Salt (The Barbarians Book 1) Read online

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons, organizations, and/or events is purely coincidental.

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  Copyright © 2021 by EJ and Nathan Lowell

  Cover Art: EJ Lowell

  First Printing: August, 2021

  CHAPTER ONE

  Sukhetai

  * * *

  Sukhetai sat at his father's right side, hands curled on his knees, back straight and shoulders squared, as befitted a warrior. A posture that barely contained the irritation snapping in his chest like the low fire in the center of the circular ger. He measured his breathing as he waited for the door to open and their guests to arrive. To his left, his father, Baavgai, sat relaxed, laughing with Oyuun Kokotseg about something he hadn't bothered hearing. To his right sat his brother, Delgejin, shoulders hunched in and looking like he might fall asleep while the wise women made tea and conversation.

  Sukhetai nudged his brother’s arm. “Sit up straight.”

  Delgejin straightened his back with a shake of his head, as though to set it back on the right way. He glanced at Sukhetai with a little shrug. Sukhetai huffed, and turned his attention back to the wooden door of the oyuuns’ ger, listening to the winter wind flap its wings against the thick layers of felt and wood around them. Any minute now, they’d have company. Sour, bitter, angry company, if he were any judge of the situation.

  “Sukhetai, why the long face?” Baavgai clapped a hand on Sukhetai’s shoulder. “You’re going to scare our guests, glowering like that. We’re supposed to be welcoming them, not scaring them. They’re scared enough already.”

  Sukhetai looked at his father and did his best to cool his expression. From the way Baavgai’s graying beard twitched around his mouth, he assumed it hadn’t worked. In light of that, he frowned harder.

  “Father, we could have prevented this whole thing,” he said. “If you had just—”

  “No, Sukhetai.” Baavgai’s face fell, the shadows casting his face in harsh angles. “There is nothing we could have done.”

  Indignation raked ragged talons across Sukhetai’s chest. He blinked at his father, straightened up even more, and prepared a rebuttal. Baavgai cut him off with a raised hand.

  “There was no way we could have known. Those raiders came down too quickly and caught everyone unprepared.”

  “But we could have fought them back,” Sukhetai said. “I could have led a group out.”

  “Sukhetai...”

  “Father, I’m the First Rider. Is it not my duty to dispose of threats like that?”

  “No.” Baavgai’s eyes went hard. “It is your duty to protect your home, your herd, and your riders.”

  “But—”

  From behind the warchief, Oyuun Kokotseg leaned forward, a small smile nestled in her wrinkled, weathered face. She placed a hand on Baavgai’s sleeve and they both turned their attention to her. Sukhetai noticed the sudden quiet surrounding them. The other oyuuns had taken their seats around the east side of the fire. A few had their eyes closed and their heads tilted as though listening to music nobody else could hear.

  “They’re here, Warchief,” Kokotseg said.

  Someone knocked on the door. Sukhetai and his father both straightened up, as Kokotseg welcomed their guests in. One of their own opened the door and stood back, holding it for the newcomers. A family from out in the hills. They all looked haggard. The oldest woman pulled a toddler along at her side, followed by two men: one perhaps of an age with Baavgai, and one around Delgejin’s. They both wore scowls. The younger woman behind them paused at the door to thank whoever was holding it for them before stepping the rest of the way in. She was the one who had ridden out ahead and waved down Sukhetai and his father while they were out with their eagles. A brave girl.

  “Only five?” Delgejin whispered.

  “This is why I wanted to help them,” Sukhetai said.

  Baavgai shot him a glance but didn’t say anything as Oyuun Kokotseg raised her arms in welcome.

  “Welcome, friends,” she said. “Though your journey was rough and your situation challenging, we offer you peace and shelter. Would you take tea with us?”

  The older woman from the hill family bowed her head and smiled. “We would. Thank you, Oyuun.”

  They took places around the fire, and one of the younger of the wise women made the rounds with a kettle. While the two matriarchs shared tea and pleasantries, Sukhetai’s mind raced in circles like a fenced-in stallion. He kept thinking through how he could have ridden out with a dozen good fighters and either trampled or scared off the raiders before it came to this. The older woman’s sleeve was stained dark with blood in a band along her upper arm. The younger man had a cut across his cheek. The young woman stared at him across the fire like she expected him to jump to his feet and yell at her.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye drew Sukhetai’s attention. Delgejin’s hands fidgeted with the ends of his sleeves. Sukhetai rolled his eyes and tried not to sigh too loudly. If only his brother paid attention more.

  Hospitality served, Kokotseg settled herself and turned to the older woman. “Now then. Tell us what happened, Alaqa.”

  The whole hill family wilted in the face of the request, shrinking inward and looking away. Sukhetai once more paced around his own mind, wishing anyone had listened to him.

  “They must have been outsiders, Oyuun,” the older woman—Alaqa—said. “They flew no banner. About a dozen horsemen rode out from the southern valley and took us all by surprise.”

  “That’s what your daughter told us, too,” Baavgai said. “No banners? Are you sure?”

  “Yes, Warchief.” Alaqa looked up from the fire. “We should have seen them coming, but we didn’t.”

  Kokotseg shook her head. “You were the oldest woman there?”

  “Yes.” Alaqa’s eyes darkened. “And I have no gift, yet. My mother was late coming into her own as well.”

  “Nothing to be ashamed of, dear sister,” Kokotseg said. “The Change will come to you when you are ready and no sooner.”

  Sukhetai recognized the look of begrudging acceptance on Alaqa’s face. She looked like she should be old enough. Cracks around the edges of her eyes and a growing stripe of gray in the front of her hairline spoke of her age.

  Kokotseg looked to the other oyuuns and they nodded, agreeing to some unspoken question Sukhetai wasn’t privy to. She looked to Baavgai, and nodded at him, not so much in agreement as much as handing the room over.

  “If they flew no banner, we have no grounds to seek out justice,” Baavgai said. “All we can offer you now is welcome, food, shelter, and fresh clothes. We offer you hospitality in your time of darkness.”

  “We accept, Warchief,” Alaqa said, without hesitation.

  Baavgai nodded, a deep nod that meant the Law had been spoken. “Then we welcome you, family of the Doud Tahlkheer. We’ll see you settled in to your own ger and your belongings replaced as soon and as best as we can, but for now... is there any who would host Alaqa and her family?”

  One of the oyuuns stood and bowed. Baavgai nodded back, and Alaqa smiled. It looked brittle, from where Sukhetai was sitting.

  “Thank you, Oyuun,” Alaqa said.

  “May the All-Mother bring you some peace,” Kokotseg said.
>
  With that, the gathering dispersed. The oyuun who stood up ushered Alaqa and her family back outside, an arm around the older woman’s shoulders. A support against the cold and the pain of losing their home, perhaps. Sukhetai sat still and stared at the fire, holding his tongue while the other oyuuns followed them out.

  “You’re glowering again, Sukhetai,” Baavgai said.

  “Yes.” He turned the glower on his father. “What do you mean we have no grounds to seek justice?”

  Baavgai’s face shadowed over in a stoic glare, turning Sukhetai’s rage to ice that settled in the pit of his stomach. He shut his mouth and looked away. Delgejin’s hands fidgeted in the corner of his vision, and he glared at his brother. Delgejin paid no attention; his eyes were focused on the door.

  “We have no grounds because we cannot track riders with no banner,” Baavgai said. “If we go after one group of raiders but it turns out a different one was responsible, what do you think would happen?”

  The suggestion was reasonable, and Baavgai’s voice, calm. Still, Sukhetai fumed.

  “What if it was the Zhoon Uhls not flying a banner to avoid justice?” he asked.

  “They wouldn’t ride this far west in the middle of winter,” Delgejin said.

  Sukhetai glanced at his brother, somewhat surprised he’d spoken. Delgejin shrugged, and went back to slouching. Sukhetai straightened himself, ready to tell him to sit up again, but Baavgai’s hand on his shoulder interrupted him.

  “Someday you’ll be in my place,” the warchief said. “You will have to think about these things. Protection of our tribe doesn’t mean trampling any and all threats. It means deciding when we can seek justice, and when we would do the most good by not inviting more violence.”

  “I know.”

  He hadn’t meant to snap, but the words came rushing out before he could contain them. The ger went silent. Kokotseg leaned around Baavgai’s side to look at Sukhetai, eyebrows pinched and eyes wrinkled with concern. Baavgai sat back, but before he could respond, Sukhetai stood and stormed off around the east side of the ger and out the door.

  The wind blasting his face froze his anger. Sukhetai took a few long strides away from the big central ger, around the Doud Tahlkheer’s winter camp to where the horses milled about, nosing through the frost and picking away at what hardy ground cover remained even marginally green this time of year. He stopped just shy of the rope that marked off their section of land and crossed his arms. For a long while he watched them flick their tails and twitch their ears in silence. He tapped on his own sternum, willing the angry stallion in his chest to stop running off with his mind.

  “You’re not thinking of riding out anyway, are you?”

  Sukhetai turned as the strong, bright voice of his quiver bearer, Qara, cut through the wind. She strode up with a thick bundle of cloth in her arms and a knowing smirk on her face. Sukhetai glanced down at his sleeves and realized he shouldn’t have walked out into the cold in his lighter-weight deel. Qara thrust out her hands, and he recognized the thick hide and fur of a winter coat. He glowered at her, but took up the coat with a snap.

  “No, I’m not,” he said.

  “You’re welcome.” Qara crossed her arms while he shrugged into the coat. “Delgejin sent me out with it.”

  “Why didn’t he come out himself?” Sukhetai asked.

  “He had questions about the Law for your father.” Qara shrugged. “Besides, isn’t it supposed to be my job to carry around the things you forget about?”

  He didn’t bother to answer while he looped his belt around his waist, watching the horses instead of his second-in-command. A long silence drew out between them. Sukhetai had nothing to say, and he suspected she was waiting for him.

  “You were thinking about it,” she said.

  “What?” He glanced at her. “Thinking about what?”

  “Taking out a horse and raining arrows on whoever forced that family to come out here.” Qara raised her eyebrows at him. “Admit it.”

  Sukhetai frowned, but couldn’t find a response that wouldn’t make him sound petulant.

  “Someday that protective streak of yours will either be a great benefit to the tribe, or it’ll get someone killed.” Qara shrugged. “Maybe you.”

  “Qara, you’re my second. You ought to mind yourself.”

  “I’m still right, First Rider.” Qara turned and waved over her shoulder. “You ought to come help while there’s helping to be done, don’t you think?”

  She strode back into the camp, not waiting around for an answer. Sukhetai watched her go, scrambling to come up with something else to say before she was out of earshot. All too quickly his opportunity vanished, leaving him standing alone in the cold with the horses. At least he had his coat, now.

  Sukhetai turned back to watch the mares grazing. That suited him just fine. Distantly, he could hear some of the oyuuns singing, some voices strong, some reedy, all carrying on the wind while they worked. Most likely setting up another ger for the hill family.

  Eventually, the cold got to him. Sukhetai resigned himself to having to help and having to face his father after that outburst. He turned from the horses and stalked into the camp, toward the sounds of music.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tanan

  * * *

  Tanan heard the tower bells toll the hour and looked up from the mucky stall. Aliq must have heard them, too. He looked at Tanan, a wide-eyed panic painting his face.

  “Gods, I’m late again,” Tanan said, cursing himself for the pain to come.

  The stablemaster strode down the length of the barn, clouds on his face as he spotted Tanan. “Your highness? You’re still here?”

  “Sorry, Rasah,” Tanan ducked his head and scuttled out of the stall, practically running for the back door of the stable. He broke into the late afternoon sun and tried to brush the loose hay off his tunic. His boots squished unpleasantly against the clean walkway that led into the palace. With a curse he changed direction, heading directly for the laundry. With luck there’d be a fresh tunic and time for a fast bath before he had to sit at the table for dinner.

  He bolted through the laundry room door and started peeling off his tunic. “Arwarh, I need a bath immediately.”

  Arwarh looked up from his tally sheet and scowled at Tanan. “Your Highness, this is most unseemly.” He spread his arms to block Tanan. “Your boots, young prince. They’re leaving a trail.”

  Tanan glanced down and back, seeing the mucky footprints behind him. “Fetch a scullery maid. It’s just stable dirt. It’ll clean up.”

  “Young sir.” The voice snapped Tanan’s head around to the palace entrance.

  “Wazor,” Tanan said.

  “You are tardy again, young sir. I have a bath drawn for you in your rooms and fresh clothing awaits.” His stern visage, head tilted back, gave his teacher and mentor the hard-edged look of a stone outcropping waiting to fall on the road below, crushing the hapless traveler. In this case, Tanan.

  “Yes, Wazor.” He changed direction, skidding slightly on the slimy floor.

  “And stop right there.” Wazor held up his hand, rude palm flat out as if to block the prince. “Take off those boots and leave them here. Arwarh can have them burned. They’re no longer suitable for wearing in the palace, and no amount of cleaning will repair them.” He nodded to Arwarh who returned the nod with what looked like a small smile hidden in his dense beard.

  “You would have me walk barefoot in the palace?” Tanan asked, scandalized by the very notion that a member of the royal family would be seen in such a state.

  “You’ll not be seen,” Wazor said. “Your mother would prefer the relative cleanliness of your feet to the stable muck from your boots invading the small dining room.” He sniffed.

  Tanan tried to toe his boots off but failed. Lifting a leg to tug on the offending footwear, he lost balance and fell on his backside.

  Arwarh’s small smile translated to a wide-eyed horror, but Wazor shot him a curt shake of th
e head. “If you’d find a damp cloth, Arwarh. His highness will need to wipe his feet as well, I fear.”

  Arwarh nodded. “Of course, Teacher. At once.” He strode into a back room, perhaps as much to escape the scene between teacher and student as to seek the desired solution to a problem.

  “Now, young sir,” Wazor said. “You’ve been warned. Your father will be unhappy. Your mother will be unhappy. Are you unhappy?”

  “Yes, Wazor,” Tanan said, finally pulling his boot off. He put it aside and addressed the second. It took only a moment while safely seated to yank the ruined boot from his foot and place it beside its mate. They made a sad picture, limp and bedraggled and coated in a mixture of mud, manure, and straw. He sighed. They were his favorite boots.

  “Do not even think it, young sir,” Wazor said, planting his staff firmly in front of himself and leaning on it. “They cannot be allowed back in the palace. They offend the senses. You must learn that what you want has little bearing on the tasks you must do.”

  Tanan sighed. “Yes, Wazor. I understand.”

  “Do you, young sir? Do you understand the responsibilities you bear?”

  Tanan looked up at his frowning teacher, but before he could frame an appropriately scathing retort, Arwarh returned with a scullery maid. Tanan bolted to his feet, unwilling to be seen sitting on the floor like a commoner.

  The maid brought a small bowl of water and a cloth. She smiled shyly at him as she knelt at his feet. He lifted each foot in turn to give her access to the soles. Her hands were gentle against his skin. She kept looking up from under demurely lowered brows.

  He smiled back and forgot, for the moment, the peril he faced.

  Wazor sniffed and thumped his staff on the floor.

  The girl jerked as if his staff had struck her and hurried to finish her task, folding the soiled cloth into a ball in the bowl and slipping from the room without a backward glance.