Season of Sacrifice (6 page)

No! That wasn’t it at all! The inlanders were missing six lambs. Mum had said that she wanted to cook something other than fish. Mum loved lamb. The People might have come to take the inlanders’ meat. But hurt Maida and Reade? Slit
their
throats?

Reade would have to explain to Duke Coren. Reade would have to let him know that the woodsinger did not
really
collect children’s blood for the Guardians. She threatened a lot of things, but most of them she never followed through on.

Reade would tell the duke the truth. But he would wait until later, until the people in the tavern were no longer listening. After all, Reade wouldn’t want them to laugh at Duke Coren, to think that the duke had been foolish. Not when he had been so kind to Reade and Maida. Not when he had saved Reade and Maida from Crusher.

Duke Coren continued talking to the people in the tavern. “My men and I longed to carry all the children away, for we feared their fate if the outlanders could not find enough innocent lambs to slaughter. Alas, these were the only two we could save.”

Only two? Now Reade was more confused than ever. He was the Sun-lord, Duke Coren had said, and Maida was the Sun-lady. Had the duke’s men tried to take other children from the seashore? Had they tried to bring other children with them, to the inland? Were there other lords and ladies among the People’s children?

“These were the only two,” Duke Coren repeated and his voice shook. Reade looked up and saw tears in the man’s eyes—tears! Then the duke pulled Reade close, putting his strong arms around the boy’s shoulders. For just a moment, Reade held back, certain that he should wait, that he should explain, that he should make everything clear. Before he could speak, though, he realized that Duke Coren’s embrace felt familiar. It felt safe.

For just an instant, Reade thought that he was back in Da’s arms. Without thinking, he threw his own arms around Duke Coren’s waist and buried his face against the soldier’s hip. The man smelled different than Da—he smelled of leather and horse, not of sea and fish. But all the same, when the duke pulled him close, Reade thought he would burst into tears.

The fat woman’s voice trembled, and she clucked like one of the goodwives back home, like a woman fussing over Reade’s skinned knees after one of his countless accidents. “Sit down, you poor souls! Let me bring you something hot from the kitchen.”

She hesitated only a moment, clearly wondering what to do with the still-sobbing Maida, but Donal stepped forward at a nod from Coren. As the soldier awkwardly gathered up the little girl, Reade saw that his sister was red-faced and exhausted, as if she had run a footrace or climbed the cliff to the Tree a dozen times. Her sobbing faded away as the soldier drew her to a bench, and she collapsed in her crumpled golden finery as if she were ready to fall asleep immediately.

The aproned woman was only gone for a few moments, and she was still shaking her head as the duke and his men tucked into great bowls of lamb stew. The men tossed back ale as if they were at a feast.

Reade did not enjoy the meat nearly as much as he had anticipated. With every bite, he thought of the stories the duke had told. Stories? Or truth? After all, Duke Coren had
cried
. Reade had never seen a grown man cry before, not even when Sartain Fisherman came to tell Mum that Da had gone.

Were there bad things happening back home, back at the Headland of Slaughter? Was Alana Woodsinger evil? Were Mum and the other People in danger—even more danger than he and Maida? Reade swallowed his stew and tried to believe that everything would be right in the end.

The next morning, Reade’s shoulder still hurt where the duke had pinched him. It wasn’t fair. He had only wanted to help, to explain that Duke Coren did not understand the People. Reade rubbed his arm through his golden robe and sulked as he drank from Duke Coren’s cup.

They left the inn just after sunrise. All the villagers gathered to see them on their way, and more than one person muttered about riding west to “root out” the People’s threat. As the village disappeared behind them, Duke Coren looked down at Reade and said, “You were wise not to speak out last night, Sun-lord. It would have been wicked to lie to your people.”

“I wasn’t going to lie!” Reade was grumpy. Mum would have said that he needed to go back to bed, that he needed more sleep until the honey in his dreams had sweetened the day. Reade knew that he didn’t need more sleep. He just needed his shoulder to stop hurting.

“Ah, but you were! Not because you intended to be bad, but because you did not know the truth. Always remember, Sun-lord. When you speak out of ignorance, you might speak a lie. Your people would have been hurt, if you had lied to them.”

“My people weren’t in that smoky room. My people are at the Headland!”

“Some of your people are at Land’s End.” Duke Coren nodded. “But the better part of your people are inland, spread between here and Smithcourt, Sun-lord.”

The duke’s words were scary. How could Reade’s people be inland? How could anyone know him between here and Smithcourt? Reade did not want to think about all those strangers, people like the fat woman and the whiskered men in the tavern. They weren’t fishermen. They didn’t even grow herbs outside their own homes. They were different from the People. Worried about what Duke Coren might say regarding the strange inland people, Reade asked a different question, one that he’d wanted to ask since the duke first spoke to him. “Why do you call me that? Why do you call me Sun-lord?”

“Because that is who you are. That is who I came to find and free—the Sun-lord and the Sun-lady.”

“But I’m just Reade. I’m just one of the People. I don’t know anything about your lords and ladies!”

“As you grow closer to your home, you’ll learn the true stories.”

“My home is behind us! My home is with Mum!” There. That was what Reade had wanted to say all morning, for days, even.

“That was your home of exile, Sun-lord. Your mum was a good woman. She kept you safe until it was time for you to come to your true home. You’ve grown, now, though. You don’t need your mum anymore. You’re a big boy, and I’ve come to take you away from your home of exile, to Smithcourt. To your home of truth.”

Reade’s voice was very small. “Home of truth?”

“Aye, Sun-lord.”

“Then I’ll never see Mum again?”

“You’ll see many things, Sun-lord. Many, many things.”

“But I want to see Mum!”

“Maybe you will, Sun-lord. Maybe you’ll see her after we arrive in Smithcourt, after you do your work in the Service.”

“The Service? What’s that?”

“That’s another story, for another day. Sit back now, Sun-lord. We’ve a long ride ahead of us.”

Reade had been fighting the darkness that spread inside him, the fuzzy feeling that always came over his body after he drank from the duke’s golden cup. His arms and legs were heavy. He didn’t really care what the Service was. It didn’t matter that he had to wait to see Mum. He didn’t mind that he might be away from the Headland for a long, long time.

He even forgot about the confusing lies and truths and half-truths. He forgot that he meant to explain things to Duke Coren, to tell the lord about the mistakes he had told the people back in the tavern. With the sweet water inside him, Reade stopped caring about lambs and the Song of Sacrifice. Instead, he leaned back against Duke Coren’s chilled armor, shifting a little to ease his bruised shoulder.

The duke’s gauntleted hands gripped tighter on the horse’s reins, and Reade grew sleepy as Duke Coren’s arms closed around him. He let his head slump against the nobleman’s chest. They rode on for league after league, leading the troop of loyal men over the hills.

That night, they stayed at another inn. Duke Coren asked about lambs again, and told the villagers about the People needing blood. This time, Maida was held tight at Donal’s side so that she couldn’t run to any of the people in the common room. Donal’s hand looked heavy on her shoulder, and Reade suspected that Maida was being pinched as he had been the night before. Even so, she glared at Reade across the smoky room, daring him to speak up as she had at the King’s Horse.

Reade remembered that he shouldn’t lie, shouldn’t tell a story with half-truths. He remembered that the men drinking in the tavern were somehow his people, and he owed them true stories.

But Reade also knew that he didn’t want Maida to be angry with him, and he didn’t want her to think he was a coward. After all, she was his twin. She was his only sister, as Mum always reminded him, the only sister he was ever going to have.

And so, Reade interrupted Duke Coren to say that the nobleman was wrong. He said that Alana Woodsinger had tried to be nice to Reade and Maida. He even pointed out that the woodsinger had honored him, that she had given him his furze branch when he was the huer. She could never have planned to kill him, not after she had let him cry
hevva
.

Duke Coren tightened his fingers into a fist as Reade spoke. His jaw got hard, like he was going to spit something onto the tavern floor. All of a sudden, Reade remembered how the duke had looked back on the Headland, how he had held a knife and glared at Reade when he came riding through the harvest festival. Reade remembered how Duke Coren had upset the first harvest, on top of his roan stallion, leading his dogs. Dogs like Crusher.

Reade’s heart pounded, and his face flushed. He didn’t want Duke Coren angry with him. He didn’t want to be in trouble. He tried to be good, really he did! Sometimes he just forgot! Sometimes Maida
made
him forget!

After a moment, Duke Coren got a sad look in his eyes, just like he had at the King’s Horse. He shook his head and said that Reade was only a child. A child could not truly understand anything about the outlanders. Reade was really just a very little boy.

And then, before Reade had a chance to say anything more, before he even got to finish his supper, Duke Coren had him carried upstairs, to the sleeping room. For good measure, he sent Maida upstairs as well. The soldier who guarded them did not let them speak to each other.

Reade was still awake when Donal came in to make his last report of the night. Most of the soldiers were sleeping in a long hall beneath the eaves of the roadhouse, but the duke and the children shared a small room. Maida had already fallen asleep, and she was breathing heavily through her mouth. Reade lay beside her, his eyes closed, but his ears open.

“Your Grace, may I speak freely?”

“Of course, man.” Duke Coren’s voice was cold, like Mum’s when Reade made excuses. Reade did not think he would have had the courage to go on, the way that Donal did.

“You let the boy say too much. Song of Sacrifice? Lamb stew? These villagers won’t know what to make of the boy’s tale. If an outlander walked into the common room tonight, he’d be welcomed with a full tankard.”

“You exaggerate, Donal. These backwoods fools might not treat the outlanders as child-killers, but they’ll still rise up against thieves. Don’t forget that they live by their flocks. Lost lambs are lost gold.”

“You need to unite your people, Your Grace. You need to show that you can keep them safe, even against bloodthirsty ravagers who would murder their own children, murder stolen children for a tree!”

“I know what I need, man.” Coren’s voice sounded like his jaw was hard again. Reade lay as still as he could, terrified that either man would notice he was still awake.

Donal continued, as if he didn’t hear that the duke was angry. “That boy is going to cause problems—mark my words. He should respect his elders, not contradict them. The girl was bad enough, at the first tavern, but at least those countrymen just thought she was hysterical. That boy is going to cause us a lot more trouble, if you let him go on and on.”

“The boy is no fool. He knew I was displeased, and he went to bed hungry. He’ll hold his tongue now.” The duke’s voice softened a bit, and Reade could tell that he was smiling. “Don’t worry, Donal. They’ll both be fine. We’ll train them properly, once we’re back at Smithcourt. They’ll be ready to play the Sun-lord and Sun-lady in time for the Service.”

“The Service is not my concern, Your Grace. It’s the journey to Smithcourt that worries me. You’re supposed to be raising the countryside on this trip. You’re supposed to be gathering support.”

“We haven’t lost that support, Donal. People saw the Sun-lord in that room tonight.”

“They saw a child in golden robes, a child who contradicted you.”

“Are we going to have that argument again, about the robes?” The smile was gone from Duke Coren’s words.

Donal answered quickly. “No, Your Grace. I understand why you want them in their finery. You want your duchy to remember the Sun-lord and the Sun-lady, and for the legend to spread, even after you’ve gained Smithcourt. It’s just that if they say the wrong things when they’re wearing those golden robes, we could have an entire village rise up against us. Your claim to the throne will hardly be advanced if you have to burn one of your own villages.”

“You worry too much, Donal. The boy will hold his tongue. If he doesn’t, we’ll teach him a sharper lesson than an empty belly.” Duke Coren sighed. “This is the hardest time for us, Donal. This is when we need to take the gravest risks. You and I both know that my claim to the Iron Throne will die altogether, if I can’t produce the Sun-lord and the Sun-lady in Smith court, alive and ready for the Service.”

Donal was silent for so long that Reade thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then he finally said, “I’m just saying that you should watch him, Your Grace. Watch him closely.”

“I do, Donal. With every step we take closer to Smithcourt, I do just that.”

Donal bowed then and left the tiny room. It took Reade a long time to fall asleep, even with the sound of Maida breathing on his right, and Duke Coren snoring in the great bed above.

The next morning, Reade thought about the men’s argument. He decided he would let Duke Coren say whatever he wanted, even if he was wrong about the lambs and the Song of Sacrifice. That way, Duke Coren wouldn’t be angry with him. He wouldn’t be angry, and Reade would get to eat his supper. He’d get to share a bench with the nobleman, sitting in the tavern common room like a big boy.

After all, what did it really matter if Duke Coren told some stories about the People? Lambs were sacrificed in the Song of Sacrifice. Was that so different from pouring lambs’ blood on the Tree? And no one could
really
believe that the People would pour a child’s blood on the Tree.

Duke Coren must be telling a scary story, like the Men’s Council did on the longest night of every year. Grown-ups told stories all the time, and most of them were confusing. Confusing, or outright lies. Da had lied, when he’d said that he’d take Reade fishing.

Besides, Reade was having an adventure that would make all the boys jealous back home. Even Winder, who always made Reade wait on the edge of the green while the big boys chose their teams. Reade would lead those games when he and Maida returned to Land’s End, after they journeyed to Smithcourt. After the Service, whatever that was.

Every day for a week, Duke Coren pushed them hard. He knew all the best taverns along the way, and he always arranged for rooms upstairs. Maida was taken away whenever she cried too much or got too mouthy. Reade, though, remembered to hold his tongue, and he got to sit at the duke’s right hand. He was proud, even if he was still a little scared.

After a week of listening to Duke Coren talk to people in common rooms, the line between truth and story was completely blurred in Reade’s mind. Over and over, he heard stories about the People. He learned that Sartain Fisherman had been training men for months, teaching them to steal inland children. Duke Coren explained that the People had always hated the inlanders. The People were jealous. They wanted fine fields and rich harvests. They wanted iron. They would kill for gold.

Reade was glad that he wore his bright robes, glad that the inlanders could see that he and Maida were different from the People. After all, the twins had left their home. They hadn’t done the horrible things that Duke Coren talked about! They had never hurt anyone, for harvests or iron or gold or anything at all!

Sitting in the taverns, listening to the duke’s stories, Reade pulled his golden robes closer about his shoulders and reminded himself of all the lessons he had already learned. He remembered to sit quietly. He remembered to eat his supper. He remembered not to confuse anyone with his own stories about life on the Headland.

At night, Reade dreamed of the ghosts who walked the beaches of Land’s End. He dreamed of inland traders who were killed for their goods, and children who were drowned so that their parents did not go hungry. He dreamed of the branches of the Tree, spreading out across the sky like a spiderweb, waiting to catch bad boys, waiting to punish them.

When he woke, he almost believed that Sartain Fisherman
had
meant to slaughter him over the Tree’s roots. After all, Reade had been chosen as the huer, hadn’t he? He’d been recognized as the smartest boy in the village, the fastest and the loudest and the best at spying out schools of fish. What would keep Sartain Fisherman from offering up Reade, Reade
and
Maida both, as sacrifices to the Guardians? Surely the Guardians only wanted the best.

Reade also kept remembering Alana Woodsinger’s face. She was always yelling at him to stop some harmless fun. She was very strict, and she had that funny knife that she carried with her everywhere. Maybe that was the knife she would have used to sacrifice Reade. Maybe that was the knife she would have used to slit Maida’s throat while Reade watched, helpless.

One night, thinking about Alana Woodsinger’s sharp, iron knife, Reade stepped closer to Duke Coren. He raised a hand to the woodstar that swung from his neck. Certainly, the duke had given him the bavin, but the thing had been sung by the woodsinger. It was part of the Tree, the same Tree that wanted to drink his blood. Maybe he should throw away the woodstar. Maybe he should take it from his neck and walk over to the hearth. He could throw it into the flames right then and there.