ALYN FAIRCHILD

The Fairway Horse, the sign said.

It was a large vertical slab of wood, nailed to the right side of a post, with lettering of ground whiterock and a deep purple stain backing that came from the local grapes. For all the buildings that surrounded The Fairway, it seemed that the store’s owner was the only man who saw any business from passing travelers. As Alyn understood it, Rurik Baerun knew the way to get thrifty men to part with a handful of dane – that is to say - he offered drink in addition to beds. Baerun sat, scrubbing at an iron tankard and talking to Alyn from behind a long oak counter. Rurik’s son, Junior, sat nearby.

“Hot weather out there,” Rurik said.

“Yessir, it is,” Alyn said. He resisted the urge to look down at his favorite grey flax coat, which had no doubt brought on the comment. As was his custom in the summers, he’d left it open without a shirt on beneath. “Truly burnin’ out there. Kept me from going up the hill to ask about work as a farmhand.”

“I trust you still have a means to pay for that drink.”

“Course I do, you miser, and for the next four.”

Junior, who did not realize they were passing banter, flashed the stranger an insolent look. Neither of the adults noticed.

“If I’m going to tell the truth, I’ve got to say that it wasn’t the heat that kept me from asking on the work though,” Alyn said.

“Is that right,” Rurik said.

“Naw, it was the boy’s age. I ain’t seen someone so young with a deed before.” That was only half true. With the war in the south and the living conditions back home across the sea, many children were inheriting their fathers’ lands. Mae’sin was no longer a world for old men. The only difference about this farmer boy was that he was allowed to keep the land he owned. If this town was any farther south, looters would have come and killed him for it already. “Where abouts is his family?”

“That’s Peer Viljem,” Junior chimed in. Rurik gave the boy an easy look that sent him back into his own things.

“Peer’s mother passed almost five years ago, while working the farm. Sad story there.”

The migrant worker took a long drink from his tankard. “Anything that’ll help me get work from him?”

“There’s no need to have an angle if you’re just looking to get work on the Viljem Farm. The boy’s father cut and run only a year after his mother passed. He’s always short of workers and this town isn’t exactly along a trade route.”

“He’s got the family land, don’t he? Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Rurik put the clean tankard beside a row of identical ware. “Land is all he got. Ben Viljem took the family money with him and told his son that he’d get none of it unless he came too.”

“Peer didn’t go, though. Some of us ain’t wandering men,” spat Junior. Rurik raised an eyebrow at the boy.

“I think that’s the first positive thing I’ve heard you say about master Viljem.”

“So why didn’t he go?” Alyn asked.

“With Ben? Second brother, that man did a number on the boy. I’m sure there was bad blood between them. If it was me, I wouldn’t have gone with him either.”

“What’d he do, hit ‘em?”

“Nothing like that. Ben didn’t deal with his wife’s passing well. I’m told that he blamed the boy, and he had the boy convinced of the same. I’ve heard young Peer say that he killed his own mother. He said that vile thing at this very counter. No boy should have that on his conscience. Makes him troubled. He’s got a queer yearning to please people.”

Alyn shook his head, though he felt that he shook it stupidly as soon as he’d done it. The drink was taking hold.

“You know this Ben fellow?”

“He’s long gone. Went south around the mountains. If you’re looking for someone to brawl with, you’re going to have a long walk ahead of you.”

Alyn hacked a laugh. “I’ve walked longer to avoid a fight.”

He chuckled into his cup, amused with himself, but after a moment he thought about Amelia. This only brought on other memories of a life he’d known a dozen winters before, as if the pains were attached by a long thread of worn but unbreakable yarn. He shook his head, wondering how running home to Amelia could have sounded like a romantic gesture when he had pondered it that night laying down to sleep outside the captain’s bivouac. Fear dressed itself in strange colors to simple men.

“Another,” he said with a rushed breath.

Rurik nodded and went to tap another of the three kegs he had lined up in the Fairway’s backroom.

“I’ll have to see what I can’t do around that farm tomorrow, then,” Alyn said.

Junior sidled up to the man and hopped onto one of the tall chairs. An impish look masked his face.

“Don’t listen to Pa. The only thing wrong with Peer Viljem his busted head.”

“What, he hit it on something?”

“Naw, he was just born that way. It runs in their blood. They travelled across the ocean to get here and they will probably move along somewhere else within their lifetime. That’s the way of ramblin’ men.”

“Don’t like travelers around here, I see.”

“It’s not the natural way. People are meant to settle down. My family has been here for six generations.”

The words he spoke were no doubt the ones that Baerun senior said behind closed doors, when he and his son were alone and Rurik wasn’t trying to extract dane-pieces from customers with pleasant conversation.

“Besides,” Junior continued. “It don’t take a genius to see that the man ain’t all there.”

“You’re talking about Peer – if I’m following you,” Alyn said groggily. Junior nodded.

“He spends all day looking off over the edge of his property. Wants to go places, or maybe go after his old man. You can see it in his eyes. You’ll see when you go up there tomorrow to work. I’ll be there myself, with a few of my friends.”

“Viljem lets you run all about his fields?”

“Oh, everyone knows that you can ask skittish old Peer for anything. He ain’t never said no to anyone. Besides, his property is the closest we’re allowed to get to the edge of town.”

“Sure enough, sure enough,” the migrant worker turned toward the back room. “That drink coming soon?”

“I’ve got it right here,” Rurik said, emerging from the doorway. There was a loud clank as he dropped it on the counter.

“Looks a bit frothy to me.”

“Well if you know of somewhere else that’ll serve you drink in this town, you’re free to go there,” Rurik said, blank-faced. “But be sure you tell me who it is, so I can put them out of business tomorrow.”

Alyn had a laugh and began to tuck into his next tankard. A look from Rurik sent Junior running back to his corner, so that the adults could talk again. The migrant worker had tended toward a bawdy sense of humor the last two nights he’d gotten drunk in The Fairway Horse and Rurik had finally decided his son had heard enough of it. After three drinks and several terribly inappropriate jokes about a physicker, a midget, and a donkey; the night finally came to a close. When the migrant worker decided to take a bed upstairs, Rurik smiled.

“No chance you’ll forget you paid for the bed tomorrow?”

Alyn grinned stupidly and shook his head, but it the back of his mind he wasn’t entirely sure. A sly look passed over the inkeeper’s face, but Alyn ignored it. No doubt it had just been the drink.

It was a quick hot night, the sort that felt like bathing in warm water and had the taste of summer’s end. Of the three occupants of The Fairway Horse, only Alyn Fairchild had any trouble resting. His worries about employment drove him from bed early and sent him scurrying after a few tankards of water from the well out back. He hoped desperately that he would not look put under by the Fairway drinking.

The next morning, the migrant worker set about getting his things together and getting himself presentable to find work with the orphan farmer on the hill. Viljem Farm had a sad ring to it, he decided, as he pressed down the flaxy grey collar of his lucky coat. This time he had a nicely tended Mensir shirt on beneath it, despite the heat. He made his way downstairs and out the door, settled his debt with the snarky innkeeper, and headed out toward the distant farm. From the Oakhurst straightaway, he could see the tip of the Viljem residence cresting its ridge.

Junior appeared as if from the air beside him, waving quickly as he jogged off in that direction. It was only because of the bright look on the young boy’s face that he realized the aching skull the previous night’s drinking had gifted him. It was a slow walk across town.

There was an old ring of stones surrounding the farm when he arrived, and the crop seemed well into its growth. He could see a veritable ocean of golden wheat growing beyond the Viljem house. After a few moments of rehearsal he went up to knock, but there was no answer.

“If you looking for the farmer, he’s out back of the property,” a red-haired boy said. He’d jogged around the corner of the house giggling and watching his back for a pursuer. “You haven’t seen any of the other boys over here, have you? I don’t want to get caught.”

They sure don’t warn their children off of strangers out here, for all their hate of wandering, he thought to himself. A quick shake of the head was all the response he bothered to give to the child, before straightening his coat and making his way around the stone wall. The land seemed to fall off quickly beyond the boulders.

“Oh, you should watch your step,” a voice called to him. It’d come from a distance beyond. “The grass doesn’t seem treacherous, but it hides the occasional vein of whiterock. I’ve seen a few people trip and roll down the whole hill.”

“I’ll be alright,” Alyn responded. “You must be Mister Viljem.”

“Everyone in town calls me Peer.”

The migrant worker rounded the final corner and saw Peer, just as young as the day before. It was the farmer’s baby-face and straw-gold hair which gave the impression of a youth, Alyn decided. When all was said and done, the farmer had the build of a man and the worry lines around the eyes as well.

“Well, Peer, it looks like you might have a crop to pull in a few days here. Are you looking for hands, perchance?”

“I’m always looking for workers. Might want to take off that coat, though. It’ll get hot up here, despite the breeze.”

Alyn put his hands against the flaps of his garment possessively. “Eh, well whatever you like. When should I come by?”

Peer looked around himself, as if suddenly seeing the farm for the first time in a long while. One of the boys burst from the wheat and raced out of view.

“I don’t think I’ll have much work until tomorrow. You can come by then.”

Alyn straightened up. “Tommorow? Great, I’ll be by bright and early,” He hadn’t been expecting anything better than the end of the week. “Thank you Mister Viljem. Peer – I mean.”

Peer nodded. “We’re you up very late these last nights?”

“Er, not so late,” Alyn lied.

“That’s too bad. I was going to ask if you’d seen any lights on the edge of the forest out there.”

“The Esgradane?”

“Oh, I forgot you were a traveler. Most of the folk around here don’t bother to call any place by its true name. They only see one forest in their lives, why should it need any other name than ‘forest’?”

Alyn nodded. “I didn’t see any torches out there, sorry to say.”

Peer shook his head. “Must be my imagination. The property has a lot of gleams and glints in the dusk, it could have been anything.”

With a smile, Alyn Fairchild nodded and excused himself. It was awhile back to The Fairway Horse and he meant to do some perusing at the local shops if he was going to be staying for a while. He left the weary-looking youth to himself and began a trek back down the path. Such a successful morning might deserve an early drink.

Next Chapter: Flicker in the Darkness