filly’s teeth before I
mount.”

Dutifully, I forced my lips upward,
although my feet, like a filly’s were inclined to kick.

“Very pretty” the Duke repeated, “but,
rather skinny.  Surely, you have a mare or even a colt in your stable who can
offer me a better ride.”

“This one is unbroken.  I thought you
preferred them that way.”

“Ah!  Well, perhaps now, I might
reconsider.”

“Nay.  You, a new father of a strapping
son, must be dutiful to your wife for a least a week.”

“Ach.  If I am lucky, she will perish
quickly of the Disease.  As to my son, had he not arrived with a cock, I would
have thought him born a girl.  You do not realize how fortunate you have been,
Mike.  I should gladly change places, just say the word.  Ah, how I wish I was
like you, unattached and unfettered.”

The King chuckled.  “How you wish you
might change places and wear my crown.”

Now, the Duke laughed and his eyes once
again surveyed my body.

“Perhaps, I will take her.  The more I
gaze upon her, the more I like.”

Too late.”  The King waved his hand, much
to my relief.  “Leave us now, Marko.  You may find the barn beyond the fence to
the south of the main gate.  There we have a donkey and an ass or two that you
might enjoy.  You may stay, Mistress Ailana of Farku.  I should like to speak
with you alone.”

The Duke chuckled and leered as if the
King’s intentions were not honorable.

“Let me know how it goes, cousin,” the
duke called, rising to his feet and strolling to the door.  “If you change your
mind, I suppose I can close my eyes.  All cats are black at night, even Karut
ones.”

I was not sorry to see the Duke depart,
although I grew nervous alone in the King’s presence.  I shouldn’t have.  Why,
we had met already thrice before, and each time, the King had treated me with
respect.  However, he had swiftly and bloodthirstily executed my friend,
Lioter, so despite his calm demeanor and appearance, I would not let down my
guard.

“Would you care for a drink, Ailana of
Farku?” he asked, offering me a glass, a tiny smile playing upon his lips. 
“Please.  It is the least I may do for having forced you to come to this dark
and dreary office.  Can you feel the ghosts surrounding us?  There are so many,
it is nearly impossible to breathe.  One must fortify themselves, lest we let
them infect our souls.”

“The ghosts?”  I accepted the cup and
sipped slowly of the amber liquid.  It went straight to my head and made me
cough, but also filled my tongue with boldness, much more so than it should
have.

“This was my great-grandfather’s office,
the Great Emperor.  Of course, you know of whom I speak.  If you were summoned
here it was either because he liked you, or because he meant to dispatch your
soul himself.  Let me tell you, there were very few he liked.  Beneath this
fine carpet, many red stains cross these floors.  Now, why don’t you tell me
what you know of Korelesk’s plans.” 

“And, if I refuse, do you mean to dispatch
me?  I find little difference in your treatment of my friend, Lioter, and the
conduct of your esteemed, but violent ancestor.  Perhaps, you resemble him in
more ways than just your looks.”

For a moment, the King seemed taken
aback.  His dark eyes narrowed and at first, his mouth turned down.

“You are a brazen little one, aren’t you?”
he murmured, breaking into a smile.  “It is a trait of those who hail from the
motherland.  But, I have asked you a question.  Now, I bid you take advantage
of the hospitality I have extended.  Seat yourself upon my sofa, and tell me
what you know.”

He strolled over to the hearth and stood
with his back to me, contemplating the flames and the shadows they cast upon
the walls.  I took a place upon the sofa across from where the Duke had been,
watching the King from beneath my lashes, as he waited for information I did
not have. 

Mikal was always a handsome man, in the
manner of his forbearers, but his eyes were dark and filled with
disappointment.  Despite the differences in our station and age, and despite
his poor treatment of my friend, I found myself gazing upon him with pity, for
clearly he was unhappy in this life.

“I know nothing,” I told him, as
convincingly as I could.  “I have not met the Duke of Korelesk before this
day.”

“But, your friend, the spy knew him quite
well.  Are you certain you had not made the Duke’s acquaintance in his
company?”

“No!  I knew nothing of Lioter’s friends
or political leanings, as our conversations were always quite innocent and of
no particular topic.”

“What did you discuss in these
conversations?”

“I don’t recall,” I replied honestly. 
“Not much of anything.  Perhaps, we discussed flowers as we walked about the
gardens in the evenings.”

“Flowers?”

“He appreciated the vast collection in the
rose garden.”

“Roses,” the King repeated and upon his
lips there grew a smirk.  “I believe you, Miss Farku, for you are far too
innocent to engage in games of high intrigue.  You may finish your wine and
depart from my company.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, swallowing the
dregs at the bottom of my glass.  “Might I ask what you were doing in the pub
that night?  Surely, there are finer establishments where a man of your station
might enjoy a drink?”

“You are also presumptuous, Miss Farku,”
the King laughed.  He leaned against the hearth and reached into his pocket,
extracting a cigarette.  “Upon our first meeting, you criticized my desire to
smoke, while on our second, you showed disdain for my choice of pubs.”

 “I mean no offense, Sir,” I cried.  “I
was merely curious as to why you would venture to that part of town.  And, this
is our fourth meeting, for you did collide with me in the garden, knocking me
into a rose bush early in the spring.”

“Did I?  I beg your pardon.”  He drew back
upon his cigarette, studying the pattern of the smoke as he exhaled it.  I
watched it as well, before my eyes focused upon that lock of curly hair that
was forever misplaced upon his forehead. 

“I enjoyed that pub when I attended the
university, and it pleases me to venture out without pomp and circumstance.  I
tend to learn important rumors there, such as the gossip spread by your
late-friend’s tongue.  I had known Marko was scheming against me, but I did not
realize to what extent.  That one evening proved to be quite valuable.”

“I knew nothing,” I insisted again. 

“I understand that now.”  The King blew a
ring of smoke into the air.  “I could see in Marko’s eyes that he had never
encountered you before.  Thank you, Ailana.  You have finished your drink and
so you are dismissed.”

“Thank you, Sir.”  I rose.  Dipping into a
curtsy, my wayward tongue continued to speak.  “I am sorry your cousin plots
against you.  I have a cousin who I do not favor, but she would not kill me,
nor I her.  That I am certain.”

“That is because neither of you have a
throne.”

“We have only a sewing shop,” I conceded,
which apparently filled the King with mirth.

“Ach, cousins,” he chuckled, his dark eyes
suddenly erupting with light.  “We are nearly two centuries removed from his
paternal ancestor, who tied us together in blood.  Our relationship is distant
and tenuous, but we dance about each other as if we once shared the same womb. 
Perhaps, we once did in another life.  I beg your pardon, Mistress, for I delay
you overly long from your own business.”

“Oh no, Sir!”

“Oh yes.”  He waved a hand at the door,
where a guard held it open for me to leave. However, before departing, I
decided to inform the King that I was in possession of a button from his coat.

“If you should like for me to fix it, I
would be most honored, Sir.”

“Perhaps, I shall,” he replied.  “Now,
goodnight.”

Chapter 13

Dov

My father used to say that we were all one
nation now.  No longer were we segregated as the people of the motherland,
different from those who had solely inhabited this continent before.  Since the
Great Emperor's time, nearly two centuries past, we were all the same, one
blood, one race despite our ancestry. 

My mother would smile when my father spoke
like this, for she believed it entirely untrue.  She would whisper in my ear,
“I wish everyone would think the same as him.  Unfortunately, it is not so, and
you must be wary, my little Dov.  Despite your father's words, the others will
always look upon you as one of us.”

My mother was of the motherland, while my
father was of Mishnah.  They had met at the university in Turko only a year
before my birth.  Mama said the attraction was not immediate, for they were
strongly different in both their appearances and thoughts.  Papa was a dreamer,
studying philosophy and pontificating on his every thought, while Mama was
practical, studying mathematics. 

They met in a school cafeteria where Mama
was working to pay for her tuition.  Papa had plenty of money to pay for his,
as he was descended from a branch of the noble family.  In fact, my grandfather
was the duke of a tiny province called Kildoo, and Papa had grown up with much
wealth and servants to see to his every need. 

However, Papa became smitten by Mama's
beauty and her intelligence, which might have been more than his.  He chased
her all over campus and won her love by taking her to a concert of her favorite
band.  After which, my grandfather disinherited Papa for his indiscretion.

“Your grandfather is both elderly and
foolish,” Papa declared, whenever I asked about this family I had never met. 
“He's a racist and a tyrant.  You are better off never knowing him.”

Unfortunately, without Papa's trust fund,
we lived a pauper's life.  Papa was useless when it came to work, for he had
never dirtied his hands before.  In the past, his former title of Viscount
Kildoo had opened doors to whatever he desired and without it, he discovered he
was quite lost.

Mama was hardworking and productive, but
her degree required more years of study than they could afford.  Every day she
left before the sun arose to work until the afternoon, when she returned to the
university to study until the moons were high.  Papa tended the house and
looked after me, when he wasn’t napping or arguing with the neighbors on the
street.

One day shortly after I turned six years
old, Mama came home and spoke of people who had disappeared. 

“The Duke of Korelesk,” she said,
referring to a man Papa called his cousin, Marko.  “He means to exterminate my
people.  He means to kill us all.  He blames us for the Disease and everything
bad that has happened to our planet.” 

She pulled me on her lap and held me
tightly so I would not be afraid of this cousin Marko or what he meant to do. 
As I leaned against her shoulder, I could feel the trembling in her body and
this alone made me more fearful than ever before.

“That's ridiculous,” Papa scorned.  “We
have nothing to fear.” 

This prompted Mama to shout at him that he
was being naive and had always been so.  She carried me off to bed, kissing my
cheek and telling me not to worry, although by now, I was terrified of I knew
not what. 

However, the strangest thing happened to
me after that.  While staring at my ceiling, at the crack that ran across it
from door to window, I heard a voice inside the room.  In fact, the voice
sounded as if it was next to me in the bed.  It wasn't that of either Mama or
Papa, who were still shouting, banging chairs and smashing dishes on the
kitchen floor.  They called each other names and Mama wept while Papa swore,
prompting the man in the flat above us to bang upon our ceiling.

“Don't be afraid,” the voice next to me
said.  It was soft and sounded like a boy.  “I shall be with you.  I am waiting
for you.  It shall be soon.  I am here.”

“Okay,” I replied, seeing no one but my
shadow.

Instantly, I felt better, as I knew
whoever he was, he was my friend. I could trust him with my life, and I felt as
if I always had.  Then, I fell asleep that night to the sound of my mama's
tears and Papa slamming the door as he went to get a drink from the
neighborhood pub.

Mama was right, as she always was, for not
long after that, cousin Marko did come for us.  His army came to our village,
to our building and took all the people of the motherland away. 

Mama was at her job, so Papa and I hoped
that she was safe, as we peeked from our single window at the street.  All our
neighbors were lined up, one by one, while the army pointed their guns and
shouted commands.  The old man who lived three doors away refused to stay where
he had been told.  Papa covered my eyes when the army shot him with their
bullets. 

When they came to our door, Papa told them
who he was.

“I am Viscount Kildoo,” he declared,
puffing out his chest.  “I am cousin to Duke Marko of Korelesk.”

“Prove it,” the men laughed, for they did
not believe a nobleman could be living in such a dirty place, in a ghetto that
was populated by only Mama's people. 

“Just a moment,” Papa said, as the men
pushed themselves into our front room.  “I will find something to show you who
I am.” 

He ran to the bedroom he and Mama shared
while I stood alone in the front room, staring at the men.  Mama had always
said I looked like a Korelesk with my fine blond hair and clear blue eyes.  I
must have, for the men stared back at me and murmured that I was out of place.

“Dov!  Come Dov.  I need your help, son. 
Come reach inside this drawer.”

“Yes, Papa,” I replied, and hurried to his
room. 

Papa grabbed me as soon as I came through
the door.  He carried me to the window and opened it wide. 

“Go on,” he pushed me through, “jump
down.  It isn't nearly as far as it looks.  Run to the forest and hide there
until this whole thing passes.”

I began to protest and struggle in his
arms for indeed, the distance to the ground looked quite far to me.  Still, he
shoved me through until it was only his arms that held me above the ground. 

“Goodbye, Dov.  If I don't come for you,
go to the motherland and be with Mama's people.”

Then, he dropped me and I fell three
stories.  I remembered each moment in the air as if it happened in slow
motion.  At first, I covered my eyes, but as I realized how slowly this time
was passing, I removed my hands and watched the world fly around me.

Papa was leaning out the window with empty
arms, and like the building, he grew smaller and smaller until he was no bigger
than my thumb.  Then, he disappeared inside and I landed upon the grass. 
Despite the distance I had traveled, I had no injuries.  In fact, I felt as if
I had flown across the sky upon the giant wings of angel, who set me down with
a kiss and a blessing to be well. 

Rising to my feet, I glanced around at our
now empty building.  I could hear the sounds of the army coalescing upon the
street in front.  A sharp crack filled the air.  It was a gunshot, although I
didn’t know it at the time.

“Run Dov,” a voice called me to the
forest.  “Run away before they come.” 

It was the same voice, the same boy who
had come to my bedroom, my old friend, and so I ran, never once looking back.

For a long time, many days and nights, the
changing of the seasons, and the passage of the moons, I lived alone in the
woods, wandering from path to path.  From forest to meadow, I followed the
rivers nearly always by myself.  Occasionally, I would meet up with a band of
our people, who were hiding from the Korelesk army, just as I.  There were many
who died there in the woods, having never been exposed to the elements, having
spent their entire lives cloistered in the city, never having learned to make a
fire. 

My friend taught me everything I needed to
survive, and I lived, even enjoying the experience a little bit.

One day, I came upon an old man sitting
beside the corpse of his wife.  She was newly passed and the man refused to
leave her. 

“We have lost our way,” he told me.

Even though I was small, I helped him
build her grave.  Unfortunately, we had no shovels or anything with which we
could use to dig.  Instead, we shrouded her in stones, shiny pebbles and
granite boulders from the river's edge, until her body was safely hidden from
the forest animals.

“What will you do now?” I asked him.

“Wait for my turn to die.  I can no more
live out here in the forest, than I could become a Korelesk slave.  What will
you do, little one?  How can you manage to survive alone here with winter
coming?”

I shrugged and rose to my feet.

“My friend will tell me what I should do.”

The old man looked around at the empty
meadow and leafless trees, seeing no one, save, a squirrel or two. 

“Your friend?” he asked, his eyes
twinkling. 

“My friend,” I repeated.  “He has kept me
safe this long.”

“Then, I suspect he will keep you safe
longer still.”

Shortly thereafter, my friend guided me to
the village at the river’s edge.  I wintered there in the doorways and beneath
the docks.  I ate whatever I could find, stealing roots from abandoned kitchen
gardens, or bread from window sills, or coins from the pockets of the drunks
who lined the streets. 

When I met Jan, it was already the spring
and I had lived on my own in this manner for nearly a year.  I saw her many
times upon her boat and at each meeting, my friend would push me in the ribs.

“Speak to her,” he said.

“Of what?”

“Befriend her,” he said.  “Tell her how
you love the sea.  Go home with her.  There is food there for you to eat.”

I did as I was told and discovered in the
flat next to her own, the very friend that had been speaking to me all along.

I knew who Amyr was and I knew who Amyr
had been before.  Although I couldn't put it into words, or describe how I came
to this knowledge, as soon as I was in his presence, I knew by his side was
where I belonged.

When we arrived upon the shores of the
motherland, Amyr was taken by the Village Priest and Village Chief, for they
recognized in him the same thing that I saw. 

“Stay with Pellen,” Amyr told me while we
were still crossing the ocean in the tiny boat.  “Comfort him for he has lost
both wife and son.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.  “You are
still here.”

“Ach, Dov.”  My friend sighed in the way
that he always had.  Then, he nudged me in the arm, a smile playing upon his
lips.  I could tell that like me, he was glad that we were together again.

I lived with Pellen for more than three
years, helping in his shop and attending the village school where I learned the
language of the motherland.  Little else could hold my attention, for I had
grown unaccustomed to sitting in a chair. 

I longed to be a warrior, to return to the
other continent, and vanquish the army of Korelesk. 

Each year, I watched the older boys ride
off to the King’s village to begin this training, to learn how to fight, and I
thought of Amyr, who was already there, preparing for the war we would wage. 

“Maybe next year, little Dov,” Jan
laughed, when I told her of my longing to join those who fought.  “When you
have grown in height to nearly double, you will be able to carry a sword.  Now,
it would only drag upon the ground like a dog with a too-long tail.  Better you
should remain in your lessons and learn how to count all these coins we are
earning.”

Amyr visited on occasion but as he grew
older, those time became rare.  His visits were never long, only enough to hear
our news.

“And, what of you?” Pellen always asked. 
“How is your health?”

“I am well, Papa.”

“No spells?”

“Not often.”

“What of your legs and the weakness in
your muscles?”

“No.”  Amyr would shake his head again. 
“I am strong because I am here where I belong.”

“What of your eyes?  How is your sight?”

“It is enough to see what I need to know.”

Then, Pellen would nod and insist Jan
bring Amyr a bowl of soup.  After which, he would begin his inquiries again.

“What do you do?  Who teaches you?  Where
do you live?  What do you eat?”  Pellen repeated the same questions over and
again, although each time, Amyr was as evasive with his answers as before.

My friend would simply act as if he hadn’t
heard the question, instead asking after our health before begging his leave to
go.  Pellen would kiss his cheek and with a furrowed brow and concern upon his
face, he would watch Amyr until he was too far down the street to be seen.