Cyrion (8 page)

 Anya sank to the ground and sat cross-legged beside him. “You were right, Saul. He’s brooding.”

Her hand snaked out and petted the ruff of Minari’s neck.

Saul stood before the two of them for a moment, his head cocked. Light from the setting sun cast his features in shadow.

“I told you he’s a brooder.” He joined Anya on the ground. “So, what are you worrying about now?”

The smile drained from his face. Jon bit his lip, hunched his shoulders, and returned to studying the ground.

“Let me guess.” Saul said.

Jon glanced up to his best friend. Back ramrod straight and eyes closed, Saul placed the tips of his thumbs under his cheekbones and the tips of his forefinger on his forehead.

Anya smiled as Saul hummed then said, “You’re worried that we’re going to have even more pottage for dinner?”

Anya giggled. “Pottage isn’t bad. Wait until you try acorn and willow bark soup.”

Saul hummed louder, shaking his head. “No, that’s not it. You’re worried about me telling everyone you wear pink undergarments.”

“I do not,” Jon said over hoots of Anya’s laughter. He turned to her, his face beet red. “I swear I don’t wear pink undergarments.”

Saul put down his hands, and grinned at Jon, his grey-blue eyes snapping with mirth. “I dare you to show her your undergarments as proof.”

He scooted away, shouting in mock pain as Jon pelted him with leaves and twigs. “If you want me to stop guessing what’s on your mind, start talking.”

Jon sighed, before looking at each of them in turn. “I’ve been thinking about, you know, what happened earlier today.”

Saul turned away, his face somber. “Yeah, me too.”

Jon sank back to the ground, pulled his knees to his chest, and locked his arms around them. “I can’t help but wonder if only we listened to the grumps and stayed put. Or if only I planned things out better and kept an eye on that blasted captain, then maybe…” He looked up. Saul’s haunted eyes reflected his own guilt.

“Maybe there wouldn’t be as many people, or even goblins, dead?” Saul’s face twisted in a bitter smile. “It’s not your fault, you know. It’s mine. It was
my
idea to go after the goblins and rescue the grumps. Your plan was good. I just wasted too much time breaking the stupid padlock.” Saul’s face grew colder, more accusatory. “My fault. I can see it on my dad’s face.”

Jon hated the self-loathing in his friend’s voice.

“I could have done better. I should have
been
better.”

“No, Saul,” Jon said. “You didn’t mess up. I did. It was my plan. So I messed up.”

Anya sighed and shook her head. “You are both silly.” She turned to Jon. “If you stayed put, then I would try to rescue them on my own. Then more people would’ve probably died, including me.” She turned to Saul “If you had not suggested going after the grumps, I still would’ve tried rescuing them on my own. Do either of you regret not letting me risk my life, not to mention the lives of my pack?”

Jon shook his head.

 Anya rose from the ground, brushed the dried leaves and twigs clinging to her skirt, and then paced the ground. “I’ve been around a long time. A very long time. And I can tell you this much.” She stopped and spun to Jon. “Your plan was a good one. The best anyone could have come up with, given what we knew and the circumstances.”

She bowed her head. “If anyone messed up, it was me. I was supposed to be spying on them and I didn’t notice that blasted captain was gone. I
am
sorry for that.” She lifted her head, pausing for a moment before turning to Saul. “If you hadn’t come when you did, I don’t know what would’ve happened.” Her bright silver eyes locked onto Saul’s flushed face. “Thank you.”

She resumed her pacing for a moment, before stopping yet again. “Come to think of it, I owe you both my life. I shall have to repay that debt someday.” She nodded her head, as if making a pact, and then continued. “Those goblins would have died regardless. It was them or us. Does it really matter whose hand dealt the final blow?”

“I suppose not,” Saul said, reluctance on every line of his sun-lit face.

Jon stared at the ground, compulsively rubbing his hands on his leggings. “That all makes sense. But then, why do I feel different?” He tilted his head up at her. “Tainted?”

Anya shook her head. “Not tainted. Marked.”

“And how is that better?” Saul asked.

“You’re marked as people who will always do what needs to be done, regardless.” She knelt back down and looked at them in turn. “I’ve been taught it’s a mark of valor and courage. Something to be proud of.” She jerked her head at the other children playing in the clearing. “Could any of them have done what you did?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. With you two, I do.”

Jon huffed and laid down on his back. “That may be. At least now we won’t have to worry about that kind of stuff anymore.”

Saul leaned forward, his brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

Jon watched the elm branches rustling in the warm summer breeze. “Well, the grumps are here now. They can worry about all the big, important stuff. And we can go back to having fun.”

Anya looked away. “What about me?” She bit her lip. “I could go back to the forest, I guess.”

Jon pulled himself up in a single fluid motion. “That’s silly, Anya.” He shared a glance with an equally amused Saul. “You’re staying with us, of course. Right, Saul?”

Saul nodded with enthusiasm, unruly hair flopping all over his high forehead. “Yeah, Anya. Now that I know Dad can do magic, I’ll just ask him to magic a room up for you. Or something.”

Jon returned to lying on his back and resumed studying the play of elm leaves. “Yeah. It’ll be fun. You’ll see. And you’ll be staying with us in Grampa’s house, in Linwood.”

 Saul snorted. “Mum said it’s a Watcher town. Nice, safe, predictable.” He smiled, the tip of his tongue sticking out of his mouth. “Wonder what the three of us can do to change that? What do you all say? Let’s bring some life to the place. Sound like fun?”

Jon rolled on his side and studied his friends. “Yes. That definitely sounds like fun.”

The radiant smile that lit up Anya’s face was answer enough.

THE GRAMPS

Jon scrubbed his foot with sullen determination. After all that happened, all he accomplished, he still found himself thrust into the absolute worst thing in existence.

A bath.

A rose and lilac scented bath.

A girly, rose and lilac-scented bath.

With extra bubbles.

Ugh
.

Even his Grampa Naeem couldn’t get him out of that one. Granted, they all stank of mud, sweat, and rotten eggs.

But still
.

He and Grampa recognized each other as kindred souls the moment they met. Naeem answered all Jon’s questions and indulged Jon’s peculiar interest in geology. Together, they spent hours poring over Naeem’s samples of strange-shaped quartz, local limestone, and glassy volcanic rocks. He also took the time to show off his extensive collection of books as well as curious mathematical and alchemical instruments.

Thwarting Arti’s numerous requests for anonymity, Grampa Naeem showed Jon all his favorite spots in Linwood.

Jon loved his Grampa. And he knew Grampa loved him.

Linwood was a neat little town. Grampa said it was a known Watcher town.

When Jon asked what the term meant, Grampa Naeem said people know there are Watchers in Linwood. They just don’t know which Linwood residents were the real Watchers, with genuine Watcher tattoos, and who were only pretending to be Watchers.

The bad times were finally over. Jon felt he could relax and return to being a simple boy.

Unfortunately, being a simple boy also meant taking not-so-simple baths.

Jon lowered his mouth into the warm water and blew frustrated bubbles as he studied the doors on opposite sides of the mudroom. One door led to the backyard and the other, to the kitchen. He considered making a run for the backyard, but decided against it.

Mum might make him take another bath for the sheer fun of it.

Besides, he didn’t have the key to the locked side gate that led to freedom. So he’d only trap himself in the backyard. With chickens for company. He studied at the kitchen door where his mother and Greta were currently preparing a meal of some kind. From the smell of it, something that involved garlic and ginger.

“Jon, come on! You’ve got to be done by now,” Saul said from the kitchen side of the mudroom door.

Grinning, Jon got out of the tub and dripped all over the stone floor as he searched for the towel and his clothes.

“Mum, where are my clothes?”

“Mine were gone too,” Saul said. “Put on whatever’s there so we can go explore.”

Jon found a set of clothes neatly folded on the wooden bench sitting along one side of the wall. As he pulled the tunic over his head, he heard a croaky voice.

“I tole you. You have to slice them garlic fin. Fin enough to almost see through. Wot you trying to do with them chunks, scare away vampires or somefin’?”

“I’ve missed you too, Greta,” came his mother’s reply.

Jon pushed open the mudroom door and saw Saul’s grinning face.

“And you two, throw out the dirty water before you go. Can’t be expectin’ me to do it all. Not at my age,” said Greta, a tall, elderly woman towering beside Arti by the cutting board.

Greta had a voice like a bullfrog with laryngitis, and a face like she spent most of her considerable lifetime sucking lemons.

They turned around and went back into the mudroom. Jon took one handle and Saul the other handle of the tub. They lifted it on the count of three and headed towards the backyard. Jon had just opened the door to the backyard when he heard Greta say from the kitchen:

“Them boys need a haircut. Where’s me scissors, then?”

The boys threw the water out, dropped the wooden tub clattering on the mudroom floor, before running through the kitchen to the front room, determined to get out of Greta’s reach before she found her scissors. They ran past Naeem in the front room, his nose buried deep in a book.

“Slow down there, lads,” Naeem said, putting his book aside.

He sat on a comfortable upholstered couch of carved rosewood with mother-of-pearl inlays. The front room was flooded with the light that streamed in through generous windows, fitted with panes of clear glass.

“Don’t worry about the scissors,” Naeem said. “She won’t be cutting hair today, boys. I’d be bald myself if I left them in the house. I buried them by the chicken coop in the backyard. No chance of her getting them. Chickens terrify her.” He paused, as if to re-consider his last statement. “Well, live chickens, anyway.”

“Wot you do with me scissors, you crazy ole fool?” Greta bellowed from the kitchen.

“Greta, you’re scaring the children,” Naeem said, a blissful smile on his lips.

“Is she a Watcher too?” Saul asked in a soft voice.

“No, lad. Greta is…Greta. Actually, you’d better call her Grammy Greta. Yes, I think she’d like that. She might decide not to torture you as much.”

“Is she my…grandmother?” Jon tried to keep his face impassive and the horror from his voice.

Naeem laughed. “No, lad. Of course not! She’s been with the family for years. We grew up together, she and I. Your grandmother died young, so she practically raised your mother.”

Naeem tweaked his cheeks. Jon did not mind when his grandfather tweaked his cheeks. He bore the comforting, masculine scent of sandalwood and aged tobacco, while his mother tended to smell like whatever she was cooking at the time.

“Why does she talk so mean?” Jon asked.

“The meaner she talks to you, the more she loves you.”

“Well, she must love us
very
much,” Saul said, his eyebrows arched.

“And that is Greta,” Naeem said. “Just don’t tell her I said so.” He winked.

“But she’s really old, Grampa,” Jon said. “Shouldn’t she retire, or something?”

Naeem laughed. “The last time I suggested she do so, she chased me with a broom and locked me out of my own house for a week.” He shook his head. “Sorry lad, I’m not trying that again. I did try to get her a helper though.”

“Where is her helper?” Jon craned his neck and looked around.

“I said ‘tried’. He was a nice enough lad, of Nomadic tribe stock, from the far South. Greta was very nice to him.” Naeem paused for a moment, frowning. “Which really should have tipped me off.”

“What happened?” Saul said.

“Greta poisoned him.”

“What?” both boys said in unison.

“Not fatally,” Naeem said, flapping his hands. “With pigeon berries. The shrub grows by the low wall in the backyard. Greta slipped them into everything the poor lad ate and drank. He didn’t even last the week.” Naeem leaned back on the couch. “You know, no one could ever prove she did it.”

“You talkin’ about me, you crazy ole fool?”

“Why yes, Greta,” Naeem said.

“Wot you tellin’ them, then?”

“We love you,” Naeem said, a playful twinkle in his jet eyes.

“Wot you talkin’ about, you crazy ole fool?” Greta stomped into the front room, arms akimbo, smelling of olive oil and fresh garlic.

“Good morning, Grammy Greta,” both boys greeted her in unison, shrinking back slightly from her presence.

The thunderous scowl on her wrinkled brows softened when she spotted them.

“You lookin’ for your friend, then?”

Jon nodded. Saul stood uncharacteristically still and quiet, terror on every line of his face.

“Well, she’s visitin’ the market square, in town. If you’re going, ‘ere’s some spendin’ money.” Greta handed Saul a small pouch of coins.

She shot a defiant glare at Naeem, as if daring him to object. Naeem closed his eyes, and emitted an obviously fake snore.

Greta snorted in triumph. “Mind you remember to get that girl somefin’. She’s a good ‘un.” She gave Naeem another snort before stomping back to the kitchen.

“About your friend,” Naeem said, his eyes snapping open. He held his hand out to halt the boys who were about to dash off. “What do you know about her?”

“Her name is Anya. She’s a cyrion, and she can ask animals to do things,” Jon said.