by AJ Kalliver
“I could have, yes.” Calmly, matter-of-factly, even. “I could have shot them from the darkness, and they barely would have had time to realize their end had found them; I’ve become very good with a bow, these last few years.” She raised the object he hadn’t seen resting across her thighs as she sat half-hidden in the grasses, and it was indeed a bow. One that was far more powerful than the small hunting implement she had taken into hiding with her, all those years ago. “I could have killed them both so very easily. I didn’t, though. How could I, when the only wrong they had done was to stray too near a particular passage through the mountains?” She blinked, the light of sunset setting her eyes to glowing like emeralds. “No, I didn’t visit murder upon them, but neither could I simply let them roam as they would; not when they were so close to stumbling upon a way in. So I stepped into the light of their fire, and spoke to them.”
Thad wondered if he would have been so brave, or so honorable, when confronted with the same choice.
“What happened?”
She only shrugged.
“They were surprised, as you can imagine. They answered me, though I understood them only with some difficulty. I think the way we say our words has changed, since we shut ourselves in the valley, or perhaps their words have changed, and ours have not. Even so, I spoke with them.”
She seemed reluctant to continue, and he thought he knew why. Still, he wanted to know everything. This event, these strangers who had come so near, changed everything.
“And?” he asked, leaning forward slightly. “What did they say?”
She frowned, her eyes on his and at the same time looking inwards, remembering the meeting.
“They said….” She shifted the bow again, stroking the satin-smooth wood absently with one finger as she looked into her memories. “They said they were glad to see a human being step from the darkness, and not a beast or monster. They said I was welcome to share their fire, and what little food they had.” Her lips twisted then, and her gaze sharpened. “They said I was beautiful.” She glanced at him, then away again, reluctant to meet his eyes. “And after a time, when they were very sure that I was all alone, they attacked me.” Rain kept her gaze fixed off to the side, on nothing at all, and it did not escape Thad that she’d said ‘they attacked me’ and not ‘they tried to kill me’. He had, through the years, felt many things for this woman; affection, annoyance, love… and later there had been betrayal, and disgust, and finally a sort of resigned acceptance. Now, though, he was surprised by the pity he felt; that, and something she deserved much more: compassion.
“Did they… hurt you?”
That made her raise her eyes to his, and he saw how shame had darkened them.
“No, they didn’t—or at least, not in the way you mean.” She raised one hand and when the loose sleeve of her blouse fell back, a long cut was revealed. The edges of the wound had been carefully stitched together with thread, and it was already showing signs that it was healing. When she turned her head slightly and pulled her hair away from her neck he could see the purple and blue mottling of bruises there, still livid even now. She let the sleeve fall back into place, and pulled her hair forward over her shoulder. Thad, confused, studied Rain’s face. Yes, the wounds were significant, but surely nothing worse than she had suffered in the past. Why, then, the look of shame that made her avoid his eyes?
“Rain, are you sure--?”
“I was afraid!” She said, surging to her feet. With unconscious ease she slung the bow across her back, where it nestled into place alongside a quiver of brown-fletched arrows. With her sword hilt at her other shoulder, and her chain shirt under it all, she looked like violence personified. Doubly strange, then, was the disquiet evident in her face, in her very movements. She stalked away, moving to where the draft horse stood tethered. When the next wagon was full of grain, the beast would pull it down the long road to the village. For now he was content to stand, and let Rain rub his velvety nose. “They weren’t farmers, Thad, and they weren’t herders, either. Those two were fighters, and they knew what they were about.”
That wasn’t something he could comment on with any degree of knowledge, so he tried stating the obvious.
“You must have beaten them, though; you’re here.”
She regarded him for a long moment, then nodded reluctantly.
“I beat them, but it was a near thing. I was too close, and they were on me before I could react. If they hadn’t been trying so hard to keep me alive, if they’d been trying to kill me instead of… the other thing, then I wouldn’t be here.” She shuddered then, and bit her lip so hard he expected to see a trickle of blood. “I was afraid,” she repeated, softly. “For so long, I’ve trained to fight… and the very first time I do it for real, against real men who mean me real harm, it’s nothing like I thought it would be.” Her hand curled around her knife hilt, gripping it so tightly that her fingers whitened. “It wasn’t like sword practice; that’s a kind of dance. It wasn’t about skill, or courage. It was biting, and scratching, and ramming my knife into a man’s belly over and over again while I screamed… and then watching him weep as he lay there dying.” Rain closed her eyes for a moment, as if to keep from seeing the scene in her memory. “I thought my battles would be… I don’t know, good, somehow. Noble.” She opened her eyes and began to slowly pace towards him once more. “I want to do good, Thad, I want to be someone who is strong, and skilled, and brave, and….”
She trailed off, and looking at her, the young man had a sudden revelation.
“…And you want your battles to be grand, glorious ones, don’t you?” Her lowered eyes were half-hidden by the hair spilling across them, nonetheless he saw reflected there the truth of what he said. “You want to be brave, and heroic, and prove that warriors aren’t what our people believe them to be.”
Rain nodded.
“Yes. All these years, I’ve shut myself away from the rest of you, waiting for my chance to prove to you that I’m not wrong, that what I am isn’t perverted, or evil, and now—“
“Now, when you finally get your battle, it isn’t what you expected,” he finished for her.
“No, no it wasn’t.” She slipped her sword from her shoulder, sheath and all, and held it in the crook of her arm, like it was a child. “It was ugly, Thad. Brutal, and ugly, and not noble or heroic at all. Worst of all, I was afraid.”
Thad tried to imagine what that must have been like for her, and could not. To kill, even to preserve one’s own life… it had to have been a horrible thing for her. Knowing she had killed, not simply knowing she had the capacity to kill, but that she had, in fact, killed two men… that was also a horrible thing. He was not sure how it changed his view of her, or even if it did, really.
“And because of that, you’re ashamed?” he asked. “What, do warriors never feel fear?”
“This one never has,” she muttered, moving away once more. He looked to the field; the others had finished their labors for the day, now they were gathering up their tools and streaming slowly towards the track that lead down the valley. A few were headed towards where he and Rain were standing.
“Should I tell them?” He asked, turning to her. “I should tell them, we both should warn them, shouldn’t we?” She made a helpless gesture.
“I don’t know. If we warn them, then the safe sameness of their world is torn apart, and it may be years, or longer, before more strangers find their way to that place, and beyond it, to here. If we don’t, and more men do come, then their lot is even worse.” The sun had now disappeared behind the mountain rim, and she was only an outline in the swiftly-growing darkness. “I know the sword and the bow, Thad. I leave the talking to you.” She withdrew, stepping into the tall grasses and trees that bordered the field. “Take care, and do not fare out alone. I took those two, and hid them well, but if there are others, then soon or late they will come looking for their friends, and they are not folk whom you would ever wish to meet; believe me.”
His frien
ds and neighbors were upon him, then, cheerful despite the weariness of a long, hard day. He nodded, and spoke to them, and even found a smile, somehow. Yet even as he did so, his eyes were only for the tall, slender form that slipped off, unnoticed, through the gathering night.
* * * * *
Days passed, and even though Thad could not bring himself to shatter their peaceful world with what-if’s, he still tried to take what extra care he could. He spoke to the other men of catching glimpses of a wolf in the shadows at twilight, and so they all made sure to be finished with the day’s labors before night had well and truly fallen. Care was taken that no one was left alone in the upper fields, and many eyes besides his own were turned outwards, watching for any possible danger. By the third day, however, especially with no hint of wolf-sign to be found by those hunters who cast about in search of the beast, his cautions had already begun to be dismissed as needless. There was too much to be done to flinch and stare at every odd sound or movement in the bushes. Even Thad himself began to think that his constant wariness was an overreaction to what might well be a non-existent threat. Had not Rain dealt with the brigands who had, albeit unknowingly, threatened the villager’s peaceful existence?
It was odd, he thought, how easy it was to accept the death she had dealt those two, when it was in service to his own safety, and that of those he held dear. Would he not have killed them himself, if they had threatened Brenna?
“Surely I would have,” He muttered to himself the next morning, as he heaved heavy bundles of cut stalks into the wagon. “Surely I would.” Not that he had the skills to do so; only one of the valley’s inhabitants had mastered that particular art, and look what manner of treatment she had received for her trouble.
When the wagon was loaded, he swung himself up to sit beside the driver. Old Marrick was able enough at the reins, but his bones tended to ache, and he would be all day at the mill unloading the sheaves unless younger, stronger hands were there to aid him. Together they rode down the long, well-worn track from the fields to the mill. Wide stands of trees spread across the gentle slopes; this was a familiar, long-tamed wood, where nothing dwelt that might threaten them.
“Have you seen your wolf of late?” Marrick jibed, when Thad stared too long off into the trees. Theirs was the first wagonload of the day, and the dew was still sparkling where the morning shadows lingered. When he turned to look at the old man, he found a leer upon those grizzled features. “Word is, that wild wench of yours has been seen lurking about, always near to where you might happen to be.” The graybeard actually had the audacity to wink at him. “Might be she’s ready to settle down a bit at last, with no care as to whether a certain young man is married or not!”
Thad ignored the cackles of laughter that followed; they had nearly reached the mill.
Situated at the one place in the lower valley where a stream fell with enough force to turn the wheel, it lay a half-mile and more from the village. Not so far that sharp eyes could not see, however, and so it was that as his wagon drew near, he saw Brenna walking up the way to meet them there, accompanied by four of the youngest children. When the wagon halted in the shadow of the barn-like structure, he leapt down to meet her, smiling.
She was of an age with him; though smallish in stature, barely topping his shoulder. Her eyes were green, her hair was brown, and though she was no great beauty, in his eyes she was radiant. He kissed her, then looked down at the covered basket she bore in her hands.
“I saw you upon the road, and thought we might eat together,” she said in reply to his questioning glance. Then her voice turned wry. “The children took it upon themselves to escort me; there is talk of a wolf, after all.”
He nodded, ignoring the snigger that came from the wagon’s seat, above and behind him. He wondered, though… had Brenna heard the same rumors as the old man? Did she fear that Rain would return to the village, would return to Thad, and displace her? It was ridiculous, even absurd, though the small, timid woman was certainly aware of the stories, of how he and the Wildling had been childhood loves.
“I’d love to; let me unload this, first, then we can find a spot by the stream.” She nodded, and herded the children out of his way. Thad strode to the mill’s entrance, stopping in the doorway to let his eyes adjust to the relative dimness within. “Fergus! Another load for you!” It was quiet within; the wheel mechanism was disengaged, so only the sounds of the children’s voices from outside carried clearly. He moved inside, wondering if perhaps the man had gone out to the privy to relieve himself. “Fergus?”
It was then that he saw the puddle upon the floor; bright red staining the yellow-gold of spilt wheat flour. There was no other sign of the miller, but that much blood was not the result of some minor accident, and the coolness of the building’s interior suddenly seemed clammy and cold. A soft cry from outside had him whirling about and hurtling himself through the door.
“Brenna!”
She was there, safe, as were the children, pressed back against the mill and staring with wide-eyed confusion at the stranger perched atop the wagon. He was clad in dark, poorly-mended leather, and his oddly-light-colored hair was greasy and ill-kempt. His face was narrow, pinched; hungry. With his right hand he pointed a short sword at Thad, while his left stayed where it was: holding a wicked, bloody knife at Marrick’s throat.
“You! Out here with the others!” It was as Rain had said; the man’s words sounded strange, oddly-formed and difficult to recognize, and in the moment’s hesitation it took him to decipher what had been said, the ragged stranger pressed the blade harder into the old man’s neck. “Now!” Thad did as he was told, moving to stand in front of Brenna, feeling her hand slip into his and cling tightly, though his gaze never left the stranger’s. The man watched this, and suddenly he smiled, though it was a cruel, humorless thing that failed to reach his cold eyes. “There’s a good little flock o’ sheep, it is.” He looked from Thad, to the children, and finally to Brenna. “All fine and well-fed too, just ain’t they now?” The young woman’s hands went to her belly, visibly swollen now that she was well into her pregnancy. Thad stepped to the side, placing himself fully in front of her, and the man laughed again. The children, still unsure of what was happening, shifted uncertainly, and the youngest of them began to cry. Marrick, the knife to his throat, held very still, though his eyes were locked imploringly upon Thad’s.
“Let the old man go,” He tried, though he held little hope of this ending without more blood being spilled. “If you are hungry, we will feed you. There is no need for killing.”
The man only sneered.
“We’re not here to ask for charity, boy. And as for killing—“ His knife pressed harder, making Marrick wince. “—When you’ve got too many sheep, you have to cull the flock!” He pulled the blade across the old man’s throat, loosing a heavy spill of red. The children shrieked, Brenna pulled back in mute terror, and Thad found himself moving forward, propelled by a kind of numb rage, though what good his fists would do against two blades he did not know. The stranger shoved Marrick’s corpse aside, and with his face a mask of murderous glee, leapt from his perch to meet Thad’s charge, sword and knife both reaching—
--And a hissing arrow took him in mid-leap, tumbling him backwards against the side of the wagon. Thad froze in place, unsure for a moment of what was happening, and the man regained his feet with a roar of pain and rage. The brown fletchings of the arrow stood only a hand’s breadth out from his chest, having driven easily through his leather armor, the entire thickness of his body, and out through the leather again, so that the barbed, bloody tip scraped against the wagon as he stood there, swaying. With bright scarlet froth foaming from his lips, the man raised his blades and took a step forward—only to have a second arrow strike home, this time passing through his throat without slowing, and leaving red ruin in its wake. He fell back again, this time against the draft horse that was still hitched to the wagon. When he collapsed, bloody and twitching against the beast, it’s
calm reserve finally broke, and it reared and pitched wildly, fighting to escape the scent of blood and the writhing thing beneath its hooves. Thad threw himself back, trying to shield both Brenna and the children, and after a moment the wagon’s hand-brake gave way, and the horse galloped away up the road, the wagon bouncing along behind, spilling sheaves of wheat along the way.
Thad turned to his wife, helping to ease her to the ground when it seemed that her legs were not solid enough to support her.
“H-he killed--!” She broke off, gulping at the air as if it were too thick to pull into her lungs. “He killed Marrick! Thad, he—“ Her eyes widened, and the crying children shrieked anew, clutching at his legs in fear. He followed their stares, and saw Rain loping towards them from the woods, bow in hand.
“It’s the Wildling Ghoul, come to kill and eat us!” Cried one of the children, and he leaned down to shush her.
“It’s no such thing, silly girl.” He glanced at Brenna, who looked up him, her face still pale with shock. “It’s our friend, Rain, and she’s just saved us all.”
The tall woman slowed to a walk as she reached them, and went immediately to old Marrick, lying still and silent in the dirt. “I’ve not saved you yet, Thad,” she said, kneeling beside the old man and turning his head slightly. Seeing that the wound had indeed been the death of him, she sighed and rose to face them. “There are more, not far behind me.” Her expression was grim.
“Bandits, I think, not soldiers belonging to one of the Lordlings, but a fair-sized band of them.”
“How many is ‘fair-sized’,” he asked, striving to be as calm as she.”
She ignored him for a few seconds, scanning the woods from which she’d just come before answering.
“Ten, perhaps as many as fifteen.” Seeing his dismay, she only shrugged. “I’ve already done for three so far this morning, since I first came upon them.” She moved to where the slain bandit lay, and with her toe she prodded the broken-tipped arrow in him mournfully. He saw that her quiver held only four more of the shafts, and he cleared his throat.
