“That’s not your house, Roff!” the lantern bearer cried as others helped the shaken lad to his feet. They huddled ever closer together, like sheep circled by wolves.
Roff did not pause. He tried the door and found it latched. He backed up two steps and then, with a roar, he charged the door and kicked it hard. It flew open. From within came angry shouts and a shriek. Taura stood openmouthed as Roff walked in. “Roff?” asked a man’s voice, and moments later, the sounds of a fight filled the night. Several of the men moved purposefully toward the door. A woman carrying a small child ran out toward them, crying, “Help, help! He’s killing my husband! Help.”
As two men ran in, Taura stood still in the darkened street. “This is what he meant,” she informed herself quietly. He’d been right. She’d thought the king’s man had been mad, but he’d been right.
Into the street stumbled Hatilde and the old woman. They were locked in fierce battle while a small child stood in the doorway and wailed his terror. Some folk sprang to separate them while others went to drag out Roff. In the midst of the shouting and the struggling fighters, Taura looked down the street and saw by the light of the open doorways more Forged ones coming. Folk opened their doors, peered out, and slammed them again. Dread and hope warred in her; would she see her father’s silhouette among them? But he was not there.
The youngster whose cloak Roff had stolen leaped onto his back when the other men dragged him out of the cottage. He wrapped an arm around Roff’s neck shouting, “I want my cloak back!” Another man tried to pull him off Roff while three others fought to detain Roff as someone shouted, “Roff! Give up, Roff! Let us help you! Roff! Stop fighting us.”
But he didn’t stop and while his opponents attempted only to restrain him, he struck out with full force, as pleased to kill them as to drive them off. Taura saw the moment when the other men lost all their restraint. Roff was borne to the ground under the weight of the other fighters. The one man pleaded for Roff to give up but the others were cursing and hitting and kicking Roff. But Roff kept fighting. A savage kick to his head ended it, and Taura cried out as she saw Roff’s neck snap and his ear touch his shoulder. Abruptly, he was still. Two more kicks from different men. Then, like rebuked dogs, they were suddenly, silently stepping back from his body.
In the street, the man who had first greeted Hatilde still gripped her from behind, pinning her arms to her side. The old woman was sitting up in the street, weeping and wailing. Hatilde was flinging her head back, her teeth snapping wildly and kicking her bare heels into the man’s legs. Taura had a flash of insight. The raiders had deliberately released them cold and hungry and soulless, so they would immediately have reasons to attack their families and neighbors. Was this why they had burned only half the village? Was it so that those who remained would know the fury of their own people?
But there was no quiet moment to mull over that thought.
“Sweet Eda!” A man shouted some distance away, and Roff’s friend cried out, “You’ve killed him! Roff! Roff! He’s dead! He’s dead!”
“Hatilde! Stop it! Stop it!”
But Roff was sprawled on the ground, his tongue thrust out of his bloody mouth, and Hatilde went on silently snapping, struggling and kicking. And in that moment of shocked unsilence, Taura heard the cries, the crashes, the shrieks and the furious roars from elsewhere in the village. Someone was blowing a whistle, desperately, over and over. Their folk had come back, Forged as King Shrewd’s messenger had warned them they would be. But now Taura knew what it meant. They would, indeed, take anything they wanted or needed. And some, like Roff, would not be stopped by anything short of death.
The villagers would kill her father. Taura abruptly knew that. Her father was a strong and stubborn man, the strongest man she’d ever known. He would not stop until he had what he needed. The only way to stop him from taking what he needed would be to kill him.
Papa.
Where would he be? Which way would he come? The whistles and shouts and screams were coming from every direction. The Forged were returning and it was worse than the night the raiders had come, setting fires and stealing and raping and killing. That attack had been a shock. But they had known their folk would return. Their dreads and hopes had risen, and fallen. And now, just when the villagers had begun to resume their lives, to rebuild houses and pull the boats ashore to repair them, the raiders struck again. With their own folk as weapons. With her father as their attacker.
Where would he be?
And she knew. He would go home.
Taura ran through the dark streets. Twice she dodged Forged ones. She knew them even in the dim light leaking from shuttered windows. They walked stiff and cold, as if puzzled at being thrust back into a life they had once shared. She ran past Jend Greenoak kneeling in the streets and sobbing, “But the baby? Where is our baby?”
Taura slowed her steps and stared unwillingly. Jend’s wife Salal stood in the street, her garments still dripping seawater, her arms empty of the babe she had carried off to the Red Ship. She stared at the burned rubble of their home. She spoke harshly. “I’m cold and hungry. The baby did nothing but cry. It was useless.” Her words carried no emotion, not regret nor anger. She stated her truth. Jend swayed where he knelt and she walked away from him, her arms embracing herself against the cold as she strode down the street toward a lit cottage. Taura knew what would come next.
But the woman who stepped out of the cottage held a cudgel and called over her shoulder, “Bar the door. Open for no one but me!”
Nor did the woman wait for Salal to try to enter. She strode forward to meet her, cudgel swinging. Salal did not retreat. Instead, she voiced her fury at being thwarted with an inhuman shriek and ran at the woman, her hands lifted to claw.
“NO!” shouted Jend, and found his feet to rush to his wife’s defense. So it would go, Taura suddenly knew. Some would stand with their loved ones, Forged or not, and others would defend their homes at any cost. Jend took a smashing blow to his gut and went down in the street but Salal fought on regardless of a dangling and crooked jaw. The defending woman was screaming wordlessly, turned just as savage as the Forged one she fought. The men who had fought Roff were standing and shouting at one another. Taura dashed past them, powered by both horror and fear. She did not want to see another person die tonight.
“Stand with your family,” her father had always told her. She remembered the day well. Someone had cursed Gef for dashing into the street, entranced by a flock of geese flying overhead.
“Keep your half-wit boy tethered to your porch!” the teamster had shouted at them. He’d had to rein in sharply and his slippery load of fresh fish had nearly slewed out of his cart. Papa had dragged him down from the seat of his cart and thrashed him in the street. No matter how her father might shun his simple son within the walls of his own home, in public he defended him. Her mother had echoed those words when her father came in with his bloodied knuckles and blackened eyes. “We always stand with our blood,” she’d told Taura. Then, Taura had not doubted that she meant it. Perhaps tonight, her mother would recall where her loyalties should be.
Taura was out of breath. She trotted rather than ran now, but her thoughts raced far ahead of her destination. She could well be on the path back to her old life. She would find her father and he would know her. She would warn him, protect him from villagers who might not understand. Even if he never showed affection for any of them again, he would still be Papa, and her family would be together again. She would rather sleep on cold earth with her family than sleep on the floor by the fire in Jelin’s house.
She ran past Jelin’s house and on, past the partially burned homes, away from the dim light that leaked from windows. This part of the village was dead; it stank of burned wood and burned flesh. She had lived in the same house all her life, but in all the destruction, she was suddenly not sure which burned wreckage had been their home. Thin moonlight reached down and glinted faintly only on wet wood and stone. She trotted through
a foreign landscape, a place she had never been before. Everything she had ever known was gone.
She almost crashed into her father before she saw him. He was standing motionless, staring at where their house had been. She recoiled then stood still. He turned slowly toward her and for an instant the moonlight glinted in his eyes. Then darkness claimed his face again. He said nothing.
“Papa?” she said.
He didn’t respond.
The words vomited from her. “They burned the house. We saw them take you away. Your head was bloody. Mother told me to run and hide. She went to find Gef. I hid high in the old willow that overlooks the harbor. They took you out to their ship. What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
He was very still. Then he shook his head, a small quick shake as if a mosquito had buzzed in his ear. He walked past her toward the dimly lit part of the village that still stood. She hesitated then hurried after him. “Papa. The others in the village know you were taken. A man came from the king. He told the village to defend themselves against Forged ones. To kill them if we had to.”
Her father kept walking.
“Are you Forged, Papa? Did they do something to you?”
He kept walking.
“Papa, do you know me?”
His steps slowed. “You’re Taura. And you talk too much.” After he’d spoken he resumed his pace.
It was all she could do to keep from dancing after him. He knew her. He had always mocked and teased her that she was such a talker! His voice was flat, but he was cold and wet, hungry and tired. But he knew her. She hugged herself against the cold and hurried after him. “Papa, you have to listen to me. I’ve seen them killing some of the others who were kidnapped. We have to be careful. And you need a weapon. You need your sword.”
For five steps he kept his pace. Then he said, “I need my sword.”
“It’s at Jelin’s house. Mother and Gef and I have been staying there, sleeping on their floor. Mother gave him your sword, to let us stay with him. He said he might need it, to protect his wife and baby.” She had a stitch in her side from all the running, and despite hugging herself, the cold was seeping into her bones. Her mouth was dry. But she pushed all that to one side. Once Papa was inside the house, with his sword, he’d be safe. They’d all be safe again.
Her father turned toward the first lit house.
“No! Not there! They’ll try to kill you. First, we have to get your sword. Then you can get warm and have some food. Or a hot drink.” Now that she thought of it, there was probably no food left. But there would be tea and perhaps a bit of bread. Better than nothing, she told herself. He was walking on. She dashed ahead of him. “Follow me!” she told him.
A piercing scream rang out in the night, but it was distant, not nearby. She ignored it as she had ignored the angry shouts that came and went. She did not slacken her pace but walked backwards hastily, motioning for him to follow her. He came on doggedly.
They reached Jelin’s cottage. She ran up to the door and tried to open it. It was barred. She banged on it with her fists. “Let me in! Open the door!” she cried.
Inside, her mother lifted her voice. “Oh, thank Eda! It’s Taura: she’s come back. Please, Jelin, please let her in!”
A silence. Then she heard the bar lifted from its supports. She seized the handle and pulled the door open just as her father came up behind her. “Mother, I’ve found Papa! I’ve brought him home!” she cried.
Her mother stood in the door. She looked at Taura, then at her husband. A terrible hope lit in her eyes. “Burk?” her mother said, her voice cracking on his name.
“Papa!” Gef’s voice was both questioning and fearful.
Jelin pushed them both to one side. Papa’s sword was naked in his hand. He lifted it and pointed it at Papa. “Get back,” he said in a low and deadly voice. His gaze flickered to Taura. “You stupid little bitch. Get in here and get behind me.”
“No!” It wasn’t just that he’d called her a bitch. It was the way he held the blade unwavering toward her father. Jelin wasn’t even going to give him a chance. “Let us in! Let Papa in, let him get warm and have some food. That’s what he needs. It’s all that any of the Forged ones need, and I think if we give it to them, they’ll have no reason to hurt us.” At Jelin’s flat stare, she grew desperate. “Mother, tell him to let us both in. This is our chance to be a family again.”
The words tumbled from her mouth. She stepped, not quite in front of Papa, but closer to him, to show Jelin that he’d have to stab her before he could fight Papa. She wasn’t Forged. He had no excuse to stab her.
Papa spoke behind her. “That is my sword.” Anger rose in his voice on that last word.
“Get inside, Taura. Now.” Jelin shifted his stare to her father. He spoke sternly. “Burk, I’ve no wish to hurt you. Go away.”
Back inside the cottage, the baby started crying. Jelin’s wife began to sob. “Make him go away, Jelin. Drive him off. And her with him. She’s nothing but trouble. Oh, Sweet Eda, mercy on me and my child! Drive him away! Kill him!”
Darda’s voice was rising to hysteria and Taura could see in Jelin’s eyes that he was listening to her. Maybe he would stab her. Her voice rose to shrill despite herself. “Mother? Will you let him kill both of us? With Papa’s own sword?”
“Taura, get inside. Your father is not himself.” Her mother’s voice shook. She had hugged Gef to her side. He was sob panting, his prelude to one of his total panics. Soon he would race in circles, sobbing and shrieking.
“Mother, please!” Taura begged.
Then her father seized her by the back of her neck and her shirt collar. He flung her into the cottage. She collided with Jelin then fell at his feet. He was off balance and flailing when Papa reached in, past the tip of his own sword, to seize Jelin’s wrist. Taura knew that clamping grip. She’d seen him haul big halibut up off the bottom, his hands seized tight on the line. In a moment it happened as she knew it would. Jelin gave a cry and the sword fell from his nerveless hand. It was right next to her. She seized the hilt and scrabbled back into the room.
“Papa, I’ve got it! I’ve got your sword for you.”
Papa said nothing. He had not released his grip on Jelin’s wrist. Jelin was shouting and cursing and fighting Papa’s one hand, as if by breaking that grip he could win. Her father’s lips were pulled back from his set teeth. His eyes were empty. Jelin put all his efforts into pulling away. But Papa jerked the smaller man toward him. His free hand went to Jelin’s throat. He caught him there, his big hand right under Jelin’s jaw. He squeezed, and then abruptly released Jelin’s wrist and put both hands on his neck. He lifted Jelin up on his toes and Papa’s eyes were very intent, his mouth flat as he throttled the man. He tilted his head to one side and regarded Jelin’s darkening face with intent interest.
“No!” shrieked Darda, but she did nothing but retreat into the corner clutching her child. Gef seized two handfuls of his own hair and wailed loudly as he shook his own head. Taura’s mother was the one who charged in. She seized one of Papa’s thick arms and tugged at it. She hung her weight from it as if she swung from a tree branch.
“Burk! No, no, let him go! Burk, don’t kill him! He was kind to us, he gave us shelter! Burk! Stop!”
But Papa did not stop. Jelin’s eyes were wide, his mouth open. He had been clutching at Papa’s hands but now his hands fell away to hang limply at his sides as Papa shook him. Taura looked down at the sword in her hands. She lifted it in a two-handed grip, unsure of what she was going to do. She was shaking and the sword was heavy. She braced her feet and squared her shoulders and steadied the blade just as Papa dropped a floppy Jelin to the floor. He looked at his wife still clinging to his arm. He snapped his arm straight, flinging her aside, and she flew backwards.
And onto the sword.
Taura dropped the blade as her mother crashed into it. It stuck, sank, then fell away as her mother tumbled down. Papa took two steps forward and backhanded Gef. The blow drove him to t
he floor. “Quiet!” he roared at his idiot son. And for a wonder, Gef obeyed. Gef drew his knees tight to his chest and clapped both hands over his bleeding mouth as he looked up in terror at his father. The command almost silenced Darda as well. Jelin’s wife had one hand clapped over her own mouth and with the other she held Cordel tight to her body, muffling his cries.
“Food!” Papa commanded. He moved toward the fire and held out his hands to the warmth. Jelin did not move. Taura’s mother sat up, moaning and clutching her ribs. Taura looked down at the sword on the floor.
“Food!” her father said again. He glared round at them all, and his eyes made no distinction between his own bleeding wife and Jelin’s cowering one. Neither spoke nor stirred and Gef, as always, was useless.
Taura found her tongue. “Papa, please, sit down. I’ll see what I can find for you,” she told him, and went to Darda’s larder. The raiders had not burned Jelin’s home but had looted any foodstuffs they could find. She doubted she would find much on the shelves. In a wooden box, Taura found half a loaf of bread. That was all. But as she pulled the box down to get the bread, she saw something hidden behind the box. A clean cloth wrapped several sides of dry fish and a big wedge of cheese. Her outrage rose as she pushed it aside to see a trove of potatoes in a bag, a pot of honey, and a pot of rendered lard. Dried apples at the very back of the shelf. A braid of garlic! Darda had hidden all that rich food and forced them to exist on thin soup!
“You were holding the good food back from us!” she accused Darda, speaking toward the cupboard in a low voice. She broke a piece from the cheese and crammed it into her mouth. Behind her, her father roared, “NOW! I want food now!”
As Taura glanced over her shoulder, her father bared his teeth at her. His eyes were narrowed and he made a threatening noise in his throat. Taura carried the bread, honey, and cheese to the table. He didn’t wait for her to set it out nicely, but snatched the loaf in both his dirty hands. She dropped the cheese and set down the honey.
She backed away from the table. She spared a sideways glance for Darda and spoke in a low voice. “Mother, they were cheating us. Jelin said there wasn’t enough to go around but Darda hid food from us!”
The Book of Swords Page 7
