Free Blood Seed: Coin of Rulve Book One by Veronica Dale

emptying the night-pot.”
    “I do too. My mother always fusses when I spill any, even a little.”
    They continued to discuss chores they particularly disliked until Etane suddenly jumped to his feet. “I’ve got to show you something. My dad likes to play Double-sides, and he won this most amazing horse. C’mon and see.” 
    Their route to his house took them past a lone black boulder that stood between the river and the edge of the fields. It was called The Palm, but Tarn said it had another, older name—the K’meen Arûk. The rock was about as high as a man’s waist, one stride long, and relatively flat. Nothing grew around it, and not even snakes would sun themselves on it. There was a depression on top where rainwater collected. As the water dried up, it left behind a reddish, foul-smelling slime. The three of them gave it wide berth.
    “My dad told me that rock is the palm of the Groper’s hand,” Etane said. “A long time ago, the priestess used to put eyes in there.”
    “Eyes!” Sheft wondered if he had heard aright.
    “People’s eyes,” Etane said with relish, “for the mist to eat. On certain nights the Groper still comes here, looking for eyes. Even though we have the Rites.”
    An uneasy feeling coiled through his spirikai. “What are these Rites?”
    “I’m not sure. We won’t find out ‘til we’re eighteen.” 
    Mariat, who had been holding her brother’s hand as they walked, now took Sheft’s. In spite of the foreboding that had settled over him, her little hand in his gave him a warm feeling. Someone had come to him, in trust, for protection.
    When they got to Etane’s house, a large man whose shirt bulged over his stomach was standing outside the barn, brushing down the biggest horse Sheft had ever seen. As they approached, the man turned to stare at him. Sheft tensed and lowered his eyes. 
    “We made a new friend, Dad,” Etane announced, and Mariat pulled Sheft forward. “See hosie,” she explained.
    Sheft glanced up to see the man’s grin. “Well, new friend. I’m Moro. This here ‘hosie’ is Surilla. Not the prettiest girl around, but a stronger plow-horse than any of the villagers own.” He ran his hand over the mare’s sleek brown neck. “This one’s actually going to earn us a few coppers. I’m going to rent her out for plowing. It’s time someone gives Delo’s ox a little competition.” He scratched his round chin and then told them a curious thing.
    “This mare can be guided with three magic words. If you want her to go left, you say eechareeva. Right is as , and forward is ista. Now isn’t that a marvel!” He set both boys on Surilla’s back—Mariat was too little—and let them try it out.
    Sheft was amazed. The mare was a wonderful beast and brought to his mind the mighty steeds pictured in the red book of tales. After Etane’s mother Ane made them lunch and had settled Mariat down for her nap, Sheft decided to show the book to Etane, even though he knew he shouldn’t. Books were valuable objects, so Riah kept it out of his reach on the mantle. It had a strange name: the Tajemnika . This meant, his mother said, “Regarding the Heart . ”
    Back at Sheft’s house, he dragged a chair over to the fireplace. First wiping his hands on his pants—fortunately so, for they left a grimy stain—he climbed up, retrieved the heavy book, and took it to the kitchen table. It was bound in thick, red leather, and contained not only stories, but also pictures. Etane’s mouth fell open in awe at the sight of them. 
    One showed a man standing with his back to a field in which children played among lacy-leaved flowers. The man looked sad, and the scene behind him was drawn in faint lines, as if the man were remembering a happier time, long gone. Could this man be one of those people whose cries the wind brought?
    The next page was covered by a complicated picture of many parts, done, amazingly, in colors. But it was a terrible picture. At the bottom a village