Venom and Song by Wayne Thomas Batson Page A

celebrated as the returning Lords of Berinfell.”
    â€œEven Autumn?”
    â€œWell, we’ll see how she’s doing.”
    â€œSo I may see her now?”
    â€œIt’s best you leave her be,” Nelly said.
    â€œBut she’s my sister!”
    Nelly looked to Grimwarden, then back to Johnny. “Regarding that. We were afraid that something will come as a bit of a shock to you.”
    â€œThat I’m an Elf?” Johnny scratched his ear. “Well, I’m kind of over that.”
    â€œNo, not that,” said Nelly. “But it’s related.” She looked to Grimwarden, sighing. “See, Guardmaster, I’m not much better at this. Okay”—back to Johnny—“you remember how we told you that the Drefids took you and the others as babes, yes?”
    â€œSure.”
    â€œWell, when they brought you and Autumn out of Allyra and left you on Earth, the authorities gave you to the Briarmans as brother and sister.”
    â€œBut?” Johnny’s sleepy mind didn’t gather the implication.
    â€œBut you’re not,” said Nelly. “Not by blood, anyway.”
    Johnny sat back, eyes fixed in a blinkless stare.
    â€œYour real name,” said Grimwarden, “is Albriand Ashheart. Autumn is Miarra Swiftstorm. Two families. Two lordly families.”
    â€œWe’re very sorry to have to tell you like this,” Nelly said.
    â€œDoes Autumn know?”
    â€œYes, she knows.”
    â€œI really can’t see her?”
    â€œNo, not now,” said Nelly. “She needs time to . . . to come to terms with this in her own way. That’s why we didn’t allow you to see her earlier. You’ll have to wait until the lordship ceremony.”
    Grimwarden and Nelly bid Johnny good morning and left, letting the other boys back in. The four crawled back into bed, relishing the allowance of sleeping late. Everyone but Johnny, who, though quite exhausted, never did fall back asleep.

4

The Lordship Ceremony
    â€œTHIS IS the coolest thing I’ve ever worn,” said Jett, admiring himself in a long mirror. “And that’s saying a lot.”
    â€œYou like the tunic, do you?” asked Brennath Eventide, a flet soldier assigned to help the young lords with their ceremonial attire. “I should say you might. The thread in these garments is worth more than the castle in which we now stand.”
    â€œYur pulling me leg, aren’t yu?” asked Jimmy, looking again at his tunic. Its design was the same as the others: black with ornate silver embroidery around the collar, sleeves, and waist. What thread could be worth that much gold? He turned and muttered to Tommy, “Yu think he’d be offended if I told ’im mine dunnot fit so well?”
    â€œI doubt it,” said Tommy. “I think they—”
    â€œOffended?” Brennath laughed so hard his curly blond locks bounced on his shoulders. “You could scarcely offend me . . . a lowly flet soldier! I am at your service . . . bound to your service, actually. And because I am to teach you the nuances of our culture, let me begin by explaining that each one of the Seven Lords is in all things above my station.”
    Jimmy blushed. “Uh . . . well, that will take some gettin’ used to. For most of me life, I’ve been rather second fiddle. Uh . . . more like tenth fiddle, really.” Jimmy stared at the floor. “The tunic’s all right anyway.”
    â€œIt’s not all right if it isn’t just the way you want it,” said Brennath. “Command me, m’lord.”
    â€œUh, well then, I suppose mine is a wee bit loose.”
    â€œWell done, m’lord,” said Brennath. “You will have to wear it for the ceremony, but I will have it altered before the council tomorrow afternoon.”
    â€œThank yu,” said Jimmy, still red-cheeked. “It is a great-looking tunic. And I do like the sword.”