The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (4 page)

Joam's smile faltered. Milchamah's eyebrows
lifted in genuine surprise, but he gave a ready response. “Already
settled. The Elders agreed Laman's land can lie fallow for another
year, once I give them the word. They know that sorry offworlder
isn't much help out here.”

“But my father couldn’t bear that. You know
how the Village Council expects him to tend everything but his own
crops. I shouldn’t leave him with only Grahm to help.”

The words sounded noble enough, but tasted
bitter on Dayn’s tongue.
You wouldn’t worry so if this was for
the Course of Blades,
a small voice chided him. He pushed it
away. “I cannot be in the camp. At least...not this year.”

Joam's voice was incredulous. “But this is
the
Cycle.
The Prevailer’s Gauntlet! In five years you could
go to Montollos and―”

Dayn cut him off. “I'm sorry you both came so
far.”

“As am I,” Milchamah said. He directed a look
of complete disappointment not at Dayn, but at his son. Joam looked
back and forth between them both, completely stricken. Dayn
imagined how hard Joam pressed Milchamah for this, backed it with
his own good word. He shifted on his feet guiltily as the silence
stretched.

“Happy Evensong!” Tela burst out of nowhere,
already dressed in feastday clothes with red ribbons threaded
through her tiny braids. From her golden eyes to her cheerful
smile, she looked the perfect miniature of their mother, Hanalene.
Tension sprouted among the men like kniferoot, but she did not
sense it.

“Peace, Tela―where have you been?” Dayn felt
immense relief to see his little sister unharmed. For once, she
could not have picked a better time to appear.

“Helping mother with paintings. You came to
help me with survey jars, didn't you? You are so
sweet!”
Tela gave Dayn a crushing hug, then favored the Ro'Gems with a
merry laugh and skipped over to them, arms wide. They returned her
festival greeting awkwardly, Joam not bothering to fix his
scowl.

“I've been looking for you. Have you seen
anything...strange?” Dayn asked. Milchamah snorted.

“No, but I
smell
something strange.”
Tela wrinkled her nose and giggled. Dayn glanced toward the well at
her words. Joam noticed, and rolled his eyes. “It’s alright, big
brother. Mother had me stop home to fetch you this.”

She extended the package beneath her arm. A
quick pull of the string revealed a fine set of feastday clothes,
pressed and folded. “She said we have a freeday after I take father
the jars. Did he tell you this morning? Can you wait for Evensong?
I can't wait. Can
you
wait, Joam? I wish we were in Wia
Wells right now!”

Milchamah cut in, clearly ready to be
elsewhere. “Your dedication to the land is...admirable,” he said
gruffly. “There will always be another season to plant, for as long
as Shard shelters the Belt. A man’s gifted with ability enough to
fill a river, but only a handful of days to use it.” Milchamah spat
around his sweet tree twig, peering at Dayn from beneath his hat as
if to see whether his words would take root. “Think it over,
boy―but think fast. Peace willing, we'll begin training in two
weeks.”

“I'll talk to my father,” Dayn promised. Joam
rolled his eyes again.

“Fair enough. Happy Evensong. You better work
that staff through some forms if you want it to dry, which I trust
you do.
Fast
forms. I was there when your grandfather―peace
shade his wreath―gave it to your father.”

Dayn swallowed heavily and nodded.

The weaponmaster turned to his son. “Be sure
to remember what I said.” Joam nodded dutifully. Milchamah motioned
to Tela, who looked at Dayn with a face full of questions. “Come,
girl. I’ll help you. I swear your old withered root of a father
would plant all the way to the edge of the Dreadfall if it were up
to him. Lead the way.”

“Father's not
old
, Elder! Isn’t your
hair grayer than his?”

Dayn and Joam watched them go, Tela
cartwheeling and skipping around the farmer's steady gait. Joam's
eyes glinted dangerously.

“You know I mean to course,” Dayn began. “If
I spend the summer collecting bruises so
you
can go to
Montollos, how am I―”

“I gave my
word
you were the best!”
Joam shouted. “You, brother. Out of some twenty staffs from Wia
Wells and Southforte. Father convinced the
entire Council
to
lighten your field work. You think Laman will stand against
sparring, after that? All you ever talk about is Montollos. This is
your chance to go, and what do you do? Peace!”

Dayn bristled. “I mean to enter the Cycle for
coursing, not the staff—and you know it!”

“No Shardian has entered the Course of Blades
in two hundred years! Entered, Dayn! Let alone won a Victor’s Sash.
Besides, you wouldn't know torrent if a rock fell from the sky and
split open your fool head!”

“Then I will just have to be the first to
win, won't I?” Dayn snapped. Joam's words cut closer than he cared
to admit.

“I think a rock hit you on the head already!
Not one pebble of Shard looks like the torrent, a one-tooth toddler
knows that. Jumping your way through floating boulders that could
smash you dead—since when is that supposed to be fun? Better to
take a transport from the Ring. I’d bet coursers wouldn’t even
exist if not for your stupid race. There’s no air to breathe in
most of the torrent. The sun will melt away your skin, and the rock
moves faster than you can even think! Tell me how you train for
that!”

“Coursers can do it, so why can’t I? I
already have the right rope, and—don't you look at me like that!”
The wonders that drew Dayn to the torrent were also the most
compelling reasons for him to fail there. Joam echoed exactly what
Dayn expected to hear from his own father. What was worse, Dayn
could not argue. Joam spoke peace's own truth, and showed no sign
of slowing.

“What do you think the Elders will do if they
find out you've been
training―
” Joam slathered the word with
scorn “―in the Dreadfall?”

“The cliffs aren’t as dangerous as they say,”
Dayn retorted. “You just remember who helped filch the tools I
needed.”

Joam's eyes flashed. “You wouldn't―”

“—do anything to get my friend in trouble.”
Dayn pressed his advantage while Joam stammered. The two had earned
their share of strappings when they were younger, but now any
trouble that threatened Joam's staff work positively terrified him.
“That's more than I can say for you! What were you thinking with
that prank just now? I nearly gave myself away to your father!”

“I should have done you the favor,” Joam
muttered. A pleased expression abruptly broke through his scowl.
“It was still a fine prank. If you had only seen your...oh,
alright! Don't go giving me the stinkeye over a little fun. You owe
me as much, with all the sneaking around we’ve done for your
coursing. I don't know how you stand it.”

“Me either. Just...never do that again,” Dayn
said. “Your father is the last one I need poking around. It’s hard
enough hiding everything from Tela.”

“Why haven't you told Laman?” Joam gave a
resigned sigh at Dayn's shrug.” He’ll say no, and that will be
that. In five years, you can come to Montollos with me.”

“Sparring would be just a hair more fun than
watching the Village Council yammer for the whole summer.” Joam
gave him an unreadable look. “Peace, Joam. I didn't mean it like
that. You'll go to Montollos next year and every Binder's Cycle
after until you drop. I don't love the staff like you do, and I'm
not half as good.”

“Peace knows that for truth.” Joam rubbed his
chin. “You still didn't answer my question.”

“I'll tell him tonight at Evensong,” Dayn
said. Joam's eyebrows rose doubtfully. “No more sneaking
around.”

“Sure you will,” Joam said with a smirk.
“Just remember, I gave you a chance.”

Dayn knew they would argue no more. Angry
spells with Joam never lasted more than a day, their friendship had
always been that way. Dayn trusted no one more, especially with his
dreams to course. Joam's eyes shifted to Dayn's bundled feastday
clothes.

“Well at least you have a freeday. Are you
going to wash up so we can go?”

“No,” Dayn said quickly. He could stand a
quick wash, but his skin squealed at the thought of touching that
water.

“A drowned man, really?” Joam took Laman's
staff and twirled it through forms at Dayn’s consenting nod.
Silverpine resisted rot well, Shard’s mist would topple any tree
that could not.

“He scared me, brother. And he wasn’t
drowned. He almost pulled me back in with him, that’s how I lost
father’s staff. See?” Dayn held up his hands to show where the
well’s flagstone had dug into his palms.

Joam took in his proof with open doubt.
“Well, something has people acting odd this morning, I’ll give you
that. Some even as foolish as you.” Dayn carefully buttoned his
shirt. Joam continued somewhat grumpily once it became clear that
Dayn refused to be baited. “Your crazy offworlder neighbor is one
of them. We saw him creeping around his fields on the way here,
holding a scythe like it was a sword! He looked awful. I'll bet you
a moondrop he slept in those clothes for at least a week.”

“No bet. That's nothing strange,” Dayn said,
slightly disappointed. “Father said Grahm saw a gravespinner near
their farm. He's probably never seen one before. And him being a
new father, too? I was small when Tela was born, but I couldn't
imagine watching three of her. That’s all?”

“I wasn’t finished,” Joam said as Dayn
smoothed his clothes. Hanalene’s bundle included a wooden comb and
a small vial of smellgoods made from herbs in her garden. His
mother thought of everything. “The Southforte folk say they saw an
amber light in the sky two nights ago. Like a falling star, but
bigger.” Joam traced his finger from west to east.

“That couldn’t be the skytear, right?” Dayn
asked as they started toward his home. When the skytear appeared in
the skies, it came with a long tail behind it, but Elders never
mentioned it being any color or lasting just one night.

“Exactly what I said. The next morning, half
the Southforte herds and flocks had broken out of their pens.
There's not a hen in Southforte can find its own coop―they all
pecked each other's eyes out.” Dayn's eyebrows rose in disbelief.
“Sheep and goats are scattered all over the swamp. Nobody knows
what scared them so bad.”

“I know what scared them,” Dayn breathed. He
could imagine a herd going into a frenzy around the man he saw.
“The man I saw scared enough cave crabs out of our well to feed Wia
Wells for a week!”

Joam gave a derisive snort. “Oh, so now there
were
crabs,
too?”

“Milchamah wasn’t going to hear anything I
said, not after seeing my father’s staff in the water.” They neared
the Ro'Halan home, a sturdy dwelling of more white flagstone with
wooden slats for roofing. Dayn opened the window to his room just
wide enough to toss in his clothes. Joam returned Laman’s staff,
and the two started down the road to the village. “What does he
mean to keep quiet?”

“Joam hesitated. Well…you remember Urlan
Ro'Lett's family? His little brother, Yonas?”

“Sure I do. Urlan always looks like he just
ate a bad berrycake when he sees me, because I beat him so bad at
Sweetwater. Yonas plays with Tela on the tangletoy.”

“He said he saw a man made of smoke jump out
of their well and run into the woods.”

Dayn stopped twirling the silverpine. “You
might have mentioned that when your father was all but naming me a
liar!” he spluttered.

“I meant to, if you don't remember,” Joam
replied. “Not that he would listen. You haven't been to Wia Wells
yet, you don't understand. The Elders are all frothing at the mouth
with worry over the Misthaveners enjoying Evensong. And my father
decides what I'm thinking before I do, most times.”

“So does mine,” Dayn admitted. He started
twirling Laman's staff again, but Joam still noticed his hands were
shaking again and smirked. “I saw a man, and I felt weak as a
hatchling that couldn't peck open its own egg. We need to tell the
Elders. I don’t know what that man was doing, but he’s not here
just to go swimming in the well.”

“That may be, but keep it quiet, or we'll
never see an Evensong here again.” Joam pressed on before Dayn
could retort. “Peace, I mean it! What do you think the Misthaveners
will make of you? If you frighten off capital folk by asking after
drowned smoke men, the whole of Wia Wells will never forgive
you.”

“You're right,” Dayn said grudgingly.

A tension left Joam’s eyes. “I would believe
you brother, but who ever saw such a thing?”

A fresh thought stopped Dayn in his tracks.
“I know who might.”

“Dayn, wait…” Joam groaned as Dayn veered
north, toward their neighbor Grahm’s fields. “Come on. We'll get
there faster bounding. I'll bet you an ember-eye I can bound higher
than you!”

“Fine.” Surprisingly, Joam agreed. He might
place in Sweetwater every year for the staff, but Dayn could bound
circles around him. It was the closest thing to coursing on Shard.
Dayn took two gathering steps and leaped powerfully into the air.
The ground pulled away beneath him smoothly as he rose three spans
high. “Let's see you top that, brother!” he shouted.

Dayn held out his arms to steady himself as
he descended, enjoying a cooling breeze that blew from the north. A
familiar, rancid odor tickled his nose.
Just like inside the
well.
He landed heavily, crashing to the ground in a spray of
dirt. Laman's staff flew from his grasp.

“Ha! The courser who cannot land!” Joam
hooted, skipping easily back to the ground beside him. Dayn
grimaced, his friend had not even broken Grahm's careful
furrows.