“I wasn’t just checking for truth but testing motives. Your, uh, namesake’s motive was to distract me, so I guessed it had something to do with keeping me away from Benger. I didn’t know exactly what, but it couldn’t have been good.”
"I thought you said you only took your vows the day before yesterday,” Abato frowns. “How is it that you can already detect lies and motives?"
“It’s not really a secret,” Emlyn shrugs. “I was a paladin before coming to Harito, but my old god died. Now that I’m bonded to another deity, my abilities seem to be coming back quickly.”
“But in just two days?” Abato says.
“Not even that long,” Emlyn explains. “My flash of truth started working again during the induction ceremony. You can ask Dru, Jessop, or Prince Armeniel’s man about it since they were all there when that happened. I was told it was a very auspicious omen. I know that my healing ability was working just after the ceremony was over because I was able to heal myself. However, if you want witnesses, you’ll have to accept the word of my cohort, as they were the only ones there when I attempted it the first time. I discovered yesterday, while fighting with those bandits, that many of my other abilities were also quite functional, if not as strong as I’m used to them being. The Goddess says that I have an innate affinity for her magic.”
“You started regaining your abilities during the induction ceremony?” Abato asks. “Are you certain?”
“I swear to you that the ceremony wasn’t even over yet,” Emlyn nods. “I just made the oath, and it flashed when I swore the second part of the oath.”
The flash confirms her words, and Abato looks slightly shocked.
“Your abilities are already returning,” Abato cautions her. “Your first day included routing some bandits that have been a thorn in our side for some time. When the gods give much, they ask much in return.”
“They have already taken everything I held dear,” Emlyn sighs heavily. “My entire family is gone. I am literally the last of my line. My people are conquered and scattered to the winds. Even my language is dying. They’ve already asked too much.”
“She’s supposed to be on a nice, relaxing vacation,” Benger adds dryly, “to recover from all the asking and the injuries. Watching her play cards tonight was the first time I’ve seen her relax and do something just for fun. She practically fell asleep in her stew last night.” Turning to Nia, Benger shakes a finger at her. “We can’t have you drowning in a bowl of stew. I’m not putting that in your epitaph. Here lies Nia. Let her be a lesson to you: don’t doze off with your face in a bowl of stew.”
“Truly,” Abato gently chides her, “an ignoble end for such a valiant soul.”
“Your points are well taken,” Emlyn grouses, “but it’s not like I’ve been handed a bunch of choices. I was certain they were about to slaughter Jathon’s family. They’d almost completely encircled them. It was only some quick thinking that pulled their necks out of that noose. I hadn’t realized just how many bandits were hiding in the forest until we were in the thick of it. That was when I found their bone pile. Once I saw that, I wasn’t about to let them take you or Jathon or his baby brother so you could be tossed atop that pile. That was yesterday. Today is a whole new day.”
“I’ve had someone,” Emlyn points to Abato, “try to sneak into my bath and had to defend myself and my virtue. Then I caught a second twit trying to sneak into my room. Once I realized that the second twit was just a distraction for something involving you, I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to spend thinking up a solution that didn’t require me to move. Both of you, tell me where I should have chosen differently?”
Both men stand there flummoxed, while Emlyn adds loudly, “If my Goddess would like me to relax and have a vacation, these things need to stop landing in my lap.”
A dry chuckle rumbles through her thoughts. “Fighting again? Can’t you go anywhere without stirring up trouble?”
“I didn’t ask for this,” Emlyn replies. “It found me, both times.”
“A fight yesterday. Two fights today. Going for three tomorrow? Gather your things, get the horses packed up, and look for the blue circle in the courtyard. Make sure the horses are all the way inside the circle. Maybe if I get you off the road, things will settle down, and you’ll actually get some rest.” At her unspoken, not even fully formed thought, the Goddess adds soothingly, “Don’t worry. I’ll have someone let Benger’s mother know that you’ll both be along in a bit and a day early. No, you’re not in any trouble. You’ve done nothing wrong except not asking for help. It’s going to take some time for you to get used to having a Temple to call on, that’s all.”
Eyes wide, Emlyn looks at Benger. “Did you catch that?”
Nodding, he grins and starts tossing packs to Abato and his men. “Since you’re partly responsible,” Benger grins, “you get to help us load the packhorse. We’re going home the short way.”
“How’s that?” Abato asks. “Transport by Goddess,” Benger replies. “Our Goddess seems to think Nia’s had enough excitement for a while, so she’s taking us the rest of the way.”
Emlyn grabs her packs and jogs down to the stable to wake the stable hand, who helps her start getting all three horses ready.
By the time Benger and Abato catch up to her, her mare is saddled, and all her packs are secured in place. The packhorse is being fitted with its pack frame. While Benger saddles his gelding, Abato and his companions load the pack horse under Emlyn’s watchful eye.
“It’s easier on the horse,” Emlyn explains, “if the load is evenly balanced. It doesn’t throw their balance off or make them compensate for the load being lopsided.”
Once everything is secured to her satisfaction, Benger, Emlyn, and the horses head to the courtyard where a blue circle is just beginning to form. Benger confidently leads his horse into it. Following his lead, Emlyn guides the mare in and gets her positioned, then pulls the pack horse in close. The horses aren’t too happy about the tight quarters, but a final check confirms everyone’s major parts are inside. To Emlyn’s surprise, the blue circle starts to glow brighter, transforming into a column of blue fog.
She starts to touch it, but Benger slaps her hand. “Good way to lose those fingers,” he warns.
Nodding, Emlyn pulls her hand back and waits patiently. When the blue glow diminishes and shrinks into a fading blue circle on the ground beneath her, Benger leads his gelding out and mounts up, gesturing for Emlyn to do the same. Emlyn follows, and they crest the hill.
“That,” Benger says, pointing to a house, “is home. Come on. I’m ready for some of my mother’s cooking.”
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The farmhouse stands solidly at the edge of a gently sloping field, its stone foundation deeply embedded in the earth like roots. The lower story is made of weathered limestone, thick and mottled with moss and age, while the upper floor slightly overhangs with timber-framed beams—oak logs darkened with smoke and age, filled in with wattle-and-daub that's sun-dappled and cracked. A long, wide covered porch spans the front of the house, with steps leading up at multiple points. It seems to be used for storing muddy boots and other outdoor equipment.
A wide, sloped roof of overlapping red clay tiles stretches nearly to the upper sills, with several rows replaced by thatch where storms had claimed their battles. At the center peak, a brick chimney rises confidently, trailing lazy plumes of woodsmoke that indicate warmth and cooking inside. The windows, narrow and deeply set, are covered in oiled parchment or horn panels, hinged with iron and shuttered for storms or seasons. Off to the side, a lean-to rests against the stonework, used for storing firewood. Carved lintels above both the front and side doors bear simple symbols, now faded by wind and weather.
Benger digs in his heels, and his gelding responds. Emlyn’s mare, not to be outdone, takes off after the gelding, and the pack horse gets pulled into a steady, if somewhat slower, gallop. The mare strains against the pack horse, and Emlyn finally starts reining her in.
“I’m sorry, girl,” she says quietly to the horse, “but he’s just going to win this one because the pack horse is carrying far too much to run that fast on his stubby little legs.”
When Emlyn makes it to the house, Benger is already on the front porch and throws open the door, “Mama? Mama, I’m home. I’ve got Nia with me.”
Emlyn dismounts and gives her disgruntled mare a consoling pat and ties her to the porch post. Going to the pack horse, Emlyn pulls the rug loose and shifts it so that it drops onto her shoulder. Walking carefully, she eases her enormous burden inside.
“Gods, Nia,” Benger grins, “I completely forgot. Thanks for remembering.”
Emlyn, depositing her burden, is looking around curiously. Crossing the heavy timber threshold, she steps into a generous central hall with low, beamed ceilings darkened by years of hearth smoke. The scent of baked rye, tallow, and wood smoke hangs in the air, comforting and inviting. The floors are made of wooden planks, simple yet clean and polished to a shine. At the heart of the home stands the great hearth—a wide, blackened fireplace set into the back wall, its mantle hung with iron pots, dried herbs, and a twisted iron spit. It’s a relic from another age, but the primary source of heat. Stairs climb steeply along the far wall to the upper floor, their balusters carved in rough, well-worn curves.
A large oak dining table occupies pride of place. It’s simple enough, but the tabletop seems to be made from the central slab of an enormous tree, since it’s all one piece. It’s supported by trestle legs and surrounded by chairs. It’s set for dinner with vases of dried aromatic herbs instead of flowers, as it’s the middle of winter. It seems cozy and comfortable. Over the fireplace, Emlyn sees a shrine to Thotar, the god of shelter, with a few small offerings placed in the shrine.
An older man, looking like an older version of Benger, walks in. “What in the world did you bring home this time?”
“Da, this is Nia,” Benger grins, “and we brought Mama a present. Nia, this is my father, Daki Bevis. Mama, this is Nia, the girl I wrote you about. Nia, this is my Mama, Oja Bevis. Don’t worry, I’ll introduce you to the rest of the horde later.”
“Benger said you hated getting out of bed onto the cold floors, so we picked this up for you. We’ll probably need to move some furniture around a bit, but it should keep your feet off the floor while you find your slippers.”
“The cats play havoc with them,” Oja smiles, “I thought for years it was the boys moving them as a prank or playing, but I finally caught one of the cats moving them on purpose. Don’t worry about the furniture. Moving furniture isn’t a problem with eight men in the house.”
“C’mon, Warrick,” Benger calls, “Help me get this into Mama and Da’s room.”
A slightly younger boy with darker hair comes around the corner, waves at Emlyn, and the pair hoists the carpet. After some furniture is lifted and tipped, the rug is rolled out, and Oja kicks off her slippers, rubbing her feet on the plush carpet.
“Oooo, that’s lovely,” Oja practically coos, “This might be the best thing you’ve ever brought me. I can’t feel the cold floor at all.”
Emlyn eyes the big orange tom that’s taken up residence in one corner and giggles a bit, “The cat certainly seems to approve.”
“That,” a young boy pipes up from near her elbow, “is Boss Cat. He thinks he’s the boss of everyone, even the dogs.”
“Ah, well,” Emlyn grins at the boy, “then I shall have to make sure that I stay on his good side.”
While the rest of the family admires the rug, the youngest boy quickly becomes bored. Grabbing her hand, “C’mon, I’ve got something to show you.” The excited little guy tows her out to the barn. Giving her a quick shushing gesture, he creeps in and peers into one of the stalls and waves Emlyn over.
“Come and see,” the boy grins, “Our tabby Ivy had kittens two whole days ago. I think Boss is their Da.”
Emlyn approaches cautiously and looks at the nest in the hay filled with squirming orange kittens. “I can see why you think that,” Emlyn agrees.
“I’m not allowed to pick them up yet,” he says, slightly disappointed, “Mama says I have to wait until their eyes are open, but I really want to pet them.”
“Would you like to come and pet my horse instead?” Emlyn asks when the boy nods vigorously, and Emlyn leads him to where the placid mare is tethered.
“What’s his name?” The boy asks.
“Well,” Emlyn grins, “First thing, Snowflake isn’t a he. She’s a she. No, I didn’t name her, but she’s been a good, stout beast on this trip. Even when my commands didn’t make much sense to her, she still followed them without question, and that helped us get out of a bit of a tight spot on the way here.”
“Was there fighting involved?” the boy prods as he pets Snowflake's nose, much to the horse’s delight.
Sensing a potential landmine in the question from her overly eager audience, Emlyn chuckles as she says, “You’ll have to talk that over with your brother.” “You know… Maybe if your parents agree, we can go for a ride later,” Emlyn adds as a distraction.
Without waiting, the boy takes off, yelling for his mother.
Wandering out on the porch and dodging his younger brother’s rush through the door, Benger grins at her, “I see you’ve met Vonham already. He always asks questions about fights and then gets in trouble for trying to re-enact them with the other children.”
“I sensed he was a bit…” Emlyn thinks for a moment, “avid when he asked if our tight spot involved fighting. I don’t know how your parents feel about that sort of thing, so I thought it best to leave that to your and their discretion.”
Emlyn sits down on the porch steps and stretches out her legs, leaning back against the porch post, and makes a contented noise. Chuckling Benger steps over her and stretches out on the next step.
“Well done,” Benger nods.
“I was the middle of nine children,” Emlyn says primly, “I know well what pains both older and younger siblings can be. You only know what it’s like to have them all younger than you.”
“What was having older and younger siblings like,” Benger asks, “for you at any rate?”
“I got on well with the younger ones. I made it a point to handle their training myself,” Emlyn explains, “I wasn’t about to leave that up to my older brothers. I almost always outranked all three of them in the annual trials. I think my older brothers outranked me once and tied me a time or two, which made them decide they were my equal while blithely ignoring all the other years where I outranked them by quite a lot. My three oldest brothers were as misogynistic as any of those Brotherhood of the Patriarchy types who come nosing around our Temple every so often. You know the ones that are always blabbing that a woman’s place is in the home, squeezing out children.”
Emlyn looks at Benger, who nods before she continues, “I think if those Brotherhood knuckle-draggers had their way, every woman everywhere would be chained to a cookstove and preparing meals while delivering a child. My older brothers weren’t too far from that. My older brothers had decided that we girls were defective since we were missing the dangly bits and that they were somehow superior simply by having them. That lack of danglies meant that we were nothing more than walking wombs who drained the family’s finances by needing a dowry to wed.”
“I wasn’t about to let that attitude rub off on my younger brothers, and any time I caught my older brothers spouting that vile nonsense around my younger siblings, I’d make them get into the practice ring with me and drub it out of them. If you want to talk about your manly bits making you superior, then when you step into a ring with me, you ought to be able to best me; otherwise, you’re not so superior. It didn’t take too many of those sessions before they realized they could think as they liked, but if they so much as implied it, they’d catch some fire and brimstone from me.”
“I saw what those asshats did to my older sister, and I wasn’t having it – not for myself and certainly not for my younger sisters. I taught my little brothers that they had to work hard at their training and that if all five of us ranked well, we could raise the status of our whole house – maybe even found a House Branch and leave those three louts and my father to sort out their rankings by themselves.”
Does your family come to visit on holidays or do you go there? Or something else entirely? Let me know in the comments.