Legends of the Exiles

by Jesse Teller

  She moved on.

  Ellen went up. To her left was a set of stairs, and she took them to the next floor. Here she heard the muffled cries of babes. She saw a hall full of doors, and she opened each, finding bassinets filled with babies three to a room. She traveled down the hall, finding blood droplets and following them. She got to the door and opened it slowly.

  Within, two women argued. One was tall with a long neck and an elegant body. Though she was dressed in common dress, she was no common woman. Ellen saw kindness and anger in her face.

  When Ellen looked at the second face, her vision trembled and her ears made a hissing, buzzing sound. She felt dizzy, and rage shot through her. Her hands flexed on the doorframe as she saw the face of Mista, her old midwife. The woman held a baby, still bloody and wrapped in a rag. The baby sobbed softly, as if weak, and Ellen felt her hands flex. She looked at the floor. She looked at the door she stood hiding behind, then looked at her trembling hand and grunted.

  “No,” she muttered.

  Ellen swung the door open and stepped inside. She heard Mista speaking, but the words were too horrible to bear, the very thought of the words too much for her to put to rest.

  “That girl was how old?” Mista snapped. “Fifteen? Fourteen? How are we supposed to let that unmarried whore raise a baby? That would be a crime. I was exiled for less. I will not allow it. There has to be another way.”

  Ellen walked to the woman and very gently took the baby from Mista, cooing to it and rocking it.

  “What are you doing? That is not your child,” Mista said.

  Ellen ignored her. She very carefully took the taller woman by the hand and pulled her to the corner of the room.

  “Who are you?” Mista said. “I know all the midwives that work in this building, and I do not know you.”

  “Here you go, dear,” Ellen said. She handed the baby to the other woman and smiled. “Get that baby to its mother before she dies.”

  “Oh dear, the mother is dead already,” the woman said.

  “Get out of this room. Get out of this hall!” Mista yelled. “This is a sacred place. This is the Hall of Mothers. You are unwelcome unless you have a child for us to tend to.”

  Ellen smiled at the elegant woman and nodded. “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Ellen kissed the baby’s head and turned to face Mista. Ellen did not speak. Words were beyond her as she looked into that hateful face. Ellen did not cry. She was too cold, too filled with ice in heart and mind. Ellen did nothing but walk to Mista. She reached out at the last moment and picked up a chamber pot.

  She swung it like she had once seen a man swing an axe. The chamber pot sloshed, and when it collided with Mista’s head, it shattered. Feces and urine splashed everywhere. Mista screamed. Ellen reached out with both hands and gripped the woman by the hair.

  Ellen thought she would have things to say, horrible words of hate that would explode from her mouth in a spout of vitriol, but she said nothing. She turned and walked for the door.

  The taller woman could not move. She stood by staring as Ellen reached the door and kicked it open. Mista roared and screamed in her grasp, but Ellen did not stop or slow. She kept walking a steady pace, her hands firmly gripping Mista by the hair. When she reached the stairs, Ellen threw Mista down them.

  The old hag stared up in terror as Ellen closed. She thrashed to get away but she had no time. When Ellen reached her again, she gripped her hair with both hands and jerked her to her feet. She began again her steady walk. She knew where she was going. She knew what she was doing. She walked without pause, without slowing to answer questions. She walked, gripping the midwife’s feces-covered hair, and went to the only place she could.

  Ellen went to find Yenna Redfist.

  Up the street she walked. Citizens stared in horror and confusion. Mista called out for help, but Ellen did not slow long enough for anyone to get their feet, for anyone to react. She stormed, steady and hard, up the road to the warehouse at the end of the street, the great building where Yenna Redfist held court.

  When she reached the door, Jessop Redfist met her there.

  She had spoken to him many times. They had laughed and shared a meal together. She was not his friend, but she was sure she commanded his respect. When he stepped before her with his hands held out, she glared at him and shook her head.

  “Take me to see your father now,” she said. Danaman Clay appeared beside the Redfist, looked at Ellen with kindness and smiled.

  “Will you let me take her from you?” Danaman asked.

  “No,” Ellen said calmly.

  “Who do you have there?” Jessop asked. He looked at the woman, but if he knew her, he did not recognize her.

  “I have a villain, a murderer, and a fiend. I am walking around, Jessop. If you wish to stop me, you will have to hurt me. Do you understand?” Ellen said.

  “Give her to me and I will let you pass. If you do not, then you are not the person I thought you were,” Jessop said.

  “What do you mean by that?” Ellen spat.

  “What I mean is that justice is for my father, and those who are brought before him are done so with dignity. If you want justice laid upon her, then give her up now,” the Redfist said.

  Ellen tossed the vile woman at Jessop’s feet. “If she gets away, you will answer to me, Jessop Redfist.”

  “Danaman, please take this woman to my father’s justice hall,” Jessop said. “Wash her up and get her ready to stand for herself.” He turned to Ellen. “You will come with me. I will talk to my father now about seeing to this matter immediately.”

  Ellen felt her adrenaline passing, and she shook and trembled. She followed Jessop where he led, and soon, he needed to support her. With her anger ebbing, she began to lose control, and sagged against him. He did not carry her. He walked beside her, supporting her, and let her walk herself.

  She loved him a little for that.

  An hour later, they entered the Redfist Hall of Justice to see Yenna himself sitting on a throne in the back of the room. He wore a yellow leather shirt with the Redfist symbol sewn into it. His hair was thinning and red. It came to his shoulders and looked like an aging mane. His eyes were the same cold blue as his son and grandson. His hand rested on the mighty sword, Peace, and he stared at Ellen as she walked up the aisle. On her knees before Yenna sat the midwife, her hair wet and clean, her clothing changed and fitting her poorly. She smirked up at Ellen with a look of satisfaction, and smiled that despicable grin Ellen had learned to forget. Just seeing it again filled her with rage, and she growled.

  Jessop took her hand and stopped before his father.

  Yenna said nothing. He simply stared at both women. His hand flexed on the sword handle. He looked at Ellen and nodded.

  “Begin,” he said.

  “She killed me,” Ellen said. “This woman slit me open and ripped out my baby.” She pointed at Mista but could not look at her. “She stole my baby and burned it on a pyre before I could see it. She stole my life. She left me a shell.”

  “I don’t even know you,” the sour old woman spat. “I have never worked on you or your baby. Yenna, I want this woman punished for—”

  “Redfist,” Yenna said.

  “Excuse me?” the woman said, confused.

  “When you address me in my court, you call me Redfist or king chief. You never call me Yenna. Ever. I am here to decide what happened between you two and decide what I am going to do about it. I sit in this chair, as my fathers have for centuries, and I will be respected before it.”

  Mista lowered her head. “Of course, king chief.”

  “Jessop, what can you tell me?”

  “I know Ellen,” he said. “She is a sober woman and I like her. She has never done harm to anyone in our city and—”

  “Did you say Ellen?” Mista interrupted. “Ellen Black Knuckle? Is that who you are?”

  “I am Ellen and you—”

  “Little whore of the Stonefist tribe, I was exiled because of you. I thought you
dead.” Mista let loose a little laugh. “I guess I can go back home now, can’t I? I was exiled for the death of a living woman.” Mista turned to the king chief. “Yenna, you hold no authority over me. I am a citizen of the mountain and I am going home.”

  Ellen ripped open her dress. Buttons flew in a storm in every direction, and she felt the shame of her body slam into her. She looked down at the twisted scars that riddled her stomach, then looked up at Yenna. “Justice!” Ellen shouted.

  Ellen touched the thick, tough scars: one long slash that went from the bottom of her breast to her waist on one side of her body, another which went through the bottom of her breast and down to her hip. Then a ragged swipe that sliced them both in half. The scars were still purple, and the stitching had also left scarring. Ellen touched the twisted remains of her stomach, then looked up at Yenna, who stared horrified.

  Mista laughed. “I have no idea how you survived that, but you are alive.” She turned to Yenna. “She is alive, so I am going home.”

  “Where is your baby?” Yenna asked Ellen.

  Ellen pulled the bone out from behind her ear. It was tiny and stained with char. It was perfectly formed and frail, and she held it up to him and felt her tears coming. “Before I woke, she burned it. I never got to hold my baby. She killed us both. This is all I have left of my child.” Ellen held it to her bosom, and wept.

  “That is not her child,” Mista said. “I didn’t kill that baby boy, and he never died either. That is the bone of a fox I wrapped in cloth and set to fire. No, that boy deserved better than a whore mother too young to raise him. I gave him to a passing mountain man two days after he was born. Don’t know what happened to him after that, but the man looked nice enough.”

  Ellen screamed. She gripped the bone in her hand and felt herself quake. The world blurred to tears, and she felt as if she were being ripped in two. She arched her back and screamed. The strength ran from her legs, and she dropped like a stone.

  Jessop rushed to her side, swept her up in his arms. He said nothing, just held her in his hard arms. She kicked and scratched. She screamed and howled, and he weathered it all. When she sagged in his arms, what could have been minutes or hours later, she saw tears in his eyes.

  She did not know what had come of the midwife until the screaming died down, and she could think again. Yenna was cleaning his sword. Ellen looked at the floor, seeing a pool of blood and a head rolled half way across the floor.

  Jessop carried her home, and laid her in her bed. She sobbed and wailed. She dreamt of her son, out in the mountain somewhere without his mother. Did he have a mother that raised him? Was he cared for and loved? Had he even survived his life so far? Her boy would be seven now. He would have been trained to fight. Had he ever been hit with a wooden sword too hard and had no one to run to and weep? Had he ever wondered what had become of his mother? Had he ever wondered where he was from? She thought about all these things and more as she laid waiting for sleep.

  When she slept, it was fitful. She wept through her dreams.

  She woke exhausted, and stayed in bed.

  After a long silence, she heard someone clear his throat. Ellen looked up to see Jessop sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall on the other side of the room.

  “Morning,” he said.

  She dropped her head back to the bed and groaned. “Morning. How long have you been here?” she asked.

  “All night.”

  “Go home to your wife, Jessop. I am fine.”

  “Danaman is with my wife. I’m with you today. It is where she would want me to be.”

  “So, you are just going to watch over me all day long?” she snapped.

  “Yes, that exactly,” he said.

  She burst into tears.

  “And when I am done, Danaman will come to replace me. We will stay with you until you are better about this.”

  “Better about this? What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. We are going to find out together,” Jessop said.

  “Why, Jessop? Why are you bothering to stay a watch over a sad girl from the mountain you don’t know?”

  “Took an oath,” Jessop said. “Rapped a shield.”

  She froze. “What do you mean by that?”

  “Breathos asked us all to take an oath to watch over you should anything ever happen to you. We all rapped the Steeltooth and spoke the words. I meant them.”

  “So did I.” She turned to the other side of the room and saw Tulbo looking at her. “Hello, Ellen. I’m here. How can I help?”

  She had no idea why she did it, but she jumped to her feet and rushed across the room to him. He wrapped her up in his arms and held her tight. She sobbed, and he pet her head.

  *******

  How could I ever find him? He is gone so long now. Yenna says he asked her before he executed her, who she had given the boy to, but she did not know. How do I find a child handed over to a mountain man over seven years ago? It can’t be done. I am without hope.

  If I were to gather my things and go to the mountain, I would fail to find him. If I were to go out there with a scout and a plan, I would still not find my boy. A mountain man with no roots, a recluse out in the wilderness with a boy, how can I hope to locate such a man? I will never meet my son. I will never hold him or tell him I love him.

  What Breathos and Borlyn resurrected, Mista has murdered a second time. For I am again and will forever be the Dead Girl. The one whose life was stolen. The one whose death goes on.

  She pulled the rope and hefted herself to the roof of her home. She climbed over the edge and onto the top of the building and looked down. She had made a system of ropes and pulleys and secured them to her roof. She swung out onto them, and from the top corner of the building had begun to write.

  The front of the house was large and would explain everything when she was done with it. It would tell them all what happened. Why it had been so unfair and why she did what she was going to do. The words she was writing now on the front of her house would tell them all why she killed herself.

  She looked back at the time when Borlyn saved her from despair, and she knew herself a fool to ever think she could have a life, to ever think she could be whole. Every moment from that one to this had been a lie. Every instant a story, a story she decided to believe.

  But now she knew. It was all over. No matter what she did, she would never be whole. She would always feel like this, and she was unwilling to live this way.

  She looked over the side of the roof to the street below, Tulbo sitting on a barrel across the street from her home. He said nothing. He did not move. He simply stared at her writing with a face of stone.

  *******

  She became obsessed. She worked every day it didn’t rain. The paints she had changed, and with the introduction of new oils and a bit of sand, had crafted a paint stick that would not wash off.

  The snow came in tiny wisps. It drifted down in fat flakes that seemed reluctant to fall at all, so slowly did they come. She gripped the rope and sat in her harness, and with her paint she wrote.

  He was handsome the way a fire is handsome. Bright and moving, mysterious and hot. He burned into my life, lighting me up for one moment. He made me feel grown up. Talked to me like I was more than a twelve-year-old girl. He kissed me, and when I felt the stubble on his chin and face, a thrill ran up my spine. I kissed him for an hour on the steps to Chana’s house. I was alive and trembling, beautiful and mysterious, and I took him to my favorite rock. A rock I used to climb and jump off of just a few years earlier. I took him there, and he undressed me.

  The moment the wind hit my body I wanted to go home. He picked me up and that is when I knew it was wrong. No boy should be able to pick me up so easily, and I knew he was older than I assumed. He laid me down, and I froze. I could not move. I stayed locked up, fighting to figure out what I wanted.

  I wanted to be adult, wanted to be a big girl and be treated that way. I decided I had given him the wrong impression and t
hat somehow it was my fault. That I owed him in some way for making him think I wanted to give myself to him. I laid there bound up inside, and within a breath, he had his pants down around his knees, and he was in me.

  He laughed when he entered me. I laughed with him to try to tell myself I was in on the joke, but I knew I wasn’t. I knew I was the joke. His thrusts were fast and unforgiving. I asked him to slow down, and he laughed again. I remember fighting to laugh again, trying to tell myself that if I kept laughing then it would be okay, that somehow if I were in on the joke, I would not feel so badly about myself.

  When he started breathing heavy and getting rough, I started crying. He thrust harder, as if my tears made him most excited. When he finished, he grabbed my hair and pulled. He jumped off of me and stood on the forest floor and held his arms over his head. He howled like a wolf and laughed. I got up and pulled my clothes back on. I could feel his charge dripping down my leg, and I was not sure what it was, but I knew it was not supposed to be there. I got dressed, and he looked at me.

  He said, “If you suck on it, I can do it again.” He smiled. “We could go again if you will put it in your mouth for a while and let me give your lips a few good thrusts. Want to?”

  I shook my head and ran home. He laughed again as I ran, and I have been trying to get that laugh out of my head for years. I will never get myself back. He took a thing from me that night I didn’t know I wanted to keep. Took it like it was owed to him. He was my first taste of cruelty. He was the first person I ever met that enjoyed hurting me.

  She woke to a rock being thrown at her window. She stood slowly and quietly, slipped to the window and eased the curtain back just a bit. She was confident whoever they were could not see her, and saw Rachel looking up at her with confusion and fear. Ellen had not spoken to the young girl in months. She had not come out of her house, and was taking no visitors. Ellen had gone to the lumberyard and bought scraps of wood for cheap. She had some nails, and put her mind to the issue. Within a few hours, she had a plan, and with a few more hours put it into motion. She designed and built a lock that could not be picked, could not be forced and could not be circumvented. If she died in this building, it would take an axe and an hour to get in to collect her body.