Yasht to the waters of the sky: Chapter 10

Chapter 10: Pient

“The problem with peasants like you is that you have no idea what you're worth. You think you're worthless, so you are.” The galley was Djen's favorite place to blather. The others were stuck until they finished eating.

Djen loved to tell Pient he was just a farmer. That his only use in combat was to stand where the enemy wanted to be and make it inconvenient to be there. Of course, Pient was far from the only farmer there. He’d stepped in more than once to keep Djen from losing teeth. “Shut up Djen. Peasants are peasants. You're always saying how much better you are, right?”

“That is the one thing I've said you've taken to heart, is it? I am undoubtedly twice the man you are, Pient, but it's hardly a matter of breeding. It's a matter of money.” Djen rubbed his fingers together and arched his eyebrows. “You know, coins? That stuff you pay your taxes in.”

“I know what money is Djen. I'm not an idiot.”

Djen snorted into his gruel. “Well, this is the first I've heard of it. You seem to believe none of the world's affairs are any of your business, Pient, but what happens out there does effect you. If nothing else it turns a lovely walk through some formerly beautiful countryside into something rather less pleasant. You're here because you were mustered by men who thought you owed them your life. Did they birth you? Did they feed you? Did they ever do anything but take food out of your mouth?”

The room went silent. Pient leaned in, “Djen, you shouldn't. Not here. It's too—”

“No, Pient.” Djen gripped his spoon tightly, digging its handle into the wood of the table as he spoke. To Pient’s ears it seemed as if he were shouting. “The men that walk us to our deaths are not our betters.”

Pient winced as if slapped. He'd never seen Djen this worked up about anything before. “Djen—“

“They're just squatters.” Djen stood and pounded on the table, upending his gruel. “They're the sons of the sons of the sons of those who got to the good stuff first then set up all the rules to keep it that way.”

Pient looked around nervously. It was clear the squires had noticed Djen's tirade. “They're listening. You have to calm down.”

Djen seemed to realize where he was at last. He slumped back into his chair scraping up what gruel he could. When he spoke again it was barely audible, more to himself than to Pient. “I know, because I had that life. It's no coincidence that the money ran out just before I ended up here. As my father was fond of saying I’d sure as hell done nothing to deserve a life that fine.” His lowered tone hadn't been enough, though. The squires closed in.

Pient sat, slack jawed, as they dragged Djen away. No one saw him for a week after that.

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Pient came to slowly. The sky was a dull, fuzzy brown, and he was lying in a puddle. Or he was indoors and the roof was leaking. He rubbed his eyes and sat up in the bed slowly. His head pulsed with a dull ache and when he brought his hand up he found it had been bandaged. He was in a cot in the loft of a barn. Empty cots lined the wall to his left and right. His tunic and mail had been removed. Pient drew a sharp breath and grabbed at his neck. Pient had never been a religious man. The gods of his ancestors were so capricious that they were easier to fear than to love. He did have a token that his younger brother had found out in the woods one day, however. He’d seen ones like it on chains around noble necks. It was silver in the shape of either a crescent moon or bull’s horns, maybe both. Even if he'd never had a prayer answered the token was precious to him. He let out his breath as his hand closed around the familiar smooth arc and blunt points. His brother had given it to him on the day he'd been mustered. Pient found his tunic folded over a chair, mud stained but dry, and pulled it over his shift. He could tell it was dark outside, but the storm made it impossible to know what time it was.

"Hello?" His voice was swallowed by the sound of the rain and the barn door rhythmically rocking in the wind. There was a small table with a loaf of bread waiting. It was tougher than even he was used to, but he was hungry enough to eat it. Famished in fact. Parched too. There were several buckets on the floor to collect rainwater and he drank greedily. “Hello? Anyone?" Pient walked to the edge of the loft, peered over, then snapped his head back. Below, men moved in full armor with green Republican livery. The crown and the skull.

Men that had turned their backs on their lords. Ungrateful children. Godless, it was said. Free, it was whispered. Even a child could hear the excitement mixing with the terror in people's voices when they spoke of the Republic. It was the same way they spoke about the old gods, powerful but dangerous. With reverence born of ignorance and awe.

Pient weighed his options, turning the silver token over in his hands as he thought. There was no ladder that he could see. While he could drop from the loft and have a good chance to make it out the door, there were even odds he'd break a leg if he did it at speed. On the other hand, if he lowered himself down, there were guards posted by the doors with crossbows. Five or six more just milling about below as well. Then there was the field beyond the door. It had obviously been raining for some time, and it was a mess. There was no way he was getting far in that.

He didn't have many other options though. The loading doors were blocked by bales that he'd need tools to move, and there were no windows. He made his way carefully back to the edge of the loft and took a deep breath. Come on. Beats threshing grain, right? Pient stood and set himself to sprint just as a ladder thumped onto the loft. His heart sank. Of course they knew he was up here.

“If you're awake up there, I'd step back a bit. My friends down here will get a bead on you quick if you make a move on that ladder.” The voice spoke with a heavy accent, but Pient got the gist. Soon a helmeted head peeked up over the lip of the loft floor. “Ah. So you are awake. I'd appreciate if you continued to stay back, friend.”
Pient nodded and gestured with open hands. “You took my pike, and my mail. I'm hardly a threat to you.” Pient gestured to his chest. “Pient. You?”

The soldier was dressed in light mail with a green tabard. As they stepped into the light Pient noticed for the first time it was a woman. She was older, mid-forties at least, and she was missing an eye. “Aalis. My apologies for my terrible accent. I've been away from our people for quite some time.” She nodded toward the table. “I see you found the food we left you, and your clothes. How is your wound?”

Pient shook his head, “I'm fine.“ Are they kidding? He shouted past her to the ground below, “If you're so worried about me doing something violent, why not send a soldier instead of this camp follower?”

Aalis smirked as she stepped toward him, pulling a sword and backing him up against the back wall. “I'd watch your tone, boy. I'm in command here. I went through the effort of having you dragged here despite the colors you wear because I thought you might want a taste of what it is to not be a slave. Don't disappoint me.”

Pient nodded vigorously, the blade pressing deep into his flesh. Aalis nodded and sheathed her sword. “Good. Once the rain lets up we'll get back on the road. If you can keep up you can talk to the Patron about joining on a more permanent basis.” She smiled, broad and genuine, and held out her hand. “Welcome to the company of the Lily.”

Chapters 1-6 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapters-1-6

Chapter 7 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapter-7

Chapter 8 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapter-8

Chapter 9 - https://steemit.com/story/@fromage/yasht-to-the-waters-of-the-sky-chapter-9

Art copyright @veryspider.