a full bucket of well water over Jalan’s head, the boy just stands there dripping into the puddle at his feet.
Enmar strips off his shirt and sets it aside before pouring water from a fresh bucket over his own head and briefly scrubbing his face and arms with his hands. He then rinses with the remaining water and sets the empty bucket back on the edge of the low stone wall that surrounds the well.
Grabbing his shirt, Enmar starts walking. Jalan follows almost out of habit now. They walk toward the workshops. His trainer moves with an easy stroll and Jalan hobbles and squelches in his wet boots. When they reach the leather shop, Enmar discusses something to do with shoes. Jalan concentrates on standing and lets the conversation drift past him.
Ritka, the leather crafter, has Jalan sit on a stool and take off his boots. Then Ritka has Jalan put his feet on a couple of pieces of leather and inscribes marks in the leather that seem to roughly correspond to the size of Jalan’s feet. He is too tired to care why Ritka is making him new boots when the ones he has are still in good shape.
“Come along. Let’s get something to eat,” says Enmar. He looks at Jalan. “Ritka is going to want that stool back.”
Jalan accepts the hand Enmar offers and lets the man pull him to his feet.
Carrying his wet boots, Jalan trudges toward the manor’s kitchen entrance. His bare feet feel sore and swollen and he winces when he steps on a sharp stone.
“Don’t worry. Your feet will get a rest tomorrow,” says Enmar.
Δ
The next evening Jalan sits at the family dining table wondering if he can eat the soup in front of him without using his arms.
“He made you walk on your hands?” says Tomac as if it is the most outlandish thing he has ever heard.
Jalan has to admit that it might be.
Lady Shara says, “That is what your brother said, dear. Now please stop badgering Jalan about his training, unconventional as it may be.”
“Yes, mother,” says Tomac.
Across the table Vee smirks and tries to hide it by eating another spoonful of soup.
Darla breaks the silence that follows by sharing details of the new book she is reading. Vee tells everyone what she has heard about a traveling singer rumored to be performing in the district. Lady Shara asks questions about the children’s various lessons with Master Hern.
With what he considers to be a heroic effort, Jalan manages to feed himself. He asks to be excused at the meal’s end and goes to his room.
Δ
Later, after Jalan settles himself for the night, there is a tap at his door and his mother speaks from outside, “May I come in?”
Lying on his bed, his mind has been wandering on the edge of sleep. He sits up to help rouse himself and says, “Yes, mother.”
Lady Shara enters the room holding a short wooden dowel with a small candle lantern hanging from its notched end. Outside the window, dusk’s muted glow has not yet given over to full night. Inside, Jalan’s room is dark and the candle sends wavering suffused light dancing across the walls and his mother’s form.
She softly closes the door behind her and smiles as she walks to his bed where she sits on the edge of it. “How are you feeling?” Lady Shara asks.
“Tired,” replies Jalan.
“If you like I can speak to Master Enmar about...”
“Mother, no!” blurts Jalan. He feels his face color with embarrassment which he hopes is not visible in the candlelight. “I mean, please don’t. Everything is fine, really.” Jalan can hear the edge of pleading in his voice.
“If you are certain,” she says. The words sound like the grudging acceptance of a battle she knows she cannot win.
“Master Enmar says the beginning is the most difficult time. It will get better. But, I have to do this. Father wanted me to do this.” Again, he hears himself pleading with her.
Lady Shara reaches out and sets the little candle lamp on the night stand near the bed. She moves closer to Jalan. He snuggles into her arms.
Enmar strips off his shirt and sets it aside before pouring water from a fresh bucket over his own head and briefly scrubbing his face and arms with his hands. He then rinses with the remaining water and sets the empty bucket back on the edge of the low stone wall that surrounds the well.
Grabbing his shirt, Enmar starts walking. Jalan follows almost out of habit now. They walk toward the workshops. His trainer moves with an easy stroll and Jalan hobbles and squelches in his wet boots. When they reach the leather shop, Enmar discusses something to do with shoes. Jalan concentrates on standing and lets the conversation drift past him.
Ritka, the leather crafter, has Jalan sit on a stool and take off his boots. Then Ritka has Jalan put his feet on a couple of pieces of leather and inscribes marks in the leather that seem to roughly correspond to the size of Jalan’s feet. He is too tired to care why Ritka is making him new boots when the ones he has are still in good shape.
“Come along. Let’s get something to eat,” says Enmar. He looks at Jalan. “Ritka is going to want that stool back.”
Jalan accepts the hand Enmar offers and lets the man pull him to his feet.
Carrying his wet boots, Jalan trudges toward the manor’s kitchen entrance. His bare feet feel sore and swollen and he winces when he steps on a sharp stone.
“Don’t worry. Your feet will get a rest tomorrow,” says Enmar.
Δ
The next evening Jalan sits at the family dining table wondering if he can eat the soup in front of him without using his arms.
“He made you walk on your hands?” says Tomac as if it is the most outlandish thing he has ever heard.
Jalan has to admit that it might be.
Lady Shara says, “That is what your brother said, dear. Now please stop badgering Jalan about his training, unconventional as it may be.”
“Yes, mother,” says Tomac.
Across the table Vee smirks and tries to hide it by eating another spoonful of soup.
Darla breaks the silence that follows by sharing details of the new book she is reading. Vee tells everyone what she has heard about a traveling singer rumored to be performing in the district. Lady Shara asks questions about the children’s various lessons with Master Hern.
With what he considers to be a heroic effort, Jalan manages to feed himself. He asks to be excused at the meal’s end and goes to his room.
Δ
Later, after Jalan settles himself for the night, there is a tap at his door and his mother speaks from outside, “May I come in?”
Lying on his bed, his mind has been wandering on the edge of sleep. He sits up to help rouse himself and says, “Yes, mother.”
Lady Shara enters the room holding a short wooden dowel with a small candle lantern hanging from its notched end. Outside the window, dusk’s muted glow has not yet given over to full night. Inside, Jalan’s room is dark and the candle sends wavering suffused light dancing across the walls and his mother’s form.
She softly closes the door behind her and smiles as she walks to his bed where she sits on the edge of it. “How are you feeling?” Lady Shara asks.
“Tired,” replies Jalan.
“If you like I can speak to Master Enmar about...”
“Mother, no!” blurts Jalan. He feels his face color with embarrassment which he hopes is not visible in the candlelight. “I mean, please don’t. Everything is fine, really.” Jalan can hear the edge of pleading in his voice.
“If you are certain,” she says. The words sound like the grudging acceptance of a battle she knows she cannot win.
“Master Enmar says the beginning is the most difficult time. It will get better. But, I have to do this. Father wanted me to do this.” Again, he hears himself pleading with her.
Lady Shara reaches out and sets the little candle lamp on the night stand near the bed. She moves closer to Jalan. He snuggles into her arms.
Similar Books
