The Nine

by Terry Cloutier

  ​ Quant and Lord Corwick finally reappeared around the sty and they rode silently into the yard and stopped their horses facing the villagers. Lord Corwick’s face was red and angry looking and Quant seemed amused for some reason. “My lord,” my father said hoarsely as he stood swaying on his feet. He lifted his arms and took a weak step toward the two mounted men.

  ​ “Be quiet!” Crooked Nose hissed, putting his hand on my father’s chest and stopping him. He gestured with the sword he held in his other hand. “Go back and join the others and keep your ugly mouth shut!” My father looked at Crooked Nose with lifeless eyes and he shook his massive head and raised his right hand. What he was going to do I’ll never know because Crooked Nose saw the upraised hand and he stepped back and swung his sword. My eyes were blinded by a sudden flash of sunlight on metal and just like that my father’s head fell sideways from his neck and rolled slowly several paces through the dust as a torrent of blood spurted from his neck. The headless body sagged like an empty sack and fell limply to the ground. I looked at the grotesque figure lying in the dirt in numb disbelief as my father’s wizened leg jerked several times and then was still. The rest of the villagers started moaning in fear and clutching at each other as they screamed at Lord Corwick for mercy. I saw the look of anger on the lord’s face turn to hatred as he stared at his people begging for their lives and I felt sickened. There would be no mercy this day, I knew. For I now realized that Lord Corwick hadn’t come to mete out justice for my sister’s murder. He was here to avenge the death of the Reeve!

  ​ “Nobody lives,” I heard Lord Corwick say harshly. He glanced at Quant. “Kill them all and destroy everything just as we discussed.”

  ​ Quant grinned wolfish teeth. “Yes, my lord.”

  ​ Lord Corwick nodded to him and then galloped back down the path in an angry cloud of dust. When he reached his men they moved aside to allow him through before falling in behind him as the standard bearers raced their horses to each side of the column to take the lead once again in front of their lord. Quant waited for them to leave, his unfeeling eyes studying the villagers with disdain as several of the younger men tried to run. They didn’t get far, however, as the men-at-arms herded them back with their horses and the flats of their swords. Most of the villagers gave up after that and they fell to their knees, either begging for their lives or calling out to The Mother or The Father to save them. When Lord Corwick and his men finally disappeared from sight, Quant grinned his yellow smile and drew his sword. “You heard his lordship!” Quant cried. He lifted his sword into the air. “Kill them all!”

  ​ I couldn’t bear what I knew was about to happen, so I turned and fled back into the bog. The last words I heard before the screaming began were from Hape encouraging the others to save the women until the end. I shuddered at the fate that awaited those women and I ran to the stone I’d sat on earlier, then plugged my ears and rocked myself back and forth. My father had told me this morning that The Mother and The Father had given me a brain to think with and I focused on that. I was eight and armed with only a knife against nine men-at-arms. There was nothing that I could do, but I also knew that that wouldn’t always be the case. I would live, I promised myself. I would live, and when I was ready, I would find the nine. I would find them and I would kill them all. I wouldn’t be a boy forever!

  Chapter 3: Carspen Tuft

  ​ That night in Patter’s Bog was one of the longest nights of my life. At some point darkness had set in while I sat shivering on the cold stone and a red glow began to fill the sky above the trees. I smelled smoke and I realized numbly that they had fired the buildings. I briefly considered going to look, but I felt drained of the will to move and I just sat there and stared into the dark, murky waters of the bog. Earlier I’d headed back to the treeline once the screams had mercifully stopped; hoping that the nine had left, but it had been a mistake. They were still there and the sight that had greeted me had turned my stomach and I’d heaved up what little food was still in me before I’d stumbled back to the bog. I wasn’t going back out there to look again. Not for any reason. I don’t know how many hours I sat in the darkness afraid to close my eyes and sleep, but eventually the sky began to brighten above the trees. I had no plan and I was at a loss as to what I should do next. I had the Reeve’s knife, a torn tunic, thin trousers and worn leather shoes that had belonged to my older brother and were still a bit too big for my feet. I had to stuff rags in them so that they stayed on. That was it. I felt hopelessness and despair wash over me, my earlier bravado gone now, and I fought back tears just as a sudden vision of my father appeared standing over me.

  ​ “You know what you have to do,” my father said, looking down at me kindly.

  ​ “I’m so tired,” I said to him listlessly, knowing that what I was seeing wasn’t real. My father was with Mother Above now, or possibly, Father Below, and he was long gone from this world.

  ​ “You can’t stay here,” my father insisted. “You must leave this place.”

  ​ “What does it matter where I am?” I asked, fighting to keep the tremor from my voice as I felt a crushing loneliness come over me. “Everyone is dead anyway.”

  ​ My father sighed and squeezed my shoulder like he had done so many times in the past. It felt like his fingers were actually on me and I sagged with fatigue in his firm grip. “You must stay strong, Hadrack. I need you to survive and grow powerful so that when the time comes you can avenge us.”

  ​ “But what if I can’t?” I asked him. “What if I’m never strong enough to do that?”

  ​ “You will find a way,” my father said. He smiled at me sadly as he began to fade. “It is your destiny.”

  ​ I felt overwhelmed with exhaustion and loss and I rubbed my tired eyes with my fists and then blinked as I looked up at the silent trees circling me. Had he really just been there or had I imagined it? I wondered as doubt began to wiggle its way into my tired thoughts. I realized that either way, what my father had said was right. If I didn’t move I’d die here of starvation sooner or later, and then no one would be left to avenge the deaths of the villagers and my family. I stood up, pausing to stretch my aching limbs before I turned and headed for the treeline. The Reeve’s knife was still where I had left it and I pulled it from the tree trunk as I passed by. The sun was rising in the east now and the soothing morning rays lit up the land where our farm had once stood. Nothing much remained of our house save for blackened, smouldering ruins, and even though I had been expecting to see it like that, expecting something and actually seeing it are two very different things. I watched with a heavy heart as thick columns of black smoke rose upward from the charred ashes of the house and partially blocked the sun before being whisked away by the early morning breeze. Heavy smoke and flames danced and swirled where the sty and woodshed had stood and I saw that the chicken coop and toolshed were completely gone as well. Bodies lay everywhere in the front yard and across the plowed fields, lying twisted and torn in every way imaginable. I stuck the knife in the back of my trousers and squared my shoulders just like I’d seen my father do when he had set his mind to something. I stepped out from the trees and paused, my nose wrinkling in distaste. There was something underlying the smell of smoke, an almost sweet, sickly smell and I grimaced when I realized it was the stench of burnt flesh. Great plumes of black smoke rose from the west and I knew that Hestan’s farm had suffered the same fate as my own. I could see similar dark smoke coming from where Jayner’s farm lay below the horizon and more smoke rose to the east where the other farms lay. “Destroy everything,” I remembered Lord Corwick saying.

  ​ I started forward, heading south through the soft soil of the field until I reached the western path, choosing the longer route to delay what I knew I was going to see for as long as possible. I reached the path and turned toward the ruins of my home and slowly walked the worn trail, until finally I entered our yard. Not much was left of the house at all, as the walls and roof had long since collapsed, but th
e sty and woodshed continued to burn briskly. I coughed repeatedly as the stench of charred flesh filled my nostrils while thick black smoke billowed around me. The wind was blowing from the north that morning and sending the smoke right at me and it was so thick at times that I was having trouble seeing. I covered my nose and mouth with my tunic, coughing and blinking my stinging eyes as I crouched down to examine the closest bodies, looking for my father. The first body I came to was that of Hestan’s son, Garen. He was lying on his back with his throat slashed open and his son, Fitch, lay face down across his chest. The back of Fitch’s head had been crushed in. Not far away from them lay Garen’s brother, Jinian, and close to him lay his father and the twisted body of the Widow Meade. I moved on, keeping low as I examined body after body. I suppressed a moan as I came upon Little Jinny where she was lying almost peacefully on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest. She looked as though she could have been sleeping if not for the patch of blood staining her small dress. I searched through the smoke, but there was no sign of Little Jinny’s mother and I grit my teeth, pretty sure I knew what had happened to her.

  ​ I turned away from Little Jinny and glanced toward the sty just as there was a break in the smoke. I gasped in shock as my gaze fell upon my father’s head staring at me with sightless eyes. Someone had taken a fence board and impaled the head on it before driving the board into the ground. I saw that my father’s body lay not far from the board and I stood up and walked through the smoke toward it. As I drew closer, the sweet sickly smell grew stronger and I realized it was coming from the dead pigs in the sty. I reached the fence board and with shaking hands I gingerly pulled father’s head from it, trying not to look at the slack face as I crouched down and carefully placed it by his corpse. Then I stood up and forced my way through the smoke and past the remnants of the sty. The woodshed was still burning quite briskly on the other side, but the smoke was being blown away from me now so that I could breathe and see much better. I looked down at the ground and I can only imagine what the expression on my face must have been as I stared at the row of naked bodies that lay there. I’d been expecting it, but even so I was unprepared for the sight of women that I’d known all of my life lying there with their throats slashed. Each of the women had been staked out with their legs spread and their ankles cruelly tied to the stakes with ropes. Their arms had been drawn over their heads and their wrists had been tied to stakes as well. Many of their faces were frozen in terror and anguish, with their eyes bulging out of their sockets grotesquely.

  ​ I heard a rattling coming from deep in my throat and I turned away, leaning over with my hands on my knees as I retched up a small amount of white bile. I heaved painfully several more times and then finally stood up and wiped my mouth as I turned back to the women and burned the scene of their murders into my memory. This too the nine would pay for, I vowed. I glanced around for the Reeve, not surprised to see that his body was gone from where it had lain, as was my father’s axe. Then I focused my gaze on my sister lying among the dead. I moved purposely to her side and picked her up in my arms, trying not to stare at the gaping wound in her neck as her head flopped back and forth. She was slight and though I was tired, it seemed to me her body had no weight at all, as though the essence of her flesh had fled along with her soul when she’d died. I started to walk, heading north toward the forest, my eyes focused on nothing but the trees in the distance. I don’t know how long it took me to get there, but I remember I fell many times as my feet kept catching in the soil, tripping me as I stumbled along. But each time I pushed myself to my feet and picked my sister’s body back up and continued on. Finally, when I reached the trees, I made my way to the stream that I knew well, and there, near a spot where Jeanna and I had fished and laughed, I buried her.

  ​ When I was done, I turned and headed back to the farm to get my father. I had no illusions that I could even drag, let alone carry his great bulk, so I picked up his head and tucked it under my arm and walked back to the trees with it. It would have to do. I dug a small hole with the knife beside where Jeanna lay and I placed my father’s head gently inside, then I covered it up. I knelt by the graves and placed a hand on each one. “I repeat my vow,” I said formally. “The nine will die. I will not rest until it has been fulfilled or I am dead and have joined you in the world after. This I swear to you both.” I stood up and stared at the graves for a time while I toyed with the Pair Stone around my neck and prayed. Finally I realized it was time to go and I crossed the stream and struck out through the trees to the north. In hindsight I probably should have gone back and salvaged whatever I could from the ravaged farms, but with father and Jeanna properly buried, I was anxious to put as much space between me and what had happened in Corwick as I could.

  ​ It’s funny the things that you remember as old age sets in. I can tell you what color the sky was, the smells, even what each individual tree looked like when I set out on that first day. After that it becomes a blur of walking, sleeping and scrounging for food and just trying to stay alive. My best guess is I was on my own for a month, if not more. I remember something about a bear and having to spend a day or two stuck in a tree before it finally gave up and left me alone. I also remember being sick with a fever and the never-ending ache of hunger pounding away at me. Other than that, not much of that time remains with me. One thing I have not forgotten, though, is Carspen Tuft and his wife. How could I possibly forget them? I’d been sick with fever for almost a week, and though I was coming out of it by then, I still wasn’t myself yet when I saw them sitting around a weak campfire one morning in a hollow surrounded by elm and maple trees. They were roasting a rabbit over the flames and I stood and watched them for a time, hidden by the trees as my stomach rumbled at the smells drifting over to me. A matching set of mules stood tethered nearby, the animals grazing on sparse grass that grew near an ancient elm that was wider than I could spread my arms. The gnarled, dark-grey roots beneath the tree wound their way in all directions along the ground and a battered wagon that looked like it had seen many years of hard use stood almost hidden in the shadows of the great elm. I noticed that an opening no bigger than my head was cut into the back door of the wagon and that it was protected by three stout iron bars. That should have been a warning to me, I suppose, but my mind was not as sharp as it should have been and I dismissed it. Had I been thinking clearer, I have no doubt I would have continued on around them, despite the maddening smells that filled my nostrils. I only wish that I had. Instead, having checked the man and woman out, I decided that they were harmless and I stepped from the trees into view.

  ​ Carspen Tuft was a small man, not much taller than me at the time, and he was easily into his fortieth year. I actually thought at first that he was one of the little people he was so short. Tuft was almost completely bald, with just a tired ring of wispy grey-black hair encircling his head. A thatch of greying beard hung from his chin and this was heavily stained yellow with juices. He was dressed in a dark brown cloak over an equally brown tunic and a small knife in a worn leather scabbard hung at his hip. The cloak was clasped around his shoulders with a heavy Pair Stone pendant, and what may have once been white trousers were stuffed into scuffed leather boots. “What have we here?” Tuft exclaimed in surprise when he saw me. He stood up, one hand automatically going to the hilt of his knife and I remember thinking his eyes looked like a rat’s, cunning and mean. His face betrayed nothing of this, however, and his features were set in a pleasant look of welcome, though those rat eyes were constantly on the move, probing and watchful.

  ​ “I smelled your fire,” I mumbled, my voice sounding odd to me after going so long without speaking to anyone. I took two steps forward into the hollow, barley able to keep my gaze from the flames. I gestured weakly to the cooking meat. “I haven’t eaten anything in a long time.”

  ​ “I understand, lad,” Tuft said kindly. He glanced into the trees almost casually. “Are you alone?” I nodded and the little man visibly relaxed and he let
his hand drop away from his knife as the hardness left his eyes. “My name is Carspen Tuft,” he told me as he motioned to the fire. “Come. Sit and join us. There’s plenty to go around.” I was moving closer even as the words were coming out of his mouth. I’d lost my knife weeks ago and had been living on grubs and whatever edible plants I could find, so the thought of cooked meat was beyond intoxicating. “Sit here, by the fire,” Tuft said, motioning to where the woman sat on a flat rock. She still hadn’t said anything and she just stared at me in silence. “Hielda, move your fat ass so the boy can sit!” Tuft commanded gruffly. The woman snorted and stood up and I realized that Tuft was right. She was fat. Very fat. She was dressed in a dark cloak with the hood up, hiding half of her face. All I could see was her rounded chin, the tip of her squat nose and a bulbous mouth, with just a hint of her eyes gleaming at me when she lifted her head. Long grey hair spilled out from the hood and fell to her shoulders and her hands were bare and enormous, looking puffy and unhealthy as though from disease.

  ​ “We don’t have any room, Husband,” Hielda said in an annoyed voice.

  ​ “Tut tut, my dear,” Tuft said, waving her words away casually. “There’s always room for one more.” I had no idea what they were talking about, nor did I much care. All I could think about was food and so I sat down on the stone that Tuft had offered as my stomach grumbled loudly with desire. Tuft smiled at me in a friendly fashion and he squatted beside me and turned the meat on its spit while I stared, mesmerized. The fire crackled pleasantly and I felt my eyes start to droop with exhaustion as an ember jumped out from the flames and landed near my foot, sizzling in the grass before going out.