The Seedbearing Prince: Part I (7 page)

Dayn grinned. A new kincatcher, this time a
Kohr Springs girl with brown hair and feet that blurred beneath her
blue dress, now ran through the booths. Every child she touched
would be added to her 'family' until none were left but one. The
last to be caught would chant the words to start a new family and
they would all scatter again. The game had no end.

“Peace, if I'm not doing an awful lot of work
the night of Evensong!” The goodwife said loudly. Several farmers
dropped away from the blacksmith to help her.

“You would think a child could play at a
festival of all places,” one muttered. The first boy had already
disappeared from where he sat. Dayn soon spotted a large head
bobbing through the crowd in a noble attempt to be stealthy.

Dayn pointed him out to the farmer. “There
should be an easy catch.”

The farmer laughed. “Don't know why I'm
dickering with this blacksmith for a grindstone, with a melon like
that on hand. Say, you’re Laman's boy, aren't you?” Dayn nodded.
“Thought so. Fine work, lad! You'll make us proud.”

The Southforte man went off after the boy
before Dayn could ask what he meant. A flash of yellow slipped past
his knees and Dayn lunged after it before Yonas escaped him
again.

“Watch yourself, you big oaf!”

The man Dayn just bumped into straightened
himself. The angular cut of his clothes and odd, short-trimmed hair
marked him as a Misthavener. A conical cap lay on the ground, and
Dayn snatched it up before any passersby could crush it.

“My apologies…Elder,” Dayn added the
honorific when the man's eyes narrowed. “I will be more
careful.”

“See that you do,” the man snapped, his beady
eyes glittering with anger. He snatched the cap away before Dayn
could return it, and stomped off. “This Fall-cursed, fly speck
village is bad enough without clod-footed farmers and their
downcountry manners to deal with!”

Dayn's face burned. Several Wia Wells
onlookers―none of them Elders, thankfully―watched the exchange in
silence. They lanced him with warning looks before returning to
their merriment.

Dayn spotted more Wia Wells boys gathered in
the Speaker’s Turn, an amphitheater of grass and wooden benches.
They stood near the stage full of musicians, who were resting and
scarfing down food. Judging from the sweat darkening the offworld
trader's shirt, it would be a while yet before he finished
unloading. Dayn skirted around the grass where gleeful children
swarmed over tangletoys to join his friends.

“Ro'Halan! Just who I wanted to see. Nice
shirt.” Esane Ro'Thelen's round face seemed built with a permanent
grin. Of all the boys their age, he might be the only one who
pulled more pranks than Dayn and Joam. Esane made brief
introductions for the boys Dayn did not know, some friendly
Southforte folk and a few aloof Misthaveners.

“Good Evensong,” Dayn said to all. The boys
returned to clamoring over who would kiss who, and guessing at the
best dancers among the girls. Dayn eyed the musicians tuning while
they ate, and felt an itch in his feet. “I'm sure looking forward
to some dancing.”

“I hope they can carry a tune, or this will
be the worst Evensong ever,” one of the Misthaven boys said,
sneering openly at the platform.

“Thade, you don't mean that,” Esane said with
a grimace, offering apologetic looks to the group. Several of the
boys frowned over the comment, but continued in their debate.

“Who is this lout to you?” Dayn murmured to
Esane.

“My cousin Thade from Misthaven,” he
whispered back. “My mother is making me show him around the
village.”

“You better show him some manners while
you're at it. That talk will earn him a beating.”

“I know! What should I do?”

Thade had light brown eyes and what Dayn
presumed to be good looks, aside from a pair of unfortunately large
ears. Too dull to notice the dangerous silence of the Wia Wells
boys around him, the Misthavener continued to question the
musicians' skill. Esane looked on, mortified that his charge stood
an insult away from a well-deserved flogging.

“We could have brought drummers from
Misthaven, at least,” Thade was saying. “The girls will be asleep
by the third song.”

Dayn clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and
used Laman's staff to gesture toward the crowd. “Don’t you worry
about that. The Mistland girls get tired of the same boring
farmers.” The Wia Wells and Southforte boys' faces shone with pure
affront. “Besides, you haven't really danced until you've taken a
Wia Wells maiden around the Turn.”

“Really?” Thade asked doubtfully.

“Really. I know just the one, too. She was
standing under maidenvine when I first arrived, but I didn’t even
bother to ask for a kiss. Been going on about you Misthaveners all
week.”

Several barely suppressed guffaws bubbled
from the group as Laman's staff singled out none other than Milede,
swishing her skirts through the booths. Thade rubbed his chin
thoughtfully. Esane feigned a cough to hide his laugh.

“Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” Thade
allowed. The Wia Wells boys whooped loudly for the Misthavener as
he hurried off after her.

“And I thought Joam was the better prankster
of you two,” Esane marveled.

“Evensong is no place for fighting,” Dayn
replied. “I'll help make the village look as good as anyone else.
What did you want to see me for?”

The other boys circled close as Esane lowered
his voice to avoid the musicians' ears. “Some of these tenderfeet
want to go
explore
tonight.” A dozen expectant eyes swung to
Dayn, lit with excitement. Dayn quickly glanced at the platform.
The musicians were engaged in hot debate over the order of the
songs, paying the boys no mind.

“He said you know the wilds best,” one of the
Misthaven boys urged. “Take us to the Dreadfall, Mistlander.”

“I'd rather dance than spend the night
getting scratched up in redbranch,” Dayn said. He needed to stop
Esane from doing something foolish once night fell. “Could be
muddy, too. The Elders think the mist will come early this year.”
Esane gave Dayn a questioning frown.

“But we might never get another chance,” one
of the Southforte boys whispered. “They say the deadwisps steal
away from guarding the heartrock to weep at the midnight sun. Their
songs will drive you mad if you listen too long.”

Dayn opened his mouth then closed it again
with a frown. He could not tell the boy about his foolishness
without giving away his own forbidden knowledge.

“They sing about all the worlds lost to the
torrent. If they see you with a torch, they’ll chase you until
dawn!” “Not if you get rid of the clothes you wore there,” a
Misthaven boy corrected. At Dayn's astonished look, he added, as if
it were the most natural thing in the world, “So they won’t
recognize you.”

“They’ll steal your eyes and hide them in
Shard’s heartrock. If you go looking for them, they'll cast you
down the cliffs.”

“You'll fall forever.” They all nodded
fervently on that point and shivered. “To the other side and back
again until the Last Mist rises.”

Dayn could scarcely believe his ears. “But
how can you look for your eyes, if they’ve already―” He cut off at
a jab from Esane’s elbow.

“Sorry, Dayn. I think that flute player is
eavesdropping.”

Esane must have been pumping these ridiculous
stories into their heads for
years.
Dayn could already
imagine him tomorrow, chortling about the Misthaveners he tricked
into running naked through redbranch in the dark. The other Wia
Wells boys' eyes twinkled mischievously, too.

So they’re all in on the prank,
Dayn
thought.
I would be too, if it were any other night. But with
that man I saw...peace, maybe he was a deadwisp!

A doubtful looking Southforte boy, younger
than the rest piped up. “We probably couldn't get close enough to
spit in the Dreadfall. Some wreathweaver or gravespinner would make
a feast of us all, first. If you need an idea of their handiwork,
look right there.”

Easing himself onto a blanket near the back
of the Speaker’s Turn, old Nerlin sat in his usual place, muttering
to himself as he always did. Furrows creased his weathered brow as
he brushed absently at his threadbare feastday clothes. His row
always filled last whenever people gathered for stories or open
council. Most occasions, it would not fill at all. Nerlin sat
stiffly and avoided looking in their direction. Hesitant mutters
and doubtful frowns rippled through the group.

“Leave over.” Dayn gave the boy a hard look,
even though his words may have discouraged Esane's foolish outing.
The Misthavener stares bordered on open jeering. They gawked not at
Nerlin, but his foot. Or rather, where his foot had once been.
“He's done nothing to you, and that came from no wreathweaver.”

“What happened then, Mistlander?” One of the
Misthaven boys asked. “Caught in a gravespinner's web?”

“If you must know, go ask him yourself.”

The Wia Wells boys all echoed their
agreement, suddenly remembering themselves. No matter what they
disliked about each other, Mistlanders always banded together
around outsiders. Especially capital folk. The withered old farmer
glanced up so quickly Dayn nearly missed it. A grateful look.

Esane suddenly gave a low, appreciative
whistle. “Peace, what I wouldn't give for some maidenvine right
now.” One of the girls from the Dawnbreak Inn before glided toward
them. Nerlin―and the Dreadfall, peace be praised―were instantly
forgotten. Dayn swallowed in spite of himself, and unconsciously
patted his braids.

“My cousin, Falena.” A Misthaven boy
stammered through introductions. He clearly did not bother to
remember their names. Dayn could not fault him too much, for he did
not recall the Misthavener's name, either.

“Falena Ankehl, from Misthaven,” she added
the last pointedly, looking them all over. Esane, and the rest
grinned foolishly, tripping over each other to offer her hugs, but
Dayn felt ready to gag over the next Misthavener to announce her
city.

“Happy Evensong, sister,” he said stiffly. He
would ask Milede to dance himself before fawning over any of these
haughty strangers.

“Such poor manners, Brel! Forgive my cousin.
Happy Evensong,” Falena peered up at Dayn expectantly through long
eyelashes. Dayn took the hint and hugged her reluctantly. Refusing
one would be considered a serious insult. Her fingertips teased his
back, making the hairs on his neck stand up.

“What was your name?”

“Dayn Ro'Halan.” He could not resist adding,
“From Wia Wells, closest village to the Dreadfall.”

The Wia Wells boys groaned audibly. Falena's
expression faltered, but she recovered smoothly, glancing at the
platform for a moment. Singers from Kohr Springs and Southforte now
rehearsed with the musicians. A Southforte lute player stared at
Falena, and she favored him with a dazzling smile. He yelped an
oath when one of his strings snapped.

“Ro'Halan...that name sounds familiar. Your
father sits on the Trade Circle, doesn't he?” The village boys'
heads bobbed eagerly before Dayn even opened his mouth. They were
positively moonstruck over this maiden. “I thought so. He is highly
spoken of in Misthaven, Laman is. Even though he’s...” She coughed
delicately into her hand.

Even though he’s from Wia Wells,
Dayn
finished silently. He suddenly did not care to dance with this
Falena at all.

“I suppose he'll be mayor here one day,” she
continued, playfully twirling her blue garland.

“Our Village Council serves well enough,”
Dayn said flatly. Several of the boys gave firm nods before
catching themselves. Falena affected not to notice them
eavesdropping, and Dayn did not care.

“So there’s more to you than farming. And I
hear you’re not in love with wielding the staff like that beanpole
Misthavener pestering all of my friends for kisses,” Falena said.
“Can I sit with you for the storytelling?”

“Everyone, please join us,” Elder Buril's
resonant voice boomed from the platform of the Speaker's Turn,
forestalling Dayn's answer. The Turn immediately began to fill.

Dayn spotted his neighbor Grahm sitting next
to his wife, and all of his former worry came rushing back.
Kajalynn held one of their triplets and minded two more swaddled in
their blankets, concern lining her face. Grahm stared forward with
hollow eyes, not responding to her whispers. Dayn could not be more
certain his neighbor saw the same thing he did this morning.

Joam waved to Dayn from a bench further off,
where he sat with his parents and brothers. He motioned coyly to an
empty space nearby as if to say,
there’s room for her, too.
Even old Nerlin's row quickly filled. The remaining boys broke away
to find more blue garlands to sit near.

“Hello, son.”

Dayn started at Laman’s voice behind him. His
parents had appeared beside Elder Buril, standing in front of the
musicians. A sharp tremor of worry snaked through Dayn's chest.
“You and your friend may want to sit down,” Hanalene said, her eyes
twinkling.

“The storytelling is nearly upon us,” Elder
Buril intoned. A broad-chested man with regal, gray dreadlocks, his
resonant baritone made for a booming laugh, and served equally well
in bending the Village Council to his wishes. Falena led Dayn to an
open space on a nearby bench. A few stragglers hurried over from
the booths.

Elder Buril's dark eyes shone proudly as he
looked over the expectant faces. “Many of you have journeyed far to
celebrate Evensong with us. Wia Wells is honored to host Misthaven
this season. There’s one small matter to attend before the
storytelling.

“The Trade Circle selects worthy apprentices
every season, as you all know. This Applicant is chosen to learn
the proper running of a village, and how the harvest will best
serve the World Belt. Shard's Pledge has flourished under this
tradition of guidance for centuries, and will continue to do so for
as long as the mist rises.”