Self-Made Scoundrel (5 page)

“Well, they would come find me and I would tell them. So they’d know to go out and look for you straightaway instead of searching the grounds first.” Ceric nodded as he spoke, as if trying to reassure himself this was a good enough deterrent for his brother.

“Look, why are we setting ourselves against each other?” Dershik mused, taking the lantern from his brother. “I’m not going.” Sighing he surveyed the bed and kicked the butchered remains of the mattress. “We’ve got enough problems without taking things out on each other.”

“Why did you do that to your bed?” Ceric squawked, seeing it for the first time. “Where’re you going to sleep?”

“Upstairs,” Dershik revealed, looking to his brother. Ceric’s head fell to his chest and Dershik indicated the lantern. “You mind if I take this?” Ceric shook his head and waited as Dershik gathered up his sheets and blankets, leaving the torn ones behind. He balled them up and slung his pack over his shoulders.

“What about Jerila?” Ceric asked, following him to the door. Dershik shrugged and waited while Ceric pulled the door open, holding it for him.

“I don’t know, Ceric. We’ll figure it out as it happens. I’ll see what I can do.” It was all he could say, in all honesty. Jerila hadn’t even moved in yet. They both walked up the stairs to the third floor, the guard looking at them strangely when they approached. “I’m moving my room, Garic,” Dershik answered his look.

“In the middle of a party, sir?” The guard laughed, shaking his head. “Couldn’t wait till morning?”

“No,” Dershik said, not wanting to continue the conversation. He walked past him, hearing Ceric mouth an apology to the guard and walked to one of the rooms he knew was empty. Dershik held the door open, shining the lantern in so Ceric could enter unafraid.

It was a simple room, right above his old one. The difference was it had one bed and a library within it, as well as a writing desk. The room was dusty and he was sure not to note the cobwebs lest his brother run from the room. Double doors opened out onto a balcony and the full moon’s light shone through the colored glass.

Dershik couldn’t remember the last time he had slept in a room by himself. He had been sharing a room with Ceric ever since his brother had been weaned, and before Ceric, a servant had slept across from him, his mother and father in the next room. Now he had a room to himself. By himself. Even though Ceric was there, Dershik couldn’t help but feel lonely.

“Are you all right?” Ceric asked. Dershik nodded quickly, trying to push his emotions from his face before he set the lantern down and busied himself with getting his bed ready.

“I’m fine. Just tired and a bit dizzy. I think I danced too much.” He pulled his shirt off and folded it quickly, going to set it where his chest would normally be. It was still downstairs. He set it on the edge of the bed instead, knowing he would probably kick it off during the night. Dershik waved Ceric away. “I just need to sleep.”

“Okay then,” Ceric said quietly, turning to leave but turning back. “Do you want me to leave the lantern?”

“I’ll be fine. The moon’s full.” Dershik wasn’t afraid of the dark. “You go back and enjoy the party.”

Before Dershik knew what was happening, Ceric set down the lantern and rushed him, embracing him again. Dershik held his brother to him, feeling tears come to his eyes. His brother finally let go and drew away from him and Dershik wiped his eyes quickly, not wanting his brother to see his tears. The door closed with a thud and he was alone in the room.

A quiet scuffle in the corner made Dershik jump, but he realized it was probably only a mouse, his brain telling his heart to slow its pace. The light in the room was enough to see some of the details of the tapestries hanging on the wall, older in style but well maintained. The fireplace was clean and cold, but one night in a chilly room wouldn’t kill him. With a few quick movements the extra blankets were put on the bed and he slipped out of his clothes, setting them on top of his pack before he hopped into the bed.

The sheets were icier than he had imagined they would be and so clean they scratched at his skin. The boy shivered beneath the sheets, trying to warm up and managing to do so after a few breaths. On the third floor he couldn’t tell a party was taking place in the keep. All he could see was the full moon shining through the window, the Goddess’ beautiful face glowing down with pride upon her children. Dershik crawled out of bed and found the dagger, feeling the coolness of the object as he wrapped his hand around it and looked at it once more.

It was his. He would never give it up. His father had his ways of getting what he wanted, Dershik would make his own methods, his own way. His father had the sword, strapped to his waist. Even at the dance the Baron wore it, the hilt and scabbard done in their colors. Dershik had this dagger. He would have to keep it hidden, tucked away. He eased it under his pillow, feeling its shape under his head. What kind of path could a dagger cut? Could Dershik carve out something for himself and Ceric as well? He couldn’t keep from pulling out the dagger once more and look at his face reflected there. It wasn’t his father’s gaze looking back at him. It was his own.

Born and Bred

The servant screamed and stepped back, her eyes wide with fright as her shout echoed through the hall. It was followed by raucous laughter as Dershik stepped out from his hiding place to reveal himself to the other servants. The woman’s face grew red as the laughter of other servants soon followed. Dershik gave her a boyish grin, a grin which had endeared him to many of the servants of the household over the last four years. For all his tricks and sneaking, he proved he was harmless. Dershik had taken it upon himself to work alongside the smith, the baker, the field hand and many more, trying to gain an understanding of their crafts and callings. He listened to their suggestions and valued their input in interpreting the patterns and trends he saw in the carefully kept records. Dershik had kneaded bread and pumped bellows and planted seeds in the ground. It meant the servants forgave his obnoxious hobby of lurking about the house, hiding himself in spaces long forgotten and revealing
himself in the
most surprising manner possible.

Dershik was still laughing when the servant woman grabbed him by the arm. “You ass-eared boy, hiding about, and Jerila’s been having labor pains since the start of the watch. We’ve been looking for you!” Dershik’s smile melted from his face and he pulled his arm from the servant’s grasp, running ahead of her.

“My brother?” he asked, calling over his shoulder. He heard the servant shout Ceric was already there. Quickly Dershik ran through the keep, barely avoiding colliding with a pair of servants filling up the lamps. He shouted an apology behind him before he clipped up the stairs, throwing open the door and rushing into the room where other men were waiting. Dark blue eyes met his and Dershik ignored the other men in the room, grabbing his brother by the shoulders. “Is she all right?” He wanted to ask Ceric if he was all right but he couldn’t, not here in front of everyone.

“As far as we can tell,” Ceric managed, looking paler than usual. He had reason to worry. It was his child Jerila was birthing in the women’s room. Dershik was legally married to Jerila, as his father had commanded. He and Ceric’s hope his brother and Jerila’s love for each other would wane was for nothing. Jerila and Ceric had written to each other in letters while Ceric was at Whitfield. Dershik would never have Jerila’s heart and he was fine with it; he didn’t want it. When Ceric came back to the keep for Dershik’s wedding, he had been the one in the marriage bed. Dershik waited out on the balcony while the pair consummated their love.

“She’ll be fine,” Dershik said. Jerila was strong. She had handled her pregnancy extremely well. Just yesterday they had gone horseback riding through the estate and she was frequently seen walking about the keep, helping her mother-in-law with her portion of the household duties. Ceric nodded, tears in his dark blue eyes as he went to sit down on one of the benches.

The seal had already been placed over the door. The rope and a special knot tied in the rope to keep malevolent wishes or spirits from entering the room also hung there to keep the energy of the women within to aid the laboring mother. Sister Kiyla would be with her and Cira…Dershik tried not to think about her. She would be inside, her dark hair slipping out of its plait, her round, beautiful face encouraging Jerila as she did whatever it was mothers did. She and Dershik kept up their friendship, but after his brother told him Cira knew about Whitfield…there were enough secrets kept between them. They were close but not ‘skin to skin,’ not the best friends he had hoped.

Everyone in the room stood and Dershik looked up, startled out of his own thoughts. Ceric pulled him up in time for them to rise as his father entered, dismissing the people’s formal stances with a nod of his head. “Any word?” his father asked. He was still wearing his riding clothes, gold and silver hair swept by the wind, his cloak fastened about his shoulders.

“No,” Dershik said. He had only gotten out of the meeting with the owner of the new silver mine because of Jerila’s impending labor, but had spent the day sneaking around the house and hiding in the weeds. He had scared Big Hilik the smith when the bulk of a man had come across his hiding spot in the outhouse and then shared the story of the Bleeding Tree with some of the servant children, keeping his voice low and shaky so their eyes went big and their mouths dropped open.

He had lingered at the temple and prayed before the statue of the Goddess as he always did. Dershik prayed for revelation. He prayed for guidance. He prayed for a feeling of contentment deep within his soul, something he hadn’t felt since the night he stole the dagger from that boy. The statue of the Goddess held a sword, two of her fingers on the snout of the maned bear, keeping its jaws shut. It was a symbol of strength, like the Cartaskin words: Strength from Within. Dershik needed strength. He felt powerless. Powerless and alone.

“Well, have food brought up. Dershik will have to keep up his strength as he keeps vigil. And cushions.” His father gave the orders and servants ducked their heads and scurried down the stairs. Dershik sat down, not waiting for his father to say anything else.

“Ceric, can we have a prayer?” he asked, feeling nervous, He didn’t know why he was nervous. It wasn’t his child, or his love. He considered Jerila a friend though, and the child would be his son by law and his nephew by blood. It was a woman he was close with giving birth. The threat of death lingered on the outskirt of his thoughts, and he worried for the mother and child in the room and the lives outside connected to them. His own mother had been affected by Ceric’s birth, never regaining her strength and dying because of it.

Dershik looked at his father and then to Ceric, wondering at how time had caused them to trade places, and how they were unaware of their common bond. Ceric finally realized what Dershik had asked and nodded, motioning for Dershik to stand up. Those in the room surrounded Dershik for the prayer and it made him anxious and self-conscious, trying to ignore them as they all placed their hands over their hearts to pray.

“Holy Mother, Blessed Woman, Ever-Changing and-Ever Loving, hear the words of your grateful children,” Ceric began the prayer. “Extend your gracious hand toward Jerila and the other women in the room. Grant them wisdom and give Jerila the strength she will need to give us this child. What is hidden shall be brought forth into your gentle light.

“Comfort the husband and the father in his time of need. Grant him patience and put strength in his arm so he might protect the family you have given him. Help him in this next stage of his life and give him discernment, that he would make righteous decisions for his life and the lives of those he loves. May your Black Hand guide us all.”

Dershik lifted his head and his eyes met Ceric’s. There was a hardness there he couldn’t mistake and he couldn’t tell what it meant. The men around them repeated the end of the prayer and broke away just as several servants brought in cushions and pitchers. Dershik sat back down, arms over his chest. A servant offered him a glass of something and he took it, draining it when he found it was alcohol. His father ordered someone to bring his house clothes to a nearby room so he could change without straying too far from the birthing room and more people trickled in and out. Some of them said something to Dershik as they left but he didn’t hear them, though he nodded in reply.

“You should have seen your father at your birth, Dershik,” Kera the baker said. Dershik raised his eyes to her and smirked. Her apron was still covered with flour. He remembered when her son was born several years ago. Now he was four and played under the large table where Kera kneaded and mixed and rolled. He was a happy little boy with curly brown hair who always had flour or dough in his hair or on his clothes.. “We thought he would break the door down when your mother started screaming. He gave Big Hilik a black eye and broke Garn’s nose.”

Dershik looked over at Ceric. He remembered Ceric’s birth. He remembered his father holding Dershik too tight, almost crushing him and Dershik finally breaking away and hiding in the bramble bushes. By the time the servants found him Ceric had already been born and Dershik was covered in scratches and berry juice. His brother had been a pink, scrunch faced little beast, a hint of strawberry blond hair barely covering the spot on his head pulsing like a heartbeat. His mother had looked pale and his father gripped his shoulder tight, too tight.

Ceric’s eyes stared straight forward, visibly trying to control himself. Dershik was about to take his hand when a cry came through the door.

Both Dershik and Ceric stood up, the whole room coming to life as another cry came. It was the cry of a woman, of Jerila. After a few breaths another cry came, louder, with moaning following the cry. The voices of the other women could be heard faintly through the door and some of the servants ran out of the room, probably to tell others something was happening. Dershik began trembling as another moan, louder and more painful came to his ears. He sat down on the bench, ignoring the words other people spoke to him, wishing he could comfort his brother but unable to do so, not with everyone here.