by Jesse Teller
“He knew me lonely, so in an act of generosity, he arranged for me to be married.”
The quiet crowd, as one, turned back to Helena. She sobbed. “Tell them all of it,” Helena said.
“Next week, when I leave the village and go to the city of Tergor on my annual trip, I am to be married to Rachel Beastscowl, daughter of Gerber.”
Helena sobbed out the horror of it. A Beastscowl woman, a daughter of the Seven. Noble blood. Helena was the daughter of a simple hunter and a junkie. How did she ever have the hope of holding onto a man like Erick? She wailed and turned to go. Ruggamon helped her off the bar, swept his arms under her. He carried her out of the hall as she wept. Rachel Beastscowl, Brenden’s sister, the shining jewel of the Beastscowl clan, would have Helena’s Flurryfist man.
Rugga said nothing. He carried her out of the hall to the sound of silence. She heard the doors close behind her, and sobbed.
*******
Erick came to see her at her home. Her father fought to convince her to go talk to him, but she was not going to see Erick ever again. She decided to stay in her room until he was gone. Let him leave with the image of her crying on the bar. Let him carry that to Tergor with him. The last time he would ever see the girl he loved.
Erick stood outside her window for a long time. She could see him through the curtain, his huge frame hulking outside.
He finally yelled, “Helena, get out here!” He stared at the window and yelled again. “You’re being a child! I am not going to have it. Get yourself out here now and talk to me!”
Men and women and a few children gathered in the streets to watch them and whisper. She suddenly hated everyone she had ever known.
“I’m serious, woman. I will punch this hut to splinters if you do not get out here and talk to me right now!”
“Erick Flurryfist, if you try to break down my house, I will find you when you are asleep in yours and I will cut your filthy throat. Leave me alone. I want nothing to do with you. Leave the village. Leave the people who love you, and leave me. Go to your king chief and your Beastscowl woman and lose yourself to them. Embrace them forever and know this—” She came to the window and threw the curtain back. Ruggamon and Terala stood on the edge of the crowd. Terala held tight to Rug, and Helena hated all lovers and loved. Helena looked Erick in the eyes. All the fire ran out of him. The sight of her had broken him, and she knew she must look haunted. “Know this, you fool. I will hate you for the rest of your life. Leave this mountain, and we will find it fairer with you gone.” She slapped the curtain closed and sat against the wall beneath her window. She curled her legs to her chin and sobbed.
“Helena—” Erick’s voice was nearly a whisper, and she heard the pain in it.
“Get out of here, Erick. I never want to see you again,” she spat.
Terala came two days later with onion rolls in her apron. Helena let her in. They sat in the floor of her bedroom, eating rolls and talking about cooking. Terala never once mentioned Erick’s name. She drew Helena a bath before she left, then Helena soaked for a few hours before sulking off to bed to cry herself asleep.
She walked to her father’s bed when he was asleep, and lay down on the floor beside it. She curled into a ball and thought about her dove heart. She decided she would not marry. She would try to get the position of Matron of the Hall when Magna died. She lay on the floor until she fell asleep. She woke up in her bed, covered.
Betten came into the village, and she knew he was taking Erick when he left. She waited until the sun went down, then walked out of her room and into the night. The village seemed empty and lifeless, as if the very soul of the place had been stolen from it. She walked to Terala’s house, tried to knock on the door, but she couldn’t. She went to the hall. Outside the doors, she saw Virgil.
He came to her and smiled. “Hello, Helena,” he said.
“Virgil, is your brother gone?” she asked.
He ignored the question. “I know you’re sad about Erick leaving. I know it will be a long time before you are over it. But my brother is an idiot for letting you go, and I think I can do better.”
She turned to him and smiled. “Virgil, I—”
“No, see, think about it. You want to be a Flurryfist. I know it. You always have, that is why you loved my brother. But I’m a Flurryfist, too. I am built like a Flurryfist, and can do everything Erick can do. He is older than you, but I am the same age. He is leaving, but I am staying. I think we can make it work.”
Helena looked at Virgil and thought she would be sick.
He grinned and she felt a kick of revulsion. “I am built like every Flurryfist before me. Let me show you.”
He pulled his sarong back and showed her his member. She stared at it in horror, then looked up at Virgil.
“Pretty nice, huh?”
Helena’s hand moved before she told it to. She pulled her knife and swiped it once wickedly. She hit his thigh, deep, and his leg gushed with blood. He screamed, and she pulled back. He grabbed his leg as the blood flowed fast and dark.
“No, Virgil, I didn’t mean to,” she said.
He dropped to the ground and wailed in pain. The door to the hall burst open, and Helena stood over Virgil with a bloody knife in her hand as he lay on the ground, howling.
“What did you do?” a man yelled. She turned and tried to see who it was, but his face was twisted like a rag, in fear and anger, and she could not name the man. “Helena Dreadheart! What did you do?”
“Help him,” was all she could muster. People were everywhere, breaking and multiplying, all open-mouthed. All faces creased in fear and pain.
Virgil screamed as a woman tried to move him. Helena was crying, then through the crowd came Erick. He shoved people away until he stood over Virgil. He looked at his little brother and back to Helena, and shook his head. “Stonefist!” Erick yelled.
Why was he here? Erick was supposed to be gone. Why was he yelling for Stonefist? Suddenly, Jordai was there, and the crowd was growing angry. A man grabbed Helena by the hair, and Erick pointed at her. “Jordai, get her.” Erick swept his arms under his brother and hoisted him up as if he were made of nothing and air. He turned and disappeared into the mob.
“She killed a Flurryfist!” a woman screamed. Helena was hit with something and kicked behind the legs. She dropped to the ground, wailing in fear and confusion.
“Let her go right now,” Jordai said from somewhere out there. The crowd did not ebb. Their wrath surged.
The man before her pulled back to punch her, then dropped to his knees. A sword swung over her head, and everyone rushed away. Jordai stood over her.
“Let them have me,” she cried.
“Not today,” Jordai said.
Brenden Beastscowl appeared, as if called by the very rage of the crowd, summoned up as the heart of anger and wrath. He twirled his spear and roared. He kicked a man in the chest, then Ruggamon was there.
He held his hands out as Jordai grabbed Helena.
“Ruggamon, give her to us,” a man said. “She killed one of our Flurryfist heroes. If you don’t hand her over, I’ll take her from you.”
Rugga was faster than she ever knew a man could be. Heartbeats weren’t this fast. The flutter of an eyelid, or the strike of lightning, none of these things knew speed like Ruggamon. His hand flashed out and struck the man in the chest with an open palm.
The man flew back into a group of men, knocking them all over.
“Helena does not die tonight!” Ruggamon shouted. “Stonefist, take her into the hall. Beastscowl, you’re with me. If any of them try to touch her, rip out their hearts.”
Brenden roared and stood behind Rugga.
Jordai shoved his way through the crowd. They all parted for him like water to the prow of a ship. He reached the door to the hall, and when it opened, Magna stood in the center of the door. She held her finger up to his face and shook it.
“She is not welcome here,” Magna said. “She has lost the right to step into this ha
ll. Stonefist, you take that thing with you when you go. She will not find succor in my house tonight.”
Helena sobbed, and Jordai nodded.
“It will be as you wish, mighty mother.” He wrapped an arm around Helena and led her away. She heard men scream. She heard a sound that could have been the very scream of rage itself, as the crowd yelled and rushed for the stairs.
Cochran stood beside her and shoved Jordai aside.
“Sorry, young Stonefist, but you will not hold her from me in my village,” he boomed.
“Erick wishes mercy, mighty chief. And, of course, I will not stand in the way of your justice. I would only ask that you make sure it is justice that drives you, and not hate or loss,” Jordai said.
“Boy, if you don’t hand that girl over to me, I will snap your neck like a chicken. She has killed my grandson,” Cochran said.
Helena screamed. She hadn’t killed him. Please, in the name of the Seven, tell her she hadn’t killed poor Virgil.
As soon as Cochran spoke the words, Jordai pulled the Stonefist free and stepped before Helena.
“Step back, Cochran, son of Hean, or prepare to strike me dead,” Jordai said. “I will not let you touch this woman in rage and grief.”
Helena stood, though she did not know how she still possessed the power to do so. She fought to shove Jordai out of the way but arms wrapped around her and pulled her back, giving Jordai room to change his stance and lower the mighty relic on Cochran. She turned to see Betten hugging her around her middle. She spun and gripped him tight. She buried her head in his neck and sobbed.
“Step aside, Stonefist. I want that woman,” Cochran spat. She heard the chief’s impossible knuckles cracking as he prepared them for battle.
“I will give her to you after Virgil’s pyre. Until he is ash, she is under my protection. I will not allow vengeance,” Jordai said.
Erick appeared out of nowhere beside Jordai. “He is not dead, grandfather. Virgil lives. The healers have stemmed the bleeding. He is weak, but may still survive. Do not do this,” Erick said.
Soon, Ruggamon stood in opposition to his father and shook his head. Cochran looked at the four men and back at Helena.
“She will be whipped for striking a Flurryfist,” Cochran said.
“She will be whipped for striking a citizen, grandfather, as anyone would be,” Erick said.
Cochran nodded. “You will do the whipping,” he said to Erick. Helena gasped in horror, then Erick nodded.
“I will do it, grandfather. Virgil is asking for you,” Erick said.
Cochran turned to leave and Erick spun. He grabbed Helena in an embrace, hugged her tight.
“What have you done, Helena?”
She could do nothing but sob and hold him as tight as she could.
“Watch her. Take her into the hall,” Rugga said.
“Your matron won’t let her in,” Jordai said.
“Is that what she said?”
“It is,” Jordai said.
Ruggamon cracked his knuckles and turned for the hall door. “I will not be told where to put a citizen of my tribe. Not by anyone, even her. Erick, carry her. Men,” he said, as he turned for the hall door, “with me.”
She had never seen Ruggamon mad before, had never seen him close to losing his composure. Brenden rapped his spear butt on the porch, and Erick followed everyone to the door. Ruggamon kicked it open. He stepped under the arch of the hall his progenitor built over two thousand years ago, and he roared.
They had a cell, a set of cells, which formed a tidy dungeon in the bellows of the building, but Rugga was not having her put there. He commanded her set in a guest room. When she was closed behind the door, she heard Ruggamon speaking.
“Brenden, on the door. Jordai, in the hall,” Ruggamon said. “Erick will go get the whip and do whatever he needs to get to the place where he can whip Helena.”
Helena gasped and covered her mouth in horror.
“Where are you going to go?” Erick asked.
“I’m going to get my wife,” he said.
Cochran had Helena clapped in chains. He dragged her out of the hall. Brenden and his spear walked on one side of her, Jordai and his sword on the other. She had been given a little food and a bit of water. The mob had come back the night before, demanding her, but Ruggamon sent them away.
Cochran stepped aside, and she saw Erick, a look of horror on his face and a whip in his hand. She was led to the post in the glaring light of the sun, then they tied her hands.
“She tried to kill a Flurryfist. For that, I ought to exile her,” Cochran said. “I would do it, too, if I didn’t think that might just be why she did it. Her hate for my line is great. Her rage at losing my grandson as a lover has soured this girl we all knew and loved. Now, I do not know her. I do not want to.”
Helena gripped the post in the center of the village with both hands and lowered her head.
“My chief,” Terala said. “I have a question. Will I be heard?”
Cochran seemed furious at the interruption, but Terala was a high-standing member of the clan. He would not deny her.
“Terala, what would you ask of me?” he said.
“My question is for Helena.”
Helena looked up, with utter shame and hopelessness, to let her eye fall upon the one woman she truly loved more than any other.
“Why the thigh?” Terala asked.
Helena tried to answer, but could only croak. She looked at the faces of all those around her and back. “What?”
“You sliced his thigh. Under the sarong, in fact. You cut his thigh wide open, but did not slice into his sarong. So, when you had the possibility of the heart and the throat, why did you choose to strike Virgil in the thigh? And why did you peel the sarong away first?”
Helena lowered her head. “He showed me himself,” she said.
“He what?” Erick said.
“How does this matter?” Malsha said. She stared at Helena with anger. “Whip her already.”
Helena’s heart broke in half when she saw the twisted look of rage on her friend’s face.
“Well, Virgil pulled back his sarong and showed his cock to this woman?” Terala said. “He made her look at it. I want to know when I tell my Rugga to start showing off his member to random women? Which one do I want him to flash his genitals to first?”
There was a rumble in the crowd.
“That is what our men are allowed to do to our women now, right? A precedent set by the Flurryfist men. Soon, not only showing will be allowed, but we will allow the men to grab us and do whatever they want to do as well, right?” Terala stepped forward and stood, bold and flaming, before the chief. “Or is this the time when our chief will look at this act his grandson committed and condemn it vigorously.”
Cochran looked at the crowd, then to Terala.
“Wisdom runs from our womenfolk like a river from a fount head,” Ruggamon said. “What will we do then? She is guilty of slashing a man’s leg nearly off, but he did a deplorable thing as well.”
“What can I do?” Cochran said. “The blood of Flurryfist cannot be spilled with no repercussions.”
“If I might offer our chief a humble idea,” Terala said.
Cochran looked relieved when he nodded.
“Maybe she could be moved into the Flurryfist home until Virgil recovers. Maybe his health should be put in her hands. If I know Helena, she desires to see to him herself, and bring him back to us from the grip of death.”
Cochran nodded.
Erick unchained Helena, and Cochran scowled at her. “You will say goodbye to your father and your life until you have nursed my grandson back from the dead. If he dies, I will lay his death on your head.”
Helena nodded, and Erick helped her away.
*******
Virgil moaned weakly as she changed his bandages. The stitching had been hasty and desperate. Helena had sewn boys up before in the triage of the village. All the women had been forced to learn how to stitch a
wound closed. When Ruggamon took over as weapons trainer for the boys, he insisted on them being trained as well. Helena knew her way around a wound, and she could tell that when they had stitched up this cut, whoever had done the job had been frantic.
The cut was worse than she was prepared for. She had cut nearly to the bone, and the blood loss had been crippling. She changed the bandaging, and touched Virgil on the forehead. She had been taught, when caring for the sick and wounded, that she was to touch them. Skin to skin contact. The afflicted need to feel comforted. They need to feel your presence, feel your love.
“You’re a stupid boy, Virgil, but I love you,” she whispered. “You need to come back to us. Good men are hard to live without. And with the exception of our last time together, you are a good man. I love you, Virgil.” She kissed his forehead and turned to walk away. Erick stood at the door, stared at her as if he would die of starvation if he had to leave her.
“Why aren’t you gone?” she said. She stepped to him and breathed deep. He smelled of wood chips and sweat, and she knew he had been punching logs to kindling. “You’re supposed to… They will want you to… She will want her—”
“Helena, I’m not going this year,” Erick said.
She flinched.
“Betten and the others have left without me,” Erick said. “I told them I cannot leave my brother now. If he passes, and I am gone, I might miss his final words. I might miss my last brief moments with him. Betten said it is what Flak would have wanted anyway.”
“Well, thank the heavens for Flak,” she said.
“Helena, don’t.”
She took a deep breath, and thought of Erick with her for another year. Another year for a miracle, another year to find a way. She stepped up beside him and touched the middle of his chest with two fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“For almost killing my brother?” he asked.
“For that, yes, and for my anger. For my horrible words about the Redfist clan, and my cursing of your family.” She felt her throat closing and took a deep breath.
