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Authors: Tristan J. Tarwater
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have been better friends,” she said, laying her hand on the door. She sounded sad and Dershik couldn’t help but feeling somber as well.
“Me too,” he replied. Cira’s mouth pulled to the side in a melancholy smile and she left the room, the sound of the door closing sounding ominous.
Dershik cursed himself, rolling over in the bed. He didn’t bother getting undressed. He yanked the bed sheets down and climbed in, pulling the blankets over his head. He was either the Valley’s stupidest man or unluckiest. That couldn’t be true, he thought. He had once seen a man born with no legs in a circus show, doing handstands and walking about, shaking hands with anyone who was willing. A man born with no legs was less lucky than him, right? However, the man with no legs smiled and laughed. He even had a wife in the circus, a woman with flaming red hair who could do tricks with fires and a baby who had legs. Even the people in the circus were happier than him.
It was too much. Dershik remembered what Cira said. To do what he could. What could he do? What did he want? Drunk and woozy as he was, he couldn’t sleep. A wish turned into an idea and he sat up in bed, realizing what he needed to to do. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he put on his socks and boots, trudging slowly out of the room and back toward the party. He heard the music and the boisterous talking from the staircase, his hand on the wall as he guided himself down, avoiding the puddle of vomit he had left earlier. People were still dancing at this hour and the band had changed musicians but still played on.
Feeling emboldened by his secret, Dershik stepped up on the stage, all the dancers and musicians winding down as they realized he was there. He cleared his throat and turned back to the musicians.
“Do you know ‘Long Are Her Skirts’?” he asked with a grin. A laugh went through the room, the bawdy song more popular in bars and inns than the Barony hall. If his father was in the room, he would be frowning at him with disapproval. As far as Dershik was concerned, he wasn’t there nor did he care if he was. Ceric was absent as well. The band began playing the melody and Dershik tapped his foot in time, counting time before he began the song. He needed a bit of fun. It was a good way to start off his plan.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Crown and the Coin
It turned out his father had a plan as well.
Dershik almost dropped the baby on his naming day. He was so nervous he shook the whole time, so much his father smacked him across the back of the head before they entered the temple in an effort to calm him. Kiyla performed the ritual, Cira assisted her and Ceric stood beside her, all of them dressed in grey. Ceric looked as if he had been crying. Dershik kept fiddling with his belt, the air in the temple seeming too hot although the weather outside was pleasant with a slight breeze. Jerila and Dershik walked up to the altar with the baby, all three of them dressed in the household colors. Kiyla filled the bowl with water from a silver pitcher, sanctifying it. When Jerila handed Dershik the baby, he tripped on the way to the alter, almost spilling with the baby. But he caught himself, his heart in his throat as he turned to Kiyla, nervously laughing. Ceric looked as if he wanted to kill him. Dershik could only give him an apologetic nod as Kiyla sprinkled holy water on the baby’s head and breast.
Dershik realized everyone was staring at him, waiting, and the whole of the congregation gathered was silent. Kiyla raised her dark eyebrows at him, expectant. Dershik froze.
“The name of the baby,” Cira whispered under her breath, just loud enough for Dershik to hear. Someone in the congregation coughed, the sound echoing through the building.
“Sorry, I was just trying to keep up the suspense,” he said to the people gathered in the temple, drawing a chuckle from those seated. “Deril.”
Kiyla was trying not to laugh, Dershik could see it. She
“Me too,” he replied. Cira’s mouth pulled to the side in a melancholy smile and she left the room, the sound of the door closing sounding ominous.
Dershik cursed himself, rolling over in the bed. He didn’t bother getting undressed. He yanked the bed sheets down and climbed in, pulling the blankets over his head. He was either the Valley’s stupidest man or unluckiest. That couldn’t be true, he thought. He had once seen a man born with no legs in a circus show, doing handstands and walking about, shaking hands with anyone who was willing. A man born with no legs was less lucky than him, right? However, the man with no legs smiled and laughed. He even had a wife in the circus, a woman with flaming red hair who could do tricks with fires and a baby who had legs. Even the people in the circus were happier than him.
It was too much. Dershik remembered what Cira said. To do what he could. What could he do? What did he want? Drunk and woozy as he was, he couldn’t sleep. A wish turned into an idea and he sat up in bed, realizing what he needed to to do. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he put on his socks and boots, trudging slowly out of the room and back toward the party. He heard the music and the boisterous talking from the staircase, his hand on the wall as he guided himself down, avoiding the puddle of vomit he had left earlier. People were still dancing at this hour and the band had changed musicians but still played on.
Feeling emboldened by his secret, Dershik stepped up on the stage, all the dancers and musicians winding down as they realized he was there. He cleared his throat and turned back to the musicians.
“Do you know ‘Long Are Her Skirts’?” he asked with a grin. A laugh went through the room, the bawdy song more popular in bars and inns than the Barony hall. If his father was in the room, he would be frowning at him with disapproval. As far as Dershik was concerned, he wasn’t there nor did he care if he was. Ceric was absent as well. The band began playing the melody and Dershik tapped his foot in time, counting time before he began the song. He needed a bit of fun. It was a good way to start off his plan.
CHAPTER FOUR
The Crown and the Coin
It turned out his father had a plan as well.
Dershik almost dropped the baby on his naming day. He was so nervous he shook the whole time, so much his father smacked him across the back of the head before they entered the temple in an effort to calm him. Kiyla performed the ritual, Cira assisted her and Ceric stood beside her, all of them dressed in grey. Ceric looked as if he had been crying. Dershik kept fiddling with his belt, the air in the temple seeming too hot although the weather outside was pleasant with a slight breeze. Jerila and Dershik walked up to the altar with the baby, all three of them dressed in the household colors. Kiyla filled the bowl with water from a silver pitcher, sanctifying it. When Jerila handed Dershik the baby, he tripped on the way to the alter, almost spilling with the baby. But he caught himself, his heart in his throat as he turned to Kiyla, nervously laughing. Ceric looked as if he wanted to kill him. Dershik could only give him an apologetic nod as Kiyla sprinkled holy water on the baby’s head and breast.
Dershik realized everyone was staring at him, waiting, and the whole of the congregation gathered was silent. Kiyla raised her dark eyebrows at him, expectant. Dershik froze.
“The name of the baby,” Cira whispered under her breath, just loud enough for Dershik to hear. Someone in the congregation coughed, the sound echoing through the building.
“Sorry, I was just trying to keep up the suspense,” he said to the people gathered in the temple, drawing a chuckle from those seated. “Deril.”
Kiyla was trying not to laugh, Dershik could see it. She
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