by Kody Boye
“You can’t expect everyone to understand,” Timon said as he stepped forward.
“I don’t,” Carmen replied, drawing her cloak around her shoulders. “It’s just… you’d think they’d know, you know? My mother, my father, my little brother—”
“Sometimes they forget the person that lies beneath the hero.”
“I guess,” Carmen sighed.
She fell back a few steps and allowed the caravan and the people surrounding it to pass, taking up the flank with Timon in order to have further privacy. The man—who, in his haste to comfort her, had drawn closer—stepped away when he realized his actions. “Sorry,” he said.
Carmen didn’t reply.
He was right. She couldn’t take what the woman had said personally, nor could she allow the realities of the world to govern the happiness that she was so desperately owed. Looking into a little girl’s eyes should not prompt such sadness. If anything, it should inspire joy, for she would live a long and happy life and do whatever it was she desired. And the boy—he was well on his way to becoming a young man, and would likely take part in the Vaskrday ceremonies in just a year.
But her—she was an enigma: a tower whose presence was awe-inspiring but whose foundation was cracking beneath the surface.
You’ve gotta get a handle on that, she thought. Mama wouldn’t want you falling apart, not when people are depending on you.
Or now that the king was requesting to meet her, she thought to add.
The light from the crystals poised atop the four rods along the caravan’s roof bathed her in a cautious blue light, which only further served to remind her of the things she had accomplished in the last fortnight.
She had slain her demon. So why was he still torturing her? Was it because he was dead—and because, through death, he had escaped any further punishment?
Sighing, Carmen bowed her head to look at the ground.
The earth crunching beneath her boots was a pale reminder of how fragile life was.
She hoped things would get better from here.
- - -
It turned out they wouldn’t be getting better—at least, not anytime soon.
“Rat,” Arrick said, idly prodding at the remains of the skeleton they’d found along the path with the tip of his sword. “By the looks of it, I’d say this was fresh. Probably no more than a few hours old.”
“The children should get in the caravan,” a female soldier by the name of Lindsay said. “As should you, miss Sincere.”
“What about the boars?” Sincere’s husband replied.
“So long as they don’t get spooked, they should be fine.”
They were too far away from any crevice for them to worry about the pigs running the caravan into the abyss. The one thing Carmen did worry about was them running into the walls. They weren’t exactly dumb creatures; they just weren’t that intelligent
Expelling a breath, Carmen reached down and gripped her mace for reassurance.
“You ok?” Timon said.
“Just don’t want to run into skitters,” she replied as they continued forward.
“Ah. That’s right. You were attacked by them before you even faced the drake, weren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Shit, Carmen. You’re a bona-fide badass.”
“I don’t feel like one,” she replied. “Especially when I’m scared to death of running into more of those little anklebitters.”
“Which is why the children need to be in the cart,” Lindsey stressed. “You. Boy. Take your sister and put her in there.”
“Yes muh-ma’am,” the boy said.
Rather than try and coerce his sister into tagging along, the boy merely lifted her into his arms and carried her around the side of the caravan.
Something whistled, then whispered along her peripheral.
Carmen drew her mace.
“Did you hear that?” Carmen asked.
“Yeah,” Lindsey said, drawing her axe from her side. “I did.”
“Skitters!” Timon called.
The first appeared tentatively, drawn from the darkness by the light, followed by two, then three more. The creatures—blind as bats but more than capable of detecting their whereabouts through echolocation—clicked several times before they began to move along both sides of the caravan.
“Watch the pigs,” a man named Arrick said.
A skitter threw itself at Carmen.
She kicked out, then slammed the hilt of her mace atop its thin body. “Shit,” she hissed.
They launched themselves simultaneously.
Their coordinated attack was meant to stir the pigs into a frenzy. Though gifted with tusks as they were, the dumb creatures were confined by their binds and as such were unable to defend themselves as they went for their legs. Lindsey—near the front of the caravan—immediately ran toward them, while Arrick sliced at creatures with his sword as they attempted to strip the boars’ ankles to bone.
Carmen, Timon and the last soldier named Barris—armed with mace, halberd and dual axes—held the remaining creatures at bay.
“Watch out!” Carmen cried.
Timon slung his halberd through the air and knocked a skitter aside before it could launch itself at Barris’ exposed face.
In response to his near-scalping, Barris slung his axes and cleaved the heads off two creatures.
Someone screamed.
Carmen turned.
A skitter had jumped atop the wagon and was attempting to bite at Sincere’s legs.
Not bothering to think twice about being pursued, Carmen turned and ran toward the caravan, ignoring the sound of Timon and Barris’ yells as the three remaining skitters took off after her. She slung her mace behind her head and then down in front of her to clip the skitter from the wagon, then turned just in time to raise her shield and deflect one of the creatures.
The second hit her ankle.
Her reinforced boot ate most of the damage, but the force was enough to knock her down.
She struck ground.
She gasped.
The air went from her lungs.
She pulled the shield over her face just in time to avoid being shredded.
Hardly able to move, she shielded her body as best she could and retreated back toward one of the wagon wheels as the pigs began to roll into motion again. The resulting momentum—which caused the wheels to spin—gave Carmen enough time to launch one of the skitters into the spokes, instantly breaking its neck.
The second skitter she bashed off her body, the third she bludgeoned to death with her mace.
By the time she was standing, Barris and Timon had dealt with the remaining skitter. The pigs—in a frenzy—squealed from their injuries, but heeded the man named Armand’s commands.
“Shit,” Timon breathed, taking a deep breath as he approached Carmen. “Are you ok?”
Carmen lifted her pantleg to reveal the slightest smattering of blood beneath. “Just a scratch,” she said, gingerly prodding the cut with one finger. “It couldn’t bite through the boot.”
“God bless our seamstresses,” Barris said, rubbing a hand across his stubbly face.
“Yeah,” Carmen replied. “No shit.”
- - -
Ironmend was a simple settlement in a nondescript place, whose gate was carved from and inlaid within the jagged rock surrounding it. As it appeared upon the horizon some three days after they’d departed from Ehknac, beckoning an end for the family and but another beginning for the five of them, Carmen looked upon the settlement and sighed as she realized that the first third of their journey was about to come to a close.
Three days, she thought as they approached the gate. Three days from Ehknac and I’m already feeling homesick.
She wished to see the lights, smell the smells, hear the sounds of children playing rocks and hopscotch on the outer edges of the town, yet none of this greeted her as they approached the massive wooden gate, above which stood two guards with crossbows aimed dir
ectly at them.
The family—who likely had not expected this sort of treatment—drew their caravan to a halt.
“State your business,” one of the guards said.
“We are accompanying a family to Ironmend,” Carmen said, “while making our way to the capital from Ehknac.”
“Do you plan to remain longer than the night?”
Why would we? Carmen thought, but shook her head instead.
The man above the gate yelled down to someone on the opposite side. Shortly thereafter, a lever groaned and the gate began to move, drawn back by the careful machinations of Dwarvenkind.
The caravan was the first to enter, followed shortly by Carmen and her guard troop. Lindsey, Barris, Arrick and Timon stole ahead first, leaving Carmen to handle the delegations as the man atop the gate came forward to speak.
“Are you the drake slayer the people have been speaking of?” the man asked.
“Yes sir,” Carmen said, reaching forward to take the man’s hand as he offered it. “I am.”
“Thank you for your service to our kingdom. My brother was one of the men who died upon the pass.”
“My family was killed as well.”
“Your whole family?” the man asked. “Damn shame, hon. You’re a wonderful woman. Your mother and father would be proud.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“The bartender at the inn has been expecting you and your party and has a free round of drinks ready for you when you arrive, courtesy of the Ironmend guard.”
“Wow,” Carmen replied, turning her head aside when the misty-eyed guard reached up to paw at his face. “Thank you. I… wasn’t expecting that.”
“You better go now. Before the hot food cools.”
Otherwise known as: before I start crying, Carmen thought, but pumped the man’s wrist one last time before rejoining Timon and the rest of her group.
“Seems word has spread quicker than you thought,” Timon said as Carmen stepped forward.
“Actions create ripples,” Lindsey said as they made their way through the street. “Ripples create impacts.”
“What you did was something amazing,” Barris said.
“Aye,” Arrick nodded. “‘Twas a warrior’s deed if any there were.”
“I’m just a normal person who did something extraordinary,” Carmen said. “That doesn’t make me a hero.”
“To some people it does, lass.”
“Don’t take that away from them,” Lindsey added. She paused and jerked her head back toward the gate. “That man there? The one who lost his brother? He bought you drinks because it’s the only way he can think to repay you—because he thinks he owes it to you for what you’ve done.”
“That’s the thing though,” Carmen said. “I don’t expect payment. Or gifts. Or luxuries. Or even people to thank me for what I did. I killed the drake for my own selfish reasons.”
“But your so-called ‘selfish reasons’ have impacted far more than you could’ve possibly imagined.” Lindsey reached forward to take Carmen’s hands. “Don’t ever refuse their declarations of thanks. Take their gifts kindly. Say thank you. And if you won’t use them for yourself, give them to others. You’re a hero to many people now, Carmen. You may not feel like one, but you are, in their hearts and eyes.”
Nodding, Carmen withdrew her hands from Lindsey’s grasp and continued to follow her throughout the streets—thinking, while doing so, of the man who had thanked her, of the people in the town of Ehknac who had come bearing gifts.
They did it because they appreciated me, she thought. Not because they felt they had to. But because they felt they needed to.
Their actions could not be denied, their thanks shunned, their offerings turned away; and while most of those items had been donated to charity, she’d held on to those choice few—the letters, the flowers, the little trinkets they offered for saviors to the dead: those simple copper coins with the rune of life upon them. Those things would last forever, and while she held their words to heart more than those material things, she could not deny the impact they had upon her.
As they reached and entered the tavern, filled aplenty with the bodies of people and the smells of drink and food, Carmen approached the bar and gestured the barkeep over with a wave of her hand.
“Hello,” the man said as he approached. “Care for a drink? Or a room?”
“We’re here on official business,” Carmen replied, passing the scroll with the king’s official instructions over to him.
The barkeep lifted, unfurled, then read through its contents. When he finished, he looked up, smiled, then said, “Listen up everyone! We’ve got ourselves a hero here.”
Everyone turned to look.
Carmen, dumbfounded at the silence that now plagued the room, merely stared.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the man said, coming out from around the bar and taking Carmen’s shoulders in his hands. “It’s my honor to introduce to you none other than Carmen Delarosa. The Drake Slayer of Ehknac!”
People cheered.
Drinks flew.
The crowd went wild.
Carmen and her small group were swarmed almost immediately.
“Drinks are on the house for the lady who liberated Infinity Falls!” the barkeep cried.
The cheers that followed nearly deafened her.
- - -
“Ohhhhhhh my God,” Carmen said, leaning forward as she settled down atop her bed. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
“Well don’t do it in here,” Lindsey said, hefting her pack atop her bed.
“I always tell myself that I won’t drink again, but I always end up doing it. Why? Why do I like the alcohol and the wines and the mead, Lindsey?”
“Because people kept giving them to you,” Lindsey offered. “And because they were free.”
Carmen burped, grimaced as the bitter tang of alcohol came up with it, then swallowed as what felt like bile began to rise up her throat.
She wouldn’t get sick—she wouldn’t. Not now, not after such a joyous celebration. She—
Only just made it to the nearby bucket before vomiting her brains out.
“Ughhhh,” she groaned into the bucket.
“Fucking gross,” Lindsey said. “Dear God. Thor, Loki and Hel almighty. Why did I have to get stuck with a drunk?”
“I’m not a drunk,” Carmen managed as she continued to hurl into the bucket before her.
“Sure you aren’t,” Lindsey said, stooping to pull Carmen’s hair away from her face. “There now. Just get the rest of it out.”
Carmen vomited a third and final time, then made her way over to the nearby window, where she deposited the contents, bucket and all, into the alleyway before collapsing atop her bed. “No more alcohol,” she said.
“Until the next celebration,” Lindsey winked.
Carmen groaned, rolled onto her belly, and closed her eyes.
I’ll just lay here for a moment, she thought, taking cool, shallow breaths as she reached up to fumble with the strap of her leather armor. Just until my head stops swimming. Just until…
- - -
The next time she woke, it was with an excruciating headache.
“Fuck a chicken in the ass,” Carmen groaned. “What the hell happened to me?”
“You mean other than you drinking your weight and more in liquor?” Lindsey asked, folding a set of clothes and settling them back into her bag. “Nothing, really. I’m surprised you’re up.”
“What time is it?”
“Nightfall. Or after business hours, if you want to be more specific.”
“Is there any water in here?”
Something landed on the bed next to Carmen. She looked down, noticed the skein, and eagerly uncorked and tipped it to her lips, sighing as the lukewarm liquid spilled down her throat and into her belly.
“You should probably draw more of that from the well outside,” Lindsey said as Carmen drained the last of the skin. “You’ll want to cure that hangover of yours befor
e we start out tomorrow.”
“They usually don’t last very long with me,” Carmen said, throwing her feet over the side of the bed only to find that her shoes were no longer upon them. She looked down, frowned, then turned her attention over to Lindsey, who merely shrugged and continued folding her clothes. “You… took care of me,” Carmen said.
“I figured you might as well sleep comfortably,” the other woman shrugged. “I would’ve tried to undress you further, but you tend to kick in your sleep.”
It’s because I’m fighting, she thought. Because I—
“Still think I’m in the Roads,” she mumbled.
“Sorry?” Lindsey asked.
Carmen shook her head. “It’s nothing,” she said. “I was just talking to myself.”
“Most would say that’s a sign of insanity.”
“Most wouldn’t have survived what I went through.”
“True.”
Rising, Carmen reached down, grimaced as a wave of nausea swam across the surface of her skull, then took her shoes into her hand before settling back down atop the bed. “Hey Lindsey,” she said.
“Yeah,” the other woman replied.
“Thank you—for watching out for me, I mean. And for everything you did while we were in the mines.”
“We’re a team,” Lindsey said. “We have to stick together. Right?”
“Right,” Carmen nodded.
She grabbed the skein, unlocked the door, and made her way down the stairs—thinking, the entire time, of what she would have done had her newfound friend not been there.
- - -
The night passed slowly, albeit with a chill that caused Carmen to burrow into her covers in a meager attempt to draw warmth. Such chills were rarely experienced in Ehknac, near where the currents from the outside world filtered in through the mountain and offered more moderate temperatures. Here, though, it was practically freezing, and by the time she stirred from bed the following morning, she bundled up in a pair of long underwear underneath her regular clothes.
“Didn’t expect it to get this cold,” Lindsey said as they prepared that morning. “Did you?”
