Read Online Blood Seed: Coin of Rulve Book One by Veronica Dale - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Veronica Dale
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getting on towards twilight,” Moro’s voice said. “Time you be leaving us, Sheft.”
Chapter 7. A Long-awaited Messenger
The next morning, Sheft dragged the box of his woodcarvings out from under the angle of the eaves in his loft and examined the household items inside. They were serviceable enough, but too plain. He decided to add a leaf design on the spoon handles and on the matching bowl. There’d probably be lots of children at the fair, so he’d make a few toys—little animals with features painted on. They could be set on wheels and pulled along with a string.
He liked this last idea, so as the evenings grew longer, he carved several mice with round noses, ducks with open beaks, and then a smiling bee for Mariat. In the meantime, the path to Moro’s fieldhold became well-worn.
His world was much brighter now, but his mother seemed to be living in an increasingly dreary one. She didn’t search the skies anymore and hardly ever spoke. After chores one day he told her he was going to Moro’s house to take Mariat the bee he had finished. Riah sat at the kitchen table, her eyes distant.
“Invite her for dinner,” she said, much to Sheft’s surprise. “I will make rabbit stew.”
Their family dinners were desultory affairs, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to subject Mariat to that, but he didn’t have the heart to discourage his mother’s effort to break her somber silence. “We’ll help you chop carrots,” he said, not too confident that the dinner would actually appear.
“No need.” She moved her hand into a spot of sun on the table and stared at it. “It’s a beautiful day.”
With Mariat’s bee in hand, he set out over the fields. A warm west wind tossed the hay, which was ripe and waiting to be cut. Perhaps tomorrow, if the weather cooperated. He scanned the sky and saw a few high, thin clouds coming over the Riftwood. Among them soared a falcon. One of truly enormous size, which he remembered having seen before.
# # #
It had been on a hot summer day when he was six. He’d gone down to where a little creek called the Wysher tumbled down from the southern hills and joined the Meera in its shallow, stately course. A thin boy about his own age—one he’d seen at the play-place by the mill—was splashing around a small sandbank that had formed where the creek met the river.
This was Sheft’s favorite spot because he could stand with one foot in the cold Wysher water and the other in the warmer Meera. Now someone else had found it.
The intruder looked up and saw him. His eyes widened, and then he waved his arms in a curious way.
Puzzled, Sheft did nothing.
“Eel eyes!” the boy shouted.
“Cow eyes!” Sheft retaliated.
“Pee head!”
“Dung hair!”
Frowning, the boy pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Hey, wait a minute. You can see.”
“What? Of course I can see.”
“Well, don’t look right at me like that. Your eyes are creepy.”
“All right.” Sheft lowered his gaze.
“Gwin said eyes like yours can’t see, except maybe shadows. Just like babies can’t really see until their eyes turn brown.”
“That’s not true. I can see as good as anybody and maybe better.”
“Prove it.”
Sheft looked around, then in the sky above the Riftwood. “Do you see that bird way up there?”
The boy shaded his eyes and squinted. “You mean that little speck? It’s a sparrow.”
“No, it’s a giant falcon, and it’s higher than you think. Can’t you see the grey and white stripes under the tail?”
“You’re just making that up.”
“I am not! Once it flew over our barn, and I saw it up close. Its wings are big, way bigger than this.” He spread his arms wide.
The other thought a moment. “You know, that would be big enough to carry off my little sister. Then I wouldn’t have to watch her anymore.”
“Are you supposed to be watching her now?”
“I guess,” the boy said, looking around. “She was here a
Chapter 7. A Long-awaited Messenger
The next morning, Sheft dragged the box of his woodcarvings out from under the angle of the eaves in his loft and examined the household items inside. They were serviceable enough, but too plain. He decided to add a leaf design on the spoon handles and on the matching bowl. There’d probably be lots of children at the fair, so he’d make a few toys—little animals with features painted on. They could be set on wheels and pulled along with a string.
He liked this last idea, so as the evenings grew longer, he carved several mice with round noses, ducks with open beaks, and then a smiling bee for Mariat. In the meantime, the path to Moro’s fieldhold became well-worn.
His world was much brighter now, but his mother seemed to be living in an increasingly dreary one. She didn’t search the skies anymore and hardly ever spoke. After chores one day he told her he was going to Moro’s house to take Mariat the bee he had finished. Riah sat at the kitchen table, her eyes distant.
“Invite her for dinner,” she said, much to Sheft’s surprise. “I will make rabbit stew.”
Their family dinners were desultory affairs, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to subject Mariat to that, but he didn’t have the heart to discourage his mother’s effort to break her somber silence. “We’ll help you chop carrots,” he said, not too confident that the dinner would actually appear.
“No need.” She moved her hand into a spot of sun on the table and stared at it. “It’s a beautiful day.”
With Mariat’s bee in hand, he set out over the fields. A warm west wind tossed the hay, which was ripe and waiting to be cut. Perhaps tomorrow, if the weather cooperated. He scanned the sky and saw a few high, thin clouds coming over the Riftwood. Among them soared a falcon. One of truly enormous size, which he remembered having seen before.
# # #
It had been on a hot summer day when he was six. He’d gone down to where a little creek called the Wysher tumbled down from the southern hills and joined the Meera in its shallow, stately course. A thin boy about his own age—one he’d seen at the play-place by the mill—was splashing around a small sandbank that had formed where the creek met the river.
This was Sheft’s favorite spot because he could stand with one foot in the cold Wysher water and the other in the warmer Meera. Now someone else had found it.
The intruder looked up and saw him. His eyes widened, and then he waved his arms in a curious way.
Puzzled, Sheft did nothing.
“Eel eyes!” the boy shouted.
“Cow eyes!” Sheft retaliated.
“Pee head!”
“Dung hair!”
Frowning, the boy pinched his lower lip between his thumb and forefinger. “Hey, wait a minute. You can see.”
“What? Of course I can see.”
“Well, don’t look right at me like that. Your eyes are creepy.”
“All right.” Sheft lowered his gaze.
“Gwin said eyes like yours can’t see, except maybe shadows. Just like babies can’t really see until their eyes turn brown.”
“That’s not true. I can see as good as anybody and maybe better.”
“Prove it.”
Sheft looked around, then in the sky above the Riftwood. “Do you see that bird way up there?”
The boy shaded his eyes and squinted. “You mean that little speck? It’s a sparrow.”
“No, it’s a giant falcon, and it’s higher than you think. Can’t you see the grey and white stripes under the tail?”
“You’re just making that up.”
“I am not! Once it flew over our barn, and I saw it up close. Its wings are big, way bigger than this.” He spread his arms wide.
The other thought a moment. “You know, that would be big enough to carry off my little sister. Then I wouldn’t have to watch her anymore.”
“Are you supposed to be watching her now?”
“I guess,” the boy said, looking around. “She was here a
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