by Walt Socha
“Looks like the gods have left us a place to sit,” Teltina said, stepping to Larry’s side.
Chapter 24
August 10
“Please get in line along these piles of rock and listen up.” Larry sighed as the four women formed a ragged line at the south end of the playing field—or the hurling field as Cassan insisted they call it. Off to the side, Hatimu stood, his leg still too stiff to join the men training in the center of the field. Next to him, Ivar stood, shuffling his feet.
“We think you should concentrate on staves, slings, and the short bows. Staves you have started.” Larry stopped as Maeve and Niam snickered. He closed his eyes, forcing a frown. He had almost rolled on the ground laughing when he had heard about Fergus’s beating. The little shit had most certainly deserved it. “Look, this is not funny. Fergus lost a friend to the Northmen.” Larry blew out a breath, any urge to laugh disappearing as the events of the past weeks flooded his thoughts. “So he may have been a bit overenthusiastic.”
“What bows will we be using?” Deirdre asked, breaking a thick pause.
“The shorter bows should be done in a few days. Along with wrist guards and vests to protect your, ahh, torsos.” Larry glanced around the field. “Teltina will help you with those.” She wasn’t in sight. “Today, Ivar will lead your practice on the sling. Your targets are there.” Larry pointed. Leather patches from rabbit-size to an entire deerskin hung in the twisted ash, elm and oaks that bordered the field. The mid-afternoon sun cast rippled shadows on the skins, which were animated by a light breeze.
“They are all yours,” Larry said, turning to Ivar. The young priest’s mouth twitched as he looked around. The poor man was terrified. Was it the teaching or the women’s attention? Larry stepped back, leaving Ivar alone in front of the four waiting women.
Ivar took a breath, paused, and let it out. “As a child, I was responsible for the abbey’s sheep. I used slings against wild dogs and wolves.” He lifted a long thin rope from around his neck. “Tied in the middle is a patch for the rock. At one end of the rope is a loop. That goes around a finger on your right hand. The other end is loosely held in that same hand.”
He held out his hand. The leather patch hung from two stride-long ropes, one tied around the middle finger, the second pinched between his thumb and forefinger. Ivar stooped, picked up a stone half the size of his fist from one of the several piles. “Holding the pouch in your left, place a rock in the pouch.” He transferred the rock to his right, gripping it between his free fingers and palm, and placed it in the pouch. “Hold it in place with your left.”
The rock fell out of the pouch.
Mouth open, Ivar looked down at the projectile now lay on the ground.
“You mean like this?” Larry stepped forward, attaching his own sling to his right hand. Picking up the fallen rock, he placed it in his sling’s pouch, and twirled it. With a step forward, he loosed it at one of the trees. The rock flew through the upper canopy of an oak, releasing a few leaves to float to the ground. One flittered past one of the skins. Larry turned and, with a small nod, stared directly at Hatimu.
“At least you hit the tree,” Hatimu said after a heartbeat. “Ivar, please show this old man how to use the sling properly.”
One of the women tittered. Deirdre just looked at Larry with narrowed eyes.
Larry forced a scowl at Hatimu, relieved that they’d gotten some of the attention off the young priest.
Ivar’s next rock smacked the center of the smallest leather target, its supporting branches quivering. The rock bounced back to fall just within the scythed clearing.
“What did I do wrong?” Larry said as he fitted another rock in his sling.
“Stance.” Ivar demonstrated. Another leather target sang as it vibrated.
Larry shifted his feet and aimed at the largest target. Hit it. “Hatimu, see if you can do better.”
In spite of his wobbly leg, he did.
Larry grinned as he left Ivar working with the women. And Hatimu helping Maeve.
* * *
Larry’s stomach growled as he crossed the field toward the slinging area. From the sun, he guessed it would soon be dinnertime. He’d best gather Ivar and the kids. Keelin had promised a deer and turnip stew for dinner. Although Larry wasn’t sure about the turnips, he’d eat anything with venison in it. As he approached, it was evident from the expression on Ivar’s face that he enjoyed working with the kids much more than the women. The priest was beaming.
Larry slowed. Rory had joined the training for the last few days. And he, Garvan, and Fennore seemed to be making a game of it. They lined up and, on a count of three, swung and released their rocks. One, two, three. And the towering oak, survivor of decades if not centuries of abuse, shook as three rocks pelted the battered deerskins strung among the branches.
Larry clapped. “Hey, great.”
Ivar turned and looked sheepish. Like a kid caught having fun when he should have been doing chores.
“You are doing great,” Larry said to the kids, smiling to himself as he noted that Ivar’s expression changed from embarrassed to relieved. “But if Ivar is done with you, maybe we ought to think about cleaning up for dinner.”
“Mother says washing causes sickness,” Garvan said.
“What do you see when you hold a handful of soil?”
“Bugs.”
“How small?”
Garvan held up his hand, his thumb and forefinger almost touching.
“Well, you can see smaller bugs than I can,” Larry said. “But can others see smaller bugs than you?”
“Maybe, but my eyes are really good.”
“True. But there are bugs that are so small even the best eyes can’t see them. And some of them cause sickness.” Larry decided he was doing pretty well with the example. “So we want to wash the bugs off before eating.”
“We eat bugs when there's no food,” Garvan said.
Larry gave up. “Clean up or I’ll throw you all in the river.”
Garvan shrieked and Rory waved his hands in the air as they ran off laughing.
“I hit the target almost every time,” Fennore said, shaking her head theatrically as she watched the two run toward the center of Sanctuary.
“That is great.” Larry nodded and turned to Ivar. “Thanks for helping.”
“It is my honor,” the priest said. “I will join the boys at the river.”
As Ivar walked off, Larry turned to Fennore. “Show me again how you are doing with the sling.”
Fennore picked up a small stone and fitted it to her sling’s pouch. “I cut a few slits in the pouch. It holds the stone better.” She swung. And hit the smallest leather target in the tree, the stone bouncing back onto the cleared field.
Larry stared. Remembered to close his mouth. “That was a great shot.” He glanced up at the low sun. “And deserves dinner.”
As they walked toward Sanctuary and the river beyond, Fennore scrunched up her face in thought. “Why is your wife not with you?”
“Unfortunately, she died several years ago.” Larry smiled in spite of the flash of pain. This was one inquisitive little girl.
“I will pray to God for her soul.”
“You…” Larry paused. “Thank you.”
“Will you marry again?”
Larry hesitated. Memories flooded his mind. Along with the ever-present guilt. “Probably not.”
“How did she die?”
Larry closed his eyes. Shit. She was just a kid. Asking an innocent question. “She died in childbirth.” Trying to birth a kid that she hadn’t really wanted to have. But he had wanted a third child, and she had given in to his desire. And died.
“I am sorry.”
“It has been over a hand of years.” Larry tried to smile and hoped he didn’t look demonic.
* * *
Fergus filled another bowl with the evening’s stew and, looking up, lifted it to the next person in line.
“Thank you,” Deirdre said as
she took the bowl. The ends of her mouth curved up a hair’s breadth.
“All I do is fill food bowls.” Fergus glanced toward Keelin who sat next to him carving slices of deer to add to each bowl. “Keelin made the stew. Quite tasty.”
Deirdre opened her mouth. Closed it. Before she turned away, she met his eyes for several heartbeats.
As soon as all were served, Keelin helped Fergus stand and served him a bowl. He thanked her and looked around. All the benches were filled. Behind the benches, in a rough semi-circle, stood the sleeping huts and workshops.
Fergus headed toward the hut that sheltered his father’s budding forge. It wasn't set up and wouldn’t be until they got charcoal production going. But it had a log on which he could sit and enjoy his dinner. In peace. Without the stares of the women.
* * *
Larry looked up as Jessie entered the light of the dying fire. “All is well?”
“Sentries are out. They’re even awake.” Jessie sat next to Fergus. “Moving better yet?”
“Yeah, I should be back to whatever passes for normal in a couple of days,” Fergus said, his eyes on the fire.
“Think you’d be up for a foray to the south coast?” Larry looked around at the late night gathering. Jessie, Fergus, and Matuso returned his gaze, all with eyebrows slightly raised.
“Scouting it out?” Matuso said.
“Yeah, want to see if we can move the ships?” Larry poked the fire with a charred piece of wood. “Ouch.” He shook his fingers. “Teltina says there’re several farmsteads that way. But they may have been taken over by what she called ‘wildlings’.”
“We going to kill more people?” Fergus asked with a grimace.
“I figure we’ll go armed but plan to just talk,” Larry said.
Chapter 25
August 12
Larry looked down the valley that opened into a vast panorama. In the distance—maybe seven or eight miles—the bay formed a flat dark ribbon, backed by the mountains of yet another peninsula that stretched out like an additional finger to the southeast. Below, a thinner ribbon of a small creek tumbled down and grew as the steep valley sides broadened and softened into a broad plain bounded by small hills.
“Rugged and ragged,” he said.
“Yet beautiful.” Teltina appeared at his side, her unstrung bow over her shoulder. “I think the smoke marks the Wildlings’ settlement.” She pointed.
A half-mile from the bay, smoke betrayed habitation along the left side of a small bend in the river. “Maybe four hours to get there,” Larry said, turning. The last of the men appeared, clambering down the twisting deer-path to gather around him.
He had decided on only a dozen men. Plus Teltina. Jessie and Fergus had each brought five men from their respective crews, leaving Matuso in charge of Sanctuary and the three ships. All had bows and swords or axes. Two carried flintlocks. They had decided against armor because of its weight and to avoid looking threatening.
“We will camp below. Head toward the bay along the river in the morning.” Larry turned and pointed. “We’ll travel along the left side of the river.”
“Must you meet the Wildlings?” Teltina’s mouth tightened into a thin line.
“If we decide to move the ships to this bay, we will need to do so with their knowledge.” He faced Teltina. “Thank you for leading us. We would have spent days finding this pass through this jumbled terrain.” Larry paused to take a long breath as he gazed at the dusty woman in front of him. He didn’t want her with them tomorrow. “Will you return to the valley of Sanctuary?”
Teltina stared at Larry for several breaths. Her face showed no emotion, but her eyes pierced his. “I will wait here in the mountains. Do not trust them.”
* * *
Larry’s stomach growled as they hiked along the game trail that followed the river’s edge. They had risen early and skipped food.
“I thought we were supposed to be quiet,” a voice whispered behind Larry.
“Fergus, sometimes I think the best part of you dribbled down my leg.” Larry raised a hand. The sun was close to straight up. After four hours of hiking, they had to be close to the Wildlings’ settlement.
“String bows and load the flintlocks,” he said as the men gathered close.
“The plan?” one of the men asked.
“The forest is dense. And this path is not well used.” Fergus met his father’s eyes. “So they won’t see us. And we won’t see them.”
Jessie moved through the men to stand next to Fergus. “Two groups?”
Larry shifted his view to the narrow trail. “When we’re close, I’ll go in alone. Fergus, at that point take your men through the forest. With the two flintlocks. Jessie, follow me but keep back. Or move into the water to parallel the trail. Use your judgment.”
Men shifted and Samatu edged between Fergus and Jessie. “A single man is suspicious. I’ll go with you into the settlement.”
Larry gazed at his old friend. Nodded.
At the sound of crashing branches, Larry turned, his hand moving to his sword. A deer burst onto the trail a couple dozen strides further along the trail, stopped, and bounded back into the forest. In several heartbeats, the sound died. Larry remained frozen.
“What was that about?” A voice whispered nearby.
“It was fleeing something,” Larry said. “Or somebody. Let’s go but watch our flanks and rear.”
A half hour later, they found a fish weir and the game trail widened into a path. As Jessie and his warriors slowed, Fergus and his four remaining men faded into the forest. Within a few minutes, the path widened into a clearing. Larry glanced at Samatu. At his nod, Larry walked into the clearing, Samatu’s footfalls behind him.
The settlement, more than a single farmstead, stretched out of sight as the river curved. A half-dozen thatched dwellings of wattle and daub followed the visible section of the path. Smaller shelters and huts dotted the spaces around the main structures. To the left, fences of posts and interwoven branches separated fields of grain. To the right, a thin line of small shrubs and trees bordered the river.
One single man stood in the path several hundred strides away. He wore a grey tunic over leggings. An axe protruded from a belt. He raised one empty hand, his other resting on his hip.
“Hello,” Larry said in Eire, stopping and raising his right hand in greeting, his left held a foot away from his axe.
Behind the man, the rest of the settlement stretched out of sight as the river curved.
“Too quiet,” Samatu murmured. “And why no dogs?”
“Maybe we’ll find out.” Larry moved forward, pausing a heartbeat on each step. As they passed the second dwelling and came within twenty strides of the man, he dropped his hand to chest level, palm outward. “What do you seek?”
“We search for access to the ocean,” Larry said. “We ask permission to travel in this region.”
“You travel with weapons.” The man’s eyes traveled over Larry’s body, shifting between his face, axe, and sword. “Unsheathe the sword. I would look at it.”
Puzzled, Larry pulled his sword from his sheathe in a slow motion. He held it out in front of him.
“And the axe.”
Larry slipped the axe from his belt with his left hand and held it high.
“I think that sword is a nice gift. As is the axe.” The man smiled, revealing two gaps in his upper teeth.
“We can arrange for a trade,” Larry said.
“Trade? I think a dead man does not trade.” The man raised his left hand, his right drawing his own axe.
Larry spun in a circle. From small and large buildings, men appeared, some with short bows, others with swords or axes.
The bowmen stepped forward and drew back their arrows. The heads of two exploded into a spray of blood, brains and bone. Two sharp cracks echoed. The remaining archers fired before crumpling as arrows sprouted from their chests.
A sharp gasp from behind turned Larry. Samatu swayed, face lowered, eyes stari
ng at a shaft protruding from his chest. He looked up at Larry as blood gushed from his mouth. He fell.
Larry froze. Images of a young Samatu flashed through his mind. As a prisoner in Haven. As a hero returning the stolen weapons. As a father. As a sailor. Images faded into red. A roaring grew in his head and Larry turned away from his fallen friend, eyes sweeping the settlement. The Wildlings ran as the Havenites erupted from the forest and from the path. Larry moved into a jog. A run. Eyes seeing only fleeing men, Larry swung. Swung again. A scream erupted from his gut and carried over the cries of the men who fell before his axe and sword.
The running bodies faded. The scream in his mouth died as full vision returned. Turning in place, Larry took in the mangled corpses and trails of blood. He looked at his hands. They were covered in blood as were the shaft of the axe and the hilt of his sword.
“Larry.” A voice cleared his head. Fergus appeared in front of him. Larry lowed his axe and sword.
“They’re all dead. At least the ones that didn’t run away.” His son paused. “Jessie is with Samatu.” He lowered his head.
“Samatu.” Larry turned back toward the body lying at Jessie’s knees. He staggered to the body of his old friend and sank to the ground.
* * *
“Here.” A hand held a clay mug in front of Larry. After a few heartbeats, he took it. Brought it to his mouth and drank. He registered a mint taste. He took another sip.
“We found over a dozen slaves shackled in one of the larger houses.”
Larry looked up. Jessie stood, face drawn. A bloody piece of cloth formed a sleeve around his right forearm. “How badly are you injured?”
“Barely more than a scratch,” Jessie said. “Are you able to talk? We’re interviewing the former captives. Some of the women are pretty messed up. There are also children.”
Larry’s pulse increased. Kids. More responsibility. His breaths were coming faster and faster. A hand grasped his shoulder.
