Pursued - Entire book

Chapter 49

"Tonight, we cord you," Bejja said as the two of them shooed customers from the shop and closed the doors and shutters. At the conclusion of the sixth six-day since joining Bejja. The shop closed early in spite of customer complaints.

Bejja was excited about the scented soaps now selling next to each change bowl.

As a child, Klair had apprenticed for three years under Bejja before eventually arriving at Merrsain with his mother. He was glad to be back again where he belonged. It felt like he and his mentor had never been apart. He'd come to resume his apprenticeship. He hadn't expected to actually inherit the shop.

With imagination, what other schemes could he come up with to benefit The Whistler?

Everything made of the wormwood except for an intricately carved chair were sold with customers clambering for more. The wormwood chair was named 'Klair's chair' except he refused to use it so Bejja took possession. They requested a second wagon of wormwood.

Bejja, being an elderly bachelor, had hired several women to cook for everyone in the shop. A large feast covered several tables lining the back yard. Though it was summer, a large fire pit was placed in the center of the yard and filled with simmering scented wood.

A flank of a gnu roasted over a second open pit next to the first, as Dorda, the chief cook, supervised the roasting meat.

Tables were littered with dishes nearly bursting with food. Some dishes had savory sauces with rice. Others contained breads, and deserts. There was a mix of cooked and crisp fruits and vegetables.

Klair's stomach rumbled in anticipation.

Rosla tugged affectionately at Klair's hair as they stood together in the change bowl area. It had become a favorite smooching spot. "They'll have to braid your hair tight because the cords will fall out otherwise with how fine your hair is." She reached up and kissed his nose. 'You know, you can stop dyeing it now."

She caressed his cheek. "You don't have to be a Strand any more. You haven't done any parlor tricks since you've come." She lowered her voice, "I want to see your natural hair."

"We could always put in some wood paste?" Klair invited.

"No, no and block the sheen it'd—" Sticks punched him once she realized he was teasing her again. She was all aglow under the attention directed at Klair.

He was led to the center of the yard. Dusk filled the sky and the fire's glow flickered against everyone's faces as they watched. Emson would do the actual cording with Bejja act as voice to the Heir ceremony.

Klair settled himself on a short bench.

"Tonight I acknowledge to all in this room that Klair is the inheritor of this shop and all my possessions upon my passing." Bejja's voice filled the yard. "As I never married, I wondered if I would be forever denied the chance to have a son." He rested gnarled fingers on Klair's shoulders.

Emson began weaving the cords into Klair's hair but had a hard time keeping them in place as they kept slipping out. Each craft hall had specific braid designs. Klair's would be unadorned braids until he fulfilled his apprenticeship. Once complete, his braids would contain pieces of wood dispersed amongst the weaves to represent his credentials as a fully-fledged wood crafter.

The audience chuckled at the man's difficulty.

Only when Klair placed an experienced finger in the necessary spots were the succession of braid and cord able to be completed. Various pieces of woods were interspersed amongst the cords and braids of hair.

Wish mother was here, Klair thought.

At the conclusion, Bejja himself tied the cords of each braid. Ignoring the knife, he neatly cut each thread with his teeth. That act was normally reserved between a biological father and son thus identifying the level of commitment between them.

Klair stood up.

I'm no longer a Wizard Spawn but a full norm. He had abandoned his inherited magic. Klair's biological father, Thorn, and his world, would never be a part of his life.

Klair embraced his now acknowledged father.

They feasted late into the night.

While preparing for bed, Klair performed his own private ceremony in the privacy of his room with a burning coal, the final act of severing himself from his past. Holding a stick between teeth to prevent any outcry he used use a pair of pliers to lift the hot coal from the heating plate. He pressed it against his belly button to sear away any markings which could identify his Kapawn father. He screamed past clenched teeth. The stick shattered under the pressure. After a long moment, he stood panting until he spat out the shards and pressed a cool cloth against his burnt skin.

Nallock told him Spawn relationships could be identified by the belly button. Not anymore, Klair thought.

He bandaged the new wound before going to bed.

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