hand back.
"Are we going to resume my lessons?"
"Eventually. Study your books for now and
enjoy your free time."
Stygean's shoulders drooped. "As you
wish."
The boy withdrew, closing the door behind
him. Nevin stared at it a long time, pulling at his lower lip. "You
can't keep doing that."
"I don't have the time or energy."
"Make some. You're the nearest thing to a
parent he has now."
"I'll try." Isranon rubbed his tired
features. "I've been a loner for too many years ... and just
dealing with myn tires me. Now tell me more about what is in those
papers."
Anksha turned curious eyes upon him. "I
could teach him, my Isranon."
"He's terrified of you."
"But I give him candy. I'll give him more
candy. Lots of candy."
Isranon gave a bemused snort. "I wish life
were as simple as a bowl of candy, Pet. But it isn't."
"And it's never going to be," said Nevin.
"You must stop neglecting the boy."
"I said I would try. That's all I can
do."
* * * *
With his heavy cloak thrown back and his
gloves stuffed into his pockets with his scarf, Stygean wandered
the corridors of the second floor, looking for his friend Iyan. The
eleven-year-old slinger shared quarters with his two older unit
mates, Dahnig and Grygg. Nevin had once told Stygean that twenty
percent of the kandoyarin troops they had picked up in Ocealay were
youths and boys. Most realms conscripted boys as young as
twelve.
After several wrong turns and bad
directions, due mostly to the confusion of their company getting
settled in, Stygean headed downstairs. His pace slowed when he
reached the halls that were decked out in boughs, garlands and
strings of animal figures. Looking at it all gave him a warm
feeling. Sneaking into the Great Hall, uncertain of whether being
there when Edvarde was not holding court was allowed, Stygean spied
something new: presents wrapped in pretty bundles. He stole closer
and saw that some of the packages had tags on them. Then he saw his
own name.
To Stygean. From Iyan.
He knelt to touch it, a warm sensation
spreading through him.
"Uh uh uh." Jeevys cleared his throat,
rising from the far side of the tree. "Don't open until solstice
morning."
Stygean flinched, his heart feeling lodged
in his throat. "I did not see you."
Jeevys tut-tutted for a moment. "Solstice
gifts are opened on solstice morning."
"Solstice gifts?"
"Never had one before?"
Stygean shook his head. "I'm sa'necari.
Winter solstice was a time for cursing and lamentation for us. That
is when your nine elder gods destroyed ours."
"I see. Well, did you never see other
children get them?"
Heat rose to Stygean's cheeks. "Heard it
talked about. My father always took me to our hunting lodge for
holiday."
"I see..." Jeevys tapped his finger against
his lip. "Then your education is lacking."
"Master Isranon doesn't have time for me
right now."
"I was thinking more along the lines of a
priest, perhaps Father Telamon. Let me think about it."
Stygean brightened. "Thank you."
"Off with you, now. I have matters to take
care of. We're going to have a party in a few weeks. So many
details to attend to. The king is coming." Jeevys fluttered his
hands at the boy. "Go on. Go on."
Stygean's gaze went to the door in time to
see Jingen peep around it. A thread of trepidation wound through
him as he moved to obey the castellan. The sense of joy at seeing
the package drained out of him; he wavered, but then his defiant
streak took hold and Stygean marched out the door.
His eyes slued to the side when he crossed
the threshold and spied Jingen squatting to the left of him.
"Waiting for me?"
"Maybe." Jingen cocked his head at a sullen
angle. "What's with pulling the noble son bit? My family's not in
service to yours any longer."
Stygean kept walking.
"We're equals. We're both apprentices."
Jingen pleaded to be taken back into Stygean's good graces - on his
terms, not Stygean's – and both of them knew it.
Stygean resolutely refused to reply, heading
for the front door.
"I
Thomas F. Monteleone, David Bischoff
Facing the Lion: Growing Up Maasai on the African Savanna