Scribbled in Margins (Songs of the Amaranthine Book 9), page 1
Scribbled in Margins
Songs of the Amaranthine, 9
Scribbled in Margins
Copyright © 2023 by FORTHRIGHT
ISBN: 978-1-63123-089-9
All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::
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Table of Contents
Recruit
Tower
Footpath
Neighbor
Record
Double
Bitter
Cloven
Barter
Father
Sundial
Sleepless
Secret
Missing
Trouble
Eagle
Danger
Valley
Fluster
Sibling
Sister
Rhythm
Nestmate
Household
Offer
Midday
Barter
Flower
Eyrie
Chosen
Future
Recruit
“In here,” said the guard who’d challenged her at the gate. And then bowing to the front, he said, “Sorry to interrupt, Mongo, sir. Looks like another runaway. Wants to join up.”
Qara’s knees were knocking, but she did her best to stand tall and proud, as her big brother would have done. But her confidence fled when a silver-haired man rose smoothly, glided closer, and softly said, “There must be some mistake. Nobody wants this life.”
The guard blandly said, “This one thinks he does. Should we set him straight and turn him loose?”
It was casually spoken, which surprised Qara. She’d thought commanding officers would bark orders and lowly guards would kowtow. These two gave every indication of being friends.
“I’ll deal with the boy.” Mongo took Qara by the chin in order to get a better look at her face. “Back to your post, soldier.”
“Good luck, kid. Later, sir.” And with a crooked smile, the guard bowed his way out.
Qara instantly wished him back.
Close as he was, she was looking directly into Mongo’s eyes, and they were the pale green of jade, cut through by slender pupils. Completely unnatural. Was he a demon?
“Hmm.” Mongo released her and stepped back. “What was so terrible that you thought seeking shelter in a crowd of rowdy, restless soldiers was a good idea? This is no place for someone like you.”
“I … I don’t know what you mean.”
“Yes, you do.” He gestured in the vicinity of her face, gaze glinting. “Who did that?”
She cupped her hand over a bruise that still ached, where Father had tried to slap some sense into her. “I … it doesn’t matter.”
“It does. There’s no excuse for mishandling children.”
“I’m not a child!”
“Yes, you are,” he countered softly. “You belong at home.”
“I can’t go back there.”
Mongo hummed again, and his voice turned dangerous. “Why not?”
Qara clamped her mouth shut. This time, she was actually afraid for her father, who’d regretted the blow as soon as it fell. But he hadn’t backed down, and so she’d run.
“I’ll hear you out. I might be willing to help.”
There was a lilt to his offer that probably should have terrified her. But … she calmed. Why? Was it a demon’s trick? Had she trapped herself by showing up at the gate with documents bearing her brother’s name?
The commanding officer softly asked, “What happened, little girl?”
So she was found out. What had given her away? With her hair shorn and the shapelessness of her rough clothes, she’d really thought she could pass as a man. Or a boy, at least. Grudgingly, Qara admitted, “They were going to send me to Uncle. So I could become the bride of his wife’s brother. And he’s ….” She shuddered and grimly added, “I refused.”
Mongo sighed and returned to his seat.
Qara was grateful to have some distance from him.
He shuffled distractedly through papers, then finally asked, “How set are you?”
“I’d rather die than go back.”
Waving that aside with a flick of his fingers, he said, “The help I can offer is meager. There’s a post opening up in the mountains to the north. I had planned … no matter. I’ll send you instead. You’d be safe, and you would earn … well, it’s a pittance. But it might be enough that you can make a better plan than this.”
She bowed low and whispered her thanks.
“What name shall I use on the transfer papers?”
“Batu.”
“Hmm. And what name should I offer to the night stars when I ask them to watch over you?”
Unable to withhold her real name from someone who made her feel strangely safe, she whispered the truth. “Qara.”
Tower
“Batu? Since when? I was told to expect an ornery old tough named Gansukh,” said the weathered old man she found at the end of the long mountain trail.
“Commander Mongo changed his mind at the last minute.”
Dark eyes swept her up and down. “What did an infant like you do to rate a post like this?”
“I’m not sure what do you mean.”
He snorted. “This is little better than a prison sentence.”
“Oh. Um.” Qara made something up on the spot. “My people became indentured. My service will help pay the debt.”
“I suppose you’re young and strong. But are you reliable?” Jerking his chin toward the tower behind him, he said, “This’s no work at all, but it’s a hard life.”
All she could do was throw the old man’s words back in his face. “I’m young. I’m strong.”
He grunted. “I’ll show you what to do.”
The tower was squat and square, built in haste from local stone. At least, that’s the impression Qara got from the way daylight peeped through every tiny gap and crevice. Her new home was a low space at the tower’s base. The floor was uneven, since the ground sloped downhill. Inside, she picked out a jumble of storage baskets and a bed of matted straw and boughs with a rough blanket tossed to one side.
“Not that you’ll spend much time here,” warned the man. “I hear they used to post two men—one for day, one for night. Musta been nice.”
The significance of that statement took a moment to sink in. “When do you sleep?”
“Sleep isn’t part of the job. You’ll have to do without plenty of comforts up here.” He jabbed the toe of one boot into one of the storage baskets. “Food storage. Army sends up a cartload from time to time, restocking and checking to make sure we’re not dead or gone. If you like this or that, you can ask for it. If you’re lucky, they’ll listen. If not, I hope you like lentils. Rice’s been gone for a few weeks now.”
Qara lifted the lid on one of the bigger baskets. It was full of bottles.
“Booze. It’s rough stuff, but you’ll be glad of it in winter. Warms the gut.”
He led her back out and around to the tower’s southern face. All the undergrowth was cleared out here, and some effort had been made to terrace the slope. Even with autumn close upon them, enough produce remained for Qara to recognize it as a garden.
In a tone that was a touch shy, the old man said, “Forage was scarce when I arrived six years back, but I added to this patch whenever I could. Protect it, and it’ll serve you well enough.”
She touched the leaves of a fruiting shrub. “I’ll treasure it.”
His chest puffed out. “If you set snares, you can bag the occasional bird. I don’t recommend bothering the wild sheep. I leave them be, and they leave my garden be.”
“Are there any dangers?”
“Oh, you’ll see snow leopards sometimes.”
Qara waited for advice on dealing with them, but the old man waved for her to follow him up the stairs that climbed to the tower’s platform. Her knees felt a little weak at how precarious she felt. From up here, she could see just how high, narrow, and exposed this scrap of land was.
“Here’s the little stove. Never let it go out.” So saying, he opened the grate and fed it a few stubby sticks. Then he pointed to the west. “Your main job is to watch that peak. See the tower?”
She could just make out a boxy shape. “I see it.”
“If it’s ever burning with more than the setting sun, light this bonfire.” A stone pyre stacked high with weathered wood dominated this tower’s center. Moving around to its other side, he pointed east. “If he sees you aflame, he’ll light his fire, and so on down the line. Simple as that.”
“Have you ever lit it?”
“Nope. Neither had the man before me, and he was here for twelve years.” He eyed her curiously. “What’s your sentence?”
She admitted, “I’m not really sure.”
He shrugged and went on. “Here’s your ax. And this is the only lamp. This is the water jar.” Pointing past his garden, he added, “The spring’s down that footpath. D
“How often do you check?”
“Humph. I’m always checking. It’ll get so you can’t help yourself.” Moving to the north side of the tower, he waved a hand at haphazard stacks of wood below. “While it’s not official, that’s your second job. They bring wood, but we gotta split it. Aaand that’s about it. Feed your belly, feed the little stove, and watch for a signal fire.”
The old man gave the western peak a long look, then headed for the stairs.
“You’re … leaving?”
“My duty’s done. It’s yours now.”
And he walked away without a backward glance.
Footpath
Qara fumbled through the next few hours, trying to figure out all the things she’d never thought to ask her predecessor until it was too late. Like what to do if the eastern pyre was lit. And how to set a snare. And if there was a privy.
At first, she was afraid to move from her post lest she miss the moment when the adjacent mountain’s signal fire lit. But after she’d drunk the dregs of the waterpot, she was forced to bow to necessity. She fed the fire a few sticks, grabbed the two buckets waiting beside the water pot and her own canteen, then went to find the spring.
The footpath was well-packed and winding, and it led into a scruff of trees. Qara was just growing nervous about how far she’d come when she heard the splash of water. The spring! She scurried around a final bend and stumbled to a stop.
A huge, spotted cat crouched on the opposite side of a large, clear pool, lapping up water. She’d never seen a snow leopard before. What should she do?
It lifted its head, droplets clinging to long whiskers, and gazed intently at Qara.
She couldn’t move. She didn’t dare.
For a fleeting moment she could appreciate how beautiful the animal was—silver smattered with soft grays and eyes like pale jade. They made her wonder if Commander Mongo had said any prayers for her. She needed one.
But then the big cat rose, turned, and padded away, leaving her alone.
Qara let the buckets fall to the ground, her hands were shaking so badly. Only … there was nothing else she could do. At least, not about this particular predator. So she took care of what needed doing, filled those buckets, and toted them back to the tower.
After that, she pushed herself to stay busy so she wouldn’t have time to dwell on the danger.
Check the western peak.
Run downstairs to split off a section of log.
Rush back to check the western peak.
Return to the woodpile for the hatchet.
Climb back up to check the western peak.
Hack the wood she’d split into shorter chunks so that they’d fit the little stove.
Check the western peak.
Fetch a cup of lentils to boil for dinner.
Swiftly rummage in the garden.
Clamber upstairs to check the western peak.
The sun was sinking toward the horizon beyond it, and though she was warm from all her running, the air was quickly cooling.
Feed the fire.
Stir the pot.
Check the western peak, then clatter downstairs for the blanket.
Toast slivers of the root vegetable she’d found on a twig and tip some of the lentil water into a chipped teacup, which warmed her a little … and sent her rummaging for salt. No luck.
The western peak still hadn’t raised any kind of alarm, but a sharp cry brought her attention to a bird wheeling over the valley to the east. Some kind of hawk? Maybe an eagle? While she watched, it beat higher into a sky now streaked with orange, then swooped her way. Her breath caught when it seemed to slow and turned its head to stare at her as it drifted past, its wingtips almost within reach. Then it wheeled back toward the tower to the east, where it landed.
Suddenly, that next tower over didn’t seem quite so far away.
On impulse, she pulled the blanket from around her shoulders and flapped it in awkward greeting.
The guard in the distance waved an arm.
Soon, his lantern winked to life.
Which brought her attention to the sky. In the east, a few stars were already showing. Flustered to be so unprepared, she hurried to her lantern and fiddled with cold fingers until she worked out how to light it. The sudden brilliance was heartening, and she wondered if the man to the east was as glad to see her flame as she’d been to see his.
Check the western peak.
Feed the fire.
Stir the pot.
Qara sat as close to the little stove as she dared, glad she could just see the western peak beyond her pyre, which doubled as a windbreak. She hugged the blanket around her shoulders and worked out a mental list of things she wished she’d packed.
Like salt.
And tea.
And a thicker blanket.
Before long, she’d also begun wishing away a few things.
Like the wind.
And the snow leopard.
And the old man’s fleas.
Neighbor
Batu had “known” the guard in the tower to the west for nearly three years now. The old guy was as set in his ways as Batu himself, rarely departing from his daily routine. So when the pattern changed, Batu took notice.
A second person had arrived.
It didn’t take long to figure out why.
After much pointing and gesturing, the changing of the guard was accomplished. Instead of an old guy in dingy gray clothes plodding around, the new man wore a lighter, brighter brown that was almost golden. And judging by the speed with which he flew up and down the stairs, he was young and eager to do a good job.
Batu found himself smiling.
It was nice to have something new to look at.
More than that, it was nice to have something to look forward to. Unless there was a delay, the supply cart should be coming in the next few weeks. If they were moving toward the west, he could send a greeting with them to the newcomer. Or if they were moving eastward this year, they might bring gossip. Anticipation was a nice change of pace.
Not that Batu was entirely reliant on the supply drops for company.
A shrill call had him squinting into the sky, where Altan wheeled lower.
Batu was still amazed that he’d somehow tamed a golden eagle.
The first time he’d woken from a doze to a close-up view of curving talons gripping the tower railing and a razor beak clacking very close to his face, he’d done the only thing he could. In a soft voice, he’d offered greetings and introduced himself. Respectfully.
That had been Altan’s mother.
She’d turned his tower’s roof into her nest. In fact, she’d stolen many of the sticks from his pyre while building it. And when her hatchlings fledged, Altan had been the one whose first shaky flight immediately swung back. A startled Batu had caught the incoming bird, who sent him sprawling.
Altan had seemed pleased, even proud of his accomplishment. And ever since, Batu’s tower was his favorite perch. The eagle was good company, and Batu talked to him like a friend. And even though it was impossible, Batu had always been under the impression that Altan both listened and understood.
Today, the big bird creaked peevishly.
“What are you complaining about?” He gestured with one arm toward the next tower. “We have a new neighbor. Of course I’m distracted. It’s exciting.”
Altan’s attention swung that way, and he launched himself, climbing swiftly before gliding toward the unsuspecting man.
Batu held his breath, wishing he could call the eagle back. What if the new sentry thought Altan was a threat? He wouldn’t hurt a bird, would he?
“Batu? Ah, there you are. Is something wrong, son?”
“Revic!” Batu’s only other friend dropped by at odd intervals. He always seemed to know when Batu was low on food or feeling poorly. It was easy to believe that the monk was blessed by the gods who watched over this mountain. “It’s Altan. He’s curious about the new sentry.”
The slender man climbed the rest of the way up the stairs and gazed with Batu after the bird. “A new arrival? I hadn’t heard about a change. Let’s see what Altan makes of him.”
“He didn’t like the last man much.”
“Well, that one wasn’t terribly sociable, but he did find a sort of harmony with the mountain.”
