In the beginning, there was naught but Time and the creator. And from this nothingness, the creator wrought time and a choir to sing the ages by. And the creator’s choir brought spangled light to the nothingness. On this, the creator smiled.

It came to pass as the creator’s new-wrought wheel did turn, that some among the choir sang not with the others. And so, as a reward to those that sang true, the creator did bestow upon them Names. On this, the creator smiled.

But it came to pass that among those who did sing a song not to the creator’s liking, there arose individuals who did desire Names. Thus, did they presume to name themselves and their kind, and on this, the creator frowned. But he cast not these rebels from him, but kept them near, to watch them.

And it came to pass that among those Named and those that named themselves, there arose a great quarrel. From the very chaos of that quarrel, there arose a pattern. Seeing that their quarrel had brought about this new thing, both sides did rest and watch as the creator did put his hand upon the pattern and give it his blessing. And the creator did Name that pattern Har. On this, the creator smiled.

And it came to pass that the creator set his broken choir upon the earth of Har and he Named then Tong and told them that they might forge Har as they would. And the Tong did set about to make that which might please the creator. And did Jagaroth pull together the clouds and so seed them with the rain and the snow that they might each fall in their time to coax life from the dry earth. And did Stephnos forge a great ball of fire to hang above Har and coax life forth from the darkness. And did Mihhalel encompass Har with a will to seek Justice and what was right. And did Gotheyn seed the earth with chance and Luck, that things might progress the way they might. And did Argaoth temper the rage of instinct with Truth. And so, each Tong in turn did help to cover Har with lakes and streams and oceans and did break up the barren land with things of green that burst with life. And in the air and water and on land and in the trees did they sew the seeds of life. On this, the creator smiled.

And it came to pass that all creatures great and small did crawl, fly and swim forth. On this, the creator smiled.

But it came to pass that those who had named themselves did find access to Har and did pervert what the creator loved with twisted parodies of his Tong’s creations. And a darkness did follow the light and for a time, there was great chaos upon Har, as the creatures of those who had named themselves did seek to destroy those that had been the creation of the creator’s favored Tong.

And it came to pass that on Har, there came a balance between the creatures that did seethe with darkness and the creatures that did glow with light. But from that balance arose a group of creatures that sought to live apart from the others, and the limits of their abilities were beyond that of any creature yet seen. And the creatures were capable of goodness almost like that of the Tong. On this, the creator smiled.

But it came to pass that some of these creatures were capable of darkness rivaling that of those who had named themselves, and again, there arose a balance. And the creator watched with interest.

An old woman sits quietly in her rocking chair, creaking back and forth, arhythmically, as though she forgets the chair’s purpose now and again. Her hair is long and braided many times, though her hands are so frail looking it is apparent she could never have braided it herself. She sits, staring deep into the Winternight fires, oblivious to the smattering of conversation in the room, priests bustling about here and there, and two large dogs snoring silently by the hearth.

"I know of fires," she murmurs, and her eyes mist in remembrance. "I know of fires that burn the heart and the mind as well as the body—or did once. Now I only know the fire in my aged joints. Ka once asked why we had to have adventures. Then, I told her it was the will of the Tong. Now I know that it is so we remember what it is to live." She seems to be speaking to the fire alone, but the bustle and hum of the room dies away as those that know her gather near. They know that though she is not a bard, she has hundreds of stories to tell, and this is how she always begins…

The first thing I remember is a soft voice, singing a lullaby.

I never knew what came after that, because that was about how long it took me to fall asleep. I always wondered what a looking glass was. I thought it must be some sort of special jar made of the purest glass and a little bit of magic. I was sure that it was made to hold dreams, that my Ma would catch them while I slept, so that I could see them during the day. I never wanted one, though. I was afraid that if I kept my dreams somewhere other than my head, the container would break and my dreams would be lost.

As I grew older, I was given more freedom. I used to stand in the empty tavern in the late afternoons and watch the shadows play on the walls. I remember the time between closing and bed, as Ma and Da cleaned the kitchen. My brothers would clean the back rooms and carry out the last guests, and I would wash the floor and tables.

They were almost as big as I was, those tables, of a thick, age darkened wood polished smooth and shiny. The grooves of many an idle knife had marred the surfaces with the names of ships and women—some in elegantly and lovingly detailed script, and others, harsh gashes of anger in the wood. There were dents from many a slammed down frothy stein before a fight erupted, and cracks from being upturned in brawls, but they were beautiful to me. While I was still waitressing (after my own fashion), those tables taught me to read. "What’s that?" I would ask, pointing to a fresh carving. The customer would chuckle softly and his eyes would grow distant, or he would turn away to hide teary eyes, and then a marvelous tale would pour forth. I would hear about the ship that never sank or the most beautiful woman a man ever had to leave behind. Sometimes, they were happy tales, most often sad. I would stare at that new carving, memorizing its shape and what the word meant, and the story that went with its deep grooves. Those tables were a vast library of tales to me, each story held by one word.

The wooden floor was scuffed and scraped by hundreds of boots, and stained with blood and ale and vomit. But those stains disappeared in the flickering firelight each evening, as the great stone hearth crackled with warmth and the sconces on the walls were lit with candles. The walls were made of huge, smooth stones that my brothers gleefully told me had split many a skull. I was always ushered quickly from the room when voices began to rise, so I never knew if what they said was true.

Ma was very protective of me, and hated the fact that Da used me as a waitress. I don’t know why Ma didn’t just tell him no. She was not a large woman, but she could hold her own against Da. Still, I had my use and Da put me to it. I refused to be called a serving wench. I knew they served more than ale and stew. I was sent to the temple before I was ‘elevated’ to that status.

Long ago, Ma had cropped her red hair short and she wore dark colors that flattered her pale complexion. Even after bearing four children, her small frame remained lean and lithe. Even as her hair grayed, her turned up nose and sparkling eyes made her seem a much younger woman. Her diminutive size belied her temper and strong will, however. Those she could not beat in strength, she could outwit. It was no wonder I grew up a tomboy. Ma told jokes that could make the roughest men blush to the tips of their ears.

Da was a large round man who had once boasted a head of shining black hair. Later, only a few tufts remained above his ears, and his scalp shone like the smooth stones in the walls. He was a shrewd man with an eye for profit, and while Ma entertained the custom with her liveliness, they knew they could turn to Da to talk business. He often helped finance shipping deals and he offered financial advice…for a price. This is not to say that he lacked humor. I can remember his great round belly shaking with laughter at a well told joke now and again.

Artae, my oldest brother, who was destined to inherit the tavern, was much like Ma, lean and lithe, though he sported Da’s dark complexion and hair. He wore a thin mustache, which he claimed made him look older and more sophisticated, but which I thought made him look unkempt. Inheriting Ma’s turned up nose and bright eyes only served to make him look rat-like, but he was as shrewd as Da in business and as witty and entertaining as Ma. Everyone liked him, and his career was promising.

Kayle, the brother who would be a soldier, had Da’s frame minus a few pounds, heavy eyebrows, and was working on a thick black bushy beard. He always helped Da break up brawls and would sit near the tables of fighting men, be they guards, mercenaries, or the King’s soldiers, and listen to their gory tales of glory. In the streets, he sparred with his friends and usually won. He looked up to Artae, wishing he could be as good with numbers, but strength was his gift. He never picked on anyone smaller than himself, and he spent a lot of time keeping me out of trouble and protecting Trieve from the repercussions of his sharp tongue.

Trieve, my little brother, the future fisherman, inherited Ma’s complexion, pale and freckled, and her red hair, but claimed Da’s rounded features. He spent a lot of time on the wharf and usually came home dripping wet, carrying a basket of fresh fish for dinner. Bull-headed, he was, street-wise and hot-tempered. He had a biting wit and a wharf-woman’s tongue. He swore like a sailor, despite his young age and the fact that Ma’s soap practically lived in his mouth.

Besides the main taproom, there was the kitchen, our living rooms upstairs, a gaming room, and several back rooms for private affairs—either business or pleasure. Everything fades in my memory, though, except for those tables. I haven’t been home but once since I was nine. Many long years have erased the finer details of my family’s faces, the rooms of our home…their home. All I have left is my religion and myself.

"Tobien, wait up!" cried the girl, her long hair streaming out behind her as she ran. "Tobien!"

The brown-haired boy, who was breaking away slowly, laughed and bent, putting on an extra burst of speed. Glancing back, he saw his friend fall behind, then slow to a stop in frustration as he continued to outdistance her. After a moment, he stopped, too.

"They’re not coming, Tobien," she said, frowning.

"Good," he said. He retraced his steps down the alley to her side. "Bret," he admonished, you have to be more discrete next time. You aren’t someone that’s easy to forget, with that hair." He pulled out the candied apple that he’d been hiding beneath his shirt. Wiping the sticky sauce away with a dirty hand, he took a huge bite of the treat. Likewise, Brethinn pulled an apple from beneath her shirt, and the two children plopped down against the side of the building. "Really, I don’t think you’re going to make it in this line of work." Tobien shook his head. "You try so hard not to be noticed that they see you. And you just don’t run fast enough. And you always do that damned guilt thing, afterward."

"Tobien, I wish you wouldn’t swear."

"There’s that, too…you’re just too…too good."

"Too good?" she asked laughing.

"Too nice, I should say," said Tobias. "You’re better off working at your father’s tavern."

"That’s just what I’m afraid of, Tobias," said the blonde-haired girl. "I don’t want to be a tavern wench. It’s not my style."

"What is?" asked the boy with a laugh. "Brethinn, you’re a different breed." The two conspirators finished their stolen apples and returned to the city streets. Waving goodbye, Brethinn wound her way back to the wharf, and to the Boar’s Head. In the dimly lit room, she plopped down at one of the dark-wooded tables, licking her still-sticky fingers.

"Hey, Squeak," said one of the serving girls, coming over to sit down by the small, blonde girl. She brushed her knuckles across Brethinn’s sticky cheek. The other girl was older by about eight years, but those eight years had weighed heavily upon her. Turning her tired eyes to the eight-year-old beside her, she smiled. "I see you’ve been out with Tobien again. You’d best clean up before your Ma finds out. She’s in a terrible snit today. Trieve was already off at the wharf fightin’ while you were a-posed to be watchin’ him. You’re a-posed to keep that boy in line, you know. An’ what do you do but go off apple-stealin’ with that guttermouse?"

"Aneda, please," said Brethinn, wrinkling her brow. "You won’t tell Ma, right?"

Aneda brushed her dark hair back from her face and laughed. "Not if you smuggled me an apple, too, Squeak."

Brethinn grinned and pulled two more apples from beneath her shirt. Aneda laughed again.

"And here, I thought you’d gone and blossomed," she said as Brethinn’s shirt fell limp against her chest. The two girls giggled as they devoured the sticky treats. Then, Aneda led the golden-haired girl to the kitchen and doused her with water.

Bethan and Mari entered the kitchen from the alleyway, giggling. They each took one look at Brethinn and Aneda and laughed all the harder.

"Runs in the family, don’t it?" asked Bethan.

"What’s that?" asked Brethinn, curious.

"Look outside, Squeak," said Mari. Brethinn scrambled out of the stewpot and out the door. Aneda set about washing the pot. Out in the alley, Brethinn saw Trieve, dripping wet.

"Ta-da!" he cried, flinging his arms wide when he saw her. "Hiya, Bret. I did got dunked."

Shaking her head, Brethinn grabbed a dishtowel and started drying off her younger brother.

"What was it, this time?" she asked.

Trieve laughed. "I did called Markus a fish-faced bitch-dog. Then he and Lon did pushed me in. I did catched us a good fish, though." He showed off his prize. "Markus did tried to take it from me," he explained. "That’s why he is a fish-faced bitch-dog son of a…"

"That’s enough, Trieve," warned Aneda, coming out of the kitchen. "You two go change. You’re parents’ll be home from market soon enough. And I for one don’t care to have them angry."

Brethinn hit her brother on the back of the head as they climbed the stairs to their rooms. "You swear too much," she said.

Not too much later, the children heard their parents arrive with Brethinn’s older brothers, Kayle and Artae, in tow. They unloaded their packages and Arban set about cooking the meat. After a moment, he sniffed it, suspiciously.

"Aneda," he called. Nervously, she stepped into the kitchen. "Aneda, can you tell me why the cookpot smells like candied apples?" The dark-haired girl looked frightened. Brethinn watched from the kitchen doorway. That’s when the guilt hit her. Suddenly, she burst into the room and grabbed her father’s leg.

"Da, it was me. It’s my fault. Don’t send her away!" she cried.

Arban looked down at his daughter, then back at Aneda. He waved the older girl away, and picked up his daughter.

"And just what have you done?" he asked.

The whole story poured out of her: how she and Tobien had stolen candied apples from Merchant Colhan, how they’d planned to share them with Elnie, Jerath and Tem, how their plans had changed when Colhan caught them, how they ran and hid and finally, how Aneda bathed her in the stewpot. Then, for good measure, she told him about forgetting to keep an eye on Trieve and his run-in with Markus and Lon.

"Yeah, Da," piped up Trieve from the doorway, "Kayle’d be proud of the bruise I did left on Lon’s chin, for sure. I did catched us a fish."

Arban sighed and called his wife, who was busily attacking the common room with a broom, directing Mari and Bethan and their wash cloths. "Katreen!" She continued to make the rounds of the floor with her broom. "Kat!"

The small, red-haired woman stopped her vigorous sweeping. "What?" she asked.

"Kat, what are we going to do with our daughter?" asked Arban.

"What do you mean?" asked Katreen, absently. "The same thing we do with her, every night. She’ll serve drinks."

"No, I mean…" Arban fumbled for a moment. "She was out with Tobien again, stealing apples. She forgot to watch Trieve again and he got into another fight with Markus."

"Ma, you should have seen it," piped up Trieve. A reddish purple bruise was darkening on his cheek. "I did whacked Markus in the ear and almost did him in! I did catched us a fish, too."

"Brethinn is completely lacking in responsibility, despite everything we’ve done." Arban sighed and lowered his voice. "At this rate, she’ll end up no better off than Aneda and the others."

Kat lay down her broom and grasped her daughter by the arms. "Brethinn, what are you thinking? Why do you do these things?" asked her mother. The little girl was silent. "What are we going to do with you?" When she received no answer, Kat stood and looked her husband in the eye. "Well, there’s nothing for it. She needs more discipline than we can afford her. This life is fine for raising good strong boys, but a tavern is no place for a young woman." Mari and Bethan looked at each other. "Tomorrow, we’re taking her to the temple."

Brethinn wondered what the Tong would have in store for her.

The next day, Katreen put on her best dress and led her daughter up the steps of the huge temple of the sun Tong. In the sanctuary, there was a huge, domed ceiling with a mosaic of the sun in the center. Around the edge were various pastoral scenes of men and beasts paying homage to Stephnos. At various places within the sanctuary, people had stopped to pray, some on rugs, some on the bare stone, some with candles, some bearing offerings to the gold-encrusted altar.

Brethinn looked around in awe as her mother spoke with a priest. Soon, her mother turned to leave, and Brethinn turned to follow. A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned around to see the priest looking down at her with a sad smile.

"My name is Father Naldo," he said in a deep, rumbling voice. "Welcome to the Order of the Sun Tong. May I show you to your room?"

"My room?" asked Brethinn. "I know where it is. Upstairs at the Boar’s Head…"

"No, my child," said Father Naldo, shaking his head. "Your room is in the abbey behind the temple. You are to become a servant of Stephnos."

Brethinn thought that she understood. "Is it so much harder than serving ale?" she asked.

Father Naldo laughed. "Sometimes," he said. "I’ll show you to your room, and then perhaps I can tell you a story?"

"What about Ma?" asked the little girl, staring at the huge wooden doors of the temple. "I’ll be late getting home."

Father Naldo chuckled again. "You are home, my child."

Brethinn started to protest, but something in his expression told her that he was right. "Call me Squeak," she said.

"Why Squeak?" asked the priest, confused.

"Because I’m a little guttermouse," said Brethinn with a grin.

Father Naldo shook his head. "Daughter…" He trailed off. "Follow me to your room…Squeak."

Brethinn’s first evening in the temple had been a lonely one. After she had been fitted with a white acolyte’s robe and plain sandals for her bare feet, Father Naldo had shown her to her room and apologetically left her to her own devices. Dinner was over and many had returned to their studies until evening prayers. The wealthy children who attended the school merely for intellectual whimsy were dressed in their colorful rich silks and refused to speak to a tavern-born guttermouse. The white-robed acolytes and novice-priests were too absorbed in their respective servential and educational tasks to make time for her other than a quick nod and a welcoming smile as they hurried past on some urgent errand.

Fearing to approach the priests who seemed so holy and remote—other than Father Naldo, who had so unfortunately disappeared—Brethinn decided to wander the gardens. She lost herself in the awe of so much space without buildings or streets. She had seen glimpses of the gardens from the temple, the few times her family had gone to worship on feast days and at the turning of the seasons, but she had never realized how expansive they were.

Soon, she heard the bells being rung in the four towers around the temple dome. She saw others in the distance, migrating towards the temple, so she followed. She joined them, filing into the sanctuary and joined the neat, kneeling rows facing the west wall. The congregation prayed, and one of the Elders spoke in sermon. There was a hymn, to which Brethinn only listened, as she didn’t know the words. Then, everyone filed out and returned to their rooms to sleep.

Brethinn lay in the darkness, staring at the empty bed across the room from her. Someone would fill it, soon, she was sure, either an older acolyte to set her a good example, or another initiate. For now, however, she was alone. And it was quiet.

Da was not in the next room snoring, nor her brothers in her own. So quiet. No vagrant mutt was scrounging in the alley outside her window. There was no alley—only silent gardens, two floors below. No yowling cats or drunken carolers sang her to sleep. It was definitely too quiet.

Except for a strange scrabbling at the window. Brethinn picked up a sandal and prepared to battle a rat. It served her right for leaving the window open. She moved stealthily closer to the window and, as a dark-haired head with glistening eyes poked over the sill, she gave it a good swat with the sandal. Instead of an enraged squeak, however, there was a soft grunt.

"Ow," said the rat.

"Ow?" asked Brethinn. She stepped back from the window.

The rat shook. "Ow. Yeah, Bret. That’s what someone says when they get whanged about the ears with a shoe. Now stop gawping and help me in. I can’t hold much longer."

"Tobien!" shouted Brethinn happily, running back to the window to peer down at her friend.

"Shut up, Bret," snapped Tobien, glancing around nervously. "’Less you want ‘em to find me?"

Brethinn bit back her sharp reply and silently reached her hand over the sill to haul her friend through the window. She didn’t dare light a candle, for fear of discovery, so they sat in the darkness and talked in a desperate hush.

"So, this is where they got you caged up," said Tobien. "Nice an’ homey-like, eh?"

Brethinn nodded. "And quieter than dead fish. How did you find me?"

Tobien puffed with pride. "I got connexins, Bret." He grinned. "An’ they got my honest word that no one knows who they are. Not even you." Brethinn scowled. "Trieve misses you already," continued Tobien, changing the subject. "Kayle won’t let him down at the docks near as much as you did. Then, I s’pose that’s what got you here, eh?" Brethinn continued to scowl in silence. Tobien sighed. "Look, Bret, I didn’t come here to fight. I jus’ wanted to make sure you were all right. Me an’ the gang can sure sneak you out any time, if you’re no good, here, eh?"

Brethinn smiled. "I’m all right, so far, Tobien. ‘ Course, what would I do if I left? You always like to remind me what a bad thief I am. Should I go work in a tavern?" It was Tobien’s turn to scowl. "That’s part of the reason I’m here. It’s just what my parents didn’t want, but I’m almost of age. I could pull off thieving til then, I guess. But I wouldn’t like it. I wouldn’t like tavern work, either."

"I would hope not!" exclaimed Tobien. "You’re too good for that, Bret." He frowned as he thought a moment. "I dunno. We’d figure something out, eh?"

"Aneda is too good to whore, too, Tobien. And Mari and Bethan. But they have to, to live. We all do what we can." Brethinn sighed. "I’m all right, here. They’ll feed me and all that. It won’t be too different. Instead of waking up to Trieve jumping on my stomach, I’ll wake up to the bells. Instead of running to market for Ma, I’ll run who-knows-where for whoever sends people like me running, around here. Not so different." She picked at the rough woolen blanket. "Just quieter. And I’ll miss everyone."

Tobien brightened a little. "I can come back and tell you about everything," he said. "It’s not so hard to get here. I’ll keep you flush with everything from the prices of Master Tenis’ shoes to the number of freckles your Ma’s picked up since you left." He grinned and moved to the window. "I’d best get back afore we’re found out."

"Already? I think everyone’s asleep," said Brethinn hopefully.

Tobien laughed. "Right then, I should be, too. Night, kid." He ruffled her hair, smiling.

"Kid?" said Brethinn, outraged. "Don’t you talk down to me, Tobien Warrek! I’m almost nine years old and less than two years off you." She folded her arms and gave him her best scowl, which darkened as he laughed.

"Sorry, Bret," he said between laughs. "How can I ever make it up to you?"

Brethinn’s sudden smile caught him off-guard, as she pulled him into a hug. "Don’t forget to come back, stupid."

Pulling free from her embrace, Tobien snapped her a smart salute as he had seen Imperial Guards give their superiors. "Yes, sir, Bret, sir!" he barked softly, grinning. Then he was gone, disappearing into the shadows.

Brethinn burrowed back into her covers and sighed, finally ready for sleep. Just before her dreams whisked her away into unconsciousness, or perhaps it was just a dream, for she never had the courage to ask; she heard a light tap at the door. It opened and Father Naldo peered into the room, holding a lit candle-stub.

"Next time your young friend visits, Brethinn," rumbled the priest, "Warn him that some of us are light sleepers." The door began to close as Father Naldo pulled it shut behind him. "Good night, Squeak."

Brethinn popped into wakefulness and stared at the door, but it was shut. And when she checked, the hall was dark and empty. And all was quiet.

Copyright © 1998, Jennifer Bidlingmeyer, Dragonet Designs