Flicker of the Flame: A YA Epic Fantasy Read online

  Mam and Juquila were sitting on stools at the table, drinking tea. Tereka couldn’t help noticing how much the sisters resembled each other, but Juquila possessed a sultry beauty that eclipsed her twin’s more ordinary looks. Maybe that was why Mam was so angry all the time.

  Juquila was bouncing Aito on her lap. Tereka took a step toward her. “May I, if you please, hold him?”

  Juquila looked at Mam, then held Aito out. “If you must.”

  Tereka wrapped her arms around Aito and put her face in his hair. He was warm, but not enough to ease the chill inside her. She blinked back tears thinking of not being with her baby brother. She attempted to think of words to say that Aito would understand but she didn’t succeed.

  Aito patted her face, then squirmed. “Down.”

  Tereka set him on his feet, then turned to Tirk. He frowned and glanced at Mam. Tereka bit her lip. They never showed each other any affection in front of their mother. “Guess I’ll see you in the oppidan lectures?”

  He nodded.

  Da entered the kitchen and dropped his rucksack near the door to the street. He picked up Aito and swung him over his head, smiling as the boy squealed. He kissed Aito and set him down, turned to Tirk and pulled him into a rough hug. “I’ll be seeing you, son.”

  He bent to pick up the packs. “Groa. Be good to my children. If you’re not, I’ll hear about it.” His face softened as he looked at Tereka. “Let’s go, dear girl.”

  Tereka glanced around the room, blinking rapidly. With a slight shake of her head, she limped toward the door.

  “Tarkio.” Mam stood up. “You can come back and see Tirk and Aito.” She pointed at Tereka. “But that one cannot. Ever. I don’t want her in my house again.”

  Tereka blinked. Even though she was glad to be leaving Mam, the rejection stabbed her in the chest like a slim knife. With a scowl, Da motioned for her to go into the street.

  She threw a final regretful glance at Tirk and turned to the door. Life with Mam had been full of pain and fear. She could only hope life with Da, wheverever they ended up, would be better.

  4

  An hour later, Tarkio pulled a rickety wooden stool close to Tereka’s bed. He’d been able to quickly settle her in a room at an inn near their former home. Two piles of straw covered by coarse sheets took up most of the space. A second wooden stool and a small table occupied the rest. A few hooks were the only decoration on the whitewashed walls.

  Tereka lay on her stomach, her elbows resting on the edge of the straw bed, pillows under her chest propping her up so she could eat the stew he’d brought up.

  He ignored his own stew as he watched her spoon some broth to her mouth. At least Tereka was eating. She’d barely said two words since they left home. When that door had shut behind them, her bright blue eyes had been shocked and wide, her face pale. Now her golden-tan color had returned and her eyes were relaxed. She appeared calmer, almost pensive, as if she was gazing at a far horizon while she ate.

  He imagined every curse and insult he knew to hurl at Groa. Blast the woman, how could she be so cruel as to beat a child like that? And to berate, mock, and belittle her? His jaw ached from clenching his teeth. He rubbed it, finding no relief.

  As his rage subsided, guilt stabbed his chest. It was all his fault. He’d always known Groa to be moody, especially when he was on the road. He’d suspected she was favoring Tirk. But not like this. Not at Tereka’s expense.

  And then there was Juquila. Shortly after he’d wedded Groa, Juquila had married Valday, the aging ephor’s second in command. A few months later, the ephor died, and Valday took his place. Juquila had risen from a vendor’s apprentice to wife of the most powerful man in Trofmose, a man completely besotted with her.

  Juquila made the most of her new position. When Valday’s health began to fail, Juquila maneuvered him into appointing her syndic. She wasn’t about to lose power over a trifle like her husband’s death.

  A clattering sound broke into his thoughts. Tereka had dropped her spoon into her bowl. She leaned forward to place the crockery on the floor in front of her. With a serious expression, she looked up at him. “Da?”

  “Yes, dear heart?”

  “Thank you. For taking me away from there.”

  “I wouldn’t have left you, not with her.” He swallowed, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. “That’s the least I could do for you. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes.” She wrinkled her forehead. “What was that magic salve you used on me?”

  He tensed, then tried to cover his confusion with a laugh. “Magic? You know there’s no magic.” If only he could convince her that was so.

  “I know. But that stuff you used. No healer ever used anything so good.”

  Tarko chewed the inside of his lip. This was dangerous ground. He couldn’t tell her, not yet. She was too young.

  Tereka didn’t seem to notice he hadn’t answered. “Got any other tricks you’re not telling me about?”

  There was an edge to her voice. Surely she didn’t know. She couldn’t know. He’d kept the magic amulets carefully hidden all these years. Some day he’d tell her. When she was older.

  The silence thickened, like fog rolling up from the river. She hesitated, then spoke to the floor. “I have a question.”

  Tarkio suppressed a wince. He’d dreaded this moment. Hopefully, she’d pose questions he could safely answer. “What is it?”

  “Why does Mam call me ‘filth’ and ‘spawn’?”

  “She doesn’t mean it.” He answered automatically, relieved that Tereka had left the dangerous topic of magic behind.

  Tereka snorted. “I think she does. I’ll have the scars to prove it.” Her voice rose. “You didn’t hear the way she screamed at me as she beat me.”

  His stomach heaved, forcing a sour taste into his mouth. “It must have been horrible.”

  “It was.” Tereka pressed her lips together. “And what did she mean when she called me your road child?”

  He pressed the heels of his hands against his face. “Are you sure you want to know the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  From the resolute tone of her voice, he knew he couldn’t put her off. He rubbed his hand over his lips and chin as if to trap the words inside his mouth. Saying it out loud was like stepping off a cliff. There would be no way to unsay the words. But he owed her the truth, at least as much of it as he could safely share. “I suppose it’s because Groa isn’t your mother.”

  Tereka’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. “What?”

  “Groa isn’t your mother.”

  “But you’ve both always said she is.”

  “Did you never wonder why you have such brilliant blue eyes and honey-colored skin? Why you look like no one in the family?”

  “Mam.” A puzzled frown crossed Tereka’s face. “No. She’s not my mother.” She paused. “Groa said that’s what ugly spawn looks like.”

  Tarkio leaned over and touched her cheek. “No matter what she said, you are beautiful.”

  A smile lifted the corners of her mouth for a fleeting moment, then her lips settled back into a frown. “Then who is my mother?” When he didn’t answer, she raised herself on an elbow and glared at him. “So what am I? The product of your broken vows? No wonder Mam hates me.” Tereka curled her lip. “Who is she? Tell me. Who is my mother?”

  Tarkio sighed. It was so difficult to explain and there was nothing he could say in his own defense. “You can never tell anyone this. Not even Tirk.”

  “Why not? Too shameful for you?”

  He blinked, unsure what to say. To tell her the truth might get them both taken—or killed. Tarkio leaned forward and took her hand. “For your own safety, I cannot tell you your mother’s name or anything about her circumstances. Please don’t ask me, I’m begging you. Just know this. Your mother was a kind and intelligent person. You are most definitely not ugly, filthy, nor are you spawn. She loved you dearly, more than you’ll ever know.”

  “Why? W
hy can’t I know? You stole me from her and abandoned her.” Tereka jerked her hand from his and clenched her fists.

  Tarkio shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I’m so sorry, Tereka, but by the time I found you, your mother was already dead. So I brought you back here.” He rubbed his eyes. “I didn’t really have a plan. I was thinking of passing you off as a cousin’s child, or a trading partner’s orphan.”

  “Instead you said I was Tirk’s twin.”

  “Tereka, it’s like this. Groa gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. Tirk was healthy. Tirika, our daughter, wasn’t. She struggled for every breath through her short life.” Tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

  “What happened to her?”

  Go carefully, Tarkio told himself. “About a month after they were born, I had to go on a long trading run. It couldn’t be helped. I didn’t want to leave home, not with Tirika unwell and Groa barely coping.”

  “So why did you?” Tereka’s voice grew louder. “Was trading more important than your family?”

  “Actually, I— ” His voice broke. “I received word that your mother was in distress and needed help.” He eyed Tereka, willing her not to ask what kind of trouble her mother was in. “Let me explain,” Tarkio said, raising his hand, palm out, begging her patience. “By the time I found you, you were a little over two months old. I brought you back here.” He took a deep breath. “Tirika died in my arms the night I got home. Groa was inconsolable, threatening to kill herself. She only calmed down when she held Tirk. I think he was her only reason for living.” His shoulders sagged. “I didn’t know what else to do, so I convinced her to raise you in Tirika’s place, that only she could save your life. Maybe her daughter was gone, but she could save another child.”

  “I can’t believe she agreed,” Tereka mumbled.

  “At first, I think she was so numb she didn’t know what she was saying. We buried Tirika secretly. Groa didn’t want you to have her daughter’s name, so we changed the spelling. We hadn’t registered the births with the ludi’s office yet, so that wasn’t a problem.”

  “And no one suspected?”

  “Tirika hadn’t grown nearly as much as Tirk, so even though you were a month younger, you were about her size. Most people didn’t ask any questions. But not Juquila. She’d been around Tirika enough to know you weren’t her. Until today, I never understood why she’d encouraged Groa to raise you as her own.”

  When he saw Tereka’s puzzled frown he explained. “By claiming you as hers, Groa had two living children. She only needed one more to be able to throw me out.”

  She snorted. “It took nine years to have another child?”

  He dropped his chin to his chest. “It was many years before her grief would let her try again.” With a sigh, he continued. “If the ludi discovered that Groa and I only had two children of our own, I’d have to go back to her. And even if Groa allowed you to return, I could never leave you with her when I was on the road.” He swallowed the painful lump in his throat. “You’d most likely end up in the ludi’s orphan home.”

  The ludi—the official in charge of education, marriages, and care of the sick—ran the ophan’s home as an afterthought. Tereka shivered.

  “Yes.” Tarkio nodded. “I’m sure you’ve heard the market gossip.”

  “You mean the stories of how the babies are neglected and the children mistreated?” She winced. “I’ve seen for myself. Somehow few of the orphans ever make it to the oppidan lectures. No one seems to care what they do.” She shuddered. “And they wear torn and stained clothing and try to hide their bruises.” Tereka visibly shuddered. “Anything but that. I swear. I’ll never tell.”

  “Thank you. I know it’s a lot to take in— ”

  “A lot?” Her voice rose and she pointed an accusing finger at him. “You lied to me.” Tereka’s blue eyes turned icy. “You’re hiding things from me that I have a right to know. Leave me alone.” She rolled over to face the wall and curled up in the straw.

  Tarkio sighed. He didn’t know what he could say to erase the scorn he saw in her eyes without putting her life—or his—in danger.

  5

  Two days later Tereka perched on a wobbly stool in the inn’s eating area, letting the laughter and chatter flow around her. Whatever was in that salve her da used on her was good, she had to admit. She’d thought she wouldn’t be able to walk, let alone sit for a week. All her wounds had healed over and the soreness had vanished.

  If only the gash in her heart would heal as quickly. Knowing Groa wasn’t her mother helped a little. It explained why Groa always favored Tirk. Tereka couldn’t blame her for that, loving her real son the best. She stirred her soup, watching the slivers of cabbage swirl in the broth. But did Groa have to be abusive? She wondered what was so wrong with her that Groa would be so cruel to her.

  Then there was her real mother. How could she have slept with Da? Maybe she didn’t know he was married. That’s what traders did when they were far from home. They found girls to take advantage of. She snorted. Her mother wasn’t so intelligent if she fell for any line Da fed her.

  She played with a stray fragment of onion that had floated to the surface of her soup. She’d seen market vendors point out traders who sought a girl for the night. But she’d never thought her da would be one of them.

  He hadn’t said how her mother died. For that matter, he hadn’t even uttered her name. There was a lot to that story she didn’t know. She pressed her lips together and vowed to find out as soon as she could.

  A shadow fell over her bowl and she looked up.

  Da smiled. “I’m so glad you made it down. Feeling better?”

  “I must be, if I’m able to sit.”

  His smile didn’t change but something flickered in his eyes. He sat on the stool next to her. “We need to talk.”

  “About?” Tereka’s mind seethed with questions, but she didn’t think her mother was on his mind.

  “We need to decide what you’re going to do.”

  Her heart skipped a beat. “Me? What? Are you throwing me away, too?”

  Da gasped and put a hand on her shoulder. “No. Never.” He slid his hand to her arm and squeezed it. “No, I’m talking about your life with me.”

  She scowled over her lack of choices. Life with a liar.

  “First, I went to the ludi’s office and explained the situation. They prepared the separation documents and Groa signed them. I took the papers to the adile, and one of her clerks found us another house to rent. We can move in tomorrow.”

  “Then that’s settled.” Tereka took another mouthful of soup.

  “But you can’t stay there alone while I’m on the road.”

  She lowered her spoon. “Why not?”

  “Tereka, you know why. Even if you were a few years older, I wouldn’t want to leave you home alone, not for days or weeks. It wouldn’t be safe.”

  While she thought about that, Tereka sipped her pine needle tea. Yes, Da was right. She’d heard too many stories of women living alone being robbed or assaulted. Why the Prime Konamei’s guardsmen didn’t do a better job keeping them safe was beyond her. “So where will I go?”

  “The ludi’s clerk told me we have two choices.” He laid a document on the table with the ludi’s stamp next to the signatures near the bottom. “The first is you become my apprentice, and travel with me.”

  Tereka frowned at the paper. “I don’t want to be a trader.” She set down her mug with a thump. “Besides, I’ve never heard of girls being traders.”

  “There aren’t many. Usually women who inherited the trading license from a husband or father.”

  “I don’t want to, Da.”

  “Then you’ll need to think about the other option.” He rubbed a hand over his face as if the words tasted like sour hopberries in his mouth. “When I’m here, you’d live with me. While I’m traveling, you’d live in the orphan home.”

  Tereka pressed her hands to her mouth, bile rising in her throat. “Please don’t make me st
ay there.”

  “I’m sorry.” Da shook his head. “If we had relatives, you could stay with them. Since we don’t… ” He raised his hands, palms upward.

  Tereka stared at her cooling soup. Trading. Not the life she wanted. She’d dreamed about her own home and family, a place she could be secure in being loved. Living a quiet, stable life. She propped her chin on a hand. Tirk was the one who wanted a life on the road. “What about Tirk? You promised him he could be your apprentice.”

  Da’s forehead wrinkled. “I did. But when I went by there, Groa told me that he’s changed his mind. He wants to apprentice with Juquila.” He took her hand in his. “I’m not going to lie to you. I’m disappointed. I’d looked forward to being on the road with Tirk. But something tells me you’ll do just as well.”

  She didn’t believe him. And neither did the prospect appeal to her. Camping along the road and risking bandit attacks? Not for her.

  But it was better than the orphan’s home. As she scraped her chair back to give herself more room, a tall, red-haired trader with olive skin strode up. He clapped Tarkio on the shoulder.

  “Is this where you’re hiding the girl?” he asked. “Couldn’t find a better place for her?” He nodded to Tereka. “I’m Waukomis. And you know my son, Kemet.” He pointed to the youth who followed him.

  Kemet looked to be about Tereka’s age. He had his father’s hair and warm brown eyes, but the skin of his square face was a shade darker. She squinted at him, then smiled at the memory of a boy she’d played with in the market years ago.

  Waukomis and Kemet pulled up stools, scraping them over the stone floor. Waukomis waved at the innkeeper’s daughter. “Bring us some tea, if you please.”

  “Tereka,” Da said, “Waukomis and I have traded together for years.”