by Walt Socha
Larry entered the smallest structure. Barely more than a roof, it proved to just be large enough to cover a foot diameter hole in the ground. The smell of ammonia and rotting shit barely masked the smell of fresh blood. He looked into the shallow pit and swayed, bile billowing into his throat. Small legs protruded from the muck.
“Fuck,” he said as he grasped the infant’s legs and pulled. The body left the sewage with a soft pop. Leaving the broken body on the ground, Larry vomited into the primitive latrine. After a long minute, he wiped his face, then the face of the dead baby. And froze. Larry collapsed to his knees, screaming. Images old and new flooded his mind. Blood and bodies.
“Larry,” a voice called. A hand grasped his shoulder. Someone knelt besides Larry.
“It’s Conal,” Larry said, his voice now a rasping whisper. “Birthmark above his right ear.”
“I’ll take care of him.” Matuso lifted the broken infant and disappeared.
* * *
“How many?” Larry stood in front of the latrine shelter, forcing himself to breathe evenly, slowly.
“Fifteen to twenty by the tracks.” Disunu said. “Skid marks indicate a boat about the size of Seabird. Only left two or three hours ago.”
“Any sign of Anya?”
“No other bodies.” Nanisu pointed to the main hut. “From the sleeping bundles, I figure maybe six adults and four or five children. Probably taken as slaves.”
“I think they’re coming back here.” Larry straightened. “They left fodder with the horses and cows. Didn’t take the blacksmithing anvil or tools.” They weren’t much. Poorly made. But iron was scarce here.
“Shall we wait for them?” Matuso’s strained facial muscles twisted his features.
“Ivar,” Larry said, turning to face the storehouse. “Get anything from the girl?”
The priest appeared in the doorway, face pale. “She was in the forest, picking pot herbs when the raiders came. From her descriptions, they were Northmen and Ur Neill. When they left, she hid in the fodder. But not before seeing that they headed upstream. The dead man and boy are her father and brother. Brocc and Ossian. She has a mother and another brother. There are two slaves and a slave infant also. And a stranger. All taken by the raiders.” His face hardened. “Except the stranger’s baby.”
“Does this river go to your abbey?”
“This river flows out of Lough Leane, where the abbey sits on an island.”
At Larry’s nod, Ivar returned to the girl.
“They’ll be cautious when they return,” Larry said. “Disunu, Hallur. Track them. We’ll follow. This river’s not much deeper than the Caragh. They’re going to have to drag that boat somewhere.” He closed his eyes, took a breath, and opened them. “We’ll kill them at a shallow spot.”
Both men nodded and headed to a path that led east along the river. In a few heartbeats, they disappeared.
Larry turned back to the storehouse. “Ivar, give us a minute to move the bodies. Then take the girl into her home and wait. We’ll be back.”
* * *
At the sound of a low whistle, Larry stopped on the animal trail they’d been following along the river. He only had time for a couple breaths before Hallur appeared ahead of them.
“There’s a bend to the left a few hundred strides upriver,” Hallur said. “An overgrown gravel bar is on this side. They are probably going to manually pull the ship through the rapids there. Disunu stayed to watch.”
“We’ll start with arrows.”
“From both sides?” Hallur asked.
“Best not to split up.” Larry stared east, eyes unfocused. “We’re outnumbered. We'll have to break them with arrows first.”
“With no spare arrows, the men haven’t been practicing,” Matuso said, his right hand worrying the pommel of his sword.
Larry gazed at each man in turn. They depended on him to make the right decision.
Nanisu took a deliberate step forward. “I swore an oath in Haven to protect all women and children.” Eyebrows pinched, he looked in the direction of the raiders’ ship. “Those who kill infants are not men.”
Matuso nodded. “Aim with care.”
One small part of the weight on Larry’s shoulders lifted. He nodded and Hallur turned to jog back the way he had come. Larry followed, his footfalls echoed by Nanisu and Matuso’s lighter ones.
* * *
Larry slipped one foot into the water and leaned forward, lowering his head to look through a gap in the riverside foliage. Fifty strides ahead, a ship similar to Seabird lay in the middle of the river. More than a dozen raiders splashed through the water, pulling lines attached to its prow.
“The river bends sharply to the left.” Disunu’s low voice broke the silence behind Larry. “Very shallow to the right. The small trees and shrubbery in the middle of the river are actually a shallow island. The bend and the island extend for several hundred strides.”
“Let’s move to the head of the island.” Larry backed out of the river and onto the shore. “It’ll take them several minutes to sort out the drag lines.” He turned his head and faced his men. “Whatever their position, start with the furthest. That will confuse them. Once we run out of arrows, we’ll use swords.”
* * *
Matuso crawled through the thick brush, his left arm aching from the exertion. On either side, the others kept up the pace in spite of being hampered by their long bows. A flash of silver marked a fleeing fish as he entered the small channel between the island and the shore. To his right, Larry and Disunu entered the water, making use of the more open spaces and keeping about ten strides apart. To his left, Nanisu and Hallur readjusted their relative positions. Once on the island, movement slowed. Twisted roots and river boulders impeded progress. As he approached the opposite side of the overgrown gravel bar, Matuso moved into a crouch and shifted his head to peer between two bushes. Four towlines fanned out in front of the raiders’ ship. Four men, naked except for trousers and a weapons belt, held each line. Swords and axes. Matuso smiled. No armor.
On either side of the ship, a guard stood at the gunwale, each holding a short bow and wearing a quiver. At the stern, one raider manned the steering oar. A fourth stood at the prow, also holding a bow. The head of a fifth appeared and then disappeared.
A low whistle came from the right. Matuso turned to see Larry kneeling, his bow upright. Low whistles confirmed the others were ready. “Ship first,” Larry screamed as he stood.
A breath later the arrows flew, their whistling through the air both softer and shriller than the human signals. On the ship, the bowman in the prow crumpled, an arrow sprouting from his chest. The man at the steering oar lurched, losing his balance, and fell out of sight. The other two men in the ship disappeared from view. A second flight of arrows arced in and two of the men furthest away in the water dropped. A third staggered. All the men in the water turned to peer at the foliage on the island as they reached for their swords or axes.
The raiders charged the island as the whistles of another flight of arrows competed with their angry shouts. One fell, two staggered but the remaining dozen warriors maintained their charge toward the island, their screams drowning out those of their wounded comrades. Matuso rose from his crouching position and slogged into the water, seeking space to use his drawn sword.
The fourth volley ripped into the nearest men. Three more of the raiders fell, their screams turning into a gurgle of water. A fourth staggered, just strides from Matuso. He stepped forward, feet scrambling on the rocky river bottom. Another step and Matuso thrust, his sword slipping into the injured man’s belly. The raider dropped, mouth open in a silent cry.
More arrows flew, dropping two more raiders, but one arrow whistled past Matuso’s head, its fletching flashing as it twirled in air. On the ship, two men drew back their arrows but one collapsed, his arrow disappearing into the foam of the rapids. Matuso shifted to the right, engaging another raider and using the attacker’s body as a shield from the remaining bow
man in the ship. A parry and Matuso’s sword slid into a bare throat. Blood fountained and the man dropped. Larry appeared to Matuso’s right and his vision filled with the swing of raiders’ axes and swords. More arrows filled the air in both directions.
A body fell to Matuso’s left as he parried an axe from the right. His sword rang, the very bones of his arm vibrating from the blow. As he crouched under his upraised sword, a rock shifted under his right foot. The water smashed into his hip. Then boulders dug into his side and his right hand scraped over rock. Above him a raider, red hair flying and open mouth revealing missing teeth, swung his axe arm over his head. Matuso fumbled to raise his sword as an arrow erupted from the raider’s chest. Unfamiliar fletching. The man crumpled.
Larry rose from the water, an arrow in his left shoulder. He bellowed and swung his sword. Another raider fell.
Silence. From across the river came the sound of breaking branches and fading footsteps.
Matuso drew in gasping breaths as his eyes flicked right and left. At his side, Larry stood, blood seeping down his left side. The bodies of five raiders ringed Matuso and Larry. Two floated on their backs, arrows blossoming from the torsos. Not the long arrows of Haven. Matuso turned. On the island, Teltina stood, bow loaded and drawn back, eyes sweeping the river.
“Nanisu.” Larry choked a cry and slogged upriver. The Haven man floated face down in the water, surrounded by the bodies of three raiders, one with Teltina’s shorter arrow buried in his neck.
A splash came from down river. Matuso turned to see Hallur forcing his way through the rushing water toward the ship. In shallower water, Disunu stood covering him. In a few heartbeats, Hallur reached the boat, grasped the gunwale and pulled himself onboard. He stood, unsheathed his sword and strode to the bow. His sword plunged twice. He turned and made his way to the stern. Twice more his sword plunged.
Hallur waved, grasped the steering oar, and swung the drifting ship into the shallows.
* * *
Larry’s face contorted as Teltina pushed a broken arrow shaft through the meaty part of his upper arm. Blood spurted and ebbed. He grabbed the gunwale with his right hand, stood, and swayed. At the stern, Disunu tugged at a knot that secured the ship in place before picking up his bow and peering into the forest. Near the prow, Matuso laid Nanisu’s body on the forward-most rowing bench.
Six bodies lay squirming at the bottom of the ship. One, a man, had ropes loosely wrapped around his ankles and wrists. It was Fillen, the refugee that Larry had sent away at Deirdre’s farmstead. The other five were women and kids, all tightly bound. Anya was one of the women.
Hallur’s facial muscles strained as he stood over Fillen. “When I climbed aboard, he was lying next to the captives, wrapping rope around his feet.”
“I was taken captive also.” Fillen’s eyes flicked from Larry to Hallur. “These raiders were going to sell me as a slave.”
Still bleeding, Larry took several steps forward and leaned over Anya. His knife flashed and her gag fell away.
“Conal.” Anya sobbed the high-pitched words. “He killed Conal.”
Larry moved his knife to Anya’s hands. “Who killed him?” He forced his voice to remain steady, but the knife shook as he cut through the ropes around Anya’s wrists.
“Fillen.” Anya pointed a shaking arm toward Fillen. “He laughed as he slit my baby’s throat. Then threw him in the shit hole.”
Larry stood, leaving Anya’s legs still bound. He turned to Fillen who crabbed tremor backwards to lean against the gunwale, hands held out in front of him. “You did what?” His shaking body magnified the tremor now in his voice.
“I swear I’m a captive.” Fillen’s entire body shook. “She’s just a slave. Her word is no good.”
“He killed the baby.” A woman next to Anya held up her hands to Disunu’s knife, the remains of a gag hanging around her neck. Bruises darkened her face. Her voice shook. “After he sarded me and her.” She nodded toward Anya.
Blood still seeping from the wound in his left shoulder, Larry stepped closer to Fillen. Forcing concentration over the roaring in his ears, he looked down at the quivering man. As he braced his feet to drive the knife downward, the vision of tiny feet sprouting from sewage stayed his movement. Too easy. He dropped the knife and reached down with his right hand to haul Fillen to his feet by his throat. “My mistake for not killing you earlier.” Bringing up his left hand to join his right, Larry squeezed.
Fillen grabbed Larry’s wrists and strained to pull them from his throat. Silence reigned except for the slash of Disunu’s knife on ropes, Anya’s sobbing, and the frantic shuffling of Fillen’s feet. Long minutes passed. Fillen’s body finally convulsed and sagged.
With a grunt, Larry heaved the lifeless body overboard. The splash silenced Anya’s sobbing and the roar in his ears. He sagged to his knees, shifting to sit on the overlapping planks that made up the ship’s floor. He lowered his face into his right hand. The thrill of killing an asshole faded, leaving a guilt-tinged emptiness—an emptiness deepened by the image of tiny feet emerging from the muck.
As his shoulder continued to bleed, Larry wept.
* * *
Within an hour, the homestead appeared. Larry nodded to Matuso, who grounded the boat and jumped ashore to secure it to a gnarled oak.
Shoulder bandaged by Teltina, Larry helped Disunu carry Nanisu’s body ashore. They carried him to the center of the farming compound where Larry knelt by his fallen friend. Disunu left him to help the others clamber out of the ship. The older woman, maybe in her early thirties, looked around, eyes wide. The young girl burst from the main hut and ran to her. The boy stood still for a moment after departing the ship and then joined them in a sobbing hug. Two younger women stood at a distance, one holding the smallest freed captive and the other rubbing the rope burns on her wrists. Their eyes stayed wide as they watched Brocc’s family mourning.
Larry looked back toward the ship to see Anya staggering as she walked away from the ship, heading to the pit toilet. Teltina joined her, wrapping an arm around her waist for support. Ivar intercepted and guided both of them to the center of the compound. Matuso materialized carrying a small bundle, placed it next to Nanisu’s body, and stepped back a pace. Anya fell to her knees next to Conal’s body. She lifted the cloth from the infant face and collapsed, sobbing.
Larry stood silent until all were gathered around the bodies. “Who are you all?” His low voice competed with the sobbing of Brocc’s family and Anya.
After a long minute, the older woman spoke. “I am Uaine. Wife of Brocc. He and my son Ossian were killed by the raiders.” She took a long shuddering breath. “Thank you for saving my son, Lonan, and protecting my daughter, Evlin.”
Larry looked up at her and nodded. He looked to the two younger women. “And you?”
“They are our—my—slaves,” Uaine said. “My husband and son?”
“They are in the blacksmith shed,” Ivar said. “I have performed Last Rites.”
The woman nodded. “Liaden, wash the bodies.” Uaine looked at the taller of the two slave women.
“You will prepare your own husband’s body.” Larry stared at Uaine. Did he have to go through this shit again? “The slaves are no longer under your control. They are freed.”
Ignoring Uaine’s open mouth, Larry turned to the now freed women. “What are your names?”
Ivar moved to the two women and placed a hand on each’s shoulder. “You are safe with us.”
“I am Liaden, and this is my son, Cian.” The taller woman looked down at the boy holding her hand. She brushed her matted dark blond hair from her face as she looked at Larry. “Thank you.”
Ivar touched the elbow of the other woman. She raised her head, peering at the men through dirty red hair. “Davnat.”
Larry turned around. “Teltina, we must thank you.”
“Teltina?” Uaine said. “I thought you looked familiar.”
Teltina, ignoring Uaine, knelt at Anya’s side and faced
Larry. “I am sorry for your fallen friend. I will pray for him.” She looked down. “And for Conal.”
“Pray?” Uaine said in a sharp voice. “I watched the Abbot burn your husband for paganism. I thought you dead. Your prayers will send this man and baby to hell. And you.” She turned to Larry. “Who are you to free my slaves and to travel with a pagan?” Her weathered face burned red as she pinched her eyebrows together.
Larry wiped his face with his trembling right hand. “Teltina, you probably saved our lives. How did you happen to be there?”
“Yesterday morning, Deirdre visited me. She asked about Anya.” Teltina placed a hand on Anya’s shoulder.
Anya turned to stare at Teltina with an open mouth.
“She ran off when I said I had not seen her.” Teltina looked up at Larry. “I decided to follow. But you had gone by the time I arrived at your camp.” She tossed her red hair and shrugged one of her shoulders. “I followed.”
“Anya, can you talk?”
Anya was silent for a long time. Finally, she took in a deep breath and raised herself to her knees, eyes on her dead infant. “I am distant kin with the Ur Neill. I thought they would help me go home. Instead they used me and killed…” Sobs wracked her voice. She collapsed back to the ground.
“This is so fucked.” Larry looked around at his remaining men and the new refugees. “We leave in the morning.” He looked at the two former slaves. “You are welcome to come with us. We will protect you.” He turned to Uaine. “You may go with us. But under our rules. No slaves. And I don’t give a shit about religion.” He shook his head. “Hallur, Disunu, check out the ship. Take anything that’s valuable. Then load it up with fodder and firewood. We’ll burn the damn thing before we leave.” Larry returned his gaze to the newly widowed Uaine. “Stay or leave with us?”
“I’ll seek protection at the abbey. Where my soul will be safe,” she said, glancing at Teltina.
“We leave at first light.” Larry looked at the low sun before fixing his eyes on Uaine. “We will purchase several of your horses and your blacksmithing tools.” She looked away. “Let’s bury the dead,” Larry said, “and say our remembrances. Uaine, any shovels here?”
