While I'm stuck on my other work, I thought I'd get back to this one.

Chapter 5

It was early yet. There wasn't much point going into Ishval Proper too soon. It was better to wait at least until folks started taking their midday breaks, relaxing a bit over their lunches and maybe feeling a little more inclined to toss a few coins my way. Until then, I thought I'd take up my lute and give Mom a visit.

Dad didn't seem like he was too sore at me when he left for Vashto's last night (he thought it better if I didn't show my face there for a while, what with one thing and another). We'd had a pretty good dinner with the eggs I brought home, and life didn't seem quite as wretched as it had been.

So why was I sitting here, tempting fate? Like I said, my dad was funny about Mom's memory, and he didn't even like me or Katri going near her grave. He had yet to say why, but I expect he never would. I knew better than to ask. But she was my mother and I figured I had a right. I had made up a new tune I wanted her to hear. I really wanted to believe that she was resting all nice and cozy in Ishvala's bosom, like folks were supposed to when they died, and she'd be listening. I was betting on my dad not even stirring out of bed for a while, so figured I had a bit of time.

I sang and I played as softly as I could.

The sun shines on a bird's wing
The moon glows and the crickets sing
All my heart to you I bring-

A twig snapped somewhere behind me and I froze. I almost didn't want to, but I turned to look over my shoulder. At first I was relieved, because it wasn't my dad. Then I got worried all over again.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded.

I didn't mean for it to come out so rude, but Andakar took it well. He just gave a shrug. "I said I'd come back, didn't I? I have something for you."

He came and sat on the ground right next to me, easy as you please. He reached into the folds of his chuva and pulled out a square packet of something or other. He held it out to me.

"My mother made these," he said.

I hesitated, partly because I was so surprised. People never just gave me things. Nice things, anyway.

"Go ahead," Andakar urged.

I took the package. It was pretty clever, the way the paper was folded. It was sort of tucked into itself so it wouldn't come apart unless you tugged on it. I pulled the edges open and I sat staring at what was inside. Honey pastry. The last time I had one of these was when I was little, back before my mom got sick. She bought me one during a rare trip into Ishval Proper. It was the most amazing thing I'd ever had. She only barely had enough money for one piece, and here I had four in my hand that somebody just gave me.

"God damn!" I said, then I gave a quick, guilty grimace to Andakar. "Sorry! I mean, thanks!"

Andakar gave a nod. "You're welcome." He studied my face critically for a moment. "You don't look as though you have any new bruises."

I shook my head. "No, I don't. Things actually turned out all right, mostly."

"Mostly?"

"Well…" I shrugged. I still had old baata Nifaa's tea leaf reading buzzing around my head like a mosquito. Every time I tried to bat it away, it would come back. I didn't know how much Andakar held to that sort of thing, being an almost priest, so I thought it best not to mention it. "I mean, a huge bag of gold didn't drop out of the sky right in front of our house, but neither did a giant rock land on top of it, so I guess we broke even."

Andakar gave a quiet laugh and nodded. "I suppose you can't say fairer than that." He gestured to the honey pastries. "Well, go ahead."

It wasn't like I'd forgotten, but I wanted to savor it. I didn't know when I'd ever get another. I pulled one of the pieces away from the others, the honey stretching in tiny strings between them, like its fellows didn't want to see this one go. Too bad. I bit into it and I closed my eyes while I chewed.

It was better than the one I had as a kid, and that was a memory I had always cherished. The layers of paper thin pastry resisted just enough to be coy, but they finally gave in to my teeth, giving up the sweet, gooey filling of nuts and honey. After getting as much enjoyment out of that one bite as I possibly could, I finally swallowed. I missed it already.

"Sweet Ishvala, that was heaven!" I sighed.

With Andakar sitting there, I wasn't sure if that was all right to say, but then he said, "I like to think that there's something divine about my mother's cooking."

I wasn't about to argue with him about that. This fellow certainly had remarkable parents. "I found out something about you."

"Oh? What's that?"

"You're the son of the chieftain of Kanda!"

Andakar just smiled a little. "Yes, I knew that."

"Why didn't you tell me yourself? That's a pretty grand thing."

"I don't want to be grand," Andakar replied. "It matters to some people, but not to me. As vast as Ishvala's bosom is, there's no room for riches or titles or grandness. We are all equally humble in the eyes of God."

"Well, that's a mercy," I remarked. "Humble is about all I've got."

I wanted to save some of the honey pastry to share with Dad and Katri, but Dad would want to know where I got it from. I figured I'd save at least one piece for Katri on the condition that she kept her mouth shut about it. Her loyalty to Dad was stronger than her loyalty to me, but this was honey pastry! Anyway, that left the other two pieces for me.

As I carefully pulled my second piece away, Andakar nodded toward the gentle mound before us and asked, "Is this a grave?"

"Uh-huh," I replied a little cautiously.

"Your mother's?"

I was occupied with biting into the honey pastry so I just nodded. I wasn't sure I should even be talking to him about it.

"I was told what happened," Andakar went on. Told what? I couldn't help wondering. "It's a shame that it wasn't—"

He grew suddenly quiet and I glanced at him. He was still looking toward Mom's grave, but his expression had grown intent and wary.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I scrambled frantically and awkwardly to my feet, clutching my lute and spilling the nice little paper parcel onto the ground, which was a damn shame. But the honey pastry and where it had come from were suddenly the least of my problems. Andakar rose slowly and with much more grace, not being intimidated—sorry, make that scared shitless—like me.

I hadn't even heard him approach, but Dad stood there, just a short distance away, his fists clenched and his face darkly mottled. He was frightening to look at—at least to me—but with his unhealthy leanness and disheveled appearance, he looked pathetic as well, and not just to me, I was sure.

He took a couple of steps forward. He glared with hatred and contempt at Andakar, but spoke to me. "I asked you a question, boy!" His voice was hoarse with rage.

I opened my mouth, but I was damned if I could make anything come out. Andakar spoke for me. Maybe he thought he was doing me a favor, but he wasn't.

"He's been paying his respects to his departed mother." He said it simply, but it sure hit my ears as a bit high and mighty. He wasn't likely to get on my dad's good side, not that he ever had much chance even in the best of circumstances.

"You shut up!" Dad snapped back. "And clear out! I don't want your kind here!" He turned back to me, pointing at Andakar. "Did you bring him here?" he demanded. "If you did, you're in a bigger shitload of—"

"N—no, Dad!" I couldn't help but start to shake. "Honest! I—"

"I came here on my own," Andakar replied, level and calm. Thank Ishvala somebody was. "I came to see if he was all right after you had beaten him." His voice began to take on an angry edge that I hadn't heard before.

Dad strode up to him and gave him a shove, which didn't look that easy to do. They were of a height, but Andakar was much more solidly built. I'd seen Dad take on bigger men before and win, though. I backed away.

"Me and mine are none of your concern!" he growled. "So take your fancy clothes and your fancy airs and piss off!"

"You and yours are very much my concern," Andakar said. He turned to point to Mom's grave. "The dead as well as the living."

Oh no. I didn't want to see what was going to happen next, but if I covered my face I would have dropped my lute, and then I might as well dig a grave for myself next to my mom's.

My dad didn't waste any more time with outrage or incredulity. He skipped straight to throwing a punch. The next part happened very quickly and I nearly missed it, even with my eyes uncovered. Andakar shifted just enough for Dad's fist to skid past him. Then, with an impressive economy of movement involving his elbow and his foot, he knocked my dad flat on his back.

Dad was a little surprised at first, to say the least. I don't think he was even hurt. He flipped himself onto his feet and took another swing at Andakar, who caught his fist and clamped onto it.

"You have wronged your family!" Andakar declared. "I've come here to offer you the chance to set this right with them and with Ishvala!"

Dad was balling up his left fist but he froze with a quick drawn-in hiss, staring at Andakar. "You're a priest?"

"I'm still in my novitiate, but I'll soon—"

I could have told Andakar that my dad wouldn't give a bug's turd for where he was on his vocational path. With a roar of fury, Dad reached behind him and drew out his long-bladed knife. He swung it at Andakar, but Saahad Novice took a nimble jump back.

"Is this all you know?"he demanded, purposely goading. Dad lunged again, but Andakar shifted just enough to be missed by a hair's breadth. "Is this the only answer you have for the gross injustice you've done to your son and his mother?" He effortlessly dodged another lunge of the knife. "Is this meaningless arrogance your only argument?"

Dad took a stance, gripping the hilt of his knife. "Fight me, you bastard!" he snarled.

"I suppose that answers my question." Andakar held up his hand. "I'll gladly fight you," he said. "If I lose, I'll leave and never trouble you again." He gave my dad a steady glare. "But if I win, you must agree to let me bring my master here to consecrate this ground and to say the proper prayers over this grave."

This was such a bad idea, and I would have mentioned that, but they had stopped paying any attention to me. Dad didn't relax, but he stilled for a moment. He wasn't any less angry, but his lips twisted in a grin.

I remember my dad having a really great smile, full of confidence and good humor and a little bit of mischief. I hadn't seen that in a long time. The grin on his face now was nothing like that. It was crooked and unwholesome and sinister. It made him look like a stranger.

"Well, now, if I can take you down a peg or two and not see your damn smug face," he replied, showing his teeth, "then we have an accord."

Andakar frowned. "Do we? Honor doesn't seem to be one of your stronger traits."

Dad drew himself up. "You're wrong about that, priestling." He tossed his knife to his left hand and extended his right. He could fight just as easily with both hands, but Andakar wouldn't know that. "I give you my word."

I stared in disbelief at Andakar as he stepped forward to shake my dad's hand. You're actually falling for that? The moment Dad got hold of him, he heaved on his arm, sinking his knife into Andakar's belly.

That was the idea, anyway. The blade never made contact. Andakar twisted, gripping Dad's left wrist with his free hand. With a sweep of his leg, he knocked Dad's feet from under him, spun him, and dropped him on his face in the dirt.

Dad was up again in an instant. When he was inclined to give me that sort of advice, he told me to never stay on the ground in a fight. He backed up, sizing up his opponent with a little more circumspection. Andakar simply stood his ground, considering my dad with a more practiced eye than his age accounted for. With a terrible sinking feeling, I recalled something that I had once heard but gave little though to at the time, having until recently little to no contact with the priests of Ishvala. While in Ishval Proper, someone—I don't even know who—made mention of the warrior priests and the rigors of their training. It was only an offhand comment, meant to illustrate how the speaker wasn't inclined to go to that sort of trouble for anything. I remembered that I silently agreed with that. At the time, I thought it was just book learning. Now I saw where I was wrong.

I stared at the two combatants with growing dread. One of them didn't stand a chance. I just didn't know which one.