Abhorrent Practices - Book 1

Chapter 7.1 - Downtime (Scene 1: Dreams and Memories)

It was two days since the Jennie Seaholme had left Brael, and Alyss had still shown little sign of life. For two days she lay on her cot tossing and turning, drenched in sweat. Drifting back and forth between sleeping and waking, she shivered, trapped in a world where her memories frayed at the edges and bled into dreams; dreams of a day on Grielle, the sun warm on her bare arms. She was thirteen years old, and her father had just told her she was going to be married.

Solly and Maybell, the two mulkets which pulled her father's wagon, were grazing nearby, the air heavy with their low, sonorous moans. Behind them, her mother was crouched under the wagon, checking its three axles for signs of wear. The wagon had been Alyss's home her entire life. Twenty-five feet long and covered with brightly painted images of the night sky, Alyss thought it was the most beautiful wagon on the whole island.

She'd heard her father's horse before she saw it, its breathing heavy, its hooves drumming against the soft ground of the meadowlands where the caravan had chosen to camp. She'd dropped the box of beets she'd been taking to the mulkets, and had run to meet him, shaking her wild black hair free from her embroidered shawl.

Her father had leapt from his horse and swept her up in his huge arms. He'd hugged her close, his full, black beard a prickly cushion against her cheek, his hair still sticky with sweat from the two days' ride back from the Clansmeet. Then he'd placed both his giant hands on her shoulders, and told her the news. It had all been arranged.

As it was every year, the Clansmeet was attended by all fifty of the Griellean clan leaders. The order of business was always the same. For three days the leaders sat and haggled over which part of the island's infrastructure each of them would maintain during the next Dry Season. There was much bluster and grandstanding but, in truth, the negotiations were largely symbolic, and the allocated responsibilities changed little from one year to the next. The real business of the Clansmeet was conducted at night.

When the formal proceedings drew to a close, the leaders would meet in each other's tents. Over many glasses of Griellean peach brandy, they took the opportunity to reminisce, to settle old disputes and to forge new alliances. And the best way to forge a new alliance, they knew, was to arrange a marriage.

"Did Grandmother like the horses, dad?"

Grandmother was the title traditionally bestowed upon the eldest, wisest and most influential of the Griellean clan leaders. Alyss had only ever known one. Vixel, the wily old leader of Clan Merivel, had been named Grandmother long before Alyss was even born.

"She liked them very much," her father beamed, delighting in the look of excitement in his young daughter's eyes. The tiny stars that flecked Alyss's large black pupils sparkled in shifting shades of silver and gold. "I told her you'd picked them out yourself, and she was very impressed!"

Vixel had a reputation for being a tough old bird. Under her leadership, Clan Merivel had grown from a small caravan of a dozen wagons to become the strongest on the island. Alyss's best friend Junyss had said that Vixel's caravan now comprised more than two hundred wagons, but that may not have been true. Junyss said a lot of things!

Alyss had helped her father prepare for the Clansmeet, and had chosen the gift he should present to Vixel: two superb piebald horses, white and chestnut brown; fast enough to ride, strong enough to pull a wagon, and young enough to breed. On Grielle, very few things were prized as highly as a horse. There was a saying among the clans: a wagon without a horse was just a neatly arranged pile of kindling.

Alyss basked in her father's look of approval, impatient for him to continue.

"And ...?"

Her father sighed and took her hands in his. Alyss noticed how large and calloused his hands were compared to her own slim, delicate fingers.