No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  One foot finds a rock that sticks out just enough to get a grip, as the other foot digs into some loose dirt, and, once my left hand has found an old root that is half-exposed to hang on to, I use my right hand to pull on the handle, free my grapple, and climb the rest of the way with no safety. Doing so is easy, going from one footing to the next in what few feet I have left before I can pull myself over the top, and, as soon as I have done so and truly run out of breath, I roll onto the grass, face up though the tree branches, look into what little sun I can see, and understand why none of these men wear metal and why Abraham asked if I needed someone to hold my sword, as heavy as it is to carry on my back.

  This is all good though, for the brief pause gives me the time I need to recover, which will surely never happen during an actual fight. So, as soon as I have enough energy to lift myself off of the ground, I turn to face the trees ahead and the mountains I can see off in the distance, walk ten feet, turn around, run ten more, and follow it with a jump that has different intentions than the twins. So much so that, before I start to fall, I float above the canopy of trees, and, once I fall enough to pass between those branches that scratch at my clothes and face, I finally let the grapple fly off once more.

  I'm sure I could count the seconds I have left before I hit the ground on one hand, so I am lucky that my timing of the grapple was correct where, in two seconds flat, it finds flat dirt to dig into and pulls me in a direction that throws away the force and momentum I built up falling from so high. The landing is still rough, but not as rough as the jerk in my arm and the rest of my bones as the grapple pulled me off course, and all of that is only made less rough as the way I moved forward was like running down a hill far too fast and catching myself with a forward roll the instant my feet hit the bottom of that hill, or the flat ground in this instance. This works well enough to save myself from some of the strain a landing like that would put on my legs. So, when I have gotten my bearings again and turned around to face the others that come running towards me, all that has changed is the addition of a smile on my face and the dirt and leaves that have stuck to some of my leather, while they bear expressions between fear and amazement.

  The twins share the same smile as I, but I think that is just because they are crazy. While, at the same time, Abraham pushes forward in fear like he expected me to hit the ground with twisted limbs instead of the way I am, and Gorm grins in a way that can only be explained with the words he shouts while Ham stops in his tracks and examines me from head to toe.

  "You, Fjord, are a fucking fool, but a fool I could love! Only a man from the mountains could climb like that, and only the crazy would even attempt to land how you did."

  After he has spoken, Gorm comes forward, pushes Abraham out of the way with little care, and the tree of a man grabs me by my arm so hard he seems ready to rip it off, but, somehow, the three of us stand smiling, just as the twins manage to curl their lips upwards again too. Gorm then tops off the proud energy he offers as he embraces me and offers words in his barbaric accent that warm my heart.

  "If you only grew your hair and beard out, nobody would be able to tell you weren't a son of my own blood."

  A son, those are his words. Not a child or a boy, but a son in less than a day. I have now seen more pride for me in another man's face in a single moment than I have seen in my entire life, and, after all has gone silent and most of the emotions have run from our faces, we all agree to head back to camp, without a single word for the time being. There is reason to believe that will not last, though. So, when the silence starts to bother me, I feel it is time to ask a few questions that are twisting and turning inside of my mind.

  "Gorm, what do you and the other men call yourselves?"

  For some reason, I worry about his response as I finish, like maybe this is a sore topic or I do not deserve to know yet, and, though I could have just asked Ham, who is next to me rather than several yards ahead where Gorm now walks backwards, his answer is good enough, I guess, if he is telling the truth.

  "We are free men; don't you already know? We do not need a name. Only something to fight."

  That last sentence only leads to the question that bothers me the most, leaving Abraham and Gorm to laugh at me as I ask, but the twins seem to express the same curiosity and worry in their facial expressions alone.

  "So, what are we fighting then?"

  And, while Gorm cannot stop a chuckle that turns into a laugh that sounds like several gags, Ham decides it is his turn to answer mysteriously.

  "We do not want to ruin the surprise or the chance to see how you adapt in the face of the unknown."

  Some laughing trails between the two of them for a few more seconds, before all sounds from nose or throat cease but for breathing, yet, in those seconds, Ham and Gorm slow enough for the twins and I to pass them, with me taking the lead. One would think leading a pack of five men would be easy enough, especially along a simple dirt path that we have already walked through, but that is not the case. For, dozens of trees on, dozens of wild flowers and shrubs passed, something eventually seems amiss.

  Like animals, the twins then stop instantly, one holding his hand against the chest of the other so that the sound of his feet shuffling ends sooner, and their ears wiggle like animals picking up a sound in the wind. But, as I listen too, I hear nothing but that wind as soon as Ham and Gorm stop too, and, while I look between the four of us and notice the twins staring through me off to the right side of the path, and into the bushes behind me, the first sound to break the silence is the grunting needed to lift an axe large enough to fell a thick tree in a handful of swings, followed by a single explanation and four more men trying to do what Gorm has already done.

  "Weapons!"

  I see Abraham's come free in an instant as I turn towards the twins, who have snuck away into the nearby bushes even faster than they could pull their small daggers from their waists, all while I have been pulling my sword off of my back, and I do so just in time to accidentally catch fur, flesh, and blood in one swing, looking down to see what I have killed at my feet. A wolf, larger than a normal man, lies in the dirt that is now darker from its blood, head still attached to the body by what seems like only a few threads of flesh, and, faster than I can feel the weight of what I have done, the weight of another beast throws itself at me. I fall on my back instantly, almost entirely at the mercy of the animal trying to wrap its jaw around my throat, and were it not for the forearm held in front of me, now that my sword is out of my hands, I'd be dead and unable to move my other hand out from under my body and partially around the wolf's throat, followed by the arm that once acted as a shield joining it.

  The animal is so big, and the fur so thick, I'd never come close to strangling it with any number of hands, so I can only pray for help that surely should be coming, as I get covered in saliva. And, through the silence that is my life close to death, I hear neither Gorm, nor Ham, or the twins, and only break free from the silence when one curved sword chops into the back of the beast so hard that I fear the second curved sword may chop me in two too.

  Blood and guts cover my new clothes, but that is of little concern, as clothes can be washed and I don't have to worry about my throat being torn. So, all that leaves is a few scratches on my neck, and wonder about whom those swords belong to, and where everyone else was as I lay under the warmth of the wolf's fur with the top half of the animal smothering me. But, as soon as six hands lift the carcass, every question I have is answered.

  Three men stand around me, looking distressed, almost as much as each of them look eager to relive that situation and be the one to get the blood on their weapon. Gorm stands next to one of the trees along the road, to the right of where I fell down, and Abraham stands next to him, his sword stuck into the dirt as I'm sure he rushed to help get the animal off of me. And, while Gorm slowly puts his axe on his back, and Ham wipes the dirt off of his sword before the sheath is covered in it, another hand lifts me off of the ground before I'm done gathering
my thoughts and breath.

  I then turn to face my savior, who is wiping wolf blood onto his pants with one hand and holding the handles of two swords in the other, and thank him, just because I don't know what else to say.

  "Thank you, Yemi."

  Yemi was already smiling before I spoke, and the words only make him smile more, like a man proud of what he has done, even if what was done was simple enough, and, while still looking to him and waiting for a response, I feel the hand of a giant on my shoulder, and the weight of my sword returning to the sheath on my back. Gorm then makes a comment as he stands behind me.

  "Maybe a sword so big ain't so good during desperate times..."

  He sounds like he wants to laugh at that, but can't because of the circumstances that led to how we are all standing now, and I turn back for a brief moment only to see him glare at the twins who have decided it is time to come out of hiding. Though, Abraham is quick to take any chance Gorm might have to yell at them with a simple comment.

  "I'm more worried about why these two animals would attack five men."

  Yemi is the first to respond to that.

  "As am I. Neither looks to be starving, but it is hard to say without cutting off the fur."

  He then takes a moment to pull up his trousers slightly, like swinging both of his swords the way he did left them to slouch, and, right after, he bears both of his swords again to cut right through the thick bush in front of all of us, where I wouldn't be surprised if several more wolves waited in the underbrush. Based upon how I see him raise his right arm and sword as high as he can, it would seem I am right, but, with the sounds that I hear before he brings his blade down, I find enough strength to dash through the path he has left in the bush and grab his arm, just as I make a request that sounds more like a demand.

  "You cannot kill them."

  Both of us look at one another, then back to the four others who have followed us through the bushes, and, even though Abraham looks at me in a way that says I should not intervene, I have already done so, and can only wait for Yemi's reply, as almost all of us now look into the unopened eyes of several wolf pups.

  "Why not? They are just going to end up being dangerous like their mother and father, I'd say."

  I look back to Ham and Gorm, hoping they have something to say that isn't the crazy ideas I have running in my head, but, when they have no words and the lack of any seems to start bothering Yemi, I can only offer those crazy.

  "But, these parents, especially the mother, were only protecting their young, so maybe we can bring them with us, and, one day, they might protect us..."

  Yemi looks almost disgusted by the idea, and shares that feeling through his words.

  "And who is to raise them? They are not like dogs, and even I do not know how to raise that kind of animal."

  Thankfully, someone else steps in, as Gorm comments about something I never could have known in the short time I have been around these men.

  "You're the one who has always talked about having animals to keep in the camp. I say you should do it."

  Some of the disgust on Yemi's face is replaced with a look of surprise, the two looks mixing together and maintained as he responds.

  "I meant like cats or something else, brother. Maybe even wild cats. Not some damn wolves."

  Gorm is then quick to butt in once more.

  "What's the difference, Yemi? They'll both still tear ya' open if ya' leave them upset."

  At his own words, Gorm breaks into a laugh, lightening the mood somewhat, and, so, as Abraham makes some sort of laughing noise, I too force one out. But, after one, final response from Yemi, we all let out something genuine, including the twins.

  "I despise you all."

  Defeat admitted, Yemi then removes his cloth shirt, tucked deep into his dark pants, and begins to lift each of the pups up, for a total of five, and tucks them inside as best as he can to get them all back to the camp. If I'm being honest, I have no idea how these animals will turn out, but, just as time will tell, the time since getting jumped on by one of the wolves has made me feel weak, and blood shows under my shirt that is no one's but my own. Abraham and Yemi both seem to notice the growing spot of blood, just as I do, yet Abraham is the only one to act, because Yemi's hands are already full. This leaves Ham to move forward alone, putting pressure on the spot, around my ribs, where the blood stain grows to replace the color of the cloth with red, and, in no time, the three, Yemi, Ham, and Gorm, have nodded between one another to signal is it time to return to camp, while Ham and Gorm support me by my arms.

  Gorm seems to do most of the lifting off to the right, naturally when he is so large, but Abraham manages to lift me enough and hold pressure on the spot at the same time. Their determination is enough for me to do all I can from passing out, lest they worry more, and, to keep my mind from blocking the day out, I count the trees on one side as we head back, for a total of one-hundred-and-twelve. That many trees are twice as many steps, or more, and I can be sure that, for at least every step, I've lost a drop of blood. That is enough for the other men to make a path through the camp, so that Gorm and Abraham can get me to where I need to go fast, and I can only guess that the others are either staring at the loss of color from my face, or the spreading red that now stains my coat and pants. Yet, as much as thinking about that leaves me embarrassed in my mind, there is not much time to think when I am dragged into a tent I have never been in before, stripped of my sword and clothes, and left on my right side on a mattress, stuffed with feathers that poke into my flesh, while I blink once more, catch a glimpse of long, blond hair, and give in to my loss of strength and the comfort of the bed it would foolish for me to die on.

  Dreams come and go. That of my old home, mother, and the memories her and I never had, and even father, all filling my heart with fear, now that the deaths of my entire family only seem real in a world where I am not awake, but, just as the weight of my father's body sinking into the ocean drags me down with it, I float up to the peak of a non-existent mountain and look down on a sight that is almost real. The camp I was lucky to find today, lit by torches and campfires in the night, sits just off of the beach, where I hope my body is resting. So, before it finishes and I wake up once more, I stay still and breathe deeply, finally putting reason to the way I have been feeling since I was put on this beach.

  In only a few hours, I can already tell I belong here, among these men, no matter what they plan to fight and what death may come, but, before I spend enough time dreaming in this state, closer than I ever have been to passing to the other side, my eyes slowly crawl open. I find myself staring at the top of a tent, where shadows are casted from the outside and the light breathed by fire seeps in too, and faster than I can take in anything else of my surroundings, a voice comes close to whispering in my ear.

  "I'm not sure how you stood long enough with that wound to change Yemi's mind about those wolves. "

  The sound of the voice, out of nowhere, is enough for me to twist my head so fast to the right that I strain my neck, briefly glimpse at the woman that I saw as only blond hair before, that was not a trick of the sun on my eyes, and then return to my own body, anxious and ashamed. Nothing but wrapped cloth covers my lower regions, and the wound on my body is longer than I ever would have thought. The length of the stitches set in it perfectly sit under the last rib on my left side, and, as I stare at it with what I'm sure is a look of fright, this stranger at my bedside, so close, soothes my worry.

  "You should be fine. Just might feel some pain breathing in and out too heavily."

  That worry gone, a couple rest at the sight of this young woman, who I have now glimpsed at once more. In that brief image, all I could pick out was blue eyes and hair so bright it could offer the light of the sun on its own. Too afraid to ask anything about her personally, such as who she is or even just what her name is, I instead focus on something that is easier to speak about as it should not involve her.

  "Who told you about what happened?"
<
br />   She reacts in an odd way, as if my scared tone catches her by surprise, but she answers anyway.

  "My father did. He told me everything. He was happy to learn you are going to be okay too when I told him."

  Vague, I see no other option but to ask who that man is.

  "Who is your father? I didn't think there were many people in the camp with children, especially with whatever everyone's purpose is here."

  She laughs at my question right away but quiets to hear what else I have to say, and then answers me in the same order.

  "Do you not know my father, then? Because who else could he be? You know, the big guy with the long beard. I thought everyone in the camp knew him, since nobody gets in without meeting him first, and yes, I am one of those few children, unfortunately. There aren't too many other people my age."

  Gorm. She speaks of Gorm. The tree of a man I have so far impressed quite well, and, now, I am almost naked in front of his daughter. That thought is enough for me to look at her again and make a request.

  "Well, before I say anything else, could I get some clothes, or a blanket at least?"

  She gets off of her knees and moves to another part of the tent as she responds, giving me the chance to take in the flowers around the room, yellow with a black center, notice the one on her right ear, and her thin frame that I disrespect Gorm by focusing on.

  "Of course. Abraham washed your clothes for you as soon as they were taken off, and you're going to need a blanket if you're resting in here this late at night anyway. But, I want you to know that I'm not bothered by the sight of you, the way you're not so dressed currently, if that wasn’t obvious enough."