Page 1 of Gilded Crown

Prologue

1675

“Did you give him a turn like you said you would?”

Jari glanced at Mother before he glowered at the scratched surface of the wooden table in their one-room home. “Yeah.”

“Are you lying to me?”

“No.” Jari folded his arms and kicked his feet. “I don’t see why I have to keep my promises to him anyway. I let him play with my marbles, and he still acts like a butthead.”

Mother sighed and pulled off her kerchief before she sat at the table and glanced out the window. Out in the fields, Father was working as usual. Lunch was in an hour, and he’d come in, cursing as usual about whatever and expecting a plate of food to be placed in front of him as soon as he sat.

“When you make a promise, you have to keep it, Jari,” she said, drawing his eyes back to her face. “A real man doesn’t give his word and go back on it.”

“Father doesn’t keep his word.” He’d promised Jari a hoop toy a few months ago. Later, he said Jari didn’t need it.

“I don’t want you to grow up and think that’s all right.”

“But Father’s a real man,” he said. What else could Father be? He was big, strong, and capable of working in the field all day. He also knew how to wield a weapon, and he forced Jari to practice several times a week. He said Jari would grow into a man who didn’t take shit from others because real men knew how to fight.

He also snapped and threatened which Jari didn't like, but he figured a lot of big men were scary.

She patted down her dark hair. A couple of greys had sprouted near her forehead. “A man isn’t a man just because he’sgot muscles or can swing around a sword. A real one keeps his word no matter what. There’s other stuff that you’re too young to understand right now, but you can start with that. If you promise your brother something, whether it's time to play with your marbles or anything, you better keep it.”

He shouldn’t have asked Timothy to help him get water from the stream. He’d only promised that his little brother could play with his marbles to make him help. When he’d later refused to keep his end of the bargain, Timothy had gone whining to Mother.

To top it off, after Timothy had played clanker outside in the dirt, he’d tried to get Jari to give him the whole set. Like that was ever going to happen.

Mother stood and retied her kerchief. “Maybe if I can scrape up a couple of coins after the harvest, I’ll be able to buy him a few. You should share more with him because he’s only four and doesn’t have a lot to play with. More importantly, keep your promises no matter what.” She ruffled his hair and kissed his temple. “I know you won’t disappoint me. You’re a good son, Jari.”

***

“Ma, I don’t feel good,” Timothy whispered. Jari turned over in bed to see his little brother’s shape by his parent’s big bed. The low fire was the only light, and the windows were dark.

“Come here.” Rustles sounded as Timothy got into bed with her.

“Tell that boy to get out,” complained Father. “He’s too old to be sleeping with us, and we gotta be up in an hour or so.”

“So? He doesn’t feel well.” Mother proceeded to make Timothy comfortable against her.

Father rolled over. “I swear, that boy will be twelve and still trying to get in bed. You coddle them both too much.”

“He’s four, and he doesn’t feel good,” Mother said with a faint edge to her voice. Father didn’t say anything after that, and Jari fell back asleep.

***

Timothy was incoherent by that evening as the fever seemed to eat him. Mother was the same by the next morning. Jari didn’t know what to do besides give them water and wet the cloths for their foreheads. It didn’t seem to be working since they continued to sweat, and their tongues turned a purplish color. Father went to the village to find that many had Welling fever which mostly affected children and women.

They had no one with proper skill in medicine, and someone gave Father herbs for a tea that might help. Jari had to drink some too even though he wasn’t sick yet. The tea didn’t seem to help Mother and Timothy.

It must have been luck or Elira that kept Jari from growing ill. Mother passed in the night. Timothy hung on until dawn before following her to Elira’s rest.

Jari stood by the foot of the bed as he stared at the bodies under the blanket. They didn’t have a black sheet, so they’d draped a black shirt over their faces. Father sat by the fire with a face like stone as he smoked his pipe and stared at the floor like it held the reasons as to why he’d lost a wife and child.

Timothy looked so small beside Mother. Jari should have given him all of his marbles to keep, even the one with silvery specks in the glass. Timothy had always been asking to play with them or to keep just one, and Jari had always said no because they were his, and he never wanted to share. He didn’t have any other toys since his wooden soldier had broken.

Father stood from his chair. “I’m getting the shovel.”

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