Mortals & Deities by Maxwell Alexander Drake Page A

same tone it had when she caught him and Siln with the redberry pie behind the house when he was seven. Turning, he was relieved to find that she stood alone. They looked at each other for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, unexpectedly, Alant began to cry. Before he could collapse back onto the bench, his mother embraced him. She held him close as he sobbed into her chest. “Shh. It will be all right.” She stroked his hair until he regained control of himself once more.
    Pulling away to arms length, he gave her a weak smile. “I think I have to leave now. I cannot stay here any longer.”
    She did not look convinced. “Where will you go?”
    “Mocley. I need to see Sier Sarlimac, my old instructor.” He had not realized he had made the decision. Yet, it made sense. If he could trust anyone, it was Sarlimac. He could not stay here now, that was certain. Singe would tell the other Shapers what had happened and they would be back in greater numbers. They would force him to go with them and he was in no mood to be forced into anything ever again.
    His mother eyed him for several more moments. “First one son, now the other. Your papa will not be pleased if you leave without saying goodbye. Stay for lastmeal. You can leave on the morrow.”
    Letting his eyes wander to the sword that still lay on the floor, he shook his head. “Nix, Ma. I am afraid that if I do not leave now, I may not be able to leave at all.” He let out another long breath, though this one felt stronger. “I will go and grab a few things from my room. I can see Papa on my way out.”
    His mother nodded before releasing him. “I will gather enough food to see you to Mocley. See me in the kitchen when you are ready.” With that, she turned and left.
    With one last glance at the sword lying on the floor, Alant ran out of the dining hall and up the stairs to his bedroom. Throwing the lid of the chest open, he grabbed his old shoulder sack and thrust all his clothes into it. His hunting knife and waterskin followed, as well as an extra pair of work boots. Basically, everything he had left behind when he headed for Mocley the first time. On his initial trip, the Shaper’s Order had provided everything he needed, including new clothes in the form of Initiate robes. This trip would not start with as much fanfare as the last. He hoped he could get outside of the stead gates before they raised the alarm.
    Throwing the pack over his shoulder, Alant glanced around the room. There was nothing else. He had lived in this room for seventeen winters and all he had to show for it was slung over his back.
    It really is life one step above slavery.
    A pang of guilt hit him at the thought of how his family lived. Yet, that was life on a stead. You grew up, worked your duty, lived out your final winters surrounded by your family and loved ones, then passed into the Aftermore. A small part of him wanted to walk such a simple path once more. Another part realized he would never have the opportunity again. He wished things were different.
    If wishes were gold and rainbows could be sold, we would live like kings until we grew old!
    He laughed out loud at the thought of the old children’s rhyme. Forcing himself to action, he stepped out of his tiny room and raced back to the kitchen.
    His mother met him at the door, a large sack of her own in her hand. “I think it best if you leave by the side door. The girls are still a bit shaken after what they saw.” She held out the sack. “There should be enough food here to see you to Mocley. Or, at least it will if you do not dawdle along the way.”
    With a grunt, he took the sack from his mother. It felt as if she had stuffed an entire sheep’s carcass into it. Adding it to the other over his shoulder, he turned and headed down the hall toward the side door.
    “Alant Cor! You have lost all your manners if you think you are leaving here without so much as a word fare well.” Turning, he stared at his mother, hands on