Chapter Three - A Pouch for a Pipe

         Ayara stood waiting in the doorway, hands delicately clasped before her in a lady-like manner, silently flanked by her kitchen staff. It was a much more appropriate gesture than crossing her arms like a man. The dress she wore would have made the dress slightly scandalous. It was cut low enough to show a hint of cleavage, but not give away too much in one peek. Her friends found that the style was perfect for attracting men’s attention. Men always wanted more, but to give it all away in the beginning would burn out their interest too quickly. At least, that’s what her friends said.
         The pearl white gown was suitable for any country fair, she supposed, or even entertaining well set merchants, but it would never do for nobility. Oh, if only to have a gown of silk or satin instead of these woolens! Lace touched at her wrists and neck, and it fell delicately across her hips, swooping down to her soft slippers. It even seemed to glisten in the morning light. The broad hat blocking out the sunlight was low across her eyes, and layers of lace and embroidery gave it touches of delicacy. “I suppose I’m passing fair,” she huffed. “Better of than some young women around here who think they can delay until the last moment.”
         She swore once more to give Reina a lesson in time management for this. Ayara had already had time to clean the dishes left from last night, give herself a warm bath, and dress herself in the appropriate manner of a Lady. While she was dressing, Reina was still snoring! How dare the girl not hurry on a day like today?
          “She’ll be down in her own time.”
         Ayara gasped and turned to her father, who was just coming up on the porch from hitching the lead cart to Willin, his frumpy, wide-brimmed hat in his hands. Her nerves still felt too tightly wound, and she had found that these past few days, anything would make her jump.
         Several men were busy with the rest of the horses and carts, but everything was essentially finished. Wagons were stacked high with barrels of Smokeweed, sealed with thick leather to keep in the aroma, and branded with her father’s personal seal. He might not be world-renowned, but everyone in the local population knew him for his products. True, one or two wagons were loaded down with crates of vegetables and fruit, or bushels full of wheat and barley, but the Smokeweed was the most prized of her father’s crop.
         Something on her face must have warned him of her mood. Somehow, she had let her lady-like façade slip. At least it wasn’t in the town this time, where everyone could have seen. Ayara was suddenly very jealous of Reina, who could do as she pleased and not gain looks as if she had sprouted another head. Ayara wanted very badly to cross her arms and scowl.
         “If the child would just consider others’ feelings above her own, we wouldn’t be here waiting like this. As it is, she’ll still have to saddle that disgusting young horse of hers,” she muttered.
         “I already have,” Albrecht said, smiling around the stem of his pipe. “And the men are still finishing up with the wagons. Besides, the girl needs to sleep sometime. I don’t think she’s been getting much lately.”
         “Oh Father,” Ayara sighed, making light of the nightmares, both Reina’s and hers. “If those dreams were real, we would all be long dead. It’s only a scary dream. No one ever dies from the Shade Dancer’s touch or Shadow Singer’s voice.”
         Albrecht narrowed his eyes at her, though his smile still remained. Suddenly he looked very shifty, as if he were pretending to be the Shade Dancer itself. “And what if we are real, my dear? What if you are only ignoring us because you think it keeps you safe at night?”
         Ayara laughed, holding a hand to her lips. She rushed to him, hugging him despite the dirt and grime that covered him. “Somehow you can make everything better, do you know that?”
         “Not everything, dear.” Her Da looked slightly embarrassed, but his smile remained. “Now come along. We’d better get you settled in. By the time Reina comes down, we’ll be ready to start out.”
         “By the time she comes down, Father, we’ll be ready to come back home!”
         Someone cleared their throat loudly behind her, and for just a second she could have sworn she felt icy fingers trace down along her spine. With a squeak, Ayara turned in panic. Reina stood in the doorway, arms crossed and grinning lopsidedly as she leaned against the frame. “And by the time you get ready to leave the market, Sissy, I’ll have already sired grandchildren,” she cackled.
         Ayara’s face heated in embarrassment and suppressed irritation. “Come, Father. We mustn’t let children delay us from our plans.” She led the way down the porch, moving to the side of the cart. One of the farmhands helped her up and she settled herself with a slightly disgruntled blandishment directed at Reina.
         Father hefted himself into the seat and gripped the reins. Reina was already mounted on her silly horse and nagging him with words and heels to abandon a stray patch of grass and get moving. Only a forceful kick to the ribs got the animal’s full attention and he decided the grass wasn’t really worth the thrashing.
         “Well, what are we waiting for? We’ve got shoppin’ to do!” Reina whooped in a rather boyish manner, nudging Noname’s flanks with her knees and setting him into a steady trot. The men and women who worked the farm cheered good-naturedly at her, and even Ayara had to admit that she shared the feelings of excitement they all felt. She just wouldn’t allow it to show. A Lady must be reserved and refined, in control of herself at every moment.
         “It will be nice to get away from the farm for a while, won’t it Miss Ayara?” Vanya asked politely, more for something to say than out of any real desire to know Ayara’s opinion. Dealing with your boss for long hours was bearable so long as it was time for work. When it was your own time, the last thing you wanted was to spend the day with the person who pays your wages.
         Ayara nodded quietly from her seat in the front of the wagon, then turned back to her father, who was adjusting the floppy hat on his head. The poor old man loved his hat and couldn’t be convinced to get rid of it. It didn’t go well with the rest of his clothes, and the wide brim was bent in places it shouldn’t be. There was a permanent dent in the top that came from being run over more than once. But her father just wouldn’t let the thing be sold or given away.
         “Anything specific you need for the kitchen, Dearheart?” Father asked, not looking away from the reins. “I know you’re running low on general stock and spices, but is there something I’m missing?”
         “No, Father,” Ayara said absently, her thoughts jumbled. She had caught sight of the well as they turned onto the main road, and it brought back into clear perspective all the fears she had been faced with during these last few days. “I think I remember everything we need.”
         Father shrugged. “It’s your kitchen. I’ll leave it to you to run.”
         Reina trotted up to the side of the wagon, a sneer on her lips. “Do you really think that’s a good idea, Da? She might end up burning the house down. Don’t look at me that way, Sissy. I heard about that flare-up in the kitchen the other day.”
         Behind her, Sylvia squeaked and slid back in her seat a little further.
         “What happens in my kitchen, Sister, is none of your concern. Why don’t you and that . . . that animal of yours go for a run. We adults have important things to discuss.”
         Reina laughed, and beneath her, Noname turned a tight circle before taking back his steady trot. “Noname isn’t just an animal, Sissy, and you’re close to hurting his feelings. Be careful about that. He’s got a nasty kick. I’d hate to see a hoof print ruin that pretty face of yours.”
         “Enough, you two,” Father snapped, glaring over the reins at the both of them. “Aren’t you two old enough to get past this bickering of yours?”
         Reina and Ayara looked at each other in surprise. Usually, their father only laughed over their - not bickering, certainly; a Lady never bickered - their conversations. He must be short-tempered today to start yelling this early into the trip. In fact, he had been acting rather worried over something for several days now.
         “Da, you all right?” Reina asked. “You’ve been like this for days. Something wrong?”
         Ayara looked expectantly at him, wondering if he was starting to believe them about the figure she saw in the woods. The rumors were spreading further around the farm now, and everyone seemed more tightly wound than usual. Maybe someone else had seen the man, too. She’d have to send Reina around the men to ask. She got on well with most of them, and it would seem she was merely asking around about the rumors. If Ayara started asking, everyone would know something was wrong.
         Father pulled his pipe from his jacket pocket and thumbed the bowl full before finally answering. “Nothing’s wrong,” he said around the pipe stem. “It’s just been stressful this past week.”
         “Da, you’ve said that for days now, and we’ve had tight stretches before. You never get this upset over short supplies. I know it’s something else. Are those rumors worrying you, Da?”
         “Rumors?” he looked up from the pipe, puffing it alight and blowing a smoke ring. “I suppose they are starting to get to me. Never had much to worry about besides weevils and drought. Now there’s supposed to be some kind of ghost or monster roaming the woods and sneaking up on the animals? Good think we don’t keep sheep, eh?”
         Ayara shook her head. The answer was too convenient for her. She had learned to read people a long time ago, and her father was not the type of man to worry over fantasies and rumor. He was stronger than that. He was a focus for the farm that everyone could look to. When drought hit the crops, he was the one to ignore the near panic on the farm and set to work building irrigation channels. When weevils started eating the farm into poverty, Father dealt with it before too many of the Farmhands knew there even were weevils. This seemed too personal for him to worry over.
         What was he hiding?


         Reina could tell that Da wasn’t in the mood for talk. Ayara wasn’t, either. Almost certainly, they wouldn’t be in the mood for Reina’s jibes. She wished she knew how to settle everyone’s nerves. She knew that the strange man wasn’t someone to be afraid of. He might be a little tall and menacing, but she grew up around men like that all her life. Big and intimidating came with men who worked on a farm. Hard work built muscle, and rough work made rough tongues. Maybe she could find him again and explain the tension he was causing. If they saw that he was just another man, everything would settle down and go back to normal.
         But was he normal? Was he really just another man? He seemed a little arrogant with himself, but he wasn’t cruel or pompous. And he liked horses, too. That added to his favor as far as Reina was concerned. A man who cared for his horse was a man who could care for anyone. So what that he had a sword? He seemed rich enough to afford one to call his own without serving in a military career, and he had a grace about him that said he spent a fair amount of time practicing with it. But there were dangerous places in the world, and a man had every right to defend himself. And if a man had fangs, then he had fangs. It didn’t mean he was a monster. He was very polite to her. And he hadn’t once threatened her with either sword or teeth. So what was there to worry about?
         A heavy weight drew against her thigh as the thought hit her. It pulled at her, and she suddenly felt as if Noname should be squealing from the extra burden. She reached into the pocket of her breeches, surreptitiously pulling out the gold mark she always carried. It felt hot again, almost hot enough to burn her. But that was just her imagination. The heat and the weight were from guilt. She wasn’t sure her Da would understand where she had earned the coin. He could be very protective of her.
         The uncertainty was new to her. She had never been burdened with such guilt before, and she had always been certain of a set course even if it turned out to be the wrong one. She didn’t know how to deal with her feelings, and they were getting more and more tangible as they days passed. She needed a smoke.
         “Da, I’m gonna ride around a bit,” Reina said casually. “You know; stretch out Noname’s legs.”
         “Don’t wander too far,” Da said, nibbling on his pipe. That just made it worse for Reina as the flavor of Smokeweed tweaked her memory. Maybe she could borrow from Skit. He seemed to know where to get the best batch.
         She turned Noname around and reigned in to look for the man, but there was a commotion from the men already, and they pointed anxiously up the road as if they saw something. Reina turned around quickly, expecting to see the Nightwalker on the horizon. She wasn’t sure if she wanted it to be him or not. He could help her explain how unnecessary their worry was, but then she would have to reveal that she had spoken to him. Her Da wouldn’t like that too much, she was willing to bed.
         Thankfully, it was only a peddler and his Heavy Arms. The dust from their travel sprawled out like a cloud, sparkling in the early morning light. Each man around the cloth-topped wagon carried a heavy-limbed bow, their chisel-headed arrows already nocked. Those heavy arrows seemed too much for a peddler’s guard. Come to think of it, most of those men were too well equipped for small towns and nameless villages. What was going on here? Was the entire region coming down with paranoia?
         “So much for that smoke,” she grumbled, riding back to the side of the wagon.
         “Ho there!” Da bellowed, waving a hand to the peddler. “What news?”
         The peddler waved in return, calling down the men who snapped their bows up. The men dropped their bows back to their sides, but they looked like they could bring them back up in a heartbeat. They looked like men ready to go into war.
         “Little news that’s good!” the man called back, stopping his wagon and waving the guards off. He hopped down from his seat and strode up to meet the oncoming wagons.
         Da drew back on the reins and waved his men up. “Go on ahead with the goods, and I’ll meet you when we finish here! I’m sure you can handle one trip without me holding your hands!” he turned back to the peddler, hopping down from his seat. “What terrible news do you bring us, then?”
         “Murder in your town up ahead. I don’t know what you want your men to wander off too far without you. And I know you don’t want to leave your women with such a light guard. The boy on the horse could probably do well with a blade, but your ladies here would be easy meat for whoever this man is.”
         Reina glared indignantly at the peddler, but he and her Da seemed to be ignoring her completely now. She might wear boy’s clothes, but that didn’t make her look that much like a man, now did it?
         Da whistled sharply, calling his wagons to stop where they were. “Who was murdered?”
         “Does it matter? I don’t know the fellow, but I know towns like this, and I know you fellows normally weed out the dangerous troublemakers before they do something like this. I’d almost say an animal did the killing - there’s claw marks enough for a wolf or a hillcat - but there wasn’t enough blood there to fill a cup. Almost enough to make me think all those stories about Nightwalkers are true.
         “Word has it that Nubein is seething with trouble, too. Murder isn’t that uncommon up there, but there’s a rash of violence fit for Grybal. Something about rogue Bladesingers coming out of hiding. They say they’re starting a new war. Like we haven’t suffered enough from the last war.”
         “That’s the Lady’s own truth,” Da agreed. “Thanks for the warning, friend. I’ll make sure my men keep a tight guard from here on out.”
         “Word of mouth is a free service as far as I know,” the man shrugged. “Any service a humble peddler can offer is a service worth having. Speaking of peddler services, I do have fine wares if you’re of a mind to look.”
         “I suppose we could spare an hour or so,” Da agreed. “We’re a little shy on coin, but some of my fine Smokeweed would probably cover most if not all of the cost we manage. Say, five casks for whatever we find to our liking?”
         “Five?” the man barked in outrage. “Five wouldn’t cover half of my inventory! How about . . .”
         Reina ignored the rest. She probably should have listened to her Da’s dealings, but she just couldn’t concentrate on it. Murder? As if an animal had done it? No blood? “Is he a Nightwalker?” she whispered.
         Ayara gravitated to the peddler’s wagon trailed by her hangers-on. Those two women couldn’t go two steps without Sissy’s approval if their lives depended on it. Reina shrugged and rode up to the wagon, too, but she wasn’t too sure there was anything she’d want to buy on the back of a moving store. The only good part about it was she could ride right up to the merchandise and pick and choose while she was still in her saddle.
         “How much for the books?” Ayara called, already deeply immersed in her shopping. Pins and thread and yarn and jewelry piled in a little basket the peddler’s assistant handed to her to keep all the items in one place.
         The look on the peddler’s face seemed to grow more pleased and Da’s eyes were beginning to narrow more and more as he calculated how many casks he’d have to give up. Maybe twenty was what the peddler was going to make off with after all. Ayara was a danger to Da’s budget without even trying. And they hadn’t even made it into the village yet!
         “Fifteen casks is fine,” Da sighed as the agreement was finally struck. That would hurt their supply budget. Maybe it was time Reina sat Ayara down and explained how money worked. The peddler spat into his hand and offered it to Da, who returned the gesture. With the deal struck, Da simply sat back to wait. Ayara couldn’t find that much in the back of a wagon. Could she?


         It took about another hour for the men to settle into a protective ring around the caravan. Hard men in rough country clothes carried their bows competently with an air of worry hovering over them. These men were simple farmers, and the worst they’d faced was a pack of wolves or a rabid hillcat. They’d never dealt with murderers or ghosts or whatever that strange man was.
         Ayara sat in the seat of her wagon, going over her new things. She had come away with a nice cache of personal items. They could afford it. Besides extra pins and needles, spools of yarn and thread to darn clothes, she had picked up a few novels and a few pieces of jewelry. There was an exceptionally nice silver necklace modestly set with flamestones that she found to her liking. The ladies of town would definitely be jealous.
         She ticked off her items and checked again and again, keeping her eyes down and away from what was happening around her. She wanted today to be normal. She wanted this trip to be uneventful. Always before, she would complain of the bumps in the road and how hot and dusty the air was. But now, she was hoping that the men surrounding her with their bows and slings wouldn’t have anything to shoot at.
         The forest twenty yards away was dark and oppressive, and the dark green of the leaves stood out clearly in the darkness where rain had turned the bark almost black. Crystalline gemstones of raindrops refracted light, and glistened brilliantly as the wind blew and dropped them like so many diamonds. A slow breeze whispered in the trees, and she tried to shove those noises out. But whenever the trees moaned and stirred, she was convinced she heard her name on the wind. That was silly, of course, and a childish fear. But she still heard it anyway. Ayara, it seemed to say. Ayara, come dance with us. Come play in the trees. Sing with the shadows. We will welcome you. Ayara. Ayara. Ayara! She raised her eyes to a clear spot in the trees where a dark figure stood silhouetted against the morning sun, clothes flapping in the wind. His hand rose, finger pointing to her, and she could feel that finger touching her. Ayara. Ayara.
         “Ayara!” Reina’s fingers snapped in front of her face, and she squealed, sliding back into her father’s side and spilling her things. “Where’s your head at? Your mind go out of tune?”
         “Reina, don’t do that!” Ayara sat gasping, holding a hand to her heart. She looked back at the clearing, but it stood empty and silent. For some reason, she felt more frightened than when she saw him. “Are we almost there?” she asked weakly.
         Eventually, their little village came into view. The small town, its nameless streets running in straight lines like cuts on a piece of pan cake, was busier than normal for an ended week. Two men in heavy leather armor, their halberds leaning against the stone wall, looked over the carts lined up before them, inspecting the crops and looking for anything out of place. She saw farmers she had known since she was a small child, and she knew the two men who were inspecting the wagons. Why was everyone acting so afraid? Had the murder and the rumors make the town folk afraid, too? The guards looked competent, but expectant. It was like they were waiting for these good people to suddenly draw weapons and start fighting in the road! As she looked around at the faces of the other farmers, she wasn’t sure they wouldn’t.
         The sun, not even halfway to its crescendo did little to ease the dampness in the air. By the time they arrived at the torch-lit gates, they were all drenched in sweat. Not even summer was this bad. Only Ayara hid her perspiration well behind white clothes and delicate waves of her fan, but that didn’t mean she was enjoying it. Sylvia and Vanya looked like wilted flowers, their faces gaunt and their hands over their eyes to give them at least minimal shade. Reina just ignored it, absently fingering the reins in her hand as her eyes stared off in the distance. The girl could ignore anything.
         “What’s wrong, Reina? Not going to comment on the weather?” Ayara bit at her, feeling waspish after the sight of that figure in the woods. She needed to snap at someone, and her sister was the perfect target.
         But Reina ignored her.
         “Not even going to defend yourself like the boy you were accused of being? That peddler seemed to think-” Ayara stopped at a soft touch from her father’s hand.
         “Reina?” he asked, slowing his cart.
         Reina sat up, fingering something in her palm. It wasn’t the reins after all. It was that coin from that strange man again! She tucked it into the pouch at her belt and turned to them. “Sorry, Da. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
         “I thought not, what with the smell of Smokeweed on your breath this morning.”
         Reina’s face took on a sickly cast, almost like she had been punched in the stomach. Her hand rose to her thin coat’s pocket, likely where she kept that disgusting pipe of hers.
         Ayara suddenly felt smug. Now Reina would be thoroughly thrashed, and maybe for a while she’d gain a few points of grace through humility. Reina’s eyes were wide, but her lopsided grin held firmly.
         She reached up to scratch the back of her head. “I . . . you see, I haven’t been sleeping well.”
         “The nightmares drove you into my crop, did they?” Ayara looked for any hint of anger in her father, but if he was mad he was hiding it well. He wasn’t even rubbing his teeth on the pipe stem like he would if he were angry. Suddenly, shocking both girls he leaned his head back and laughed heartily, smacking a thick hand on his knee. His broad-brimmed hat tumbled behind him, rolling in the wagon bed. “Oh, this is too rare.”
         “Father?” Ayara asked, wondering what had gotten into him.
         “Da, I - are you all right?” Reina asked, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “You really aren’t mad?”
         “I’m not exactly happy about you going into my crop. But if you wanted to smoke, all you had to do was ask me. Reina, I live on a farm where there are over sixty men who work under me. As much as they respect me, do you really think they want to spend any more time with me than they have to? I thought I might as well make a game of it and see who gave in first. Here.”
         The pouch he took from his pocket was finely crafted leather, lined with silver thread and tied with silver strings. A golden song note decorated the front of it, the thread meshing so tightly it looked like one piece. It was his Smokeweed pouch! He wasn’t even going to yell at her! How could he be so calm about his own daughter smoking? The lack of dignity in it was appalling!
         “Father!” she wailed.
         “She’s old enough to make up her own mind about things. Besides, it’ll give me someone to sit with on the porch without running them off.” He winked at Ayara. “Come on girls, enough Singing the Wind. We’re next up.”
         Indeed the line they were waiting for whittled away and the gate-guard looked over their cartful of Smokeweed barrels and waved them on through. As they passed through the gate, Father pulled a small line of Smokeleaf from a barrel and crumpled it into his pipe, winking at Reina. Without missing a beat, she pulled some leaf from her new pouch and grabbed at her pipe where she had it well concealed in her shirt. Drawing out a packet of matches, she lit her pipe and handed the packet to their father.
         This was insufferable! Here these two were, smoking their pipes without a care in the world, while men were killing men and shadows were coming alive to instill a new fear into the hearts of everyone who crossed them! Dark figures stalked her from the distance, and the wind taunted her with shifting voices! And they were smoking! Finally, pleading a headache, Ayara stepped from the cart, storming away from the two as they merrily puffed away at their toys. Sylvia and Vanya could fend for themselves!