The Pen and the Sword (Destiny's Crucible Book 2) (27 page)

Her
father had unwittingly fostered her independence. If she had had brothers, maybe
things would have been different, and she would have slid into more traditional
women’s roles. However, Hetman Keelan had no sons to train to take his place
when the day came to move on from Anyar and meet God. When it became apparent
that she was unusually bright, her father provided an education far beyond what
even sons would have had, and Maera quickly exhausted the initial tutor her
family provided. Her further education was by her own efforts and interactions
with scholastics, with whom she could carry on complicated discussions by her
eighth year.

She
had joked last night that many thought her a bitch. She spoke her mind and
didn’t acquiesce to others if she didn’t agree, especially to pompous men or
men who thought women should be seen and not heard. It also didn’t help that
she was far smarter than most men and more educated than all but the senior
scholastics. Even in those cases, while she might not know as much in their
specific fields, her breadth of knowledge was wide-ranging, especially about the
history of the Caedellium clans. By the time she had passed puberty, her father
found her keen observations of people, general knowledge, and analytic ability invaluable
assets to him.

Now,
lying in bed next to her new husband, she wondered, how would her life change
as a wife and when she became a mother? To be tied down with children for the
next few decades of her life was not something she eagerly anticipated. She
knew she would love her children, and she knew that there would be help from
staff hired by her family or Yozef. But she would never again have the level of
freedom to study or to be part of running the Keelan Clan the way she had been.
How would the pluses and minuses balance out? She didn’t know.

She
looked again at Yozef as he slept.
The sleep of the dead
, she thought.
Her mother always complained that men seemed able to sleep anywhere, as if the
world didn’t exist. Yozef looked that way now, his face relaxed, his breathing
deep and regular, his chest and abdomen rising and falling. Last night had been
. . . different. She knew that wasn’t the word she wanted but didn’t know of a
better one. He had been considerate, as she knew he’d be. Still, the first time
had been more painful than she’d expected, and she hadn’t had to pretend what
came out of her mouth. Regardless of what she’d told Yozef, the second and
third screams weren’t totally faked. She was sore now. Everyone said it faded
quickly and that only the first time was like this.

She’d
known what to expect. Women talked freely among themselves, and her mother had
spared no details. Neither had Anarynd. She and Ana whispered speculations
about what men and women did together when they were younger, and then Ana went
into great detail on the few occasions she experimented with this thing called
sex. Ana’s experience was limited, and she was circumspect on those occasions,
but she relayed every detail to Maera, including that while the first time
might not be pleasant, Ana’s few later experiences encouraged anticipating
marriage.

Yozef
turned. He’d be waking up soon. It was time for the last part of the ritual,
the new couple’s morning meal with the family. Maera sighed and stretched. Only
God knew the future, so she needed to remember to focus on today. She
remembered the
Word
saying,
“If you concern yourself with today, the
future will take care of itself.”
She sat up on the edge of the bed,
holding the cloth to her chest, and bounced a little to see if Yozef would
waken. Nothing. Stronger bounces elicited stirrings, and a third time led to an
eye opening.

“Ah,
you’re awake,” she said slyly.

“Did
I have a choice?” he groaned. “Isn’t it too early? We didn’t get to sleep until
late.”

“My,
my. Don’t tell me I exhausted you already?”

He
opened one eye and saw her smiling. He opened both eyes, blinked several times,
then rubbed at the corners. “As I remember, we’re due to a Keelan family
breakfast this morning. Am I to take it this is my alert to get ready?”

Maera
frowned. “This is important. Last night was the wedding, and today you formally
become a member of the Keelan family and myself as Maera Kolsko-Keelan for the
first time.”

“Kolsko-Keelan?
You’ll have a compound last name?”

“It’s
the custom for hetmen and boyermen’s daughters, though not always other clan
members. The compound name reminds everyone of the important linkages,
particularly in interclan marriages.”

He
still had not moved from under the cloth, so she pulled it off him and wrapped
it around herself.

“Okay,
I’m getting up.” Yozef sat up, then swung off the bed and onto his feet in a
single motion.

How
do men do that?
Maera thought.
Go so quickly from deep sleep to activity. Maybe it’s just
because they’re men and need to be ready to act quickly in case of danger? Then
why not women? Oh, well, another of those mysteries
.

Maera
went to the cottage door, opened it, and poked her head out. A young boy of
about nine was sitting on the front step and sprang to his feet when he heard
the door. “We’ll be there in ten minutes,” Maera said, and he dashed up the
path to the main house. She closed the door again.

“Come.
They’ll be ready for us, so we need to dress.”

She
went to a wall from which a series of racks held two piles of clothing and
shoes. For Yozef, she put his attire on the bed: a pair of brown trousers, a
plain white shirt, and shoes. Next to her sat a pile with a white shift, a long
green plain dress, and slipper shoes.

There
was an awkward moment—one she hadn’t anticipated. Where would she dress?

Yozef
read her mind. Softly, he said, “Wife, there’s nothing I didn’t see last
night.” He rose and dressed.

After
hesitating, Maera shed her robe and pulled the shift and the dress over her
head and shoulders. Yozef made no pretense of not watching, and although she
overtly ignored him, the rise in color made it plain she was aware of his
scrutiny.

When
dressed, she looked at him almost defiantly. “Are we ready?”

“One
custom of my people is that married couples sometimes hold hands while they
walk together.”

Maera
was unsure until Yozef added, “It’s a sign of affection and indicates the two
are side by side and not one ahead of the other.”

With
that explanation, Maera took his hand, and they walked to the manor house. The
main parlor had been turned into a dining hall. Waiting for them were two long
tables along the length of the room and a small cross table at the head with
four places set—two already occupied by Maera’s parents.

Yozef
chuckled.
I guess it doesn’t take rocket science to figure out where we’re
supposed to sit.

They
sat looking at forty to fifty faces staring back at them, Maera’s family and
prominent clan members attending the wedding. Yozef had been resigned to hearing
more crude comments, but everyone was a model of decorum. Culich Keelan rose
and raised a glass.

“Today
we welcome into our family and clan a new member and the husband of my daughter,
Maera Keelan, who is now Maera Kolsko-Keelan.” With that, he downed the contents,
followed by a unison “Welcome,” and thud, as the roomful of glass bottoms hit
the tables.

Maera
had cued Yozef on what was coming, so he joined her in rising and raising their
glasses and, with a “To Clan Keelan, may it prosper in God’s grace,” downed the
contents. Applause and offerings of congratulations concluded the formal
custom.

For
the next two hours, courses were brought in, and Yozef ate until he thought he
would explode. He was thankful that the toast was the only alcohol. Kava, the
coffee substitute, cleared his head, and he kept eating at a steady pace, as
seemingly everyone in the room came to personally congratulate them and
converse for a few minutes. By the end, he lost track of who was who or what
they were saying. What he did grasp was his acceptance into the family and clan,
perhaps a semi-honorary member, since he married in, although
in
nevertheless.

At
mid-morning, the wedding breakfast finally came to an end. Culich rose, this
time to thank the guests and send them on their way. Some would be heading home
immediately and others spending the night before a longer homeward trip the
next day. A few of the family’s closest relatives would stay various lengths of
time at the main house, in cottages on the grounds, or elsewhere. The final
part of the wedding was sending off the married couple to the bride’s new home.
Since there was no Caedellium custom similar to a “honeymoon,” Yozef had had to
explain it to Maera and her mother. She had run interference for them with
Culich, who still had not quite accepted that they wouldn’t be living in
Caernford. Culich’s initial proposal had been that he would provide a house for
them near the manor. Yozef had politely but firmly declined, saying that his
working shops were in Abersford, and it would be more efficient to live there.
There had been a mildly heated discussion following this, resulting in a
compromise that they would live at Abersford until Maera became great enough
with their first child, and then they would revisit moving to the capital.
Yozef had no intention of moving. Maera thought she could eventually convince
Yozef but sided with her father that the first child be born at the clan’s
center.

It
took another two hours for Yozef and Maera to extricate themselves from
well-wishes and tearful goodbyes from her mother and sisters. Even Culich had
damp eyes by the time Carnigan drove the carriage from the manor, accompanied
by two wagons of Maera’s possessions and wedding gifts, eight outriders, and
two matched riding horses gifted by an uncle.

Honeymoon,
West of Abersford

He
didn’t know why he woke up. They had gone to sleep early, both Maera and the
covers providing him with warmth against the night chill. He remembered
drifting off, then he was awake, lifting his head to find the digital clock
that didn’t exist. One more thing he’d never experience again, but habits
remained.

He
lay in the darkness, listening to Maera’s breathing, faint under the sound of
the wind and the rain that had moved in before dusk, accompanied by intense
bands of lightning. Sometimes steady drops hit the window, and at other times the
sound was a heavy drum, as an overladen cloud emptied its cargo. The wind ebbed
and flowed like a heartbeat, whistling through cracks in the walls.

Yozef
had always loved wind and rain. He remembered the stormier winters in Berkeley
and nights similar to this, where he awoke next to Julie. What was her life
like now? He hoped she’d moved on after the shock of his “death.” Was she
married? Children? Child? They’d discovered her pregnancy before he left for
the trip to the chemistry conference in Chicago. Did she keep the baby? Was it
a boy or a girl? He’d missed her terribly the first months, then time slowly
moved on, and the wound turned to a scar, a remembrance of what had been.

Maera
shifting in the bed brought his mind back to her. Without a light and with the
storm covering the stars and the moons, the room was black, but he could
imagine her. Bright, inquisitive, more attractive than she recognized, fiercely
loyal to her family and, he hoped, to him.

He
folded away part of the covers, letting in some of the cold, moist air that
came with the storm, careful not to wake Maera. The cold was good, too. Then,
just about when the cold got uncomfortable, he folded back the cover and drifted
off, warmed up again, lulled by the rhythm of wind, rain, heartbeats, and two
breaths.

When
his breathing was regular, with a slight snore, Maera opened her eyes. She
hadn’t been asleep. The storm wasn’t comforting for her as for him, one of the
many things to learn about her husband. Things that rarely seemed
understandable. Like now. She found heavy storms threatening. No storm ever
shook her family’s manor, where outside sounds were faint, even in the worst
conditions.

And
why
would
she have such experiences? Weren’t they something to avoid? To
endure but not seek out? Yet Yozef did more than endure, he sought them out.
That evening he’d stood on the porch, protected from the worst of the rain but
exposed to the wind and the cold, the thunder shaking the overhang. He came
back inside exhilarated. Did he feel a kinship with such elements? When she
asked about it, he said,
Feeling the forces of nature is like getting a
glimpse of the power of God.
She hadn’t thought of him as a devout man. He
attended abbey services and was respectful but didn’t talk about the beliefs of
his people, another of the many topics he skirted around when pressed.

She
had been dubious about the “honeymoon.” She understood making time for a new
husband and wife to know each other better, but why isolate themselves in this
one-room cottage? And with no servants? They hadn’t seen another soul for more
than a sixday, and they’d be here another three days. The first few days she’d
felt ill at ease with only the two of them. They’d talked more than in all of their
time together since she’d left Abersford, with enough details and anecdotes
about families that Maera felt she “knew” his family, even though they’d never
meet. She also knew more about his studies, his aspirations to help the people
of Keelan, his worries about the Narthani, and his fear during the raid on St.
Sidryn’s.

At
first, hearing the latter made her uneasy. Few Caedelli men, especially those
close to a hetman’s family, would ever admit fear. Yozef had. Flashing unbidden
through her mind was the question of whether her husband was a coward. No, both
Carnigan and Denes Vegga spoke not only of his insight on how to save the
abbey, but also of how he took part in the fight. She didn’t believe Carnigan
and Vegga would think highly of a coward.

Yozef
simply made honest assessments of the way things were. Maera didn’t doubt most
Caedelli men were afraid during a fight, although they’d never admit it as
easily as Yozef did. He took it for granted that one should be afraid.

 
So,
who’s braver?
she thought.
The man who’s afraid and won’t admit it, or
the man who’s afraid, admits it, and still fights?

Another
example to caution herself when making judgments about her husband.

She
snuggled up next to him. The covers were warm enough, but his body next to hers
was beginning to be . . . safe? No, not just safe, something else. Drifting off
to sleep, she smiled when she remembered the first couple of days. They found
the cottage well stocked with food, kerosene, bedding, and everything Diera
could think of for their two sixdays, though no one to prepare the food for
them. At home, her mother had insisted on occasionally preparing meals, and her
daughters would join in, except for Maera, who would always be too busy. Maera
never understood her mother’s interest in cooking.

This
was different. They prepared the meals themselves, and although Maera initially
proved virtually useless, Yozef was more than competent. It was only one more
item to hang on the confusing tree of Yozef’s being. To her surprise, by the
third day she found herself relaxed and even enjoyed working with him to ready
the food they ate. She mainly assisted under his direction, but she learned
fast.

More
striking was that she found that when they made the meal and ate together, it
was almost . . . sensual. While she knew the food they prepared wasn’t
extraordinary, somehow fresh bread she kneaded herself tasted better than any
she had ever experienced. Logically, she knew it wasn’t true, but there it was,
anyway.

Sharing
a bed with a man would also take time to adjust to. Sleeping occasionally with
younger sisters was one thing. A
man
seemed wrong at first, though less
so each night. She needed even more adjusting to a man touching her everywhere.
Not that it didn’t feel good at times, and she was determined to do her duty to
her husband. He hadn’t pushed his rights the first night after they’d arrived
in Abersford or the second night at the cottage. He said it was out of concern
for her to recover from their first night together. She had been relieved, disappointed,
and confused. Her brief wondering whether he might not find her appealing was
assuaged the next night, most nights thereafter, and, for the first time,
yesterday morning. Her
duty
wasn’t as bad as her misgivings, and she
wondered if, as other women had whispered to her, she would come to enjoy it as
much as her husband obviously did. Time would tell.

Their
days were “planned doing nothing,” as Yozef paradoxically termed it. Not that
they did nothing. They walked along the beach every day. Maera ran in the surf as
they had that day at Abersford and with more abandon than since childhood. They
swam in the little cove below the cottage. The water was calm and not too cold,
once you immersed. Yozef swam like a fish, but for her swimming had been in
quiet ponds, not ocean surf. While initially she was hesitant to get into water
over her head, he was solicitous and hovered nearby until she became more
confident.

They
played—silly games in the water, while walking, in the cottage. Who could count
the most seagulls, the loser doing the meal cleanup. Not that it made any
difference, because they did everything together. They taught each other songs.
She didn’t understand what “doing the hokey pokey” meant, but the lilt of the
tune, the word cadence, and the silly dance were addictive.

She
didn’t want to live this way forever, although she began to see why Yozef was
attracted to
getting away
. It surprised her during last night’s meal when
a hint of regret seeped into her thoughts about them leaving in three days.
What might seem a frivolity to most people, she now wondered if brief times
away might be healthy and might make the person more effective when he returned
to the real world. She wondered whether her father could use such time and knew
he would only look at her askance if she suggested it.

Strange.
I understand even better than before why people use the word for Yozef. I
should know, because they’ve often thought that of me. Now that I’m married to
Yozef, will I take on some of
his
strangeness? It’s odd that the
thought doesn’t bother me
. She smiled again before drifting off.
Maybe
being married to Yozef will make me appear to others as less odd?

A
New House

 Their
arrival back in Abersford revived the events the honeymoon had only delayed—a
special Godsday service, a formal reception attended by several hundred,
individual invitations for dinner with prominent citizens of Abersford, and
endless stops for congratulations wherever they went. It took most of a month
before the attention abated, and they settled into their new routine.

As
expected, a new house was one of Maera’s first major impacts when they returned
from the honeymoon. Yozef had been satisfied with his small house. As long as
he had a place to eat and sleep and enough room to write, he was content.
Adding Maera didn’t translate into merely adding more rooms. As Filtin
Fuller
had cautioned, Maera had ideas.
Yozef could easily afford to build
whatever Maera wanted, although her father insisted the Keelan hetman had to be
generous with the newly married couple. Yozef wisely didn’t argue, particularly
when Maera and her father presented a united front. The house of Yozef Kolsko,
wealthy entrepreneur and mysterious man of new knowledge, and Maera
Kolsko-Keelan, wife of Yozef and eldest daughter of Hetman Keelan, required a
substantial home. Not as grand as her parents’ manor, but well beyond Yozef’s
cottage.

At
first, Maera planned to import designers and workers from Caernford, but at
Yozef’s urging, she met with Dyfeld Fuller and she agreed he was competent
enough for the task. Her first few ideas about the design of house were
grandiose. During one session, as she leaned over a diagram of her latest idea,
Dyfeld looked at Yozef and rolled his eyes. Yozef suppressed a laugh and shook
a warning at the elder craftsman. Over time, Dyfeld understood best what Maera
wanted, and the final design was an elegant, good-sized house, comfortable
rooms, high ceilings, and many double-paned windows, a suggestion of Yozef’s
that Dyfeld had grasped the advantages of and improved on.

At
first, Maera assumed the original house would serve for guests; then Yozef declared
they would build separate guest quarters, with the original house reserved for
the Faughns. Maera was dubious about giving such a nice house to servants, and
Brak was his usual gruff self, ever suspicious of charity. Yozef told the
Faughns his intent was a logical step, because, as their employer moved up to a
grandeur house, the most important servants also must have better quarters.
Maera’s doubts disappeared when Elian broke into tears, and Brak’s objections
were silenced with a stern look from Yozef and a nod to Elian’s response. The
old man looked at his wife, and his visage softened. Yozef wasn’t sure he
didn’t see a trace of moisture, and, with a bow and thanks to their employer,
the Faughns promised ever more diligent service to justify such fine housing.

The
new house would sit just downslope from the cottage and likewise face the sea.
A large veranda allowed sitting and viewing on three sides, with a screen of
transplanted eight-foot trees providing privacy from the Faughns’ new home.
Inside, a dining room separated a generous parlor from the kitchen, three
bedrooms provided for themselves and guests, and each of them had a workroom.
Yozef was constantly griping about his work areas being crowded, so was pleased
to find his new workroom would be the size of the old cottage, with windows on
two sides, built-in bookcases, and lockable cabinets covering two walls.

Maera
Finds Her Place

Yozef
wasn’t surprised by Maera’s usurpation of planning the new house. While he knew
she could be assertive, it was his first time on the receiving end, and he was
happy to let her free him from involvement. Moreover, once the house was
completed, he acknowledged to himself and to Maera, and to anyone who asked,
that she had a better eye for their requirements than he did.

However,
the house was only a preamble for Maera, the inveterate organizer. Once they settled
the major issues of the house, she shifted focus to target number two—Yozef’s
daily schedules. As his enterprises grew, he went from one urgent issue to
another. Between working with the various craftsmen, going to meetings, and doing
his writing, no day was without too many tasks. Maera brought a sense of order
similar to how she functioned for her father. Yozef at first chaffed but quickly
came to appreciate having an “assistant.” First, more got done. She kept track
of progress and interleaved times better than Yozef’s seat-of-his-pants
scheduling, and it pleased his workers to have his regular attention, instead
of waiting for a crisis.