No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  Having that pointed out only leaves me more nervous, as I am forced to turn my gaze away from her, but she is quick to bring my clothes back over to me, including the outer layer Ham gave to me, now with all of its original color back, and hand them all to me as she further explains.

  "The best I can do around here is tend to all of the wounded, so I've seen more than enough bodies, alive or dead sadly."

  Putting my shirt and pants back on, and then my long jerkin and boots, I can tell her work on my wound has been more than enough, so I make sure to tell her as I heard doubt in her voice while she spoke of what she does.

  "Well, your best might be thee best, because I feel no pain in the wound, which I believe I can thank you for."

  That makes her smile, this girl whose name I still do not know, and we don't seem to be getting any closer to that as we both spit out a few words.

  "Thank you."

  And, somehow, I feel like I respond to that too soon and with too much of a smile.

  "You're welcome."

  Afterwards, she turns to grab me a blanket too I think, even though I already have my clothes to keep me warm now, but, when she sits down on the floor again and wraps it around her own shoulders, now covered in blue fabric, I ask a random question to pass the time.

  "So, whose bed is this?"

  She tilts her head at such a question, and doesn't seem bothered by it with the laugh and answer that comes.

  "Mine, obviously."

  Knowing where I sat is where she has slept is enough to then bring all of my anxiety back, no matter how many clothes I have on, but, before I start sweating from the stress of that thought in the night breeze, she has more to say.

  "You know, you don't seem too old. How many winters have you seen?"

  That's easy enough to respond to.

  "Just shy of twenty, I think. How about you?"

  As I think she is starting to find proof that someone else in the camp is of her age, this girl smiles with her soft features, curved jaw, round chin, and cheeks of a perfect size to show off her laugh lines but not consume the rest of her features, and her answer mimics mine.

  "Just shy of twenty, too."

  I can only come up with a joke afterwards, and I think it'll be enough to get her to answer my following question.

  "So, now that we both know we are the same age, would you be willing to share names?"

  We both do laugh a little, but not too much, and an explanation from her follows.

  "Yes, I guess it has been a little odd that we've been sitting here long enough and not shared names, of all things, so I'm glad I carry around these flowers wherever I go."

  She then starts to fiddle with the one over her ear, and hands it to me with another explanation as my left hand grabs hold of the stem and looks into the fuzzy center of it.

  "My father calls these flowers Emilies, and, so, I am Emily, or Em for short."

  That's sweet enough to make me smile, and it only feels right to give her my name after, as I hold onto the flower for a while.

  "It's nice to meet you, Em. My name around here is Fjord, you know, or at least the other men know, since I came drifting down a river and washed up on this exact beach. But, back home, my name was Aedan, or, rather, that is the name my mother wanted for me."

  Emily shifts around where she sits briefly, while I look between her and the flower that isn't as beautiful without it being on her ear, and she then asks a single question.

  "Which name do you prefer?"

  I think over it for a second, no more, and give her the best answer I can come up with.

  "Either is fine, just as long as you don't call me Aedan around the others, and I do need you to promise me that you will not break that condition. I will explain why in time."

  With that, there is only so much else one could say.

  "Then, it is nice to meet you, Aedan. Your little secret is safe with me, as long as you don't tell my father how much we have been talking."

  For a moment, I try to think of what Gorm might do if he caught me talking with her so much, or if he'd actually care, and, once I've come to the conclusion that I don't know the man well enough to guess, I respond without that fear.

  "If we keep the conversation going long enough, I can stick around a little longer."

  I offer a smile with those words, which she returns, along with more thoughts.

  "It's up to you if you want to rest for the night in here because of the wound. Better bed than anywhere else in this camp, if that helps."

  I have one immediate concern about that possibility.

  "Then, where will you sleep if I'm taking up the entirety of the bed? Not that I'd expect you to share it with me even if it was bigger... I just don't want to intrude."

  As uncomfortable as some of what I say sounds, there is genuine concern in what I ask and state, but only more comes when she responds.

  "Well, I don't sleep much anyway, so it wouldn't bother me if you did. Not anyone else I would let do this, but it is a shame for the mattress to go to waste so much."

  I could spend the rest of the night asking her about the issues with her sleep, as much as that worries me to hear, but I instead decide to show my worry in a much simpler form, regarding Gorm and him catching us like this even though I've already been in here so long because of the wound before I awoke.

  "What about your father?"

  She then responds to that question with something that changes the subject entirely, and goes deeper than anything either of us have said.

  "What about your father and mother, Aedan?"

  Taken aback, I first try to get at what she is actually asking.

  "What about my parents? Are you asking me about how they would feel about this or about who they were? I'm a bit confused..."

  It is a mistake for me to refer to them as who they were, rather than who they are, but Em doesn't seem to catch that. So, immediately, she gets all of her questions together.

  "Well, you're young, really young, and I was curious if they know where you are..."

  That's when the story starts, and where the who they were comes from.

  "My uh... My mother, she died years ago, giving birth to me."

  My left hand then moves to my neck, expecting to find the gift she left me in my hands, but, while I start to realize my necklace is missing, my words realize it too.

  "My necklace..."

  I look down to find nothing there, completely gone, but, once I look up, the bright chain is hanging in front of my face, leading me to assume that Em took it off as I rested.

  "Em... Please don't scare me like that ever again. It's all I have left of her."

  Staring at the charm on it before she hands it to me, she has a couple of remarks.

  "I'm sorry. I didn't know it was a gift from her. It was getting caught and snagged while you were passed out, and I held onto it for that reason and so I could remember to ask you about the trinket that hangs from it."

  I grab hold of that trinket or charm, and stare at it while the rest of the necklace dangles over my lap, and then ask a question.

  "What about it?"

  She laughs a little, at me almost, but not in a rude manner, for it expresses her disbelief while she explains.

  "Does it not look familiar? The flowers in my room..."

  It takes me far longer than I'm proud of to look between the flowers in her room, the one now on the bed beside me, and what seems to be the same flower on my mother's necklace, so, as I grab hold of the flower she gave me in the same hand I have the necklace, I finally respond.

  "I guess it does. Does that mean our mothers were the same person, or something?"

  She answers that question faster than I can wet my lips, having said so much already.

  "No. My mother died giving birth to me too."

  I meant no harm with what I said before, which was only meant as some sort of explanation because I had no other, but guilt overcomes me anyway, followed by an apology.

&
nbsp; "I'm sorry. I'm sorry for suggesting that too."

  Looking down at the hand with the flower and necklace, she responds and lightly grabs that same hand.

  "Don't worry. It's been a long enough time for it to only be a part of my past, and not a constant pain."

  I do not always feel the same, and, though I have never expressed that to anyone before, she becomes the first.

  "I don't know. It feels like missing her is only getting worse with time, and, you see, my father died only so many days ago, which is half the reason I'm here, I think, the other half being that I'm certain I am all that is left of my family now."

  I then pause and gather some more thoughts to share, and get them out before Em can take them all in.

  "That's the reason I do not wish to share my real name either. I am not sure how far I am from my home now, and I would not want the wrong person to learn who I am, after what forced me to leave my family's castle."

  Another pause ensues, but this time I say nothing, to make sure Em can gather her thoughts before speaking.

  "Then, I am sorry. So much has happened for you recently that I can only imagine how you feel, but I can promise you that you are safe and welcome here. You will be sure of it. My father, Abraham, Yemi too. Just from what I've heard, I can tell already that there is something there between you four that no other man in our camp has been able to do, no matter how much longer they have been here."

  Her words help my worries tremendously, but there is still more she has to say.

  "And, if you do or would ever like to talk about what else happened before you ended up here, I will listen."

  Now is not the time or the day to explain so much, so I make that clear and ask a question of her that I don't word too clearly.

  "In time, but I do have a question for you. What about Gorm being your father?"

  Em is quick to question what I mean.

  "What about him?"

  I then try again.

  "What's it like? To have him as a father?"

  It naturally takes time to come up with some sort of answer to a sudden question like that, so, as she breathes in, I take in the sounds of other people talking around the camp, echoing through the air outside. And, reminded that the night is not dead yet, I quietly listen to her answer.

  "My father cares about me a little too much, maybe because I'm all he has left of the life he left behind after my mom passed, and it keeps me from getting close to anyone in the camp for the most part, which is why I worry about you."

  She laughs at that to conceal an odd expression that follows what she has described, but I ignore that and the possibility as I dive into questions that are more a reflection of myself than anything else.

  "Do you ever think he blamed you?"

  My lack of further detail confuses her once more, but she needs even less words to get the information she needs.

  "For what?"

  And, so I give her the answer she is looking for.

  "Her death."

  That statement alone or the question all together doesn't bother her like she knows the answer to it well, and that leads to a definitive response.

  "No, but it helped him leave behind our old home."

  Even more curious now, I ask why.

  "Why did he, did you two, leave it behind?”

  Her answer to that almost mimics one of mine from earlier.

  "That is a story for another day."

  I then note that verbally and in my head.

  "Then I guess I'll be here for you, too."

  Another pause follows, that is filled with awkwardness as I no longer have any idea about what else to say, until something non-verbal occurs. While we both sit still, facing the dirt at our feet, she grabs hold of the hand that still holds the necklace and flower, takes just the flower from it, and puts it behind my left ear, the opposite of where she now bears one on the right. Em then asks about tomorrow.

  "Do you still wish to fight tomorrow with your wound?"

  I think my answer is yes, since everything so far has been leading to something on the 'morrow, but I still have worries that I make evident as I respond and put my mother's necklace back on.

  "Yes, but I still don't even know what we are fighting."

  By now, the pendant is back under my shirt, and she has an answer, or as close to one as she can get, immediately.

  "I do believe my father, Abraham, and Yemi are planning in my father's tent currently."

  Standing up, making it obvious enough that I will not be stealing her bed tonight without telling her why, I ask about the location of the three men.

  "Where could I find that?"

  And, for some reason, a laugh is her first response to that, followed by so few words.

  "Behind you."

  She looks over my shoulder, looking at the wall of her tent that the bed frame is lined up close to, and I quickly notice what she speaks of. One shadow cast well enough that I can make out the tree-sized body of one man and the elongated forms of two others, I can only assume she got her answer from simply doing what I do now, so, as dumb as I feel for that, I brush it off, stand up, and prepare to show my thanks to Em as I would any other man in this camp by putting my hand out for a shake. But, instead, she takes not only the hand, but my other one and two full arms as she goes in for a hug, and I sink into the urge to embrace her too, where I truly feel the emotion I have been sensing in here for some time, now felt as her cheek rests against my chest.

  Sadness. So much sadness. So much that I am surprised that she does not burst at the seams with tears, and, once I start to feel the urge to do so for her, I offer a promise.

  "Thank you for stitching me up and giving me a chance to share my past with you. I will be back soon."

  The final words are said as I back away until I only feel the tips of her fingers in my right hand, and, before I sink any further into sadness or affection or both simultaneously, I take my leave, offer a single smile while I move the flap of the tent out of the way, and refuse to look back for fear that the smile she offers to me will only hide the pain she bears so much. This is not necessarily pain because I am leaving and she has no one to talk to again, for my heart tells me that the pain comes from the past, and is maybe related to why she and Gorm left their home, and may also be why she struggles as she does now. Though, because I have already assumed too much, I stop before I create an image of her that is based on random thoughts, rather than time spent with her, and wait outside of Gorm's tent for far longer than I should.

  The tent is smaller than I would expect Gorm's to be, but still larger than all of the others in the camp. And, as I stare from the shadows, I see the three of them, Yemi, Ham, and Gorm standing around a table, each dragging their fingers across what seems to be an aging map. I can only assume that they're planning what comes based on that and what Em said, so, though I am new to the camp and have no involvement in the planning, I feel now is better than ever to learn what is going on, after Yemi pokes fun at me.

  "What is in your hair, boy?"

  Laughing more than anything else, his eyes do show some judgement, and I am not sure what he speaks of until I feel the flower Em gave me over my ear again. Naturally, I try to explain.

  "A flower. A friend gave it to me."

  Even Yemi finds a smile inside himself now that I have made a fool of both of us, but, for reasons I can only guess, Gorm's smile lasts much longer than the others. When that is finished, I pretend as if I'm somehow supposed to be here, and they do not seem to mind, as their planning moves forward.

  "Trebuchets will be set up here by the morning. Which of you prefers to be in charge?"

  Gorm drags his massive finger along what seems to be a stretch of beach next to an ocean, which I then discover is more a massive cove than a direct attachment to the ocean while my eyes move across the paper, past the five Xs that mark the locations of the siege weaponry, and Abraham is the first to say something.

  "I don't care too much."


  Yemi and Gorm seem to not mind Ham's lack of choice, and Yemi is sure to make up for it.

  "You know I'd prefer to fight."

  Smiling at what he says, I feel like I should interject and ask once again what they plan to fight, but I stay silent instead and get dragged into the conversation without a single word.

  "Whatever you two want, or don't want in Abraham's case. All I ask is that, whichever of you does end up in a boat, I want Fjord with you. Keep him safe, but give him room to breathe and learn what we're here to do too."

  Yemi, being the one I will probably end up in a boat with, is then the one to respond, and I only feel my fear grow at the mention of boats, when I thought this discussion would lessen my anxiety.

  "You expect me to carry the boy too as I climb up the beast?"

  It is obvious to me that what Yemi says is in jest, but I do not jest when I try to swallow my fear while I repeat part of what he said.

  "What do you mean we're supposed to go up the beast? "

  Abraham is then the one to joke.

  "Gorm isn't the tallest monster around, unfortunately."

  And, in between more smiles that now seem disturbing with how they are the opposite of the way I feel, Gorm offers what appears to be the final piece of discussion.

  "I wish that weren't the case, but I'm still excited."

  Following one more laugh, Yemi takes his leave, Abraham and Gorm whisper between each other, and I try my best to count the number of Xs on the north side of the cove, what I can only assume are the boats, while the west side bears the trebuchet. Yet, after I've counted two dozen and still have many more to go, I feel Ham's arm on my shoulder, supporting me again, and then a whisper.

  "For the time being, you will share my tent. There is enough room."

  I can only assume most men share a tent around here with several people, so it does not bother me at all that Abraham is the one to do so. And, with a nod, I follow him out of the tent and finally start to put together the order of this camp. If I had my own damn map to navigate this place, the beach I washed up on would be at the bottom of the map. Em's tent would be the to the farthest left, at the bottom, and her father would be directly to the right. Then, several tents further right, about in the middle of the lowest row of tents, Abraham and I pass Yemi's little space, where several men dressed like him, with the same swords and skin color, now sit together around a fire, and all seem ready to doze off. And, just next to that tent, we stop at Abraham's, close to where I got pulled off of the beach only this morning.