The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

by Jesse Bullington

  “Eh.” Hegel’s tongue flopped stupidly around his mouth. Manfried’s however, worked just fine. It was the rest of his body that failed him. With a string of vile curses directed at the baby-eating, devil-worshipping whore of a witch, he slipped down his brother’s side, continuing his volley from the floor.

  Hegel stared at Nicolette’s enormous gut, which had not been a fraction of that size when she had begun her story the night before. The beast must have put it in there, he thought, magic or no, it must have been the beast. Mary have mercy.

  “Growing fast, growing strong.” She winked at Hegel, making his knees soften. He leaned against the wall, his brother out of breath from his diatribe. “Vengeance will be wrought not with my hands but by what grows. You’ll lose everything, Grossbarts, and you’ll know I played a hand in every misery that befalls you. Every dog that bites and every assassin that stalks, every man and woman who turns against you, I will see it in the hoarfrost and the flight of birds and my dreams. My eyes will watch your souls blacken and your bodies fail, and any aid I may offer your enemies will be freely given. I could have slaughtered you when you first came but I held back, and I’m glad I did, for your undoing will become legend.”

  The Brothers Grossbart knew a curse when they heard one. Hegel, never breaking her gaze, helped his brother to his feet. Manfried no longer pressed his brother, instead snatching a log from beside the dead fire. Righteous indignation gave him strength, and, nudging Hegel, he raised his weapon.

  “Given us little choice,” Manfried barked. “I kilt plenty, but you’s gonna be the best.” He took a step toward her but Hegel held him back.

  “No, brother, she’s dangerous,” said Hegel.

  “What’s a witch do but curse someone? She already done that, and I think I reckon I know a way to break that curse.” As he shook his brother off, Nicolette leaned back in her chair and muttered something.

  Manfried swung his log but the bag of teeth jumped from the floor, smacking him in the jaw. Knocked off balance, he sprawled on the ground beside the chair. As he looked up what he at first took to be the lights presaging unconsciousness revealed themselves to be hundreds of loose teeth spinning in the air. A single tiny tooth separated from the tempest and slammed into the ground beside his face, embedding in the earthen floor. He covered his eyes with his arms and prayed loudly until he heard them clatter back down where they belonged. Hegel had become dizzy, frozen in place, and no sooner had the teeth returned to the floor than he vomited on the dead coals of the hearth.

  “Now get out of my house before I turn your skin inside out.” She settled back into her chair.

  “Mary preserve us,” Hegel whispered, sheathing his sword. Manfried peeked over his elbow, still convinced the end had come. Hegel helped him up, and they groped about the floor, trying to gather their equipment without looking away from Nicolette.

  Manfried shook scattered teeth off his bag and slipped it over his shoulder. Everything hurt, ax and mace far heavier than usual. Unsure what had transpired since he had gone to sleep several days before, he had no choice but to trust his brother knew what was going on.

  Hegel did not, but he suspected staying in Nicolette’s company any longer would drive him mad. Helping his swaying brother to the door, he gave her a final glare. The ways of witches were clearly inscrutable. Hunger overrode his fear, and he turned in the doorway.

  “About our meat-” Hegel began.

  “Out,” she said wearily.

  “Or some a that hooch-”

  “Out!” She stood, her bloated stomach jutting accusatorily at them.

  “We’s doin just that,” Hegel groused, unlatching the door.

  “Fore we do, though…” Manfried turned and spit.

  “Damn it all.” Hegel began shoving his brother out but Manfried stood tall.

  “You listen sharp, witch,” Manfried spluttered, wrestling his brother in the doorway. “You might a cursed us but we curse you, too. We killed your warlock-beast husband, and you’s dyin in this shithole. And we’s gonna die, as every man a faith does, but not fore you’s pulled down into the pit, the souls a your babes bawlin in your ears, and one way or another the last thing you’s gonna see will be us laughin. Too late to turn, you’s bound to burn, and when we’s done with the Arabs we’s comin back to piss on your bones, you nasty-”

  Hegel shoved him outside, slamming the door just in time to intercept the dozens of teeth launched at them.

  “Let’s burn it!” Manfried made back for the hut but his brother knocked him down, wide-eyed and panting.

  “You damn fool, you’s gonna bring the Devil down on us!” Hegel exploded.

  “You reckon your soul’s pure enough to suffer a witch to live?” Manfried got to his feet, staring his brother down.

  “We’s gonna be back for vengeance, I swear it! For now, we gotta move fore she grows some wits and tries to fix us good at present.”

  Looking around, Manfried nodded. He had almost passed out again, and the witch definitely had her wiles. Floating teeth might be the least of their worries.

  They stood in a roughly tilled field on the edge of the forest, and to either side mountains shot up, the hut leaning against a cliff that stretched between the two slopes at the end of the valley. Hegel made for one of the rises, picking his way among the sparse trees.

  “Shouldn’t we go back to Horse, get some meat?” Manfried queried, following Hegel away from the wood and the shack.

  “Nah, even if it ain’t been picked clean we’d have a time findin it again. Forest ’s too big.”

  “What we gonna eat, then?”

  “Put some meat in our bags before. Lost most of it though, that horseskin came loose when I was haulin you through the wood and the rest’s in that hut. Full waterskins, though.” Hegel began scrambling up the rise.

  Manfried followed slowly, his unstrung crossbow bouncing on his back. Hegel periodically waited for Manfried to catch up. An hour later they reached the top, the ridge boxing in the forest behind them and stretching up to a peak ahead. They both looked down on the valley and spit.

  Silently plodding down the other side, they took in the unbroken range. More trees speckled the scenery but nothing as thick as the wood of the witch. Manfried slipped several times, lying on the rocks and staring at the gray sky until Hegel helped him up. He felt faint, and even with numerous breaks in their hike he collapsed hours before dark, incapable of continuing.

  They were climbing a ridge spotted with boulders and what small patches of snow the sharp wind permitted. Hegel helped his brother to a hollow between two of the monstrous stones and they made camp. Manfried wheezed and coughed, Hegel draping him with their blanket and foraging enough wood to last the night from the nearby trees. Hegel then used rocks to shore up the gap between the boulders in what proved to be an ineffectual attempt at keeping the wind out.

  Cooking meat and collecting snow, Hegel crafted a decent stew as the sun set. Manfried slept most of the night, necessity forcing Hegel under the blanket with him. Many times that night Hegel longed for the warmth and windlessness of their past night’s shelter, but always came the image of the witch squatting atop him, and he fought back tears.

  The morning brought a thick frost to their beards, and within an hour of setting out snow fluttered on them. Both ruminated on their encounter with the witch, Manfried staring at his brother’s back and wondering what had transpired during his fever. Hegel focused on the terrain around them in an attempt to free himself from the memory of her foulness.

  “Knew she was a witch and still let her touch me?” Manfried demanded while they ate looking down at the morning’s ascent.

  “Little choice,” Hegel replied.

  “Could a had faith I’d get better, put your trust in Mary and not some heretic.”

  “Yeah? You was turnin colors and wouldn’t a lasted the night.”

  “So you risked my soul to save my flesh, that it?”

  “Only one riskin their soul was me,
so how’s bout a bit a gratitude, you thankless cunt?” Hegel bit into his half-raw horse meat.

  “Look, brother,” Manfried said, adopting a paternal tone. “I ain’t mad at you, I’s just sayin you need to exercise a touch more discretion, particularly in who you’s associatin with. I know your intentions was right, and this time we lucked out as we’s both still drawin breath, but next time-”

  “Next time I’ll leave you to the crow’s mercy!” Hegel barked. “You got no concept a what I done for you, and you act like I shit in your beard. Some brother!”

  “You got us cursed, Hegel!”

  “So? Scared we can’t break it? Won’t be the first time someone wished us death.”

  “Yeah, but it’s different comin from a witch. Why’d she heal us in the first place? You know that get-us-later meck don’t wash.”

  Hegel grew pale and put his lunch away. “Time we got movin.”

  “What was the price?” Manfried lowered his voice. “Wasn’t your soul, was it?”

  “Dunno,” Hegel whispered, his voice cracking. “Hope not. Just remember you’d be dead if I didn’t do what I done.” He marched off, Manfried quickly stowing his things and rushing after.

  Catching up, Manfried clapped his brother’s shoulder. “I won’t forget. Just gotta be careful now that we got a hex on us. We’ll be cleansed a any taint by our own righteousness.”

  “Yeah. Careful.” Hegel had his doubts if anyone shy of the Virgin could clean his sin. He remembered her warmth, and how in his passion he had called her Mary and given his devotion. The knot in his gut tightened every time he thought of it, the only act in his wretched life he actually regretted.

  The wind dried their sweat but the chill remained, their teeth chattering whenever they paused to survey the terrain. Hours later they found themselves on a mountainside identical to the last several they had crossed, but Manfried had faith his brother was not leading them in circles. Hegel did not share this certainty, nervously chewing his beard until they crested a pass and he gained proof they were not backtracking-the ridge they traversed fell away sharply into a ravine. On the next mount, directly level with where they stood, snaked a worn road. Hegel shook with happiness, and Manfried showed his improved health by cutting a jig on the scree.

  The road stretched on forever but, unlike the first leg of their journey south, the following week on a marked path filled them with expectations of continued good fortune. The road, though poorly maintained, exceeded the one on which they had started their journey in both size and smoothness. They lamented their loss of Horse and cart but tactfully avoided the topic of their dwindling provisions. Even Manfried had to admit that their encounter with the witch and her husband had been a turning point.

  “Proves we’s doin right in Her Eyes,” Manfried said on the eighth day. “We keep up with the righteousness, we’ll be sackin them Arab crypt-castles come Easter.”

  “You think?” asked Hegel. “How far’s it to Gyptland anyway?”

  “Dunno, and don’t care neither. If we’s doin what She wills, we’s gonna get there by the by, and probably be rich fore we even arrive.”

  “Suppose so,” Hegel concurred.

  “We’d burned that witch like I said, we’d probably found some prime ponies loaded with truffles long the way.”

  “Still might.” The idea of succulent mushrooms reminded Hegel they would soon be out of horse meat. Another few days, at best.

  “Husband? So you say she told it was a man fore a monster?” Manfried still could not comprehend that their enemy in the wood was anything but a manticore.

  “Yeah. Queer tale she told. Mind I drowsed a bit at the slowness, but soon enough got proper strange.”

  “Kind a wish I’d heard it.”

  “Nah, you don’t. Sad stuff. She used to be a right pretty girl, and honest too, and loved Mary with all’er heart. Kind a woman make a decent wife.”

  “Now how you know that?”

  “She told me.”

  Manfried snorted. “Yeah, go ahead and believe everythin a witch tells you.”

  “Didn’t say I believed it all.”

  “But you think she was fit? Ever? Imagine it young and it’d still be all tainted with heresy. No such thing as a pretty witch.”

  During the intervening days Hegel had often tried to separate one portion of a certain memory from the other aspects. He silently ruminated. He almost had it, but every time his brother would say something like-

  “No sir. That witch done fucked that animal-man-thing, fucked’em often, too. And et the babes what come out. Imagine that crusty crone spread-”

  Hegel leaned over and vomited so hard his sphincter twitched. Manfried jumped back from the spray, laughing heartily. Hegel shot him an evil glare through spew-teared eyes.

  “That horse not agreein with you?”

  “It’s that vile tongue a yours. Who’d wanna think a thing like that?” Hegel spit but could not dispel the taste-memory of her.

  “Just sayin.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Eh?” Hegel wiped his mouth and looked where his brother did. The road stretched off around the bend, appearing intermittently down the long ridge, but behind them on the last mountain they had traversed the highway came back into view, and here a large black shape moved. It went quickly, and Hegel could make out both the wagon and the team of horses making good time.

  Manfried squinted. “I can’t-”

  “It’s a damn ride, is what it is!” Hegel slapped his brother with his wide-brimmed hat.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah!”

  “What they doin comin through the mountains in dead winter?”

  “What we doin here? Same as them. Now get to task.” Hegel rushed ahead to where a boulder jutted out of the roadside.

  “Good lookin out,” Manfried said, jumping into action.

  They each worked a side of the slab, Manfried with his ax, Hegel with his pick. Every few minutes they would pause and set to, but it still would not budge. Desperation took over, but the more they dug the deeper into the mountainside the boulder went.

  “Look,” Hegel panted. “We oughta haul that dead tree back a ways over here and wedge it in, try to pry this out.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That dead tree was on the upper slope, a little ways back. We hurry, we can get it back here fore-” Hegel paused, seeing the look in Manfried’s eyes, and altered his intent: “Or we could just lay that log across the trail stead a this boulder.” Manfried nodded slowly, scowling at his brother.

  No sooner had they backtracked to the log, scrambled up the roadside, and rolled it back down than they heard the horses approach. They stretched it across the road and waited, and when Hegel caught sight of the wagon rounding the bend they leaned down, acting as though dried, crumbling wood possessed enormous weight. The wagon slowed to a stop and two men jumped from the rear, exchanging words with the driver before advancing on the Grossbarts with crossbows in hand. Seeing this, the Brothers retrieved their own notched crossbows from behind the log.

  “Hold, now!” Hegel called when the men came into range.

  “Why this?” the bigger of the two demanded.

  “Seen yous comin, decided to lend a hand, get this out the road for you,” Manfried yelled.

  “Why the bows?” the man said.

  “Why’ve you got yours?” Hegel returned.

  “What?” The man cocked his ear.

  “Come on over,” Manfried said, “can’t hear you neither.”

  The men advanced warily on the grinning Grossbarts. When they were close enough to make out their bearded countenances the men stopped. The driver called something from behind but none of the four paid him heed.

  “What you doing out here?” the first man asked. He possessed a stringy black mustache that matched both the hair on his head and that of his fellow’s.

  “Same’s you,” Hegel shot back.

  “Seei
ng this,” Mustache said, “so you move that wood and stand clear and we be on ours, and you be on yours.”

  “Well, now,” Manfried said, “that don’t seem fair.”

  “Why this?” Mustache asked.

  “We go through the trouble a movin it and you don’t even offer two weary travelers a ride?” said Hegel.

  The second man said something to Mustache in a language the Brothers could not understand. Mustache responded in the same, and the second man raised his bow at Hegel. The Grossbarts cradled their crossbows lazily, but each had his weapon trained on one of the men.

  “Move back,” Mustache said, “and we move it ourselves, and you have no reasons to gripe.”

  “Fair’s fair,” Hegel said, immediately regretting the use of Nicolette’s phrase.

  The Brothers stepped back and the two men advanced. They paused, glancing down at the log. Rotten though it was, they could not move it without setting down their weapons. The Grossbarts beamed at them. The men exchanged more indecipherable words, glaring at the Brothers.

  “You win,” Mustache said, smiling himself now, “you move, and we give passage.”

  “What’s stoppin you from shootin us when we set down our bows?” Manfried inquired.

  “Same as stopping you from shooting we if we do the same,” Mustache snapped.

  “Righteous Christian morals?” Hegel asked, but made no move to lower his weapon.

  “Yes,” said Mustache.

  “Ain’t cut it,” Manfried said. “We’s pious pilgrims, as shown by our Virgins.” He shook his head, the necklace bouncing on his tunic. “Where’s your proof?”

  “Seeing this,” Mustache said, “it is not my wagon or we gladly grant you a ride. So sad, it is not. We are paid exactly so no one gets on wagon. We are paid to move logs. Seeing this, the log must go and you with it.”

  “Move it, then,” Hegel said.

  Mustache’s smile faded, and he exchanged more words with his compatriot. They began walking backward, away from the Brothers.

  “We discuss with the driver,” Mustache called.

  “You do that!” Hegel yelled, sitting down on the log.