Ranger of Path

8. A Bumpkin Dinner

Vampires are best formed amidst misery.

The ritual calls for murdering a love

And drinking their blood, which fuels strength and healing.

Beware the soothing voice that whispers sadness.

Spreading misery is their instinctive skill

And a weakened mind will be dominated.

So, be happy in the sun, and eat garlic.

—Lord Talom Mourning of White

Tea cups rattle on a platter held by a stout maiden. Ishkur helps steady the tray with the tip of his middle finger, straining harness straps pinning him against his oak chair. The young woman blushes like a girl caught with a boy in a barn. A head taller than her mother, she has her father's wide shoulders and teenage awkwardness.

"Don't spillll it, Pai'Jaja," Whisana says to her big sister and wiggles in her chair with pouting lips. "Just pouuur it."

The maiden jerks, and a splash of tea wets shortbread on Ishkur's plate, staining the giant sleeves of his borrowed clothes.

What's she so nervous about?

"Sorry, sorry."

The young woman moves to wipe him with a fold of her dress, drawing a scowl from her father and a hiss from her mother.

"Don't you dare, Paija." Taimay narrows her eyes at her older daughter. "You have a washrag hanging out of your apron pocket."

Ishkur chuckles. "Tea flavored. I'm excited." He drops the damp bread into his mouth and says with crumbs falling out, "Tastes like a café special."

Jorkin snorts and latches the last cottage window shutter. Home secure, the patriarch settles into the only dining chair with cushions. Paija mumbles something and puts a cup of tea in front of him.

Her father pushes the steaming drink aside. "Mead."

She bobs her head, sets the tray down, and replaces the cup with a mug.

Ishkur smiles.

A good wife she'll make for some man some day.

"Sun just set." Jorkin leans forward as his daughter pours from a pitcher. "We haven't had a dinner this late since ..." He sighs and drinks.

"It was last harvest festival." Whisana sips her tea, eyes distant and her small body slumping. "We had roasted chicken and honeyed yams."

"And a week later the crusaders plundered." Jorkin sets his mug down. "No more chickens. No more meat. Tonight's no exception."

Ishkur bows as much as his restraints allow. "I accept your vegetarian hospitium and understand my obligations."

"Do you?" Jorkin cracks a knuckle. "No theft of property or virginity."

Paija gasps and blushes again.

Her father stabs the tabletop with a thick finger. "You will defend this home as your own."

Ishkur nods. "Fair price to fill my belly."

And untangle my soul from a vampire's control.

Taimay motions towards a food-topped counter of speckled granite bordering the kitchen like a rampart. Her daughters fetch platters of stir-fried rice, pickled beets, and fresh bread.

"Making our guest presentable, at least in smell, is worth having to reheat dinner," says the petite matron. "That's my hospitium."

Ishkur grins and Taimay serves him a scoop of rice and a thick slice of bread that she piles beets on. He licks his lips and reaches for the butter, but Jorkin snags it.