Deflecting Fate

By Matthew Ruehlen

There are times when you know what you need to do, and then there are times when you know only that you cannot allow things to continue as they are.

In a world dominated by jealous gods, scourged by an immortal menace, and riven by noblemen's wars, a couple has survived undaunted by building a life on the unbreakable rock of their relationship. But now Nancy has been laid low by illness, and Geoffrey finds himself cut adrift in a fast-changing world. When daughter Liza's first foray at independence tumbles out of control, the family finds itself in a desperate struggle to survive the end of summer.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Matthew Ruehlen
• Release date: Mar 2, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311256850

Book preview

Deflecting Fate

By Matthew Ruehlen

Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2014 Matthew A Ruehlen

Contents

Map of the Tonsan River Valley

Lost Opportunities

Forewarned

Initiation

Breaking Down

Going Under

Bending the Blade

Reflection

Limits

A Path in Sight

Confirmation

Something Ventured

Mad Dash

Time

Other Titles by this Author

Map of the Tonsan River Valley

Chapter 1 Lost Opportunities

Geoffrey, asked a boy standing between the thistles beside the lane, can only soldiers loot the dead, or can us kids get out there too? Jim says you’d know.

Geoffrey, startled upright from leaning his fence, looked down at the boy and his companion. It was the little orphan boy with the perpetually runny nose, standing next to one of the older orphans. Both looked up at him earnestly. The little one hooked a thumb at the line of oxcarts rumbling by. You know, he said, the battle.

You..., Geoffrey started and stopped. You stay away from that battle. What on earth put that thought into your heads?

The older boy said, Marcus’s cousin says that Causten pays his troops real good. And there’s hardly any camp followers ‘cause they’re all over in Westchester with King’s troops. And they come straight here from the Battle of the Peaks, so they couldn’t have spent it. He looked up at Geoffrey with a horrible eagerness in his little brown eyes. The dead ones are bound to have coin on ‘em if we get too ‘em soon enough! Your brother went west, didn’t he? Does he ever send word about the battles?

No! I mean, yes, David went overseas, but no, you don’t go near that battle. You listen to me good... He paused and looked at the boys, took in the dirt that caked their arms from gleaning the beet fields, the thinness of those arms, and the rags that only partially covered them.

Just listen up, he started again more quietly, battlefields are where the underworld opens up shop on earth. There’s demons of all stripes that stalk them--some real and some humans just pretending, but evil all the same. You stay as far from that battlefield as you can get. What would you do if you were kneeling there with your hand in some corpse’s pocket and the Morshrack appeared?

The boys’ eagerness seemed to fade a bit. The little one kicked a rock across the road and mumbled, Morshrack won’t come till they start to rot.

They’re probably diseased already. There’s bound to be some camp followers. Geoffrey took a deep breath, watched the heavy carts grind slowly by. Listen boys, don’t worry about such things. Tell you what, meet me at that lightning-struck tree by the Marshall place tomorrow morning, and I’ll take you through Semble Wood. I’ll bring you a cake each from Nancy, and two for the one who can name the most trees.

That brightened them up. Can you show me how to use a draw knife? asked the older boy.

Sure. Matter of fact, I’ll bring a few tools and we’ll make you some long-handled forks for gleaning.

The boys beamed. They bounded back up the lane and across the road, crawled through a hole in the hedge, and ran off across the field.

Geoffrey shook his head and moved over to sit on a barrel. He leaned back on his fence, stretched his arms out to either side along the top of it. He glanced over at Baldwin beside him. Were we like that? he asked.

No. But there’ve been wars pretty much non-stop since they were born. Just normal to them.

They resumed watching the spectacle of an army on the move. Provisioning the armies was bringing a lot of work for some, but how to get a shot at it? He looked down at the four barrels he was waiting to turn over to a customer. They comprised the total of the work he had found for the past week. He breathed deep and pushed the tension away, concentrating instead on the smell of the new-cut hay and the warmth of the sun on his shoulders.

How long do you suppose it’ll be before the bailiff rounds them up? asked Baldwin. That squatter’s camp they live in has already been there what...two years?

The orphans? Geoffrey shrugged. With the wars, the bailiff’s had bigger pigeons to pluck. But now that the King is scraping up all types for the tin mining... I’d wager they’ll conscript the lot of them when the fighting season ends. Bailiff’ll bring enough men to cordon off those woods and then send riders through to chase the squatters out like beaters driving boar onto the spears.

Having spoken of the woods, Geoffrey looked to the copse that straddled the ridge west of the village. The leaves were just beginning to change color. The variation in leaf color made it easy to pick out single trees in the forest even at a distance. Individuals stand out when times begin to change--when the easy days come to an end.

Baldwin’s deep voice interrupted his reverie. Still need much to pay those healers?

Geoffrey gestured at the barrels that stood along the fence. Payment for these will cover what I owe that last one. There’s talk in the village of a new healer who arrived in Westchester. They say he’s traveled in the West.

Baldwin looked over at him. Are they helping her?

Geoffrey didn’t answer for a moment and then kept his eyes on the road while he said, We’ll keep trying.

Baldwin moved over and sat on another of the barrels. They remained in companionable silence for a while. Geoffrey watched a shiny black ant rush across a barrel-top and over the rim to the topmost willow withy tight-wrapped around the barrel’s staves. The ant ran along the withy around the complete circumference of the barrel and then climbed down to the next withy and set out around the barrel again. Geoffrey wondered if the ant knew what it was searching for, or if it was just responding to an urge to keep going.

You ever regret not going with David? asked Baldwin.

Geoffrey looked up from the ant’s pointless circling. And die where-ever he did? Under an elephant’s foot at the battle of Ariteb? With a Shungun arrow in his throat? Or maybe when some cutpurse in the winding alley of a Capuan medina slit his throat for his combat pay? No, I don’t envy him.

Baldwin just grunted.

Geoffrey looked over at him. Why? You growing bored in your middle years?

Baldwin didn’t reply, but gestured at the road with his chin. Approaching the lane was a solidly-built monk on a mule-pulled dray, looking comically out of place in the long line of military carts. The monk turned the mule onto the lane to Geoffrey’s cottage and stopped it at the gate. He nodded to the men. Geoffrey. Baldwin. He wiped the sweat from his bald head. Scorcher today. You wouldn’t think summer was ending, would you?

Hello Brother, replied Geoffrey.

Geoffrey and Baldwin loaded the barrels onto the dray--leaving most of the heavy cart empty.

Baldwin pushed the barrels to the front of the dray, and said to Geoffrey, A couple of years ago you were stacking the barrels two-high on this thing.

The monk handed Geoffrey a few coins and shrugged apologetically. Even the Dancing Mule and Last Dram want the beer delivered in the new crockery now.

Geoffrey nodded and then gestured at the barrels. Who is the holdout still using these?

They’re just for our use, said the monk. "How is it