No Name for the Free

by Devin Harbison

  "The first of many."

  Wiping the blood off of my face with his bare hand, I guess he speaks of the scar the animal's talon will certainly leave, and I can only be thankful that the only part of it that I find bothersome is Yemi's joke, which I would be lying about if I said it left any lasting damage.

  "Hopefully, the flower child does not mind, as much as she stares at the boy."

  Only time will tell, and so much time passes from here on out, with little worth more happening while we make our way to wherever Gorm intends. Several nights go by, a week or two maybe. It didn't take long to settle the horses and get them back on the road after the encounter with those scaly birds, but it took us a whole day to fix the wheels on several of the carts after it rained one evening. Too many cracked, dropping into puddles deep enough to cover a man up to his shins, and, as we found ourselves going up more and more hills, there was no way we were going to be able to continue without the carts in working condition.

  There were also some good nights spent round the fire, where friends become even better friends, and, as a result, Em and I no longer feel afraid to hold one another's hands before Gorm, or any of the others. Sadly, all of that comes to an end, naturally, when Gorm finally spots something in the distance on a mountain we climb, setting true fear into my heart as I come to realize what I felt before was right.

  Along a mountain path where no man can walk along a cart without risking a fall to his death, I first spot the river that I know I floated down, when just the sight of it chills my bones to their very core, and that seeping cold only disappears when it is replaced by Gorm's shouts and a hand pointing to the clouds.

  "Look!"

  In the skyline, at the peak of the mountain above us, the stone walls and towers of a castle I had expected to fall still stand upright, looking down into the valley where I should have fallen to my death. Yet, here I am, looking up at it again, unsure if we will find everyone I ever knew dead, or just gone, with some other man sitting on the throne. I do not move any further up the mountain until I hear horses snorting behind me, and some random shouts, so I know I have no choice but to keep the pace unless I desire to jump off of the side again. And, though I do not, the shouting is enough to draw the attention of those I had walked beside including Em, who is the only one to slow down, stop at my side, make sure I continue moving forward with her, and don't make any more of a scene once she speaks quietly into my ear.

  "What is wrong, Aedan? You look as if you have seen a ghost."

  More thankful than ever that she spoke low enough for no one else to hear my true name, I still do not lower my own voice enough to keep Yemi, Abraham, or Gorm from taking note of what I share.

  "This used to be home."

  Simultaneously, it is like all of them are ready to start asking me questions, and the only one to stop himself and the others from digging up what they should not is Gorm after he has looked from the castle above to the river below once more, just as I did. He then puts both his arms on Yemi and Ham almost as strongly as he looks at his daughter and shakes his head left to right. All is quiet afterwards, and no one else begs me for the words I do not even know if I can offer to myself. But, at the very least, Em holds my hand the rest of the way, even when the path grows wider and our surroundings show signs of war, death, and so much more.

  Limbs in various stages of decay, green-tinged to just bone, stick out of wooden poles like a warning or a show, picked at by crows, line the path every few hundred yards, and, on bigger posts, bodies hang, if the bodies have only been strung up recently. The rest lay in piles beneath where they once hung, bones collapsed in all the wrong ways from growing weak. The smell of the corpses, or just the pieces of various corpses, mixes with the salt from the sea that is not too far away from here, and I can only be thankful that I have eaten very little recently, and that all bodies that still have heads, or are just heads alone, have decayed so much that I could never tell who they were.

  Just because I had so little family left does not mean I did not care about them or the others I knew even just in passing, but, with so many dead as we make our way up the mountain, I hurt very little for any such loss. Or, rather, I see so much loss that I assume all is lost, and nothing but emptiness fills my heart and gut. No matter the number, we still move forward, disturbing when it seems Gorm wishes to bother whoever still resides in the castle, who had to have been the one to display the dead, and all I can do about it is grip Em's hands tighter and tighter while I look to the dirt and follow those in front of me, just to avoid keeping count if that's even possible with how scattered some of the bodies, limbs, and bones are.

  In time, the smell becomes an afterthought, while I simultaneously start to question how long I've been gone. Two weeks on the road at most, how long was I gone for all of this to take place? How long did I float at sea when I should have been dead? Then the survivor's guilt sets in. Less am I worried about how I should have been dead than I tell myself I should be, that I don't deserve to be here more than anyone else when some divine intervention or luck kept me from sharing a grave at the bottom of the river below with my father, mother, and countless other ancestors who have lost their old home now too.

  That thought does hurt me, that what was once my home is nothing but a desolate place now, with the few people around me that I now consider closer than anyone else who came before in my life, but, once we turn off of the cliff's edge at the top and start approaching the castle's massive door, I am saddened to see both that so many more corpses lay in piles along the stretch of land before us, spotted with mud, blood, and diseases that would be enough to kill many more men in just a couple of coughs, and that someone has left the lights on inside of the castle, if the glowing from the windows means anything.

  I have no doubts that Gorm came here looking for more men to join his cause, and the sight of the candles and torches still lit from within seems to bother him more than anything. Stopping away from the castle's doors a good bit still, we hold up the rest of the caravan behind us, and that is for the best, lest we mingle with the corpses too much and invite into our bodies a sickly death. The pools around make it evident that almost all of them died here, or were dragged here after death, so avoidance is the safest bet for the time, while Gorm looks forward in disgust.

  Were there not orange glows seeping out of the castle, I'm sure Gorm would have just kept walking along the path, down the other side of the mountain, but the look in his eyes says he has something on his mind. And, through the overwhelming silence that everyone has carried since the first signs of despair, Gorm makes his intentions known.

  "I'd like to see who is left alive."

  Most look at him like he is insane, of those who heard him. Yemi shakes his head in disapproval, Abraham stares into the dirt, nothing negative to say, and I offer my own thoughts.

  "I will join you."

  Nobody else says anything thereafter, not even Em. All just share a look of disgust, disgusted not at our decision necessarily, but that we would challenge the marsh of corpses. I half expect Gorm to deny what I have stated too, not that I'd think he would stop me if I still pressed on, but, if we are both to risk our health, he does something to ready us both. From the back of a cart, he pulls out bundles of cloth, long strands that are shades of brown and green like they've been used already, but, despite their wear, I'm sure they haven't been through anything half as bad as the short walk before us, with Gorm's purpose for the fabric.

  "Let us at least cover our mouths and noses then."

  While I doubt that his plan to keep our faces unexposed to the waste ahead will do much to protect us, especially when all of us already stand within breathing and sniffing distance if the wind were to blow even slightly in our direction, from the castle's way, the cloth serves to hide my features, just in case anyone I once knew, or who knew me, still lives. So, one wrap after the next, Gorm ties the ends of the cloth behind his head on his own, and Em helps me with my own, when no one else is in a
position to judge. Then, without much of a thought, Gorm moves forward, and I follow.

  I trust the quality of my boots, but I am still careful to watch my step, moving between pieces of dirt that have yet to sink into a puddle of water, blood, and who knows what else, and all that is left to scare me is the sights. The piles of bodies, some burnt, others rotted, the rest bone. Heaps of clothes with nowhere near enough limbs to fill their holes. Metal armor and swords, pitchforks and leather chests, all glued to flesh, or what little of it is left. So many lay dead that I am certain that there is not a single soul left in the valleys and mountains my family laid claim to, but, unfortunately, as Gorm swings his axe to split a beam that seems to be holding the doors shut on the other side, him and I find that my family does not lie dead, and still claims these lands.

  Sitting on the throne is a man of my flesh and blood, my uncle, all that is left besides me, looking like he has aged thirty years in a few weeks' time, and, though the throne he is spread out upon is up several steps, and almost twice as tall as the hunch he now bears on his sick and frail body, the shadow Gorm casts down the main hall of the castle is stronger than the presence of an actual man and more worthy of the title I'd assume my uncle still clings to.

  Around us, a few men still stand, but to say they truly stand is like saying a dying fish swims, rather than floats. Some men have given up standing all together, slumped on the floor in a pile of metal that breathes, in and out, huffs, and lets out a cough. Those that do stand do so with a lean, or a bend in their knee, or a sword for a crutch, stained in blood. But, even in their sad states, they still show more strength than my uncle does, in appearance or his words.

  "Who are you to break into my castle?"

  With little expression in his eyes, and half of his face hidden, Gorm still shows disgust well enough, but his words do not display the same feelings.

  "My name is Gorm. I come looking for healthy men, ready for a fight."

  I'm certain Gorm only shares those intentions to be kind, especially when it is clear that no such men exist around these parts any longer, but, after a laugh that becomes a series of coughs, signaling even greater sickness than already shown outwardly, my uncle is not so caring with his words.

  "What's left of any healthy men sits outside."

  Knowing the man well enough, I don't doubt that he thinks his remark is clever, but, rather than Gorm respond with just as much snark, he simply nods and shares a departing gesture before we leave almost as fast as we came in through the two, massive doors.

  "Thank you."

  Nothing else is said once him and I turn on our heels and prepare to leave, but, after we have forced opened the doors and let them slam shut behind us, without a single movement from any of the guards, I stop at the entrance and let Gorm walk off, unaware that I am not in tow. Where I stand, I take a moment to look up to the top of the doors, as tall as they are, and then back down to admire them, for lack of a better word. It is not so much that I am impressed by their size or the few dents or other damage they show after everything else that has happened here, for I have come in and out of these doors hundreds, if not thousands of times in my life. It is more like I am staring at them one last time, wondering if I'll ever see them again, if I'll ever want to see them again, or if I should open them once more and leave my own family dead under the weight of my sword. We entered the castle in a way that invited a fight, yet no resistance was given. His death would be easy, to bring forth and forget about, but, still, I feel some tears under the cloth that covers the lower half of my face, when I should just leave my feelings at anger.

  That last thought stays in my mind for some time, so long that I start to scratch at the wood paneling to settle my worry, in between looking back at the group now so far away, and it takes two more thoughts to rid my mind of the other. One, I think justice would be served best were my uncle to die a slow death, with no one left for him to rule or command, and two, the thought, and the feelings that come, when I pick Em out of the group and remember that she waits for me too, likely wondering why the hell I am standing where I am in silence. So, without much else, I lower my head and do my best to avoid the deepest puddles of muck on my way back to the rest, where, thankfully, none of them asks why I stopped and waited near the doors for so long.

  Maybe they all can tell what is running through my head without any words from my mouth, maybe they think I am just so disturbed by all of the death still, or maybe they think I, no different from anyone else to them, has never seen a castle so large, let alone stepped inside one so carelessly as we just have, but, sooner than anyone gets curious, all of us are off again, back on the edge of the cliff once more, and heading down the opposite side of the mountain where I can only hope something better than the sight and smell of home awaits.

  So much time has passed already, the sun lowers itself in the sky in the direction we head to, sinking into the mountains and warming our faces as we head further inland, hopefully far away from these mountains as fast as we can. Nothing bothers us, truly, but for the weight of our bodies on our feet. The dirt path quickly opens up once we're away from the cliffs and the main mountain. No trees stand tall around us and leave us bare to a gentle breeze that sweeps in, and, though we have been walking for so long, hope does fill the air. I know my feet, alone, ache down to the center of the bone, but that won't stop me from parting my lips, smiling, laughing or walking side by side with Em, no matter how far we go.

  Gorm eventually shares word that we will settle in the valley that rests behind my family's mountain when night comes, and the idea is enough to bring about cheers and shouts, so loud that, from their sleep, the wolf pups start to howl with us too. The sound of them is then enough to send Yemi running, straight for the wagon they ride in, with strips of dried beef dangling between his fingers, and the happiness he shows as he drops the scraps into their crates only makes me smile more, and be glad to be a part of the family that these fools have built up.

  The sun also acts to deceive, in time, for, once we are far enough behind the mountain and dropping down into the valley between two mountains, the shadow cast by one, shielding the falling, yellow rays from our eyes, could lead one to believe it is close to midnight, when the land on opposite ends of the deep valley still shows hints of light. So, before us, hill after hill rise, and they are casted in black and sheltered by vertical rock walls close by, close enough that Gorm makes an effort to move us and our whole caravan out into the open field to keep us away from the cliffs and any falling rocks that would make us one with the dirt.

  Now, whether he starts to signal for us all to stop too is because the mountain has messed with his sense of time, we have found the right spot to settle, or because he thinks this is the best it will get, I can't say, but I can say I could almost jump with joy now that I know our walking is done, if that wouldn't make the bones in my leg, from my toes to my knees, hurt more or snap in two. Brittle and weak, this journey felt harder than our fight with that giant, yet that may be because I have not had the chance to fall into another body of water and enter a deep sleep. Though, I am sure that the latter will come in time, but, first, the tents must be put up. And, if I didn't know what I know about these men, I'd think they had done this hundreds of times, not the few that they have, for, once Ham grabs me to help put up our tent, we move through ours, join Yemi to help put up Gorm's, and, before we are finished, the four of us step in to help Em put up her tent, since it is not a job for one. All the while, I've mostly been slacking off and doing whatever the other three tell me to do through shouts, since my eyes are more focused on the rest of the men who have moved past us and started setting up the rest of the stretches of the camp.

  Our four tents sit close to one another, just as they did previously, and the other men set up their tents in long lines, throughout the empty fields that this valley provides. In my old life, I have been down into these grasslands a handful of times, and observed them from afar so many more, but the sight of the ro
lling hills filled with tall tents and men who are taller in courage than I have ever known is something else. Slower than the tents have gone up, torches and braziers sprout up too, lighting the dark horizon for the evening and night, yet, as much as I would like to just stand and watch them, they don't go up faster than those around me set off on their own.

  Yemi walks off to join his brothers in putting what furniture they have into their tent, and, when he is done, his smile and walk say he is ready to mingle and help others with whatever they need. In the meantime, Gorm and Abraham do the same, and, when I see the table where the map once lay on enter Gorm's tent, the speed with which they move it tells me the two either want to get done moving furniture from wagons, so they too can depart, or because they have much planning and talking ahead. And, I have no idea what I am to do now that they have all gone off, and I feel lost until I hear her voice calling upon me with the force of a horse's reins.

  "Are you going to help me, or what?"

  Em laughs at me despite the sweat and hair falling onto her brow as she tries to move her furniture alone, but, even were I not here, she seems more than capable. By herself, she has already set her vanity up inside of her tent, and, with a little bit of my help, we get her simple bedframe inside, and then fight to take the mattress from one another once it is inside the frame but before a blanket or sheet can cover the fluff.

  Barely big enough for one person, I end up on what could be considered the far side of the bed, so short a distance from the grass on the floor of her tent, and my back scratches against the fabric of the angled wall. Em lies so close to me that she ends up in my arms, when they otherwise have nowhere else to go, but, before they can even get comfortable around her, she is off of the bed and on her feet again, just to let loose the flap that acts as the entrance and then returns to the bed and my arms as she grabs my right hand and pulls it over her shoulder.