Scribbled in Margins

By Forthright

They were sent into solitude, yet neither of them was ever truly alone.

Wrongfully accused of insulting a man of higher rank, a bright young man is banished to a remote post where he must stand watch over a signal fire. Batu isn't entirely alone, though. There's an orange-robed monk who checks in on him

• Language: English
• Publisher: Twinkle Press
• Release date: Apr 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781631230899

Book preview

Scribbled in Margins

A picture containing silhouette, light Description automatically generated

Songs of the Amaranthine, 9

Scribbled in Margins

Copyright © 2023 by FORTHRIGHT

ISBN: 978-1-63123-089-9

All Rights Reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or shared in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording, or any other—except for brief quotations in printed reviews, without the prior permission of the author. Which is a slightly more officious way of saying what I’ve always asked. Play fair. Be nice. But by all means, have fun! ::twinkle::

TWINKLE PRESS

FORTHWRITES.COM

because we find one another even if we weren’t looking

Table of Contents

Recruit

Tower

Footpath

Neighbor

Record

Double

Bitter

Cloven

Barter

Father

Sundial

Sleepless

Secret

Missing

Trouble

Eagle

Danger

Valley

Fluster

Sibling

Sister

Rhythm

Nestmate

Household

Offer

Midday

Barter

Flower

Eyrie

Chosen

Future

Recruit

In here, said the guard who’d challenged her at the gate. And then bowing to the front, he said, Sorry to interrupt, Mongo, sir. Looks like another runaway. Wants to join up.

Qara’s knees were knocking, but she did her best to stand tall and proud, as her big brother would have done. But her confidence fled when a silver-haired man rose smoothly, glided closer, and softly said, "There must be some mistake. Nobody wants this life."

The guard blandly said, This one thinks he does. Should we set him straight and turn him loose?

It was casually spoken, which surprised Qara. She’d thought commanding officers would bark orders and lowly guards would kowtow. These two gave every indication of being friends.

I’ll deal with the boy. Mongo took Qara by the chin in order to get a better look at her face. Back to your post, soldier.

Good luck, kid. Later, sir. And with a crooked smile, the guard bowed his way out.

Qara instantly wished him back.

Close as he was, she was looking directly into Mongo’s eyes, and they were the pale green of jade, cut through by slender pupils. Completely unnatural. Was he a demon?

Hmm. Mongo released her and stepped back. "What was so terrible that you thought seeking shelter in a crowd of rowdy, restless soldiers was a good idea? This is no place for someone like you."

I … I don’t know what you mean.

Yes, you do. He gestured in the vicinity of her face, gaze glinting. Who did that?

She cupped her hand over a bruise that still ached, where Father had tried to slap some sense into her. I … it doesn’t matter.

It does. There’s no excuse for mishandling children.

I’m not a child!

Yes, you are, he countered softly. You belong at home.

I can’t go back there.

Mongo hummed again, and his voice turned dangerous. Why not?

Qara clamped her mouth shut. This time, she was actually afraid for her father, who’d regretted the blow as soon as it fell. But he hadn’t backed down, and so she’d run.

"I’ll hear you out. I might be willing to help."

There was a lilt to his offer that probably should have terrified her. But … she calmed. Why? Was it a demon’s trick? Had she trapped herself by showing up at the gate with documents bearing her brother’s name?

The commanding officer softly asked, What happened, little girl?

So she was found out. What had given her away? With her hair shorn and the shapelessness of her rough clothes, she’d really thought she could pass as a man. Or a boy, at least. Grudgingly, Qara admitted, They were going to send me to Uncle. So I could become the bride of his wife’s brother. And he’s …. She shuddered and grimly added, I refused.

Mongo sighed and returned to his seat.

Qara was grateful to have some distance from him.

He shuffled distractedly through papers, then finally asked, How set are you?

I’d rather die than go back.

Waving that aside with a flick of his fingers, he said, "The help I can offer is meager. There’s a post opening up in the mountains to the north. I had planned … no matter. I’ll send you instead. You’d be safe, and you would earn … well, it’s a pittance. But it might be enough that you can make a better plan than this."

She bowed low and whispered her thanks.

What name shall I use on the transfer papers?

Batu.

Hmm. And what name should I offer to the night stars when I ask them to watch over you?

Unable to withhold her real name from someone who made her feel strangely safe, she whispered the truth. Qara.

Tower

Batu? Since when? I was told to expect an ornery old tough named Gansukh, said the weathered old man she found at the end of the long mountain trail.

Commander Mongo changed his mind at the last minute.

Dark eyes swept her up and down. What did an infant like you do to rate a post like this?

I’m not sure what do you mean.

He snorted. This is little better than a prison sentence.

Oh. Um. Qara made something up on the spot. My people became indentured. My service will help pay the debt.

I suppose you’re young and strong. But are you reliable? Jerking his chin toward the tower behind him, he said, This’s no work at all, but it’s a hard life.

All she could do was throw the old man’s words back in his face. I’m young. I’m strong.

He grunted. I’ll show you what to do.

The tower was squat and square, built in haste from local stone. At least, that’s the impression Qara got from the way daylight peeped through every tiny gap and crevice. Her new home was a low space at the tower’s base. The floor was uneven, since the ground sloped downhill. Inside, she picked out a jumble of storage baskets and a bed of matted straw and boughs with a rough blanket tossed to one side.

Not that you’ll spend much time here, warned the man. I hear they used to post two men—one for day, one for night. Musta been nice.

The significance of that statement took a moment to sink in. When do you sleep?

Sleep isn’t part of the job. You’ll have to do without plenty of comforts up here. He jabbed the toe of one boot into one of the storage baskets. Food storage. Army sends up a cartload from time to time, restocking and checking to make sure we’re not dead or gone. If you like this or that, you can ask for it. If you’re lucky, they’ll listen. If not, I hope you like lentils. Rice’s been gone for a few weeks now.

Qara lifted the lid on one of the bigger baskets. It was full of bottles.

Booze. It’s rough stuff, but you’ll be glad of it in winter. Warms the gut.

He led her back out and around to the tower’s southern face. All the undergrowth was cleared out here, and some effort had been made to terrace the slope. Even with autumn close upon them, enough produce remained for Qara to recognize it as a garden.

In a tone that was a touch shy, the old man said, Forage was scarce when I arrived six years back, but I added to this patch whenever I could. Protect it, and it’ll serve you well enough.

She touched the leaves of a fruiting shrub. I’ll treasure it.

His chest puffed out. If you set snares, you can bag the occasional bird. I don’t recommend bothering the wild sheep. I leave them be, and they leave my garden be.

Are there any dangers?

Oh, you’ll see snow leopards sometimes.

Qara waited for advice on dealing with