5. Galene
Chapter five
Galene
“ G alene, my dear,” my father says, standing up as I enter. “Your hard work has paid off and our guest is finally on his feet.”
I do everything I can to remain calm and not shake with anger. “Good for me,” I mutter.
The tent is large enough to fit us all comfortably, and the lanterns have been lit to give us enough warm light to see by. They are sitting on one side with the chairs and dining table, leaving the utility and kitchen side empty. I glance at the divider across the tent and wonder if my nephews are here in their beds or if they’re out.
“You have my thanks, Galene,” the Oathlander says. My name passing his lips feels like daggers across my spine. I fight off the goosebumps that threaten to form at the back of my neck.
“I’m so happy you can be here, in our home,” I say through my teeth, not caring to hide my sarcasm. My father gives me a hard look.
“Always the great host,” Leila says as she stands and steps away from the dining table. She has that older sister look on her face that tells me I should watch my words and be nicer.
I’m still frozen by the entranceway. My home no longer feels safe and welcoming.
“I was just going to make us some juice,” Leila says.
My father waves me over. “Come, sit with us.”
I glower at Tarin as I take the furthest seat from him and shift it away from the table. Why is he bothering me so much? And why am I letting him?
The Oathlander shifts in his seat to better face me. I take some comfort in his slight wince, as it tells me he is not at full strength and won’t be a threat to us. His dark hair is ragged and greasy, giving him a disheveled look that is emphasized by his heavy stubble. I try to imagine him cleaned up and in a fine suit, like he probably normally looks back home, but he seems unexpectedly comfortable in our humble dwelling.
“I owe you an apology,” he says, “for insulting you earlier by not drinking the tea. I… didn’t know where I was or who I could trust. But I see now that you are good people with good intentions.”
“Isn’t that nice?” Leila says. For some reason, she’s still standing there.
“You were brought to our village,” I tell the Oathlander, “because you wore the uniform of the Oathlands Military, and we wanted to heal you to gain favor with your people.”
My father huffs uncomfortably. “Forgive my daughter. She is cursed to speak her mind. Like her mother.”
Tarin seems more amused than surprised. His cool dark eyes have a hint of good humor in them, or so it seems. He is surprisingly calm and infuriatingly hard to read. Unless… I could try to read him.
Boisterous calls fill the air as two boys burst into the tent. They are in the middle of a competitive run of sorts, and both are out of breath. Milo pauses when he sees Tarin at the table. The younger one, Jonah, takes a few more seconds to calm and read the room.
“What did I tell you about yelling?” Leila says, going over to them and nudging them into the tent.
“To do it more?” Milo tries, mischief sparking in his eyes.
“Close. But the opposite.” Leila places them in front of her and says to the Oathlander. “These are my two boys. Jonah and Milo.”
They have both become shy and quiet in the presence of the Oathlander. Little Milo has pressed himself behind Leila’s leg. The ten-year-old Jonah had gone through a growth spurt recently and is almost a foot taller than his six-year-old brother. He’s been losing his baby fat too and is looking more like his father each day. Same curly auburn hair and narrow eyes.
“Don’t get too close,” I tell them. “He has an infectious disease.”
Their eyes widen, but they seem more curious than scared.
Leila rolls her eyes. “Don’t listen to your aunt. Tarin is safe. But he is new to our land and doesn’t know our ways.”
“Are you from the Kingdom?” Milo asks eagerly.
“I am from the Oathlands,” Tarin says .
Milo’s shoulders drop. He’s been going through a Kingdom phase for a while now, and loves the idea of princesses and princes living there. Like something out of a fairytale book.
But the older Jonah has perked up. “Are you magical, too? Everyone at the Oathlands is magical, right?”
“Not quite,” Tarin says with a smirk.
The boys look disappointed at that, and instantly I can see they’ve lost interest in the Oathlander.
“They might be boys,” Aldus says, “but they’ll tell you they are men fully grown. Ripe for the hunt already.”
Jonah scrunches his face. “I am a man. But not him. He’s still a baby.”
Milo nudges him and it looks like they’re about to have a shoving match until Leila pulls them apart.
“Come,” she says as she nudges them onward. “Let’s make some juice for our guest.”
They happily hop alongside her.
“Can I press the orangeberries?” Milo asks eagerly.
I catch Tarin’s eyes on me. Again. What does he want from me? I face him with my chin high, not backing down.
“You said ‘not quite’ when they asked about your magical heritage. Was that a yes or a no?” I ask.
“Why?” he says. “Are you magical?”
I pause, not wanting to answer that. I hate how he’s shut me up. What’s a witty retort?
“I just woke up recently,” Tarin adds before I can respond. “But I’m sure I have no innate magical ability.”
I spare a look at my father and am relieved when he doesn’t reveal our new abilities. At least he has some sense not to over share with the foreigner .
“So, you are in the military?” my father asks conversationally. “I don’t mean to pry, of course. Simply curious.”
“I was,” Tarin says, nodding. “Though I’m not sure what I’ll be when I return home.”
We stare at him.
After an awkward beat, he sighs and continues. “Forgive me, but it’s still hard to talk about.”
My father nods.
But I say, “Surely you could repay your life with a simple story, Oathlander.”
“Galene,” my father scolds.
But Tarin lifts a hand and says, “No, no. She’s… Galene is right.”
I cannot stop the goosebumps at the use of my name this time. I wish he would leave it out of his mouth.
“It’s not a very delightful story,” he says, “And I remember little of it. But… I was on a bridge when our lands were attacked, and it collapsed. I fell into the ravine below, and I must have washed up on your shores. Now I’m here.” I don’t believe a word of it. His arms are far too muscled for a simple soldier, and he’s too old to hold a basic rank. Unless he’s a simpleton. But I don’t believe that either.
“We heard of the attack on your land,” my father says. “Terrible business.”
“You seem fairly cut off from the rest of the world,” Tarin says. “How do you hear so much?”
“Our hunters sometimes see things from afar when they travel far enough. And we have a few traveling tradesmen from the north and south who enjoy sharing news.”
“Tradesmen from the north and south?” Tarin asks .
“From Syraxia in the north and Koprus in the south.”
“I didn’t think the Wildmen… Sorry, the Shanti People, had dealings with others.”
“Tradesmen have no borders, nor care for differences with others. A patron is a patron, and if you have coins to buy, or possessions to trade, then they are happy to deal with you.”
“The Oathlands wouldn’t know about that,” I say. “We heard you’ve fallen out of favor with most of the lands.” I can’t help the taunting smile I give him.
Something dark passes behind Tarin’s eyes. For a second, I think I’ve gone too far and have actually offended him. But he composes himself and is instantly back to his carefree self.
“I have a question,” he says to my father. “Why was Galene given the duty to watch over my recovery? It seems to me she would have just as likely sliced my throat in my sleep.”
Or perhaps not as carefree as I thought. I glare at him. “I would never.” And then add sweetly, “I would simply poison your tea.”
“Ignore her,” my father says, not even bothering with a scolding look this time. “She wouldn’t know where to find poison, anyway. The worst she’ll do is over-spice the tea. My daughter is young and untested. She is twenty and six and should have been wed and with child long ago. But she is stubborn and outspoken, and for some reason has yet to find a partner.”
He says this as if it is very, very clear why I haven’t yet done so. And it is. Simply put, I do not want one, so I make it to where no one will want me. “And so I have been giving her difficult Tasks lately. In our society, we complete Tasks to prove our worth to our people. Galene was given the Task of being responsible for you. To aid in your recovery and ensure you are not a threat to us.”
“Seems that you picked the right person for the Task,” Tarin says. He’s trying to get a rise out of me, but I won’t fall for it.
From the kitchen area in the corner, the boys and Leila are making a ruckus as they prepare the juices.
“A person does not choose their Tasks,” I say. “A Task chooses the person. Those who turn down their Tasks are not worthy of them, just as a person who does not complete a task isn’t worthy. It didn’t matter that I wished you were dead, Oathlander. I had something to prove.”
“We Shanti People complete many Tasks as we grow and mature,” my father adds. “To prove we are capable and useful members of our society.”
“What constitutes a Task?” Tarin asks.
I watch him closely, trying to understand what he’s thinking and what he is seeking with his questions. His dark eyes are very alert and show a keen, quiet intelligence.
“They can be anything from helping an elderly person, contributing to the building of a hut, harvesting crops, or even going on hunts,” my father says. “We grow up wanting to prove our strength and intelligence to everyone, to strive to be a valuable member of the tribe.”
“Admirable,” Tarin says. “The younger generations should work hard to be useful and strong. ”
I’m not sure if I like the two of them getting along. My father must be more than ten years older than Tarin, but they have the same old man energy.
Leila and the boys come back with cups that smell of freshly pressed juice. They hand one to each of us as Milo and Jonah argue over who pressed the most juice.
Tarin raises his cup to us. “You have my thanks. Without you, I would not be here.”
“You can thank us by leaving,” I say. Seeing the way my father narrows his eyes at me, I add, “Once you are healed, and in your own time, of course.”
“Galene,” Father admonishes. “You’re being rude.”
I shake my head, hating how I have to pander to this foreigner. “You know what,” I go on. “No. I’m not doing this.” Sharing a drink with this man is beyond my capacity. “How can you all ignore the fact that this man is an Oathlander? Mother would be ashamed of you.”
I get up and stride out of the hut, not looking back and ignoring their confused questions and murmurs.
As I walk away, I hear my father telling Tarin about my mother. That’s enough for me to pick up my pace and wipe moisture from my eyes. He’s going to be telling Tarin how my mother was killed by an Oathlander, over ten years ago. She was pregnant with my unborn brother at the time and was slaughtered by bandits from the Oathlands. Cut down like an animal.
And now we are treating this Oathlander like a beloved guest. I won’t have it. I won’t allow him to weasel his way in just to destroy everything I love.
There is no way I’m going to allow him to stay here.