The Seedbearing Prince: Part I Read online

  “Just the lad I wanted to see!” Jairn the gemcutter beckoned to Dayn from his booth. “I could use some new moondrops, if you've brought any.”

  Dayn groaned. “I forgot my gems!” Trading was the last thing on his mind after this morning. If he saw something that took his fancy, haggling would prove to be a fine chore.

  “Ah, pity. Suppose you've been busy, with all that's going on.” He looked away, hiding his disappointment. “Well, it's a big night. Go enjoy it.”

  A tight-lipped smile reappeared under the gemcutter’s white mustache as he turned back to two Misthaveners at his booth. The couple eyed a fine emerald pendant, but loudly questioned its quality. Jairn's teeth began to grind louder than his polishing stones as Dayn moved on.

  Not five paces away, he spied the offworlder booth and eagerly approached.

  Dayn picked up a chunk of gray rock, one of the only items on display. He could see someone stirring in the cart behind the booth. “Peace upon you, offworlder,” he called out. “Is this a piece of torrent?”

  “Don't touch anything! I’m just getting set up.” A balding man with a reddened face and sagging jowls labored into sight and peered at Dayn. Sweat poured down the man's face and stained his shirt, despite the perfect weather. Dayn set the rock back where he found it, somewhat wounded.

  “Wait. You Shardians are all so blessed polite.” He grinned apologetically. “Name’s Flareze, from Ista Cham. First time to your world. I know why you’re so friendly. This ground would wear you right down into your graves if you were to fight among each other. How do you stand it? My feet can barely lift my toenails.”

  “Feels like you’re standing up even when you sit down?” Dayn asked, letting the trader's ill manners pass. He remembered how Grahm once complained of the ground.

  “Exactly! Say, you look to be local, not jumping over every twitch in the underbrush like the fellows who brought me. Honestly, now. Is it...safe, here? I've heard stories, you see.”

  “Of course it is,” Dayn said. He could imagine the Misthaveners filling this offworlder's head with nonsense. “Why wouldn’t it be?

  “My...travel companions whisper of a monstrous chasm nearby? They say the land for miles around is cursed, and this whole village might fall into it any day.”

  “Peace, no,” Dayn replied. Misthaven superstition never failed to astound him. “My farm is closest to the Dreadfall, and those cliffs won't budge until the Last Mist rises. Trust me, I've seen―” He snapped his mouth shut. The entire village would take turns skinning Dayn if they discovered how often he explored there. “I mean, I've heard―”

  “Heard about this Dreadfall, yes.” Flareze gave his nose a knowing tap, smiling at Dayn's slip. “Honest, polite and the worst liars in the Belt. That is peace's own truth. I could do quite well here. That rock is from the torrent, yes. I'll do a special bargain for you.”

  It was said to count your rings after shaking hands with an Ista Cham trader, and to count your rings and fingers besides if the trader walked away with a smile. Flareze was already smiling. Dayn took a deep breath. “How about this? I’ll help you unload the rest of your wares. At the rate you’re going, everyone will be asleep before you finish.”

  A grimace cracked Flareze’s grin. “I don't know how this world still turns without money, but we'll make do, you and I. Come.” Dayn allowed himself a sigh of relief, then set to lugging four heavy chests with iron locks over from the offworlder’s cart. The man’s grin slipped even further after Dayn finished the chore. “You didn’t even break a sweat.”

  Dayn shrugged as the man began unlocking the chests. “What’s in all of these, more rocks from the torrent?”

  “Only a few,” Flareze admitted. “That one you held nearly punched a hole in the transport that brought me here, peace’s own truth. Those two that glisten, see how they pull at each other?”

  To Dayn’s astonishment the two fist-sized stones slid next to each other with a clink when the offworlder set them apart. “Only pieces that were once near a worldheart can do that. Common enough, but I figure I’ll always find some fool taken enough to—Shardian, don’t touch that!”

  Dayn’s hand froze over the last remaining chest. “I just wanted to help you, like we agreed. This one was heaviest.”

  “That’s because it’s lined with lead. There’s sickmetal inside. You won’t feel anything after a touch, but a week from now a hole will be burned clean through your hand, or worse.”

  Dayn stepped away and shot the trader an accusing look. “Who would want that? I like things from the torrent, but not if it will make me sick!”

  “It wasn’t meant for here,” Flareze allowed. He gave a conspiratorial wink. “Raiders, lad, from the Eadrinn Gohr. Heard of them, I see. Nothing like you fine folks. A cut from one of their axes will weep blood for weeks. Or they’ll hide a pinch in the stew of someone they don’t like, or worse yet, make a helm out of the stuff. You can’t be around it too long, or it’ll drive you mad, see? I couldn’t well let it out of my sight with you locals poking around.”

  “People will leave your things alone,” Dayn said, offended. “A thief on Evensong would be the shame of Shard. If that ever happened, you should tell an Elder, so—” A muscle in the Ista Cham man’s cheek twitched. The Elders don’t know! Dayn stopped with a sudden smile, and stuck his hand out. “Looks like this is all you need?”

  “Looks that way.” Flareze shook his hand with a rueful grin. “Maybe I won’t make out here as well as I thought. Go enjoy your festival, young Shardian.”

  Dayn moved on, exhaling in relief. He could’ve talked me out of all of my gems if given the chance. A child darted past his knee, leaving behind a trail of staggering adults. He wore a yellow shirt under his white garland. “Yonas?” Dayn pushed after as carefully as he could, filled with sudden doubt. If what Joam said was true, Yonas should be scared out of his wits and sitting somewhere with bandaged feet, not running through Evensong. A dozen more youngsters darted in and out of the crowd, bouncing into hips and knees, laughing as they picked themselves up off the ground.

  “Kincatcher, kincatcher, you can't catch me!” They called. “Not one branch on your family tree!”

  A goodwife with a motherly face made an attempt to stop the game. “You children know to stay on the tangletoys. Now!” Her voice did not sound motherly at all.

  Dayn stopped near a blacksmith from Kohr Springs who took down farmers' orders for tools and repairs. Yonas would reappear soon enough, and then Dayn could ask his questions.

  “Got you!” The goodwife emerged from the throng with the kincatcher himself, a boy Dayn did not recognize with a breathtakingly large head. The boy dangled precariously by an earlobe as she marched him on tip toes out of the booths, then firmly deposited him in the grass near the tangletoys. He rubbed his reddened ear vigorously.

  Dayn grinned. A new kincatcher, this time a Kohr Springs girl with brown hair and feet that blurred beneath her blue dress, now ran through the booths. Every child she touched would be added to her 'family' until none were left but one. The last to be caught would chant the words to start a new family and they would all scatter again. The game had no end.

  “Peace, if I'm not doing an awful lot of work the night of Evensong!” The goodwife said loudly. Several farmers dropped away from the blacksmith to help her.

  “You would think a child could play at a festival of all places,” one muttered. The first boy had already disappeared from where he sat. Dayn soon spotted a large head bobbing through the crowd in a noble attempt to be stealthy.

  Dayn pointed him out to the farmer. “There should be an easy catch.”

  The farmer laughed. “Don't know why I'm dickering with this blacksmith for a grindstone, with a melon like that on hand. Say, you’re Laman's boy, aren't you?” Dayn nodded. “Thought so. Fine work, lad! You'll make us proud.”

  The Southforte man went off after the boy before Dayn could ask what he meant. A flash of yellow slipped past his knees and Dayn lunged
after it before Yonas escaped him again.

  “Watch yourself, you big oaf!”

  The man Dayn just bumped into straightened himself. The angular cut of his clothes and odd, short-trimmed hair marked him as a Misthavener. A conical cap lay on the ground, and Dayn snatched it up before any passersby could crush it.

  “My apologies…Elder,” Dayn added the honorific when the man's eyes narrowed. “I will be more careful.”

  “See that you do,” the man snapped, his beady eyes glittering with anger. He snatched the cap away before Dayn could return it, and stomped off. “This Fall-cursed, fly speck village is bad enough without clod-footed farmers and their downcountry manners to deal with!”

  Dayn's face burned. Several Wia Wells onlookers―none of them Elders, thankfully―watched the exchange in silence. They lanced him with warning looks before returning to their merriment.

  Dayn spotted more Wia Wells boys gathered in the Speaker’s Turn, an amphitheater of grass and wooden benches. They stood near the stage full of musicians, who were resting and scarfing down food. Judging from the sweat darkening the offworld trader's shirt, it would be a while yet before he finished unloading. Dayn skirted around the grass where gleeful children swarmed over tangletoys to join his friends.

  “Ro'Halan! Just who I wanted to see. Nice shirt.” Esane Ro'Thelen's round face seemed built with a permanent grin. Of all the boys their age, he might be the only one who pulled more pranks than Dayn and Joam. Esane made brief introductions for the boys Dayn did not know, some friendly Southforte folk and a few aloof Misthaveners.

  “Good Evensong,” Dayn said to all. The boys returned to clamoring over who would kiss who, and guessing at the best dancers among the girls. Dayn eyed the musicians tuning while they ate, and felt an itch in his feet. “I'm sure looking forward to some dancing.”

  “I hope they can carry a tune, or this will be the worst Evensong ever,” one of the Misthaven boys said, sneering openly at the platform.

  “Thade, you don't mean that,” Esane said with a grimace, offering apologetic looks to the group. Several of the boys frowned over the comment, but continued in their debate.

  “Who is this lout to you?” Dayn murmured to Esane.

  “My cousin Thade from Misthaven,” he whispered back. “My mother is making me show him around the village.”

  “You better show him some manners while you're at it. That talk will earn him a beating.”

  “I know! What should I do?”

  Thade had light brown eyes and what Dayn presumed to be good looks, aside from a pair of unfortunately large ears. Too dull to notice the dangerous silence of the Wia Wells boys around him, the Misthavener continued to question the musicians' skill. Esane looked on, mortified that his charge stood an insult away from a well-deserved flogging.

  “We could have brought drummers from Misthaven, at least,” Thade was saying. “The girls will be asleep by the third song.”

  Dayn clapped a hand on the boy’s shoulder and used Laman's staff to gesture toward the crowd. “Don’t you worry about that. The Mistland girls get tired of the same boring farmers.” The Wia Wells and Southforte boys' faces shone with pure affront. “Besides, you haven't really danced until you've taken a Wia Wells maiden around the Turn.”

  “Really?” Thade asked doubtfully.

  “Really. I know just the one, too. She was standing under maidenvine when I first arrived, but I didn’t even bother to ask for a kiss. Been going on about you Misthaveners all week.”

  Several barely suppressed guffaws bubbled from the group as Laman's staff singled out none other than Milede, swishing her skirts through the booths. Thade rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Esane feigned a cough to hide his laugh.

  “Maybe this won’t be so bad after all,” Thade allowed. The Wia Wells boys whooped loudly for the Misthavener as he hurried off after her.

  “And I thought Joam was the better prankster of you two,” Esane marveled.

  “Evensong is no place for fighting,” Dayn replied. “I'll help make the village look as good as anyone else. What did you want to see me for?”

  The other boys circled close as Esane lowered his voice to avoid the musicians' ears. “Some of these tenderfeet want to go explore tonight.” A dozen expectant eyes swung to Dayn, lit with excitement. Dayn quickly glanced at the platform. The musicians were engaged in hot debate over the order of the songs, paying the boys no mind.

  “He said you know the wilds best,” one of the Misthaven boys urged. “Take us to the Dreadfall, Mistlander.”

  “I'd rather dance than spend the night getting scratched up in redbranch,” Dayn said. He needed to stop Esane from doing something foolish once night fell. “Could be muddy, too. The Elders think the mist will come early this year.” Esane gave Dayn a questioning frown.

  “But we might never get another chance,” one of the Southforte boys whispered. “They say the deadwisps steal away from guarding the heartrock to weep at the midnight sun. Their songs will drive you mad if you listen too long.”

  Dayn opened his mouth then closed it again with a frown. He could not tell the boy about his foolishness without giving away his own forbidden knowledge.

  “They sing about all the worlds lost to the torrent. If they see you with a torch, they’ll chase you until dawn!” “Not if you get rid of the clothes you wore there,” a Misthaven boy corrected. At Dayn's astonished look, he added, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, “So they won’t recognize you.”

  “They’ll steal your eyes and hide them in Shard’s heartrock. If you go looking for them, they'll cast you down the cliffs.”

  “You'll fall forever.” They all nodded fervently on that point and shivered. “To the other side and back again until the Last Mist rises.”

  Dayn could scarcely believe his ears. “But how can you look for your eyes, if they’ve already―” He cut off at a jab from Esane’s elbow.

  “Sorry, Dayn. I think that flute player is eavesdropping.”

  Esane must have been pumping these ridiculous stories into their heads for years. Dayn could already imagine him tomorrow, chortling about the Misthaveners he tricked into running naked through redbranch in the dark. The other Wia Wells boys' eyes twinkled mischievously, too.

  So they’re all in on the prank, Dayn thought. I would be too, if it were any other night. But with that man I saw...peace, maybe he was a deadwisp!

  A doubtful looking Southforte boy, younger than the rest piped up. “We probably couldn't get close enough to spit in the Dreadfall. Some wreathweaver or gravespinner would make a feast of us all, first. If you need an idea of their handiwork, look right there.”

  Easing himself onto a blanket near the back of the Speaker’s Turn, old Nerlin sat in his usual place, muttering to himself as he always did. Furrows creased his weathered brow as he brushed absently at his threadbare feastday clothes. His row always filled last whenever people gathered for stories or open council. Most occasions, it would not fill at all. Nerlin sat stiffly and avoided looking in their direction. Hesitant mutters and doubtful frowns rippled through the group.

  “Leave over.” Dayn gave the boy a hard look, even though his words may have discouraged Esane's foolish outing. The Misthavener stares bordered on open jeering. They gawked not at Nerlin, but his foot. Or rather, where his foot had once been. “He's done nothing to you, and that came from no wreathweaver.”

  “What happened then, Mistlander?” One of the Misthaven boys asked. “Caught in a gravespinner's web?”

  “If you must know, go ask him yourself.”

  The Wia Wells boys all echoed their agreement, suddenly remembering themselves. No matter what they disliked about each other, Mistlanders always banded together around outsiders. Especially capital folk. The withered old farmer glanced up so quickly Dayn nearly missed it. A grateful look.

  Esane suddenly gave a low, appreciative whistle. “Peace, what I wouldn't give for some maidenvine right now.” One of the girls from the Dawnbreak Inn
before glided toward them. Nerlin―and the Dreadfall, peace be praised―were instantly forgotten. Dayn swallowed in spite of himself, and unconsciously patted his braids.

  “My cousin, Falena.” A Misthaven boy stammered through introductions. He clearly did not bother to remember their names. Dayn could not fault him too much, for he did not recall the Misthavener's name, either.

  “Falena Ankehl, from Misthaven,” she added the last pointedly, looking them all over. Esane, and the rest grinned foolishly, tripping over each other to offer her hugs, but Dayn felt ready to gag over the next Misthavener to announce her city.

  “Happy Evensong, sister,” he said stiffly. He would ask Milede to dance himself before fawning over any of these haughty strangers.

  “Such poor manners, Brel! Forgive my cousin. Happy Evensong,” Falena peered up at Dayn expectantly through long eyelashes. Dayn took the hint and hugged her reluctantly. Refusing one would be considered a serious insult. Her fingertips teased his back, making the hairs on his neck stand up.

  “What was your name?”

  “Dayn Ro'Halan.” He could not resist adding, “From Wia Wells, closest village to the Dreadfall.”

  The Wia Wells boys groaned audibly. Falena's expression faltered, but she recovered smoothly, glancing at the platform for a moment. Singers from Kohr Springs and Southforte now rehearsed with the musicians. A Southforte lute player stared at Falena, and she favored him with a dazzling smile. He yelped an oath when one of his strings snapped.

  “Ro'Halan...that name sounds familiar. Your father sits on the Trade Circle, doesn't he?” The village boys' heads bobbed eagerly before Dayn even opened his mouth. They were positively moonstruck over this maiden. “I thought so. He is highly spoken of in Misthaven, Laman is. Even though he’s...” She coughed delicately into her hand.