Tales after Dusk 01

He bites into his sandwich, slowly chewing the salt pork, savoring the flavor. As the two men approach the fork in the road, he notices a third rider, coming from town. He can't make out much, other than a white horse and a long, dark cloak. The third rider quickly passes the other men, heading towards the way they came.

Simon thinks nothing of it until he sees the two Haveners quickly turn around, following the Northhiller into the forest. He gets a sinking feeling that something terrible is going to happen. Simon stands up to get a better view, setting his sandwich down. It is hard to see completely through the thick curtain of trees but at the point that the road nears the edge of the forest Simon can see the Northhiller look over his shoulder, spurring his horse into a quicker pace. When Simon looks behind the white horse, he realizes only one Havener remains. The white horse squeals, rearing up when the missing man abruptly appears in front of it. Bucking his rider, it runs off into the trees.

Simon quickly jumps down from the cart. As quietly as he can, he runs half hunched over, towards the tree line, making sure he stays out of sight. He has no wish to get into someone else's quarrel but his curiosity draws him closer. He is within yards of the trees when he sees that the two Haveners have dismounted and are now closing in with swords drawn. Simon looks towards the third man who is scooting his body away from the others, obviously injured. Then, he realizes that the third man is wearing a skirt and is actually a woman.

Without thinking twice, Simon sprints forward, skidding to a halt between the woman and the two men. They jump back in surprise at his sudden appearance.

"Out of the way boy, we have no quarrel with you!" One shouts gruffly at Simon.

"And I can hardly believe that you have any quarrel with her, either. Now move along gentlemen, before I make you regret your decision." Simon stands tensely, trying to make his voice come off as amiable, though it is obvious he is on edge. Outnumbered and weaponless, he stands a slim chance against the men.

"Enough with this one," the other says, lunging at Simon, sword first.

Simon dodges out of the way, punching the man in the face before disarming him. With a quick slash, he cuts into the man's chest—injuring severely, but not killing him. Now, with an even fight, he stands at the ready, waiting for the second man to make his decision. There is hesitation in his eyes, which quickly turns to fear when a low, warning growl is heard.

Timber stands next to Simon, fur raised and teeth bared.

"Shit, he's got a damn wolf!" the man exclaims, grabbing on to his friend's shirt and dragging him back away, "Let's get out of here! She's not worth it!"

As the two run back to their horses, Timber follows. Simon drops the sword to the ground, turning around to the woman. He realizes that he is shirtless and feels somewhat embarrassed at his partial nakedness around a lady.

The woman with her hood still drawn, has pulled herself up and leans against a tree, favoring her right foot. Seeing that she is injured, Simon moves towards her offering her a hand, "Are you all right, my lady?"

He stops just inches from her when he realizes she has a knife drawn and is shakily pointing it at him, "I am fine, thank you and I no longer require your assistance." Her voice comes out strained, frightened.

Simon doesn't move, not wanting to stress her further. She looks around, seeing her horse a little ways away; shying away from Simon, she keeps her knife pointed at him. When she puts pressure on her injured foot, the pain is too much and she stumbles backwards, tripping over a log. As she begins to fall back, the knife flies from her hand. Rushing forward, he manages to catch her in his arms before she hits the ground. Cradled safely, as if being dipped after a dance, her hood falls backwards, revealing her face.

Framed with soft, curly brown hair, her perfectly shaped, pale face looks up at him, stunned. He can't help himself as he gets lost for a moment in her beautiful, brown eyes. The woman stares back at him, a mixture of fear, shock and terror written on her face.

Simon can feel his cheeks begin to burn, "I'm sorry, ma'am, I just didn't want you to get hurt," he mumbles quietly as he gently sets her down on the log to sit. "May I look at your foot, to see if it is broken?"

She hesitates, clearly flustered herself, before she nods briefly. Simon lets her go, kneeling by her right leg. Slowly, as if not to worry her, he slips off her delicate shoe, gently feeling around her foot to see if it is broken. She jerks her leg back suddenly; worried that he hurt or offended her, he looks up to see a suppressed smile on her face.

"I'm sorry, that...tickled," she says quietly.

He can't help but smile himself, "It isn't broken, I think you just sprained your ankle." He pulls a red kerchief from his pocket; slowly he bends her ankle into a resting position before tightly wrapping it up, "This should help with the pain a little but as soon as you can, you should put something cold on it." He slips her shoe back on and rises, offering a hand to her.

Tentatively, she takes it, pulling herself up. She eases some pressure on her foot, letting out a small whimper before she favors it again, "Yes, that is a little better."

Leaving her to stand alone, Simon finds her knife and hands it back to her. Almost embarrassed, she sheathes it as she does not see a threat in him anymore. Before she has a chance to consider how she will get back to her horse, he swiftly sweeps her up into his arms once more. He can feel his face burn red, "I'm sorry madam, for the informality of my touch, but you shouldn't walk on it until the swelling goes down." She says nothing as he picks his way through the trees with ease towards her horse.

Coming upon the steed, Simon stops next to him. Though he gently lets her down, she underestimates the tenderness of her injury and jerks with sudden pain, causing herself to fall into Simon, her face a fraction of an inch from his before she catches herself. The two linger in the awkwardness, each unsure of what to do. Simon can feel his heart pound, his mouth dry. He hasn't been around many women, let alone any his own age. He finds himself taken in by her beauty; he wants to kiss her but he is afraid. Reminding himself that appearances can be deceiving, as in the case of his step father and brothers, he gently places his hands on her hips. She closes her eyes as if expecting something other than him lifting her up on to her horse. Caught off guard, her pale face blushes bright red.

Half wondering if he made the wrong decision Simon curses to himself before grabbing a hold of the horse's bridle, so that he can lead it back onto the path to town. They walk in silence and though it is only a quarter mile before they exit the woods to the dip before Northhill, it feels like hours have past. He lets go of the bridle, "I am not sure of your business in Haven my lady but I think perhaps you should post pone it until your ankle gets better."

She purses her lips at him, seemingly angered about something, "Right." She nudges her horse forward without another word.

Simon, angry with himself that he could have said something different, stands and watches her horse walk away. She only gets a few steps before she stops and turns towards him, "I'm afraid I didn't catch your name?"

"Simon," he says plainly. He knows he should have told her his surname but seeing as how she was going to leave without even finding out his first, he doesn't feel obligated to oblige her.

She seems somewhat taken aback by his lack of formality, but replies none the less, "Right, well Simon, I am...Lia."

"Pleasure to meet you, Miss Lia," Simon bows slightly.

Lia rolls her eyes at him, "And you as well, Mr. Simon." She starts forward only to stop once again after a few steps, "Will you be here tomorrow?"

He tilts his head to the side, puzzled by her question. He wants to ask why, but simply smiles at her, "If you wish me to be, Miss Lia, I shall. I am at your disposal."

Returning his smile, her cheeks grow red as if she is somewhat flustered by him, "Yes, I do wish it so, Mr. Simon. Perhaps before lunch, say around eleven o'clock?"

With a slight bow, he replies, "Until tomorrow, Miss Lia."

She laughs a little, continuing on her way once more. This time she doesn't turn back. Simon watches her figure grow smaller and smaller in the distance until he is sure she is safe back at Northill.

He turns around to find Timber watching him, "What?" he huffs, chasing the wolf back up to the meadow. With the sun in the mid sky, he begins to chop another tree, completing it before he heads back home.

After stacking the wood and returning Lady to the pasture, he is a little late. Myrtle has already set out dinner for the Augustines, when Simon quietly takes his place in the dining room. No one notices, though, because they are all abuzz with news from town.

"I just can't believe it! To think, the Princess will pick a suitor from town to marry!" Martin exclaims.

Confusion overtakes Simon's face but he remains quiet.

"Oh what shall I wear to the ball?" Garrett huffs. "Simon, you must repair my silver cloak clasp at once."

"Of—of course," he stammers, uneasy about being addressed so indifferently. Usually Garrett makes it a point to be cruel to him.

"And the sheath for my sword, it could use a little something to make it extraordinary," adds Martin.

"Now boys, don't forget, Simon has yet to make me some new jewelry before the ball. He is rather skilled, but I suggest you choose carefully what you want him to do for you, so that he isn't overwhelmed," the Baron chastises his sons.

Before he can think better of it, Simon blurts out, "I'm sorry, sir, but what ball?"

Garrett throws his arms up, overly excited in such a way that Simon has never seen him before, "Oh it is such wonderful news! Apparently, the King and Queen are breaking tradition and allowing the Princess to choose whom she will marry. She can pick anyone she wants, regardless of their standing or fortune. They have announced that in six days there will be a ball at the castle and everyone is invited to attend. The Princess will announce her decision then."

"Yes, it was rather hectic in town today. Everyone was trying to get an audience with her but she was otherwise engaged for most of the afternoon," Martin adds, somewhat peeved.

Garrett beams smugly, "But I know the stable master at the castle and he has informed me that the Princess will be playing a small game of polo tomorrow afternoon. I was able to come to an arrangement with him and he has given me a spot on her opposing team. Oh it will be a perfect opportunity!"

"Well that is all fine and well but I have an in with the royal tutor and I will be taking a lesson with her at the library the day after next," Martin retorts.

"Come now you two, I would gladly consent to the Princess marrying either of you. I understand the need for some brotherly competition but I shouldn't need to remind you that the rest of us will be just as happy in the castle as her new groom will," Benedict butters his roll, pleased with himself. For whatever reason, he seems to think that his sons have no competition for the Princess' hand.

"So, anyone can go to the ball?" Simon asks quietly. He doesn't have any particular interest in it but he is just astonished at the notion of regular folk being allowed into the castle.

All eyes are suddenly on him; Benedict's cool, empty gaze almost chills him to the bone. He instantly regrets his question when Martin and Garret burst out into laughter.

"Well of course anyone can go to the ball, but that doesn't mean that anyone will. What is it, little step-brother, do you think you are worthy of a Princess?" Martin squeals.

Garrett's face is bright red as he gasps for air, "Whatever would you wear—all of your clothes are stained and worn through. And what would you carry, your ax?"

The two burst into laughter again, pounding on the table in enjoyment. Simon's face grows red not from embarrassment but from anger. He tries to bite his tongue but he can't refrain himself, "You can put a dress on a pig but at the end of the day, all you have is a swine, brothers."

The sound of Benedict's chair scraping against the floor silences everyone. His quick boot steps take him across the room towards Simon—he slowly backs away, even though he knows it will make no difference.

"I will not stand for a servant talking to the sons of a Baron in such a rude manner!" He draws his fist back above his head.

Simon drops to his knees, covering his face with his arms just as the Baron swings at him. He takes each blow that his insolence brings him. He could fight back—the hard work he has put forth to take care of his ungrateful family has provided him with more strength than the three of them combined, but what was the point? Simon has nowhere to go, not a possession to his name save the clothes on his body. He could leave at any moment but that would mean abandoning all of the hard work that his parents put into what was supposed to be his inheritance. He tries to remind himself that he chooses to stay here and put up with the constant abuse when Benedict kicks him in the side.

The Baron finally stops when he grows tired; he turns and calmly walks back to his seat where he continues to eat his supper in silence. Simon remains curled on the floor in a ball, nothing hurt worse than his pride. He breathes deeply, stilling the rage that boils inside of him before he slowly rises, over emphasizing his pain, so that the Baron will be satisfied enough not to repeat his actions. He lets his shoulders droop and keeps his chin to his chest.

"What do you have to say for yourself, Simon?" Benedict's cold voice cuts the air.

"I'm sorry, Sirs, that I forgot my place."

"And do you still want to attend the ball?"

"No, Baron, it was silly for me to even think that I was worthy enough to do so, and Master Garret is correct, I have nothing appropriate to wear," he mumbles.

Garret and Martin snicker but both know better than to say anything, lest the Baron's anger be turned on them.

"Well, Simon, I am rather disappointed in you," he pauses to take a sip of his wine, "I got you the whetstone you asked for and all you have done is insulted my kin. However, it is true that anyone is allowed to attend the ball, which includes you."

He wants to raise his head to see the look on his step-brother's faces but he doesn't dare bat an eye. Simon knows Benedict better than the old man realizes because Simon has already seen his ploy before: pretend to be kind, and then turn around and be cruel.

"But," Benedict continues, "if you wish to go there are things that you must do first. You will get my jewelry done, as well as Garret's cloak clasp and Martin's sword sheath. You must also find something suitable to wear so that you are not an embarrassment to this household."

When the old man pauses, Simon braces for the catch, "And I expect the barn to be completely full of wood before the ball. Are my terms more than fair, Simon?"

"Yes, Sir, thank you for your kindness," Simon mumbles. He can feel the unease emitting from his step brothers, though they have nothing to worry about. Simon only has the barn half full of wood and that is only because he has chopped down trees every morning for a majority of the summer. It might be feasible for Simon to complete the Baron's task if he worked like a dog, had help and didn't sleep a wink until the ball. But none of it matters, really, because Simon couldn't give two shits about attending a dance in which his step brothers and the Baron would be present.

...

The sound of a horse's hooves, clomping away from the house, wake Simon up. His back is incredibly stiff, having slept hunched over his workbench for a few hours. Simon spent almost the entire night, from after supper until a few hours before sunrise working on the Baron's projects. He has completed all three, having sacrificed a decent slumber in his rock hard cot and his muscles scream in protest when he extends his arms and legs out to stretch. For whatever reason, the Baron didn't send Myrtle down into the cellar to wake him so that he could get the carriage ready. He affords himself a small smile at the idea of his clumsy step-brothers attempting to put the harness on the horse.

Giving himself sometime to wake up before he tries to move very much, Simon examines his work. He fixed Garrett's cloak clasp first as it was the easiest of the tasks. Knowing better, he took some time to carefully engrave the leaves and add a few delicate vines, each made from several diamonds. He knew that if he simply repaired it, Garrett would complain that his was so plain compared to Martin and the Baron's requests. Next, he did the sword sheath, carefully etching in a forest scene complete with deer and elk. He melded some gold wire to the sheath for the antlers, placing tiny sapphires in each animal's eye. Finally, he crafted an elegant ring for the Baron. Despite the urge to make something hideous for the man he hates, he took extra care to make it especially beautiful as he found it hard to waste such precious metals and stones out of anger. He had a rather large oval shaped tiger's eye stone left over from a previous project.

Though the stone itself wasn't as extravagant as a ruby or a diamond, Simon took care to make a setting so astonishing that anyone who looked at it would forget that it was a simple rock. He tediously crafted about fifty tiny petals from gold, taking care to crease veins into each one. They attach to a rounded base plate with a braided gold edge, the tiger's eye set in the middle so as to mimic a sunflower. From the base plate he used green tinted silver shaped as petals to wind their way around into a band. Amongst the design of each item, so meticulously placed that one would not find it unless he looked for it, was Simon's signature, the same one his father always used. Two scroll-like Ws created by a single, fine strand of gold wire, standing for William Wright. Simon has always signed his jewelry in the same way, almost as an homage to a man he wishes he had gotten to know better.

He is satisfied greatly with his work though his eyes sting with the strain and tiredness. Slowly, stiffly, he rises and hobbles up the stone stairs to the cellar door. Pushing it open, he is forced to shield his face from the sun as he walks out to the driveway in front of the house. He bends and twists himself gently, making his way to the front doors of the house.

When he walks into the kitchen, Myrtle comes out of her quarters near the back. She gives him an odd look, shaking her head as she begins to make him an omelet, just like she would for the Augustines, "I about pissed myself watching them try to get the carriage ready. The Baron kept shouting orders and Martin and Garrett stumbled about, more useless than a new born babe. It was almost as if he felt guilty for beating you so," she turns to look at him for his reply.

He shakes his head, "I doubt the Baron could ever feel remorse for anything he's ever done. I'm sure he didn't disturb me so that I would be quicker about finishing his shit."

She laughs, sliding the omelet onto a plate before placing it in front of him, "So I can expect you'll be home all day?"

Taking a few bites, he grins at her, "Heavens no. I finished it all last night. Of course," he chews another bite, "they don't know that. I'll give it to them piece by piece, so that they don't try to dump anything else on me before this stupid ball."

"You be careful, boy," she shakes her head at him. "I guess you want me to pack you a lunch then, huh?"