The breeze that still passes through the fabric of the tents feels almost as good as our embrace, despite all of the sweat that has been produced today, and every other day since we left the beach, so, whenever I am free of her, I tell myself I will wash off. Not that either of us seem to be in a rush, no matter how much we both smell of soaked fabrics and grass. That is still better than the smell of death that taints my nostrils, from hours ago, and just the thought of it is enough to send so many shivers down my spine that Em turns her head to look into my eyes, assuming something is wrong, and wonders why with a worry I should have seen coming
"That castle... Your home... I can't imagine what it made you feel to see it like that, what you saw inside, or what crossed your mind when you stood beneath the doors, but I would like to know. I can't force you to share, but I do think it would do you some good to do so, Aedan."
I'd much rather put the thought of it all behind me, than have to think about it while I lay here with her, but the time I take to answer, since I feel like she deserves to know, eventually leaves me so uncomfortable that I prop myself up on one elbow and force her to turn to her other side in the bed, so that she may look into my eyes. Her gaze doesn't make my thoughts and the words that come any easier.
"It's hard to describe so simply. You know of my parents' death, but I did not tell you how I almost died the same day my father was buried, or how I ran for my life when I thought everyone else was about to die too."
Silently, she continues to stare at me, so I continue.
"It was right after the funeral, not just the same day. We returned to the castle, where my uncle now reigned, and the people knew, just as I did, that he wasn't much better than my father. Neither of them cared, so it was little surprise to me when an armed revolt stormed into the same room Gorm and I stepped into. But, seeing all of that, it hurts in a way that is hard to explain. I knew so many of the people that likely lay dead, the very same people who I tried to care for and who had no care for my life when they tried to kill what was left of my family, so I do not mourn them. I just feel empty, like all of what I once knew, no matter how bad it was, is gone."
Sadness fills her eyes, and her hand presses against my cheek, warming my face for different reasons. Yet, I do my best to put her sadness to rest, just as I have tried and am trying to do with what we saw.
"I do not miss it though. It was my home, but it never quite felt like it. Besides, I like what time I have spent without a home more."
I finish what I have said with a smile, alluding to the experiences that have been good so far, no matter the danger, and a smile returns to her face too, just slower than mine. Words follow once it has risen up her cheeks so much that she shows off her teeth that are better kept that any nobleman's I've ever seen, funnily enough.
"Ah, don't try to act like you don't have a home. You do not need walls and a roof to have a home, even though a tent basically has that despite the fact that it can be torn down and put back up whenever we please. I know my father likes to go on about how we all have no need for a name when we are free from so many burdens of the world, and, as silly as that sounds, I have my own saying that is almost as odd."
I've never put too much thought into whether Gorm's reasoning for the lack of a name among the men is too odd or arrogant, but I imagine that is because I have not heard it as many times as Em or anyone else around here has. So, I am more than happy to hear what her saying is.
"What is that?"
She takes a moment to get the words out of her mouth, after she looks a little embarrassed and clears her throat, but, soon enough, Em sounds like she has all the wisdom of someone so much older.
"It is the people who make us feel at home, not the walls, or the roof, or a door, or anything else. My tent is nice and all, but it wouldn't be quite the same without my father, and his friends, and you now, too. Without the talks we share, the jokes, the food, the friendship. A family in everything but blood, you could say."
Just with what I have experienced among these people so far, I would agree, but it is what she says last, and the use of the word family, that truly gets the point across. I have already told myself that I have essentially found a family here, what I have so far considered a 'new' family, but it isn't until the thoughts just fall out of my mouth that I realize this may be my first.
"Maybe that explains why I never felt so at home until now, then."
There is a lot of pain that can be felt in a thought such as that, but I say it in a way that cries joy rather than incoming tears. In return, Em then offers a single kiss that she pulls away from slowly, while I don't move a bit this time, and fits in a sweet remark afterwards.
"That could be part of it, sure."
One should not always laugh at their own jokes, but she does naturally, when she knows that the other part is the attention we have been giving each other. And, before any more words are shared or someone comes barging in, I give her more in the simplest form. With my left elbow propping me up, I have to use my right hand, grab hers, and lock our fingers as our palms face towards each other, and, while the moment seems to last a few minutes, time is unjust in the way it passes so quick, and brings the two of us into another topic that she brings up first, but shows so much despair in doing so before the story that comes is even told.
"I guess it is my turn to share."
Back on the beach, we promised each other that tales of our past would be shared, but, for too many reasons to list, I tell Em that she does not have to, if she does not want to yet, or ever.
"Just because I have shared, do not feel forced to."
She shakes her head, and her words explain what she is thinking.
"You might not force me, but our journey will, since I expect you to survive the coming fight."
Now that we have settled here and spent so much time traveling, it is safe to assume that another fight approaches, but it is hard to tell who wants me to keep my head on my shoulders more, myself or Em. But, rather than explore either possibility, I try to learn what she knows about our adventure first.
"Do you know more than I know about what happens next?"
The two of us then sit up and face one another, with our legs crossed on her small bed, and Em explains.
"When you last passed out, I spent some time with my father, and Yemi, and Abraham as they went over what comes next. We should be where they planned now, in this valley, so I'd expect to see another battle in the next day or two, depending on what planning is needed and where the giant hides out here, even though you'd think it impossible for something so large to hide in fields so open. Yet, it is what comes after the giant that worries me, and, though my father knows why, I have yet to speak of it with him either."
As many questions come from her words as the ones she has answered, but I find it easiest to hold onto what she said last, over the rest, because the details of any upcoming fight are unimportant right now when whatever she hasn't shared yet is making her so uncomfortable that her legs cannot stop fidgeting, nor can her fingers stop picking at her lips, or her teeth at her nails.
"Why have you not spoken with Gorm about it yet?"
Without hesitation, she responds.
"Because it worries his heart as much as it does mine."
The look in her eyes spells out fear, and I cannot imagine what could make someone more afraid than the giants we have gathered to slay. So, I must know more.
"What are you not telling me?"
My voice presents a sense of urgency that almost sounds harsh, so I make sure to grab her hand again, both to show my sincerity and to keep her from doing any more damage to her nails or lips. With nothing then slowing her down, she lets loose a few details.
"My father plans to stop in the place we once called home, despite neither of us wanting to go."
With that out there, I have enough to pull a better explanation out of her.
"Why do neither of you want to go?"
If it were not for the tension in
her features, I would spend more time worrying when I know whatever I'm missing strikes fear into Gorm too, but, rather than eat away at myself with those thoughts, Em's words calm that appetite partially, when she starts to explain some of what has happened in the past.
"We are not supposed to return, at the threat of death, but my father hopes the number of men we bring, and the purpose for his return, will keep them from doing anything so harsh."
In the same way her open hand begs to dig at the one I hold, I dig at her, and beg her to tell me why she is so afraid of her home, more than even I was it seems, as best as I can without my words hurting her.
"Why are you not supposed to return?"
Unable to look at me, or thinking of the past in a daze, she looks to my right, near the door, but, as I've already said, her eyes don't seem to be watching. Rather, they are imagining, while her lips spell out what they see.
"Because he murdered his older brother, who was once a king of sorts among our people, in cold-blood because... Because of, I... He..."
Staring off towards her vanity now, she looks at herself in the mirror, and I do the same, only for us both to see the tears starting to stream down her face simultaneously. And, faster than I can move only a few inches across the stuffed cotton, Em does something that makes me stop entirely. Crying so hard now that the tears wet her dress and legs, she pulls the dress up enough for me to see her upper thighs, where lines run across her skin, one after another, almost like stripes. Were it not for how straight they are, I would assume that they are stretch marks, but, even with what little light exists in this tent, I can see the way the marks rise on her flesh. And, as I finally go to wrap my arms around her and embrace the tears onto my shoulder and shirt, she finally lets loose what has happened as I finally understand what the marks are, and are from.
"He hurt me when I was much younger."
Scars, just one after the other, fresh enough that only one person could have inflicted them upon her skin, that is what they are. With my arms wrapped around her and the truth out in the air, the tears only come out more, turning from crying, to sobs, to chokes, and, no matter how loud they get, I hold her tighter and tighter, so sure someone will come in at any minute now just because of the sounds. But, refusing to let go, I hold her until the sobs start to slow, and more words come from between them.
"Please... You have to convince my father not to go. I can-Can't bear to see that place again. The rest of my family... They never believed me, and sided with my-My uncle, the bastard, despite what he had done. They didn't care. They're just as bad as he was..."
So far, Em has just let her arms fall to the side or placed them gently against my shoulders, with her chin propped on top of the right one, but, after what she has just said, she finally moves her arms around my back, and shoves her face into my clothes where my sleeve and long jerkin catch most of the wetness. And, as she calms down enough that I can get a few words in without having to speak over her crying, I only have a few more to share.
"I can't promise you that I'll be able to change Gorm's mind, but I can remind you about what you just told me."
Muffled already by the thickness of my clothes, time continues to quiet her pain, and, before it is finished, I whisper something that I can only hope she won't forget.
"They're not your family anymore. We are, and nobody will hurt you like that again as long as we live."
She says nothing in return, but, despite the silence, the way her arms grip me tighter afterwards is more than enough to tell me how she feels. So, with that, it would only be wrong to let her go already, and that is why, after I have turned my head enough to see how it is pitch black outside, I loosen my arms from her back only to make her lie down, where I hold her from behind for quite some time. Her hair covers most of my face, smothering me even and scratching at my skin, but I don't move until her breathing slows and her body stops shaking. Gone are the cries, so I sit up only so much to let myself hold her with my right arm, and get the tears and hair off of her face with my other hand. From there, she goes quiet quickly, and seems deep in sleep after the days of walking and time spent bawling, yet I stay long enough even then to make sure she stays alright. For so long, I have nothing better to do but to listen to the other sounds around the camp, where all I am greeted by is the chirping of crickets, and the snoring of some man not too far off.
Once I find the confidence to leave her here like this, since everything still feels wrong about falling asleep in her bed with her, I make my escape out into the world again without waking her up, where true night waits for me. No longer do torches light a path, and no longer is the valley, alone, just covered in black. The sky is filled with it too, enough of it that I could count out the stars were I was not already having trouble keeping my eyes open, so before I fall asleep on bare grass, I at least make my way to the tent I share with Abraham, where I find him fast asleep too.
Heeding Yemi's advice from before, I fear the noise I would make by unrolling my bed, lest I wake Ham from the nightmares he carries and bears heavily in his sleep, so I do my best to lie down on my bedroll in a way where it acts like a pillow, as the rest of my body still ends up lying on the grass and nothing else. Yet, no matter how quiet I think I have been, I hear a voice just as I start to shut my eyes.
"I was starting to worry you wouldn't get any rest, with the battle tomorrow night will bring."
Wide awake, Abraham shows no signs of tiredness, neither in his voice or the way he stares up at the top of the tent as he continues.
"You know, the rest of us are getting old, Gorm, Yemi, and I. It is a miracle we have all come this far, and that only one of us has offspring after all this time. So, I've thought of your arrival as a sign."
Part of me feels so ready to sleep after everything that has happened that, deep down inside, Abraham's voice brings some frustration, but the other half of me is drawn into his words enough that I wait for some time, think them over, consider a response, even just to question what the sign could be or mean. Yet, I waste so much time thinking, rather than talking, and trying to keep my eyes open that he says something else and ends up cutting the conversation off before it can even start.
"You don't have to respond. Something inside me just compelled me to share those words."
Abraham speaks with so much peace in his voice that it is enough to soothe me like a lullaby, and send me dozing off with thoughts of what that sign could be. To speak of age, my first thought is that this man, still younger than my father or uncle were and are, has come to terms with the fact that his body only has so many more fights, and, so, he is more than ready to die. Though, because of my oncoming slumber, I never get the chance to tell him otherwise, that his friendship and efforts are still needed, and, when I wake up, only God knows how much later, there is no time to tell him.
Like I have woken him up from a bad dream once more, Abraham stands over me and shakes my whole body, not by my throat but by my shirt, and the look in his eyes shows more urgency than the last time he woke me up in the morning, before the words even leave his mouth.
"Grab your sword. It is here."
His eyes seem bulging, red, filled with fear, and the shouts, screams, and sounds of wood splintering from outside help spell out why his hands are so stiff. For a moment, after he lets me loose, he returns to the entrance of our tent, while I toss around on the ground, looking for my sword, until I realize it has been stuck to my back this whole time. A fool to miss or forget about something so large, I can only explain away my failure with the assumption that I have grown too used to the weight, and no longer notice it, but none of that matters as I've bumbled around for so long that Ham drags me from the tent himself, out into a valley that is still filled with darkness and now echoes with grunting and stunted cries. At the end of the camp, down the rolling hills, a massive shadow, darker than the sky behind it, rises out of the ground.
Tall enough to stand above the valley slopes, but thankfully not so tall that it reach
es the clouds as its fallen brother did, the giant's size provides an advantage in the form of speed. Here before any of the weaponry could be built, the giant wastes its time swatting, shattering, and smashing wagons that carry wood, sending horses flying and running off in the process. The animals join the crowds of men, running both towards the giant and away from it as quickly as they can, but Abraham and I join the former, only so far from the beast with no plan in sight. Other men do their best to grapple the creature from the ground, without getting killed, but, between the difficulty of the giant's flesh and the speed with which it moves its arms and swings at any rope like a man slapping a fly out of the air, few find success.
Their efforts are enough to end the destruction at least, with a third of the camp already gone, and that gives enough of us time to gather at the same edge of the camp, or what once was our camp. Beneath us, wood and cloth cover the grass, and the sight and smell of blood greases it all. So many dead already, none of us know what to do, even though we are so close to the beast that we could all get killed in one, fell swoop. Some rush it. Others stand in fear, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't doing the same too, until Ham's actions give me purpose. Despite all that goes on, he sits on one knee, grinding his hands together, and I have no idea what he is doing until I see the first spark fly, followed by a fire that would swallow Abraham too were he not to step back. In front of him, the flame grows so much that it'd be impossible for the creature not to notice, yet, thankfully, the rest of the men seem to notice too.
Those few with bows and arrows wrap the tips in cloth, either from the ground or their shirts, and light them ablaze before they are sent flying. Ham and I, bowless, gather the torches that we can find, broken, intact, or even wet from all the blood, and still try to light them one by one, tossing each at the beast as it flinches from both the arrows and the men trying and failing to hold it down. But, with all of the fire from the archers and the few torches that meet its hide, we light the giant up in the night enough to make out its form. Covered in boulders, if not entirely made up of them, the creature could have easily hidden against the valley slope, or slept on the ground and been confused for a pile of rocks, or the leftovers of a shattered cliff. Yet, no matter how much the beast falters, it refuses to fall.
No Name for the Free Page 11
