Page 8 of Apple Boy

The children huddled around the bases of trees to keep warm, each holding an apple to make it look like they were still collecting. Two of the youngest started to sob pitifully, their cries echoing eerily in the otherwise silent orchard, and my belly knotted. Would Sewell instruct his man to beat the children too?

We kept working until the sky had turned black and we couldn’t even see an apple, let alone pick one from a tree. Then Farmer Sewell swaggered into the orchard, a lantern held aloft. He had a noticeably swaying gait to his walk, and I was sure he’d been sampling his own brew.

“That’ll do,” he bellowed. “Youngling’s, you’s sleeping in the pigeon loft. Men, in the barn as usual. Rosalie’s left a pot o’ warm spiced cider. Get some rest while ye can, for you’ll be up with the rooster or feel my belt.”

CHAPTER SEVEN

SURPRISES

In the barn I slept deeply for several hours on a bed of prickly, itchy hay before waking to relieve myself. The barn was a step up from sleeping in a doorway or behind barrels at the back of a tavern. The snores from the other men, who had drained the large cooking pot of warm spiced cider before they slept, sounded like the braying of cattle. I’d never slept in the company of so many men before. We did not smell good, at all; the scents of hay, male sweat, sweet cider, flatulence and urine permeating the air in the barn. I was sure men at my club back home would laugh heartily at my misfortune if they saw me curled up on a bed of hay in filthy garb with just a thin blanket for warmth. No one back in Skraedig would hear of how low I’d fallen, no one.

I lay for a while in the darkness listening to the snores of the harvesters, forcing myself to think of the one nice thing to come into my life since I’d become stranded—Adam. Soon enough the snoring men and the barn were forgotten. I thought of Adam, his wavy brown hair disheveled, his full lips parted restfully as he slept in a fine feather bed in the warm farmhouse. It would have been so good to creep up the stairs and join him. I would be the big spoon, and with the shared heat of our bodies we would give one another comfort. I wondered if he’d thought of me in that way at all—if he truly was an apple boy. I fantasized that his hand snuck beneath his nightgown and he’d pleasured himself thinking of me before sleeping. It made me smile wickedly in the darkness.

I was awoken by a rough unintelligible whisper to my ear, a hand across my mouth, and a weight holding me down. Short of breath, reflexively I began to fight. Then, coming to my senses, I comprehended what the voice was saying.

“Shush, it’s me, Adam. Don’t struggle; you’ll wake the others. I’ll take my hand away if ye promise not te shout. Nod if ye understand.”

I nodded urgently and Adam removed his hand, and then placed a finger to my lips.

“Hush now an’ follow me,” he whispered. The touch of his finger to my lips made all kinds of primitive urges—to bite and suck awaken in me. Adam then turned and crawled across the thickly strewn hay and scurried past the lines of huddled men wrapped in their thin blankets, snoring and breaking wind loudly without a care. I snickered to myself as I followed, thinking that this was indeed the result of eating too many apples! Adam opened the barn door just enough so that he could slip through, and then he held it open for me.

The frigid night air hit me like a slap in the face. I wondered what time it was. It was still dark outside, and I was disorientated. Adam collected a lantern he’d left on the cobbles and then, taking hold of my hand he beckoned me onward. I was confused by this turn of events and could not fathom why Adam had woken me in such a secretive manner. My body ached all over, and I honestly did not want to go back to the orchard and pick apples until Farmer Sewell’s threatening bellow and Nico’s malevolent scowl made it strictly necessary.

The courtyard was shrouded in darkness, and the large farmhouse provided no light to aid us, so everyone else was still abed. The courtyard was damp and cold underfoot. To my relief Adam did not take us in the direction of the orchard, he gripped my hand warmly and took us to the left, through a stone archway and, with the lantern aloft we walked and along a tree-lined track. We passed the steward’s cottage, which was thankfully also dark.

After minutes of trailing along the track, feeling twigs, small pebbles and cold mud on the soles of my feet, I could hear the gentle trickle of water, and then, as the moon broke through its cloud cover, I saw the reflection of moonlight on a river ahead.

“Which river is this?” I whispered, not wanting to break the silence of the night.

“The Tresystra, it’s a tributary of the Siederstrom.”

I knew the SiederstromRiver was the main artery that ran through from the Silua Montis Mountains in the north-west and down through Erias to the southern end of the continent to meet the Wide Sea at Serein. I wondered idly that if I could find a boat, maybe I could use the river to travel all the way to Serein.

My head was already swimming with tiredness, making my thought processes less than sharp, but the fact Adam was holding my hand so protectively near made my heartbeat stutter to a halt. It was rare that I was lost for words, but indeed, Adam’s touch had stolen all comprehension from me. It was an almost childlike action, reaching to hold the hand of a trusted friend. But were we friends? I’d known Adam for a day and enjoyed his company immensely. But it appeared he’d claimed me for his own. Was he that lonesome? I knew I was!

The night air smelled of fragrant grasses, boggy loam and there was a hint of wood smoke. This scent was curious because there was only the lightest of autumnal breezes. I had not observed smoke rising from the chimney at the Sewell farmhouse, or Nico’s cottage and the next dwelling was miles away.

Adam kept a hold of my hand and took me into a copse of trees along the river bank.

“Best watch yer step here, t’is a bit slippy,” he warned. I understood that I should look at my feet, but I couldn’t help but keep my eyes trained on Adam. He was so handsome, his tea-stained hair appeared black in the low light. But then the moonlight found him, and I held in a gasp. There was something otherworldly about him. With the silvery moonlight caressing his skin and hair he appeared magical. I wondered then if he was—if Adam Sewell was one of the magical practitioners of Erias we’d heard stories about in Thorn.

“That gold ring your pa wears. Where did he get it?” I asked, attempting to sound conversational.

“Oh, that—T’is his lucky ring. It’s a family heirloom,” Adam replied matter-of-factly. I was well-aware that it was a family heirloom, but of my family, not Adam’s!

“Story goes that when I was a youngling, my Pa was stable master out at the Crown and Anchor on the City Road. One night a nobleman who’d stopped to change horses just went an’ dropped dead. Pa said he found the ring in a pile o’straw days later when he was sweepin’ the courtyard. He said it was finders keepers. He called it his lucky ring cos he was wearin’ it the night he won Blackdown.”

Of course! I was astounded. Now so many snippets of information fell into place. A story had been told to me many times at my family gatherings—usually by Uncle Ivon when he was in his cups! Before I was born, my Uncle Aleccio was the Duke of Thorn. He was a reluctant favorite of the Twin Kings Kristoff and Fabian Von Harte back when they’d ascended to the throne at the tender age of a mere fifteen summers. The crowns enjoyed testing the Lords. I was told that the Kings gave Aleccio a secret task, and he’d left Skraedig in a hurry. A week passed with no word, but then a messenger brought a missive to my father that told his brother had been assassinated before the task could be completed. My father is a twin, just two minutes older than his brother Ivon, so that is how my father became Duke of Thorn. He took up his title twenty summers ago. All of this drama happened a week or so before my sister, and I were born and so, growing up I’d never paid much attention.

Uncle Aleccio was just a name to me. He was the flamboyant looking man in a painting on the wall in my father’s den. Gods, I’d never joined the dots before. I knew Aleccio had been murdered by an assassin at an Inn on the City Road. It appeared that the fates had brought me here to Blackdown Farm for a reason. I was sure of it then. I was here to retrieve my inheritance.

A ring that contains sorcery holds influence. My tutor had once told me that during my lessons. I didn’t comprehend that statement when I was a youngling, but I understood now, all too well, how Adam’s father must have stolen the ring from my uncle’s body as it lay cooling in the courtyard of the coaching inn. He had then, possibly unwittingly, used the Star-fall to influence the game of Liar’s Dice that saw him win Blackdown Farm.

“Is your father a practitioner?” I asked warily. Adam halted and turned to glare at me.

“A what?”

“One who practices magic… a Mage?” Adam’s brows knitted, and he glared at me with an expression of incredulity.