In the Shadows of Dragons, Part 8:
What a Child Understands
Pale morning light seeped its way through the side of the tent, dancing across Kotari’s face. His eyes fluttered open against it, then flew open in shock. Scrambling quickly, little Kotari threw his rough tunic on and stuffed himself into his pants twice, the first time wrong side out. No time to find a comb, he dragged his fingers through his hair in hopes of making it lie straight. He dove out of his little side tent and into the main one, looking around frantically, seeing no one. Only the scantest bit of furniture had been set up, the camp table and chairs, since they were on the move, heading back to the coast and home. The empty tent gave the child no relief, though. Surely his absence at breakfast had been noted.
Numbly, he went for the darning basket. Stockings and under tunics always needed mended, and he might as well be doing something before trouble came. He threaded a needle with shaking hands. The last thing he wanted before the lonely stretch of the great house was to be in disfavor. Kotari barely remembered being in the house, and he couldn’t imagine it without his mother. The child pushed the thoughts out of his mind and set to work.
Kotari was so involved with the needle that he didn’t hear the flaps open, so unaware that he knew nothing until he heard his name called softly. “Kotari, put down the sewing.”
Swallowing, Kotari jumped up and started rambling out, “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t wake and no one came and…” He stared at General Daymar’s feet, hoping the apology would be enough.
“They were instructed not to wake you until I sent for you.” Kotari looked up in surprise as Daymar crossed the space to a camp chair. The General’s tone was troubled, and his face dark.
“Did…did I do something wrong?” The child asked meekly. Daymar shook his head and held out his hand to the chair. Kotari stood there in confusion.
“You did nothing wrong. Have a seat.” Kotari dutifully stepped forward and sat, though he never expected to ever sit at the same table as his master, especially when he should be in trouble. But Daymar now wore a sad smile, looking very far from stern and angry. “Do you like oranges?” Daymar indicated the bowl in the middle of the folding table with sliced fruit left from his breakfast. “Have one, if you want.” Kotari took a slice tentatively and sucked on it absently as he stared wide eyed at the general.
Daymar slowly sat himself in the chair across from Kotari, looking all the world like he was gathering himself for a day of battle, wearing his thoughtful look now. “Minus the formalities, Kotari, you are no longer my slave, and you must no longer behave as if you were.”
Kotari pulled the remaining half of his orange slice away from his lips. He didn’t think his stomach would take any food right at that moment, anyway. “Why? What did I do? I’m proud and honored to serve you, lord general. I..I don’t want to serve anyone else!”
Daymar blinked. “No…no, I mean, you’re not anyone’s slave. You’re free.” He put a palm to his brow, shaking his head. “I’m not doing this well…” Daymar stood again and paced for a few moments. Kotari turned the word ‘free’ over and over in his nine year old mind, and it scared him more than the thought of being sold. Suddenly, the general stopped. “You recall the message you ran to me last night?”
Kotari nodded. “From the sorcerers, yes?”
“Yes. It was from the Isle, a request to bring you home. From your father.” Nothing General Daymar could have said or done would have slapped Kotari harder than that phrase. He sat very still, the piece of orange dripping its juice unheeded in a sticky hand.
“My…father?” Not General Daymar, not a man in the camp, but a stranger on the Isle, a stranger that suddenly wanted Kotari.
“Did Lada ever tell you of your father?” Daymar sat again, the creak of the chair audible in the silence that followed.
Finally, Kotari shook his head. “She only said he was a great warrior.”
Daymar chuckled softly. “That’s true enough.” He fell serious again. “Don’t be angry with your mother. Her silence was to protect him and you.” Kotari started to ask the obvious question, but Daymar continued, face falling to a soft scowl. “I’ll let your father explain that, if he will. It’s not my place. But the important thing for now is your position has changed dramatically overnight. Your father is a chosen of the Dragon of Wood, my cousin Bertram, and from now on, you will be treated as a son of the Dynasty. Aradi has been working since first light to make you some more appropriate clothing. She is the only one that knows. I wanted it done before the camp knew…and wanted you to be told.”
Kotari bit his lip, letting everything swirl in his head. He couldn’t grasp much of anything, thoughts of position and fathers sliding past less than understood. But he did find something, and spoke it shyly. “That means we’re cousins? I might like being your cousin better than being your slave.”
Daymar came over and ruffled Kotari’s messy hair. “I hope so. I really do.” Only in the days ahead, when his old friends started bowing to him and the officers started playing with him, did Kotari begin to understand what it all really meant. And he was lonely.