He had a regal sort of air about him that started causing problems
almost as soon as I reached the Stronghold.
‘I don’t think I want to go to Sendaria, Aunt Pol,’ he responded
when I broached the plan to him. ‘I wouldn’t like that very much.’
‘You don’t have to like it, Gelane,’ I said firmly, ‘but that’s where
we’re going.’
‘Why can’t we stay here? All my friends are here.’
‘You’ll make new ones when we get to Sendaria.’
‘I have some rights, Aunt Pol.’ What is it about adolescents that
makes them all start talking about their ‘rights’ in any argument?
‘Of course you do, dear,’ I said sweetly. ‘You have the absolute
right to have me make your decisions for you.’
‘That’s not fair!’
‘It wasn’t intended to be. Run along now. Tell all your friends
goodbye and start packing. We’re leaving tomorrow morning.’
‘You can’t order me around.’
‘Actually, I can. I’m very good at ordering people around – and
for some reason, they always end up doing exactly what I tell them
to do. There’s the door. Use it – or would you rather have me throw
You through?’
I’ve seldom had to take that position with any of Iron-grip’s heirs,
but Gelane had somehow gotten out of control. As soon as he left,
slamming the door behind him, I went through the echoing halls
of the Stronghold to have a word with his mother, Aravina. It only
took me a few minutes to discover the source of Celane’s unruliness.
Aravina was a very pretty Algar lady, but the untimely death of
Celane’s father had largely broken her spirit. She was so immersed
in her own grief that she’d paid little or no attention to her son’s
behavior. It’s a part of the nature of adolescents to test limits to see
just how far they can go. The wise parent doesn’t permit that to get
out of hand. Gentle firmness at the early stages of this testing is far
kinder in the long run than the inevitable harshness that becomes
necessary later on.
If you’re contemplating parenthood, take notes. There’ll be tests
later on – and I won’t be the one who’ll grade those tests.
I chose to settle my family in Seline rather than Muros, Medalia, or
Sulturn, largely because King Ormik had deployed the troops from
the northern provinces of Sendaria along the coast to ward off any
possible Angarak surprise attacks, and so there’d be few veterans of
the Battle of Vo Mimbre living there. Father and I had been fairly
visible at Vo Mimbre, after all, and I didn’t think it’d be appropriate to
have some former comrades-in-arms invite me to share a few tankards
of strong ale in the local tavern while we exchanged war-stories.
Gelane didn’t like Seline, and it showed. A more or less permanent
sneer settled over his still beardless face as he walked about the
rainy streets of his new home. Adolescent males tend to do that a
lot. I’m sure they practice that expression of lofty disdain in front
of a mirror every chance they get. I think that in a perfect society
both strong drink and mirrors would be prohibited for adolescents.
Celane’s sneer disappeared quite abruptly one morning when he
approached the reflective altar of his self-adoration and discovered
that a very large, shiny pimple had mysteriously appeared overnight
on the very tip of his nose.
The pimple went away eventually – almost as soon as Celane’s
expression became more sunny. I think it may have something to
do with the body’s chemistry. A sour expression probably sours the
blood, and everybody knows that sour blood makes one’s face break
Out.
I bought us a modest little house near the commercial district in
Seline, and after a bit of constructive snooping among the local
craftsmen, I located Osrig, a sober, sensible cooper of late middle
age with no immediate heir. Osrig made good barrels, and his forrner
apprentices were all successfully following the trade in nearby towns
and villages, a clear indication that their former master was a good
teacher. I spoke with Osrig one day, some money changed hands,
and then I went home to advise my nephew that I’d made a decision
about his life’s work.
‘Barrels?’ he protested. ‘I don’t know anything about barrels, Aunt
Pol.’
,I know, dear,’ I replied. ‘That’s why you start out as an apprentice.
you have to learn how to make them before you can go into business
for yourself.’
‘I don’t want to be a barrel-maker.’
,It’s a useful product, Gelane, and barrels aren’t likely to go out
of fashion, so you’ll have a secure future.’
‘But it’s so ordinary, Aunt Pol.’
‘Yes. That’s the whole idea. You want to be ordinary.’
‘No I don’t. Can’t we find something more interesting for me to
do? Maybe I could be a sailor or something – or maybe go into the
army. I think I’d like to be a soldier.’
‘I’ve seen your bedroom, Gelane. You wouldn’t make a very good
soldier.’
‘What’s my bedroom got to do with it?’
‘A soldier has to make his bed every morning – and pick up all
his dirty clothes. You’re a nice boy, but neatness isn’t one of your
strong points. A soldier with dented armor and a rusty sword
doesn’t impress his enemies very much.’
His expression grew mournful. ‘Barrels?’ He said it with a note
of resignation.
‘Barrels, Gelane.’
‘That’s not much of an occupation for a king, Aunt Pol.’
‘Don’t start polishing your crown until they put it on your head,
dear. Stick to barrels instead.’
‘Torak’s dead, Aunt Pol. I don’t have to hide from him any more.’
‘No, dear. Torak’s not dead. He’s just asleep. Just as soon as you
put on the crown of Riva and pick up the sword, he’ll wake up and
come looking for you. We don’t want him to do that, so concentrate
on barrels. Now, you’d better eat some supper and go to bed. You’ll
be getting up early tomorrow morning. Osrig’s going to be expecting
you at the shop as soon as it gets light.’
‘Osrig’?’
‘Your master. He’s the one who’s going to teach you how to make
barrels that don’t leak.’
I hate to use the word ‘chance’ here, since I’ve learned over the
years that when we’re talking about my peculiar family, pure
random, chance seldom has much to do with how things turn out. This
time, though chance might have had a lot to do with it. I could
have bought Gelane an apprenticeship to any one of a dozen or so
craftsmen who followed entirely different trades. Osrig, however,
fitted all my requirements. He was skilled, he was a good teacher,
he was growing old, and he didn’t have a son waiting to inherit the
family business. As soon as Gelane learned the trade, I could buy
Osrig out and set my reluctant nephew up in business for himself.
That was my goal. The end product of that business was really
secondary. The important thing was to merge him into the general
population to the point that he’d be invisible in the event that
Chamdar came looking for him. We could always hope that Chamdar
hadn’t survived the Battle of Vo Mimbre, but I’ve learned over the
years not to depend too much on hope.
We settled in, and Gelane learned how to make barrels while I
stayed home with Aravina doing everything I could to bring her
out of the melancholia which came very close to incapacitating her.
Melancholia’s a difficult condition to deal with. The admonition,
‘Oh, cheer up’, doesn’t really work, no matter how often you say
it. There are some herbs and compounds of herbs that numb that
overpowering sadness, but numb people don’t function very well.
Osrig, as I mentioned, was a very good teacher, and Gelane was
soon making barrels that didn’t leak very much. His products moved
down a definite descending scale. His first barrel gushed water from
every seam. The second spurted. The third dribbled. The next three
only oozed. After that, they were mostly watertight, and he actually
began to take some pride in his work. When a craftsman reaches
that point, the battle’s largely over. Whether he liked the idea or
not, Gelane was now a cooper.
Then, when our young barrel-maker was sixteen, he met a very
pretty girl named Enalia, the daughter of a local carpenter, and
the customary bell rang in the corridors of my mind. Gelane was
absolutely smitten with her, and she with him, so they began
‘walking out with each other.’ That’s a Sendarian euphemism for what a
young pair does when they’re looking for an opportunity to slip
away together to explore the differences between boys and girls.
Enalla’s mother and I took turns preventing that, so about all Gelane
and Enalla were able to manage were a few hastily stolen kisses.
After a month or so they were formally engaged, so the kisses