The Tale of Oriel Read Free Page A

First the Damall whipped Griff, then he left Griff crouched naked by the door for day after day, without food, tied with a rope around his neck.
    He could do nothing for Griff. He couldn’t even drop a crust of bread as he passed the door, because Nikol watched. He couldn’t even sneak out in the darkness of night to bring water, because Nikol slept across his doorsill. If he had been caught trying to help Griff—
    He had to be strong as stone, and pretend it didn’t matter to him. Nikol watched him, to catch his weakness. The Damall watched him, too. He was as strong as stone, and no one saw the anger that burned inside him.
    It ended, the punishment, and the memory of both punishment and cause faded. Griff was kept in the kitchen, and made no more mistakes like that. The years rolled by, spring to summer to fall to winter, and over again, and the older boys were sold and new boys came to the island. One day, the Damall promised, he would name his heir, he would choose the boy who would stay on the island and be the seventh Damall. The heir would be master of the island. The heir would be told the secret hiding place of the treasure, which he must never reveal until he told it to the boy he had chosen for his own heir. The Damall’s eyes glittered in firelit winter darkness as he told the boys this.
    He didn’t know why the Damall kept looking at him, whenever the story turned to the heir. Until he finally did understand. He would be the boy named. He would be the heir. He would be—and his chest swelled with it—the master. He would be the seventh Damall.

Chapter 2
    W HY ELSE DO YOU THINK I never had a name?” He spoke in a whisper.
    Griff shook his head, denying it. Griff’s hair was pale brown, the color of dry leaves in fall. Griff was tall and bony faced. His eyes glistened like pebbles darkened in the sea. He and Griff sat by the fire, for light, working on their letters and numbers. Nobody could hear what they said when they whispered. The other boys were ranged back against a stone wall, allowed no nearer, on the Damall’s orders. The Damall had taken his tankard of wine into the warmth of his own room. They had heard the carved wooden bed creak when the Damall stretched out on it.
    He might be nameless, but he was fourteen winters now, and now when he heard one of the little boys whimpering about the cold he thought of tossing the whiner outside, for a night of real cold, and now he could judge to the minute when he should start crying out under the whip so the Damall would be satisfied. He was fourteen winters now, and better at everything than anybody. “There’s no other reason, except if I’m to be the heir.”
    â€œIt troubles me,” Griff said. Griff was carefully copying a sentence from the pages the Great Damall had written down, to use in teaching his boys to read and write. The King rules, for his father was the King. Griff finished copying that sentence, then said, “There’s no mention of you in the record books, no price paid, no place of purchase. No date, no age at arrival. Nothing.”
    â€œBecause I’m going to be named heir,” he repeated.
    Griff wrote the next sentence, slowly. The Queen rules, for she has wed the King. “Do you remember anything?” Griff asked.
    He shook his head, but tried because Griff asked it of him to search out something from the darkness of memory. “I was afraid,” he said, and in his mind there rose darkness, streaked with red and orange flames, heavy grey smoke, a storm of chaos, screams, a blinding fear. It was no clearer than the memory of a dream. Like a forgotten dream, it rose into his memory and then sank away again. He swallowed, as if he might weep. “I was afraid,” he said again.
    â€œThere are no women on the island,” Griff said.
    â€œWhat does that matter?” he demanded. “And besides, the Damall brings women back, sometimes, for