Meet Shayell

When his stomach was empty he kept his hands on his needs, head down, spitting the taste of vomit from his mouth. He closed his eyes and waited for his breath to come even again. Sweat broke out behind his ears, along his collar bone. It wasn’t hot yet, but he wiped his forehead as he stood to keep the sweat out of his eyes.

                “Smut,” he whispered.

                “Matthew?”

                Matthew looked out along the creek to where the oaks became little groves huddled along the water, but he didn’t see anything.

                He turned to Micah. “Micah, would you put Kel away? I’ll, I’ll do this later.”

                Micah’s eyes were soft, “Of course.” He put the rake he carried in the manure cart with Matthew’s shovel.

                “I’m going for a walk up the creek.”

                Micah turned his head. “You’re not going inside?”

                Matthew shook his head. “I need to take a walk. Alone.”
                Micah ran his hand through is curls. “All right. Go ahead then, I’ll put him away.” Micah took the yoke, his eyes on his friend.

                “Would you see that they don’t come after me?”

                Micah cocked his head. “Reuben and your mother?”

                “Yes.”

                Micah hesitated, “Matthew… I can’t keep them from doing what they will,” he said, his brows furrowed, his gaze soft but steady on Matthew.

                “Please, Micah. I just need some time.” Matthew swallowed. He looked away from Micah’s stare and pressed his lips together.

                Micah reached out and put his hand on Matthew’s shoulder. Then Matthew had to look at him. “All right,” he said. “If that’s what you need.”

                Matthew put his hand on Micah’s outstretched arm and nodded.

 

                Matthew strode through the fields with more determination in his stride than usual. His eyes scanned the northern horizon from the line of oaks that marked the creek back toward the road to the village, Faren, but he didn’t see anything. It seemed the sun grew hotter every moment, and soon Matthew was walking with his hands clenched. He felt no cooler when he reached the shade of the oaks. He kept walking. He was quiet, listening, but he heard nothing except the quiet lapping of the water against the bank.  The creek was narrow here and deep, up to his shoulders in places, and it flowed under the heavy branches of the oaks in clear, calm pools. Matthew was about a mile from his house when he saw a fine black gelding untethered and grazing placidly in the shade. It sensed him and lifted its head.

                “Matthew?” Her voice was happy.

                He strode up and she stood from where she sat at the trunk of a great hoary oak. She was thin, tall, and dressed with quality. She wore tall leather riding boots, well oiled, and black leggings. Her tunic was deep blue and made of fine linen. It was long and hung almost to her knees and was belted in leather and bronze.  Her hair, golden-brown, was swept back into a round knot at the nape of her neck, and there was a small bronze pendant hanging from her neck in the shape of the sun.

                “Matthew!” She said again when she was him, her tanned face beaming with a smile. She had small features, bright gray eyes, and her skin was smooth and even. Her age was hard to tell; depending on the light she looked to be either a girl or a woman.

                Matthew didn’t respond until he came around the tree. Even this far away he didn’t want to be in the line of sight from his house.

                She came forward to take his hand, but he looked away and kept his hands at his sides. “What did you come for?”

                Her demeanor changed at the sound of his voice. Her eyes darkened. “I’m used to more respect than that,” she said evenly. “And I had hoped even for kindness.”

                Matthew sighed. “Hello Shayell.”

                “Hello, Matthew,” she stepped toward him and took his left hand. He let her. She clasped the scarred flesh in both of her hands and smiled. “It’s good to see you.”

                He felt her mind reach out, the fingers of her consciousness crept toward his own mind, but he shook his head physically, pulled his hands away, and closed off his thoughts. He looked her in the eyes so that she knew not to try again.

                “You cling too much to words, Matthew. You would understand me better if you let me speak to you without them.”

                “No.”

                “Your gift is one to be used, Matthew, not despised.”

                Matthew spat.

                At that her face changed and she studied him intently, searching the curves of his face. She stepped back from him and rested her back against the tree she had been sitting under. Her arms crossed. “You are in a mood,” she said, annoyed but not angry.

                “What did you come to tell me?” he asked.

                “Oh, I think you had better speak first,” she said. All the girlishness left her features and she was every bit a woman.

                They waited each other out. Finally Matthew groaned.

                “My father died two days ago,” he said. He was angry but calm and he looked at her steadily. “We buried him yesterday.”

                Instantly she he softened and her weight leaned into the trunk of the oak. In a moment her eyes were full and there were tears quietly falling down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Matthew.”

                He nodded. “My mind needs to be here now.”

                She nodded her agreement. “How did it happen?”

                Matthew closed his eyes and pressed his lips together. “It was… he got sick. He was perfectly healthy. Then he fell one day when we were working…”

                Matthew had seen him fall. There had been nothing special about it. They had been storing sacks of grain up in the hayloft. They’d just come back from the miller. Matthew had been on the ladder, and his father would hand him a sack from the cart and Matthew would pitch it up the rest of the way into the loft. They would stack them later. His father had been about to hand him another stack, when he paused, stumbled, and fell onto the dirt of the barn floor. That was the moment he left them. Matthew had jumped down from the ladder and turned his father over. His face was glazed, his body shaking strangely, and though it had taken him a few days to die, that day was the last day Matthew had really seen his father.

                “He died a few days later,” Matthew said.

                She didn’t say anything. Her tears streaked her smooth cheeks and she made no move to wipe them.

                “I’d like to know your business so I can get back,” Matthew said.

                She nodded. “My heart is broken for you, and for your family,” she said softly. “I’m sorry I was harsh before…” she hesitated, then wiped her eyes and took a breath. “I came to tell you it’s time for you to join us. We want you to come to Ryden, Matthew. It’s time you took your place.”

                Matthew couldn’t speak. He looked back at her as his face, pale already, drained of color.

                “I’ll come back in a month,” she said quickly. “I’ll tell the Twelve what has happened and they’ll be patient—”

                “I can’t go,” Matthew said quickly, “I can’t leave now. My father is dead. Who will take care of my mother and brother? It falls to me now. I’m not leaving.”

                She sighed. “I’ll come back in a month.”

                “Shayell,” he said raggedly. The fingers of his left hand were working unconsciously. “Tell them I can’t come.”

                She wiped her eyes to stem a fresh flow of tears and reached out to touch his shoulder. “Let me show you,” she said quietly.

                Matthew stiffened, but then he nodded and relaxed his mind. Her thoughts burst in upon him.

                Her mind was stronger than his, and her thoughts were so great that it was hard to keep hold of his own. He saw them—he saw the Twelve. Eleven women, waiting in Ryden, eleven women dressed regally and possessing the wisdom that led their country. But he felt it—he felt what they felt every day and Shayell pressed it in upon him: they were broken. They were eleven, not twelve, and they longed for completion and to be strong again. Waiting, always waiting since they day he was born, and now they were on the edge, and their need and longing for him overwhelmed Matthew like a wave from a broken dam. They stood on a balcony of the stronghold in Ryden, looking out toward the horizon in the direction of the farmlands, longing for him, feeling the power that he would bring. Their eyes were fixed, shining, looking for his coming.

                And then Shayell’s mind went deeper and she probed his own thoughts and he was not strong enough to stop her. The vision behind his eyes changed, and he saw himself, at night, awake in the loft when Reuben was asleep, his eyes open, thinking of the Twelve. Wondering… curious… the hint of desire. She knew his heart was split. Come home to us Matthew… it’s time.

                Then she withdrew. For a moment his mind was empty, blank, and then his own consciousness rushed back. That was always the strangest moment, as if he were meeting himself for the first time. But it lasted only an instant.

                Matthew gasped and shook a little at the shock of the transition. He covered his face with his good hand. “It’s not time,” he said quietly.

                “It’s not just for ourselves that we call you,” she said. “There is a time coming when the power of the Twelve will be needed again. But we’ll speak of that when I return.”

                He moved his hand and looked at her. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

                “I’m asking you to forsake all you know for a greater purpose, just as I did when I was young, and just as we all did.”

                “You had a choice.”

                She said nothing and walked to her horse. The animal was taller than her, but he put his nose to her shoulder gently and she stroked his neck. “Mourn your father, Matthew. Mourn him as he deserves, and we’ll speak when I return.”

                “I won’t go with you.”

                “We’ll speak of it then.”

                “Shayell—”

                “I can’t do whatever I’d like,” she said quickly as she turned toward him, her eyes brilliant with a layer of tears. “I am part of the Twelve and we serve Roaryn. We want your happiness, Matthew, but not at the cost of our country. If it meant only our own disappointment we’d let you live out your days here, but we must choose what is right for Roaryn. Rest now and I’ll be back.”

                “Can I have a year?” he asked quietly.

                She paused and studied him. His painfully blue eyes captivated her.

                “If I could have a year, then I’d have time to bring in a harvest with Reuben and do the planting again. He’d at least be sixteen. I don’t want to leave him before that.”

                She shook her head slowly. “I don’t think we have that much time.”

                “Will you ask them?”

                She sighed heavily. “I’ll ask. I’ll ask and I’ll be back in a month.”

                He looked down and nodded.

                “Matthew,” her hand went to his shoulder and she tipped his hat up so she could see his face. She was very close to him now. “Mourn your father now. If you let your grief make you sick and weak you’ll be no use to your family. Mourn for him as he deserves before the time passes.”

                Again he nodded.

                Slowly she withdrew, and her hand slipped from his shoulder gently. She mounted her horse fluidly and he at once was at attention. Matthew looked up at her one last time. Her face was serene and sad, the corners of her mouth tight. She put her hand over her heart to say goodbye. Then she rode away into the rising sun.

                Matthew leaned over to peer toward his home, but he saw nothing stirring. Then he sat down heavily against a tree trunk. He glanced at the fallow fields. They looked larger than usual and the ground was dry and hardened. He knew the roof on the house had to be patched up this year, and the buckwheat would be ripe soon. He’d have to negotiate price with the miller by himself this year. And the harvest. The harvest would be his task.

                His stomach growled audibly. He stood and readjusted his hat and brushed the dirt off his pants. He turned his head toward the road—already Shayell was making distance and her horse was growing smaller in the morning sun. His family would not be able to see her from the house. Matthew knelt down by the creek a moment, splashed his face with water, and then strode toward his home with the same deliberation as when he’d left.