Sixth Son: Villager in Another World 1

One.

It was Sunday night, and as was family tradition, we had stew. Barring holiday foods, it was our favorite. The best soup had a broth made from soup bones. Tonight we had some luck with mutton bones. Onions and brown mushrooms gave the base depth. Parsnips layered on sweetness to the just cooked cabbage. Overcooking the cabbage would make it smell, but the barely wilted leaves were essential to a hearty meal. A few broad beans lent depth.

While the cast could get quite large depending on the season, the star was always the meat when we could get it. The best was the rare boar, but any meat was welcome. Often there was none to be had, and tonight was a good night, since there was a bit of mutton that came off the bone. A pinch of salt brought out all of the flavors.

At the head of the rustic table, our solid and stolid Dad gave a prayer to the gods of the hearth and the fields. After concluding, he turned his final thanks to Ma, who sat at the end of the table.

“Ma, your soup is always the best. My thanks.”

“You’re welcome,” she replied simply.

My brothers and I gave a quick thanks, tore chunks of dark, hearty bread, and set into the meal. Each day, Ma had to bake at least two loaves for her, Dad, and six growing sons.

To keep track of us, we had been simply named following Latin. All of my brothers were tall for their age, had Dad’s sandy hair, and some shade of gray.

Next to Dad sat the eldest brother Primus. At fifteen, he was almost as tall as Dad, but still growing. He shared the same rugged features, down to the wave of their hair and the shade of their eyes. They both doled out their words sparingly. Though nine years separated us, we got along well.

Across from Primus sat Secondus who was stouter, stronger, but slower than Primus. After Secondus hit his growth spurt, Primus had quickly decided that wrestling was for children. He was smaller than Primus by two years.

There was a gap of three years between stout Secondus and the thin Tertius, who was clever with his hands. Back on the evens side, Quartus sat between Secondus and me. He was only a year separated from Quintus and they were as thick as thieves. I was the baby of the family. Three years separated Quintus from me, so I got left behind while Quart & Quint ran with a group of village boys.

Unlike the older five of my brothers, I was slight and short for my age. My hair and eyes were dark, verging on black, and my eyes had a slight angle to them.

Our calm and usually placid Ma sat at the foot of the table next to Quintus & I, though we could eat by ourselves. She asked Quintus about his day, since he was outside until the sun came low. That was a bit odd, since he usually jabbered with Quartus throughout dinner. Quartus had tried to speak to him a couple of times, but stopped with a shrug at his one word answers. He seemed to glance at me several times, though. I thought nothing of it. It seemed like another ordinary Sunday dinner.