🍂The Thirteenth Year

Tooth & Nail: Chapter Three

Step into a world of chaos, magic, monsters, and bones. Welcome to TOOTH & NAIL—A dark fantasy novella. The first season will be released bi-weekly refer to Episode Schedule for a fuller account. Thank you for taking the time to read!

Previously - During Sol Tine, Yarrow meets a stranger from the North..

Finally, the tiles of the manor house were polished. Saskia’s knees were bruised, and the palms of her hands showed the wear of hours of toil. She pitched the stub of wood-ash soap back into the bucket. The other washerwomen of the estate were lined up at the manor’s entrance—she didn’t blame them for leaving her behind. Serf Dagg was in a particularly foul mood. An elderly woman had forgotten to oil the banister a few days prior, and as a result, he had beaten her with a switch.

Saskia removed her wooden shoes. As the last servant to leave, it was her task to haul the remaining buckets to the back garden. He was a difficult master, but Dagg didn’t care who did the work, as long as it was done. She crossed over the frost covered ground.

The garden was in a state of decay. Its only life was bursts of orange and red leaves amongst the shriveled plants. Her godmother would have known the names. Saskia poured the filth of water over the garden’s dried husks. As the last drip of water fell, her skin prickled—eyes were watching. Her muscles tensed. She no longer poached in the woods. There was no blade hidden in her apron. It was quiet— too quiet.

A rustle of iridescent wings beat against thicket branches. Two crows flitted to a towering oak.

Take heed daughter of Iona.

Saskia stilled. The voices on the wind. It had been weeks since she had heard a passing bird’s speech. Her nose wrinkled in equal disgust and relief. For as long as she could remember, she could hear the chatter of animals. There was a time when, as a child, she had spoken back—once. Not even her godmother knew. Saskia thought the ability had faded with the birth of her son, but the voices returned ten years ago, on the day she abandoned the woods—the day she buried her husband.

The birds were wrong, her mother was long dead, and Iona was the Goddess of Blessings — Saskia was far from blessed. She took a deep breath of misted air… today was not a day to dwell on death.

Jonas was thirteen and there was work to be done.

At the evening market, villagers swarmed the booths. Servants with patched doublets and fat purses cut through lines of peasants who were showing off their wares. She passed by carts of honeyed apples and delicate clocks.

A waif of a child snatched an apple and scuttled into a shadowed alley. Her heart clenched. If she did not succeed tonight, she feared the same fate would befall her son. She did not wish Jonas to follow in her footsteps, a servant subject to a cruel master. He deserved more than working to the bone, while the years turned ever onward; it was no future.

When she reached the butcher’s booth, her mouth gaped wide. Heaping racks of meat hung on gleaming hooks. One venison would be enough to feed her and Jonas for a week. It would be months before her pay could earn such a meal. Otto’s trade must be thriving to achieve such a bounty. It confirmed her decision. She kissed her copper ring for luck—a silent prayer.

Otto was packaging up a parcel behind the counter. “You will have to stand at the back of the line,” he muttered. When she remained rooted in place, he looked up and his pinched expression brightened.

“Oh Saskia. I didn’t realize —”

“Do you need a hand?”

He waved her away “No, no it’s not necessary, I am sure you have plenty to do at home. How is your boy?” Saskia slipped in the booth beside him.

“Jonas is well, in fact he turned thirteen summers today.”

“I suppose he will be needing an apprenticeship then?”

“Yes, I was hoping… would you be able to take him on?”

she motioned to the parting crowd. “It seems like you could use the help.”

Otto turned to her, pausing his work.

“I would love to teach him about the trade.”

Her hopes raised.

“Only I already agreed to take on the Adler’s boy. I spoke with his mother this morning, and it seems Hansel will be thirteen next Saturday.”

“When will he begin?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Otto swept a rag over a knife and his hands. “I just assumed Jonas would take after his father and join The Pocket Guard.” Saskia stiffened, her nails digging into the grain of wood. Otto backtracked, setting a hand on her shoulder. “Forgive me, I misspoke.”

“It’s alright.” she said in a strained whisper.

“I will ask around to see if there are any guild members who will take him.”

Saskia shook her head, “The teachers that are reputable require more coin than I can afford.” She grimaced. “And those that I can pay are no better than wolves.”

A once noble profession in Bechtrand’s time, the Pocket Guard had deteriorated from the inside. The new generation of soldiers were nothing more than highwaymen and thieves. While Jonas would have food in his belly and coin in his pocket, he would always be wanting.

“Please can’t you take them both?”

Otto scratched the back of his neck. “I suppose I could test the boys to see which blends in best.”

“Does he have a stomach for blood?”

“Aye, since he could walk.”

“He would have to be here early in the morning.”

“He will be.” Before he could protest further, Saskia spun on her heel with a light heart toward home.

Robbers. That is what took her husband. Otto had recounted over the years how they had emerged from the wood and taken Bechtrand by surprise with a knife to his back, but he never saw the face of the killer. The only thing of slight value was the copper band on his finger.

When winter finally came, she had to sell half of her land to grasping landowners to get through, but despite the sacrifice, she was glad she had her home, worn as it was.

The only other things from her childhood now was her grandfather’s crossbow in the corner and her godmother’s cloak in a chest at her bed. Yarrow had spoken very little of her husband which now Saskia understood to be grief.

She set the barley bread at the table, and washed her hands in the ewer basin. Seeing his coat on the floor and boots strewn about, she guessed Jonas had returned from assisting The Rostock’s in the field. Passed out cold, most likely. She turned the doorknob to check, but his straw pallet was empty. A giggle resounded from outside the window and she relaxed. Jonas sat with Adeline in the branches of a young linden tree.

“Do you think they will worry?’

“These days Mammy doesn’t notice when I am away, she is too busy with the baby and the candlesticks—but that’s alright.” she punched his shoulder “Means I get to spend time with you.” Saskia lingered by the door rather curious where the conversation would take them.

“My mother always worries”

“Really? About what?”

“Everything.”

Saskia backed into the threshold and knocked loudly on the door. It pained her that her own anxiety was affecting Jonas. Her worries were not his to bear. She feigned surprise at the two of them outside the window.

“Ade Rostock, isn't it time you went home?” Adeline turned beat red, but reached into her apron pocket.

“Um, yes. I was just dropping off a present—“ she shoved a thin candlestick tied with a pink ribbon into Jonas’s hands.

“Happy name day!” She rushed past with a small stamp of a curtsy and out the door. Then popped her head back in the doorway “It’s beeswax!” she squeaked, and ran into the evening.

What an odd child.

Saskia turned to Jonas who stared mooneyed after Adeline, clutching the candle to his chest.