Anything can be made into a sandwich.
---Canúden den Ubal Alharren of Ocher
The door burst open to laughing. Lianna and Ophia poured in with squirming sacks in their hands. “We found lots of ‘em, Canúden,” said Lianna. “We only brought four, though.” She stared at him and Dylin but didn’t seem to mind their closeness because she dropped into a chair at the table. Ophia knelt at the side. Dylin smiled nervously at the girls.
“What should we do with them?” said Ophia.
Canúden’s dizziness abated with the interruption, but not his happiness. “Anything can be made into a sandwich. Anything. Come to lunch tomorrow in Hammy’s room. Make sure Ambra’s there, too. And then when no one is looking, put those little delicacies onto their bread.”
“Why would they want to eat lunch with me?” said Lianna.
He shrugged. “You’re the heir. You can pretty much do whatever you want and they're supposed to be eager to obey.”
“I want to be there, too!” said Ophia.
“You can put on the black and help me serve. You’re supposed to be Lianna’s jen in waiting, aren’t you?”
“When they scream it’ll be their own fault ‘cause they don’t like frogs!” said Lianna.
Sunlight glared through the library’s huge windows onto Tutang’s stocking feet as he reclined on one of the squishy couches. How was he supposed to read anything, or even think, with all that light blasting in on him? He had dismissed his annoying guards so they wouldn’t stare at him as he attempted to read, so, grunting, he stood up and shoved the velvety curtains closed. Those servants of his really should know his preferences. Why hadn’t they already closed the curtains? But of course they could not have known just where he was to sit on this particular couch in the library. The thought slithered away as he reflected on more important matters.
The Turbians had taken Hittle Bottom Cove, his favorite hunting place on Galia's northern border. It had been a rather nice walled hamlet, almost a city of its own really, an important producer of yams. He had been so looking forward to hunting there in the spring, and now the place was overrun with Turbian scum. Tutang snapped a quill into several pieces, which he threw onto the rug.
What to do about the Turbians. They must not take what’s his by birthright — he’d suffered enough as his smiting father’s heir — and there must be a way to keep it. He stood again and peeked behind the curtain, out at Dylin’s garden bathed in light-induced redness. Would the Turbians destroy his gardens and terraces, transform them into some monstrosity?
He sat again in the shadow of the curtain; the light hurt his eyes, and he mustn’t waste time daydreaming about dreaded possibilities. He shouldn’t drink at night, especially not when he should be focused on smiting Siran Tamil, and how to give her as little as possible. He needed his head clear. Absently, he took a sip from a bottle of evergreen wine, a mild ale really, and he needed something to calm his nerves.
What had he been doing last night? Came back from the battle front near Hittle Bottom Cove. No fun at all. Something about a pretty girl at an inn — who was she? — so many pretty girls in the world, he could hardly keep track. Was it better with or without alcohol? Depends on the girl, he supposed. He wondered if he would see the girl again, whoever she was, and whether she were feeling any better than he was. Probably, as he didn’t recall her drinking. She had seemed kind of frightened, actually. Must be frightened of the Turbians overtaking Hittle Bottom Cove.
Well, it didn’t matter. He couldn’t remember what he had for breakfast the day before, either.
He shouldn’t drink while traveling; he may do something foolish one of these days. Plus, he always felt terrible the day after.
Tutang returned to his book, Political Empires in History. It seemed his more successful forbears had a knack for motivating their soldiers. Eloquence, that’s what he needed. Way back when, in the Battle of Lexing, not too many hundreds of years after the Escape, the story went that one Gungali captain with a straggling army of fifty defeated the Sabians, who had an army of ten thousand. Captain Axel dem Morrel Alconnor of Lexing was his name, and a fascinating character. He had only two wives, and they both seemed to like each other; apparently they were his advisors in war, and were both bonded to him.
Only two wives! And advisors! And bonded! Captain Axel attributed their victory to the aid of the Creators, but Tutang was sure it was due to Captain Axel’s guile. The Creators! Tutang laughed as he re-read the story, and wished the author had included details of how the victory was won. It was a two-thousand year old story, back when people still talked about Creators, so the fact that it still existed was remarkable. If only some miracle would work now. The story couldn’t be true, not fifty against ten thousand, but he liked the idea of defeating the Turbians.
Galia needed gold. Kel Sinclair was the treasurer, a member of the Council of Six. His fidgeting ways irritated Tutang, and the man hadn’t come up with anything to impress him. Tutang wanted to know how to keep his land from starvation when the war demanded soldiers. He needed a fresh mind, someone not raised as a kel or a noble. How could he dispose of kel Sinclair? Not murder, of course, Tutang didn’t have a taste for pointless killings. Not when other means of disposal were so easily available; he could move the treasurer to waste management. Easy enough to arrange, he was sure.
One of the servants wove around the bookshelves ten paces away in the fine art section. Thin and small, he perused book titles, touching periodic spines. His face seemed brighter than the now-dimmed shelves, perhaps a stray ray had caught him, or maybe he was happy.
A wave struck Tutang to his core. This boy, this young man, had greatness about him. Something about the way his posture balanced his weight, or the calm intelligence in his eye, or the angle of his nose. Or maybe the way he held himself comfortably in the presence of his Kel. No bowing or foolish stammering. He made no indication that he noticed Tutang at all, though his presence could hardly be missed.
Tutang stood. “Good morning,” he said.
The servant turned, and a grimace crossed his cheeks, probably because he felt bad that he hadn’t greeted Tutang already. “Good morning, sir.”
“What are you looking at there?” said Tutang.
“Drawing books, sir.”
“Oh? You fancy yourself an artist?” He held out his hand in greeting; the servant took it gingerly, with an eyebrow raised. Tutang would never normally offer his hand to a servant, but craved the touch to confirm the feeling. The wave of clarity all but engulfed Tutang’s mind with the boy’s touch, so that the Kel’s breath came with difficulty. This boy was no mere servant: His potential was bright as the moon. Tutang gritted his teeth to prevent his now sticky tongue from licking his suddenly dry lips.
“Siran Dylin is deigning to provide me drawing lessons,” said the boy.
“Is that so? Who are you?”
“Canúden den Ubal, sir.”
Tutang nodded; the boy bowed stiffly — rather, he tilted his head forward — and said, “May I be dismissed, sir?”
“Yes, of course.” The boy needed to be on the Council of Six, lend some of that greatness to Tutang, the Council, and to Galia.
Canúden had read Gallel’s art books a dozen times. How had Galia’s art masters attained such depth in two dimensions with a mere pencil? How did paint reveal a world on a flat surface? He’d scrawled images on Ma’s slate, and had spent what he could on paper. The effort lacked satisfaction; he couldn’t keep anything on the slate, and paper was expensive. Despite the descriptions in the books, he had no idea what he was doing, and spent more time erasing than drawing, which caused more stress as the paper shredded. Ma framed some of his drawings of flowers or animals; she claimed they were wonderful while he could hardly look at them.
A clock in the library struck late morning, time to be preparing lunch.
He returned to Dylin’s room and knocked; Lianna peeked around the door and smiled. “Come for the frogs?” she said. She let him in.
He shook his head. “It’s important that you place the frogs. Come to Hammy’s room in an hour. Is your mama in?”
“She’s healing. Ophy’s with her. They’ll be back, I hope, ‘cause they been gone all morning.”
“Yes. Ophy needs to be there with you.”
She led him to the kitchen counter, where a clear glass jar held the little amphibians. Water and some mossy rocks covered the bottom, and the frogs with their red fingers and pale green speckled bellies stuck to the sides. A plate served as the lid. “Here they are.”
“Cute little things, aren’t they?” he said.
“They moaned all night. It was so funny!”
“I hope you can keep them as pets,” he said, a smile curving one side of his lips, “if your sisters don’t eat them.”
“You’re a nicer man than any of the other men Mama liked.”
His eyes widened at her candor and his throat dried. “I am?”
“Yeah. This one guy, Hiram, she really wanted to bond him. And then he found out she was the Siran, and he just wanted stuff from her.”
“Being the First Siran is a huge secret to keep from someone you think you love,” he said.
“Well, Mama doesn’t like to tell villagers who she is ‘cause it just causes problems. That’s why people leave notes outside of Gallel, so they don’t know, when they ask her to heal.”
“Indeed.”
“But you don’t care that she’s the Siran.”
He grinned. “She’s a great person anyway.”
“Are you gonna bond her?”
His face heated to a painful temperature. It took him a few times swallowing to find something approximating his voice. “I, uh, it’s not entirely up to me. We hardly know each other.”
“Well, keep it in mind, all right?”
The thought had already crossed his mind. “Sure, Lianna. I’ll, uh, see you in an hour.”
“Thanks, Canúden.”
Gallel’s bustling kitchens exuded the warm smell of bread and meat, which caused his stomach to rumble. Merase met him with a frown. “You weren’t here this morning.”
He leaned against the counter, then looked around for anything he could snatch to eat. A bowl of almonds caught his eye. “I was working.” He popped a nut into his mouth.
“What were you doing?” She pounded dough with a force that caused Canúden to flinch. He set the almonds onto the counter and, when he touched Merase’s shoulder, she pushed the dough aside.
“This morning I was cleaning toilets. Then I went to the library.”
“Ugh! I’m glad I’m only in the kitchens. You could have come, anyway.”
“Sorry, I didn’t think of it.” He flexed his shoulder as he changed the subject. “Dylin has found a wari healer, a girl from Kampten. She’s training her now.”
Merase’s lips spread into a grin as she pulled brown bread from an oven. “That’s good, she deserves a good assistant.”
“And, Dylin’s arranged drawing lessons for me!”
“That’s wonderful!” Her smile faded and she turned to her dough. “Siran Amber was in a fit this morning.”
“Why?”
“Apparently you beat up Hameline.”
“I didn’t beat her up. She was attacking Lianna, and I stopped her. As gently as I could.”
“Well, just watch yourself,” said Merase, seriously. “It’s an honor to work in Gallel, and that honor could be revoked.”
“What, for protecting the heir?” he said.
She shrugged. “I’m just saying what I heard.”
“I’m serving Hameline and Ambra today. Is their lunch ready?”
“It’s under the lid, there, on the tray.” She brushed russet hair back from her thin face, leaving dough in some strands. She was pretty in her way, but... “So, you want lunch? You’re starving from all that effort of cleaning toilets?”
“Of course.” He folded his arms.
She looked him over. “Are you thinner than you were last time I saw you?”
“It’s possible. I should eat more of your bread and pies. I admit, I’ve been busy and gotten into bad habits, not coming this morning.”
“Bad indeed, Canúden.” She took a knife and sliced two pieces of steaming bread for him. “Ow, it’s hot. There’s butter. Eat, and tell me all about your troubles.”
“Can I have the whole loaf sliced? For later, you know.” Merase cut the bread into ten slices and gave him all. He spread butter on two slices and ate them in four bites. He said, “This is really good.”
“It was good this morning, too.”
Her attitude annoyed him. Sure, they’d spent a few evenings stargazing and kissing, but nothing serious. Maybe she thought it was. Dylin wouldn’t be so... petty. He changed the subject again. “I have a drawing lesson this afternoon.”
“I’m very happy for you.” The dough suffered the vent of her happiness as she pounded it. “Just be sure you come every day for bread. You’re my Canúden.” She looked at him with wide, teary eyes.
“Merase,” and he touched her cheek, “I’m not anyone’s. I…” He didn’t know what to say. “I’m sorry.”
He twisted his shoulders uncomfortably, placed the bread on top of the waiter, and left.
Pink and gold and white poufs filled Hammy’s room, where sunlight brightened lacy and satiny blankets and curtains, and frilly pillows lay anywhere but on the bed. Dolls, some of them with broken faces and arms, cluttered the floor even though servants would have tidied it only a few hours before. Lianna hugged Sima, the rabbit Ophy had given her. Hammy and Ambra sat with her at a little table near the balcony. Mama must have arranged for Hammy and Ambra’s governess to be out for the afternoon.
“Why do you insist on playing with that?” said Hammy.
Lianna tightened her lips so she wouldn’t say anything whiny or stupid, since Hammy just wanted to make her mad. “I want to be able to play with something without breaking it.”
“Why should I care if I break a silly doll?” Hammy tossed back her brown curls. “Mother will give me a hundred more.”
“So, you don’t care if you love a doll, then?” said Lianna.
“It’s just a doll,” said Ambra in her quiet voice. She sat very still for someone who was only five.
Lianna twisted her shoulders like she’d seen Canúden do when he was in the middle of an annoying topic that he wanted to change. “I’m here so I can have lunch with my sisters. We need to talk about our sisterness…” Ambra and Hammy smirked at each other with the word sisterness. “…and find things that we all like doing so we can play together.”
“Maybe you should make friends with a pig so you can play in the dirt together,” said Ambra. Her words were all the more startling in that quiet voice.
“She did find a pig friend,” said Hammy. “Her name’s Ophy.”
Lianna’s chest trembled with the insult. “I don’t think pigs can heal with wari,” she said. The other girls whispered to each other and probably didn’t hear her. It was a weak, silly thing to say anyway. No wonder she never played with them. Ophy wasn’t a pig, she was a very nice friend. Where was Canúden? The wriggling little frogs probably didn’t like to be in the sack at her waist. “What is your favorite thing to eat?”
“Not rocks and worms like you,” said Hammy.
“At least if I was lost in the forest I wouldn’t starve to death,” said Lianna.
“You can’t even go into the forest because you’re such a baby that Daddy won’t let you leave!” said Ambra.
Tears stung her eyes but she held her breath so they wouldn’t come out. It seemed that Lianna couldn’t say anything without one of them saying something mean and nasty. They must have learned that kind of rudeness from their mothers. No wonder Mama didn’t like to spend time with the other sirans.
At last Canúden came in with a tray that smelled good, of warm bread and something like fish. Ophia followed, in the black silk shirt and velvet jumper of a servant, holding a pitcher of juice.
“So,” said Hammy with a satisfied sneer, “it’s you bringing our lunch.”
At the same time, Ambra said, “What’s that doing here? We don’t need pigs in here.”
“Where’s Merase?” said Hammy. “She’s supposed to bring our lunch!”
Canúden bowed deeply, with a stiff back, balancing the waiter on his fingertips. “My ladies, Merase was detained in the kitchens, and so that your lunches wouldn’t be cold,” he looked significantly at Lianna at that word because frogs were cold, “jen Albey asked me to bring them.”
“What about her?” Ambra pointed at Ophy.
“How can a Lady, an heir no less, enjoy her lunch without her attendant at her side?” said Canúden.
Lianna held her nose high as though she were Snootiness herself. “My dear Ophia, I wait for you to pour my bev’rage!”
Ophy bowed with a solemn expression, though her fingers twitched with nervousness, then jumped to pour the sparkling green naya juice into a glass. Lianna held the cup with two fingers and a thumb and sipped. “Oh, very fine!”
“Pour me juice, too!” said Hammy.
“Ah,” said Lianna, “you mustn’t take my attendant. She’s here for me.”
“I, however, can serve your needs,” said Canúden. As he distracted them by pouring their juice, Ophy bowed low and lifted the lid off the food tray. Each sandwich of dark rye was in four slices, probably because the frogs were so small that they’d get lost in a whole slice, and someone might accidentally eat one. That would be missing the point, and no one wanted the frogs to really be hurt. Lianna dumped her sack onto the tray, then quickly took her sandwich and Ophia’s out. Ophia tucked two frogs into two remaining sandwiches. Both Canúden and Ophia stepped back. Lianna bit delicately into her sandwich. On it was some kind of fish and cream sauce. Very yummy. After her example, Ambra and Hammy gingerly took a piece of their sandwiches. With the movement of the bread, frogs jumped out of the sandwiches onto the girls’ faces.
“Ahh!”
“Aiee!”
They screamed until Lianna’s ears rang and hurt.
“Oh! Cute!” said Lianna. She picked up a sandwich, moved the top bread, and examined the frog that sat there. “Ooh! There’s more of them! Can I have them as pets, do you think?”
“I’m sure your mama wouldn’t object,” he said.
Hammy and Ambra hadn’t stopped screaming during this conversation. They ran out, probably to go to their mamas. The funniness in Lianna’s chest almost hurt. She and Ophia hugged each other, laughing until tears flowed. Canúden shook.
Images courtesy of
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Midieval Market
Don't miss any of the chapters!
Prologue: River Flowing
Chapter 1.1: Blindness
Chapter 1.2: Eyes Opened
Chapter 1.3: Hallel's Star
Chapter2.1: Hope
Chapter 2.2: Relevance of Freedom
Chapter3.1: Power
Chapter 3.2: Death's Power
Chapter 3.3: Power of Life
Chapter 4.1: Encounters
Chapter 4.2: Encounters
Chapter 5.1: A Galian Delicacy