Rebel Song (21 page)

CHAPTER 29

Rogan thrust the final crate of bread onto the long linen-covered table in the Sant Hiro’s Temple courtyard and stretched his back. The scent of freshly baked bread tickled his belly but he couldn’t in good conscience crack open a loaf earmarked for the downtrodden.  He instead swigged from his water canteen and promised himself that as soon as he was done he was heading straight to Viola’s for the biggest piece of fried bread and bacon she’d ever served.
 

“You’re good to help out today son,” High Father Broden said, patting Rogan on the shoulder. “There aren’t enough strong shoulders these days willing to share their time with those in need.”

“It’s no trouble Father. I was just hoping I’ll actually get to try some of this bread that Lorena’s been baking all morning. The smell is enough to drive a man mad.”

“We’ll be sure to save you a slice,” the father grinned. “Come now, I need your help with the stew pots. You won’t believe the amount of food the good Minister has gathered for us. She’s a blessing that one.”

“Minister? Didn’t think there was a decent bone in the lot.”

“This one’s different. Name’s Brita Falcon. Fairly new and exceptionally young for a minster. And a woman at that. How the times have changed. She’s running the public works and isn’t afraid to get her hands dirty. Even had a meeting with me personally to arrange all this, find out what we need most. ‘Ms. Falcon,’ I told her. ‘What we need most is plain old food to fill these bellies out here.’ In my time here in the temple, I’ve never seen so many in need.” Father Broden looked around the square and sighed.

“You’re doing the best you can, Father. Times are hard. The whole city is grateful. Now show me the stew pots.”

They walked to the storage shed adjacent to the temple where the day’s supply of thick bean stew, brown pears and bread were stacked up. One by one, with the help of a few others, they set up an assembly line of food along the long wooden table, ready to feed hordes of the hungry.

The needy began to file in from the streets about 10 a.m. There had been a great deal of publicity surrounding the largest food drive that the city had ever seen and the word had gotten out that no one would be turned away even if they had to run back into the kitchen and bake more bread. The media were perched on the outskirts of the temple courtyard, eager to cover the story, snapping photos of the piles of bread and cauldrons of bubbling bean stew. Rogan’s heart broke a little as he saw the shadows of what were once whole people, bones held together by sallow skin, gingerly walk toward the meal as if they weren’t sure if they were wandering into some trap—like beaten dogs that no longer trusted the scent of humans. He had to resist the urge to kick the reporters hunched down, snapping photographs of the vulnerable.
Their misery should not be a headline.

A dark-haired child with wide, pale green eyes brushed passed him. The child’s hair was a short ratted mess and it was so sunken and shapeless Rogan couldn’t tell if the creature was a boy or a girl. The child was followed by a haggard woman carrying a baby and an old man, crooked and hunched with a toothless mouth. Rogan watched sullenly as one after the other moved passed him, their eyes lighting up as they gripped the first piece of fresh, steaming bread.

“It breaks your heart, doesn’t it?” A woman’s voice startled him.

Rogan turned to see a tall, slender woman in a tailored pant suit, platinum blonde hair pulled into a sleek twist standing beside him, arms crossed and looking out into the crowd with a furrowed brow.

“It’s an atrocity, is what it is. We’ve got more than enough food to go around here. No excuse for it ever getting to this,” Rogan replied.

The woman looked at him curiously and nodded.

“You must be Rogan Elwood.”

Rogan straightened and raised an eyebrow.

“Guilty. How’d you know?”

“You fit your description marvelously.” She grinned. “Father Broden told me if I needed anything to ask Rogan Elwood, the dark and handsome, strong-jawed one sure to be lurking in a corner with the wheels turning and ire in his eyes.”

Rogan almost protested but had to agree.

“I guess I can be on the morose side at times. And you are?”

“Brita Falcon.” She extended a smooth hand to him. He took it gingerly and gave it a firm shake.

“So you’re the one I’m to thank for this, Ms. Falcon?”

Brita smiled softly.

“I hardly feel right accepting thanks for something that shouldn’t have to be asked to be done.”

Rogan nodded and smiled.

“I think that’s the most honest thing I’ve ever hear from a politician.”

She laughed.

“Me too.”

“Nice to meet you, Ms. Falcon.”

“Brita, please. Thank you for being here today, Rogan. It’s one thing to convince the council to allocate funds for a hunger drive, it’s quite another to rally enough strong arms and good hearts to make it happen. Pantone is perfectly willing to write a check if the publicity is hot, but Sants help us if I ever saw him lift a chubby finger.”

Rogan let a laugh escape him. Brita looked at him, almost embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” Rogan collected himself.  “You just don’t hear people talk so openly about our dear Minister General around here. That sort of comment is usually reserved for dark pubs and a few pints.”

Brita grinned at his candor.

“He’s just a man like any other. I won’t be bullied by his superiority complex. No great god anointed him King as far as I know.”

“Brita, I do think I like you.”

It seemed the swarms of hollow-eyed needy would never end. Like a slow rolling train they just kept moving through, reminding Rogan of why they met around dim tables in the lamplight to plan their future—why they couldn’t sit back in the shadows any more.

It was nearing midday—rays of sun finally breaking through the coastal fog—when a voice projected through the crowd. 

“Your Royal Highness!”

Rogan shot his head up and saw Father Broden extending his arms in welcome to a small group. “It is so good of you to be here today,” Broden said gratefully.

A shock of burning cinnamon hair emerged from the small group and Rogan felt his belly clench.

“Father,” Elyra embraced him. “It is I should thank you for making this day happen. Sants know we need this kindness more than ever. And please, call me Elyra.” She smiled so warmly that if you didn’t know her you’d assume she was mocking you. With her hair in soft waves and secured to the side and dressed in slim black pants tucked into high black boots and a trim purple leather jacket, she looked more like a rogue teenager than a princess.

“And Markus Fallon,” Father Broden continued, turning his attention to a tall, sandy-haired young man in pressed black pants and a navy blue sweater. “It’s good to see you away from your office for a change.”

Markus took the Father’s hand and shook it firmly.

“I confess I’ve been a slave to the desk lately. You must forgive me for all my absences from good works.”

“It’s not me you’ll have to answer to,” Broden said with a laugh, pointing to the sky.

“How may we be of service, Father?” Elyra asked.

“I’m sure your presence here is service enough. Just to know that you care,” Father Broden said.

“Nonsense! Give me an apron and I’ll serve stew, or slice bread. I admit I’m probably no use for lifting heavy pots, but I’ll team up if needed.”

Father Broden’s faced looked so full of gratitude that it might spill out onto the streets.

“You are just more than we could ask for. Very well. Elyra, will you join me on the end of the line, where we slice and serve fresh pears?” He asked with slight hesitation.

“Gladly.” She took Father Broden’s arm.

“Markus my boy, would you care to assist with the replenishing of stew pots? We are running low and the reserves are in the storage room over there. We have very few strong enough to lift them.” Father Broden motioned toward the reserve room.

Markus’s face scrunched as he examined the shed full of sweaty men in ragged coveralls lifting and grunting, stacking not only the day’s rations but other temple supplies.

“Would it be better if we stayed in the public eye, Father? To show the importance of this day?” Markus said, slipping his arm around Elyra’s waist in a way that boiled Rogan’s blood.

Father Broden grunted.

“You give yourself far too much credit my vain young Minister. The stew is the main attraction here. Not you.” Father Broden ushered Markus toward the shed then took Elyra’s arm and walked toward the food line.

Rogan caught his breath as he watched her make her way toward the food line, stopping to shake hands with people along the way. He collected himself, then scurried toward the table as well, slinking up to the bread station before Elyra and Broden could make their way. He tapped Sibby on the shoulder.

“Time for your break love,” he said.

Sibby looked at him confused, but didn’t argue when she saw the princess walking toward them on Father Broden’s arm. She flashed a toothy grin.

“Trying to catch an up-close look at the little princess are we?” She teased.

“She’s a better sight than those warehouse workers I’ve been necking all morning, so scram.”

Sibby giggled girlishly and stepped aside to make room for Rogan to take up residence slicing the fresh bread.

“Okay, but I want to meet her too.”

“Yeah, yeah, later. Just get.” He swatted her away. Sibby smirked but obliged.

Elyra’s expression brightened when she saw Rogan standing next to her station, delicately slicing bread.

“Rogan, I’m glad you’re over here,” Father Broden said joyfully. “I have the very honored pleasure of introducing Her Royal Highness, Princess Elyra. Your Highness, this is Rogan Elwood, one of our angels here at Sant Hiro’s.”

Elyra gave an unaffected head bow customary of when a royal meets a commoner, but then extended her hand with a smile.

“What an honor to be working beside you, Your Highness,” Rogan said, embracing her soft hand gently and bowing his head in respect. She could afford to be casual with protocol in public but he could not.

“Likewise,” she said.

“Her Highness has taken time from her day to assist in our efforts, Rogan,” Father Broden beamed.

“How very good of her.” A sly smile twitched at Rogan’s lips.

“I’ve work to finish so I trust you can insure she is attended to?” Broden asked.

Rogan nodded emphatically.

“Of course, Father. Whatever she needs.”

“Good. Then I will leave you to it.” Father Broden patted them both on the back lovingly.

“I had no idea you’d be here,” Elyra said quietly once Broden was out of earshot.

“I can say the same. I hardly expected the whole royal cavalry to show up for a food drive.”

“Well,” she said with mocking superiority, “It isn’t just
any
food drive is it? It’s the biggest food drive Minister Pantone has ever produced!”

Rogan chuckled as he tried to imagine Pantone caring for a split moment about anything other than the media buzz.

“Well I’m sure he’ll receive a rave write up in the
Tribune
in the morning. The media’s been swarming like flies since we started unloading the trucks,” Rogan said.

Elyra sighed.

“As if trying to keep people from starving to death was simply to fuel the gossip columns.”

“Well, media or no, I’ll take it. The people need it, no matter how much dignity it costs. Is the King coming?”

“Yeah, right. Like he’d bother. Said he has ‘work to do.’” She mimicked in a low baritone. Rogan laughed.

“Too bad. I’d like to meet the old man one of these days.”

Elyra glowered at him and he pinched her side.

It was nearly two more hours of slicing and handing out bread and pears before the crowd began to die down. As the last few waves of people were trickling in under the afternoon sun, Sibby returned to relieve Rogan with Father Broden at her side.

“Time for you to take a break, Rog,” Sibby said, gently elbowing his side, which was about shoulder height for the tiny girl. She was like a little pixie with her delicate limbs and large rounded russet eyes overwhelming her sharp cheeks, which her short cropped hair did nothing to hide. He imagined it’s exactly what a fairy would look like.

“Sure, now that all the hard work is over,” he teased her. “All right, I could use some cold water and a snack I suppose.” Sibby gave him an impatient look. “Oh right. El—um, Your Highness—I’d like to introduce my friend Sibby.”

Sibby’s eyes went wide with awe and she blushed. Elyra smiled and gently bowed her head.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Sibby.”

Sibby fidgeted nervously, not sure how to respond, then remembered herself and gave a deep bow.

“Pleasure is all, um, mine, Miss, um, Your Highness.”

“All right, come along now. Get to work, Sibby,” Father Broden ushered her toward the bread station then turned back to Rogan and Elyra. “I am so very proud of my flock today,” he placed a loving hand on both Rogan and Elyra’s shoulders. “But I must relieve Her Highness. She has been already too generous in her time.” He extended his crooked arm for her, which she politely embraced.