Wellspring of Chaos

XXII

The remainder of the eightday passed without another buyer even entering the cooperage, and eightday itself dawned bright. Because so few shopped or purchased anything on the second end-day, Kharl did not open the cooperage doors, although he often worked. The present eightday was no exception, since he did not have all the barrels he needed for Korlan, or for Wassyt and Aryl. With the increased tariff he would owe to Fyngel at the first of winter, every copper counted more than ever.

While Kharl ran the shooks through the planer, Warrl was laying out more of the white oak billets, now that Kharl had scraped together enough to pay Vetrad the balance owed for the seasoned oak, which had finally been delivered the day before.

A thumping came from somewhere, barely audible above the noise of the planer.

“There’s someone at the door,” Warrl called.

“We’re not open,” Kharl pointed out.

Warrl peered through the shutters. “It’s Aunt Merayni and Uncle Dowsyl.”

With a feeling of dread about what was to come, Kharl stepped back from the planer and set the half-finished stave on the bench, then walked to the doorway and unbarred the door. He held it open until the man and the woman standing on the sidewalk stones stepped inside. He closed the door, but did not replace the bar.

“How long before you were going to tell us, Kharl?” snapped Merayni, a tall and broad woman only a fraction of a head shorter than the cooper, wearing a brown tunic and trousers. She stepped past Kharl and into the cooperage.

Dowsyl was only slightly taller than Merayni, but broader. His sleeveless tunic and half-sleeved undertunic showed arms that were heavily muscled. He said nothing as he followed his consort.

“Shortly,” Kharl replied. “I’ve tried…” He closed the door.

“Tried? I never got a word from you. How about never? It takes a message from my nephew for me to find out that my sister is dead, that one nephew has fled Nordla, and that you have angered every important person in the Quadrant.”

“You seem to know more than I do,” Kharl replied.

Dowsyl cleared his throat, then spoke into the silence that followed. “Charee is dead. Arthal is gone. You will lose the cooperage before winter. This is what Warrl wrote. Is that all true?”

“Charee…Arthal…those are true,” Kharl admitted.

“How do you plan to care for Warrl?” asked Merayni.

“We’ve managed. We will manage.”

“Managed? For the sake of a woman you didn’t even know, you got my sister killed. Is that how you’ll manage?” asked Merayni.

Kharl looked to Warrl. The youth had edged toward Merayni. Kharl just looked. Finally, he spoke. “We have managed. Warrl is my son. He is fed and taught and cared for.”

“For how long?” questioned Merayni.

The cooper didn’t have an answer, not one that would have been truthful.

“Warrl’s coming to the holding with us, Kharl.” Merayni’s voice softened. “It’s better that way. You must know it is.”

“What about the cooperage?” asked Kharl, knowing his words were futile, but feeling that he had to say something. “Someday, it will be his, but not if he doesn’t learn to be a cooper.”

“You promise that? How many orders for barrels did you get in the last eightdays?”

“I’m to deliver thirty barrels to Korlan, thirty to Wassyt, and twenty to Aryl, all in the next two eightdays.” Kharl gestured to the stacks of unfinished shooks and semifinished staves.

“Did any of them order any more?” demanded Merayni.

“They only need barrels just before and during harvest.”

“Kharl…” Merayni paused, then spoke slowly. “We may live a day away from Brysta, but we know people, and we’ve asked around. No one will order more from you. They’re too afraid of Lord West and his tariff farmers. You won’t be able to pay your tariffs, and you’ll lose the cooperage. In a few eightdays…”

“Enough…enough…” Kharl looked at Warrl. “So you wrote your aunt?”

“I had to, Da…I had to. You didn’t.” Warrl met his father’s gaze without flinching. “I know you tried…I saw…but you didn’t.”

Kharl turned to Merayni, but did not speak.

Neither did she.

“I tried to save a woman…she was little more than a girl. She wasn’t much older than your Dowlan, Merayni. She’d been beaten and abused. She would have died. I was supposed to let her die?”

“She was a blackstaffer from Recluce. You know how people feel about them. Nothing good could possibly come from trying to save her. What good did it do? She died anyway.”

“I was supposed to know that?”

“Sometimes, Kharl…you have to think of your own. That’s always been your problem. You have too big a heart, and people take advantage of you. Charee knew that. We all know that. But this time, when you didn’t think of your own, everyone suffered. Charee’s dead. Arthal’s on a ship somewhere-”

“The Fleuryl,” Kharl interjected.

“You’re going to lose everything you ever worked for,” Merayni continued implacably, “and Warrl has to choose between leaving his father and becoming a beggar or an orphan. That’s all because you wouldn’t think first of your consort and your family.” She looked to Warrl. “You can do whatever you will, but I am not letting my sister’s son suffer any more because of your stubbornness.”

Warrl looked helplessly at his father, even as he moved up beside his aunt. “I…didn’t want to write…but…you…someone had to tell Auntie…”

“Someone had to,” Kharl said heavily. “I was wrong not to write. I should have written. Do you…” He stopped. Whatever he said would make no difference. No difference at all. He could fight…but for what? Keeping his son for another season before he lost everything? And if he didn’t…well, then, he could always make his way out to their holding and orchards and prove them wrong.

His eyes went to Warrl. “You’d better get your things. Take anything you want.” He turned and walked to the back of the shop, opposite the forge.

“Da…”

Kharl did not turn.

Behind him, there were whispers, then footsteps on the stairs.

Dowsyl walked back to the forge. “Kharl?”

“What?”

“You get through this, and Warrl would come back. He’s lost his mother. He’s worried, and he’s scared. He needs to be someplace safe.”

“I can see that.”

“Can you?”

“He and Merayni have made it clear.” Kharl paused, then looked squarely at Dowsyl. “I’ll get through it.”

“If you do, you’re welcome. Even if you don’t, you’re welcome. Place could hold you and Warrl.”

“Thank you.”

“Glad it wasn’t me found that blackstaffer,” Dowsyl said. “Can’t make a right choice in a spot like that.”

“Dowsyl!” called Merayni. “I need some help here.”

The grower nodded to Kharl. “I meant it.”

“Thank you,” Kharl said again.

Dowsyl turned and made his way up the steps.

Some time passed. Kharl didn’t know how much. He heard footsteps coming down the steps. He didn’t look.

“Da…please don’t be angry at me…”

Kharl turned. He looked at the thin, tear-streaked face of his son. “We all have to do what we think is right. I did what I thought was right. You did what you thought was right. I’m angry, but I’m not angry at you for that. I hope you understand someday.”

“Da…”

Kharl stepped forward and put his arms around Warrl. “It’s all right. It is.”

“Come…see me…please…”

“As I can, son…as I can…” Kharl stepped back.

“Are you ready, Warrl?” asked Merayni.

“Yes, Auntie.” Warrl stepped back.

“You can come to see Warrl anytime you want, Kharl,” Merayni said. “Anytime…”

Kharl just nodded.

“Until then,” she added.

Kharl just watched as the trio left the cooperage, carrying three large bundles.

The shop door shut. For a time Kharl just looked at the closed door.

Then, he stepped away from the cold forge, back toward the planer.

His eyes fell to the black staff, still where he had left it under the bench. He bent down and pulled it out. Once more, the wood felt warm, comfortable, in his hands. After studying the staff for a long moment, he leaned it against the wall. He still had barrels to do…if he ever wanted to pay the tariffs.