Soul of the Fire (70 page)

Once again, she hoisted the cloth bag holding all her belongings. It had been an awkward load to lug along, what with it bouncing against her thigh, but it wasn’t unbearably heavy and she often switched hands when her arm got tired.

She didn’t really have all that much to carry with her: some clothes; her pair of cobbler-made shoes, which had belonged to her mother, and which Beata only wore for something special so she wouldn’t wear them out; a comb carved out of horn; soap; some keepsakes a few friends had given her; some water; a gift of some lace; and sewing supplies.

Inger had given her a lot of food. She had a variety of sausages made from different meats, some as thick as her arm, some long and thin, some in coils. They were the heaviest things in her bag. Even though she had given several away to people she’d met who were hungry and one to a farmer and his wife who gave her a ride in their wagon for two days, she still had enough sausages to last a year, it seemed.

Inger had given her a letter, too. It was written on a fine piece of vellum and folded over twice. She couldn’t read it, but he read it to her before she left so she’d know what it said.

Every time she stopped for a rest along the way, she’d taken out the letter, carefully unfolded it in her lap, and pretended to read it. She’d tried to remember just the way Inger told her the words so she could try to tell which word was which. She couldn’t. Hen scratching was all it was to her.

Fitch made marks in the dust one time, and told her it meant “Truth.” Fitch. She shook her head.

Inger hadn’t wanted her to leave. He said he needed her. She said there were plenty of other people he could hire. He could hire a man with a back stronger than hers. He didn’t need her.

Inger said she was good at the work he needed. He said he cared about her almost as if she were his daughter. He told her about when her mother and father first came to work for him, and she was still a toddler. Inger’s eyes were red when he asked her to stay.

Beata almost cried again, but she held it in. She told him she loved him like a favorite uncle, and that was why she had to go—if she stayed, there would be trouble and he would only be hurt because of it. He said he could handle it. She said if she stayed she would be hurt or even killed, and she was afraid. He had no answer for that.

Inger had always made her work hard, but he was fair. He always made sure she was fed. He never beat her. Sometimes he’d backhand one of the boys if they talked back to him, but never the girls. But then, the girls didn’t talk back to him in the first place.

Once or twice he’d gotten angry at her, but he never hit her. If she did something foolish enough to get him angry, he’d make her gut and debone pullets till well into the night. She didn’t have to do that very often, though. She always tried her best to do right and not cause trouble.

If there was one thing Beata thought was important, it was doing as she was told and not causing trouble. She knew she’d been born with a vile Haken nature, just like all Hakens, and she wanted to try to act better than her nature.

Every once in a great while Inger would wink at her and tell her she’d done a good job. Beata would have done anything for those winks.

Before she left, he hugged her for a long time, and then sat her down while he wrote out the letter for her. When he read it to her, she thought he had tears in his eyes. It was all she could do to keep hers from erupting again.

Beata’s mother and father had taught her not to cry in front of others, or they would think her weak and foolish. Beata was careful to only cry at night, when no one would hear her. She could always hold it back until night, in the dark, alone.

Inger was a good man, and she would greatly miss him—even if he did work her fingers to the bone. She wasn’t afraid of work.

Beata wiped her nose and then sidestepped to make way for a wagon rolling toward the gateway. It looked a big place. At the same time, it looked lonely, all by itself out in the windswept middle of nowhere, sitting up on its own low hill. The gate through the bulwark appeared the only way in, except straight up the steep earthwork ramparts.

As soon as the wagon went by, Beata followed it through the tall gates and into the bailey. People were bustling about everywhere. It was like a town inside the gates. It surprised her to see so many buildings, with streets and alleyways between them.

A guard just inside finished talking to the wagon driver and waved him on. He turned his attention to Beata. He gave her a quick glance up and down, not showing anything of what he might be thinking.

“
Good day.”

He used the same tone as he used with the wagon driver—polite but businesslike. There were more wagons coming up behind her and he was busy. She returned the greeting in kind.

The dark Ander hair at his neck was damp from sweat. It was probably hot in his heavy uniform. He lifted a hand and pointed.

“
Over there. Second building on the right.” He gave her a wink. “Good luck.”

She nodded her thanks and hurried between horses before they closed up and she’d have to go all the way around. She narrowly missed stepping in fresh manure with her bare feet. Crowds of people were going in every direction. Horses and wagons made their way up and down the streets. It smelled of sweat, horses, leather, dust, dung, and the new wheat growing all around.

Beata had never been anyplace but Fairfield before. It was intimidating, but it was also exciting.

She found the second building on the right easy enough. Inside an Ander woman was sitting behind a desk writing on a rumpled, well-used piece of paper. She had a whole stack of papers to one side of her desk, some well worn and some fresh-looking. When the woman looked up, Beata curtsied.

“
Afternoon, dear.” She gave Beata a look up and down, as the guard had done. “Long walk?”

“
From Fairfield, ma’am.”

The woman set down her dipping pen. “Fairfield! Then it was a long walk. No wonder you’re covered in dust.”

Beata nodded. “Six days, ma’am.”

A frown crept onto the woman’s face. She looked to be a woman who frowned a lot. “Why did you come here, then, if you’re from Fairfield? There were any number of closer stations.”

Beata knew that. She didn’t want a closer station. She wanted to be far away from Fairfield. Far away from trouble. Inger had told her to come here, to the twenty-third.

“
I worked for a man named Inger, ma’am. He’s a butcher. When I told him what I wanted, he said he’d been here and knew there to be good people here. It was upon his counsel I came here, ma’am.”

She smiled with one side of her mouth. “Don’t recall a butcher named Inger, but he must have been here, because he’s right about our people here.”

Beata set down her bag and pulled out the letter. “Like I said, he counseled I come here, ma’am.”

He counseled her to get far away from Fairfield, and this place was. She feared stepping closer to the desk, so she leaned forward and stretched to hand her precious letter to the woman.

“
He sent this letter of introduction.”

The woman unfolded the letter and leaned back to read it. Watching her eyes going along each line, Beata tried to remember Inger’s words. She was sorry to find the exact words fading. It wouldn’t be long before she recalled only the main thrust of Inger’s words.

The woman set down the letter. “Well, Master Inger seems to think a great deal of you, young lady. Why would you want to leave a job where you got along so well?”

Beata hadn’t been expecting to have anyone ask her why she wanted to do this. She thought briefly, and quickly decided to be honest, but not too honest.

“
This has always been my dream, ma’am. I guess that a person has to try out their dream sometime. No use in living your life and never trying your dream.”

“
And why is it your dream?”

“
Because I want to do good. And because the Mi … the Minister made it so women would be respected here. So they’d be equal.”

“
The Minister is a great man.”

Beata swallowed her pride. Pride did a person no good; it only held them back.

“
Yes, ma’am. He is. Everyone respects the Minister. He passed the law allowing Haken women to serve along with the Ander men and women. That law also says all must show respect to those Haken women who serve our land. Haken women owe him a great debt. Minister Chanboor is a hero to all Haken women.”

The woman regarded her without emotion. “And you had man trouble. Am I right? Some man wouldn’t keep his hands off you, and you finally had enough and finally got up the courage to leave.”

Beata cleared her throat. “Yes, ma’am. That’s true. But what I told you about this always being my dream is true, too. The man just decided it for me sooner, that’s all. It’s still my dream, if you’ll have me.”

The woman smiled. “Very good. What’s your name, then?”

“
Beata, ma’am.”

“
Very good, Beata. We try to follow Minister Chanboor’s example here, and do good.”

“
That’s why I came, ma’am; so I could do good.”

“
I’m Lieutenant Yarrow. You call me lieutenant.”

“
Yes, ma—Lieutenant. So … may I join?”

Lieutenant Yarrow pointed with her pen. “Pick up that sack over there.”

Beata hoisted the burlap sack. It felt like it was loosely filled with firewood. She curled a wrist under it and held it against a hip with one arm.

“
Yes, Lieutenant? What would you like done with it?”

“
Put it up on your shoulder.”

Beata hoisted it up and curved her arm around and forward over the sack so it would bulge up the muscle and the wood wouldn’t rest on her shoulder bone. She stood waiting.

“
All right,” Lieutenant Yarrow said. “You can put it down.”

Beata set it back where it had been.

“
You pass,” the lieutenant said. “Congratulations. Your dream just came true. You’re in the Anderith army. Hakens can never be completely cleansed of their nature, but here you will be valued and be able to do good.”

Beata felt a sudden swell of pride. She couldn’t help it.

“
Thank you Lieutenant.”

The lieutenant waggled her pen, pointing it back over her shoulder. “Out back, down the alleyway to the end, just below the rampart, you will find a midden heap. Take your bag out there and throw it on with the rest of the offal.”

Beata stood in mute shock. Her mother’s shoes were in there. They were expensive. Her mother and father had saved for years to buy those shoes. There were keepsakes in her bag, given by her friends. Beata held back tears.

“
Am I to throw out the food Inger sent, too, Lieutenant?”

“
The food, too.”

Beata knew that if an Ander woman told her to do it, then it was right and she had to do it.

“
Yes, Lieutenant. May I be excused, then, to see to it?”

The woman appraised her for a moment. Her tone softened a little. “It’s for your own good, Beata. Those things are from your old life. It won’t do you any good to be reminded of your old life. The sooner you forget it, food included, the better.”

“
Yes, Lieutenant, I understand.” Beata forced herself to be bold. “The letter, ma’am? May I keep the letter Inger sent with me?”

Lieutenant Yarrow looked down at the letter on her desk. She finally folded it twice and handed it back.

“
Since it’s a letter of recommendation and not a memento of your old life, you may keep it. You earned it with your years of service to the man.”

Beata touched the pin that held closed her collar at her throat—the one with the spiral end, the one Fitch had returned to her. Her father had given it to her when she was young, before he had died from a fever. She had lost it when the Minister and that beast, Stein, pulled it out and tossed it away into the hall so they could open her dress and have a look at her.

“
The pin, Lieutenant Yarrow? Should I throw it away, too?”

As she had watched her father making the simple pin, he had told her it represented how everything was all connected, even if you couldn’t see it from where you stood, and how if you could follow everything round and round, someday it would all come to a point. He told her to always keep her dreams, and if she did good, the dreams would come round to her, even if it was in the afterlife and it was the good spirits themselves answered the wishes. She knew it was a silly children’s story, but she liked it.

The lieutenant squinted as she peered at the pin. “Yes. From now on, the people of Anderith will provide everything you require.”

“
Yes, Lieutenant. I look forward to serving them well to repay them for the opportunity only they could provide.”

A smile softened the woman’s face. “You’re smarter than most who come in here, Beata. Men and women, both. You catch on quick, and you accept what’s required of you. That’s a good quality.”

The lieutenant stood up behind her desk. “I think, with training, you could be a good leader—maybe a sergeant. It’s tougher than plain soldier training, but if you can measure up, in a week or two you’ll be in charge of your own squad.”

“
In charge of a squad? In only a week or two?”