Stalemate

Chapter 4

Doon had not gone to the fields on his final day. Instead, he went to the marina to ensure that his father's ship would arrive on time. The shipmaster insisted it would. Doon was relieved. The overseer would notice his untouched hoe. He'd be reported. Angus Knotler would seek him out for punishment, a punishment worse than any before. But he would be gone before any of them had the time.

There was only one instance that Doon could remember his father raising his voice. It had been mere days before Doon's fourteenth birthday, when he would abandon his childhood. He would be the first in his class to receive his assignment. Jack and Tom had been jealous— how naive they'd been. Now, Doon could hardly fathom that excitement.

It was his last day at school, and he'd felt careless. Mr. Blight had suffered plenty of his schemes before, but this time, even Jack, who was the most rambunctious of the three, saw that Doon had taken it too far. Now he couldn't even remember what he'd done. All he knew was that Mr. Blight had been furious. He'd dragged Doon from his seat and taken him outside.
The man had towered over him, picked him up by his shirt, and thrown him at the feet of Angus Knotler. That was the most lashes he'd ever received.

When it was done, Angus had simply left Doon laying in the dirt. Despite Doon's dissent and threats, Ashtin ran straight home to fetch Pa. Doon could only lay helplessly, quivering and crying silently, for him to come trudging down the path. Doon had been so weak and consumed by his screaming backside that he could hardly remember the pungent stench of rum on the man's breath as he bent over and slew Doon over his shoulder. The schoolchildren stood in a clump, staring after the scene.
And for the first time Doon could remember, once they got back to the cottage, Pa set Doon down and waited for him to compose himself. He could not stand, so he slumped down on the grass. But Pa bent down on one knee and laid his hands firmly on his shoulders. Surprised, Doon looked up at him. He had never seen such an expression on Pa's face. His black eyes bored into Doon's, his nose twisted, his lips pressed into a thin line. And though he wore a cap, his ears were pink. Doon could feel Ashtin's stare through the window.

Then, as the man opened his mouth to speak, his grip tightened. He took a sharp inhale. Doon braced himself. "When will you learn your place?" his voice boomed. The sudden authority in it brought Doon shaking. "Don't you understand that they'll kill us! I thought by now those punishments would teach you somethin'!" Pa shook him hard.

No longer able to hold his gaze, Doon looked at the ground and said nothing. Pa went on like this for several more agonizing minutes. Passerbyers glanced, but dared not intervene or gossip.

Finally, Pa stood up, took a quick swig from his flask, and hobbled towards the house. But he paused and turned back, resolved of his anger. Doon knew what he'd say before it even left his mouth. "A Minarian man's bravery lies in his ability to lose himself." The proverb hung in the air between them, and Pa ducked inside to let it simmer. The wind dried the little tears that Doon allowed to escape. His backside was pulsating.

Doon stayed outside for a while, not exactly aggrieved, but not neutral either. What affected him most had not been the yelling. That, he was used to. It had been that he'd seen the first and only glimpse of any personality behind those stony eyes. For a moment, Pa was not stoic and cold. For a moment, he was afraid. Anytime Doon pictured Pa, he really only ever saw him as a testament of that silent defiance not seen in his sister. It lived on in him, and he wore it well. But Doon was unlike him, who ignored the Dordans' presence altogether. Doon was far too outspoken for that.

But now Doon would see Pa again, and he couldn't help but wonder if the sea had changed him.

By dusk, Doon's bags sat in a heap by the door. He sat at the kitchen table, absentmindedly whittling a stick he'd found in the kindling pile. Outside, the other workers were returning home once again. Though he finally had a day of rest, Doon was still on edge. He wondered how quickly the overseer would report him. Again, he went over his plan. He whittled some more. He got bored and rifled through old trunks and wooden boxes scattered about the house. Old clothes, mostly. In the corner of one particular trunk, wrapped in cloth, was a glass bird, perched on a platform. Its beak and claws were golden. The glass still shone in the sunlight. Doon stared at it. He wondered what it would sell for. But then, he thought of Ashtin. He'd almost forgotten she would be fourteen tomorrow. For a moment, he considered giving it to her as a parting gift. A silent apology, perhaps. Instead, he pocketed it for himself. It would be his sole reminder of home.