Saga of Menyoral: Hard Luck

by Ray, M. A.

  Even then, Lech hungered after power. Why hadn’t Krakus seen it? He remembered the trip from cloister to box, a short trip, even at the slow pace Lech had wanted so not a fleck of mud would mar his clothes. “I’m so anxious, Krakus,” Lech had confided, like never since. “I’m all nerves. I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Oh, it’ll be all right,” Krakus had said, or something similar. “Don’t worry, Lechie.” Lech hadn’t minded it so much when Krakus called him that, back then: Lechie, the smaller brother, the younger, the weaker—at least physically. Back then, Krakus’s arms were thick with muscle instead of fat, but he’d never had that fire, not like Lech, that fire of ambition that so easily got mistaken for spirituality. All through the parade, as the soldiers of the Muscodite Army marched past in neat formation under their standards, Krakus had been thinking of—what was her name?—Lily, Lizavet, something. He’d been thinking of how his hands nearly fit around her tiny waist, and how her breasts bounced in time while he was on her. No celibate, Krakus, though they were meant to be.

  But he’d been thinking of that girl, and all of a sudden, death had come to the box. He didn’t remember the assassins’ faces. He remembered the knife sticking out of Father Lazar’s back, and the spreading stain on his white robes, and Father Vaclav leaping up with his sword in his hand.

  There’d been a fight. He remembered that, though not the details of it, it all happened so fast; there’d been a fight, and when it ended, Krakus stood over three corpses and not a mark on him. He used to be a fighting man, though he was sure nobody would know it to see the breastplate floating on a layer of blubber. Three corpses—four if he counted Father Lazar—and old Father Vaclav, who lay bleeding out on the floor of the box. He bubbled when he spoke, though Krakus didn’t remember where he’d taken it, and he said, “Krakus. Come here.”

  When Krakus went down to him, he drew the fairy ring from his hand and pressed it into Krakus’s palm, closing his fingers around it. “It’s you,” Father Vaclav said. “It’s got to be you.” And then he’d died, and everything had changed. Lech seemed to have forgotten Krakus was the one chosen, and he the one along for the ride. Krakus had certainly forgotten it, and now the ring was stuck fast on the littlest finger of his puffy hand.

  There was no shade from the walls at this time of day. Krakus continued to sweat as he followed Lech between the careful rows of the condemned, his dinner of rabbits stewed in wine threatening to climb back out of his mouth. When had skinny little Lechie turned into this? Or had he always been this way, and Krakus blind to it because he loved his Brother?

  “A pity we didn’t get Vail,” Lech said, sweeping the bottom edge of his vestments away from a sunburnt, filthy young girl wearing an acorn badge. She had black, black hair, and where it wasn’t dirty, it gleamed like obsidian. “I had hoped he’d be within the borders, but the Bright Lady has Her reasons.”

  “If you wanted Vandis Vail,” Krakus said, “why didn’t you have him killed?”

  Lech turned, his teeth bared in that awkward smile of his. “What makes you think I haven’t arranged for it?”

  “Then you didn’t need to do this.” Krakus spread his arms to encompass the field of the dying.

  Lech tucked his hands into his sleeves. “On the contrary,” he said, in the pedant’s voice that told Krakus he was winding up for a lecture. “I’ve only done what’s best for Muscoda, you must see that. If the Knights had their way, the entire countryside would be in armed revolt tomorrow morning.”

  “Well, if they didn’t want it before, they will now!” Krakus shouted, trying to ignore the girl’s cracked, whispering pleas for help, for water. “Lech, it’s too far! Queen of Heaven knows the Knights are a pain in the ass, but all they really want is to help people! They go about it cock-eyed, but that’s no excuse for this kind of—of—” Words failed him. Shaking his head, he went to one knee next to the girl and took a flask of wine from where it was attached to his belt. He cupped his hand around the back of her head and gave her to drink.

  “Yes, prolong her suffering,” Lech said. “Go on and let her drink. Preserve her life that much—” Lech sputtered with rage when Krakus flung the flask into his face.

  Krakus lumbered to his feet and drew his sword. Seven years, it had been, but it still rang from the scabbard. He should thank young Brother Fillip for maintaining what he’d been too lazy to use.

  “What are you doing?”

  He ignored Lech’s question and raised the sword, point toward the ground. He drove it down into the girl’s throat, then drew it forth. Her blood spattered on his white boots, and she began to choke as it bubbled out. He moved to the next dying form, an older, rounder woman, and gave her the same treatment. It wasn’t so much a conscious decision as it was recognition of a need. They needed him to do it as much as he needed to do it for them.

  “Krakus! Stop!” Lech said, pulling his hands out of his sleeves. He wavered on the spot, like he didn’t want to step in the spreading puddles of blood. “You’re interfering with the justice of the Queen of Heaven,” Lech said.

  “No. I’m taking away your vengeance. They’re warriors. They had honor.” Krakus pressed the tip of his blade into another throat, the throat of a boy no more than twelve. He had wounds similar to most of the others, broken nails, bruises and deep cuts in places that said he’d fought before they took him. “They’re children. They had innocence. They deserve better than what you’ve given them!” The stains would never come out of Krakus’s whites. The laundresses would complain, but for once, dealing with maids’ complaints, with Lech’s anger, seemed worth it.

  “Stop!”

  “Ram it.”

  “Stop,” Lech said, “or I’ll have you stopped.”

  Krakus straightened from his grisly task. He moved, faster than he’d moved in years, budging Lech with his armored gut so that Lech’s white sandal came down into blood. “Don’t forget who got us where we are, little brother,” he ground out, straight into the shorter man’s face. “You’re making me regret it. Go attend to your duty, and I’ll do mine.”

  Lech’s face worked. “You—”

  “Go on. Get out of my sight!” Krakus roared, and Lech swept off the field into the fort, his back straight as a rod, attempting dignity.

  Krakus swiped his forearm across his sweaty brow and turned back to his work. It took him the whole afternoon. By the time he’d finished, his legs were soaked from the middle of his thighs to the soles of his feet, and his arms from the elbow down. His breastplate and sword dripped. He hadn’t allowed himself even a passing thought while he did the deed, but now that it was done he was nauseated by it, and by himself.

  He trudged wearily to the gate and ordered the guard to build a pyre, hardly seeing the man. At least he made it to his bedchamber before he vomited. He had a wash, but no supper. Instead, he fed his soiled whites to the incinerator and watched the furnace for a long time, standing in the flaming heat and the terrible stench of burning garbage.

  Even so, he didn’t sleep well.

  Family

  Wealaia

  Dingus turned seventeen at Elwin’s Ford, not fifty miles from home. They’d got back there right at the beginning of autumn and his birthday was five weeks after Longnight. He couldn’t begin to express how depressing that was. Only eighty-three more years ’til I’m an adult, he thought as he trudged down the shoveled path from the chapel to the mess hall. At this rate, gonna turn a hundred right here. Bitterly, he kicked his boot into a pile of snow next to the path and sent it fluffing into the air. It sparkled in the last of the daylight. He’d go out at dawn, like every day, morning and evening, and before he did his prayer, sweep the snow out of the chapel again where the wind blew it in overnight. There was the canvas top, but it only helped a little, because the Knights held that the Lady’s places had to be open to the air. It made sense, what with her being a wind goddess and all, but it was also a pain in the butt.

  Over and over he’d swept it, morning and
evening, every day. It seemed as pointless as everything else right now. It wasn’t like he was bored. There was plenty to do: chores, stories, trying to teach Kessa her letters and how to sneak and hide, sword practice in the salle, sliding on the ice of the Semoulian River, reading in the library…waiting for Vandis to steal a little bit of time for him, and then having to share it. All he wanted was to get out—well, that and to be around Vandis, talk to him, ask him questions and get them answered, and share stories. There wasn’t enough of that these days.

  He got to the hall, pulled one of the double doors open enough to slide through, and shut it behind him.

  “Surprise!” a bunch of people shouted all at once. “Happy birthday!”

  Dingus turned on his heel. He would’ve walked right out again if Kessa hadn’t thudded into him from behind and squeezed him into a tight hug, pinning his arms to his sides. “Happy birthday, Dingus, happy birthday!” she cried, right into his ear. “You’re not wearing your hat!”

  “Nope,” he said. He wouldn’t have worn the hat she’d knitted for his Longnight present, even if he’d needed to. The green jumper and matching mittens were okay, but the hat had a pompom on it.

  “Why not? It matches!” She let him go and he stomped the snow off his boots, dusting it off the front of the jumper.

  “What about me says ‘pompom’ to you?” He didn’t say it mean, even though he had to work to keep the temper out of his voice. He was doing that a lot lately. Instead of starting something, he pulled off his mittens and let her drag him toward a long table pulled over in front of the hearth. Vandis wasn’t sitting there, but his grandparents were—and Ma. It was nice of them all to come up, with the snow and everything, but the sight of Ma especially made him groan inside. One more thing to remind me I’m still here.

  “Hi,” he said awkwardly, raising a hand to everyone in general.

  “You’re even taller,” Ma said. “How’d you get taller in six months?”

  “Nice to see you, too, Ma.” Peachy, he thought. A surprise party—that’s exactly what I wanted—with Ma and without Vandis.

  “Come sit by me,” she demanded, patting the bench.

  “Move over, Rhiada,” Grandma said. “Let him sit in between us. You’re not the only one who’s been missing him!” She beamed, and Dingus slouched over to get sandwiched between Ma and Grandma. Fucking peachy.

  “Didn’t expect you guys.” All right, he’d missed them, but he didn’t want them here, either. He’d rather nobody said a damn thing about his birthday. When he looked across the table at Grandpa, Grandpa shrugged and smiled, very slightly, like he understood.

  “We made you a birthday supper, ralimovaro,” Grandma said. He winced at her calling him such a baby name: my little heart, ugh. “Oh, I suppose you’re not my ‘little’ anything anymore, are you?”

  Ma huffed. “He hasn’t been anything little since he was about ten. Where’s my kiss?” Dingus leaned over and gave her a dutiful peck on the cheek, and then Grandma.

  “Well,” he said, since the food did smell good, “what’re we eating?”

  “Oh, Dingus, always thinking with your stomach.” Ma shook her head like he’d done something wrong, incorrigible big oaf Dingus, like always.

  “Of course he does! He’s a growing boy!” Grandma said, and they started to argue, right over his head. Dingus stood up from between them, walked around to the other side of the table, and sat down between Grandpa and Kessa instead.

  Grandpa grinned broadly and laid a hand between Dingus’s shoulder blades, saying, “It’s about time you did that.”

  “Are they always like this?” Kessa asked, staring round-eyed at Ma and Grandma, turned toward each other on the bench and nattering back, forth, and over each other.

  “Essentially,” Grandpa said. “At least they’re arguing over Dingus’s diet and not mine, for once.”

  Dingus nodded toward the big dish on the table, crowned with fluffy piles of mashed taters, browned on the peaks from the oven. “Is that shepherd’s pie?”

  “Yeah, it is.” Kessa glowed. “I helped make it. Your grandma said it’s your favorite.”

  “Let’s eat already.” The best thing about living at home had definitely been the food. Grandma was a mean cook, and she’d outdone herself on the shepherd’s pie tonight: finely-chopped lamb swimming in gravy and onions, with the taters on top. There was plenty of dessert, too, apple cake and those soft, spicy cookies he’d always liked, with hot mulled cider at the end. All through dinner it was nice for a change, really nice. Grandpa had tons of questions about what he was doing with Vandis and the things he’d learned so far, and answering slowed him down eating, but no two ways about it, Dingus stuffed himself.

  Grandma and Grandpa had brought him three gold coins from Shirith Valley, where Grandpa was born, with Brother Fox’s head on them and everything. Ma gave him a hat with a pompom, a bright red one that’d look ridiculous with his hair if he was to put it on, and Kessa gave him a muffler that went with his jumper. After the presents he rested his cheek on his fist and half listened to Ma going on about something, but her voice was familiar and a little sweet, and it was so nice and warm near the fire, with his jumper still steaming. He slid into a comfortable doze, every so often surfacing to take a drink off his mug of cider. The firelight danced in the tiny crack left between his eyelids, yellow and soft orange, and gleamed off the three gold coins on the table in front of him. “That door just won’t close right,” Ma said. “I can’t stand the idea my girls are cold. You gotta fix it up, Dingus.”

  Dingus blinked himself awake again. “What?”

  “The coop door,” she said. “It’s broke. You gotta fix it.”

  He thought he knew what she was really saying, but he didn’t want to acknowledge it. It was too stupid. “Ma, how am I gonna fix the coop from here?”

  “You’re gonna have to fix it when we get home.”

  “Ma,” he said, then stopped and took a few breaths to steady himself. His heart was going crazy inside his chest at the thought of going back to Thundering Hills and living with his eyes glued to the ground, always afraid of what’d happen if he opened his mouth.

  “I’m gonna take care of these plates,” Kessa said, and scooted with the dishes.

  “You can’t blame her, Dingus,” Grandma said softly. “You’re not happy here. I can see it myself.”

  Dingus tried again, real careful. “I’m not going back there.”

  “Well, of course you are. Why do you think we came all this way?” Ma snapped.

  “Rhiada,” Grandpa said, warning, but Ma ignored him.

  “You had your fun, Dingus, but I need you at home. I miss you, ralimovaro.”

  “You don’t miss me one bit! You miss all the shit I used to do for you!”

  “That’s no way to talk to your mother!”

  “Go on and deny it all you want, but you gotta do for yourself now and you don’t like it.”

  “Is it so wrong for me to want you at home, where I know you’re safe?”

  “Safe? You think I was safe there, ever?”

  “Aust is almost healed, sweetie. People will forget. If you keep your head down—”

  “No!” Leave it to her to make him feel like a little kid. “I can’t live like that no more!”

  “Well, you’ll have to suck it up,” she said.

  Dingus inhaled deeply. He smelled the fire, leftover cookies, and wet wool. Not even the chamomile soap coming off Grandma and Grandpa calmed him down. He wanted to scream and throttle her. Why couldn’t she see? If he went back to Thundering Hills, he’d die there—probably sooner rather than later. He stood up. “I’m not going,” he said, as evenly and calmly as he could. “There’s no way I’m going back there.”

  “That wasn’t what we discussed, Rhiada,” Grandpa said, but Ma kept on.

  “Don’t you talk ugly to me, Dingus Parsifal! If you think for one minute you’re gonna get away with that kind of sassback, you need to think again! Now go and g
et your things, young man!”

  Dingus put his hands on the table and leaned over it to get closer. “Fuck you.”

  “What did you say to me?”

  “You think I wanna go back there and get shit on my whole life?”

  “Now that is plain nonsense. Nobody—”

  “It’s happened!” he shouted. “They held me down and shit on me, and if I ever put one mark on ’em they went crying to Rogen, and then my ass got beat! If I never see that place again, it’ll be too soon!”

  After that, nobody said a word for at least half a minute, and everybody stared at him. Then Grandpa said, “I did not know that,” in a low, hard voice. “Why did I not know that?”

  “’Cause if you did, all you’d have done was make it worse.”

  Grandpa’s face, usually smooth as a lake on a windless day, twisted up into a snarl.

  “Well,” Vandis said from the doorway. “That was enlightening.”

  In the silence, Dingus jerked straight, turned, and stared. Vandis looked like lukewarm death, sagging heavily instead of standing proud. His cloak dripped slowly onto the floor and beads of water stood in his wild hair: rumpled and wet, like a filthy pub rag wrung out and tossed to the side, with big dark rings under his eyes.

  “It’s your birthday, right? Happy birthday.”

  “Thanks,” Dingus managed. What happened?

  Vandis dug in his pockets and produced a chunk of something about the size of two fingers pressed together. “I got you this. From Rodansk.” He pressed it into Dingus’s hand and dropped himself on the bench, facing the fire.

  “You didn’t have to—”

  “I wanted to.”

  Dingus rubbed the shiny surface. It had a little picture of a longship with striped sails cut and inked into it, and some fancy designs in bands. “Is it a bone?” he asked.

  “It’s a tooth. A tooth from a fish bigger than a house.”

  “Neat,” he said, meaning it. “Thanks.”

  Vandis bobbed his head and dragged a hand back through his wet hair. Dingus put the tooth in his pocket and asked, “You want a plate?”