Chapter 1

A bitter gust whipped past the hill where Justine sat, but it broke around her sun-warmed cloak with little effect. The spring month had finally arrived, and so there was little to fear from the wind on such a clear day. Nevertheless, a chill did rise across her back; the commotion that had overtaken the farm all morning was smothered in an instant just as the breeze passed. She didn't know yet if celebration or mourning would follow, but the abruptness of the silence was unsettling all the same. Beyond the other houses, Bruno also looked up and toward the farmhouse, but he quickly turned back to chopping weeds instead of offering any signal.

In her curiosity, certainly not discomfort, the young girl turned from where she sat on the small rock outcrop and searched the far hill for her uncle. The few dozen clustered sheep were easy to spot and, knowing he would be nearby, an otherwise unassuming speck was quickly identified as him. Under her breath, she justified to herself that she wasn't afraid to return to the house alone, that the reality was that it must be her duty to call uncle Enolf.

Still watching the farmhouse, Justine wrapped her spindle and wool in her cap and tucked it out of the wind beside the rock. Gathering her dress in one hand and her cloak in the other, she took off towards the far hill in the inefficient yet energetic bounds that only small children could maintain for long. Before such a time passed, she crossed the low back field and the wooded stream and approached the base of her destination hill. During her run, the wind had picked back up, cutting down the hill to make up for the earlier stillness. Her voice would surely not reach the top from here, but she had long since been spotted by her observant uncle.

"Eeeeeeno!" Her shrill cry did not spook the descending sheep, for even the youngest had heard this call numerous times. Content to watch her uncle coax the herd down the hill, Justine planted her feet and waited along their route to the crossing. The young man and his sheep arrived a few short minutes later, though he did not stop to ask why she'd come. Without a word, he slung Justine over his shoulder with resigned practice and continued his calculated strides down the steep hill.

Her earlier unease already forgotten, Justine flopped uselessly for a moment before asking, "The house quieted, do you think it's a brother?" She punctuated her question by leaning farther forward and grabbing the back of his upper arm. Before answering, Enolf released his grip from the back of her knees, letting her tumble unceremoniously over his back. There was no grace in her fall, but it was still coordinated enough to suggest a hundred prior repetitions.

Enolf looked down at the girlchild now pacing along beside him and teased, "I care not if my brother has a son or daughter at this point, just that he teaches the child how to tell an uncle from a branch." Seeing his niece open her mouth for a retort, he cut her off, "Truly you're getting too big for this. Who will tend to these sheep once you've injured my back?"

Turning a bit to laugh at her scrunched up face, he smoothly lifted his stave higher over his shoulder as Justine threw both arms out in a flying leap to try to grab the end protruding behind him. Her attempt at thievery thoroughly thwarted, Justine cried out before even touching back to the earth, "Firstly, I'm not that heavy. And secondly, I can already watch the herd all by myself!" Still smiling, Enolf reached over and dropped the stave into her waiting hands as they approached the crossing. Indeed, driving along the sheep before them, there didn't appear to be much to do as the entire herd made their way back with rote familiarity.

"It sounds to me that you just wish to take credit for the training your father and I have imparted onto these simple beasts." A hasty step sideways took Enolf far from the girl beside him as she began to spin the stave over her head with a grumbled, "Hmph. I helped." They did not make it far past the stream before Justine's arms grew tired and she took instead to spinning the stave before her, leaning back lest one of the ends collide with the dirt. Just before they left the trees that surround the stream, Enolf took a couple strides away and broke a more manageable length from a dying branch and tossed it back to Justine. He hoped somewhat to interfere with her spinning, but instead she reacted quickly and threw his stave back to him in a lazy arc that rose over the new stick.

His throw had been good and she caught the stick at the start of a turn, pointing it dramatically back at him in an outstretched hand as she completed her rotation. Not wanting to upset his brother on an important day, Enolf wisely did not rise to the bait. His niece was approaching the age where mock swordsmanship was unbecoming; she would have to settle for the stave and the bow.

Enolf sighed as he continued walking with an eye on the sheep as they all trudged toward the next hill. "Your hand still has bruises from last time. Listen to your mother, no more play fighting. A bad hit could ruin your hands for good." He continued over an inhaled breath from Justine that would have borne some nonsensical retort had it been set free. "Let your father teach you all the shepherds' tricks, and don't give Gepa another reason to scold me." He couldn't help but laugh a little as Justine looked down at her right hand, obviously intent on finding a way to claim that two of her fingers were not, in fact, bruised.

Incapable of not doting, her uncle’s resolve did cave in a small amount, "She can't complain about the bow if you use a tab. I'll ask Linhart for his family's small bow over supper, alright?"

 

 

Kaetherlin shivered as a bitter gust bit across the back of her exposed hands. She had gloves, two pair, in fact, but she had misplaced a glove yesterday and her mother had bidden her not to use the other pair until she found it. Before she could pout yet again about the unfairness of it all, a voice cried out from beyond the courtyard, "Lord Simon has unfurled his banner on the road!" The manor bristled; the restrained morning air was filled with the sudden liveliness of calls and changing tasks. Around her, Kaetherlin took note of several hands who had, miraculously, sloughed off their morning sluggishness at the same moment. She gave a wry smile but hastily wiped it away as her mother turned back from meeting a group of townsmen.

"Come, Kaethe, we'll meet them on the way." The Lady of Oak Manor, so often formal where others could hear, addressed her warmly, if a bit quietly to make up for it. Kaetherlin closed her open mouth and moved to her mother's side as they paused briefly to let the men of the town leave first. It appeared the rest of the present manorfolk would busy themselves for the welcome, though a few did lope off toward the fields. Before leaving the courtyard, Kaetherlin patted her tied bag and found a small shape reassuringly there. All hesitation resolved, she sped forward to match her mother's longer strides.

The mud before the manor had dried somewhat in the sun, and so Kaetherlin and Lady Odette were swiftly away from the manor's stone entryway. Seizing the rare treat of privacy, Kaetherlin finally loosed the question she had been carrying, "Mama, that means he's won a battle, right?" Her father, three of his men, their levies, and her oldest brother had ridden out two days ago to capture or drive off a robber knight. The younger of her two brothers was already in the town this morning, and would likely have found his way into riding back to the manor with the party.

"Perhaps, or a capture or a concession. Your father is not as bold as you may think." Her mother smiled knowingly down at her and Kaetherlin could not resist the bait. The nearest serfs were far beyond earshot, after all.

"I didn't turn away when he yanked out that tooth. I think he's brave. And he holds himself so tall before the crowd." Kaetherlin's voice was only a touch defensive, marring the otherwise drippingly eager tone. How many hundreds of tales of antiquity, ancestors, and saints had she enjoyed and how few tales of her immediate flesh and blood?

"So long as you tell no one." The Lady Odette waited for her daughter's quick nod before continuing, "Your father was an awkward boy. They day we met, he stood to the side once the tables were cleared, resplendent in silk and skins. His fashion was as favourable then as now, but he moved so faintly that the bells never stood a chance. Had I not been charged with enticing from him the marriage, I may not have even spotted him." The fondness in her mother's voice did not surprise Kaetherlin, she knew her parents were old friends, but this was by far the most disparaging statement she'd heard from any but a fool. They had not moved far, but she checked again her surroundings with eyes wide.

Her mother just smiled patiently, though there was a tinge of satisfaction that suggested she knew what Kaetherlin would eventually ask. The moment did come, after some small pondering, "Did you ask him for his hand?" Lady Odette laughed before responding, either pleased with the question or her expectation of it.

"I would never embarrass him so; that is not a woman's way, Kaethe, remember that." Her tone was light but instructive, and she gave a small pause for dramatic effect before going on in mock formality, "I did what I could. I came before him and kissed him on each cheek in greeting. His eyes were wide, but grew only wider when I teased him saying he must do the same or he'll be acknowledging me as his liege. He very well knew there was no such implication, but he was so flustered that he did return them." Kaetherlin realised too late that she was gaping as her mother tapped her head and looked down at her. "It was not proper, I certainly erred there, but I am telling you this for a reason. You will err as well, but there can be forgiveness and circumstances can still work for the better. Do not bottle your mistakes, you're about of the age where I will need to start hearing them from you."

In the span of moments a gossip had become a guidance, but Kaetherlin was too startled to mind. She paced along silently beside her mother for some time, clearly digesting whatever visions flashed through her head. Finally, she spoke up in earnest response, "I told Lysa she could have my bread yesterday." She peered up quickly enough to see a brief expression of amused puzzlement slip off her mother's face.

"Sweet child, what are you talking about?"

"There was no bread set out for me. I made a mistake."

Kaetherlin didn't quite figure out what her mother's long blink and pinched lips meant before the reply came, "My dearest, sweetest girl, your father is wrong yet again. Stay this age until I reach Heaven’s gates." With the addition of the levity in her mother's voice, she came to recognise the earlier face as stifled laughter. There had been no tickling intent in either of her responses, but her mother nevertheless seemed especially amused by both.

"Yes, mama." Lady Odette flashed an encouraging smile; it was enough.

The two continued on, one mirthful and the other now carrying the puzzled expression. They topped a shallow hill and the riding party ahead came more clearly into view. Kaetherlin was abruptly retrieved from her musing by her mother's unusually cold voice, "Trust no man who says of himself that he is a knight." She looked back ahead and found her father's beautiful banner was half furled.

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