Paladins of the Pickle Goddess

On the dawn of Duran’s fifteenth birthday, I shoved him off of a riverbank and into the coldest river we’d been able to find.

It took a harsh few seconds before his head popped out, gasping. He was beaming.

Traditionally, of course, it would have been frozen. Practically, we were in the southeast and it was only early fall.

“Don’t look at me!” I called. “Start swimming!”

I could see my breath. I didn’t know how he was moving. Still, hair slicked to his face, he started paddling fiercely, head pointed towards the opposite bank.

Next to me, Apis adjusted his blankets. He’d draped three or four over himself, not used to leaving the warmth of the Capital. A wind had started to pick up, taking a few more leaves off of the trees. “I still don’t entirely understand this tradition.”

“What’s not to understand about it? The northerners love it. You enter manhood through a horrible trial of suffering, and then everyone drinks about it.” Normally, of course, his father would have dealt with it. It was a rather big deal- a sign of manliness, of the torch passing from one generation to another. As it happened, his father was in the north, probably deep in a bottle at this very moment. All Duran had was me (his teacher, a cook and notably not a man) and Apis (a dedicant of Andrena). This was the best we could do.

I clutched my own tea closer. It was fairly cold now, after the walk from the village. I was still going to take what I could get. It was warm in the afternoons, when the sun came out.

The sun was just barely peeking over the horizon. It was miserable.

“But why,” said Apis. “Surely he could grow up otherwise.”

We both stared at Duran as he paddled. He was making very slow progress.

“I just hope he makes it.”

“Did you have a trial for adulthood?”

“Of course not.” I pulled my jacket tighter. The wind had caught up again, howling. Duran was grabbing for a log in the middle of the river, waving at me. I waved back. “I went to finishing school, like a proper young lady. Did your temple do anything?”

“Of course they did. They believed in doing things properly.”

We both winced as Duran slipped off of the log. His head popped out of the water. “I’m fine!” He shouted. “I remembered to float!”

I was becoming rapidly thankful we’d chosen a pretty small river. I stepped a little closer to our emergency boat. “What was it?”

“They sent me out into the city. The year I made enough to buy my beehive back, I would be considered an adult.”

“Oh. That’s pretty easy, then.”

Apis didn’t respond. I turned to stare. “No.”

“I had to pay rent, too. It’s not like I was swimming in money. And bees are expensive! Besides, it wasn’t really theft. Just an… indefinite loan.”

“They didn’t give you a discount? You’re in your thirties!” Apis avoided my eyes. “No.”

“You dropped out of finishing school,” he said. “So technically, you didn’t pass either.”

We both turned to look at Duran. He was making very good progress across the river. “Well,” I said. “Only one thing for it.”

“No.”

“It would be over quickly,” I said. “Just think. You’d be free of the shame.”

Duran had slowed rapidly. He was slung over a collection of logs and branches, a slow spot in the river, catching his breath. “I’m just taking in the view!”

I cupped my hands around my mouth. “Good job!”

He looked surprised. Was I not usually encouraging?

Next to me, Apis pulled off his blankets. “Very well,” he said. “I accept the challenge. On one condition.”

Before I could reject it, he’d already started taking off his boots. “Oh, no. It’s entirely different.”

“How is it different?” He lined them up neatly on the bank. “You didn’t succeed. We should both prove ourselves.”

Duran had stumbled up to stand on top of the cluster of branches, waving to us. “I’m going to do a jump!” He shouted.

“I dropped out of my own volition.”

“You still aren’t technically finished.”

Curse him for his logic. He paused as he held a foot over the river. “Well? Are you going to let Duran beat you?”

Duran glanced between us. “Which one do I open first?”

“Either.”

“You can decide,” said Apis, at the same time.

Duran glanced between us. Then, as if it was a very significant decision, he pulled at the strings of my present to him. The burlap fell open easily.

“A…..book,” he said. He couldn’t pretend to stay excited. I cleared my throat.

“A recipe book,” I said. I pointed to the cover. Modern Methods of Cookerye (For Experts Only!!!) “I thought you might like something to base your more… creative… ideas off of.”

You won’t get me with botulism again, Andrena!

He looked down at it, then nodded. “And when I finish learning all of the methods, I’ll be done with my apprenticeship!”

“Well-“ It was a big book. “I suppose?”

“You suppose?”

“I mean, there are other ideas in there. Ones not covered. But I suppose we can consider you finished once you’ve learned everything in there. If you really learn it.”

His eyes gleamed with excitement again. He clutched the book to his chest. “I promise I’ll study it! Every night! This is a new test, and I’ve passed!”

I already regretted my promise. “As long as you’ll read it,” I said, weakly. “Why don’t you look at Apis’s gift?”

We hadn’t discussed what we were giving Duran. Oven mitts, I thought. A teapot. Something calm. Something good for him. Apis was a good influence that way. I hoped.

Duran pulled away the string. His face began with a little smile, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Then it trembled into a huge grin. “You really- a knife set? For me?”

They were beautiful. Lined up into even rows. Seven knives and a sharpening stone.

I turned to Apis. “You gave him knives?” I whispered, low enough so Duran couldn’t hear it. “Do you want us all to die?”

“I thought you didn’t want him to use the sword,” he said. “This is a better way for him to…ah, be enthusiastic”

We both turned to Duran. He was poking at the end of one of the knives with a fingertip. Blood pooled in response. “Wow,” he said. He hadn’t even been paying attention to our hurried conversation. “Do you think I should name them?”

“Yes,” Apis said.

“No,” I said.

We both paused.

“They’re tools,” I said. “Giving them names elevates them too much.”

“They’re responsible for your well-being,” said Apis. “He should give them names. It’s a reminder that they should only be used for their proper purpose.”

I paused. “Actually, you’ve convinced me. It’s like a ship. You name them, and they’re tools.”

“No, you’ve convinced me. It’s like a pan. You don’t name a pan.”

Duran ran a hand over the knives. He had clearly been ignoring us. “I’m naming them. Like you name swords.” he said, solid. He pointed a finger. “The Beetle, Cabellus.” A cleaver, a chef knife. “Ursus, Andrena, Teuthida.” A boning knife, a paring knife, a serrated knife. “And Celeres!” The utility knife.

I closed my eyes in defeat as Apis began to protest. It was too late.

Was this what Duran would be like in adulthood?

“Just don’t stab anyone important with them,” I said. “Bones would dull the blade.”