Read Online Traitor's Son: The Raven Duet Book #2 by Hilari Bell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Hilari Bell
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the porch, arms folded, barring the way.
Jase had been told that he looked just like his grandfather had in his youth, but Jase thought that if he lived to be a hundred he could never look as formidable as that grim old man.
He had to try.
“Hey, Gramps. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to—”
“The sport fishermen are out,” said his grandfather. “So your father’s masters told us to stay home. Are you prepared to admit he was wrong?”
Evidently, his grandmother wasn’t home. Jase sighed.
“Do we always have to start with that? Aren’t there supposed to be two sides to every—”
His grandfather went into the house, closing the door behind him.
“Carp.” If he hadn’t needed information, Jase would have turned and left. His love for his father, his own self-respect, demanded it. But Jase did need information, and his grandfather was the only shaman he knew.
He climbed the steps and knocked on the door. He didn’t expect an answer, so he waited only a moment before he called, “Gramps, I know you’re listening.” He hoped his grandfather was listening. “Look, there’s something I need to ask about. It’s an Ananut thing.”
The door didn’t move. Jase pressed his ear against it; not a sound.
“It’s a shaman thing,” he called, a bit more loudly. So what if everyone on the street was opening their windows to listen. “And it’s important. I need your advice. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need help, you stubborn—”
The canned chatter of d-vid came through the door. Jase gritted his teeth and tried the knob.
Locked.
Jase kicked the door, turned and left. He should have known his grandfather wouldn’t put aside his grudges, even to be a shaman. Not for the traitor’s son.
Jase stalked down the street, water from the puddles leaking into his shoes. He could feel the glares now. One surly old woman actually spat at him as he went by, and sneered when he hopped aside.
Jase refused to run, but he was alert for sounds on the trail behind him, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders when he entered the Disney Village, full of neutral witnesses. His pace had slowed by the time he reached the golf course. There were still no golfers, but resort workers used this path, and you never knew when a tourist tram might whiz by.
Jase checked his pod for the time—over an hour before the resort’s shuttle arrived to take him back to Valdez, and almost two hours on the water after that. It would be late to start driving after it docked, but if he checked into a motel in Valdez he wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway. He felt like driving, late into the sunlit summer night, drowning frustration and humiliation in speed. After midnight, the highway patrollers thinned out. If he chose the right stretch of road he could let the Tesla out till the wind roared past and he could hear the turbine howl of the electric motor. It did make a noise when he really ran it up. Jase wondered how many drivers ever went fast enough to hear it. Maybe he would, tonight.
Jase sank onto one of the benches at the shuttle dock. The resort had put up a canopy, so he could pull back his hood and not get drenched, but he kept his raincoat on. Even in the summer, Alaskan rain wasn’t warm.
He’d been there less than five minutes, when his grandmother came up and sat beside him.
She didn’t say anything, waiting for Jase to speak, but from her it didn’t feel like pressure. More like acceptance of whatever he did or didn’t want to say.
“The speed of small-town gossip,” Jase said. “Someone warned him that I was coming too.”
“I got it from Helen, in the coffee shop,” said his grandmother. “Or I’d have been home when you got there. I’d guess one of the shuttle crew called your grandfather. They’re mostly off-work fishermen this time of year. Or their children. And he didn’t call me either, the stubborn old fart! Your mother’s not with you?”
“No, I came on my own—for all
Jase had been told that he looked just like his grandfather had in his youth, but Jase thought that if he lived to be a hundred he could never look as formidable as that grim old man.
He had to try.
“Hey, Gramps. I’m glad you’re here. I wanted to—”
“The sport fishermen are out,” said his grandfather. “So your father’s masters told us to stay home. Are you prepared to admit he was wrong?”
Evidently, his grandmother wasn’t home. Jase sighed.
“Do we always have to start with that? Aren’t there supposed to be two sides to every—”
His grandfather went into the house, closing the door behind him.
“Carp.” If he hadn’t needed information, Jase would have turned and left. His love for his father, his own self-respect, demanded it. But Jase did need information, and his grandfather was the only shaman he knew.
He climbed the steps and knocked on the door. He didn’t expect an answer, so he waited only a moment before he called, “Gramps, I know you’re listening.” He hoped his grandfather was listening. “Look, there’s something I need to ask about. It’s an Ananut thing.”
The door didn’t move. Jase pressed his ear against it; not a sound.
“It’s a shaman thing,” he called, a bit more loudly. So what if everyone on the street was opening their windows to listen. “And it’s important. I need your advice. I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t need help, you stubborn—”
The canned chatter of d-vid came through the door. Jase gritted his teeth and tried the knob.
Locked.
Jase kicked the door, turned and left. He should have known his grandfather wouldn’t put aside his grudges, even to be a shaman. Not for the traitor’s son.
Jase stalked down the street, water from the puddles leaking into his shoes. He could feel the glares now. One surly old woman actually spat at him as he went by, and sneered when he hopped aside.
Jase refused to run, but he was alert for sounds on the trail behind him, and some of the tension went out of his shoulders when he entered the Disney Village, full of neutral witnesses. His pace had slowed by the time he reached the golf course. There were still no golfers, but resort workers used this path, and you never knew when a tourist tram might whiz by.
Jase checked his pod for the time—over an hour before the resort’s shuttle arrived to take him back to Valdez, and almost two hours on the water after that. It would be late to start driving after it docked, but if he checked into a motel in Valdez he wouldn’t be able to sleep, anyway. He felt like driving, late into the sunlit summer night, drowning frustration and humiliation in speed. After midnight, the highway patrollers thinned out. If he chose the right stretch of road he could let the Tesla out till the wind roared past and he could hear the turbine howl of the electric motor. It did make a noise when he really ran it up. Jase wondered how many drivers ever went fast enough to hear it. Maybe he would, tonight.
Jase sank onto one of the benches at the shuttle dock. The resort had put up a canopy, so he could pull back his hood and not get drenched, but he kept his raincoat on. Even in the summer, Alaskan rain wasn’t warm.
He’d been there less than five minutes, when his grandmother came up and sat beside him.
She didn’t say anything, waiting for Jase to speak, but from her it didn’t feel like pressure. More like acceptance of whatever he did or didn’t want to say.
“The speed of small-town gossip,” Jase said. “Someone warned him that I was coming too.”
“I got it from Helen, in the coffee shop,” said his grandmother. “Or I’d have been home when you got there. I’d guess one of the shuttle crew called your grandfather. They’re mostly off-work fishermen this time of year. Or their children. And he didn’t call me either, the stubborn old fart! Your mother’s not with you?”
“No, I came on my own—for all
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