by V. K. Ludwig
Oriel fell into another deep laugh, throwing himself against River’s shoulder and howling behind his back.
“You wanna be exiled?” I shouted and pointed at Oriel, then River. “Because that’s how you get yourself exiled.”
Oriel flung his palms over his face, wiped off some tears, and left the room. His laughs resounded from the kitchen walls for a few more seconds, each one sending a rush of blood into my cheeks.
“No, seriously man,” River said, plunging his hands into his pockets. “The pink flowers suit you. Really brings out your gray eyes and those —”
“Shut the fuck up, River.” I grabbed a leftover crib slant and threw it toward him.
“Whoa!” Autumn stepped into the room and ducked her head, missing the piece of wood by less than an inch. “What is going on here? I heard glass break.”
“Yeah, that was me. I dropped it, sorry.” He kicked with his boot against the box, the broken contents clinking against each other once more. “I better go wait in the car before Mister Mom here exiles me again.”
River struggled his face into something earnest, gave me a manly apology in the form of a quick nod, turned on his heels, and left the room.
“I’m wearing a baby, ok?” I said, busying myself once more with the slanted side of the crib. “Before you ask stupid questions, too.”
“I know, I read up on it in that book you gave me.”
My sister placed both hands onto her stomach and rubbed gently up and down. She did it all the time now, ever since her blood work confirmed the good news. There wasn’t a bump yet, of course, but she pushed out her belly and practiced her preggo-waddle any chance she got.
She walked to the footboard and dragged-carried it over to me, shoving her shoe underneath one leg in support. With a precise eye, she lined it up with the slanted side, and I worked the bolt deep into the wood.
“Thanks.”
“Uh-huh.” She kneeled down, grabbed another bolt, and snapped her fingers. “What about the other side piece?”
I handed her the Allen key. “Still in the box. I’ll use the crib like this and tie the open side to my bed frame. Figured it’s the perfect compromise between co-sleeping and saving my back.”
“We’re leaving now,” she said, an unspoken question pushing through the undertone of her voice.
Max and Autumn had spent the last two months building their own cabin higher up the mountain. A pretty decent one, too. It overlooked the village with a massive fireplace on one side, stacked high with flagstones they found along the creeks. All morning they had shuffled and packed. Wrapped and carried.
They were ready to face a new adventure.
And she wondered if I could tackle my old memories in solitude.
“You know you don’t have to worry about me,” I said, hoping it might convince her. Or me.
She shook her head. “It’s not that I worry…”
But she did. I could see it in the way she stared down every single line on my face, taking each flinch of a muscle as divination of the future.
“Max and I were just thinking that, well…” She got up and pulled one end of the crib toward my bed, accidentally bumping into the nightstand. The colorful assortment of pacifiers atop danced, and one fell into the abyss between wall and stand, joining all the other baby shit that collected there. “You’ve never lived alone by yourself. When mom and dad died, you took care of me. Then you married —”
“I am not alone,” I blurted, pointing at Rose whose eyes followed my every movement. “I’ve got little fart, remember? She’s gonna keep me so busy, I might not even notice you’re gone. She’s pretty clingy too.”
Autumn stood up straight, placed her hands by her sides, and gazed over to the baby. She took a deep breath and released it in slow, staggered waves, each one carrying an almost audible amount of doubt.
“Little fart, huh?” she said. “That’s not a suitable nickname for a girl. Actually, I’m not sure if it’s suitable for any child.”
“Oh, you got no idea,” I chuckled. “If you would have spent as much time with her as I did, you would understand why it suits her well. Besides, we’re a team. I’m old fart, and she is little fart.”
“I don’t know,” she sighed. “Sometimes I wonder if we should just have stayed here. Your cabin is big enough for all of us, but —”
“But Max’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do,” I said. “And I respect him for that. He knows it’s time he took care of his wife and his family. Besides, the cabin would get crowded the moment your two buns pop out of the oven.”
“Respect him, huh?” She leaned back, once again caressing her non-existing baby bump. “Not sure if I ever expected you to say that.”
I rummaged through a box underneath my bed and pulled out two large zip-ties, then fumbled them around the frame and Rose’s snow-white crib.
“Don’t get me wrong, I still think his face looks like a shaved pussy,” I said. “But he turned out to be a pretty good shot, and I know he is capable of keeping you and your children safe. It’s time for you to move on and make your own family.”
She picked up the crib mattress which leaned against the wall beside the fireplace and placed it onto the wooden platform.
“Look, I’m only your little sister but,” she hesitated for a moment, giving her upper lip a quick nibble. “Well, I guess I’m just trying to say that I am very proud of you, Rowan.”
“For assembling a crib in under five hours?”
“Nooo,” her eyes rolled skyward. “I’m proud for how you take care of Rose and give her… like… your everything.”
What she said made a lump form somewhere at the far back of my throat. Nothing I gave to this child would ever measure up to what I received in return.
Getting up in the mornings had a purpose. And I didn’t give a damn if it was for a shit-loaded diaper, or a burp she had stuck between her shoulder blades. I did it all, enjoying every second. Yes, even the ones where she barfed her milk down my neck
“But you understand that this situation might change soon, right?”
“Yeah, I get that.”
I had said it in a calm voice, rubbing my tongue across my gums, which tasted bloody from how her question had sucker-punched me straight in the muzzle.
I wasn’t the baby’s dad, and I sure as hell wasn’t mom either. I was just a temporary caretaker. If someone had stabbed me, the blade wouldn’t have drawn any blood. It clogged my arteries, too chilled to dare a drip. I’d be living alone in this cabin soon, with drafty gaps along the walls bigger than my asshole.
“The clansmen and women aren’t too happy about our choice to bring her back,” she said, tapping her foot against the floor. “Traitor was the nicest thing they called her. And some people are questioning if Rose is yours or…”
Voices continued to trail off whenever they spoke to me about this sore subject. Sometimes I lay in bed at night. Staring at her. Wondering what he looked like. Her donor that is. No matter what kind of sketch my brain came up with, it drove rage straight into my balled fists. I could only hope he wasn’t such a dumb ass like me.
“There’s only six of us who know, and I trust each one,” I said. “As for the other thing, let ’em complain. That’s the only good deal about being a chieftain: I get to make the fucking decisions, it’s that simple.”
“It’s not that simple.”
I couldn’t help but squint my eyes at her, kissing that last and only perk of being a chieftain goodbye.
She crossed her arms in front of her chest and pressed her lips together until they turned pale-pink. “There are… rumors.”
“What rumors?”
“Nothing’s confirmed, Rowan.” She gave a wide, appeasing motion. “The clansmen mentioned how some are furious about your decision to bring Darya back.”
“You mean your decision.”
She pouted. “Anyway. It looks like a few guys are trying to turn the Clan against you. They’re saying bringing her back shows
weakness. The fact that the Districts are broadcasting the video on old frequencies for the entire country to watch isn’t helping either.”
“That damn video. I don’t understand why she would say what she did.” My sister didn’t answer, and I knew we had the same concern on our minds. How did the council get her to say those words? I took a deep breath and went on, “in short, they’re plotting against me?”
“They won’t succeed.”
I read concern in the way she shifted her weight from one leg to the other, rubbing her hands across her underarms. A sign that she wasn’t so sure.
River stepped back into my room, hand on his holster and eyes wandering over his shoulder in uneasy jerks. “There’s a guy out there who says he wants to talk to you.”
“Who is it?” I asked.
“Never seen him before.” He licked his lips and wiped them off with the back of his hand. “Said he came from the range to the —”
“Alright, slow down,” I said. “Are you telling me a stranger made it into our territory unnoticed? And then he sneaked through twenty-three posted guards and made it to my doormat that even has Go Away written on it?”
“Um…”
River never got to answer. Voices grew louder coming from the front door, changing from mumbles into testosterone-dipped warning shouts.
I pushed River to the side and stomped toward the door which stood open, letting in the biting wind whistle from the northern ridge.
He followed behind me along with my sister, both mumbling shit about handing them something but I couldn’t hear none of it. Blood rushed through my ears like rapids. I grabbed my shotgun from the kitchen corner, ducked my head by a few inches, and stepped onto my porch.
There stood the stranger, leaning against the porch rail with his feet crossed and his hands inside his pockets. Whatever he had said must have been enough for Max and Oriel to rest their hands on their holsters, their index fingers twitching like a Thoroughbred at the starting gate.
“Who the fuck are you?” I asked, slamming the butt of my shotgun onto the wooden planks.
He dragged one hand out of his pocket and rubbed his palm across the stubbles on his chin. Dark and brooding, his eyes wandered across my face and down my stature, taking me in and evaluating every fiber of me.
A smacking sound left his lips, and he lowered his fingers back into his pocket. “Is this how you handle an unarmed man? Cornering him with your finger on the trigger?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t catch your name.” I placed the butt of my shotgun against my shoulder and pointed the rust-speckled triple barrel at him. “Must have gotten lost in that jabbering of yours.”
He leaned to the side, staring at whatever he thought he might find behind my back. Autumn rested arms crossed against the cabin, while Oriel and River spread out to the sides.
“The western ridge,” the stranger said, jutting his chin toward the mountains. “Your guards are too far apart to catch a single person sneaking through. Especially with the snow we had come down earlier.”
I cocked my shotgun, the clinking sound making Oriel and River go into a wide stance. “Your name.”
He pouted his lips and narrowed his eyes. “So much about southern hospitality.”
“You got lost then, huh?” River said. “Because we aren’t in the south, and nobody here invited you.”
“I beg to differ,” he said, and let his eyes wander across the large, white branches, unmoved by all the steel surrounding him. “My name is Xavier, and I am the chieftain of the Clan of the Mountains. If I am not mistaken, you guys asked me to come down for Yule celebrations, and to discuss that mess your sister caused while at the Districts.”
He quickly pointed at Autumn who must have shrunk back, her shoulders audibly shoving across the logs, her breathing heavier than just a second ago.
“I call bullshit,” Oriel shouted. “They weren’t supposed to arrive before tomorrow, and what chieftain travels without guards.”
“A badass one who likes to be early,” he said with a grin on his face, so wide it had confidence spelled out from one corner of the mouth to the other.
I lowered my shotgun, the barrel hanging loosely to one side. “I didn’t expect the chieftain of the mountains to be this young.”
He cocked his head, his finger pointing at my backside. “And I didn’t expect the chieftain of the woodlands to carry a baby on his back. But here we are.”
Chapter 4
Rowan
“Why aren’t they here yet?” I asked, my voice letting on more distress than I cared for. Not sure what was more suspicious. That their chieftain arrived a day early. Or that his men still weren’t here for the Yule celebration.
In a best-case scenario, someone ambushed them on their way down the mountain. In a worst-case scenario… they were about to ambush us.
I picked up my drinking horn and let another gulp of orange blossom mead run down my throat, shoving in my chair which squeaked underneath me. Killing men is easier work when you’re drunk.
After a long time, Xavier leaned over to me, his elbow resting on the little space the laid table in front of us offered.
“I told you I have a gift for you,” he said, each word cold and calculated. “Unfortunately, that gift is a bit, um… difficult to transport. They will be here soon.”
Bazookas were difficult to transport. So were Howitzers and Humvees. My brain flipped through the mental pages of twenty-first-century war equipment, rusting away underneath blankets of ivy on old military installations.
I’ve only had a handful of conversations with Xavier since he arrived, but he owned every single one of them — usually by saying nothing at all. I shoved in my seat some more, trading one numb butt cheek for another. What exactly made me think it was a good idea to invite them?
The villagers sat at tables arranged in neat lines along the walls, digging their forks into slow-roasted big feet and sucking the juice out of lamb shanks. They clanked their mugs and drinking horns together, toasting to an early spring and mumbling half-drunk pledges to their chieftain — me.
In the center of the longhouse, embers danced in the pit, sending man-high flames toward the opening in the roof. Children spit in the fire watching their saliva bubble and dissolve, while the few women we got gossiped roosting on the benches they had pushed together.
With a wave of my hand, I gestured Adair to me. I leaned over the table and whispered, “Take five men and walk the western perimeter along the village. You know what to do if there’s trouble.”
“Roger that.” He gave a nod and disappeared through the side door.
“A gift, huh?” I swung one leg across the armrest of my chair and sunk deep into it. “I hate to say it, but I’ve got nothing prepared for you in return.”
Xavier slapped his flat palm onto my back. “Don’t worry about it, Rowan. You’ll get your chance to return the kindness my Clan will offer in your time of need.”
“My time of need?”
I stared at him, my field of vision narrowed by the way I must have furrowed my brows. There was only one need I had at that moment, and that was diving my knuckles into his arrogant mug.
“Rowan?” Bry walked up to our table, Rose clinging to her hip. “It’s bedtime for someone.”
Little fart reached her chubby hand out for me and threw herself forward, making the red and green plaited ribbon on her headband bounce.
Reindeer danced across her hunter green skirt, the cherry sweater with a lace collar showing signs of drool and mashed sweet potato which never made it into her mouth.
I leaned over the table once more, offering Rose my beard for our nightly ritual of her diving her fingers into it with a hearty giggle. Once she released the fistfuls of hair, I placed a kiss on her forehead.
“I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning,” I said to her. “Tonight, our friend Bry is gonna take care of you. Be a good girl, ok?”
I waved them off, Rose’s scrunched-up face a telltale of the gru
dge she would hold against me for this. We had spent every night together ever since her arrival. But this was no place for a baby past nine when the air turned rancid and the words foul.
“Your daughter?” Xavier asked, making a sharp pain stab between my ribs. His question placed shards of glass underneath my tongue, a guarantee that a spoken lie would cut just as deep as a mumbled truth.
This guy said all the right things but came up with all the wrong questions, drowning himself in fucking water all night, his scheming eyes taking in each hairline crack on the walls and each skirt hem that waved by.
Hazel, Adair’s sister, stopped at our table holding up a red clay jug, elaborately tooled with cornflowers and barley spikes. “More mead?”
I pushed my horn toward her, and she filled it to the rim just how I liked it. Her green and yellow-speckled eyes flung to Xavier.
“No, love,” he placed his hand onto his mug, leaned over the edge and whispered something into Hazel’s ear. She giggled and stroked her hand down the side of her neck, her cheeks rosy, and her eyes fixated on the ground.
She left us behind at our table, positioned on the platform in front of the entire assembly: him sober. Me? Not drunk enough for this bullshit.
“We’ve got a law here,” I grumbled. “Might not have heard of it, but coming this close to a woman in my territory might cost you your head.”
He swung his arms behind his head and leaned as far back as the chair would let him. “What can I say? Until a few months ago, I thought I found myself a red-haired, beautiful bride. That didn’t work out as we both know, and now I’m a desperate man.”
His gaze wandered over to my sister, who sat at the table closest to us, an awkward silence settling between our two chairs. I had the urge to grab the back of his head and slam his face into the roast. But I resisted because it didn’t seem like the right thing to do. He was desperate for a wife, and even someone like me could sympathize with that. Especially someone like me.
