Raider's Curse

An excerpt from 

Raider's Curse: A Jonmarc Vahanian Adventure 

By Gail Z. Martin

"Do you think it's true? About the raiders? Conrad said the fishermen spotted a strange ship, out beyond the bay." Jonmarc Vahanian set down the bucket of water he had drawn from the well. The small house was warm from the fire in the hearth, and the smells of mutton stew and freshly baked bread filled the air.  

His mother, Dalia, sat at the table slicing vegetables. Along one wall sat a large loom, a spinning wheel and skeins of the dyed yarn Dalia used in her craft. A half-carded heap of wool lay in a pile to be combed. The house was unusually quiet, since all three of Jonmarc's younger brothers had been sent to feed the chickens and tend the sheep. 

Dalia repressed a shiver at his question. "Mother and Childe! Don't say such things. I hope not," she replied, and made the sign of the Lady in warding. "We haven't had raiders in these parts for years, not since King Bricen sent his ships after them." 

"The king's ships moved on a long time ago," Jonmarc said. "If we know it, perhaps the raiders know it, too." 

Dalia slipped a strand of her dark hair behind one ear, and her chopping sped up. "I don't want to speak of it. The fishermen watch the waters. The rest of the men watch the forest. And the women pray to the Lady. We'll be all right." She looked up and managed a smile at her eldest son. 

"Go call your brothers and then go down to the forge and tell your father that dinner's almost ready so he has time to wash up." Her face was flushed from the heat of the fire, although the night outside was cool.  

"I'm on my way." Jonmarc said and ducked out of the doorway. Hens pecked at the bare ground near the house, and behind him, in the fenced yard, he could hear the sheep and goats. The night was cool and clear, but smoke from the forge's coal fire hung in the air. 

His brothers, Neil, Piers and Marty, were out in the small yard that separated the house from the barn and the forge. Neil, two years younger than Jonmarc and half a head shorter, was splitting wood. Piers, three years younger than Neil, was feeding the sheep, while four year-old Marty traipsed behind him. 

"Finish up and get inside," Jonmarc called. "Dinner's nearly ready." 

Neil stood up and stuck the blade of his axe on the chopping block. He wiped his brow with his sleeve. "Good thing. I'm hungry." 

Piers and Marty were being mobbed by sheep eager for their own meal. "Did you hear me?" Jonmarc shouted. 

Piers dumped the last of the feed into the trough and then lifted Marty onto his shoulder to get him away from the jostling herd. He gave a glance in Jonmarc's direction. "We heard you. We'll be there." 

"Did mother know anything about raiders?" Neil asked in a voice pitched so the younger boys did not hear. 

Jonmarc shook his head. "No-or at least, nothing she'd say aloud. I think it spooked her when I mentioned it. Best not to bring it up at dinner." 

Neil nodded. "What if it's true?" 

Jonmarc let out a long breath. "Then we're in for a lot of trouble. Keep your axe sharpened, and hope we don't need it for anything except wood." He paused. "I'm going to get father. If I can, I'll see if he's heard anything from the fishermen." 

Jonmarc took off running. At fifteen, he was tall, just a bit over six feet. Years of working alongside his father in the forge had given him a strong back and muscular arms. A mop of chestnut-brown hair hung in his brown eyes, and he pushed it out of the way as he ran.