The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (5 page)

“Stow it, will you?” Dayn looked his festival
clothes in dismay, now filthy with dirt.

“No balance! They’ll come for miles to see!
Why bother with the journey to Montollos? Dayn Ro'Halan, the
great―peace, what is that smell?”

“It's the same as―hey, wait. Where are you
going?” Dayn asked in alarm. Joam strode purposefully to the north,
further into Grahm’s fields. Laman had become fast friends with his
offworlder neighbor over the past two seasons. Grahm and Dayn often
learned the land side by side from his father, and Dayn knew
Grahm’s fields just as well as Laman’s. Joam was walking straight
toward Grahm's well.

Joam called back over his shoulder. “We've
got to find out what that is. It smells like...rot. Elder Buril
said that’s what a gravespinner cave smells like.” Mischievous as
Joam could be, he still took his farm work as seriously as any good
Shardian. “Grahm can barely tell one end of a spade from the other.
Peace, the spinners could spread to your land, too!”

“Grahm's learned a lot! Leave off him.
Besides...I know it's not gravespinners.” Dayn’s stomach churned.
As much as he did not want Joam ridiculing him, he could not take a
step further.

“Then what, Dayn? Are you telling me—”

“Not gravespinners,” called a gruff voice.
The two jumped as Grahm descended from a bound to land right beside
them. “Wreathweaver. You boys lost?”

Grahm was the first offworlder anyone knew of
to settle in the Mistlands and take a Shardian wife. Rumor said he
had stepped off a transport in Misthaven with nothing but a few
possessions from his native world of Cutremur, and asked to be
pointed to Wia Wells. He wore plain brown field linens and kept his
black hair cut oddly short. It steeped at his temples although he
was quite young. Freckles touched his fair skin as though the sun
played tag with his face, instead of merely shining upon it.

“Wreathweavers!” Joam blurted. “This far from
the Dreadfall, are you sure?”

“Yes, lad, I can tell what one looks like,”
Grahm said wryly.

Dayn’s relief over avoiding the well proved
to be short-lived. Tension shone on Grahm’s face, his green eyes
were bloodshot and held none of their usual warmth. Dayn's heart
jumped as he examined the offworlder further. “Why are you all
wet?” he asked.

Grahm glanced at him sharply. “I didn't
stumble on the snake itself, peace be praised. But from the size of
the clutch, I would say it was twelve hands long, at least. Pretty
young.” Joam gawked and Dayn felt his own jaw drop, too. “I managed
to burn out all the eggs. The smell was so bad, I took a dunk in
the well to get it off.” Grahm offered a dry laugh. It did not
reach his eyes, which never left Dayn the whole time he spoke. “Not
sure it worked all that great, though.”

“That’s something. The same as at
Southforte.” Joam rubbed his chin thoughtfully, but with the threat
gone he was already looking back to the road.

“It’s not like a wreathweaver to leave its
nest,” Dayn said. “What do you think scared it away?”

“No worry to me, so long as it’s gone.” Grahm
frowned openly at him now.

“Us, either,” Joam interjected with a warning
look for Dayn. “We should get going. Happy Evensong, Grahm. Are you
headed to the village soon?”

“After I finish up. My wife already left with
your mother. Is this festival really as important as they say? I
missed it last year.”

“Well, more if you aren't married,” Dayn
said.

“Ah, one of those,” Grahm said, noting Joam's
eager grin. “A day for hunters. Happy Evensong, boys.” Grahm
clapped Dayn on the shoulder. The smell emanating from his clothes
made Dayn want to retch. “I better go clean up. Can you tell
Kajalynn that I'll be there soon?”

“We will,” Joam said, practically dragging
Dayn away. Once they were out of earshot, he gave Dayn a sideways
look. “What was that all about? There’s no deadwisps hiding in his
well. He would have said so.”

“He’s hiding something,” Dayn said. “Did you
see any smoke, or smell it at all this morning? He didn’t burn
anything out. He saw one of those men, too.”

“Maybe it’s just one of his offworld cousins
here for Evensong?” Joam sighed when Dayn did not smile. “We’re not
Elders, Dayn, and neither is Grahm. Let them see to it, they’ll do
what’s best.”

“I’m still going to talk with them. Yonas,
too, and anyone else I can find.” They made their way to the road
and headed west.

“You are set on making a mess of Evensong,
aren’t you?” Joam leaped into a bound before Dayn could respond.
Back on the road, Joam soon began chattering about the girls he
planned to dance with, and which ones would be best to steal a kiss
from. Then again, he was the Sweetwater King, wouldn't that mean
they all wanted a kiss? Dayn only half listened.

Grahm must be lying, but why? Usually
friendly and easygoing, he seemed more like a rope ready to snap
under some hidden strain.
Did he see one of the men, too? Is he
keeping it quiet because of Evensong?

Dayn wanted answers so his friend would not
think him crazy, or a liar. But most of all to make sure his family
was safe. The man in the well was dangerous, that much he knew.
Anything that drove the animals into a frenzy did not bode well for
the village. Dayn turned for one more look as Grahm's fields fell
behind them. The offworlder still stood there, watching the boys
bound away toward Wia Wells and Evensong.

Evensong

Palpo the merchant mocked the farmer, saying, 'O to
be a Shardian prince! To have the dirt kiss my feet, the sheep pay
me homage in their pens, and the trees drop fruit in my waiting
hand!'

'Quite right,' the farmer agreed, 'A full belly and
an aching back is the life for us.’

‘
What is this aching you speak of?’ the merchant
asked.

-from ‘Palpo the Merchant Buys the Belt’, an Ista
Cham children’s story

S
ounds of merrymaking
floated to their ears as the two approached Wia Wells. Dayn could
not help but grin, although the morning’s events still had him
looking around every corner. He shared an excited look with Joam as
the road carried them to the Wustl Square. “You didn't mention how
fine the village looked.”

A simple place of sturdy wooden homes and
workshops with thatched roofs, Wia Wells nestled around a square of
wine-colored stone. Flowers of red and deep violet framed every
doorway, and golden streamers crisscrossed the paths between booths
built especially for festival traders.

“They must have saved the best decorations
until now,” Joam marveled. The shops that enclosed the Wustl Square
all sparkled with fresh coats of whitewash. To the east lay Elder
Huwes the shoemaker’s shop, Sister Layren’s bakery, and a new
clothier moved from Southforte by marriage who Dayn did not yet
know. Brother Opram the smith had departed for the mines last
season, so his windows remained dark until an apprentice could be
found from a neighboring village. Jairn the gemcutter held a place
next to the Elder's repository, where they stored the village
histories and taught lessons.

“Do you see any of the Elders?” Dayn
asked.

“I’m sure they’ll turn up,” Joam said
absently. “You know there are offworlders, don’t you?”

“Offworlders at Evensong!” Dayn exclaimed. He
peered at the crowd with renewed interest, missing Joam’s sigh of
relief. The Dawnbreak Inn crowned the southern side of the Square,
a full story higher than all the rest and painted a magnificent
blue. Guests stuffed the village’s finest building to the thatch,
judging from the people streaming through the front door.

“I’m surprised Laman didn’t tell you.”

A goodwife from Southforte swept toward them
and dropped a garland of blue dayroses on each of their necks. She
wore a brown dress and a moondrop necklace. More garlands were
looped through her arm, white and blue.

“Welcome!” The goodwife’s long dreadlocks
swayed as she hugged them both. She gave Dayn an appraising look,
only to burst into laughter at his blush. “Oh come now, child. My
hair has more gray than both of your parents put together.”

“Happy Evensong,” Dayn said. Gray hair or
not, Dayn knew better than to mention her age. Evensong celebrated
Shard's women, and one poorly thought remark could be cause for
grave offense during the festival. Men did all of the preparations
while their wives and sisters took their ease, although the women
ended up prodding them until the decorations and such were to their
liking. Which was much like every other festival, now that Dayn
thought about it.

“Sister, are there really offworlders here?”
he asked.

“There most certainly are.” Her smile faded
as she took in Dayn's clothes, and he found himself blushing all
over again. “You can find yourself a nice new shirt, before the
dancing starts. And some trousers, like the ones that fit your tall
friend here so well.”

“I think his mother made those. Right, Joam?
Joam?”

Joam ignored the goodwife at his own peril.
While he looked eagerly into the bustling crowd, she contented
herself with a firm pinch. Joam yelped in surprise as she swayed
off, looking for new quarry to adorn with dayroses.

“Not one word from you,” Joam warned. He
stood there for an embarrassed moment, furiously rubbing his
backside.

“Not one word,” Dayn agreed, fighting to hold
in his amusement. Teasing Joam with the festival barely begun would
be bad luck. The night might hold many more such encounters, and
Dayn wanted the final laugh. “I think women invent festivals like
this just to give men fits. Even the Sweetwater King.”

Joam grinned and set his blue garland just
right. “Maybe so, but it sure beats wearing white.” White dayroses
were for the married, or children still more interested in playing
on tangletoys than stealing kisses. “See what I mean?”

A group of girls strolled near, casting
glances between Joam and Dayn. Joam grinned so fiercely his face
threatened to split in two. His first ever blue Evensong garland
came just last year at Southforte, while Dayn had received his a
year before that at Kohr Springs. Dayn patted his hair in spite of
himself.

“Happy Evensong!” Joam called out. “Where are
you from?”

The girls stopped short of the Dawnbreak Inn,
making halfhearted attempts at indifference as the two approached.
Not one wore white. Competition for the most dances and kisses from
the maidens was an unspoken Wia Wells tradition, same as Evensong
in any other Mistland village.

“Greenshadow,” and “Misthaven, of course,”
were among the replies. Dayn hid his surprise with a thoughtful
nod. Word must have spread among distant kin about their village
being chosen to host. The northern journey to Greenshadow took
three weeks, much further than Misthaven.

“We've only just now arrived,” Dayn said,
letting a touch of helplessness enter his voice. “My poor friend
here wouldn't know maidenvine if it grew in his hair. Do the
blossoms have five petals, or six?”

Two of the girls sniffed loudly and whisked
into the inn, but the rest still lingered.

“Six,” one replied, batting her eyes at
Joam.

“And the flowers are violet with blue
spots?”

“No, you have it backwards,” another answered
with a coy smile for Dayn.

“But they must be violet, picked so early.”
Dayn put on a confused frown. “Can you show me where some are?”

“I would,” said another, wearing a flowing
green dress that matched her eyes. She stepped closer to Dayn and
looked to be a fine dancer. Her hand reached up to his face. “But
only if you find a clean shirt!”

She tugged at Dayn’s collar, and a puff of
dirt shot into the air. Her friends erupted into a fit of giggles,
leaving Dayn to stand sheepishly as they vanished into the
Dawnbreak.

“You'll find yourself a mayor's daughter if
you keep on like that,” Joam said in genuine approval. “Now we know
who to dance with!”

“We all know who the Sweetwater King is,”
Dayn said. He was not so addled over the girls as Joam, but still
intended to enjoy seeing the new faces. Shardian villages with the
best harvest received honors from the Misthaven Trader’s Circle on
Evensong, and Wia Wells had long been overlooked. “I have to make
sure there’s a dance or two saved for the rest of us common
farmers.”

Joam twirled through a staff form as though
to remind the entire village of Sweetwater. The King's Circlet, of
all things! Only the most brazen fighter would even think of using
it. He offered Dayn a magnanimous smile. “I'll do my best.”

The offworlder booths beckoned to Dayn. The
two began wading into the festival, but a slender girl with a sulky
mouth planted herself directly in their path. She wore a blue
garland too, but neither of them were glad to see it.

“Happy Evensong, Milede,” Dayn said.

Milede Kaynerin wore a scarlet dress, and her
twin black braids shone with fresh beeswax. She stood directly
beneath a hanging cluster of purple maidenvine, but Dayn would not
steal a kiss from the Elder's daughter if she were the last girl on
Shard.

She jabbed a finger into Dayn's chest so hard
her bracelets clinked together. “You two better not be pestering
every girl in sight. We’re to show our best manners, especially
you
, Dayn!” She abruptly stalked off, leaving Dayn and Joam
with their mouths hanging open.

“She's just salty over not being the
prettiest girl at festival for a change,” Joam said with a smirk.
“But she’s right, you know. The Elders won’t be happy if you—”

Dayn shook his head. “Give up on talking me
out of it, alright? For all the Elders know, there’s a pair of
ridgecats sneaking around Southforte. They won’t believe a little
boy, but they will listen to me at least.”