Pursued - Entire book

Chapter 47

Soon Klair and Bejja were sitting on one of the padded benches in the back of the shop while the crafters and clerks had returned to resume their work, tossing fugitive glances at the two. They sat opposite one another, studying each other. "You could have at least warned me that you were going to pass out. You gave me quite a fright."

"I thought since I was using magic more I wouldn't pass out any more," Klair admitted. He smiled, remembering the crowd of worried people surrounding him when he regained consciousness.

His old mentor gripped his shoulder. "I wondered if you were ever going to come back." Bejja reached up and tussled Klair's hair.

Just like he used to, Klair thought with a smile.

The man lowered his voice, looking away. "I've missed you."

Klair's heart warmed. "I missed our trips to the woods together. I never was able to sneak up on you."

"You just snuck up on my heart," Bejja admitted. He shifted on the cushioned bench. "I shamed Petta's elders once I learned they banned your mother and you once they learned what you were. They forgot how the Kapawn saved their soft-bellied hides." He looked at Klair. "The city sent out searchers trying to find you and bring you back."

"We saw them. Mother thought they were executioners."

Bejja sighed in disappointment. "How would she know?"

Klair closed his eyes briefly against the memory saying, "Some city elders wanted execution. As I recall, one lost a son during the Hurric war and blamed the Kapawn. He said Spawn were worse than fleas on a dog."

"That was Torass. He left Petta a year later," Bejja murmured.

"I wish we could have stayed. I wish—"

Bejja studied him. "What do you wish, Klair?"

Klair froze, what could he say? His heart pounded so fiercely it hurt as he clenched his fists. "To apprentice to you, if I may. I know you have bunches already, but I've practiced what you taught me. I'll – I'll do whatever you ask."

"But you're Kapawn." The man's gaze turned serious. "They'll expect you to join them."

Klair shook his head. "I won't. No matter what they say. Can I stay?"

"For how long?"

Klair's hands were shaking. I'm not afraid of him. I want him to say yes. I want... I promise never to use magic again.

Bejja studied Klair's distress and rested his hand on his shoulder. The act made Klair realize for the first time in his life that, Bejja had known what he was since the beginning. In his youth his mentor had played with Klair's black, shiny hair on a daily basis and still accepted and loved him.

"For my life," Klair answered.

The woodcrafter sighed with deep satisfaction, closing his eyes as if savoring Klair's words, finally opening them to meet Klair's gaze. Beeja was one of the few who would know what such an admission would cost him. "I've waited for your return. I knew you may not be able to come back until you were a man and, though just twelve, you promised you would return." He shifted in his seat, nodding.

"As you may have heard from Floren, I've never chosen an heir for the workshop, though I have powerful families of the city constantly apprenticing their sons and daughters under me."

Klair looked about the workshop, taking in the wide array of furniture, wooden bowls and figurines. He inhaled the rich mixture of wood scents and smiled contentedly. "You are one of the most successful businesses in Petta," he said. "Certainly you will want to retire someday, why ever not?"

"My chosen heir had to return home first."

"What chosen heir?" Klair looked about. "Certainly he or she would..." Klair looked back at his friend who was grinning at him. Klair stared at him until realization dawned and he grinned back, blushing. It didn't require knocks on wood to bind the contract.

The hugs exchanged between them were good enough.

*****

"You're late again," a feminine voice teased timidly, as Klair stared down at his assigned work bench. He had finished his first review of skills with Bejja and had been told to make whistles.

Looking up, the first thing Klair noticed was the girl's eyes. There were a vivid blue and fit well with her high cheek bones.

She smiled.

Her brunette hair was held back by a crown of tight braids with little sticks interlaced signifying her as a corded wood crafter. The length hung loosely down her back.

Klair looked down to straighten his shirt. The cloth was thin in spots and frayed. Klair threaded a hand nervously through his tousled hair and the shiny strands fell loosely about his shoulders. His uncorded hair...

She spoke as if she knew him, but he did not recognize her.

She seemed intent upon reminding him. "Master Bejja always had to remind you to be punctual when you first apprenticed, remember?" Then with more false bravado she said, "You would think after all these years you'd learn to be on time."

Who knew him four years ago besides Bejja?

"I've missed our tag games, but no more throwing my things in the river." She picked up one of his whistles and waved it at him.

Klair suddenly remembered. "Sticks?" Her real name was Rosla, but since childhood he'd always called her that.

She smiled.

He stared. When he had last seen her, she was a twelve year old girl once as thin as a rail. Now she was nicely, very nicely, proportioned. She was very pleasing to the eye.

She'd driven him crazy blowing her pesky dog whistle with his budding skills and enhanced hearing. One day, he'd found noise to be particularly annoying and finally grabbed the whistle from her and thrown it in a river. He hadn't seen her since... since seeing Bejja.

He broke into his own smile. He stared at her chest briefly. "You've grown up."

"You still owe me a whistle, you little thief." She countered with a grin

He opened his hands, palms forward. She was very pleasant to the eye. "I do," he admitted.

"O shards, you're not going to turn all civil on me now, are you?"

"You've changed."

"Why, because I've grown up?" She folded her arms over her ample bosom. "You boys are all alike."

Klair blushed.

Her eyes danced as she watched him, suddenly turning serious. "I was wondering if you were ever going to come back. What was I to do without my familiar pest?" They had played together in their youth. She had been very fast at tag. He remembered her giggles as they played hide and seek and she had been easy to find because of those giggles.

"I've missed you," Klair admitted with surprise.

She shook her head and made an exaggerated sigh. She stepped forward, her own gaze showing appreciation for what she saw. Though Klair's cloths were worn and he looked travel worn, he was filling out those clothes..

"Four years, Klair. That's far too long to make the old man wait. He missed you"

Bejja walked up to them grinning. "My two young culprits are reunited. Don't know if this shop will ever be calm again." Standing next to Bejja was another man, his second in command, Emson.

The other smiled a friendly welcome to Klair.

"We're going to market," Bejja announced, resting a hand on Klair's shoulder. "You need new clothes."

Klair looked down. With the multiple six-days of travel, the cloth around his knees and backside thinned to the point of almost being see through. His hair hung loose about his shoulders. Dust coated his boots. He must look a mess. He looked nervously over at Sticks. He'd forgotten her real name.

Her gaze did not reprimand his disheveled appearance, but shone with an old affection.

"Always the adventurer," she murmured.