Chapter 2 Onions in the Garden #2
Corric’s eyebrows rose. “Onions?”
That launched the boys into a long conversation on food—the best way to eat vegetables, which cow had the best milk, onto who made the best dishes.
Corric didn’t know any of the people mentioned—and hadn’t heard of half of the foods—but he was engrossed.
His mouth watered as they finally cleared the trees.
His expectations of the clan were non-existent, but he was still surprised when he saw it.
Just past the trees, the land opened up into a massive plain as far as the eye could see.
Flat, occasionally broken up by a landmark or the village proper.
The sky seemed bigger here; the sun dipping below the horizon in a swirling splash of colors Corric didn’t know existed.
He couldn’t see the sun rise or set behind Kaledonea’s enormous walls.
But here he could see everything. The clan sprawled out under the painted sky.
Structures of all shapes and sizes—predominantly tents made of a thick hide he didn’t recognize, scattered around in what must be some kind of organized plan he couldn’t comprehend.
The few more permanent structures were on the outside, but they were too far to see what they were used for.
As they rode closer, there were a few people outside tending to crops or coming back from wherever the day had taken them. They smiled warmly; hands raised in greeting to the boys. One or two looked at Corric quizzically, but none seemed to question his presence too heavily.
Once they got into the clan, the smell of cooking hit him.
Spices he couldn’t identify snapped along his lips, coating the back of his tongue in a way that made his stomach clench.
Jonen and Ridan rode confidently, guiding their ponies through the tents and around fire pits.
One boy stopped to talk to Ridan. He looked to be about their age, with a shaved head.
They chatted for a moment before riding off.
Their destination became clear before they stopped.
The tent was larger than the others around it, made of the same thick hide in a round shape.
Unlike some of the other tents, this one was decorated.
Someone had meticulously painted sigils and swirls.
Patterns Corric was sure meant something, but he couldn’t possibly recognize.
What he did recognize was the image of Artrax.
The great golden dragon was unmistakable. His maw lifted in victory; teeth sharp as he roared to the skies. Beside him, dozens of humans lifted their hands to the sky, rejoicing with him. It was beautiful.
Before the ponies halted, the tent flap flipped open. A woman strode out into the fading light, her eyes widening when she caught sight of them. Hand flying to her chest, her face dropped in relief.
“You two,” her voice was soft, a smile curving against her round cheeks. “Are you hurt?”
“No, mama,” Jonen answered shyly, ducking his head. “We just lost track of time.”
Jonen’s mother looked a lot like him. Her hair was slightly darker, not nearly as curly. She was wearing a simple dress that looked to be made of deerskin, but she seemed pleasant. Warm.
“Lost track of time?!” a screech emerged from the tent, a second woman striding out. “You two want to tell me why Gustall came to tell me you ran off and he hasn’t seen you for half a day?”
The second woman differed greatly from the first. Statuesque, she carried herself regally.
Shoulders broad, her tanned skin was carved with sharp muscles.
She wore her hair short. Wearing thick leather pants and a hardened leather shirt, her exposed skin was littered with scars.
The bracers around her arms were scuffed, teeth embedded in the leather for decoration.
But the most prominent part of her appearance was the heavy earrings hanging down to her shoulders. As red as the setting sun, they were nearly iridescent when they fluttered in the light.
Ridan scowled when he saw her. “Ma, we were—”
“Do you have any idea what I’m going to—”
“We were so worried!” The first woman cut them both off, the skin around her eyes strained. “I know classes can be tedious, but you two can’t just go running off like that.”
The blonde woman wore a similar scowl to Ridan’s and it was clear he was his mother’s reflection—from their blonde hair to their critical eyes. The alpha clearly passed on her strength and temper to her son. And if she was Ridan’s mother, she was chief of this clan.
“What could possibly be so important you had to run off?” the chief asked, arms crossed over her chest.
“We found a horse,” Ridan answered, lifting the reins of the cart horse he had ponied.
The women blinked. “That…where did you find it?” the chief asked, eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“That’s not all,” Ridan said, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. “Found that, too.” He jerked his thumb in Corric’s direction.
Four pairs of eyes shot to him. Jonen seemed to realize he was in the way, carefully helping Corric off the pony so he could dismount behind him.
Dress dirty and wrinkled, Corric knew he looked less than presentable.
Nervously, he tried to push some of his tangled hair out of his face, but it was no use.
“Um,” he tried to remember all of his deportment lessons on meeting foreign royalty. “My name is Corric Tylock.” He curtsied, bowing his head.
Ridan erupted into laughter at the sight, bending over his pony with the force of his glee. His mother cuffed him by the back of the neck, dragging him off his pony to land in a dusty heap.
“Quiet,” she snapped, lips pressed together and eyes hard. Ridan grumbled at her feet, rubbing his hip as he stood, a furious blush on his cheeks.
Judging by the seriousness with which she appraised him, she knew who he was. She looked down her nose at him. The alpha was still, the scent of black pepper tickling his nose—acrid and unwelcoming.
Jonen’s mother seemed to sense the tension, and like her son, was the one to break it. With a gentle hand on the chief’s arm, she stepped between them.
“Well,” the beta woman said with a tense smile. “You boys must be famished. Why don’t you go take care of the ponies and I’ll get you some supper.”
Jonen nudged Corric to follow him, but even as they walked away, he could feel the chief’s eyes boring into his back.
The stable the boys led him to was one of the few permanent buildings.
It was large, with several corrals set up, and large paddocks in the plain beyond.
The horses behind the fences looked sleek, well-muscled, with shiny dappled coats.
Corric had never seen so many horses in one place.
Of all different ages and sizes, he was too busy enraptured by their twitching muzzles and dark eyes to notice Ridan and Jonen disappearing into the stables.
They tended to the ponies quickly, emerging just as Corric worked up the courage to reach in between the boards to coax a foal to sniff at his fingers.
A yowl erupted behind him, scaring the little foal away. Corric turned to see a hulking, gray haired man grabbing Ridan and Jonen. He had them each by the ears, his teeth bared and blue eyes hot with anger.
“Ow! Ow! Osmond stop!” Jonen squeaked, getting up on his tiptoes to try to ease the pressure on his ears. Ridan was busy taking swipes at the big man, his nails sliding off his leather greaves uselessly.
“I nearly had my hide tanned by your mother today!” he seethed; his smile more manic than gleeful. “Do you have any idea how much time I spent looking for your scrawny tails?”
“Aw c’mon—” Ridan tried only to whimper in pain when Osmond shook him.
“You think I won’t throw you both into the swamp? A whole day! I have better things to do than chase after a couple of wayward children!”
As he finished, he seemed to notice Corric’s presence. His vicious grin softened to something respectable, and he nodded his head. “Apologies. I didn’t see you there.”
Corric just stared.
“My name is Osmond Snow Tipped, Chief Restrina’s second and a member of her inner guard,” he introduced himself, as if he didn’t have two children dangling by their ears from his fingers.
Osmond was clearly an alpha. He was beefy, broad shouldered with gray hair, though he looked to only be a few years older. His eyes were expressive, and he seemed far more friendly than the grown alphas Corric knew.
“Corric,” he heard himself say, hoping Osmond would not recognize him without his last name.
Osmond nodded, turning his attention back to the other two. “Now, you two are going to go straight home and apologize to your mothers. Do you understand?”
“I don’t have to listen to you,” Ridan growled.
“Sure, you don’t,” Osmond said, his smile brightening. “I guess you don’t want to train, then? It would be a shame for you to have to listen to my instructions. I’m sure you’d rather braid leather with the pups or help Iylah mortar paste?”
“No!” Jonen yelped. “I want to listen to you! We’ll go home!” Even Ridan nodded, eyes wide at the threat. With a final shake, the big alpha dropped them both. The two scrambled out of his reach with fear in their eyes.
Corric didn’t know what training meant, but it was apparently very important to them.
Ridan took off at a run, Jonen close behind. He snagged Corric’s wrist, dragging him with them.
“Nice to meet you, Corric!” Osmond called after him.
He didn’t get to respond, too busy trying not to trip.
It was difficult keeping up with them. They ran so easily, legs pumping and breath coming evenly.
Corric’s skirts tangled in his legs, his shoes pinched his feet, and his whole body hurt.
Before today, he’d never spent much time outside.
Omegas didn’t run, they didn’t spend time in the sun, and they certainly didn’t ride horses.
His thighs ached, and his back was burning from holding himself up.
But Corric couldn’t stop smiling.
Jonen looked back at him, his face breaking out in matching joy. Corric was slowing him down, but he didn’t seem to mind, laughing as they ducked under clotheslines and frightened roosting chickens. Corric’s chest hurt, and he couldn’t breathe, but he didn’t dare stop.
For the first time in his life, no one called him omega. They didn’t look through him as if he wasn’t worth their time or tell him he couldn’t do something because, once he presented, it wouldn’t be necessary.
He turned his wrist, catching Jonen’s fingers in his. No longer being dragged along, he tried to match the other boy’s pace.