THURSDAY: The Cheese Monger’s Daughter

BY JOSHUA KAMPE

This is an excerpt from a novel-in-progress. Copyright is held by the author.

Chapter 1: Bri
“STOP FOLLOWING the sword with your eyes, Bri,” my mother barked, slapping my wooden sword into the dirt. “You need to take this seriously. If this were steel, I would have taken your hands, girl.”

I raised the blade, so the tip was pointed up towards her heart. “I know, Mother.” I huffed, shaking the hair away from my eyes.

“Truly? Then do it. Remember to keep your balance centred and your eyes —” Mother lurched back from my blade, her heel close to the edge of the training circle. My bones rattled as the wooden sword met her scabbard.

“I know, already,” I said, strained, through gritted teeth. Mother lowered her sword and lunged. She used this strike often in our training. I moved my sword to redirect her blow, but before our swords met my vision flashed red and black as my head met the soft dirt.

“Did you seriously punch me in the face?” Mother looked down at me smugly, shaking her hand.

“Clearly, you do not know, or you would have seen the punch coming. Instead, you let your fear control your eyes. Just because you start a fight with a sword does not mean a sword is what will end it. Now get up and come at me. If you are unable to strike me, I’ll talk to Master Delringer to give you extra training. I will not have you heading into the Trials unfit nor ill-prepared. Now come at me again, Bri.”

“Uggh!” I pushed up to my knees rubbing my cheek. There will be a bruise later and I’ll have to explain it to Myra or worse Seig, the bastard. I took a deep breath and centered myself. If I don’t participate in the Trials now, I’ll be too old the next time the village Blessing gets transferred.

“Take your time.”

“Shut up,” I snapped, trying to maintain my focus.

“Excuse me?” Mother sneered and I felt four again, but right now I couldn’t be a child, and she couldn’t be my mother.

Mother was the first woman to hold Hohle’s Blessing, and I will be the next. My eyes furrowed, and a crooked grin slid up my mother’s cheek as she lowered herself for the exchange.

“Wait,” The older warrior said, unwinding her stance, “Bri, this will be a duel, we must show proper respects.” I rolled my eyes.

We knelt, each taking a handful of dirt, rubbing what we could in between our fingers. What was left we let slip, pouring like hourglass sand back onto the dueling grounds. Mother took a long moment before standing, letting her breath pick up her head. She’d be more serious now. Not serious enough to use her Blessing, probably, but I couldn’t rule it out.

“Come then child, before I make you fight your father.” She’s trying to get under my skin. Father can barely kill the flies that land on his display wheels. “Never leave an opponent waiting.”

Mother brought her scabbard down hard, the weight of the steel beneath the surface of her blade made my sword arm shiver. Two more quick blows pushed my sword out of its guard. I couldn’t raise my sword fast enough. I felt the wind of her blade arc past my neck. I stumbled back, re-established my guard, and shook the hair from my face. She had range and if she used Hohle’s Blessing’s speed…what could I do?

“I keep telling you to cut your hair, a fight is not the time to play with it,” Mother smirked, for as long as I’ve known she never kept hers long enough to braid. Come to think of it, Father was the one who taught me how when I was a girl. I snapped back as the scabbard came down over my head. I braced, tilting my sword on impact trying to transfer the attack’s force to the side. ‘Think of water being directed by the roof,’ she used to say. My arms dipped under the pressure, the scabbard nicking my shoulder on the way down.

“Think of where the blade lands. If it’s too close to the foible the strike will get through,” she huffed through labored grunts, using the momentum of her sword’s fall to land a low kick to my left knee.

I buckled and slashed wide trying to gain some distance. The older warrior stepped back as if saying, ‘Get up girl.’ I stood up and spat. For all mother’s talk, she refuses to treat me seriously. I brushed the hair from my forehead and grimaced. Unless I come at her with intent to kill, I won’t stand a chance. Mother opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out.

“Don’t listen to the enemy,” I mumbled to myself.

My enemy’s mouth closed, a line of white broke her face, another smirk. Another tell she won’t see me as I see her: a woman, a warrior. She let me charge and that would be her first mistake.

Her smirk faded to grit as a hand moved to her face, covering her eyes from a cloud of kicked dirt. Torqueing my body, my sword cracked against hers, inches from her side, but her sword was what I wanted. Just because it starts with a sword does not mean it will end with one.

I jumped, hoping in the tackle I’d pin her sword flat between our bodies. I felt her knee before I felt the scabbard. If she had used the Blessing, my ribs would have cracked. I crashed to the soft sandy soil of the dueling grounds. I lay flat sucking in air, my lungs feeling like Father’s cheesecloth. I heard the crunch of dirt as Mother turned her back.

“A worthy attempt, Bri, but you are too quick to sacrifice your body. I pray you never see a true battle, but if you did you cannot treat it as if you are fighting your mother. In a few days, Hohle’s Blessing will find purchase in your generation. Your life means more than that power. Don’t throw it away so quickly.”

I rolled to my back and felt the earth around me. “Mother,” I croaked with as much grit as I could muster.

“Yes, darling?” The old warrior turned to look down on me. Scrambling, I threw a clod of dirt I’d compressed as she rambled on basking in her own wisdom. She didn’t hesitate, shifting back from Mother to enemy, the dirt dispersing against her sword. Spinning on the ground I lashed at her ankles, my eyes brightened as the wood skimmed its mark. It wasn’t much but I got my damn hit.

“Stop!” I jolted, half risen from the ground. “I used Hohle’s Speed to move my leg out of the path of your sword. This duel has ceased to be fair.”

Of course, she ends it now, just as I started to succeed against her. My eyes swam with rage. Mother didn’t notice.

“No need to be discouraged, Bri, you fought well. You have come a long way, and I am sure Master Delringer will recognize that.” I brushed her off and walked towards the house, holding my rib cage as if they would tumble out like a child holding too many bundles of twigs. “Bri!” I turned, trying to hide my surprise at her raised voice. “I’m sorry.” She said, adjusting her sword belt, revealing a pinky-wide scar which faded into the muscled lines of her stomach.

I slumped into myself, placed the practice sword on the rack, and walked inside.

***

Father grunted like a fool behind his cheese counter, his thin arms bulged, and his face twisted as he tried to glide the cheese wire through a fresh wheel. A small plate of cut apples sat by the door. I shoveled one into my mouth and palmed a few slices for later. I hoped with a full mouth he wouldn’t talk to me.

“Hello, Bri. I see you found the apples.” I rolled my eyes, “How’d training with your beautiful mother go?” He strained, almost falling as the wire worked its way out of the last lip of the rind.

“Mother’s the most powerful warrior in the village and probably the world. It went like it always does,” I mumbled, crunching into another apple slice.

“Sounds like it went well, then. You know what they say, ‘If it wasn’t hard the Headmans would do it.’” Father shrugged. I tried moving again, “So, do you think you are ready for training with Master Delringer and the rest of your friends this afternoon?”

“Ugh, they aren’t my friends. I’ll face them all in the Trials.”

“And that makes them enemies?”

“For the soil’s sake, yes, Father. The only way to get Mother’s Blessing-”

“Hohle’s,” he corrected. “Give credit to the village. It was granted to Master Hohle first. It is a borrowed power and therefore, does not belong to anyone. Also, what have I said about swearing needlessly, Brioche?” He puffed, crossing his arms and looking through his eyebrows as if that still intimidated me.

“I curse my name,” I grumbled.

“Excuse me?”

The back door to our training ground swung open. “Listen to your father, Bri Buns.” The older warrior now transformed back into mother said in a sing-song way. “Our names are what make us unique. People like us aren’t granted sir-names. So, we must be respectful of the ones we are given by our parents.”

My cheeks flushed hot with embarrassment, “That must make me the most special person on the continent,” I retorted. “Tree, I’m almost 16. I’m not a kid anymore. I am as old as you were when you took the Trials and protected the village, Mother. Don’t call me that stupid name anymore.”

“You’re right, Brioche,” Father chimed, placing a hurried hand on Mother, staving off any shouts of ‘disrespect.’ “Go up to your room and change for training with the others. I will have some of Pop’s ointment for that nasty bruise on your face when you are ready to come back down.”

I prodded at my chin, cursing Mother as I stomped up the stairs, near the front of the shop.

Chapter 2: Breton
AILA PLACED her palms on her brow, running her fingers down the hard angles of her face. I placed my hands against hers. She bent down with a soft smile and pressed her lips to mine.

“You taste salty,” I said, licking my lips. She smiled again and hunched over the few apple slices left over from Bri’s ransack of the fruit plate. “How did it actually go, Aila?” I said, turning to busy myself segmenting the rest of the wheel.

She paused to chew. “It went well, darling. I forgot to call off the duel and she took advantage of my forgetfulness. In the end, I invoked the Blessing to keep her from landing a strike on my ankle.”

A gleam of pride cut across my face. “It must have been your bad ankle if it was worth invoking it against our daughter. I know Hohle’s Speed has been plaguing lefty for some time now. I’ll rub it again tonight.” I felt the weight of my wife as she pressed into my back. We breathed together and I melted like fondue in her arms.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, placing a kiss on the back of my head. “Bri is reckless, foolish, and stubborn.”

“Sounds like my wife.” My chuckle was abruptly ended by an aggressive shoulder punch. I rubbed the bone.

“As I was saying, she has all the necessary weapon skills, but she gets in her own head. I fear if she can’t get over it before too long, we will be picking seeds for her burial tree.”

I turned, her cinnamon-eyed gaze distant. “Like her mother, Bri is tough. She will only be made more so by her training with Master Delringer. She has three more days until they venture into the hills for their final judgments. I have no doubt she will make us proud. Besides, if our prayers are answered, she will not receive Hohle’s Blessing and-” The stairs creaked to life.

Bri sat crouched halfway down the stairs. “Small shop, Father,” she sputtered, her eyes unable to decide between anger or tears. She’d gotten ready quicker than I imagined. I saw a young Aila in her as she stood, bracing the rail, but above anger or hate laid an unmistakable determination that could only be from Aila. I should have reacted immediately, but I could not break myself from the sight of her. The new gambeson I traded for aged her into a beautiful young warrior. “Why even . . . I mean of all the . . . damnit!”

“Bri!” I called, breaking from my wife’s side, but it was too late, and she was gone.

The store bell chimed as my friend Jovon, wielding his large body like a battering ram for chairs and tables, entered near an hour past our scheduled time. “Oh,” he lumbered to the side, nearly taken out by my daughter’s retreat. “Pardons, Breton, if I come at a bad time.” He limped forward to the counter, a canvas sack slung over his shoulder.

“You are the one doing me a favor, Jovon. It would be improper to turn you away.” Aila’s hand steadied me to the task.

“Think nothin’ of it,” the large man blustered, scratching at the thin patches of hair sprouting from an otherwise bald head. “My pleasure, you the best, and the only cheese monger this side of the Golden Hills.”

“You are too kind, friend.” I sniffled, fighting against the acrid stench grafted onto his clothes. “Jovon, pardons for a second.” I turned to Aila. “Dear check on Bri I would hate for–”

“She will be fine. She just needs a moment. Conduct your business, Darling.” My wife said curtly.

“If you insist, we shouldn’t leave that fire untended.” I faced my friend. “Apologies friend.”

“Don’t be Myra can be handful herself at this age.”

“Going back to what you stated, but do you know why they call it the Golden Hills, Jovon?”

“Don’t reckon I do, Breton,” he said, shrugging the sack onto the cheese counter with a thud.

“Dear, I don’t think that-”

“Prime, it was said people believed ogres to be the treasure or gate guardians for the little gods. Centuries ago, when ogres ran amuck and slaughtered sheep herds and mercenaries were hired to exterminate pods, they were promised the hoard spoils but-”

“But there were no hoards, and it was too late, and the regional name stuck. Many died when mercenaries came back empty-handed and now pods of them are appearing again,” my wife interrupted. “Please, darling, every time someone says the word ‘gold’ you spin that story.”

“No skin off my teeth, Blessed Aila,” Jovon chortled, more focused on what he brought for trade than my anecdote. “There’s about three pounds of saltpeter from today’s haul from cavern six. Don’t worry, it’s from my cut. The fire boss won’t come a ‘knocking.”

“Appreciated,” I mused excitedly, scanning the assortment of raw preservation rocks.

 “Sorry, it took so long bringin’ them by. There was some new clean-breeches looking at the operation today. My Darla heard through the mill scuttle and apparently, they are looking at purchasing the mine. No chance Boss Elder would sell a single rock to some unknowns with strange accents flashin’ nothin’ but sun-dipped pockets. Too ‘spicious, if you ask me.”

“A delivery and some details more than I bargained for. I always appreciate the mill scuttle.” I nodded gratefully and reached under the counter for a parcel of my own. “That is one pound ground and one pound in links of Hohlhawk sausage and quarter wheel of Lexton yellow cheese. And I threw in a little extra something for Myra, apples from our tree after yesterday’s fall.”

 Jovon’s cheeks flushed followed by a yellowed yet joyous toothy grin. “Well, I better get these to Darla to have them prepped before Myra comes home wallerin’ after training.” He waved without looking back, parcel in hand, and walked with the same labored limp out.

As the door’s bell tolled of his leaving, my wife’s face soured. “Did you know about the foreign ‘clean-breeches’ at the mine?”

“No,” she said, dryly. “The guards posted at the gate should have falconed. At least I never saw it on their register.”

“It’s not the first-time people have come to look into the mine, especially in the last few years. It’s probably nothing,” I spoke softly, trying to distract her overactive imagination.

She looked bent down to me again, visions of improbable dangers still lingering in the folds of her brow. “I need to speak to Captain Bovy. Something about this has me on edge. There are plenty of mines more profitable than ours farther inland. Our ore pockets aren’t as plentiful, save the saltpeter,” she said to herself, unwilling to complete the thought. Aila pressed another kiss on my cheek before checking her sword belt again, her nervous habit. “Breton, darling, do you need anything before I come back?”

“No, just you. Perhaps stop by Brioche’s training grounds before you return home. I’m sure her friends and Master Delringer would love to see you as they are only a few days away from their final judgments before the transferal of the Blessing.”

“If I know our daughter she would love to see her parents right now.” My wife groaned sarcastically, taking a long breath which wavered at the end.

“Go on and check with the captain. I’ll have dinner ready after I prepare for Jora’s visit. I got a falcon today saying he will be at least a day late for the blessing ceremony. My brother even sent it to the second perch.”

“The second perch? He always exaggerates but to send it as an emergency is unlike him. I’m sure Bri will think it worth the emergency post but since when did he have an extra moon to waste?” She huffed.

“Bri will recover from the blow. He has not been able to escape the Troacian ports since he was eleven.”

“Has not been able or has not wanted to?”

“Either. I’m sure he means well. His last message made mention of some new venture involving a captain from the other side of the Divided Sea.” I shrugged, catching faint glints of interest in her eyes. She always wanted to leave the village, maybe after someone else gets Hohle’s Speed we can take a trip to the family home. Port Mola is beautiful in the summer months. It would be nice to feel the salt breezes home again.

“It’s time darling”, she hummed, “I must be off.” I sighed, alone in the shop again. My brother’s message sat folded under the cheese knife. I read the lines over in my head and then aloud:

Proud of ol’Bri Buns afraid big brother Jor’ass’ has bad news. Be late for the ceremony, don’t ask, falcons won’t reach me for a while. Will be heading up when I’m able, too much gold down south. Salt is losing its flavor. Will be bringing three bags of your special supplies for the family. I hope to see you before Father does.

My brother never shined in his letters no matter who Ma and Pop hired to tutor. I folded the small scroll neatly before placing it in my pocket. I exhaled contentedly, if he had begun to make some fortune in the South, I’m proud, but I wish it wouldn’t have come at my daughter’s expense. Bri would accept that excuse for now. I took the cheese knife and cut myself a thin slice. I repeated the last line which pricked at my mind as I chewed. Father has been dead for eight years?

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Joshua Kampe is currently pursuing his undergrad in English at Friends University, in Wichita, Kansas. This is his first step on a hopefully long journey in publishing. He is certain you will see him on the fantasy shelves someday. The excerpt is from his second ever manuscript.