by Kristen Pike
“I’m fine thank you’” Rowan said hastily after she’d gathered that she had just been staring at Chev and, suspected, he probably thought she had lost her mind. Rowan thought that maybe she had lost it, the night her mother had…
She shook her head vigorously, erasing the traumatic memory and smiled at Chev. Who of course did not smile back.
Chev did not smile.
He did grunt at her however before gliding back to the main group, his feet barely making an indent in the ground where he walked, as if he were a ghost, a part of their world in all but physical form. Jonquil hooted with laughter and beside him, Tomman gave a weak watery smile at Pickards latest tale, no doubt, another grand adventure where he had saved hundreds of people, or stopped a near pandemic catastrophe by himself. With his eyes closed. And one hand tied behind his back. And his feet bound. Tomman laughed softly and Rowan’s face lit up in a smile at Tomman’s soft, almost feminine giggle, his musical laughter floating its way back to her.
Tomman was a small boy, barely 11, and all the clothes he owned were too big on his slight frame. Several weeks ago at a village they had stopped in Rowan had wandered off by herself to ask for news of her brother’s travels when she happened down a dark path. She had heard crying and she hurried toward the sound thinking a child had been lost, but what she found was much worse. A middle-aged man with alcohol rank breath and graying hair was holding a small boy- Tomman- by the scruff of his shirt. He was using his other hand, closed into a fist, to whack the small boy by the ear, who was crying and saying he was sorry.
Rowan could only think of all the times her mother had beat her and she shuddered, barreling forward in a rage so consuming Rowan’s body shook and she had to stop angry tears from welling in her eyes. She laid a hand on the older man’s shoulder. He had started, surprised that an onlooker had seen him and began a spiel of reasoning’s as to why the boy deserved the abuse, Rowan did not let him talk long. She had used the gentle voice that she hated so much, told him to start walking and never stop, and never to come back for the boy again.
Every few days Rowan wondered if that man was still walking, his feet cracked and blistered, the flesh flaked off to reveal his toe bones scraped down to nubs at the endless miles he had walked, leaving a trail of blood behind him. Or if he had dropped dead somewhere, lying in a pile of his own filth, his body rotting and picked apart by scavenging animals, exposing his ribs and his life’s blood spilt beneath him.
She was fine with either.
Good riddance.
But now Rowan had another being to look after, to feed and clothe, but she didn’t really mind. Tomman was an easy child and reminded her greatly of Elias as a boy. Tomman smiled at everything and everyone liked his easygoing nature, he could make any one laugh. He even got Chev to slightly lift the corners of his mouth once, which is practically thundering laughter, coming from Chev, who seemed to have taken the boy under his wing; making sure he ate enough, and had plenty of blankets, who consoled him when he was sad, when Rowan wasn’t able to. At night, Rowan knew he had nightmares, as she often did, the face of his abuser haunting him in his dreams, though he was hundreds of miles away by now. Just as Rowan were hundreds of miles from hers.
Rowan promised Tomman almost daily that she would find a new home for him, where people would love him and never raise a hand against him. He would hang his head and ask to stay with her, and she would remind him gently why he couldn’t.
“The journey I am on is no place for a promising young man.” She had told him, hugging him tight to herself.
“But I’ll be good.” He insisted, his small eyes looking up at her, pleading. “I just want to stay with you.”
“Oh Tomman,” she said sadly, “you are always good! I promise that the family you will live with will treat you with such kindness, you will soon forget all about me. You will grow to be happy and do the most amazing things!” She smiled down at him.
“But I’m happy with you.” He interjected with that girlish voice of his.
“I promise to visit as often as I can.” She responded finally, not knowing what else to say to him. He clung to her, his hands balled in fists, clutching to the back of her shirt. She had held him for hours, this tiny pale boy, so small for his age.
I really need to find a new home for him soon. Rowan thought, knowing she was procrastinating, but she loved having Tomman around, it felt like having her brother back.
“Tomman?” Pickard asked, his voice concerned, bringing Rowan back to the present. Tomman stood stiffly, stopping abruptly. Just then, he started jerking, his body flailing in all directions as if his limbs were trying desperately to escape his body. Time stopped as Rowan rushed forward, it seemed to take minute’s, hours to reach him, each footstep each breath echoed deafeningly in Rowan’s head, blocking out all other sounds, as she tried to reach Tomman and she was still three steps away when Tomman shuddered and Pickard caught him as he collapsed to the ground, his body limp.
“Tomman!” Rowan cried, reaching him as the sounds of the forest returned, her heart constricting painfully in her chest, and taking the tiny child from Pickard, who stepped back hastily looking guilty, as though Tomman might be contiguous and spread whatever it was he had to him.
“I’m fine.” Tomman said weakly and he erupted in a coughing fit. He brought up his hand to cover his mouth and when he withdrew it, it was covered in sticky, dark, blood. He hastily wiped it across his torso, the red smearing across the white of his shirt, and gave a sheepish smile.
Rowan’s face went pale to look at him, her heart stopping altogether.
“We will camp here for the night.” Rowan proclaimed to the others, never taking her eyes from Tomman. She moved so that his head rested on her lap and stroked his hair until he fell asleep only a few seconds later. His breathing was uneven and hitched in his throat, causing him to make a rasping noise with every breath he took. “I need Vordis.” Rowan said to the crowd of men looking down on her, at a loss of what to say or what to do.
The air around her was somber, hanging thickly above her head as if to smother them all as the men set up the camp. Vordis hobbled his way toward her, his steps crooked and his back hunched. He carried a large bag with him and as he kneeled beside Tomman, he placed it on the ground and opened it, the mouth of the bag large and dark, with a rich aroma of herbs floating out from it.
Vordis pulled instruments from his bag, many of which Rowan had seen her father use, one to listen to Tomman’s heart, another to check his reflexes. Rowan watched Vordis intently as he worked. Tomman coughed again and Rowan smoothed back his hair, her hands trembling slightly.
“Shhh it’s ok.” Rowan whispered to him, and he quieted.
“I’m sorry,” Vordis paused, took a shaky breath, “there is nothing,” another long breath, “I can do for this child.” he declared after he had checked Tomman thoroughly, looking sadly at Tomman then at Rowan. He hobbled off, his bag slung over his back.
Rowan’s heart sank, lying in a puddle of rocks and mud and brokenness at the bottom of her stomach. Tears stung the back of her eyes, and she shook her head angrily, willing herself to be strong and not break down when Tomman needed her most. She would not abandon him, refused to give up on him.
Tomman coughed again and blood spattered across the ground and on Rowan’s legs. She did not bother to try to wipe it off and the red liquid dripped down her pants, falling onto the forest floor silently. Rowan stared at the droplets of red, the image blurring as tears escaped from her eyes, falling just as silently.
Rowan sat there for hours, her legs cramping under her but she did not dare move, hardly dared breath, think, hope trickling out of her like steam from a kettle. The sun began slipping behind the trees and a fire was built near her. She could see the light from it dancing off the ground and trees around her, teasing her, but it appeared dull to her, and the heat did not reach her aching chilled limbs.
Long after the men had retired for the night, when even the animal
s had gone to sleep, snuggled deeply into their habitats, Tomman began to shake uncontrollably, his teeth chattering violently in his mouth.
“I need a blanket!” Rowan cried out, panicked, her heart stammering as she tried to control Tomman’s sudden spasms.
Jace brought her one immediately, as though he had been waiting nearby, not sleeping like the rest. He placed the blanket over Tomman, tucking it under him carefully and the child’s jerky movements slowed, though Rowan could still feel him trembling.
Or maybe that was her.
At the corner of her vision Rowan could see Chev hovering, standing with another blanket in his arms, clutching the fabric so tightly his knuckles were no doubt white. Rowan had never seen Chev falter, but as she looked at him now, he looked stricken, staring at Tomman on the ground with a wild, desperate, look on his face.
Jace sat down beside her silently, his eyes looking over Tomman concerned. Tomman coughed again, blood flinging from his mouth, and Rowan wiped it off his face with her sleeve, though his shirt was stained and it made Rowan nauseas to look at it. Jace grabbed her hand, holding tight and Rowan clutched back. He’s dying. Rowan thought dismally as Tomman whimpered, his breaths fast and uneven.
“For his pain.” Vordis drawled over her, startling her and she jerked her head up to look at him, the firelight casting ghostly shadows across his features, making him look sinister. He carried a jar, a dark green looking liquid swirling around inside. Vordis pressed the cold jar into her hands and disappeared into the night.
“Will you hold his mouth open?” Rowan asked Jace, who nodded and pried Tomman’s jaw open. Rowan pulled the stopper from the small glass jar and slowly poured the thin liquid into Tomman’s mouth. Tomman coughed, spewing the tincture across Rowan’s face, the medicine dribbled down his chin, falling into his neck. Rowan poured more slowly, the sickly sweet smelling mixture gurgling down Tomman’s throat as he swallowed loudly.
Rowan stroked his hair into the dark hours of the night, dozing off and on until the morning, when a bird chirped and woke her with a start. Rowan blinked, raising herself off Jace whom she had fallen asleep against.
Tomman had slid off her legs while she had slept and she moved him back onto her, his body stiff and cold.
“Tomman?” Rowan croaked, her voice thick with sleepiness. “Tomman?” Rowan shook him softly, his head lolled to the side, his eyes open wide and unblinking. “Tomman!” Rowan shrieked, startling Jace awake.
“Rowan?” Jace asked, looking at her distraught face with concern.
“No, no, Tomman, please, you can’t go!” Hot tears rolled down Rowan’s cheeks, filling her mouth with the taste of salt whenever one reached her lips. “Tomman, please!” Rowan cried, her heart breaking shattering into a dusty pile and blowing away. “You can stay with me, I won’t make you leave. Please just stay with me. Stay with me. Tomman!”
Jace stooped to check Tomman’s pulse in his neck. “Rowan he’s gone.” Jace said gently beside her with a small shake of his head, his eyes somber and sad.
“NO!” Rowan yelled, holding the small boy to her chest, his soft brown hair tumbling into his face. “Tomman please.” Rowan begged. “Please, don’t leave me too.” A tear slipped onto Tomman’s pale face, glistening as it slipped down into his shirt.
“Rowan, I’m so sorry.” Jace placed a hand on her back, but Rowan barely felt the comforting motion.
Tomman had died just after the sunrise. He didn’t cough, or tremor. He simply just died, with orange sunlight streaming through the trees canopy down on his face, making his pale skin glow. He slipped into his death as easily as he would sleep after a grueling days march through the forest. Rowan was never sure if it HAD been just after sunrise that he had passed, or if it had been hours earlier, in the darkness of the night, and she had failed to notice.
He looks peaceful in his death, Rowan thought numbly, hoping wherever he went, wherever everyone goes after they die, was a beautiful place full of music, which Tomman had loved, and other children for him to laugh and play with. Rowan hoped it was a magical place where he would never have to think about the horrors of his past, his personal demons and nightmares banished, never to plague him again.
What felt like hours later, Rowan stood, sliding Tomman’s lifeless body from her until he rested on the forest floor. She searched the ground for a large branch, her heart beating painfully slow in her chest. She found one with a forked end and began shoveling the earth, her face pinched, as the hole grew larger.
“Rowan, let us do that.” Barton said softly behind her.
“No.” Rowan growled, not turning to face him, digging more furiously, throwing her body into each scoop she dug as if physical exertion would wipe away the thudding ache she felt deep inside herself. Later she would apologize for her behavior, and they would all understand. But right then she was lost in her grief, for a boy she barely knew but would have went to the ends of the world for, if he had only lived long enough.
Rowan flung the branch away from her as though it had turned into a poisonous snake when the grave was dug. Sweat poured down her back and her head pounded painfully as though it was going to crack open and spew her torturous thoughts out into the world. “I- I need a blanket.” Rowan stammered, standing over Tomman.
“There’s one on him Rowan.” Jonquil replied hesitantly, Rowan looked absently at the gray blanket bunched around Tomman’s legs and nodded. She grabbed it and laid it flat on the ground, brushing out the corners so it lay unwrinkled. Chev helped her hoist Tomman onto it, laying him gently on the thin material.
Rowan saw that Chev was crying, small tears that fell silently, noticed only by her. Rowan’s heart broke all over again. She wanted to say something to comfort Chev, but she couldn’t summon any words. Nothing she could say would make either of them feel better, Tomman was dead and words, no matter how beautiful, could summon the life back to him.
Rowan wrapped him tenderly, her hands shaking. When he was wrapped, Chev carried him to his grave, placing him inside with care. Rowan stood at the foot of the shallow hole and when Chev stepped away from it, she fell to her knees and began shoveling dirt back over the dead body inside with her bare hands. Dirt caught in her fingernails and tears fell inaudibly into Tomman’s grave, tiny wet spots dotting the dirt as it was cast onto him.
I don’t know what’s worse, the life he would have had with the man who beat him, or his death in the forest surrounded by almost strangers.
Rowan struck the ground, angry with herself for not knowing if she did the right thing by taking him away, sending dirt flying. She hit it again and again, a feral scream welling from her lips. She heard muttering behind her and thought dully, not for the first or last time, if they all thought she was mad.
“Rowan.” Jace leaned down beside her, holding her hands in his to keep her from lashing out again. She noted that her knuckles were now cracked and bloody, though she didn’t feel it. Serve me right, maybe I’ll get an infection and die now, just like Tomman.
Tomman’s dead. And it’s my fault.
“It’s not your fault.” Jace said softly, forcing Rowan to look into his eyes, as if he could read her mind. He looked so earnest, with his brows creased over his green eyes, and she was filled with shame once again. First she had killed Tomman and this, made all these people believe in her, in her cause, when she was nothing but a fraud. She couldn’t stop Elias any more than a kitten could.
“I brought him here…” Rowan said softly, looking at the mound of dirt in front of her.
“You made him happy Rowan, maybe for the first time in his life. He loved you Rowan, you didn’t do this.” Jace tried to assure her, but the words fell away, rolling off her and being buried deep inside herself. She didn’t want to feel better right now, she wanted to be miserable. She wanted to count the seconds of the pain she was in and remember each agonizing breath she took. She wanted to hit the ground again.
Rowan remained silent.
After that, the men dispersed
; going to their beds lost in their thoughts. Birds chirped, squirrels played above their heads, leaves blew in the wind. Time did not stop though Rowan willed it to. Each second ticked by with a heartbeat. Rowan blinked, she breathed, though it hurt.
Rowan and Jace sat by Tommans grave until the sun once again set. Jace left to get them food, but Rowan refused to eat it. So they sat there, staring at a soft mound of dirt until Rowan drifted into a dreamless sleep, Jace’s arms wrapped protectively around her with her head resting on his chest.
Chev sat on the opposite side of Tomman’s grave, looking at it with a sadness that seemed immeasurable and timeless, his hand resting over the tally’s on his arm.
TEN
The next morning rain poured down on Rowan as she tilted her head to look up at the large cabin. It was made of dark wood and windows covered every wall, blackness peered out of them, dark and menacing, making the massive cabin seem foreboding and gloomy. The cabin felt abandoned, the air stale and heavy around it as if the cabins abandonment had made the air around it bitter and hard to breath.
Rowan walked up the three steps to the door, water pouring down her to soak the wooded porch, dark splotches of water followed her to the door, marking her trail as if she could get lost and not find her way back. Glass cracked under her feet from a broken window beside the door, glass littering the porch like pieces of dust or fallen leaves. Rowan shivered as she knocked on the large door.
