Fan Fiction ❯ Sarah's Hawk ❯ start ( Chapter 1 )

Sarah's Hawk

By Nix Winter

Shared world with Niejuno
www.niejuno.net
www.darkfedora.com

Storms drew her. Great gray walls of water crashing into the stone cliffs of her home. The ocean raged with passion, dark layering over dark. In a great storm the great movement of its being seemed to arch and reach to the crying skies. Sarah Lightkeeper held to one of the stone pillars holding the slate roof that the storm tore at. The storm had wrapped cold hands over her, soaked her shirt and her breeches, chilled bare calves, calloused feet that knew only too well how to stand against a storm such as this. Sarah Lightkeeper kept the light in the tower high above the harbor of Drake's Cliff as was the line of her family, but it was the love of the storm that kept her.

Fair hair clung to a square jaw too honest to be beautiful, too held by the storm to be a good and quiet bride to any man, Sarah had stopped waiting for the glances from men and sailors. In the heart of the storm, at the top of the lighthouse, arms holding to solid granite, she had all the future she would ever need.

This tower of rock and storm was Drake's Tower, the reason for the town around it and the harbor below. She had Drake's place now, watching out the storm for any ships that may founder or fail under the onslaught of storms made more deadly by reefs that had gutted the original Drake's ship.

There were a hundred and four marks in the granite towers of the top of the lighthouse that remembered how many ships her family had saved by watching out the storms.

When she saw the Wind Dancer it was only just a flash of light tossed in the water, the tiny flicker of golden masthead against the stubborn light of Drake's Tower. She leaned a little into the wind, short rain darkened hair whipping with the storm. It was a small ship, as she watched it, still afloat, riding the crest, body spinning in the waves but not capsizing. A runner ship, she thought, not big enough for cargo, not heavy enough to be laden with weapons like a noble's craft, just some manner of message runner. Bards, maybe. She watched for a moment more, watched the little ship carried closer towards the invisible rock of the reefs.

Drake's Tower was always lit after twilight, but they kept enough thick light oil to light the wall, if it would save a ship. The oil ran expensive though and Father wished it only to be used for large cargo ships. It was so as not to waste the oil on some lighter ship that couldn't steer in any case. Sarah thought though that the little ship with the golden masthead could steer, maybe, if they knew where to steer too in the darkness.

It took both hands, feet braced against the stone floor, the top, the other pulling the bucket before it tipped, spilling thick black tarry lamp oil, enough to keep Drake bright for a year, down a small silver backed slue that ran the length of the northern wind break wall. There would only be enough oil to light the way to the cove for a few minutes, just a flash of hope in the storm. As soaked as any person on that ship, Sarah fought the wind until she got to the brazier under Drake's flame. From here she scraped a few coals into a small iron bucket. Then back to the slue.

"I wish you well," she said, sending good will and hope to the ship, as she used some fluffy tinder weeds to tease flame from the coals. "I wish you safe! I wish you well," she yelled into the storm as she lit the oil, sending silver reflected light racing down the wall, pointing out the way into the cove. Fire lit, she ran back to the pillars she'd been holding, but now, arms out to her side, she held on and leaned just a bit into the wind. "I wish you well, Sailors! I wish you safe!

Chapter Two

"Master?" The boy spoke softly, and yet his voice carried over the violence of the storm, a delicate voice, half song, part squeak of the end of childhood. He sat on the one bed in their cabin, a violin sized box held tightly with both arms, both legs around the wax sealed box, pointy chin resting on it. "Can I have an apple?"

Craylish the Wicked Smile shivered, both from the chill of their fireless cabin and from the fear that ate at him. He was the inland planes, countries of cows and trees and places where a bard could walk one place to another. He'd met Johara the Forever on a ship, and he'd avoided them ever since. The only good thing to ever come from knowing Johara, aside from afternoons unfit for public song, was the skinny red headed boy who was his apprentice. "Jewlie, if you want an apple, and you are sure you wouldn't puke it back up, help yourself," Craylish said, smiling over his shoulder.

They couldn't have been mistaken as blood relatives by anyone. Jewls' hair was flame red, even in the dark of the water logged cabin. He had blue eyes that hinted at moving more to a paler gray as he grew, a delicate and graceful build and just like the man who'd been his father, he hadn't been sick for a moment on the ship, not even during the storm that he didn't seem to know was likely going to kill them both.

Craylish was tall, stocky, with hair the color of ripe corn silk and autumn brown eyes, warm and kind. His braid wasn't even as long as Jewls' though, hanging only to the back of his thighs. The very tip wasn't any paler than the rest and it spoke of past disgrace that not his apprentice nor anyone else still living would find out about from him. He turned holding to the timber above them, hating the water sloshing over his boots as the ship hit hard against some downhill slide of water. "How can you eat at time like this? Jewlie, the storm wouldn't last."

"I know," the boy said, smiling brightly, violin box held tightly still, bare feet hooked round each other, one hand fishing around in his master's pack for that apple. "I bet we get there very quickly with the ship moving this quickly!"

Craylish wrinkled his nose, a habit his apprentice had picked up, but didn't pay any attention to at the moment. Jewls wasn't stupid, wasn't slow, and yet sometimes he was obstinately optimistic. That optimism was a trait that hadn't come from Craylish, not that he was ready to fling them both into the sea yet, but he hadn't been able to eat since they'd come on board and watching his apprentice polish a small green apple against his soggy wool, he was glad he hadn't eaten. "Gods, don't eat that," Craylish groaned as the ship rose and spun at the same time.

They were in the aft section and it held there, out of the water, as if they were going to fly right out of the water for just a moment before slamming back down towards the trough carved by the storm. Only holding hard to the timber above him kept Craylish from landing on top of Jewls, but cheered, "Don't be afraid, Master! We can swim if we have to!"

Craylish squeezed his eyes shut. "Oh Gods, Jewlie!" Seasickness beat out righteous fear of drowning and Craylish dropped to his knees, heaving nothingness into the dark swirling waters sloshing through their cabin.

Slender fingers pulled hair back from his face and a so nearly adult voice said, "There, there, it's alright. My master says that fear is what kills a bard first and that it's okay, just be afraid and move through it. If you fight it you can't think, then you can't sing. If you can't sing you can't get your bread and how will you buy new strings. Isn't that what my master told me?"

Shaking, Craylish demanded his stomach leave him be as he sat, back against the bunk and pulled his only real family into his arms. He'd had this boy in his life for thirteen winters, he'd fed him the milk of goats when he was little, taught him his first words, made the first shoes that had covered those impetuous feet. "Little bardlings should not be telling their master's what to do," he said, holding the skinny little boy close, hand in that long red braid, from some instinctive fear that the ship would break apart and tear them from each other. "You should be properly scared so I could play the part of comforting you. Jewlie, I'm so very proud of you."

"I am scared, Master," Jewls said, hand holding his Master's braid, tucking it between them, as he hid his face against his master's wet chest. "Master, it's going to be fine, right? The ship is just flying quickly to St. Helens and we're not really in any danger."

"Bardling," Craylish said softly, his other hand soothing wet red hair. "Sometimes the bravest hearts can face that the ship is not flying and that death may come for their breath. There is no shame in losing one's breath to Death when one has done all one can do. Make sure that everything you must say is said and face Death, for he was once a bard and understands song."

"I wish we could just sing the sea quiet," Jewls said.

"I wish you were really my son. I couldn't have wanted a better one. Your barding name should be Jewls the Hopeful. Or maybe Jewls the Stubborn."

"I want to be Jewls the Wicked Smile, because you are my father," Jewls said softly, knowing in his heart that Craylish wasn't his father and he couldn't ever have that name.

"If it were up to me, I would give you that name, Jewlie," Craylish said softly.

Deep below them, the ship groaned. Craylish held Jewls tighter, eyes widening, panic stopping his breath. "Shhhh."

The groan deepened, water logged wood, strained beyond what a person's hand could hew it to withstand. The floor shook, not with the water, with the kiss of wood giving out the last of it's spirit. "Jewlie, do you have anything you wish to say?"

"I love you," he said, voice questioning, edge with real fear now.

"The last time I was on a ship, I was with the only other red headed bard I've ever known. His name was Johara the Forever. That ship sank too and he told me, don't fear the water. When it dances like this, it always comes back up. Don't fight it, reach for the top of the water, keep reaching, but let the water carry you up as well. Once you find the light, try to remember which way was up. He said the water would give luck, but you had to let it do it."

"Where is he now?" Jewls asked, as if that would prove or disqualify the advice.

"No idea," Craylish said. Truly, he hadn't even heard Johara's name since Jewls' mother had died screaming his name. "Keep your wits now, Jewlie."

Craylish pushed himself up, fighting the angle of the ship as the straining wood turned to cracking. One arm around his apprentice, he ripped open the door and sent them both sprawling back as more water poured into the little cabin.

"Lindy! I can't leave without Lindy!" Jewls screamed reaching for the wax sealed violin box as it tumbled down into the water. "My violin! Master!"

They were out into the hall though, fighting deeper waters as the ship bent and tipped slowly sideways. "Please! I can't leave my violin!"

Only one goal held Craylish' mind though to the aft cargo area, up and out the hatch. He didn't have ears for the rapidly hysterical screams of his apprentice that he threw over his shoulder, or the other bards on the ship. Johara told him that drowning people cling and that had nearly cost him his life last time. His own life he wouldn't have demanded salvation for, but the boy over his shoulder was different. "Master!" Jewls wailed.

Time and life slowed from the cold as water rose to his waist, but he slogged on. The aft hatch was the closest and farthest away from debris from the split he could feel happening in the ship. Debris would kill them as surely as unforgiving sea water.

A hand caught his arm. Shaking it off he turned to find Heria the Dove, a petite little woman who was more of a scribe than a singer. "Which way," she mouthed. He nodded towards the aft and she bit her lip.

"Fools! Cray! Heria! This way. You're going the wrong way," Devin growled. "The deck is this way!"

Feeling rather distant from everything, Craylish at least knew that this wreck would make it into the Bard Books. Twelve bards and eight apprentices lost, that would make a song or two.

Heria grabbed Jewls's hand and followed Craylish into the water. Craylish's father had been a timberman, felling trees so far north that he saw the occasional red headed wildman. He'd had fists that could put holes in seasoned oak and Craylish invoked the spirit of his father as he ripped at the last door between them and the cargo hatch. Heria was crying, sounding like some kind of small animal. "Jewlies?" Craylish asked, making his apprentice's name the softest most familiar form possible.

"Master, my violin," Jewls whispered, "We have to go back."

"We can't, Jewlies. I can see water below us. We're going to jump and swim. The hatch is not far. There was no cargo, so it should be mostly empty. Follow with me. I'll get us free on the other side. Then swim up. Don't scream. Don't open your mouth. Heria, you too. Keep your head, Bard."

"Craylish, are you sure?"

Then the ship stopped dead, hard as if it had run into a wall. They all fell backwards, rolling in the sloshing water. Only Craylish's strength, a hand on Jewls and a hand ripping bending timber right up out of the floor stopped them from rolling forward. He held and the rush of the water slowly let up. "You still want to be on the other end," Craylish growled straining forward, holding Jewls who held onto Heria.

He gave them no more warning as they left the plunged into the sinking cargo area. Swimming with both of them as mostly dead weight made his lungs burn. His hold tightened on Jewls though, holding him as if he let go he'd lose him to the sea completely.

Time rippled like the roiling sea and he landed at the hatch, one hand searching over the rough water soaked wood, seeking the latch. Dark cold pressed around him as if the water could press out light even, squash all air and light and hope. Jewls lay still, simple warmth over his shoulder, fingers brushing his back with no more will than seaweed, and Craylish panicked, beating on the hatch in blind desperation.

Heria's hands closed over his, calming, small little frozen fingers and he stilled. The voice of his father nor of that damn Johara came to him, no guidance, no help and then Heria moved, and the hatch opened, throwing them all out into the darker waters free of the ship.

Chapter Three

Heria's touch left his arm nearly as soon as they were free of the ship. Lungs burning, braid a heavy weight behind him, he swam up from the open hatch. Dark salty water, cold as death long passed fought him as he moved. `You're going the wrong way,' Johara whispered in his mind voice sultry and slightly amused, `And you've drown my brat.'

Lost in the darkness, Craylish swam in place, spinning slowly, his and Jewls braids flowing over him and he feared to be here forever. He'd told Jewls to be brave and look Death in the eyes, but he couldn't do that himself. A pot from the ship hit his shoulder, slide down his arm, so much cold on cold that he hardly recognized it. Down. The pot went down. Desperate again, he pushed and kicked in the other direction, up into the turbulence of the storm again.

Jewls slipped from his shoulder, sliding down as he reached towards the surface with both hands, clawing his way up towards air. As water slipped between them, dark and impartial as the bards were supposed to be, Craylish reached, grabbing blindly for his apprentice's sweater. The slight weight of his apprentice slowed him, dragged against the water and his fingers ached where they held the thick homespun wool.

When he broke the surface, broke into the angry rain, it was the light burning down the side of Drake's Tower that told him he'd truly reached the surface. Air and water both rushed into him and he coughed, spat, sank, emerged again, jerking Jewls above the water with him. There was a cove here, he remembered now! The song of Drake's Tower.

The cold and the screaming of his muscles faded back as drive to reach that cove, to reach where the fire pointed drove him on. The Wind Dancer was gone from the water already, disappeared into the sea's songs unwritten. No moon helped. Without the fire along Drake's Tower he would have been just as lost as he'd felt below the surface. The light of the tower itself would have guided him right onto the reefs that the Wind Dancer had rammed.

Trying to hide his face from the unrelenting rain, he turned to his side, holding Jewls with one arm. Fatigue pulled at him still, slowing him and he slowed treading water, holding Jewls with both arms. With his apprentice's head resting on his shoulder the boy's feet barely reached pass Craylish's knees. Water, frothy and cold spilled from Jewls' mouth when Craylish pressed, and Craylish willed him to breath, willed him with ever strand of power that bards were ever thought to have, but the boy lay against him, moved only by the water around them.

Johara was wrong! Drowning people don't cling. Living people cling. The storm slowed before Craylish could reach the beach. The fire along Drake's Wall faded long before Craylish reached the shelter of even the granite cliff that projected into the sea, protecting the little harbor within the cove.

Dawn slipped fingers of damning light through both the night and the thinning storm clouds by the time the tide shoved them the rest of the way out of the sea. He lay there, sinking into the sand as the water rushed back away from them, the body of his boy in his arms and Craylish would have given anything, anything in all the world to have the annoying chattering of his apprentice back. "Jewlie," he croaked, voice ruined by sea water and strain.

"Good," a female voice pronounced, as a hand grabbed his shoulder, pulled him over to his back. "If you can talk you're breathing. What about him?"

Craylish looked up at this woman, and he told the first lie of his entire life. "My son is dead," he said, not caring if it meant he wasn't worthy to be a bard, or a man, or even living.

"Damn," she said, about as lady like as onions were strawberries. "Let me have a go at him."

Before he knew it, Jewls was dragged from him, sat unceremoniously up as this woman knelt by him arms around his chest, a fist then her hand over and water, frothy and not as dark as Craylish had thought sea water would be rushed forward. Again and more water, she paused, pulled Jewls' braid from between her and him and gave him one more shove. Craylish wanted her to just leave Jewls alone. The boy had never really enjoyed being hugged or touched by people he didn't know and Craylish didn't want his spirit disturbed now. His face was so blue, lips blue, and Craylish wanted to remember him with color and laughter and smiles. "Don't! Don't, just let him be," Craylish rasped.

"I know what I'm doing," she said, giving Craylish a smile.

Then she laid Jewls down on the sand again, scraped clinging hair from his still lips and kissed him of all things!

Craylish shoved at the sand, to rise and smack this woman. Jewls' first kiss would not come from a crazed woman who defiled the dead! "Leave him! What do you think you're doing!"

She pulled back, looked at Craylish with her nose wrinkled, eyebrows drawn down. "Idiot! I'm helping him start breathing again! You do want him to breath, don't you? So shut up!"

Pinching Jewls nose she kissed him again and his chest rose. Craylish had managed to get to his hands and knees and froze when he saw Jewls' chest rise. Then the coughing started. More water sputtered and she rolled Jewls onto his side where he slapped and battered the air and spit more water.

"Jewlie!" Craylish caught hold of that sweater and dragged him up into a hug that only sputtered more water down Craylish's back. When shaking arms rose to hug him back, Craylish was the happiest man alive. "Oh Jewlie!" Then to the blond women who'd given the kiss of life he smiled, politely bowed his head. "M'lady, I owe you my braid and my honor. I have this day told you an untruth. This youth is not my son, save only my apprentice, but to my heart he is my son."

"Master," Jewls squeaked, content to be out of the freezing dark.

Craylish held Jewls to him, hand at the back of his head, echoes of when this boy had been a babe in his arms. "M'lady, pray give me thy name," he requested formally.

"My name's Sarah Lightkeeper, but I'm not a lady. I'm just the light keeper's daughter."

"You are the most beautiful woman that I have ever seen," he said, courtliness rising to fill his need to show gratitude.

When she blushed, color went all the way back to her hair, giving her face an innocence and honesty that he had never really taken notice of. In barding circles where he traveled life was about money and politics and entertaining people with power and money. The power of life, the power of kneeling in the wet sand and helping him hold what was most precious to him, this made her the most beautiful woman in the world.

Chapter Four

Knees sinking into wet sand, wearing the same old breeches she'd been wearing for the last five years, sweater sleeves too long, and hands too large and calloused to be a delicate lady's hands, Sarah wasn't sure she wasn't drowning when he spoke. He was easily the most beautiful man or woman she'd ever seen and his voice, even made raw by sea water, sounded like a song, mellow and seductive. His braid hung over his shoulder, as his son grabbed hold of it, but hair the color of dry sand dried and curled around a slender face, high cheek bones, soft lips. Sarah felt her own lips twitch, torn between a smile and words she had no idea how to say. "I'm Sarah," she said again, one hand going to scratch behind her head.

One arm holding the boy, he reached out to her, his hand moving gracefully, fingers poised like he was a living sculpture. His hand hung in the air, waiting, for what she wasn't real sure, but when he spoke, her attention went back to his face. "I am Craylish the Wicked Smile, of the House of Earth. It is my deepest pleasure to make your acquaintance Sarah Lightkeeper. I am deeply indebted you and your house. This young man is my apprentice Jewls and he can never keep his mouth shut, even wants to sing to the sea."

She blinked. Craylish had the most beautiful eyes. "We don't get a lot of bards here."

His hand caught hers and drew it to his lips, where his kiss was simply to draw his lips closed over her knuckle, then brush them across. Her lips twitched again, mouth gone dry. "This is the loss of the entire barding world," he whispered.

"Right, uh," she scratched the back of her head again, licking her lips, then leaning a little to the side, to see the other people coming down the beach, her father and Dian among them. "Well, none of that now, we got've got to get you and Jewls up to the town and get you warm. Be a shame to catch ill now, right? Ho! Father! I found them! He's a bard lord!"

Craylish kissed Sarah's hand again, then rose, slipping his arm under Jewls' knees. Jewls probably could have stood, but the darkness of the storm and sea made them both quite comfortable with being parent and child for a moment longer. "Hail Sir," Craylish said, doing his best to project his voice, to sound impressive and bardlike. "Your daughter has saved the life of my apprentice and earned the gratitude of my whole House."

The father of Sarah Lightkeeper paused a few steps away, head tilting, nose wrinkling, without even the slightest attempted to hide the contempt he felt. "She better well have earned something because she used a year's worth of oil saving, what? A bard and a boy, and an old woman. Is your house going to compensate us for the money my daughter poured away for nothing?"

Now it was Craylish's turn to blink. Only three survivors from the Wind Dancer? There had been twenty bards and enough gold and treasure on that ship to buy this old man's entire town, but perhaps not the kind of treasure that would seem a treasure to this man. "I can personally compensate you double the price of the oil that was used. It may take some time for the gold to be dispatched from the nearest Bard House. The oil was used to light the wall, was it not? Without that I should have perished, and my apprentice as well. I will pay you for the oil."

The old man snorted, eyed Sarah with narrowing eyes and a curl to his lip. "It will take just as long for new oil to reach us as for your gold. Should have them send some wine and barley, some goats instead. Gold's only got worth where words matter more than a man's work."

"Father!" Sarah snapped. "Not his fault I lit the wall. Let him be. He thought his son was dead."

"Bard don't have children," the old man spat back. "And you should have some loyalty to your family, your people, not be swayed by any pretty words from some pretty man." His grip shifted on the walking stick he carried, shifting down to the middle and the walking stick quickly came to be more of a cudgel than an aide. "You stupid girl, you've cost us oil and the right to compensation! See who goes hungry to buy oil. It isn't going to be me!"

The other villagers who'd followed the old Lightkeeper down the beach seemed to nod, approve his wisdom. Craylish had the sudden regret that he'd never properly learned to use a sword. "No one shall go hungry," he promised. "I offered compensation, and I shall give it. If you will, count it as bride price for the Lady Sarah, if she has not a mate already. List me what you should have for bride price and I shall send to Oris Bard House for these things."

Jewls lifted his head, blinking. "Master?"

"Shhh," Craylish said, then smiled gracefully at the dozen or so men gathering behind the old Lightkeeper. He imagined himself in singing clothes, tall and decked out in lace and pearls, not bruised and dripping in ruined wool and leather. "What ever needs doing so that the Lady Sarah's name shall be said in honor, that shall I do."

"She ain't no lady," one of the younger men said, not out of malice, just stating the obvious. "She's just the ugly daughter of the Lightkeeper."

Jewls looked over Craylish shoulders and smiled. "She's beautiful as a swan with wings pushing the air. She is the grace of living."

Sarah covered her head with both hands, chin tucked to her chest.

"Right, pretty words out of a boy with blood red hair. Maybe you're both more demon than man, liars given up by the sea to seduce plain women and steal the honor of their family," the light keeper accused.

Heria came limping down the beach then, braid undone and hair caught with seaweed and sand. Craylish wasn't sure she would truly help their case for not being demons. She smacked the younger man who'd called Sarah ugly though. "This town has enough demons, I'd think. And if Craylish is a demon, what does that make me? An old woman demon hear to steal the honor of your young men?" She smiled then, making the most of a missing tooth. "Don't be idiots," she commanded. "Craylish and I survived because he was sharp enough to go out the back of the ship. If anything thing it was the Goddess Barrie watching over us. Which brings us here to you and means we'll give good luck to your people. I will speak with Craylish for the compensation. I too will sign the letter to the Oris Bard House."

"And what good does that do? Scribbles on parchment can just be redone when you are away from here and we shall be left with the stupidity of the light keeper's daughter and naught else."

"Bards do not lie," Heria said, nose twitching. "It is a death offense against our braids."

"That right? Well, we don't get a lot of your kind around here," the light keeper sneered.

"We will stay here until you have been paid. Will that sooth?" Craylish offered.

"We want twenty goats," the light keeper said.

"And a hundred casks of Nori ale," someone else added.

"A hawk," someone else put in.

"Twenty pounds of salt, all ground up very fine, and sugar beets too."

"Twenty goats, a hawk, a hundred casks of Nori ale, fifty pounds of salt and fifty more pounds of sweet beets, and maybe some bee hives?"

"Oh yes, more bee hives! And maybe some real white linen?"

Another voice, a female voice from the back, "Yes, and lace for Sarah's pledge dress. You're still going to pledge to Sarah?"

"He'll do no such thing," Sarah's father growled. "I ain't having my daughter pledge to a man with more hair than a woman should have."

"Naw, Coris!" The man who'd called Sarah ugly said, laying an arm over the old man's shoulders. "He ain't that bad. I bet he can tell a roaring good story! Bards tell stories, don't they," he asked Craylish.

"Oh indeed," Craylish smiled, the very smile that had earned him his barding name, a little crooked and about as trustworthy as a farm cat watching over a chick. "I can tell you stories such as would shake a king's courage."

"Hi ho! To the main house!" Evan said, leaving Coris to lay his arm around Craylish's shoulders, as if they'd been friends all their lives, as if the lot of townsmen hadn't been just contemplating tossing Craylish and Jewls back into the sea. "A man's got to have a fire and ale after a night like that!"

Jewls, arms around his master's neck, whispered, "I want a bath, please."

"Yes, yes, little bardling," Craylish said, on top of the world. Jewls was alive, his mind intact and Craylish had met the most beautiful woman in the world.

Chapter Five

Three days after the wreck of the Wind Dancer, no other survivors had come ashore. The skies cleared to a cheerful blue and the ocean settled to a gentle rolling that couldn't hurt so much as a song, let alone swallow a ship of singers as if it had been a boat made of paper and Craylish was a man made new. He took the stairs down to the kitchen three at a time, passing Jewls with a grin and a wink.

They'd all been given shelter at the light house and Heria looked up at him as he took the kitchen in a storm of golden braid and white linen. He caught her hand, kissed it politely. "Good Morn, Lady Bard. I hope you found your dreams restful and that they inspire many songs within your heart."

Looking a great deal more dignified than she had on the beach, Heria blinked at him, slightly taken aback. The gray in her braid reached her shoulders, but her whole life could be read in the length, all the way to the very pale blond at the tip, which coiled at the floor under the chair on which she sat. "You Sir Bard, are a fool afflicted with love most deep."

Jewls held to the railing, watching his calm and practical master grin like a boy. Jewls tilted his head, upper lip between his teeth.

There were several girls at the far end of the kitchen, working on enough bread to likely feed the whole village and they giggled, watching Craylish from under fluttery eye lashes and blushing cheeks. Jewls scowled, stomped into the kitchen as loudly as his moccasin type boots would allow. "Good Morn, Lady Bard," he said sounding as serious as his master, if not as delighted with the world.

Heria pulled her hand from Craylish and held it out to Jewls, who kissed her fingers, smiled up almost shyly at her. "I'm never going to be in love."

"Is that so," Heria said, giving Craylish a wink before leaning closer to Jewls, she whispered, "Then your songs shall always be flat, Honorable Apprentice, for it our loves that give our songs life and," she continued, "our wisdom that gives life our songs. Without either, the world loses a great bard." Continuing in courtly fashion she asked, "And what does Honorable Apprentice Jewls have in mind for his studies today?"

Jewls' eyes looked one way, then the other, and he leaned close, a sparkle in blue topaz eyes. "I'm going to play ball with the children. They said I could be on the red team because my hair is red."

"How very exciting," Heria said, her smile kindly. "Perhaps I shall come and watch your red team give a good account for yourselves. When I was younger I used to be quite good."

Craylish caught hold of Jewls' braid, gave a light tug. "Find some time to go over those poems I wrote out for you today as well, Honorable Firebird. Don't get any teeth kicked out while chasing that ball now either."

Jewls blinked, slowly, eyes then widening. "They kick your teeth out?"

"Nonsense!" Heria said. "Let the boy go and play ball, Craylish. I remembered when you played ball as well. It's not as though it did you any harm and you've got all your teeth, if not all your wits at the moment."

The girls baking bread giggled, twittering like brunette birds. Jewls made a face at them. "Master, may I have some bread to take with me?"

Craylish grinned, leaned over, hands on his knees so that he would be at eye level with Jewls. "Jewlie, I have games of my own planned for the day and I will likely be out much of it. You may have as much bread as you can weasel out of those lovely young ladies and you may go and play ball until you have no more breath to run. Consider today a holiday and don't fuss with those poems I left for you. There will be rain soon enough and we will work on your languages then."

Jewls rocked forward onto the balls of his feet, threw his arms around Craylish and hugged him tight. "Thank you!"

"Ack!" Craylish played, staggering back under slight weight of his apprentice as if he'd been attacked by a bear. "Careful with me now, Jewlie! I'm a bard, not a bear wrestler!"

Jewls giggled and the girls giggled. Heria rolled her eyes, but she was smiling as she went back to her needle work. "Jewls, dear, come here and let me fit this collar to you before you run off."

He let go his master's neck, bounced and took one large step over to Heria. "Thank you so much for making us new singing cloths, Lady Bard!"

"Hush now, hold your arms out to the side," she easily reached his shoulder, holding the needle work out to where it would extend down his arm in a very island style of her own people. "Even a bardling as yourself must have a decent singing shirt. How else will you earn your bread and you're entirely too small to be going without now. Do you prefer blue or green threads, Jewls?"

"Green, Lady Bard. I'm not really small," he said, red eyebrows near each other as he wrinkled his nose. "I'm not done getting tall yet."

"True, true," Heria said, watching Craylish slip out of the kitchen to the stone porch at the back out of the corner of her eye. "Your voice has hardly even started to change yet. You'll likely get nearly as tall as Craylish."

Jewls hadn't noticed his master slipping away. Instead he laced his fingers behind his head and spun around, braid hitting the table, sliding across his new shirt, until Heria chased it off her needle work. "Do you really think so, Lady Bard?" Facing her again, he grinned, eyes glittering with story. "I could be a great powerful bard and ride with knights with flashing pennants and great black horses. I'll lay over my mount and rush into the battle with them so that always the true songs will be told."

Heria snorted, then held her breath just enough to keep from laughing. "Battles are not like that, Bardling and I hope that you shall always sing of what you have not seen. Here now, pick from these drawings. Do you wish a rose or crane for below where the laces meet?"

"A crane, please, Lady Bard," Jewls said, then turned when a light tap touched his arm.

A girl, just slightly taller than he, with short curly hair and freckles across her nose stood there, a goose of slender someday grace, she held out a wooden plate with a roll with melting butter and spices, whipped cream melting over the top of the butter and a smile drawn in the sprinkled powered sweet beet. She dropped her eyes to the floor as he turned and he rocked back on his heels, scratching right behind his ear. "Hello, Lady Cook."

"I'm Sharon," she muttered. "Do you want a roll?"

Jewls was used to girls who were more forward, and the shyness confused him. Thinking he'd somehow been impolite, he bowed, sweeping his braid back with a flourish. "I should be honored if this delightful roll were meant for me, though I have done nothing to deserve such a gift," he said.

Heria sighed. "He means he'd like the roll, and a pint of milk and he thanks you very much, Sharon."

She looked up, smiling. "He does. Oh I made the roll just for him."

"She means she'd like to kiss him," one of the older girls quipped.

Jewls blushed as bright as his hair, over his nose, back to his roots and laced his fingers behind his back. Then, courtly behavior lost out to the instincts of a boy who just wanted to play ball. He caught the roll, bowed again, "Yes, I mean thank you very much, Sharon. It's a lovely bun. I'm off to play ball now! Thank you!" And with that he made a much less elegant, but not less effective escape than his master, but he was still off into the day.