Rebel Song (2 page)

The succulent scent of fried bread swept past Rogan’s nose and he had the sudden urge to gnash his teeth into a renowned Arelanda City delicacy.

“Damn, that smells good,” Rogan said more to himself than his companion.

“Indeed. What is that glorious aroma?” El asked, closing her eyes and absorbing the scent. Rogan snickered.

“Do you always talk like that?” Her refined dialect was near theatrical. She answered his question with a haughty scowl.

“You can be very rude, you know.”

“That’s fried bread,” he ignored her insult. “C’mon, let’s get one. I’m starved.”

“Fried what?”

“You’ve never had fried bread? Where are you
from
?” Rogan asked in genuine shock, stopping to face her. Confusion twisted her expression.

“
Fried
bread? Fried in what, fat?”

Rogan shook his head.

“No, not fat. Grape seed oil. You’ve really never had it?” he asked doubtfully. She shook her head.

“It’s not like I’m lying.”

“Well then you, my dear Just El, are in for a treat.”

They approached the rickety bread stand draped in a coarse white canopy with a hand-painted sign that read:
“Viola’s Famous Fried Bread. Half pound for half loaf.”
El tossed a handful of coins onto the counter.

“I’ll take…whatever this will get.” Viola, with cropped black hair striped with gray and a small puckered mouth, eyed the girl with a look of both skepticism and contempt. Young girls in silk dresses didn’t just throw around handfuls of money at the port.

“Hey Viola. Friend from…out of town,” he nodded toward El.

Viola rolled her saggy eyes but reached for the bread, gave each piece a thick slab of steaming butter, and wrapped four half loaves into waxed paper. Slinging bread for thirty years portside had given Viola very little tolerance for anyone.

Rogan was still unwrapping his piece when El sank her teeth into the steaming, succulent slice of thick, buttery bread eagerly.

“Good God,” she squealed with her mouth full of dough and lips slicked with butter. Oil dripped down her chin. “It’s superb!”

Rogan tried to stifle a laugh.

“Congratulations. You’ve officially tasted the most amazing thing in the world.” He helped himself to a bite of his own. “C’mon,” he motioned her to follow as he took a seat on the ledge of a large stone fountain carved in the likeness of a lion. El gobbled up the first large slab as if she didn’t know when she might eat next, which by the healthy glow of her polished skin was clearly not the case. Rogan wrapped up the rest of his own bread and placed it in his sack, knowing his little sister Arianna would be ecstatic over it.

“Thanks for the snack,” he was a little embarrassed at having some girl buy him food. That wasn’t the way he did things.

“Thanks for helping me with my ankle.” She smiled. “Who knows what kind of danger I would have found otherwise?”

“You wouldn’t have stood a chance.”

“So, do you live around here?” She asked, pulling an embroidered handkerchief from her dress pocket and wiping the grease from her chin.

“No, our vineyard is a few miles out of the city boundaries. In Pear Valley.”

“Vineyard? You grow grapes?” Her expression brightened. Rogan nodded.

“And make wine. Best in Arelanda.”

“Aren’t you a little young to run a business?” She asked skeptically, her eyes regarding his features as if to decide if that were true. Rogan chuckled and shrugged his shoulders.

“Is that just a coy way of finding out my age?”

El’s mouth twitched and she shrugged.

“Maybe.”

“Well I’m sixteen, so hardly. Seventeen this summer.”

“You actually seem older than that,” El examined his face curiously.

“Sometimes I feel older,” Rogan laughed. “But I’m getting pretty good at it. Winemaking, I mean. Practically been at it since I could walk.”

El bit her perfectly pink lip and seemed to ponder the idea of working.

“Isn’t it a bit cruel and uncivilized to put children to work?” She half teased.

“I guess the civilized part is up for debate, but cruel? Hardly. We don’t tolerate idleness in the Valley. Too much to be done. What about you? Live in the city?”

Her face shifted to a look of contemplation like it was a trick question.

“We...we live outside of the city as well. We have...a bit of land.”

“Do you farm?” Rogan perked up. Maybe they had something in common. She pursed her lips and slowly shook her head.

“No.” She didn’t offer additional explanation. Silence seized the moment and they sat awkwardly, fumbling with the quiet.

“Well, I still have work to do,” Rogan finally said, realizing that as much as he didn’t want to pull himself away from this mysterious girl, he should get going. The last thing he needed was to be accused of corrupting some heiress. He was well aware that unnecessary mingling of classes was always considered suspicious.

“Can I take you anywhere?”

El’s eyes fell with the weight of disappointment.

“No, that’s okay. I’ll manage from here,” she sighed.

“How’s your ankle?”

“It hurts, but not as badly as I thought it would.”

“Good.” He helped her steady herself. “It should heal up in a few weeks. Just don’t climb any more rocks ‘til it does.”

“Thank you for your help, Rogan.” She tittered, looking down at her swollen ankle. “I must seem pretty pathetic. Such a damsel in distress, eh?” She looked up at him, her large cat eyes shimmering in the sunlight.

“Nah. I’ve seen worse.”

Blush snuck up on her cheeks again.

“Well, ‘bye then.” She turned to walk away, but hesitated.

“It was nice, um…meeting you,” Rogan blurted out.

She stopped in place and paused for a moment before turning back with a mischievous glance. Something teetering on dangerous swept over her eyes and she tilted her head.

“Maybe it won’t be the last time.” With that, she turned and hobbled toward the library.

CHAPTER 2

Rogan couldn’t stop thinking about the strange girl from the beach.
El.
He liked the way her name lingered on his tongue. He didn’t know why he bothered wasting thoughts on some rich girl clearly out of his class, especially one he’d likely never see again. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he cared about
any
girl, rich or not. Nothing would come of those thoughts but distractions from the things that truly demanded his attention, like the harvest and clearing out the barn to make way for the new vintage. Or his duty to the cause. But despite common sense, he foolishly looked for her the following Thursday when he went to the docks. Every flash of reddish hair or wisp of green fabric strained his neck. By sundown, he was kicking himself for being a complete idiot and he had made his way back to the Valley.

He shook off his daydreams, hoisted the final crate onto the truck bed and wiped the sweat from his eyes. The downtown morning hustle was erupting throughout the surrounding streets and he wanted to be done before people stopped to notice their business.

“So when do we stop being Cable’s bitch?” Benton Hollister—his lifelong best friend—complained. Ben lit up a cigarette and wiped sweat from his forehead with his forearm.

“Oh, stop being so sensitive,” Rogan said. “Cable needed the supplies and trusts us to get it done. Take it as a compliment.”

Ben huffed and took a long drag of his smoke.

“Sure. Here’s some mindless heavy lifting to do boys—”

“It’s not like you see him asking Alec or Mikkel.”

“Yeah, ‘cause they’re both bat shit crazy.”

“Just shut it, Ben. I’m sick of your whining. No one forced you into this cause.”

“Whatever.  Let’s just get this crap back to the cannery. I’m starv—”

Shouting cracked the rhythm of the street. Rogan snapped his head up to see a man with long hair tied back and ragged coveralls shouting on the street corner in front of the bank. He held a makeshift sign reading “JUSTICE NOW” in bright red.

“Great,” Ben grumbled. “The crazies are out in full force today.”

Rogan examined the disheveled man and shrugged.

“Crazies? Justice now doesn’t seem like a bad idea.”

Ben put his cigarette out on the ground with his boot. He raked his hand through his disheveled sandy hair and shook his head.

“Not the point. That’s not how we do things. We don’t picket aimlessly on street corners. Makes the rest of us look bad.”

The picketer focused his attention on a polished man in a crisp blue suit walking down the sidewalk toward the City Hall.

“How can you just walk down the streets?” The picketer shouted and pointed. The suit shook his head but kept moving without response. 

“Hey, isn’t that Mayor Barnsly?” Rogan asked of the man in the suit. Ben squinted, then nodded.

“Yeah. Great, just what we need. Public attention. C’mon, let’s get out of here before rangers show up and all hell breaks loose.”

“Did you hear me, you fat cat? How do you sleep at night?” The picketer’s voice escalated as he followed the mayor, still raising his sign proudly.             

“I sleep just fine sir,” Mayor Barnsly finally answered, still not turning to face his accuser.

“On a bed of pillows with a full belly, I’d wager. While the rest of us starve!” The picketer waved his sign out toward the growing pack of onlookers.              A few nodded and mumbled in support.

“Aren’t you a dramatic one? You’re welcome to voice your concerns at the next town hall meeting. Now, please leave me alone,” the mayor said.

“I’ll voice my opinion now!” The picketer grabbed the mayor by the arm and forced him to stop. Within an instant two city rangers had the picketer restrained.             

“That’s enough,” one ranger growled.

“Let go of me!” The man struggled against their grip, but the rangers held fast. His eyes went wild. “You see? You all are witness to this harassment! The government stands by idly as we suffer at the hands of corruption!”

Mayor Barnsly turned to face the picketer. He took a step closer and inspected him as though he were a specimen in a lab dish.

“All of you—so quick to complain. So quick to beg. But what are your people doing to make things better? What are you but a drain on our resources?” The mayor said.

“You will see soon enough what we’re going to do about it,” the picketer said. He then spat in the mayor’s face and followed up with a butt to his head.

The mayor stumbled back with a yelp and a baton collided with the picketer’s head. He dropped to the ground. Blood exploded from his skull, spraying a little girl next to him in crimson. The child screamed and the crowd scattered. The rangers fell upon him, raising and dropping their batons in a practiced cadence as the man cried out. The onlookers exploded into an orchestra of screams.              

“Shit,” Ben muttered.

Rogan jumped to move, but Ben caught his arm.

“Don’t. Stay out of it.”

“Stay out of it? Can’t let him get beaten to death!”

“He antagonized and assaulted the mayor. He made his choice,” Ben said.

Rogan glared but couldn’t argue. Interfering would just earn him his own ass kicking—or a jail cell.

Rogan shook his head and dug his nails into his palms. Guilt and shame fought for a place in his soul as he watched the man bleed out onto the dusty city street. A final blow and he fell silent.

The echo of shattered glass followed, trailed by the roar of flames. The bank building erupted in wisps of orange and blue. The rangers called for backup on their radios. Half the crowd cheered while the other half scrambled to flee.

“Let’s get the hell out of here!” Rogan said. They jumped into the truck and left the outbreak in the dust.

CHAPTER 3

The next morning Rogan’s mind was a jumble. He knew he needed to focus on the business, but between the Cause, the beating he’d witnessed, and his newfound obsession with the mystery girl, he could hardly remember what day it was. The flatbed truck hit a pit, shaking him from his distraction and back to the bumpy road into town. The truck pulled into the usual Elwood Farms stall. With the help of the old ranch hand, Tigg, and his uncle Jasper, Rogan unloaded cases of wine to set up their tasting booth alongside the Valley’s other winemakers. Even in the center of the city, the salty sea air trickled in, scrubbing the sweat from his skin.  There, among the market’s foot traffic and the squawks of children running through the roped-off streets, he couldn’t help but scan the crowds for her.

“Looking for someone?”

Rogan snapped his head back around to see Jasper standing above him. 

“No, I uh,” Rogan stuttered. “Just looking around.”

At the end of every month, the city took the weekly farmers’ market up a notch with music and entertainment. Merchants and farmers from the farther counties lined the streets of downtown with woven blankets, handmade scarves, vibrant fruit from the southern beaches, whole roasted pigs, and all sorts of other rarities. Entrancing bohemian musicians strummed on every corner, shifty fortune tellers set up makeshift tents and street performers danced around in all manner of bizarre costumes.

“I know there’re probably a hundred things you’d rather be doing after a long week than slinging wine behind this table. But I think it’s important that we keep coming to this,” Jasper said. Rogan shrugged.

“I agree. It’s a good opportunity to sell. Gotta keep my vineyard afloat right?” Rogan said. His uncle forced a small smile and nodded. “No, I didn’t mean it like that Jasper. Of course it’s yours too—”

“I know, don’t worry about it,” Jasper broke in. “It’s Elwood Farms after all. And you’re the last of those.”

The mundane hours and persistent sun conspired against him as Rogan dissected the crowd, longing to break free of his obligations. His fingers itched to grasp a fishing pole and his body begged for a dunk in the ocean. His mind was a million miles away from the bustling plaza when a flicker of fire caught his eye. He scanned the crowded street, a flurry of excitement swelling in his gut.

“Stop it, we’re not buying wine,” a raspy northern brogue said slightly above the din of the street.

“I will buy whatever I well please,” commanded a voice like soft, savory butter.

Rogan nearly fell from where he sat atop a wine barrel. He knew that voice. His head shot up and there she was—that face of innocence with the subtle hint of fire—the girl he’d been day-dreaming about. Her sharp green eyes spotted him and widened with both surprise and a hint of delight. But then her expression quickly faded into wariness as she glanced at the woman beside her.

“Good afternoon, Madam,” Jasper offered a cordial smile as he stepped up to the front of the booth. He bowed his head in a greeting of well-rehearsed respect. Jasper was the perfect face of Elwood Farms.

“Good afternoon, Sir,” said the short dark-haired woman with El.

“And to you, Miss,” Jasper nodded again toward the pretty girl by her side. “Are you interested in sampling a taste of our new vintage? It’s much bolder than our previous year. Very fruit-forward and bursting with berry jam.”

“I do love berries,” El interjected. The older woman tugged on her arm as if to tell her to control herself.

“None for us, thank you,” the woman said. She smiled politely at Jasper. “We are just browsing.”

“Please ignore her,” El insisted. “I would like some for my father. He loves a strong wine.”

The woman turned to El with obvious annoyance.

“El, there are twenty wine booths on this street. Why are you suddenly insistent on buying a bottle here?”

El shrugged and managed to look irresistibly charming. Her gaze casually roamed toward Rogan. 

“I like the label on this one, Ada,” El pointed to the bottle with the ancient Elwood crest on the label, but her eyes were locked on Rogan.

“Perhaps it wasn’t the wine that caught the young lady’s eye,” Jasper said with a gentle grin.

El’s cheeks flushed, but still her eyes didn’t waver. Ada stiffened, glaring first at her, then at Rogan.

“Don’t stare,” Ada snapped. “Forgive the lady. She forgets her manners. If she ever had any,” she added almost under her breath.

“No need to worry about that,” Jasper laughed. “We’re all just simple farmers here.” His laughter seemed so infectious that even Ada’s sour mouth ventured a smile.

“Well then,” Ada sighed. “Which do you recommend for someone with an exceptionally refined palate?” Before Jasper could answer, Rogan sprung to his feet.

“The Valley Old Vine is truly the best. Bold fruit with a subtle velvet finish.”

Jasper shook his head, smirking.

“Well, this lad seems to have a bright future in your business,” Ada said.

“Let’s hope. It’s his vineyard after all,” Jasper boasted. “Our family’s been making wine for generations. His father was the best wine maker in the county.”

Rogan couldn’t help but puff his chest a little in pride.

“Just wait until you try my debut release,” Rogan said with a modest smile.

“Hmm,” El’s mouth twitched. “And will you be doing private tastings?”

“El!” Ada finally snapped, breaking their moment. “Please, remember yourself.”

El stiffened and struck a stately pose, but her eyes remained wild. Rogan committed that look to memory.

“Girls will be the death of you,” Ada said, shaking her head. “Fine then. We will take a bottle of whatever that was the young man described.”

Rogan retrieved a bottle of the Valley Old Vine, wrapped it in coarse brown paper, tied on a blue ribbon and bid his customers goodbye with a friendly smile and bow. El shot Rogan a subtle wave and a wink as they departed.

Once the crowd had cleared for the day and they were loading up the unsold inventory, Jasper turned to his nephew with a stern look.

“Rogan,” he started.

“Jasper,” Rogan said back, not looking at him.

“I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life, but you should really learn to mind your mouth around certain folks.”

Rogan turned and looked at him curiously.

“Folks like what?”

“Folks that are of a…certain class. You know to whom I’m referring.”

“Yeah, yeah, nobility. I know—you’ve told me a thousand times.”

“Well, it doesn’t seem to be sinking in.”

“They’re just people. I’m not going to fall to my knees just because they’ve got more money than we do.”

Jasper shot him a discerning look

“You know it’s not as simple as that. There’s a difference between just wealthy and nobility. A pirate can be richer than the king, but he’s still a bottom feeder. A noble status awards them a certain…power. A sense of entitlement. They aren’t used to people like us talking so casually to them. You have to remember that there is a balance we all have to maintain. It’s just… the way things are.”

Rogan thought about the way El had recoiled at first from his handshake.
But she had taken it in the end.
He smiled at the memory.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll watch myself.” He sighed, irritated by the whole concept.

“Look, I’m just saying that the fastest way to get yourself in trouble in this world is to forget your place. Especially in these uncertain times.”

“Sounds a little discouraging. Aren’t you supposed to fill my head with inspiration and dreams and crap like that?” Rogan smirked.

“And when have I ever done that?” Jasper laughed. “No, I’m supposed to fill it with honesty. Now, c’mon, let’s get this finished and get the hell out of here. My stomach is begging me for a bowl of Lorena’s stew.”

Rogan was still loading the last of the unsold crates of wine into the back of the truck when he heard his name on the tail of a whisper. He perked up and looked around, but saw nothing but a black alley cat hissing at him. He heard the voice again, more clearly.

“Rogan,” she called out. “Rogan!”

He discreetly scanned the street, then the tent, finally spotting a fair face peering from an opening in the back of the booth tent. Casually and quietly, he lifted a box of empty bottles and made his way toward the garbage bins.

 “El. What are you doing?”

 “Well I didn’t get a chance to speak to you earlier. Ada keeps me on a tight leash in public.”

“Was that your mom?”

El laughed.

“Sants no. That crone? She’s my…” She paused, seeming to catch herself. “She’s my assistant.”

“Assistant?”

“Um, like my personal assistant.”

“So you
are
a high-born lady then,” Rogan laughed. “No Valley girl I know has a personal assistant.”

“All right, I’ll admit we have a little money,” she blushed.

“Seems like she better keep a better watch on you.” There was an awkward pause before Rogan went on.

“I thought I saw you about a hundred times last week.”
Dammit, shut up
. The nervous word vomit just kept coming. “I know; it’s so stupid.  I don’t even know why I thought you’d be down here again.” He laughed casually, although it felt like angry butterflies were violently beating their wings against his chest. El smiled bashfully, like the demure proper girl she was surely expected to be.

“You know, I really did think about sneaking down here again. But my ankle is still pretty swollen. I didn’t think I could outrun Ada.” She stuck out her leg so he could see the purple and blue swirl peeking out of her sandal. “See?”

“How’d you explain that one?”

El shrugged.

“Didn’t take much. I just said I tripped on an uneven cobblestone. No one thinks too highly of my coordination skills.” She grinned. “But it was stupid of me to think I could just sneak off and meet some guy on the beach, even if I didn’t have a busted ankle. Ada would lose it if she knew I’d been down there at all. She’s convinced it’s nothing but prostitutes and pirates slumming around.”

“Well, she’s got a point. Some of those alleys near the docks are pretty seedy.”

“Wouldn’t want to get kidnapped, would I?” She laughed.

“So I’m guessing your family is a little overprotective.”

“Um, you could say that. But I’m glad that I ran in to you today. I did want to see you again—I just didn’t know where I’d ever find you.” 

“I’ve never seen you at the market before.”

“No, I’ve only been once before. My mother loathes the fact that I want to be around….” The words caught on her tongue.

“Prostitutes and pirates?”

She put a hand to her mouth. Rogan laughed.

“It’s okay. I know how most of the city’s finest think about the poor suckers tilling away on their dirt farms out in the Valley, peddling chickens and snake oil at the market.”

“Oh, so it’s not like that? Look, I should probably go. Ada thinks I’ve just ducked into the ladies room to wash my hands.”

“Yeah okay.”
Don’t babble on about anything else,
he commanded himself
.

“Look, Rogan…Can I maybe see you again?”

The air kicked at his stomach and he almost stumbled back.

“See me?” He wasn’t entirely sure he’d heard her correctly. She nodded. “Um… well I’m here most Saturdays,” he looked around at his tent aimlessly, raking his fingers through his hair. Her eyes flicked to the side apprehensively.

“Um, I meant something a little more
private.
”

Rogan swallowed hard and reminded himself to breathe.

“I’m not sure if that’s a good idea.” There was something unnerving about making clandestine plans with some mysterious girl who was rich enough to have an overprotective personal assistant following her around.

“Don’t you want to?” Her eyes twinkled and her lips fell into a hopelessly irresistible pout.

“Well, yeah, I would. I just—” Rogan was pretty certain he was gaping like an idiot.

“I have a thought! I’m supposed to start volunteering on Fridays at the library soon. My mother thinks I need to be more philanthropic,” she added with a hint of sarcasm.

“Um, okay,” Rogan unconsciously gnawed on his cuticle.

“What I mean is, that I’ll be in town and maybe I can, you know, sneak away sometime for a fried bread afterward.” She shot him a half-lidded gaze that made Rogan’s heart thump.

 “Oh, um, sure, I might enjoy fried bread.” He tried to sound nonchalant and flirtatious, but came off bumbling and idiotic instead. If she noticed, she pretended not to. “I usually work in the mornings but I can be free in the afternoon.”

“My first day is in two weeks. The session is over at two. Think you will be around?”

“Sure, I can be here.”

“Excellent.” She grinned. “I will think of a way to duck out after for a bit without anyone knowing. Can you meet me by that lion fountain on the square?”