No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  "Well, since it is just you and I, you can make up anything you want right now and think on whether or not you want it to be true one day, when we all meet our end."

  He has a point, so, before I freeze to death with a shirt as damp as mine still is, I give him the best thought that comes to mind and is nobody else’s but mine, after all these years of hating how my family has treated their bodies once they move on to another life.

  "Okay, what about a box, then? And maybe a statue of myself on top of where I'm buried..."

  This seems reasonable enough to me, and, while I go to gather my bucket and towel only to realize I'm not sure what to do with them, Yemi offers his take.

  "Very fancy... Like a hero?"

  With that, I agree, but to make myself seem like less of a young man with stars still in my eyes, I offer a better explanation that goes deeper, as to why any good man might want to have a statue made in their image.

  "Like someone worth remembering."

  Once again, Yemi nods to approve and offers some words that tell me, after such little time, I have made a friend with another one of these men.

  "Well, thank you for this conversation, Fjord. I will remember you no matter what happens when the next battle comes."

  I think about saying thank you in return, or even you're welcome if it would actually be appreciated by him, but, instead, I bring up something else now that I am clean, as dry as can be, dressed, and ready to leave.

  "Well then, since you seem like a wise man, Yemi, what should I do with my towel and the bucket now that I have finished?"

  Both of us happen to laugh at what I ask, and I laugh even more once he briefly turns back towards me, after having just turned away to finish bathing, and shows off the suds on his head that would make a fine hair as he speaks.

  "Do not worry for them. You have much else to learn today, and I will take care of these for you just this once."

  For that, I am thankful, so, as I finally leave the tent and head back into the crowd of men outside, I turn to finally return what he said to me previously.

  "Thank you, Yemi."

  And, as soon as I turn back to face the rest of the camp, I suddenly fear for my life while a man in a cloak quickly approaches me, alone. It is only when he is right in front of me, within stabbing distance, that the fear leaves my body once the hood of the stranger is removed from his head, to reveal Abraham as he addresses my worries.

  "It is only me, Fjord. You have nothing to fear around here, and this will be proven in time. I wanted to speak to you in the tent sooner, but returned to find you deep in conversation with Yemi, the only other man in this camp that is close to Gorm, so you are doing well. You make talk fast and friends even quicker."

  I appreciate the compliment, as it too relieves my worries, but the number of people I have spoken to seems so small compared to the hundreds of men that surround us.

  "Only three so far. That doesn't seem like too many compared to how many different faces I've seen."

  This I say as all of the faces, twisting and moving constantly, surround the two of us, but Ham takes no time to come up with a response so long that, by the time he has put his arm on my shoulder, covered some of my bare skin with the thin cloth of his cloak that matches the brown of his leather, and speaks to me as I walk, we are at our destination when he is done.

  "Soon enough, you'll see that numbers do not matter. Too many men come and go, and a brother to one of us is a brother to all, no matter what. We all have our own purpose here, escape, safety, hope, or just whatever job we all do around the camp, but, more than anything else, we all share the same cause. We all are here to fight, to live a life that will be passed down as a story of the strong and bold, and to make sure we do not die alone. When the first fight comes, you will understand."

  I find all of that hard to believe, especially when I know nothing of what the first fight will involve, so, as I prepare to ask Abraham that as we stand beside what I am assuming is his own tent, I find some comfort in how he has almost taken me from one side of the camp to the other, unbothered by the crowds or sound.

  "Speaking of which, when will I be told about what we are fighting? And why the delay?"

  To this question, he smiles, one of the few signs of happiness I have seen upon his face that says almost the opposite without any expression, and he gives me an explanation that is good enough for the time being as we stand ready to step inside his makeshift home.

  "Because most men would run away like we're crazy if we told them what we are after immediately, before they got the chance to see what we are capable of. I did say hope was an important part of why these men are here, and it shall be provided, along with solutions to everything else you worry about. Give us time."

  And, just as we step inside, I see a few objects that already solve some of my problems, among so much else. The tent of Abraham is circular at the base, unlike some of the square or rectangular ones I have seen so much of already, and his own belongings are sparse. A bed roll on the dirt, a small chest at the base of his bed, and a lantern near where he lays his head, and the only other items around the space are those solutions that have been promised sitting atop a round, wooden barrel, that get explained as I approach them while Abraham stays at the entrance of his tent.

  "We have a rule around here, one of the few besides the obvious kindness and what not, but, that rule is that any man who brings another into this camp must make sure they are taken care of and taught the basics."

  I listen to what he says attentively, but I am just as interested in the tan shirt and the brown jerkin that used all of the material the arms would have taken up to turn the vest into a piece of leather that goes past my thighs. So, as Ham has more to say to me, both are taken off of the barrel sitting in the corner and put on and messed with until they are comfortable.

  "That means I am in charge of you in a sense, so I went out of my way to get all I could for you."

  My dark-brown pants and boots match well enough with the new, pale shirt I leave loose, and then the jerkin, of a brown that is not as dark, covers it all, which I acknowledge along with what Abraham has said before anything else is spoken.

  "I can tell. Thank you."

  And, while what I have been given already is so great, there is still so much more. Ham seems to have left my sword here after Gorm handed it to him, and hiding the heavy blade is a new sheath that almost matches my old, already fitted perfectly for the size of my chest and the thickness of my clothes. That would be all I will ever need, looking ready for any kind of fight at this point, but there is still the tool that I have no idea as to what it does, a long glove connected to a box. I take some time to put it on, after I have rolled up the shirt sleeve on that arm, and stare at it as if my arm has been chopped off and replaced with the bone and flesh of someone else. It fits perfectly on my left hand, and is even more perfect because I am left-handed, so that only leaves a question for Abraham when I am as good as good as can be.

  "How did you know I use my left hand for most tasks?"

  These are the first words spoken in some time, and only once I have turned around to look at him standing quietly with the slightest smile, but, like always, he wastes no time in replying.

  "Oh... That I did not know and could be a problem."

  Those thoughts take the smile off of his face, so I have to ask why.

  "Why might that be a problem?"

  He fiddles with the glove on his left hand as he says that, which then leads me to remember that Gorm had his glove on his left too, and, before Ham says why, I pull up the sleeve on my right arm too and cross my arms, in waiting.

  "Well, most men prefer to be able wield a weapon in one hand during battle, so that they may use their other arm to keep them safe. But-"

  The bit about keeping oneself safe makes me as curious as ever as to what the tool actually does, yet I interrupt anyway to say something else before he can finish explaining.

  "But, I'm not going to be u
sing my sword with a single hand no matter what, so it shouldn't matter much."

  And, as Abraham takes a deep breath, I move closer to him, ready to do what comes next, and he gives me the only hope he has about what I've said.

  "We shall see soon enough. Follow me."

  What I now have on my back adds more confidence to my bones, as the added weight is good for once, so, while Ham and I move away from the beach for the first time and straight out of his tent instead of going left and right along the edge of the beach where, as I moved to and from the bath house, I could see the waves out one eye, I do not worry about the dozens of men we pass, bald or long-haired, bearded or shaved, black or white or a complexion anywhere in between. And, as those are the details that set these men apart, I put together for the first time that no single man I have seen as of yet wears more than simple leather, not a single piece of metal in sight, so, if these men do have a fight planned, I can't imagine what is being fought that doesn't require the armor of a knight or the guards my family kept. But, once we have passed one tent for every two men I have seen, Abraham and I reach the edge of the camp and can see Gorm and two other men waiting that, until we get close enough, it is hard to make out that they are more alike than they are apart.

  Gorm looks like a king from a mountain twice the size of the one I was born upon with his body that is almost as thick and tall as the nearby trees and hairy on every inch of flesh where his tan leather and long, fur cloak of various animals does not hide his appendages, but these other two men, ones I know I have not passed yet around the camp, must be twins. They are both as skinny as can be, thinner than I am, and with so little stubble on their face that you'd think they'd be younger than me, but, with the bags under their eyes and the few wrinkles largely hidden by a layer of dirt, as if neither of them have washed themselves in a hundred moons, I can only guess that they have at least ten cycles of the seasons more than I do in my life.

  This isn't helped by their long hair that parts down the middle of their scalps, and, somehow, the thin, straight, greasy nature of it makes them look sick, while the thickness and knotted nature of Gorm's hair does not. It is then no surprise that their voices fit the way they look as they get ready to speak too, after Gorm says something to all five of us standing out here at the edge of the woods.

  "Ham, you have already met the twins... But, our new friend, Fjord, now you know their names too, just 'the twins'. They were the newest additions to the camp before you washed up."

  To me, washed up might be taken as offensive in any other instance, but because I literally did just show up on the shore and Gorm follows those words with a chuckle that is as deep as his voice when he speaks, I know it is not meant to be rude. The days of offensive words should largely be behind me now, so I feel comfortable enough to say hello.

  "It is good to meet you two."

  And, from within their throats, out comes two different voices, one healthy and the other like it has spent two decades in a mine, but, somehow, it is impossible to pick out who speaks first, or from whom each sound comes.

  "Nice to meet you too, Fjord."

  And, before I spend the rest of the sun left in the sky trying to figure out which twin has which voice, Gorm looks at Abraham and parts the hair of his own beard.

  "Do you know if Yemi is coming?"

  I could answer this question as well as Ham, I think, but I stay quiet where I stand and let him share what we both know.

  "Last time I saw him; he was still bathing before I brought Fjord out here."

  Whether or not Yemi is meant to come seems like no big deal to Gorm, for, while he further knots the hair under his neck into more of a nest, he seems unbothered as he responds and kicks the dirt up once his boots move forward.

  "No point in waiting, then."

  The twins are the first of us to follow after Gorm, followed by Abraham and myself, and, for some time, we walk on a dirt path in between the sparse trees with no sound other than our boots hitting the ground and each of our weapons swaying or hitting our bodies. The leather of my sheath sounds like stretching while my sword weights it down. Abraham must have a smaller sword at his waist, hidden underneath his cloak, because I can hear it every time it slaps against his belt and pant leg, and the same goes for the twins, who each have a dagger strapped to both hips. So, all that leaves is Gorm, whose weapon does not make a sound. His axe stays on his back with nothing but a strap, because no sheath could hold it, and the fur of his cloak keeps the massive blade from moving at all, despite how heavy it is and how much Gorm sways in his step. Yet, none of that matters when we all eventually stop and dig our feet into the dirt, just to look at what rises in front of us.

  Out in the middle of these woods that are as safe, silent, and as similar as any stretch of trees could ever get, I'm sure, the five of us find a place where some trees have been tipped over, others grow at an angle, and the rest grow a hundred feet off of the ground, for, somehow, it seems as if the Earth in front of us has shifted at some point in time and left a cliff face that still stands tall. This cliff is like a cake in some ways, as the dirt that was once connected to the piece of land we stand on now sits at the top of the cliff, followed by several other layers until the brown of the dirt turns into the black and gray of stone. And, as strange as this sight is to me, everyone else acts like this is normal, especially when Gorm turns to the twins and gives them instructions.

  "You two are up. Show me what your practice has done for you."

  Then, as fast as the two twins can run their chicken legs closer to the cliff face and jump as high as they can, I have something else to stare at that is even stranger than the random cliff out in these woods. The two men, with the help of the tool I have no understanding of until now, start to fly through the air quicker than a small bird. For, from their arms right where that long, uncomfortable box sits, a rope headed by a couple of hooks flies out at the speed of an arrow, stabs into the dirt a hundred feet up, and pulls each twin simultaneously as each of their ropes run out of length. That is when they fly, hitting the cliff so quick that the impact could knock them senseless if they do not ready themselves, so, once their heels dig into the surface of the dirt that I expect to fall any second now, these two are climbing the last few feet up the cliff with their daggers like a cat chasing after a squirrel, only for both to disappear over the top with a single sideway-roll after they have had one hand and blade reach the tip.

  I'm not sure what to say as I watch it all, and, looking to Abraham and Gorm, neither have anything to say at all until, after the hooks in the cliff come loose and draw closer up the wall until they too disappear over the top, Gorm shouts so loud that there is no doubt the twins will hear it, while the actual birds that have been in hiding fly off.

  "You're not done yet!"

  The words are vague but enough for the twins to know what else they have to do I would guess, for, shortly after the birds have calmed, the twins come jumping over the cliff. I expect them to fall to their deaths, because I still have no idea what is going on, so that is why I watch more closely to see what they do as they get closer and closer to breaking all four of their legs. When they jumped, they did so backwards, facing the cliff, which Gorm, Ham, and I can see once we have stepped to the side to watch, and that is how I notice the way they twist the handle that sticks out of the back of the box, closer to the inside of the arm fold, with the hand that does not bear the glove, and this is the action that sends the grapple flying so fast the two twins catch the cliff with the hooks halfway up, having fallen to a much lower height, and swing towards the face of the rock with both hands wrapped around the rope and their legs braced for the impact.

  When they first hit the wall with their feet, they do so perfectly and slowly let the rope grow longer until, with what looks like little effort, they stand on the ground again properly. The whole time, both of them must have had their daggers back in their pockets ever since they reached the top, and the only problem stopping them from turning
towards where the three of us wait is the grapples that are still halfway up the cliff, which is solved as soon as they pull on the handles at the back of their tools to send each rope flying back into their box faster than a fisherman could reel in their catch. I then expect someone to say something, either the twins asking how they did or Gorm answering that question before the words even come, but all remain silent. The lack of complaints and no broken bones says enough, until my time comes.

  "Fjord..."

  Gorm places his hand on my shoulder, and looks down at me because that is the only way he can look into my eyes, and I say something before he can ask for me to try what the twins have just done.

  "I think I understand how to use the tool, so I'm just curious about how it actually works the way it does."

  Abraham is the only one to laugh, as Gorm says nothing at all, so Ham gives an explanation to his sudden display of joy and an answer to my question.

  "Don't ask how it works, because only a few who don't fight really know. Just twist and pull and trust that it'll work."

  As I swap places with the twins so that they stand where I once was and let me stand before the cliff, I repeat the last of what Abraham said under my breath.

  "Twist and pull."

  I'm focused enough that I could get started as soon as I finish that thought, but Ham interrupts my preparations with a concern.

  "Would you like one of us to hold on to your sword since it is your first time?"

  And, as fast as I can aim the grapple near the top of the cliff, I let out a single word and fly.

  "No."

  After the tool has been twisted, it's hard to say if the air leaves my lungs faster than my feet left the ground or not, but, with the few seconds I have before the mechanisms in the box on my arm propel me into the rock face and knock the teeth out of my mouth, I wrap the rope around my left hand and use the better grip to lift my knees towards my chest. This works well enough once my boots slam against the cliff, but sends so much dirt and rocks free of the wall that I fear the hooks of my grapple may come loose if I wait too long, so, in between thoughts of how useful these would be sieging a fortified castle or why the tool doesn't work with a pull then a twist instead of the reverse as it is, my time spent climbing mountains kicks in.