by AJ Kalliver
At that she sighed, and stepped closer. Thad stiffened, anticipating the flash of that sword, but it did not come. Just beyond arms reach she stopped, and he saw that her expression had grown softer, even wistful.
“Can you really think that of me, my friend? My love?” He twitched at that word, his sense of betrayal growing stronger by the moment, and she sighed again. “No, I’ll not murder you here, not for my secret, not for any reason under the sun or the stars.” He felt no relief at knowing that he would live; the bitterness within him left no room for such things. She looked sad then, even before she asked: “Will you keep my secret, and not tell the others?” His face must have showed her his answer, for she only nodded. “I understand,” she said, her voice heavy with regret.
With that she turned away, and moved to the far side of the crypt. As he watched there came a scrape of stone, and then she reached deep into some hidden recess, and began pulling forth items both strange and familiar. A long sheath of leather, made to accommodate the sword she held. A coat of supple leather, upon which were stitched oddly-shining pieces of something he recognized from the old tales; chainmail. Scavenged from the crypts, no doubt, and not enough to make a complete suit, the pieces she’d found or repaired were enough to cover strategic areas of her torso and upper arms.
She belted the coat at her waist, hanging the sword there also, in its scabbard. A battered old pack he recognized from their childhood, when it had carried grain for one of the village’s few horses. This she shouldered, along with a small hunting bow and a half-filled quiver of arrows.
All this time she had avoided looking at him, refusing to meet the accusing stare which he held steady upon her. Now, though, she faced him once more.
“I’m sorry, Thad,” Rain said, and even through his confusion and pain, he believed her. Not that it changed what he was feeling. She turned away, and took a handful of slow strides away before pausing and looking back over her shoulder. “I never meant to hurt you.”
With that she moved on, her moonlit form quickly dwindling with distance as moved down the trail. Somehow, and despite everything, he had still thought she would take the fork of the path that led to the village. Instead he saw her strike off across the rocky slope, angling towards the wilderness that dominated the upper reaches of their valley. He stood and stared after her, in the dark and the cold, long past the time when she had passed beyond his sight.
“You did hurt me, my friend, my love,” He finally whispered aloud, to the stones, and the lichen, and the moss. “And I should not have been surprised… because that is what warriors do.”
* * * * *
A half-dozen of the village’s sturdiest men trooped along the stream, following Drent, the grizzled old hunter who was acknowledged as their best tracker. Drent, in his turn, followed the tracks left behind by their quarry.
Thad followed along, torn between guilt at having told the elders of Rain’s perverse secret, and the faint hope that once they had found her and brought her back to the village, some measure of sanity could be restored to her, that he might once again find in her the girl he had once known.
“How big is this knife the girl’s found?” asked Geran the blacksmith. “I know you said it was big, but I’m thinking it’s about—“ he held his hands about a foot apart, “This long? Like a skinning blade?”
The young man shook his head wearily.
“No, bigger than that. I told you—“ He was interrupted by a hand clapping down on his shoulder.
“Never mind that, boy,” came the voice of Reiger, a tall man who could wield a woodcutter’s axe with tremendous strength and skill. “Finding it doesn’t mean she can use it. Once we find her we’ll have it away and thrown into the bottom of some pond, and that’ll be the end of it. And the end of all her running about and playing at being a man, while we’re at it.” He looked to the others for support and received it, in firm nods and quiet mutters of agreement. Thad was a bit concerned at the dark looks sported by the men, especially in light of the weapons they bore. Not that they were anything more than stout wood; tool handles from the smithy that had been intended for hoes or hatchets or the like. Still, the thought of these men, using them to beat down the slender girl was enough to rouse a feeling of dread in him.
Nearly as much dread as that raised when he considered what she might do to them in turn.
“Please, be careful when we find her. It’s not just a knife, and it’s not something she’s only just found.” He recalled the brief moments on the mountainside when he had seen her wielding the forbidden weapon. “I think she might have had it for years, and she looked like she’s been practicing with it for years, too.”
Disdainful laughter was all he earned for that warning, and moments later even that was forgotten. There, standing in plain sight at a bend in the stream, was the object of their hunt.
“Go home!” Rain called out when they drew near. Even across the fifty yards that separated them, Thad could see that her mail coat was nowhere to be seen, though she did have the sword in its place at her side. “Leave me in peace, and I’ll do the same for you! Lay a hand upon me, and the cost will be yours to bear home!”
A few chuckles arose from the men, though most were stunned into momentary silence by the girl’s sheer audacity in speaking so to her elders.
“Cease this foolishness, girl!” Geran called back in return. “The fault in this is shared by us all, for having spoilt you all these years. Running about and playing at being a hunter or a soldier would be shameful enough in a young child; someone your age should be worrying about pleasing her father or husband, not leading them about the woods in a chase when there are more important things they needs be about!”
Rain only shook her head and called out once more.
“Go back!”
There was no fear in her voice, only a coiled tension straining towards release. With many scornful words shared among themselves, the men continued forward. Thad trailed along behind, and when he saw Rain unbuckle her belt and let the sword fall his heart leapt. Then she bent to retrieve something from the ground; a polished length of wood the length of her arm… or her sword. Holding it in one hand, she stepped forward to meet the six men who had come to take her.
Standing as he was, outside of it, Thad could almost follow it all. For those within the melee that erupted when the men reached the young woman, it must have seemed utterly incomprehensible.
The first reaching hands were batted aside with sharp raps that only stung knuckles. When, with angry growls, the men grabbed at her more forcefully, Rain began dealing blows that rang out across the clearing, and resulted in agonized yelps and roars of anger. Slipping deftly away from clutching hands, the girl circled around the gang of men, moving lightly as they tripped and stumbled in their haste to reach her.
When they closed this time, the hunters went in with sticks swinging. Thad winced, started forward, then stopped short as he saw that Rain was still holding her own and more. Sharp clacks marked her parries, and more often than not she simply wasn’t there when one of them attempted to strike. Her stick rang off shins, and elbows, and again she slid through the midst of the men as if made of wind.
Or almost; a blow came in from the side, unseen in the confusion, and she grunted as it struck her high on one thigh. Stumbling, she fell forward, carried forward in a smooth roll, and bounced to her feet in time to whirl and slap a pair of wildly-swung staves away. A blurring move, and another, and both men were staggering back with blood streaming from their smashed noses. Hastily backpedaling as Geran charged like the bull he so resembled, Rain blocked high, feinted to one side, and then darted past him, her stick ringing loudly off of one kneecap in passing. The blacksmith gave a choked scream as he toppled, clutching at the injured leg.
Three men were still on their feet and deathly angry, and they were swinging their weapons with all the force of their rage. It was no longer a question of gently subduing a rebellious child; they were beyond thought, be
yond anything save their need to prevail over this upstart girl who was defying them in such an impossible fashion. They attacked Rain relentlessly, pressing forward without pause, and their strength and reach did grant them some measure of success. The tall girl was struck a solid blow upon her left forearm, which caused her to cry out in pain and clutch it tight to her side. She smashed that man’s fingers in reply, but while doing so she failed to parry Drent the tracker’s wild swing. His staff glanced off her temple, and she was knocked sprawling. Long moments passed, with no sound but that of heavy breathing from those who still stood, and moans of pain from those who did not. Finally, and with great caution, the two men advanced upon the figure that lay motionless upon the ground. Drent, his weapon held ready to smash downwards, prodded her with his boot, none too gently.
He received the powerful thrust of a stick to the groin for his trouble.
As he folded to the ground, shrieking, Rain used her bad arm to awkwardly rake the hair back from her eyes. The final man, Kurbin, began to back away at the look he saw there. When she rose to her feet, he turned and began to run. A moment later her thrown stick whirred through the air and caught him solidly across the back of his skull, felling him in mid-stride.
Thad stared in disbelief at the girl who stood there, victorious. Of the six men who had faced her, not one remained willing or able to carry on. Even more remarkably, not one of the six, not even poor groaning Kurbin, or the shrilly weeping Drent, looked to have been permanently harmed. He doubted it was chance; even in the middle of the wild clash, he had seen her deliberately miss an exposed throat, and purposely lessen a blow to a vulnerable spine.
Rain limped forward, wiping gingerly at the blood trickling down the side of her face, and she spared Thad only a glance. After bending to retrieve her swordstick, she spent a moment surveying the wounded men.
“Go home,” She said, quietly and yet in a voice of iron. “Seek me out again, and I’ll give you twice the pain you’re feeling now. Come back a third time, and I’ll double it yet again.” She tapped the end of her stick meaningfully upon Drent’s thigh as he lay there, still writhing in pain. “I doubt any of you would be able to walk far enough after the third time to trouble me.”
She turned away, then, heading back across the grass to where her sword lay. Moments later she was in the trees.
“Go home,” came once more from the shadows, faintly, and Thad was certain that this time the words were intended for he and he alone. So he helped the injured men stand, and those who were less hurt assisted those who had gotten the worst of it, and together they made their long, painful way back to the village.
They were greeted there by the incredulous stares of the children, and the shrill, outraged shrieks of the women.
“How dare she!?” sputtered Drent’s wife. “That, that harpy! Spawn of a black-hearted lowlander, how dare she wreak such havoc among our peaceful folk?”
Several men who had not gone out with the searchers were heard to mutter that wreaking havoc was what warriors were known to do… but they did not move to organize another hunting party. Instead, the wounded were cared for, and the fears of the women and children were soothed as much as was possible, and life in the valley continued much as it always had.
With one notable, seldom spoken-of difference.
* * * * *
Spring had drawn to an end and Summer was in full bloom before Rain was seen again, and even that was nothing more than a fleeting glimpse caught by a pair of boys herding goats in one of the upper meadows. Small and isolated, hardly a hundred paces across and cupped by steep slopes covered in scrub and weeds, it made an excellent place to pen such livestock in the brief warm months. Come Winter this place would be tree-deep in snow, though of course by then everyone would be snug and safe in their lodges.
Everyone except… her, but she was not to be spoken of; the elders had declared it to be so.
Still, when the lads saw the lone figure crouched beside a tall Fir on the far side of the grassy bowl, they could hardly believe their eyes. When they turned to look again she was gone; as quick as that and with not a single sign to show that she had been there. All that night they sat awake and stared out at the darkness, wondering if she would come and kill them as they slept in the rude lean-to that was all the shelter a pair of herders needed at the Summer pasture. When morning came and they yet remained among the living, one of the drawn and weary lads ran down to tell the village what they had seen. The other, having proven unlucky in the drawing of straws, remained to watch over the goats.
The reaction of the Elders was all the self-appointed messenger could have hoped; within minutes of his arrival a force of twenty stick-wielding men were striding up the well-beaten path. When, after the long and arduous climb they reached the pasture, they found the remaining boy sound asleep, having lost his battle with sleep at last. Around him grazed the goats, seemingly unaware that anything was amiss. The men, led by a hesitant, and still-limping Drent, began a search of the surrounding hillsides, braced for an attack by the crazed girl who now haunted their formerly safe and serene refuge. They failed to find her, despite a half-day of looking.
What they did find was the body of a slain wolf larger than the two boys put together. Upon the oddly thin body they found three wounds; an old, puss-filled mark upon a hind leg, as if of a bite that had gone bad and left the creature weakened and mad, a strike to the ribs that was unmistakably that of an arrow, and a neat cut to the throat that looked to have ended the poor beast’s misery.
All of this, scarcely more than a stone’s throw from where the boys would have been sleeping away the warm night, secure in the knowledge that nothing more dangerous than a goat could possibly be near.
Looking upon this, several of the Elders conferred.
“Years it has been, the lives of these lads and more, since a wolf was even heard in the valley, and now this one has come near to killing our children,” said one, staring angrily at the carcass.
“Aye; ‘tis the unnatural hellion, the Wildling, that’s stirring up things better left alone. No doubt she’s running alongside creatures like this, thinking to lead them down to our very homes, to laugh as we cower in fear of ‘em, and herself.”
The third man folded his arms and surveyed the hills that rose around them.
“Well, we’ll not show her any fear. Still….” He regarded the two boys who moved watchfully among the goats. “Best we bring the lads home, and leave two of our
stronger men here to watch the flock. If she comes back and tries to steal a few for herself or her friends, she’ll see that we’re not going to be giving them up so easily.”
They all agreed that the Wilding would likely try that very thing. Scavenging and stealing from honest, decent folk was, after all, what warriors do.
* * * * *
Summer had ended, and Fall was well under way when Rain was seen again, and this time it was much more than a fleeting glimpse. One afternoon, in full view of the sun and the sky and every single inhabitant of the village, she came walking down the middle of the street, as boldly as you please.
Thad, having been pulled away from the workroom where he had been crafting his aunt a new chair for her kitchen, first saw her as she stood facing the quickly gathering crowd. He saw that she wore her mail coat, now redone and much more functional-looking than when he’d first seen it. The sword hung at her side, and her stick was ready in one hand. Across her shoulder she bore a bundle of furs, and her pack lay at her feet, full of small items which he couldn’t clearly see from this distance.
Not that anyone else was any closer than he; the semi-circle of village folk was giving her a very respectful margin, as everyone had seen the bruises sported by the last men to encounter her close-up.
“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” She announced after the silence had stretched long. “I just wanted to trade for some things I need; I’ll give a fair price.” She bounced the bundle on her shoulder, and nodded to the pack upon the
ground. None of the villagers answered, though many looked to the Elders to see what their reaction would be. From
that quarter came no reaction at all, only faces that seemed set in stone. Greeted with this silent rejection, the young woman said nothing more. Her eyes shone bright as emeralds in her tanned face, and it seemed that she could have spoken long and passionately in her own defense… if only she had felt that anything required defending. Finally, she picked up her pack and moved forward, towards the sturdy lodge that served as a storehouse for much of the people’s goods. The crowd parted before her, then flowed after as she entered the structure. Several Elders and their wives actually entered behind her, and watched as she chose from the materials stored there. Nothing extravagant, and by no means a large amount of anything. A small sack of salt, a larger one of flour, a bolt of plain, homespun cloth, needles and thread…. In return she left all the furs, several bundles of beautiful feathers that the best seamstresses often used to decorate their finer dresses, and a sack that proved to be full of ground lysaminn nuts, which were quite rare, and greatly prized by all for their value as a spice. It was, in all fairness, a more than even trade for what she took with her.
Outside the storehouse, Rain walked past the crowd once more, this time heading for Geran’s smithy. Thad followed after her, along with the rest of them, and watched as she confronted the big man.
“Here,” she said, offering him a small bundle wrapped in a scrap of hide. “I need a new knife, and…” Here she looked abashed for the first time. “…I also wanted to repay you for the file and the whetstone I took from you.” He made no move to take the bundle from her, so she set it upon his anvil. Under the watchful eyes of both the smith and the villagers, she chose from among the completed tools that lay there a new knife; the plainest, most serviceable one to be seen. It was unlikely that anyone would have tried to stop her had she taken the beautifully-engraved tool that lay right beside the first, but she simply took the one and turned away.
