Shaman's Crossing

After our meal, my uncle advised Spink and me to enjoy the library and do our studying, if we were so inclined. I was, and I brought out my books. Spink seized the opportunity to have Epiny guide him through my father’s journals to the sections that mentioned his father. She seemed to have an excellent memory, and found the entries quickly. Out of curiosity, I joined them for a time, but soon wearied of reading over Spink’s shoulder as Epiny pointed out passages. I went back to my schoolwork and rapidly completed two of my assignments.

Dinner that evening was again simple, “for the sake of our serving folk” my uncle said, but once more, far better than anything we had eaten at the Academy. Only the meat was served hot, but the cold fruit pies and whipped cream that finished the meal almost tempted me to overindulge. “Think what Gord would make of this!” I commented to Spink as I took a second slice.

“Gord?” Epiny instantly asked.

“A friend of ours at the Academy. One who is inclined to overindulge in food whenever he gets the opportunity.” Spink sighed. “I hope he is feeling better when we return. The last few days have been difficult for him.”

“How is that?” Uncle Sefert wanted to know.

We did the stupidest thing possible. Spink and I exchanged glances, and then neither of us spoke. I tried to find a truthful lie, but when one came to me (“He has not been feeling well!”) it was somehow too late to utter it. Epiny eyes shone with sudden interest when her father said mildly, “Perhaps we shall discuss your friend’s difficult days in my study after dinner.”

I think Epiny was as surprised as I when her father shut the door before she could follow us into the study. She had traipsed along behind us, apparently confident that she was to be included. Instead, just as she tried to enter, her father stepped to the door and said, “Good night and sleep well, Epiny. I will see you at breakfast tomorrow.” Then he simply closed the door. Spink looked shocked, but covered it well. My uncle went to his sideboard and poured a brandy for himself. After a pause in which he seemed to be considering it, he poured two very short shots for Spink and me also. He gestured us toward two chairs and took the settee for himself. Once we were settled, he looked directly at us and said, “Nevare, Spinrek, I think it’s time you told me whatever it is that you think you should not tell me.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, sir,” I said, trying to reassure him, but even as I said the words, guilt jabbed me. I had watched Spink and Trist fight and not reported them. Worse, I suspected that Lieutenant Tiber was being treated unfairly, and yet I had not spoken out. My uncle seemed to sense that things were amiss, for he kept his silence and waited. It startled me when Spink spoke.

“It’s hard to tell where to start, sir. But I think I would value your advice.” Spink spoke hesitantly, and glanced at me as if for permission.

My uncle read his look. “Speak freely, Spink. Honesty should never seek permission of anyone.”

I cast my eyes down before my uncle’s rebuke. I was reluctant for Spink to talk to my uncle, but there was nothing I could do about it now. With no embroidery or excuses, he told of his fight with Trist, and then went on to tell how we had gone to the infirmary to bring Gord back, and that we were sure that old noble cadets had been responsible for Gord’s beating. Somehow Gord’s tale meandered to include the bullying and humiliation at the beginning of the year, and the flag brawl and the culling that had followed it. When I did not bring up Tiber right away, Spink prompted me, saying, “And Nevare fears a worse injustice against a new noble cadet.”

I had to speak then. I began by saying that I had only suspicions and no real evidence. I saw my uncle scowl at that, and forced myself to recognize my words as a weakling’s excuse for keeping silent. Instead, he commented, “I know Lord Tiber of Old Thares, not well, but I do know he does not drink, nor did his father before him. I doubt that his soldier brother drinks, and hence I doubt that his son would. I may be wrong in this. But either Lieutenant Tiber has broken not only an Academy rule but also his family’s tradition, or he has been entrapped by falsehoods. It demands investigation. I am disappointed that you were not called on to tell what you knew before they took such an extreme disciplinary action against him. It must be rectified, Nevare. You know that.”

I bowed my head to that. I did know it, and there was a strange relief in hearing him say it. I expected him to rebuke both of us for breaking the honor code and advise us to turn in our resignations to the Academy. I knew I would have to obey him. Not only was he my uncle, he would only be saying aloud what I already knew was the most honorable course to pursue.