A Life Less Ordinary: Chapter 9
By Sulia Serafine
[11-24-00 This is a Protector of the Small fanfic, all credit goes to Tamora Pierce. I'm broke, so you can't sue me.
Oh, one more thing: BAD LANGUAGE ( i.e. cursing, swearing…) You have been warned!]
Keladry woke up at the break of dawn. She yawned and stretched. Her muscles were stiff and sore from leaning against the tree the whole night. She looked around. The horses were asleep a few feet away. But where was Joren? Keladry slowly stood up and walked toward the horses, as if they would give her an answer. She listened carefully to the world around her.
"Joren?" she called gently. "Hey, you idiot, where have you gone now?"
She decided to walk back toward the road. Her instincts were right. Sitting high in a tree beside the thin road, Joren looked up at the sky. He didn't even acknowledge her presence. He just lay there like he was thinking about something too deep to notice anything else. After a few moments, Keladry called his attention.
"Hey, Joren, what are you doing?"
"Just thinking." He plucked a leaf from its branch and held it before his eyes. He became mesmerized by its simplicity. It was stupid and pointless, but he was looking at every tiny thing around him in a new way that morning.
"About our enemies back at the village?"
He glanced at her for the first time that morning. His eyes were empty and dull. "Something like that."
And with that, he turned his face back toward the brightening sky. "Kel, go eat breakfast or something. You're bothering me."
"Well, excuse me for disturbing you," she said under her breath and left him to his thoughts. When she was gone, Joren sat up some more. He held out the leaf to the side and let it go, watching it float and fall to the ground. Then he smiled softly and began to climb down.
"Please, Mithros. Let today be better. Better than yesterday, or the day before that… or any day these last four years," he whispered. When he reached the ground, he brushed himself off. Joren wondered what there was to eat for breakfast. Knowing Keladry, he would have to get back to the food before she took the best picks of their small rations. For once, he took his time. His mind lingered upon matters that he'd wondered about since he first came to this strange world.
"It's called brooding," he thought. "And it's always about the same things." He kicked the dirt in a brief fit of agitation and shook his foot to get most of the dirt off. He continued walking along, feeling the breeze against his face. It was absolutely amazing how he could notice that day. He usually didn't care to examine the world around him. Joren sighed. "Anything to get this depression out of my head."
"Joren! Do you have my belt knife? I know you do," Keladry called as she saw him walk slowly up.
"Uh, yeah. It's right here." He handed it to her and sat down. She handed him some venison and bit of bread.
"So, are you going back and taking care of the Mirans?" she asked with an air of boredom. This scene had been performed many times before. It was always he who led them off to a fight they would regret. Like chasing after a purple furball.
"Yes," Joren confirmed. He suddenly heard the dull tone of his voice and sought to cover it up. He smiled before she thought anything was wrong with his expression. "I'll check their jewels and cut their hair."
Keladry reached for her own short locks of brown. "No, actually, I want to do that."
"Hmm… Usually I'm the one who's bent on fighting for petty reasons."
"Yes, and I blame you for letting it rub off on me." She paused. "We should only fight if the odds aren't too against us. How many Mirans do you think there are?"
"I don't know," he answered. "It's a small village, though. Can't be much more than those who were at the tavern. Hopefully."
"Hmm…" she tapped her chin. "How could any village house Miran soldiers?"
Joren froze. He received a sudden flashback to the day before.
They left the tavern. Standing beside their horses, they watched the village around them. Women swept out the dirt from their doorways. A man carried bundles of wheat. Another led two cattle down the road. Keladry checked her saddlebags, content where she was. But Joren couldn't shake the feeling of something wrong. He looked closely at each villager. None of them were smiling. Perhaps it was just a busy day.
"None of them were smiling. Not one," he said aloud.
"What?" Keladry blinked.
"The villagers don't like the Mirans," he pointed out. "They just can't. I never saw a happy villager there, did you? Maybe the Mirans threatened them to align themselves with their empire."
" Maybe we can get some of these villagers to help us. Yes, I would definitely fight if we had some support."
"But I don't really feel like involving common folk," Joren said. "We should limit the casualties to the Mirans and ourselves."
She wanted to argue that, but she withheld.
Joren smiled faintly. "I feel like we're starting our own little war."
Her expression fell. "Yeah. And they shouldn't even be our concern. The Truth Stone is."
They sat in silence for what seemed like hours, but was really only minutes. Joren suddenly spoke, breaking the tranquil glass built around them like a hammer. "Hey, do you think we'll ever get home?"
"Don't say that. I hate it when say that," Keladry said in a heartbeat. She could have kicked herself for betraying her uneasiness.
"I've never said it to you before," he corrected in a nearly inaudible voice. She turned away. A pang of sorrow settled somewhere in his chest. He ignored the ache and stood up. "Come on. Let's get to that village and see if we can get the news on the scum."
She nodded and also went to saddle her horse. They decided to approach the village from the other side and hopefully not be seen. Keladry suggested they find a farmer out in his field that was tending to his crops. They could find out all they needed to know without even entering the village. He agreed and they set out to the fields by the village.
She turned out to be right. A farmer was busy plowing when they got down from their horses and approached him.
"Kind Sir, may we have a word with you?" Keladry called.
The farmer wiped his moist brow with the back of his hand. He stopped plowing and waited expectantly for them to continue.
"We are travelers from far away," she began, "And we were fearing for the state of the village. I see you have soldiers of some allegiance here. Is there a group of bandits in this area and these soldiers are here to protect you?"
Joren noticed how she formed her sentences. They weren't exactly lies. She only let the farmer come to his own conclusions that she didn't know they were Mirans. She was right. His methods were rubbing off on her.
The man looked around nervously as if he saw spies in the trees. He gulped. "There aren't any bandits for sure. The big brutes would kill any bandit nearby."
"So," Keladry paused, "they protect the village?"
"Not so much as protect as occupy it," the farmer said, wringing his hands. His eyes were wide in fear. "Don't tell anybody I said that. I'd get in trouble with them and then they'd take my fields away…"
"It's all right. We won't say a word," Keladry said to him. "So in exchange for your cooperation, they don't harm you. Is that it?"
He nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes. That's it."
She looked over her shoulder at her companion. "You heard him."
Joren folded his arms. "Doesn't this village have any way to protect itself at all?"
"We're no fighters!" the farmer protested. "Maybe our sons could, but we don't want to start no fight! We're peaceful folk, see? We don't want any trouble."
"You can't just let them walk all over you. They'll keep on feeding off this village like leeches until there's nothing left. It's best to do something now while there's still a chance," Keladry insisted.
"No, no. We can't. We just can't."
"Don't be a fool!" Joren shouted. He immediately lowered his voice. "Look, my companion and I will help you all. We've dealt with this sort of thing before."
"Liar," Keladry muttered in his ear. "You damn well know we always stayed out of these sort of things."
"For once I'm being valiant and noble like you want and you're criticizing me?!" he hissed back.
The farmer looked back and forth from the two arguing youths. "Uh…"
"What's the damn problem?" Joren continued. "To hell with it, we'll let the village get trampled just like Carthan and every other pathetic place we've seen go up in flames."
"Oh, don't you dare start!" Keladry put her hands on her hips. "If you think you're going to get me with guilt, you've got another thing coming, Joren of Stone Mountain."
"Well, excuse me! I didn't know we were switching our preferences of helping the poor and needy as mercenaries to a pair of jewel seekers really looking out for themselves."
"You know that's not what I meant in the first place! The odds are against us, and you know it."
"As if that ever stopped you before. What happened to that annoying little runt who took on three stronger and older boys just to fight for what's right-- when you knew you couldn't win? Huh? Are you a chicken now? I swear I'd rather have that annoying runt right now than you!" He glared at her angrily.
"There's a difference between a noble deed and an action of a stubborn fool." Keladry turned her head away. "Fine, if you want to get killed without thinking this through. Fine, if you… you want to throw away everything just to get killed in a fight that we could have avoided. We can travel to the next city and send help here. This country has a good king who sends his men to places rumored to have the Mirans. He protects his people. Maybe if we're lucky, the scum will move on. They never stay in one place too long anyway, and if the villagers won't join us to rebel against them-- there's not much we can do."
Joren stomped away with a red face. Keladry ran her fingers through her hair, trying to calm herself. She frowned when her fingers brushed her bare neck. "Wait," she thought. That was right-- her hair. "Maybe we ought to do something. I certainly can't let them get away with it." She paused and groaned inwardly. "I can't rush into a fight anymore! I promised myself I wouldn't do that after getting sliced so neatly across my belly last time." She touched her stomach gently, remembering the near death experience she'd had a two years ago in Arthados, a mountainous country bordering Lon Falas.
The farmer tapped her on the shoulder. "Excuse me, miss?"
"Yes?"
"Maybe you'd have better luck asking the people in the village…"
She blinked. "Uh, yes. Thanks. I'll do that."
~~
Joren waited for her impatiently. "Well come on, Miss Let's-Not-Fight. We have to move on to the next town."
"Stop being so childish," she said irritably. "We'll go into the village now."
"Oh, but Miss Hypocrite," he said in mocking, "I feel like we'd be outnumbered. I think we should run with our tails between our legs like two cowards. Don't you?"
"Shut up, or I swear I'll…"
"You'll what?" he challenged.
She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted up. She glared at him and rode down the path toward the village. Joren followed, muttering curses. They entered the town opposite from where they first entered. They ducked into the seamstress's place. The woman jumped up from her chair in surprise.
"Y-yes? Can I help you?"
"Sorry, miss. We're just passing through."
"Oh, I see," the woman said with an expression that said "No, I don't see."
Keladry glanced at Joren. She sighed. "Do the villagers like these Mirans?"
The woman looked shocked. She put a hand over her small mouth. "Who are you?"
"We're mercenaries," Joren interrupted. "With special disfavor for Mirans."
"This place don't have the money to hire no mercenaries," the woman mumbled scornfully and turned her backs on them.
"We don't want money," Keladry said softly. "Please, if my companion and I had some support from the villagers and maybe a few men fighting with us, we're sure we could drive them out."
"Why do you care?" the woman questioned.
Keladry suddenly remembered her hair. She convinced herself it wasn't for her hair. That was so vain. No, rather, it was for what was right. She instantly felt like she was fighting back home in Tortall for a poor dog being chased out a kitchen by an angry chef. Joren peered at her curiously.
"What is it?"
"Nothing," she replied. Instead, she actually smiled at him. She turned back to the seamstress. "We care because the situation isn't fair. We'll get these scum no matter how much they outnumber us."
Joren smiled. "What do you know. The annoying runt is back."
"Call me runt again and I'll cut your hair. We're adults now."
His eyebrows lifted in surprise as he instinctively reached for his loose blond ponytail. The seamstress looked at them as if they were nuts. She called to the back room. Two young men about Joren and Keladry's age walked in.
"Yes mother?"
"These mercenaries want to gather the villagers to drive out the regiment of Mirans."
The taller son whooped loudly. "It's about time!"
"Yeah. About time," Keladry repeated.
~~
Aurhor: Hope you liked that one. I think that was probably the best argument I've had for the two unlikely companions in a while. Anyway, the four-day weekend is over… I feel like I've been spoiling you with a chapter a day. School demands attention, so I guess I might let the chapters slip to every three days or something. I wouldn't worry about it.
P. S. Thanks for all the reviews. Especially umm…'s. Very… interesting. I'm a fan of Dilandou, too (MOERO!). Thank you guys, so much! You don't know how much you all mean to me.