The August 5 (2 page)

“Are you going to hike with me?” Tommy asked.

“I don't have anything better to do,” Bern said, and sighed. “Maybe next year we can stay in Sevenna over summer holiday.”

“I only asked Mrs. Trueblood to pack one lunch,” Tommy said.

“So? One of her lunches could feed six of us.” Bern snorted.

“Have you seen Mrs. Trueblood?” Tommy asked.

“In the kitchen, probably. Isn't that where she always is at this hour?”

After the boys had put on their leather gaiters and heavy walking boots, Tommy picked up his knapsack, which Mrs. Trueblood had laid near the door. Bern was right. She had packed enough lunch for both of them. There were several chicken sandwiches wrapped in brown paper and small jugs of apple cider. Mrs. Trueblood was the only mother Tommy had known since his own mother had died. When he left Aeren for Seminary, Tommy knew he would miss the kind cottager woman most of all.

In the kitchen, Mrs. Trueblood was kneading dough at a long wooden table in the middle of the room. Bunches of dried flowers and herbs hung from the ceiling, and the room smelled like cinnamon and vanilla. A huge fire blazed in the iron woodstove on the west wall.

“Last chance to stay nice and warm,” Bern said. “It's almost breakfast time.”

“Good morning,” Mrs. Trueblood said.

Greta Trueblood was a slender woman in her fifties with graying hair that she kept in a tidy bun at the nape of her neck. She smiled at Tommy, who grinned back. Bern didn't acknowledge her. He didn't like Mrs. Trueblood, which had never made sense to Tommy. Maybe it was because Colston was disdainful toward her, so Bern acted that way, too.

“Good morning, Mrs. Trueblood,” Tommy said. “Thank you for the food.”

“Where are you hiking today?” she asked.

“Giant's Ridge,” Tommy said.

“Well, be safe,” said Mrs. Trueblood. “Your father will expect you at dinner.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Tommy said, already dreading an evening with his father.

“What are we having?” Bern asked.

“Corned beef and cabbage,” Mrs. Trueblood said.

“Are there guests?” Tommy asked, ignoring Bern's exaggerated grimace about the menu choice. He always acted like he hated Mrs. Trueblood's cooking, but it never stopped him from eating it.

“No, it's only the family,” Mrs. Trueblood said.

Tommy said goodbye, and he and Bern left the warmth of the kitchen and took the flagstone path through Mrs. Trueblood's extensive vegetable garden.

“What's wrong with Father anyway?” Tommy asked.

“I don't know, but I could hear him yelling for half the day yesterday,” Bern said.

“Maybe his Honor Index is low,” Tommy joked.

Bern shrugged. “Father's honor is impeccable—he's reminded us of that a million times.”

Tommy glanced at his brother, trying to gauge his emotions. The twins had a running joke about something they called the Honor Index. Colston seemed to measure everything on a cosmic scale that only he could decipher. When they were young, their father's disciplinary talks revolved around which direction they were heading in life. Were they headed up the scale toward being an honorable Zunftman? Or were they sliding down the scale toward ruin and degradation?

The twins had turned it into a secret game. Steal a cookie: lose fifteen points on the Honor Index. Break a vase: lose thirty points. Then Bern made the rule that as long as you didn't get caught, it didn't affect your Honor Index at all. Bern had always enjoyed the game in the past, but it didn't seem to be amusing him now.

“I've been reading the
Chronicle
,” Bern said. “At the end of July, Father's faction tried to oust Chief Administrator Hywel, but it failed. The editor-in-chief called Father misguided for challenging Hywel.”

“Oh, no wonder he's in a bad mood,” Tommy said. The
Zunft Chronicle
was the official newspaper of the state, and Colston would hate being the object of public criticism. “But I thought that Hywel's power was waning because of his cottager sympathies?”

“Apparently not,” Bern scoffed. “Maybe you should pick up a newspaper now and then, Tommy.”

Tommy wasn't really interested in reading about politics, but he wasn't going to admit that to Bern. Besides, it was his father who had told him that Hywel was unpopular because he was giving in to the cottagers' demands. Colston was the leader of the Carvers, the most traditional and conservative faction in the Chamber. The small but vocal faction would align with almost anybody to get a majority vote, but they always demanded favors in return. Tommy knew that his father hated the current chief administrator, Toulson Hywel, who had recently passed a substantial subsidy on bread, which made it cheaper for cottagers living in Sevenna to buy their daily allotment.

“Did the
Chronicle
reopen?” Tommy asked. He'd heard Mrs. Trueblood talking about a protest at the newspaper offices, and how their headquarters had closed down.

“When did it shut down?” Bern said. “I heard that the cottagers attacked the building and damaged it, but the presses were running by the next day.”

They left the garden through the little gate and followed the gravel walkway to the front of the manor where a high-wheeled carriage was parked in the circular driveway. Ever since the Zunft had released its new model of rovers, Colston had stopped using horse-drawn carriages, so this must belong to one of his allies from the Zunft Chamber. It was common for members of the Carver faction to spend part of their vacation at the Shore Manor. They were usually locked away with Colston in the library as if they were planning a war. As the boys passed the carriage, Tommy noticed the dull outline of a missing Zunft emblem on the polished exterior of the carriage door. High-ranking Zunftmen were required to display the Zunft emblem when they traveled, but this one had been removed. Someone had unhitched the horses and taken them to the stables, meaning Colston and whoever this guest was had probably been in a meeting all night.

“I thought Mrs. Trueblood said that it would be the three of us at dinner,” Tommy asked. “Is someone visiting?”

“I think that's Father's old carriage,” Bern replied, staring at the eastern sky, where the horizon was streaked with a red sunrise. “Maybe he's selling it.”

The road angled north and as the boys walked, Tommy had to turn to look back at the house. A light burned in Colston's third-floor library and Tommy could see the silhouettes of two men standing near the window.

“But someone is visiting,” Tommy insisted. “There's a man with Father in the library.”

“What of it?” Bern asked. “Maybe if you minded your own business you wouldn't make Father mad all the time.”

Tommy shrugged and paid attention to the sound of his boots crunching through the gravel. This summer, Bern had been particularly touchy, and Tommy decided to walk in silence rather than risk getting his head bitten off by his irritable brother.

“Which way?” Bern asked when they reached the crossroads.

There were two routes they could take to Giant's Ridge. They could follow the well-traveled road known as the Strand, which hugged the rugged coastline, or they could climb up the steep ridge until they reached Miller's Road, which was a rutted dirt road that meandered through the forest. Both routes eventually led past the ridge to Port Kenney on the coast, but Miller's Road was less traveled.

“Miller's Road,” Tommy decided, surprised that Bern had actually let him decide. The best apple orchard in the world was on the ridge, but that was the only detour Tommy intended on taking until he reached the summit.

“Okay, but no moping about leaving for Sevenna,” Bern said. “Getting off this backwater isle will be the best thing that's happened in your short miserable life.”

 

 

The sun still hadn't crested the ridgeline as the brothers walked in companionable silence through the stubble of the west field, which had recently been harvested. The wind carried the scent of peat smoke as they headed up the steep slope toward Miller's Road. The trees had changed early, and they crossed through a stand of oak with brilliant red and orange leaves that seemed to glow in the first rays of the dawn. When Bern paused for breath, Tommy watched the sky. Black clouds roiled on the horizon. A storm was moving in, but Tommy didn't mention it. He was sure they could make it up to the summit and back before it got too bad.

When Bern recovered, they trudged on through the old-growth forest. Tommy glimpsed a cottage through the trees. It was one of a handful scattered in this area. Mrs. Trueblood's family lived on the ridge, as did many of her relations. All of the cottages in the area technically belonged to the Shore Estate, and cottagers living in them were supposed to work for Colston Shore. According to the old laws of the Zunft, bond families were required to serve the same family generation after generation. But the old laws were breaking down. Many cottagers emigrated to Sevenna rather than work at the estates that they had been born to serve. Mrs. Trueblood was the only member of the Shores' bond families who actually worked at the estate. Colston's estate manager hired nomadic workers out of Middle Valley instead.

Tommy never liked walking near the cottagers' homes. He felt like he was trespassing even though it was his father's land. Bern didn't care, though. He would march straight through a cottager's front yard as if he were daring someone to stop him.

“Let's cut north,” Bern huffed. He seemed exhausted from staying up all night. “It's faster that way.”

“Nah, there's too many homes in that direction,” Tommy said.

“I'll go wherever I want on my own land,” Bern said, and headed north anyway.

Colston Shore owned everything for miles around their manor house—Giant's Ridge, the dense forest along its slopes, even the ancient rings of standing stones that dotted the countryside. Much of the western coast of Aeren was their family's domain. The Shores were one of the founding families of the Zunft, and their property went inland for at least a hundred miles. Many of the great estates throughout the islands had been broken down into smaller holdings throughout the years, but their land remained untouched.

As they crested the ridge, they passed a cottage nestled between two towering elms. The cottagers tended to have stonework houses with colorful doors and painted woodwork beneath the eaves. According to Mrs. Trueblood, many homes were built near giant trees because the cottagers believed that families drew strength from living above the roots. Firelight glowed in the cracks between the shutters of this cottage, and intricate braids made of dried flowers and herbs hung over every window and door.

In view of the cottage, Bern stopped and motioned for Tommy to hand him a jug of cider. Bern had stopped intentionally to embarrass Tommy. Annoyed at both the sound of Bern's gulping and at having to take another break so early into the journey, Tommy glared at his brother.

“If you're tired, you could head home,” Tommy said.

“And let you win?” Bern said. He belched loudly, and the curtains in the front window moved. A man peered out at the twins. Bern noticed him and belched even louder. The face disappeared and the curtains didn't move again.

“I didn't know this was a competition,” Tommy said, but of course it was. Everything was a competition with Bern. The twins had always been different, but as they grew older, the differences seemed to be intensifying. Of the two brothers, Bern had been born first. According to Mrs. Trueblood, he'd been a placid towheaded baby who loved being the center of attention. That much hadn't changed, at least. The second twin, Tommy, had been a squalling, hard-to-please surprise. Whereas Bern had grown into a handsome, broad-shouldered youth, Tommy was dark haired and slender. He always felt like an afterthought and shadow to his gregarious, athletic brother. He wondered if his father would have been happier with only one son, particularly after his wife died so unexpectedly when the boys were young.

“Let's go down to Port Kenney and grab some breakfast at the Golden Standard,” Bern said. “Forget hiking. It's boring.”

“You just got home from the Golden Standard,” Tommy said. “You seriously want to spend another day at the pub?”

“One of the girls is going to be working this morning,” Bern said sheepishly. “Kate? Black hair and green eyes?”

“You like a cottager girl?” Tommy asked incredulously. Most Zunft lads wouldn't be caught dead admitting they liked a cottager girl. Especially Bern.

“That's not funny, Tommy.” Bern scowled. “Kate is the owner's daughter. She's the hostess.”

“So she doesn't have to do much,” Tommy said.

“That's right,” Bern agreed with a grin. “She has plenty of time to chat. So, breakfast?”

The food at the Golden Standard was delicious, but the pub was owned by a retired Zunftman and rumor had it he raised his prices on days the cottager workers received their wages. You could end up paying triple the price for a simple meal. The last time it happened, Bern started talking loudly about who their father was, and their bill was replaced by a much cheaper one, but the situation embarrassed Tommy.

“You go on—” Tommy began, but he was interrupted by a commotion in the woods behind them. They whirled around, but it was only a raccoon darting out of the trees, sprinting like mad as if it were being chased. It must have startled a flock of blackbirds resting in the bushes because dozens of birds flapped into the air, cawing noisily at the disturbance.

“Aren't raccoons nocturnal?” But Tommy's words were drowned out by an explosion that jolted the ground under their feet. Another short blast, followed by a long, low rumble and then billows of black smoke rose from the valley.

“What was that?” Tommy gasped. The blast reverberated off the mountains in the distance and the rumbling continued even after the earth stopped shaking.