by Jesse Teller
She looked at the new lock, and knew they could not come in, could not save her from herself. And as she looked at Rachel, she knew her young friend could not help her. No one could. She was all alone, a prisoner in a cell in the middle of a life of freedom, a soul trapped in isolation.
Ellen wished she could go down and let her friend in. She wished she had the strength to talk to Rachel about her crazy brothers and doting father, but the Ellen who could have done all that died in Yenna’s Hall of Justice. This Ellen was too stone cold to ever make that move. She closed the curtain and went back to bed. She needed to sleep a few more hours. At lunch she would go to the roof again. She had a few more things to say before it was all over.
When she swung out over the verge, she looked down to see Tulbo Stonefist sitting in his chair across the street. She scowled at him, and he stood.
“Come down here long enough for me to talk to you, Ellen,” he said.
“I have to write. I can’t talk right now,” she said.
“Then dinner,” he said. “When you are done writing, you will have dinner with me. We need to talk. I have a gift for you.”
“I want nothing from you,” she said.
“For Breathos, for the oath I took for him, I ask you to come to my home and eat with me. Then I will walk you back to your home and leave you to yourself,” he said. “This night, though, you come to my house and eat.”
She huffed but agreed.
He laid out a simple meal. He had servants for sure. Gaulator had grown up here, and Tulbo’s father died at a young age. Tulbo had been master of the Stonefist ghetto for long years, and many people still served him who had served him all his life. But none of them made this dinner.
This dinner had not been cooked in an oven or a kitchen. Ellen could see he had swung a spit over his fireplace and cooked it himself. She stirred the contents of her bowl: cut up sausage, ham, and onion, mixed with about six different kinds of beans. She fought back her revulsion and spooned out a bite for herself.
The soup was warm and hearty, and filled the belly with a comfortable sensation. She enjoyed it much more than she ever thought she would, and she grinned.
“Okay, who taught you how to cook this stew?” she asked.
“This is a camp stew the men in my family have been cooking for generations beyond count. This is a dish made only by the men in my family out on a battle camp or a hunting camp.” He smiled. “You like it?”
“What is it called?” she asked.
He paled. “Nothing. It has no name. Just bean soup is all.” He looked away nervously, and she scoffed.
“You’re a terrible liar, Tulbo, just terrible. I like that quite a bit actually. Good liars are the worst kind of people, but a bad liar will tell on themselves every time. What do the men in your family call this stew?”
“We are out of the house when we make it. Never around women.” He looked frantic.
“Never around women, huh?”
“No, not ever.”
“I am the first woman in your family’s history to ever taste this stew?”
He was blushing now, and she laughed. She didn’t know a man like Tulbo could blush.
“What is it called, Tulbo? Tell me now or I am going home.”
“Fart Stew,” he said. “The men in my family have always called it Fart Stew.”
Her smile was hesitant. It wanted so badly to hold back her hilarity, but when she played the name back in her mind as she looked at his miserable face, she could not hold it back any longer.
She burst into gales of laughter, and spit beans and ham everywhere. A bean bounced off his forehead, and she laughed harder. Laughed so hard she farted, and he grinned at her knowingly and pointed.
“See, good name, right?”
She had never laughed this hard before.
When the meal was done, he gave her coat to her, and she smiled at him. “You said you had a gift for me?” She did not want to go. She did not want to go back to her prison of misery, but she knew it her fate and braced herself for it. He pulled a massive gray woolen cape over his shoulders and bound a small sword on his hip. He pulled a hood low over his head and took her hand.
She flinched when he touched her, but after a moment, his hand felt good in hers. It was warm and strong. She let him lead her away, and she followed.
He was enormous. After Borlyn, Tulbo was the biggest man she had ever seen. He stood almost eight feet tall and his shoulders made a house out of him. Walking beside him was like walking beside a tiger. She knew in that instant any man who tried to harm her would meet such a swift and devastating death he would not realize he was dead even after he hit the ground. She felt safer with Tulbo than she had with any other man besides Breathos.
“Why didn’t you bring your relic?” she asked.
“I don’t want anyone knowing who I am just yet,” he said.
She pulled her hood over her head and let him lead her away. He took her to a pub and a set of stairs. They found a position on a balcony that overlooked the whole of the bar, and pulled into the shadows.
“What are we doing here?” She was beginning to get a little scared.
“You are safe, Ellen. I hope you realize that. No one can hurt you with me beside you.”
“I know that.” And she did. She knew no matter what he was showing her, it would not be able to hurt her.
“I want you to look at the one washing tables. Look at him very closely.”
Ellen focused her eye on a fat, little, greasy man limping as he carried a tray of dirty crockery. He shuffled across the floor, filthy blond hair hanging in his face. A man threw a mug at him, and she winced. She watched him slip on a spot of grease on the floor and almost go down. The patrons laughed and jeered at him, and he kept his face down and tried hard not to be seen.
“Do you know him?” Tulbo said.
“No, I have never seen this unfortunate man before in my life.”
“A few years back, they got ahold of him and took him out behind this very alley. They bound him to a barrel and cut him,” Tulbo said.
“Why? Is he a criminal?” she asked.
“He is a child rapist,” Tulbo said. “They cut his manhood off for sexing young girls.”
She gasped. She felt the scream building, and trembled all over. She looked at the face, and knew it. “That is him. That is Ghean.”
“Yes, it is. I found him,” Tulbo said. “This is the man that raped you. If you want me to, I will take him to Yenna. If you want me to, I will slaughter him where he stands. If you pardon him, I will let him shuffle through his life as the wretch he is. His fate, I leave to you.”
“I want you to kill him, Tulbo. I want you to wipe him off of the world for me.” She was weeping, and felt cold stone under her. She felt Ghean sliding into her again, and shuddered in horror.
Tulbo led her down the stairs and out onto the pub floor. He walked up behind Ghean, gripped him by the sides of the head. With a twist of the wrists and a loud pop, Ghean fell to the ground, dead.
She stared at his body. Tulbo gently took her hand and walked her away. He led her out of the pub. No one stopped them. No one seemed to even notice Tulbo had killed a man. Ghean had died a little death, uneventful and quick. He had been swiped away from the world with little more than a thought.
Tulbo took her home, walked her to her door. He took both of her hands in his and looked at her with soft eyes. How such a hard man could have such soft eyes she did not know.
“Don’t do it, Ellen,” he whispered.
“Do what?”
“Don’t do what you have planned. I couldn’t bear it.”
Her heart skipped, and she fought back the smile. He kissed her hands and turned to go. She didn’t want him to go. For the first time in a long time, she felt warm.
*******
Every day she wrote, and every day Tulbo Stonefist came to sit on the barrel across the street and stare. She yelled at him a few times, but his comebacks always made her l
augh, and soon, she didn’t mind too much. Her language was too difficult for any man or woman to puzzle out without reference. She was asked many times what she would do if anyone figured out what she was writing, and she said over and over again no one ever could. But she had to admit to herself if Tulbo knew, if he puzzled it out, she would not be so furious.
He came to her every now and then, came to talk or give her a gift. He would come with water on the hot days, when she had been in her harness for so long she was getting dizzy. He took her to get food every now and then, and slowly she stopped locking herself away as much. When she felt the cold hand of death wrapped around her heart, she would close her eyes and picture Ghean dead on the ground at her feet.
When the girls came around, she let them in. They talked of all things boys, and of parties and dinners. They talked about the cooking they were learning and about how boring the life of a wife was going to be.
Rachel insisted she was going to make her husband make the babies. She would get him fat with a child, and he would be forced to shove a baby out of his man parts. Ellen and Madeline laughed hard at that, so hard Ellen received a swift kick on the side of the face. She pulled back, hissing and looking at the little girl who barely stood to her chest.
“That was a high kick!” Ellen said. “How did you do that?”
“Didn’t even jump that time. Want to see it again?” Rachel said.
“Not even a little bit,” Ellen said.
They went out shopping a lot. Seemed Gerber could not help but send Rachel away with gold every day to allow her to buy whatever she wished. She bought dresses and fancy bags. She had a bird for a while, but it squawked too much, and she finally took it off her shoulder and snapped its neck. Rachel had it plucked and wore its plumes on gloves that ended at her elbows. She wore different shoes every day and had fancy swords she wore everywhere she went. Rachel had every beautiful thing, but they didn’t make her as happy as when she said the wrong thing at the right time.
They were at a seamstress in the Black Hand ghetto one day. Rachel was getting a fitting for a dress that would hug her body tight. It had a panel missing that showed the belly, and it was so short it was barely enough to cover her ass. Ellen begged the girl to let the seamstress bring the length down just a little more, but Rachel was not having it. She needed to be able to kick if the boys grabbed her.
“Well, you are ensuring they are going to try,” Madeline said.
“They don’t want to anger me. There are not boys brave enough to cross me anymore.” Her face fell. She shook her head. “It’s a shame. Did you know that not a single boy tried to kiss me last week? They are all cowards. I wish there was a boy for me from the Redfist clan.”
“A Redfist?” Madeline gasped. “You stay away from the Redfists, Rachel.”
“I don’t want your Redfist, Madeline, just settle down. I just need a fearless boy. A Redfist would do that. I’m related to the only two beasts this town knows. Hunet and Brenden have never been afraid a day in their life. If I were not their little sister, then they would not shy away from me. But alas, I can’t marry my own brothers.” Rachel scrunched up her nose. “Who would want to marry them anyway? They are gross. Amazing, but gross.”
Madeline looked at Rachel then out the window at the streets beyond. She seemed lost in her heartbreak, and Ellen left her to it. Sometimes there was nothing to do but feel the pain.
The door burst open and a girl rushed in. She was older than both Rachel and Madeline. A girl the right age for Ellen to be spending time with, but none of the girls her age wanted anything to do with her. This one looked at Ellen, and to Rachel, and gasped for breath.
“Thank the Seven I found you.” She bent over to breathe and Rachel laughed.
“Tell my papa to wait,” Rachel said. “I’m not done here yet. Let him know I need another hour and will come do whatever he sent you to tell me.”
“I’m not looking for you, Daughter of Beasts. I’m looking for Ellen.”
Ellen froze.
“He is looking for you. Says he has a chore for you.”
“Gerber?”
“No, Ellen, the Stonefist. He has sent me for you. He needs you to do a job for him, says only you will do.”
“What does he want of me?”
“I will leave him to tell you.”
Rachel slapped the seamstress away and jumped off the rise. She stalked over to the girl and held up a fist. “Tell us right now, or I will beat you and drag you to my brothers,” Rachel snapped.
The girl’s eyes widened, and she nodded.
“I don’t know what it is exactly, but he has a savage with him,” the girl said. She stared at little nine-year-old Rachel, and held her hands up. “That is all I know, I swear on it.”
Rachel turned to Ellen. “A savage.” Her eyes lit up. “From the mountain?” she asked, turning back to the girl.
“A savage,” the girl said.
“Good, now go,” Rachel said waving her away. The girl ran. Rachel started sliding the dress off and tossing it to the ground. She turned to the seamstress and shook her head. “I can’t finish right now. I have to go. Everything looks great. When will it be done?”
“Give me another week and it will be done. Do we need to talk to Gerber about the dimensions?” the woman asked.
“Why should I bother Papa with my dress?” she asked.
“Well, it is very exotic and—”
Rachel laughed. It was a bold, feral thing, a laugh that could have come from an animal or a monster. She threw her head back and grinned. “No, silly woman, you let me handle my papa. You just make it, or I will find someone else to dress me.”
Rachel didn’t wait for the woman to sputter out a response. She grabbed Ellen and they left. The three girls walked to the Stonefist ghetto. Madeline and Rachel talked feverishly, but Ellen could only focus on the word savage. Borlyn was said to have been turned into a savage by his bastay. Could Tulbo have found him?
“We have to hurry,” Ellen said. They broke out into a run and headed for the Stonefist building.
As they approached, they passed Ellen’s house, and saw Tulbo standing outside her door with Flak, Locke, and a filthy little boy that looked to have never had a bath in his life. His hair was wild and black and shot out in every direction. His hands were blackened, and gripped a spear still covered in bark with a flint head. It looked to have been pulled fresh from the body of some animal, as it was stained red and brown. The boy wore no clothing whatsoever, and his face and body were covered in dried mud and small scratches that had to be infected. Ellen had never seen anything so savage, so dipped in feral. Rachel cursed when she saw him and shoved her way to him.
“What are you?” she gasped.
He looked at her and grunted. She laughed, as did everyone.
Madeline stepped up beside Flak and could only look at him. Flak was no older than thirteen, but looked a king chief already. Ellen thought of a Fendis bride for this young man and felt her disgust rising. She turned to him, and he smiled. It was a bright, easy thing that lit her heart and seemed to bring happiness to the group that stood around him.
“This is Betten. He is a friend of mine. He wishes to meet my grandfather but cannot do so like this.” Flak turned to Tulbo, who smiled at Ellen and grabbed Betten by the shoulders. He pulled Betten before her and looked Ellen in the eye.
“Please do me a favor, Ellen, and wash him up so he can meet Yenna,” Tulbo said.
“You want me to wash him?” Ellen looked at the young boy, and her heart sank. This could be her entire day and most of her night.
“Please wash him and dress him in this,” Tulbo took a bundle of clothing from Flak and handed it to her. “He needs to be ready to meet with Yenna in the morning.”
“Why me?”
“Personal favor,” Tulbo said. He nodded to Locke and Flak and walked away.
Flak stood before Betten and grinned. “Wash up, get dressed, and we will go see Yenna in the morning. He wil
l be so excited to meet you. Thank you for coming to find me, friend. We are going to do wonderful things together.” Flak hugged the little scamp, though it soiled his clothing to do so.
Rachel looked at the boy for a long time before dropping her gaze to look at his penis. She stared at it.
Ellen shoved her away. “Go buy feathers or something. Leave me to this little boy,” Ellen said. “He doesn’t need to be gawked at.”
Rachel nodded and skipped away. Madeline looked at Ellen and shook her head. “I’ll keep the water coming. You’re gonna need to dump and refill a few times.”
“Come with me, Betten. We will find the boy under the crust,” Ellen said.
She led him into the house and to her bath. It was a stone tub she had laid herself. She wanted marble, but could not find a way to haul a big enough piece into the house. She ended up building one out of clay and tiling it with marble. The tub was large and hard to fill, but she loved it. She pulled her soap and placed it in her screen. She created a way of soaping her entire bath that did not take special oils or powders. She had woven steel threads together to make a sieve, and she placed her bar of soap in it and poured the water over it. The resulting bubbles were far cheaper and lasted longer than those the rich girls bought.
Within twenty minutes, she had a warm bath brimming with bubbles sitting before the boy. He looked at it as if it were the most ridiculous thing he had ever seen. “What is that?”
“That is the bath that will turn you from an animal to a boy,” Ellen said.
“You want me to get in there?” he asked.
“Yes, climb in and get comfortable. You will be there for a while.”
He stabbed his filthy spear into the water and the bubbles went red. She sighed and grabbed his spear. He grunted and struggled. She would have to hurt this boy to get the weapon away from him. She thought for a moment before she tickled him. He burst into laughter and dropped the spear.
