Haste to the Wedding
© 2015 by Walter Reimer

This is a sequel to Blunt Objects, which is a sequel to Mont Rose, which is itself a sequel to Rajjan Tor.

The stories are set in  tegerio's Realm of Faerie universe, as shown in his Zandar's Saga here on FA, and The Ballad of Adler Young, Canto I, and Canto II.

Art by  tegerio

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Part 15.


Dinner consisted of roasted chicken with herbs and vegetables, with dense, chewy flatbread that was flecked with onions and herbs. Extra tables had been set up, and the adults had wine to drink. Lanterns set around the perimeter of the patio provided light as the sun went down.

More than a few uncomfortable glances were exchanged before everyone bowed their heads to give thanks to Fuma for the dinner. As the head of the household, Farukh gave the blessing, although his voice seemed to falter just a bit as he intoned the part about “our Sublime Lady grant us peace in our homes.” That tiny hesitation netted him an icy glare from his mother, seated at the end of the main table.

Part of the meal was consumed in relative silence, apart from the clink of flatware on porcelain. At least, it was consumed in relative quiet at the table set aside for the adults. Jake, Lucy, and their cousins were at a table reserved for them, and they seemed to be having a good time.

Once or twice, Ayyub caught himself envying them.

“Ayyub?” his Uncle Walid asked.

“Hmm? Yes, Uncle?”

“Heard a rumor the other day,” the fox said as he tore a small hunk from a piece of flatbread and dipped it in a small bowl of tamarind chutney. He chewed and swallowed as his nephew waited expectantly. “I heard that the Crown Prince is coming down here. Know anything about that?” A few of the others at the table swiveled their ears in the younger tod’s direction.

Ayyub put his wine cup down and said, “Last year, the Yeomanry was honored as The Crown Prince’s Own for its efforts. I’ve been sort of on leave the past few months,” and he waggled a paw, “so I’m not riding out with my troops as often as I used to. I hear a lot of rumors,” and he started to tick them off his fingers. “The Yeomanry’s to be disbanded, the Yeomanry’s to be taken into active service with the Army, the Crown Prince is coming, the Crown Prince isn’t coming . . . “ He shrugged. “People hear things from travelers, merchants or balladeers.”

“Why aren’t you out with the Yeomanry?” Fatima asked.

“Actually, Grandmama, a few of the troop leaders don’t go out unless they have to, or choose to. I asked for garrison duty because I was getting things ready for the wedding,” and he smiled at Isabeau, who smiled back.

The elderly vixen snorted. He could feel a brush against his mind, and resolutely shut it out, which caused the old woman to fume a bit. She attacked her portion of chicken with a bit more enthusiasm than the tender roast bird required.

“Have you decided what to grow on your new farm, Ayyub?” Aunt Helena asked.

“I already have an orchard planted, along with a few other things. I was thinking,” and he glanced at Isabeau again, “of getting back into the ant business.”

This caused a general perking of ears. “Wish you all the luck in the world, lad,” Uncle Mohan said, raising his wine cup in a toast.

“Hear, hear,” seconded Uncle Rafik.

“My Salman was always good with ants,” Fatima growled. “No idea why he got out of the business. I tell you, he could almost tell what an ant was thinking.” Her daughter and sons all nodded, having heard this assertion before.

Isabeau leaned close to Ayyub and whispered, “I often wonder what Beauty thinks.”

“Same here,” he whispered back, surreptitiously slipping a paw into her lap. “Years ago we had a magic-user come through, and someone bet him he couldn't tell us what an ant was saying.”

“Oh? Was he successful?”

He shrugged. “Not really sure. From what I heard, he had to be locked away. Started stealing sugar.”

“Ayyub!”

He sat up as Isabeau smothered a giggle behind her paw. “Yes, Grandmama?”

Her eyes narrowed. “Are you and her doing anything improper under the table?”

The tod glanced at his betrothed before turning his gaze back to the matriarch. “No, Ma’am.”

“Hmmph. Why not, I wonder. Farukh, Hannah, are you raising this young tod right?” Before they could frame an objection she glared accusingly at Isabeau. “Or is this young vixen corrupting my grandson?”

Ayyub gulped down the last of his wine and said, “Grandmama?”

“What?”

He held out a paw and Isabeau took it as he said, “My betrothed – soon to be my wife,” and he squeezed her paw as he continued to match Fatima’s glare, “is a fine young woman, of good family. If anyone’s going to corrupt her, it might as well be me.” From a corner of his eye he saw Isabeau blushing very prettily.

Everyone else at the table was apparently holding their breath, and one or two glanced away from him to see the Sharpears Family matriarch’s reaction.
Fatima’s ears had gone straight back. “Cheeky little sod.”

“Not cheeky, Grandmama. It is the pure and simple truth.” He smiled at her. “Rajjan Tor has some different customs than Woodbridge.”

“Woodbridge? Is that the name of her home town?”

“It is,” Isabeau replied. Her tail swished a bit and her ears perked, and she released Ayyub’s paw and picked up a piece of flatbread.

“I’ve heard that the mountains aren’t a very safe place.”

“Oh?”

“Yes,” the older woman said. “Full of brigands and outlaws, high snow and avalanches, that sort of thing.”

Isabeau smiled. “You shouldn’t really believe everything you hear in ballads, Mrs. Sharpears. People might think your faculties are fading.”

Ayyub’s Aunt Melina started so badly she dropped her wine cup in her lap, and started hurriedly dabbing at the spilled beverage before it could stain her dress. Her husband Rafik merely sat there, his muzzle hanging open.

“So,” and the word emerged from Fatima’s mouth as a hiss, “you think I’m going senile?”

The younger vixen’s smile grew a bit wider. “Not at all, Ma’am.” A slight tic seemed to start at the corner of her left eye.

“Are you all right, my dear?” Fatima asked. “I’m not really surprised if you’re having trouble. Everyone knows that the air’s thinner up in the mountains. Being down here must be giving you a frightful headache.” She refilled her wine cup and took a sip, then paused and cocked an eyebrow as she looked down the length of the table at Isabeau.

Ayyub felt a slight tug inside his head and guessed that his beloved and his grandmother had taken their ‘discussion’ to Elf-mind. He glanced over at Isabeau and noted with some disquiet that the vixen was very slowly shredding the piece of flatbread in her paws. There was a growing pile of tiny pieces on her plate.

His mother seemed to sense it as well, and she suddenly rapped her knuckles against the table. Fatima blinked and Isabeau seemed to shudder a bit as Hannah asked “Who wants dessert?” in an altogether too brisk tone. The others appeared relieved by the request, and Aunt Melina, Aunt Zara, and Ayyub’s mother got up and headed for the kitchen. “Farukh?” Hannah called out.

“Yes?”

“Get the tea started, please,” and Ayyub could have sworn upon Fuma’s Starry Tailfur that there was tiniest bit of emphasis on the last word.

The dessert was sharbat, a chilled thick semisolid syrup flavored with orange-flower water and sweetened with a bit of date sugar. Jake, Lucy and the others at the other table cheered when they were served, and tucked into their bowls happily.

Ayyub found himself envying them again – at least, until he felt Isabeau’s tail brush against his.

His smile wasn’t lost on his grandmother.

Isabeau’s teeth grated against her spoon as her head suddenly snapped up and her eyes narrowed at the older vixen. Battle, it appeared, had resumed.

“This is wonderful, Hannah,” Zara said just a bit too loudly. It had the benefit of distracting both combatants as the rest of the adults also expressed their pleasure at the dish. For a moment, there was only the sound of spoons on the bowls, and occasional slurping sounds as the sharbat was eaten.

Tea was being served with sweet berry preserves as Helena asked, “Mother, do you want some tea?”

Fatima glowered at her daughter. “Yes,” she growled. “And could you get one of the powders from my bag?”

“Of course.”

Isabeau asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Sharpears?” She added a sweet smile to the question that almost made Ayyub want to find cover.

As it was, he was grateful that neither Isabeau nor his grandmother had weapons.

Fatima didn’t reply until Helena brought her a small twist of papyrus. She opened it and emptied the contents into her tea, stirred, and drank it off in one long swallow. Exhaling explosively, the older vixen put her teacup down on the table hard enough to sound like she’d used a hammer. Her hackles had raised, giving her the appearance of wearing a ruff, and her tail was twitching from side to side.

Isabeau was trying – and failing – to maintain a serene expression. Her tail was betraying her as well.

She suddenly yawned. “Ayyub?”

“Yes, maiteak?” He caught Fatima’s ears flicking at him at the foreign word.

His intended sighed. “I’m feeling really tired. Could we go home?”

“Sure,” he replied with a smile. “You go say goodnight, and I’ll get Beauty saddled.” He wiped his mouth and placed the napkin on the table, then stood and headed for the house, pausing to ruffle his younger brother’s headfur.

Farukh and Hannah were a bit disappointed, but were also pleased when they were reminded that the Weatherwrights were expected to arrive the next day. Isabeau said her goodbyes to the others before approaching Fatima.

She dropped a curtsy, and when she straightened up she felt a tic tugging at the outside corner of her left eye.

You have some spirit, girl, Fatima said in Elf-mind.

Thank you, Mrs. Sharpears.

An echoing snort. It wasn’t a compliment. “Good-night, my dear,” she said aloud.

“Good night, Mrs. Sharpears.”

Later, she was slouched in the saddle as Ayyub led Beauty by the reins. “Ayyub?”

“Yes, Isabeau?”

“I made a bad impression.”

There was no moon, but it was a cloudless night and she could barely make out his ears as they perked. “What makes you say that?”

“Your grandmother. I’m afraid I was rude to her.”

“I guessed.” A pause. “Was she rude to you, love?”

“Yes. She kept telling me these awful stories about stupid or ignorant highlanders.”

“Then I think you gave as good as you got, Isabeau,” he chuckled. “We’ll get home, and I’ll put you to bed. Headache?”

“Yes.”

“Bad one?”

“Uh-huh.”