War and the Wind

by Tyler Krings

  Jon found them seats at the bar as Mary slid him a mug of beer. “For the lady?” she asked.

  “Brandy,” Ana answered. Jon gave her a look.

  “It’s the only thing I know how to order,” Ana replied. Mary fetched a glass and poured her a few fingers as Jon passed coin.

  “Fair enough,” he said.

  “Food too?” Mary asked.

  “Aye.”

  Ana took a sip and coughed as the brandy’s bite scratched her throat. “Ah, hmm, I suppose it’s good? So, how was your talk with Evie?”

  “Well enough I suppose. We’re to meet with the Council in the morning. Get your name on the list and hopefully out of sight of the Empire.”

  “Simple as that?” she smiled coyly.

  Jon grimaced. “Aye.”

  A soldier toppled and crashed into a wooden table. The tavern goers laughed and patted each other on the back as man struggled to regain balance in his drunken stupor.

  “Oy! You go breaking furniture and fuck all, you’ll not see the likes of my bar again!” cursed Mary as she exited her post and made to chastise the drunk further.

  “Did you enjoy yourself today?” Jon asked.

  Ana shrugged. “I found much of it…boring? I’ve not a mind for shopping I’m afraid.”

  “Seen one market, seen them all,” Jon replied over his cup.

  “Hmm,” she turned to the somber musician. “Can he play anything else?”

  Jon glanced at Paul. “He says he can. Why do you ask?”

  She seemed enamored with the strings for a moment. “I like music…and dancing.”

  A patron slammed a tankard on the bar next to Jon. “Oy, Fuckhead!” The man in question was dressed in the uniform of an imperial sergeant. Tall and handsome, Arne Baylor had half the girls in the town swooning when he had been the son of a farmer, and the other half willing to fight for him when he donned the uniform a few years back. Jon had never understood quite why—and Arne seemed to sense his ambivalence, taking it with offense.

  “Arne,” said Jon.

  “What in Lamen’s fat crack brings you into town?” Arne eyed Ana. “And do tell what you are feeding your cock to attract such wonderful wildlife?”

  Ana spit and laughed. Jon gave her a look and a cocked eyebrow.

  “What?” she asked as she wiped her chin. “It was funny.”

  “Right. Arne, that’s my wife you’re talking about. Call her wildlife again and I’ll chop your dick off.”

  “No offense.” He clapped Jon on the back and sat noisily on the stool. Beer fell liberally from his cup and sloshed the bar just as Mary returned to her station. Her eyes narrowed as the vein in her neck bulged. She twisted the rag in her hands with white knuckles. Arne continued, “But to hear Ham and Rom tell it, you married a goddamn goddess. Had to see for myself. Oy, Mary! I need more!”

  “Fuck you and your perfect eyelashes,” Mary replied. She took the tankard nonetheless and filled it. “Spill anymore and you’ll be with your friend on the street.”

  Arne accepted the tankard gingerly and waited for her to turn her back. “Well, she’s in a mood. Might be she’s bleedin—”

  “Arne, we’re trying to have a quiet drink,” said Jon.

  “In this place? Fuck off. Come on lass, let’s dance.” Arne extended an arm to Ana. “Oy, Paul! Play something less depressing!”

  “Eat goat shit!” came the reply.

  Jon batted his arm away. “She’s not interested in dancing.”

  “Says who?” Ana asked, forcing Jon to turn in surprise. “I could do with a bit of a dance.”

  Jon, caught off guard, could not think of a reply.

  “There see, Jon-boy?” smirked Arne. “Come lass, let me show you how a man moves.”

  Ana stood from her stool to take his arm and give Jon a sliding glance. He watched them walk away and felt his gut twist uncomfortably. Mary brought their food as Paul, much to his dissatisfaction, played something more upbeat. The crowd parted as the couple came to the floor, most of them growing quiet as they caught sight of the pair. Together they danced. Ana quickly grasped the steps as Arne led her in the way of a local folk tune. They banged their heels and tapped their toes and twirled in circles of each other. It was not long before it became clear that Ana was the much more professed dancer. Whether or not Arne’s stumbling could be attributed to the beer still in his hand suddenly became unimportant as she glided away from him. She spun and laughed and picked up her heels and the crowd fell in love. They clapped in rhythm and sang in joy together as she moved through the room. She took the outstretched hands of a hollering patron and brought him to the floor with her. She took his lead and stole it again as the steps of the dance evolved to something of her own. The patron fell away from her back into the crowd and was caught by the welcome hands of laughing kin. The hem of her dress flew into open space as it tried vainly to keep up with her legs. Her feet pounded the floorboards and kept the errant beat as she spread her arms and raised them above her. Sensing the change in the air, Paul took cue and strummed his lute with all the more refined glory.

  “So, you won’t be having that dance with me then?”

  Jon tore his eyes from Ana to find an angry green-eyed brunette glaring him down. “Jenny…hey,” he managed.

  “Don’t strain yourself, Jon. It’s not like I’ve been waiting all year for the Harvest if not for a chance to see you.”

  “I…things happened,” he managed to say.

  “Like…you got married? A little warning would have been nice. Enjoy your evening, Jon West.” She stamped away, cutting a swath through the crowd.

  “Wouldn’t worry ‘bout her, love,” said Mary behind him, “Pretty sure she hooked the Ason boy a few nights ago.” Jon nodded with a smile. He did in fact regret promising her a dance. There had been an undertone of more, naturally, but when he looked back to the woman having her way with the melody, he regretted nothing. A hand clapped his shoulder and Jon turned to find Rom regarding him.

  “The hell you doing?” Rom asked. “She’s got no partner, you tit.”

  The crowded clapped and corralled until most of them were on the floor with her. For a while they even tried mirroring her movements, but the effort was beyond them. They took to the old ways, dancing and singing to the song as they knew how. Jon nodded to Rom and downed the rest of his beer. He stripped the coat from his shoulders and strode through the mass of drunken dancers until he found her in the center of the storm. Her skin was glistening with sweat, and her eyes were closed as she found herself prisoner to the sound of strings. Jon reached and took her fingers in his and smiled when she opened her eyes. She paused momentarily. She caught his gaze and cocked her head in a chastising manner. He shrugged a small apology with a smile. They flew through the crowd, Jon matching her for every other beat until she slowed to help him catch up. It was not long before there was no need.

  The fire faded to bare embers and Paul slept in his chair, the strings of the lute still wrapped in his fingers. The drunks littered the floor and tables, Mary nonchalantly kicking them aside as she cleared cups and plates. Jon and Ana sat alone at a corner of the bar, holding the last of their alcohol and smiling together quietly. By the gods, she’s gorgeous, he thought. He had seen her as herself, finally. During the dance, she had been the happiest since her landing. She had beamed even brighter when he had joined her. Had she? He prayed trust a hope. Not that he had any right to have one.

  “So,” he began. trying to banish slightly more impure thoughts. “You like to dance?”

  She eyed him. “What gave it away?”

  He laughed with her, feeling the full force of the alcohol and faded adrenaline. “When did you have time to learn how?”

  “Well,” she considered, “I’ve always loved to dance. As for time, I am immortal.”

  He nodded. “There is a Lady of the Dance, is there not?”

  “Oh, yes,” she replied. “She may have even taught me a thing or two.”

  He
was about to reply when Mary came around the bar. “Drain your cups, loves, and off to bed. I’ve had a room prepared. The morning’s well enough on the way.” Mary slid a key across the bar.

  Jon and Ana looked at each other sheepishly. “Yes, mother,” he said and did as she asked. Ana followed suit and the two of them made unsteady headway to the stair in the back of the tavern. Jon gingerly placed the key into the lock when they reached the door to their room and nearly fell in when it opened. A small candle had been lit beside a well-used mattress just large enough for the two of them. There was no other furniture.

  Ana slid passed him and sat down heavily on the bed, fumbling with her feet to kick off her shoes. Jon threw his jacket on the floor before sitting down next to her to do the same. Ana leaned back on her forearms and breathed a sigh of relief as she stretched her toes.

  “What happens now?” she asked.

  Jon kicked off the last boot and shuddered a sigh. “I…uh.” I hadn’t thought that far. “I’ll, um, sleep on the floor, and—” He cleared his throat. “In the morning, if you like, we’ll see more of the town, after we see the council.” He winced at the thought.

  There was a pause before her response. “All right.”

  Jon glanced and found her looking at him, her eyes full of promise and knowing, and as he held her gaze there was the briefest flicker of sadness. She looked away.

  “We shouldn’t…” she started but could not finish. She visibly struggled to find the words.

  “Please tell me what you’re thinking,” he said softly. Wait…did I just say that out loud? I’m drunk.

  She met his eyes, and while they were mere inches apart, she might as well have been miles away. “You shouldn’t fall in love with me, Jon West.”

  He caught his breath and let it out in a staggered sigh. “I…” He bit back the witty response that no longer made any sense in his head. Yep…definitely drunk. “I think I already have.” Well, I said that out loud too, didn’t I? He laughed quietly to himself. “That’s a bad thing…isn’t it?” He laughed again, unable to help it. “I’m in trouble now.” I am? How do I know?

  With his drunken thoughts swirling through his mind, it took Jon a moment to realize she was staring at him with a bemused grin somewhere between humor and pity. He found her eyes and looked deeply into them. Sky blue. No other color made sense. He reached a hand and, with the barest of touches, caressed her cheek. A moment of fear, trepidation, passed, and she took his hand in hers. She placed her cheek in his palm, turned her head, and gave him the softest of kisses. He held her gaze for what seemed an impossible amount of time, all the while feeling his heart beating out an incredible rhythm before he too felt his happiness fade. He took his hand back, and slowly turned away.

  “Good night, Ana.” He rose from the bed and took his jacket from the floor and made a pillow. He felt her gaze as he blew out the lamp and lay down to rest his head. He closed his eyes and listened to her wrestle the sheets. I’m not entirely sure if I should have handled that differently, he considered before sleep stole his thoughts.

  Sometime in the early morning, his eyes flickered as he felt a weight on his shoulder. Ana made herself comfortable and pulled the blankets over them. She flopped the pillow on the hard ground and threw an arm over his chest.

  “Jon,” she whispered, “I think we’re both in trouble.”

  He felt the remnant of a grin crack the edge of his lips before sleep took him again.

  The kick of a foot and Sergeant Arne Baylor awoke. The puddle of drool on the bar table came with him as he raised his head. His eyes adjusted to the dim candlelight of the Strangled Rooster’s main room enough to reveal the face of Mary looming over him. In one arm she held a broom, and with the other she to the door where a small gaggle of other half-drunk and soon to be hungover patrons make a slow trek. He nodded his understanding to Mary with a grunt and wiped the drool from his mouth, a motion that brought a flash of white into the corner of his eye. At the edge of the bar near the stairs leading to the rooms above, Jon and Ana shared a quiet moment alone. The sight of her brought jealous thoughts that had weathered the storm of ale and liquor more than any other. He had always seen Jon as a rival in the ways of womanizing, his good looks and general mystery always seemed to have the ladies of the Errol’s Fortune swooning. It was a contest that Jon never acknowledged or claimed to have any stake in. At least, not to Arne. This woman that Jon now called his wife was by far the most beautiful that Arne had ever seen. And it infuriated him.

  Mary kicked him again. “Enough gawking. On with you,” she said quietly.

  Arne spared a brief moment to grant her an annoyed glare before slowly rising from the chair. He joined the half dozen or so others stumbling their way out of the bar. Arne looked back one last time to see Jon and Ana rise from their stools and make their way to a room above. He ground his teeth and shook his head in frustration before taking his leave. Through the door, the cool night air struck him and acted to cool the jealous heat in his belly. Down the stairs of the Rooster’s porch and on the street, the last of the patrons disbanded and went their separate ways, using the light of the lampposts to navigate the narrow streets and alleys. The fog of the alcohol still swirling, Arne stumbled when his feet met the street and nearly faceplanted on the cobblestones. He landed instead on the shoulder of a passerby.

  “Whoa! Easy there, friend!” said the voice of the stranger as he wrapped an arm around Arne’s shoulders heaving him upright. “Had a bit much, have we?”

  “I…I’m sorry,” Arne managed. “Thank you.” Arne looked at the man but could not make out his visage beyond that of a shadow wearing a wide brimmed hat. The light of the nearby lamp only provided enough illumination to show flashes of color of what looked to be a nobles clothing.

  “Of course!” exclaimed the stranger in a friendly manner, “Where you headed young man?”

  “The...um…barracks,” Arne answered. Perhaps it was the drink but thoughts now were harder to come by than they were before.

  “Oh! Of course, the uniform! How I could I be so daft?! And what a wonderful coincidence as well! I am headed in the same direction. Shall we take this journey together?”

  The words of the stranger were loud and Arne tried to lean way to stop the ringing that was now in his ears. Almost imperceptibly, the stranger gripped his shoulders tighter. “That’s…that would be fine…I think,” Arne agreed.

  “Oof. Thinking does not seem to be your strong suit, my boy. Best leave it to me, yes? There are some who would even claim me to be a philosopher. Can you believe it? Me?! A philosopher?” The stranger laughed as he guided Arne down the road. “I can’t say I have ever claimed to be such a thing, of course. I’ve always been a paragon of action, not words. Although there are some,” the stranger leans into Arne’s ear as if to reveal a secret and mimics whispering, “Who think I talk too much. Bah! If they would only listen to what I have to say we wouldn’t be where we are today! Wisdom, my boy, wisdom is gained by those who have acted! And let me tell you I have done enough…actilizing? Actioning? Actionizing? Did I mention I’m not a fellow for words?”

  The stranger took them around a corner, leaving the light of the street and passing through a narrow alley. Through the vomiting of meaningless prose from the stranger, Arne was able to have a thought. “Where are we?”

  “-ut I will admit that some words do cut dee- oh…’where are we’…Right! This is a shortcut! Look at me, thinking on my feet. Yes, a shortcut. We’ll be there in no time, my inconveniently astute friend.”

  “Sir…” says Arne as a creeping chill makes its way up his spine, “I do not think this is the way to the barracks.” In the darkness of the alley a shadow moved. A tall man in a dark coat.

  “Egads! Look! A hooligan!” cried the stranger. He dropped Arne into the dirt who grunted in pain as his knees hit the ground. The ringing in his ears was growing louder and the swirling of his mind was increasing. A man and a woman pressed against each other in a corn
er of the alley. Unaware of Arne and the stranger

  “Oh my,” said the stranger with an air of disbelief, “Is that…your friend? You know, the one with the new wife. What was his name again?” The snap of fingers and Arne’s mind was suddenly clear. His eyes adjusted to the darkness quickly as he looked at the newcomer. Jon, who had only moments ago been leading his wife to the Rooster’s second floor, stood before Arne and the stranger working to undo the corset of another woman.

  Arne’s jaw dropped, “Jon?”

  Jon turned suddenly as the woman yelped in surprise. Jon looked from Arne to the stranger, one of his hands never leaving the woman’s hip. “Oy! Piss off! Can’t you see we’re busy?” Jon’s accent was different. To Arne he sounded like one of the western merchants but that was impossible. Arne could see as if the sun were directly overhead that it was Jon standing before him.

  “Y-you…” stuttered Arne in confusion, “You just married…?”

  The woman took a sharp look at Jon, “You what?!”

  Jon raised his eyebrows in surprise before he responded. “Wha-? No, nonono, Jez, I am not married!”

  The stranger scoffs, “That is just what a married man would say!”

  “No!” shouts Jon, “Fuck off, you two! Jez, I promise you-” Why would he do this, Arne wonders, He’s got the woman of every man’s dreams sleeping alone not a block from here…

  “Oh, save it for someone who gives a shit!” Jez retorts sharply. She slaps the hand off her hip and shoves Jon away from her. “I fucking knew it! So who is she? Soga? Violent? No, you know what? I don’t fucking care. Do not call on me again and stay the hell away from my wagon!” At nearly a run, Jez leaves the alley with one hand holding the corset together and the other pulling her shawl over her shoulders. Jon watches the woman leave with a dropped jaw.

  Jez out of sight, Jon whipped around, fists curled in tight balls. “All right. Dunno who you two are, but I’m gonna have to fuck you up.” Why is he talking like that? I just caught him red handed!