Children of the Song

Chapter 1


Benaiah stepped gingerly over an exposed root and clambered down a hill that was covered in leaves from the giant Guardians. The sun shone through the well-spaced branches with a warm intensity that could only be found near the Plains of Kabuul. Several birds chirruped from above, hidden behind the bright green foliage that was now interspersed with reds and oranges; Benaiah stopped at times to listen to their calling and then continued on his trek. In all of Aeil, he thought to himself, I am the most blessed man to be able to experience days like these.

The savory scent of cinnamon and lavender spiked the air with their heaviness and Benaiah breathed the smell in deeply; it refreshed his bones to the very core. He paused a moment and then sat down under a large Guardian, he plopped his traveling pack to one side then he rested his back against the Guardian's warm bark. His leg was paining him again, as it usually did when he walked for long periods of time, but a little rest would do no harm. He'd be up and walking soon, on his way to complete his yearly quest. But the quest could wait, at least until he got his instructions from the Kalendaal Palace.

Sharp squawking sounds in the foliage erupted from the local bird population. The trees bustled with frenzy as the residents took their leave suddenly. The reason for their departure was soon apparent; two fierce cries pierced the mid-morning air,

"BRAWK! BRAWK!"

Benaiah jumped up and quickly grasped for his sword, wincing slightly at the pain in his leg. He was about the slide his blade out of its sheath to prepare for a possible attack when a glint of bright plumage greeted his eyes. He chuckled at his flightiness and settled back against the tree. A large dactylus swooped down from the sky and perched on the branch just above Benaiah's head. The bough trembled slightly under the great bird's weight and promptly shed some leaves, perhaps to compensate for the great bundle of fluff it now carried.

"BRAWK!"

"Well if it isn't Cornelius! Good morning, old friend." Benaiah said as he gazed up at the dactylus. Its brightly coloured feathers seemed to light the entire forest up. Benaiah motioned with his hand and Cornelius gracefully descended from his perch to the ground. He hopped from foot to foot and scratched at the dirt with his razor-like claws, causing it to bunch up as though it had been freshly plowed.

"Do you have anything for me?" Benaiah asked the courier for Kalendaal Palace.

"BRAWK." Cornelius nodded his head and stretched out a foreleg. A metal container was strapped onto him; Benaiah carefully opened it and pulled out a small scroll. He shut the contraption and sat back to read. Cornelius, seeing he was no longer needed, hopped off a few paces to scrounge for worms and bugs.

Benaiah began to read:


Benaiah Jaendaal


Proceed to the southern perimeter for yearly check


Vaanajael Forest


Benaiah snapped the scroll shut and smiled. He was only three leagues from Vaanajael Forest. His entire assignment would be easier to complete simply because he insisted on leaving Kalendaal early, much to the dismay of his mother and his Nanya (his mother's mother).

Cornelius squawked and shot his head up from the ground. Benaiah peered over his shoulder just in time to see the bird down a long, slimy wet worm. Cornelius gulped and slurped, finally allowing his long tongue to loll out of the side of his mouth as though he were a Baelinur.

Benaiah shook his head, allowing his shaggy brown hair to wave around his face. Even Cornelius was bound to King Torus's Code. Everyone was bound to his Code, even the king. That is, everyone except the Marked Men.

Benaiah got to his feet and ripped the message into tiny pieces. He watched as they fluttered away on the wind, blending in with the surrounding environment. It was all games for those with high ranks; they pushed their pawns around, sending messengers here and there. Shooing Silent Wanderers into the forests for unimportant yearly check-ups. He grimaced as he thought of King Torus on his royal throne with his billowing, elaborately designed robes and goblets of gold. How many times had he been invited to sup with the king while the families on the outskirt of the capital city were starving? Benaiah shook his head again and stood up.

"Are you coming with me Cornelius?" Benaiah ask as he adjusted his sword belt and then knelt to pick a red berry from an overgrown bush.

"Brawk, brawk, brawk, br--"

"Okay, okay, that's enough." Benaiah spoke over the loud squawking and glared at his feathered friend, he allowed his expression to soften after several moments, "I'm heading off to Vaanajael Forest right away. You know, orders. I should be there by tomorrow morning, since it isn't that far. Why don't you tag along for a bit; you can head back to the palace within a few days." Benaiah plopped the red berry into his mouth and picked up his bag. He watched as Cornelius continued to scratch the ground and emit excited chirps every time he found food.

"Suit yourself then." Benaiah began to walk to the south-west. He'd only gotten five or so paces when Cornelius landed on a branch ahead of him and cooed. He continued to follow Benaiah, hopping from branch to branch and deviating every now and then when he spied an especially juicy looking bug. Benaiah didn't mind, although it annoyed him when Cornelius squawked loudly and chased other birds. He apparently had some prejudice against smaller birds. He just needs a wife to straighten him out, Benaiah stifled a laugh as he pictured Cornelius, all prim and proper, attending to a fancy dactylus wife. He shook the pictures from his head and looked up.

The outer ridge of the Yael Forest appeared quickly, giving rise to slender hills covered in grasses and meadow flowers. Benaiah paused and tenderly placed his hand on the bark of the last Guardian. He closed his eyes and nodded his head, as though listening, then he removed his hand and walked out into the open field. Cornelius presently followed, continuing his colouful vocalizations as he hungrily watched the butterflies and caterpillars.

* * *

Benaiah woke up to the sound of the wind in his ears and birds chirping in the grasses. He lifted his head and found himself enveloped in a jungle of flowers.

He had stopped, last night, on the Plains of Kabuul. After traveling all day through the Yael forest, he was now well near the border of the Venaajael Woods. It had been a long time since he last slept in the open of a meadow, and so Benaiah had decided to spend the night on the plain. He glanced around, glad that he had chosen so well.

The very sight of the richly coloured flowers warmed his heart.

Slowly, Benaiah rose and settled to his knees. The grass heads were leveled just above his shoulders and their sweet scents wafted into his nose. He sniffed deeply and smiled to himself. This was his kind of life. This was where he belonged; not out scampering through the city and running errands, but frollicking in the grass and traveling across Aeil. This was his world. Turning his gaze to the west, Benaiah strained his eyes and spied the thin black line of trees in the distance. It made his heart leap to see the trees standing far off, like sentinels guarding sacred ground.

Several feet off, Benaiah watched as Cornelius opened his eyes to the first rays of sunlight and let out an exceptionally loud cry of delight.

Benaiah grinned as he watched Cornelius jump to his crooked legs and bound off after a young gopher. He found himself laughing at the comic gait of the old bird and then realized how he, too, looked like Cornelius.

His leg ached somewhat and Benaiah rubbed the muscle, carefully avoiding the long scar that ran from his hip to his knee.

When Cornelius returned, Benaiah had finished gathering his belongings, so they set out for Venaajael. He had not bothered to eat anything, for he was not yet hungry; his flask of water was now empty, but he would refill it at a stream in the forest. The Guardians would tell him where to find one.

The walk to the forest edge was rather charming; the wild meadow flowers swayed in the cool breeze and the insects flitted from their dainty heads, gathering nectar. The sun warmed overhead, spreading its rays across the top of the Venaajael and shining down lightly on the traveler. Benaiah let his shoulders soak in the glowing warmth, as he massaged the stiffness that a night on the ground had left him with. Before too long all aches had disappeared and he moved at a faster pace, eager to greet the Guardians of this wood.

By mid-day, he had reached the outskirts of the Venaajael. The tall trees stood stalwart in their unwavering positions. They seemed friendly, almost human to Benaiah. He smiled and stepped forward to touch the bark of the nearest Guardian, yet before his hand could rest upon the wood a sound of snapping branches caught his attention. He withdrew his hand quickly and set it upon his sword hilt. Pulling gently, he dislodged the weapon from its scabbard, making it ready for quick action in case any dangerous beasts charged him from the thick undergrowth.

Cornelius settled down on a nearbye branch and squacked,

"BRAWCK!"

"Shhh!" scolded Benaiah. Then, he asked the bird, softly, "What is it? Can you see anything?"

Cornelius shook his head and then took to flight. His great colourful wings pressed against the air as he pushed himself higher and higher above the forest. Benaiah took his eyes off of him and set them on the bushes. Another series of snaps grabbed his attention.

Once Cornelius returned, Benaiah set to questioning him, being careful not to take his eyes off the bushes for long periods.

"Is it dangerous?" he asked.

Cornelius nodded his head and then spread his wings to balance himself from falling off the branch.

"Is it big?"

Again, Cornelius nodded his head.

"Is it an Iper?" Benaiah shivered slightly at the thought of the great beast entangling him in its sticky web. To his relief, Cornelius shook his head, no.

"Is it--"

But Benaiah was cut off as the thing charged out of the undergrowth. The young man unsheathed his sword with great speed and took a fighting stance, but to his great surprise, the beast ran straight past him to the Plain of Kabuul.

Furrowing his brow, Benaiah wiped away the sweat that had formed on his brow and sheathed his sword.

"That's strange, eh Cornelius?" he said to his companion, who had glided down from the branch and was now hopping by his side, "Why would a great boar choose to avoid a fight? It's a pity, for certain; we could have had fresh meat, you and I."

At the mention of meat, Cornelius raised his head and cooed, then he turned away to dig for worms. Benaiah huffed and then moved to touch the Guardian, yet again he was interrupted.

"Hello?" came a feminine voice from somewhere within the darkened woods.

Benaiah jerked his head up and looked around. King Torus had not told him natives lived in these woods, let alone natives that spoke the common tongue.

"Hello?" asked the same voice. It sounded closer now.

Benaiah stepped forward and entered the forest, feeling somewhat nervous, as he had not yet talked with the Guardians.

From the deeper shadows, he could see a form moving.

"Who goes?" he called gruffly, hoping that whoever stalked through the brush was friendly.

The sound of pattering feet caused him to step back. The form of a young maiden appeared. As she stepped into the light that streamed down from above her figure was enhanced and Benaiah was shocked by her beautiful blonde hair and dazzling blue eyes.

"Who are you?" asked Benaiah, quite surprized that such a fine maid would be frollicking through potentially dangerous woods.

"Do you need a drink, sir?" she ignored his question and withdrew a chalice from the folds of her cloak. The motion revealed that she wore fine silks beneath the simple woolen garb and Benaiah wondered at why such a woman of prestige (for it appeared that she was one of high rank) would be hiding in the forest.

"It would greatly please me, for I am thirsty and have not yet found a stream." Benaiah smiled, then added, as was custom for a man to say when a woman aided them, "I will grant you a boon for your troubles."

He waited while the stranger withdrew a bottle from her cloak and poured some liquid into the chalice. Then, she handed him the cup.

Benaiah tilted the chalice and drained the sweet mixture down his throat. Finished, he sighed and returned the cup back to the strange lady.

“Thank you, ma’am. Is there anything I can do for you in return for your kindness?”

The lady smoothed her silk dress and nodded, “Come with me.”

Her voice had a lovely lilt to it; Benaiah rose to his feet and fell into step behind the stranger. He glanced back at Cornelius, who stared after him with beady eyes. The dactylus didn't squack at all; he simply turned around and flapped away silently. Benaiah shrugged his shoulders.

Turning his attention back to the woman, he proceeded through the thick forest growth, swatting at the occasional humbumble.

“May I be so bold as to ask what a woman like you is doing in this forest?” Benaiah pulled beside his new acquaintance and tightened his sword belt.

“No. But do call me Kyla.” Her voice sounded gruff and the lilt was displaced by heavy breathing, which punctuated each word.

“Oh, well that’s fine with me, Kyla.” Benaiah felt his face flush; had he just been refused? Silent Wanderers were rarely refused anything, but then again, perhaps she had not guessed his status yet.

“Might I then have the honour of knowing what it is that you wish me to do in return for the refreshments?” He raised an eyebrow and waited for her response. They continued to pave a path through the undergrowth. Eventually, Kyla answered his question,

“Soon. It’s not safe here.” The woman clambered over a fallen log. She paused on the other side to look left and right, then motioned for Benaiah to follow suit as she jumped down a large hole. Benaiah stopped in his place and eyed the hole suspiciously. Should he take the chance? He thought back to his lessons in the palace about Torgs. They could disguise themselves however they wished and then lead innocent people into death traps. Benaiah slowly climbed over the log and peered into the dark recesses. Kyla called up to him,

“Come down, it’s safe. We’ve been waiting for you.”

Benaiah grimaced, so there are others, he thought. Exhaling, he stepped closer to the edge. The hole could belong to an Iper; he shuddered at the thought of getting caught in a large, sticky web. He’d dealt with one before, but at that time he had a company of men helping him. No one could help him now.

“Kyla,” He leaned slightly over the hole and peered down, “I’m not comfortable. May I speak with you and your friends up here?”

Silence followed the echo of his voice. For some reason, he felt a sudden surge of comfort in the thought of jumping down the hole. Besides, if she were a Torg the Iper would be busy with her. He had promised her a boon in return for the refreshments that she offered.

Breathing out slowly, Benaiah leaned further over and saw the tiniest flicker of light at the bottom of the shaft. He licked his lips, now dry despite the juice he’d consumed. Pulling out his sword, he pointed it straight down. If anyone dared to impale him from below, they'd die with him. Before he could change his mind, Benaiah exhaled and jumped into the hole, preparing himself for the impact he knew would come. The bone-racking shock of sword hitting ground jolted every bone in his body.

* * *

The light of a lantern flickered on the wall. Slowly, the pain dissipated from Benaiah’s arms and legs; he looked around. This was no Iper web! Thank Shammahya! He groaned as the effects of the impact caused his muscles to tighten.

Kyla’s face poked out of the tunnel on the left. Her hair was now tied back with a leather thong, but her skirts remained hidden by the coarse woolen cloak.

“Aah, you do have faith.” She exclaimed with a bright smile. Benaiah struggled to his feet and massaged his shoulders.

“Yeah, faith...I guess so.” He wrapped his hands around his sword and yanked it from the ground. The tip looked dull; he’d have to sharpen it soon. Hopefully Kyla's friends would be of no harm to his well-being. He understood that death by an unsharpened sword was very painful.

“Please,” Kyla stooped and collected the lantern, “follow me.” She turned and proceeded down the tunnel.

Benaiah slid his sword back into his scabbard. There was no way out now, he had to go on. He glanced up the hole down which he had fallen. The light from the upper world was a speck in the distance. How would he get out? There must be another entrance. Something far easier to access but definitely better hidden.

The sound of voices down the tunnel drew his attention. He quickly jogged after Kyla to catch up. The path turned several times and then emptied out into a large cavern.

Kyla was speaking to three men; Marked Men by the style of their clothes. Benaiah halted and looked around. Aside from the four humans, the cavern was otherwise empty. It's vaulted roof swung upwards and disappeared into inky blackness. The lantern-light from the center of the room only pressed some of the darkness away.

“Benaiah.” Kyla’s voice carried across the distance with ease; she waved him over with her hand. Hmph, she's at ease now, thought Benaiah as he glanced at her group of friends.

“Sir, we wish to speak with you.” The man with the silver robe beckoned him. Must be the elder, thought Benaiah, his robes show seniority.

Benaiah walked towards the group and fingered the tassels on his cloak, contemplating his appearance. He cupped his hands and bowed his head twice according to custom.

“Greetings.”

“Welcome, Benaiah. We’ve been eagerly anticipating your visit.” The silver robed man and others customarily greeted him back.

“I am Stephos,” The man in silver nodded to his companions; “these are my sons, Kanyo and Deblo. You’ve already become acquainted with Kyla, my daughter. Welcome to our home.”

“What is it you gentlemen want from me?” Benaiah turned to look at Kyla. She smiled but remained silent while Deblo spoke,

“We are a remnant of the Chosen Ones. King Torus has nearly wiped our people off the face of this planet, as you already know from being a Silent Wanderer. We know who you are, Benaiah; we ask that you help us retrieve that which was stolen.” Deblo opened his hands; Stephos, Kanyo, and Kyla followed suit. Each finger was marked with a golden image of a tree.

Benaiah felt his body involuntarily stiffen. These were them! Traitors! Marked Men! He stepped backwards, away from their arms...their fingers.

“I can’t, you’re traitors.” he whispered tensely.

Stephos lowered his hands and frowned, “You know better, Benaiah. Your years of tutelage have taught you the lies that have been spread concerning the Chosen Ones. What more do you need to know?”

Benaiah took a step backwards to distance himself and then thought of the teaching he’d had on the Marked Men, the name given to the Chosen Ones by the citizens of King Torus.

They believed that Shammahya, the One True God, sent his Son Elia to die and be resurrected to save mankind from their sins. His teachings, of which Galeron had studied several, were good; his death was horrific. He had been nailed to the bottom of a living tree trunk and then the trunk had been lowered back into the ground. The part Benaiah could never believe was that the tree had been found, three days later, replanted; the old “tomb” was empty and Elia was alive again. From that cursed tree grew a glorious little sapling whose leaves and bark were of finest gold. While it was viewed as the ultimate treasure to the secular populace, Benaiah knew the Marked Men believed it to be a sacred, special reminder of their Saviour.

Benaiah shook his head. He didn’t agree with King Torus’s edict to wipe out all the Marked Men, but he couldn’t bring himself to believe the miraculous life of the God-Son as real.

He looked back up at the four...Chosen Ones, and firmed his mind. It was the right thing to help these people. That was one of the vows he took when he became a Silent Wanderer: to protect and aid men, women, and children no matter who they are, what they do, or what they believe.

Steeling himself against his will Benaiah cleared his throat and spoke, his body still tense against his wishes,

“Please, pardon my words and disgraceful attitude. As a Silent Wanderer, it is my duty to help you, no matter your beliefs. Be forewarned; although you have acquired my services,” Benaiah nodded at Stephos, “you have not earned my respect.”

Kyla smiled and soon the others joined her with large grins.

“Kanyo, take Sir Benaiah to his room please. We have much work ahead of us.” Stephos approached Benaiah and clasped his shoulder with one hand, a sign of friendship. Benaiah hesitated a moment and then returned the gesture. These people acted with much more hospitality than what he’d come to expect of them from teachings.

“Thank you, Benaiah. Your services are greatly appreciated.” Stephos removed his hand and turned to leave.

“When will we be able to discuss this item that must be...retrieved?” Benaiah questioned. Stephos stopped and faced the Wanderer,

“Tomorrow; we will rest tonight.” With that, Stephos, Kyla, and Deblo strode out of the room. Kanyo cleared his throat and motioned for Benaiah to follow him.

The Silent Wanderer sighed and strode across the cavern. He accepted one of the lanterns Kanyo held out and then fell into step behind him.

They entered a narrow tunnel and hiked up a flight of stone stairs. It didn’t take Benaiah long before he lost his sense of direction. The twists and turns were endless; once the pathway widened, he quickened his pace to walk beside Kanyo.

“Are there many more of you here?” Benaiah questioned as he stared into the dark edges that formed fringes around the bobbling light of the lantern.

Kanyo turned into another tunnel; the sudden narrowing of the path forced Benaiah to walk behind his guide. The lanterns continued to cast shadows across the walls; the lights flickered wildly and threatened to blow out.

“There are many of us. I’m somewhat surprised that you never learned this from the trees.” Kanyo switched his lantern to his other hand. Benaiah opened his mouth to speak but then thought better and closed it. I truly am foolish, he grumbled inwardly, I should have consulted the trees before following Kyla; I wouldn't be in this mess now.

Benaiah continued to follow until Kanyo stopped in front of a large wooden door laden with intricate carvings.

“Your quarters are here.” Kanyo opened the door to reveal a spacious living area on a dirt floor.

“Thank you, Kanyo.” Benaiah entered and his host shut the door behind him.

The furnishings were sparse, only a small table, chair, and bed; nothing terribly attractive. The room smelled unused, like mothballs, yet it was the smell of bark that excited Benaiah. Quickly, he loosened his belt and threw his sword onto the bed. Sniffing again, he found himself being drawn to the far back corner, hidden by an old brown curtain that had been strung up on a wooden staff. The lavatory, he thought, and pushed the curtain aside.

A sliver of disappointment pierced his mind as he looked down at the round hole in the ground. The scent of leaves and bark overrode that of sewage. Turning his gaze from the floor, he raised his lantern and looked up. The dirt had fallen away in one corner of the wall and a large tree root could be seen protruding from the dirt. Benaiah felt his heart squeeze with joy. He wasn’t alone.

Reverently, he raised his hand and touched the root. As soon as contact was made, a whoosh of images, thoughts, and feelings entered his mind. He let out his breath and focused on what the tree was telling him.

As a Silent Wanderer, he had been gifted at a young age. While others were able to connect with the air, water, or soil, Benaiah's gift was special; he talked with trees. As a young boy, Benaiah secretly discovered his gift and had shared it, in confidence, with his Nanya. Once his Nanya realized the importance of his abilities, she sent him to be trained at King Torus’s palace as a Silent Wanderer (much to the dismay of his mother). From there, he was released to roam the world and gain experience.

Benaiah breathed in deeply the scent of wood and dirt. He felt the tension of the day ease as the Guardian revealed where he would have been if he were standing directly above his room on open land; he also learned that the Chosen Ones living here were trustworthy and very kind.

Sighing in satisfaction, Benaiah leaned his forehead against the wall. He longed to be in the overworld again, the oppressive darkness of the underground disturbed him, but the gods had predistined this and he wasn’t about to give up just yet. He’d wait to see what these people had for him and then he would decide whether to lend aid or summon the king’s forces to rid the world of this stronghold.

* * *

Benaiah yawned and cracked open his eyes. At first he was shocked that the sun didn’t bath him with a soft glow. It took a few moments, but slowly the previous day’s events appeared from behind the fuzz of sleep.

Once he had completed his morning stretches in the smothering darkness, Benaiah fastened his belt and attached his sword to his waist. As if it knew his thoughts, his stomach growled angrily for several seconds. Benaiah sneered,

“Ha! To think you’re so pernickety now when you’ve gone for far longer without food!”

After using the bathroom, Benaiah opened his door and peeked outside. The hallway was deserted; only the shadows moved as the torch on the wall wavered in a draft. Wooden braces were located every five paces, holding the ceiling and walls in place. Benaiah wondered why he hadn’t noticed them yesterday.

Closing the door behind him, he took in a deep breath and focused. In the open woods he was able to sense the tree roots when he concentrated hard. If he could do the same thing now, he might be able to find his way around this maze without much difficulty. His teacher at the palace told him he should be able to see through several layers of dirt or bush; if enough tree roots stretched over the expanse of the tunnels and were close enough to the ceiling, he might be able to mentally walk his way through here.

He shut his eyes and envisioned the room as a tree root would. An image slowly formed. He found himself staring down at his body. His hair was overly greasy and his clothes were very dirty.

Grimacing, he turned his attention back to his predicament; Benaiah pushed his mind further out and soon found himself mentally in the dining hall. Smiling, he followed the roots back to where he stood.

With a mental map at hand, he walked the way he’d been in his mind and soon found his nose overwhelmed by the smells of breakfast. Turning the last corner, he stepped into the kitchen. A loud, accented voice bellowed from among pots and pans and serving dishes.

“Aah! I tol’ you owt! Owt, owt, owt! Blastid mongrul!”

Benaiah hid behind a large open barrel of flour and followed the tree roots in his mind until he was looking down on the head chef.

The man’s pudgy face was splotted with red and he had flour on his beard. He towered over Kyla, waving a pan.

“But Malcom, father told me to tell you!”

Kyla straightened slightly and lowered her hand from her head. Malcom feinted relaxation and then whopped her a good one on the skull.

“Thad’ll tich you fer stekin yer ‘ands in mine sawces!”

Kyla rubbed her head gingerly and scowled as she stepped away. She knew better than to fight back, especially when Malcom had that large fillet knife strapped to his apron.

Galeron couldn’t hold in the laughter that was bubbling in his stomach. He finally let out a loud snort and proceeded to nearly choke as he crawled out of his hiding place and stood up, shaking with good humour.

Malcom slowly turned around and glared at Benaiah,

“Owt of my kitchern. Owt!”

Kyla cut him off as she stepped forward.

“Why you little sneak!” She fumed. Benaiah was rooted to the spot with tears trickling down his cheeks and a large, impish grin stuck on his face. He’d never seen a woman look so odd! And Malcom's accent, he snickered when he thought of it.

Kyla frowned and then snatched a pan and threw it into the flour barrel. The white powder gave a loud WHOOF. Benaiah could be heard sneezing amidst the haze; when it cleared, he was holding his stomach laughing. His entire upper body was covered in a thin layer of white dust.

“DAT IS ENOUGH!” Malcom yelled and brandished his large fillet knife, which he swiped anxiously back and forth on his apron. Kyla's eyes widened and Benaiah managed to stop laughing.

“BOLT OF YOU! OWT NOW!”

Kyla didn’t need to be asked twice. She snatched Benaiah's arm and dragged him from the kitchen.

“That wasn’t funny!” She snapped, “I don’t appreciate being laughed at, especially by the likes of you.”

Benaiah snorted and brushed flour off his shirt. He mimicked Malcom’s accented baritone in his own mellow tenor,

“Thad’ll tich you fer stekin yer ‘ands in mine sawces!”

Kyla spun away and walked off, but not before Benaiah could glimpse a smile playing on her lips. He licked the flour off of his own and called after her,

“I saw that!”

She continued on her way, with her head high and shoulders squared. Upon nearly stumbling on a small rug, Kyla ran from Benaiah's laughter, turning into one of the many passages to disappear from sight.