by Chris Mawbey
Marek suddenly swung his scythe around. It hooked Ivan around the back of an ankle, pulling him off his feet. His landing was heavy, winding him. Marek gained his feet with a look of death on his face. He smeared blood across his face and spat a bright red gobbet onto the ground. Ivan had just managed to get up onto his hands and knees when a back hand swing from Marek landed the back edge of the scythe on Ivan’s jaw. The bone shattered and Ivan went down.
The crowd erupted. Many were chanting Marek’s name. The victor dropped his weapon to the ground and walked over to face the village elders and the father of the bride.
Mickey was quietly pleased to see the damage that Ivan had inflicted on Marek’s face. This was tempered by the pity he felt for Elena. She would have to wake up to that ruin of a face every day. Looking past the winning fighter, Mickey could see the defeated man being half dragged, half carried out of the make-shift arena.
The leader of the village elders declared Marek to be the winner. When the adulation of the crowd subsided, the elder then gave the opportunity for someone to challenge Marek for Elena’s hand in marriage.
Mickey looked at Elena. She seemed to have withdrawn into herself - defeated. Though her physical beauty was undiminished she seemed to be faded. It was almost as if she’d lost the will to go on. Mickey had a sudden and chilling vision of Elena sitting by the bandstand, staring into space.
The elder was looking around for signs of a challenge to Marek. He looked eager, as if he really didn’t want the conflict to end so quickly. There was an air of anticipation in the crowd as well. This was probably the most entertainment they had been treated to in the two years they’d been here. They wanted more. It was as Janic had stated though. No-one was prepared to take Marek on.
Mickey stood up.
“I will challenge Marek,” he said.
Though most people didn’t understand the words that Mickey spoke, they all understood what he meant.
Chapter 11.
The ensuing chaos was a mixture of approval and outrage, in more or less equal measure. Some of the crowd were all in favour or more fighting and bloodshed and didn’t care where it came from. Others seemed to be violently opposed to an outsider making a claim for the hand of one of their own. They never seemed to consider asking the girl in question her views on the matter. The girl in question wore a mask of shock and incomprehension.
Through all the shouting and cheering Marek’s response rang out clearly.
“Prihvaćam izazov autsajder.”
He also signalled his acceptance to Mickey by beckoning him down onto the field. Mickey climbed down from the trailer.
The crowd erupted into even louder cheering and clapping. All opposition seemed to have evaporated. When the noise died down Marek spoke again.
“Odabrati borbu do smrti.”
The crowd instantly fell silent. The enormity of what had just been said descended like the lid on a coffin. The atmosphere in the arena thickened, almost becoming tangible.
Mickey was stunned. He’d recognised the final word of what Marek had said, ‘smrti’. He remembered that that meant death.
“Can he do that?” he called to Janic.
“Of course,” laughed the old man, eager for more violence. “You want to steal his wife. It is his right to kill you.”
“I bet you didn’t think of that one,” laughed Pester, who had sidled up to Mickey. He was making no attempt to hide his amusement. “Which seat would you like me to put you in at the bandstand?”
Mickey ignore the jibe and turned to Elena, who looked horrified.
“Trust me please,” he said. “It’ll be alright, I promise.”
Elena just stared at Mickey and didn’t reply. Mickey knew he wasn’t going to get through to the girl so he made his way across the field. Pester followed him.
“If I win I think I might have to make a quick exit,” said Mickey.
Pester scrutinised the crowd carefully. “You’re probably right,” he said. “It’d be a waste of effort for you to win the fight only to be lynched by the angry mob afterwards.”
As Mickey started to walk towards his opponent Pester stopped him with a hand on his arm. His amusement had disappeared and he looked totally serious.
“A word of warning, Laddie. Remember, wounds don’t heal here. Keep away from his blade.”
Mickey nodded and walked out into the arena. The stewards had unwrapped all blades and unstoppered all pointed tools. The array of what were essentially innocuous farming implements now took on a sinister feel as Mickey accepted the fact that he was about to kill with, or be killed by, one of them.
Marek had already selected his weapon, keeping faith with the short handled scythe that he’d used to defeat Ivan. Mickey followed the vanquished man’s example and chose a pitch fork. The difference this time being that the rusted tines would now be functional.
The two fighters put a safe difference between themselves and waited for the signal to start.
Marek reacted fastest when the steward dropped his arm. Mickey had to jump to one side and use the shaft of the pitch fork to block a back handed swipe from Marek as he shot past. The two fighters recomposed themselves and started their circular dance. Unlike Ivan, Mickey held the pitch fork in both hands across his chest. This allowed Marek to get closer than he had during his battle with Ivan. However, he didn’t capitalise on this, choosing instead to adopt the same tactics as he had in his previous fight. This handed the advantage to Mickey, who knew what to expect when the attacks were made. He was easily able to avoid Marek’s charges; never being hit but usually able to land a retaliatory blow with the shaft of the pitch fork.
Some of the crowd started to get restless. They wanted Marek to finish this stranger off in quick time. He wasn’t welcome here and they wanted him gone – one way or another. The shouts of encouragement became interspersed with boos and jeers. This only served to anger Marek and his attacks became wilder and less controlled. He started to swing the scythe without really aiming. Added to his earlier exertions this wild swinging began to take its toll on Marek. Despite this Mickey wasn’t winning. Though he continued to land blows he was only causing minor damage and the fight was turning into a stalemate.
Marek made another charge which Mickey went to dodge. At the last instant Marek shifted direction and shoulder barged into Mickey. The two went down in a heap. Mickey rolled over to put some distance between himself and Marek and felt a stab of pain in his right thigh as Marek swung his arm over and dragged the point of the scythe across the muscle of Mickey’s leg.
Mickey managed to roll free and gain his feet, albeit unsteadily. Seeing the emerging blood stain on Mickey’s jeans Marek sensed victory and charged again. Mickey was off balance and could only hold the pitch fork out across his body to block the incoming blow. There was a loud crack as the handle splintered under the impact of Marek’s assault.
The attack from Marek forced Mickey to stagger backwards, but Marek was off balance as well. Mickey thrust his hands out in front of him as the two of them crashed to the ground in a heap. As they landed there was a scream from one of the two fighters.
Marek rolled onto his back to reveal the broken section of pitch fork handle embedded in his groin.
There was a momentary gasp from the crowd then they erupted into raucous laughter at the grotesque parody of an erection that Marek was now sporting. Winded, Mickey climbed to his feet. He winced when he put his full weight on his right leg but was able to hold himself up. Marek was also trying to stand up.
“Stay down,” Mickey said, between gasps for breath. “It’s over.”
“To...the...death,” Marek said in broken English, through gritted teeth. He carried on trying to get to his feet. He tried to pull the pitch fork handle from his body, squealed with the pain it caused and abandoned the idea. Marek dropped onto one knee to try to retrieve his own weapon. The effort robbed him of his strength but he still managed to pick up the scythe and struggle to his feet. Marek tried to ch
arge at Mickey but blood loss and exhaustion made the effort slow and ineffectual. Mickey sidestepped the lunge and Marek stumbled forward onto his hands and knees, driving the stake further into his groin. He howled in agony and blindly lashed out with his weapon. Despite the action being laboured Mickey still had to jump to avoid the blade slicing through one of his ankles.
“Do smrti,” Marek hissed again in his own language, turning his head to face Mickey. Marek collapsed onto his side in a spreading pool of his own blood. He tried to swing his weapon arm but lacked the strength to even lift it. Mickey threw his own remaining weapon to one side and walked over to Marek. He picked up his opponents weapon and threw that away as well.
“It’s over,” Mickey said. He turned and walked away. Marek tried to rise, tried to call out but his body was failing him rapidly. He could only lie there and watch his conqueror walk away from him. He continued to watch the scene in the field after his body finally expired; before he was carried to the bandstand.
Mickey stood in front of the assembly of village elders and the Kovaks family. He could feel the blood slowly seeping into the leg of his jeans. Considering that I’m dead, he thought, my leg doesn’t half hurt. Despite that he was still interested to see the variety of expressions on the faces of the people in front of him.
The elders clearly looked as if they’d been backed into a corner that there was no escape from. Janic had the look of someone who had just been caught with his hand in the biscuit barrel. Olga and Elena, who had been deep in conversation with one another both had looks of relief and, possibly, cautious hope on their faces.
The leader of the elders glared down at Mickey.
“You are victorious,” he said in his own language, which Janic translated for him. “Do you claim this woman as your prize?” The elder indicated Elena with the merest nod of his head.
“I want to speak to Elena before I give you my answer,” said Mickey. “She has the right to be heard before anything is decided.”
“That woman has no such right,” Janic translated the elder’s growled response. “She is your prize, if you claim her.”
“That woman is called Elena.” Mickey emphasised each word, especially the girl’s name. “And she has every right to have an opinion about what is going to happen to her.”
Elena was shocked but secretly pleased whilst her mother positively beamed when Mickey’s statement was translated for her. Janic however, couldn’t have looked more embarrassed. He had lauded Mickey as his honoured guest and now here Mickey was flaunting village customs and meddling in things that were none of his business. His views seemed to have been shared by some of the villagers who had remained in the field. A rumbling of discontent began to grow.
The village elder huffed and puffed and blustered but Mickey stood resolute. Finally, the elder conceded defeat and, with a stern word to Janic, ushered his cronies off the trailer and out of the field.
“That told him,” Pester laughed and clapped Mickey on the back. “But you’ve turned a lot of the village against you. You need to do something about that wound, just in case you do need to make a run for it. I did warn you that injuries don’t heal.”
“I tried to not get caught but the bastard tricked me,” Mickey replied.
“I think the term is ‘whatever’,” Pester said. Then he changed the subject. “So, what are you planning to do with your lovely new bride over there?”
Mickey realised that Elena and her parents were staring at him. Trying hard not to limp, Mickey walked over to where they were sitting. He suddenly found himself tongue tied and struggled to find the right words to say. He ignored Janic who had started to protest about dishonour and disrespect, looking instead, directly at the old man’s daughter.
“Elena,” Mickey began. “You told me that you wanted to leave here and complete your journey. Now you can.”
“How?” Elena asked. “I have no guide. I will not know where to go.”
“What sort of husband are you?” shouted Janic. “You claim the girl and then abandon her.” He spat at Mickey’s feet.
Olga snapped off a retort that turned her husband’s face crimson. Janic rounded on his wife, who ignored her husband and concentrated on Mickey. Her look was full of pleading.
“You’re right,” Mickey said to Elena. “You haven’t got a guide – but I have. I don’t suppose he’ll be able to help you.” He looked at Pester who shook his head in confirmation of Mickey’s guess. “But I can help you. I’m giving you the chance to travel with me and I promise to stay with you and help you get to the end of your journey.” Mickey paused. He had to get this next part right. He wanted Elena to realise that the choice was hers and hers alone. Yet at the same time he wanted her to have some idea of how he felt about her.
“It would make me happy for you and I to make our final journeys together.”
Elena couldn’t believe what she’d just heard. For two years she’d wanted to do what she had felt was her destiny; and here was a man, who she had only known for one day, giving her the chance to do that very thing. Now that the chance had arrived Elena suddenly felt nervous. The road ahead was dark to her and she would be leaving her parents behind. Staying here in Koprno had a known outcome, everything was predetermined – unpleasant though it was. Leaving with Mickey would be a giant step into the unknown, but it was a step that she’d wanted to take ever since she’d arrived over here.
Elena looked towards her parents for help in making her decision. Janic was still bright red with fury, the depth of his anger making words impossible to form. Elena could guess what he was thinking though. He’d lost face with the village and he’d lost the chance of gaining some prestige and social standing by marrying his daughter to one of the villagers. Though it was something that Elena had argued with her father about for many years, both alive and dead, she felt sorry for him and couldn’t hold any anger.
Olga was in tears but she was smiling radiantly. She had wanted to leave and take Elena with her but Janic had forbidden it. Though she knew that she would have to stay behind, Olga was delighted that her beloved daughter would be able to go on and do what was right. She held her hands clasped together, as if in prayer.
“Thank you, Mickey Raymond,” she said haltingly in her own language. “You have saved my daughter.” Elena translated with heavy emotion in her voice.
To Mickey, it seemed as if Olga had already made Elena’s decision for her.
“What do you mean, thank you?” Janic had finally found his voice. “He is stealing my daughter.”
Mickey didn’t understand a word of the next exchange. Given the anger in the tone of the two Kovaks parents he was glad he didn’t comprehend anything.
“Shut up you small minded little man.” Olga scowled. “You wanted to marry her off to a dead beat or a bully and condemn her to staying in this cemetery. By your old fashioned rules Mickey won. She is his. Yet the first thing he does is set her free and gives her a choice. A choice to do what she has wanted to do from the day she arrived here.”
“What?” blustered Janic, wrong footed by his wife’s verbal assault. “Why did I not know of this?”
“Because you have never given Elena more than a passing thought,” Olga shot back. “And don’t act so concerned. It would not have made any difference to you even if you had known.”
“Stop it,” cried Elena in her native tongue. “Stop it both of you.” She turned to Mickey and switched to English. “I cannot go. I cannot leave my mother.”
She then told her mother what she had just said to Mickey. Again, Mickey didn’t understand the reply.
“You can leave and you will,” said Olga firmly. She kissed her daughter. “I will take my place by the bandstand happy knowing that you have gone on.”
Elena hugged her mother. Both women were weeping freely, not caring who saw them. They both turned to Mickey.
“Thank you,” said Elena. “But what does ... your guide say about this?” She avoided using Pester’s name to preven
t any further outbursts from her father.
Mickey turned and seemingly looked at empty space. His unseen guide shrugged.
“Like you said, I can’t help her directly. If guiding you guides her then ...”
“Are there likely to be any consequences?” Mickey asked.
“There always are when a choice is made,” said Pester. “They may be good, or they may be bad. There’s no way of knowing.”
“We’re already dead though,” said Mickey. “Things can’t really get any worse can they?”
Pester’s reply with devoid of humour and it chilled Mickey. “Oh aye. Things can get worse, much worse – for both of you. Don’t forget that Mr Jolly will be waiting for you somewhere along the way. That won’t be easy for you. But remember you’ve made a choice to help Elena and you’re now bound by it. You’ll have to see it through. You won’t be able to abandon her along the way if you decide you don’t like her anymore.”
Mickey turned to Elena. “He says he’s fine with it, but to warn you that it won’t be easy and there’s no way of knowing what lies ahead for us.”
Elena smiled grimly. She’d already guessed as much.
“Thank your guide for me,” she said. “I will be happy to travel with you on your journey.”
Olga’s smile faded. She feared that there would be no wedding; and if there was then it would be a sham. The two young people would be leaving on a quest. There would be no time or opportunity for them to enjoy being man and wife. The thought stilled her happiness but only briefly. This was a small price to pay for Elena’s final release.
