Legends of the Exiles

by Jesse Teller

  “What was that?” he said. The boy looked terrified.

  “I tickled you and it worked,” Ellen said. “Have you never been tickled before?”

  “It is a mighty attack. Is it very effective in battle?” he said.

  She stared at him in shock.

  “No, Betten, not as effective as you might think. Don’t start tickling people on the battlefield. You will get mixed results.”

  He hissed when he sat in the tub and struggled to get out more than once. She shoved him back in and kept reminding him if he wanted to see Yenna, he would have to sit still. He finally succumbed to the torture, and she began to scrub. It was no time before the water was filthy and she pulled the stopper out of the tub.

  She had built a trap and constructed a system of irrigation that allowed the water to flow straight into the floor and through a spout that opened out to the street behind her house. Madeline came with more buckets of hot water.

  “How’s it looking in there?” she asked.

  “Gonna be our entire day. Keep it coming.”

  She washed the mud off, and two bath waters later, soaped up the bare skin. She found a deep cut stitched together using sap and the pinchers of a beetle. The pinchers had bitten into the wound, stitching it closed, and he had popped the heads off, leaving the wound secure. Then the whole thing had been covered with sap. She stared at it in wonder.

  “How did you come up with this?” she said. “The sap I understand, but the beetle heads.”

  “Just made sense,” he said.

  She smiled. “You’re a clever boy.”

  “I can make ale out of bark,” he said. “Tastes better than regular ale.”

  “You’re too young for ale.”

  “I invented my own snare,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Lots of snares go up, but the birds can still get in them. If you are not fast, the vultures and hawks will eat the animal, and if the vulture throws up on it, the meat is spoiled. So, I invented a burying snare.”

  “What is a burying snare?”

  “Snares the animal and pulls them underground. Buries them. The hole is fit with air holes so the beast can still survive, but no animal can get to it or even knows it is there,” Betten said. “Best way I have found to ensnare a beast.”

  “Okay, good idea.”

  “There is an herb that if you boil it, you can eat it and settle the stomach,” Betten said.

  “I know the herb. It’s called Shepherd’s Night.”

  “Well, if you fry it in a pan, add otter fat and salt to it and let it dry, you can make a tab that when you put it in your mouth makes you throw up.”

  Ellen screwed up her nose. “Why would you want that?”

  “Eat the wrong thing in the wilderness and it will kill you. You have Shepherd’s Ire, and you can save your own life.”

  “Shepherd’s Ire?”

  “That’s what I call it.”

  “I see. You are a smart boy, aren’t you?” Ellen looked at the soiled water and pulled the cork again. More water, and she concentrated on the boy’s hair. What she thought was black was actually blond.

  “When was the last time you took a bath?” she asked. “You are a level of filthy I have never seen before.”

  “Found a new spring not a month ago. Soaked in it for a while. Is that the kind of thing you are talking about?”

  “No, Betten, that is not what I’m talking about. I’m talking about when was the last time you were scrubbed with soap.”

  “No need.”

  “What do you mean no need?” she asked.

  “Rains all the time on the mountain.”

  “Rain?” she said. “No, Betten, you need to take a bath every now and then.”

  “Why? It washes the urine away,” he said.

  “I’m not sure I want to know what you are talking about.”

  “Well, if you find the urine of the animal, you can rub it into your skin and then they can’t smell you,” Betten said. “Urine is hard to get most of the time. Good urine is worth something.”

  “Betten, you’re a strange child.” She stopped. She wiped soap from his face and stared into his eyes. Her heart seized in her chest, and she gasped for air. “Betten, where do you live?” She was wiping away her tears now as she ran a finger along his jaw. It was a perfect replica of her father’s.

  “I live on the mountain,” he said. “Gonna live here, too. Gonna live in both spots and serve the Redfist.”

  She stared into his eyes and saw the eyes of a man she hated. She pulled back, her hand going to her mouth to hold back her surprise. “Where is your mother?” she gasped.

  “Never had one,” he said. He looked sad, and she started crying. “Bear mom stays with the bear until he is grown enough to fend for himself. Then she leaves him,” Betten said softly. “Guess I was ready before most boys. Mine left me a long time before I could remember her.” He was crying, and she sobbed as she grabbed his wet head and kissed his forehead.

  “Your mother never left you, Betten,” she said. “You were taken from her.”

  He looked at her, and his head cocked to the left. “What do you mean?” His chin began to tremble like hers always did before she started crying.

  “I want you to stay with me while you’re here. I want…I want to be with you,” she said.

  She closed her eyes and summoned up the image of Tulbo, both hands on Betten’s shoulders, looking at her. He had smiled at her. Had looked at her with those soft eyes she was starting to think he only looked at her with.

  “I love you, Stonefist,” she whispered to herself.

  “I want you to know I love you, Betten. Your mother never left you to fend for yourself. Your mother didn’t even know you were alive.”

  “Do you know my mother?” He looked at her with real hope in his eyes, and she pulled him to her chest. She felt something ease as she held him, an ache she had been living with for so long she didn’t even know she had it. She felt warmth radiating through her.

  When they were done crying, she took him up to the top floor of her home. She opened a door fit into the front of her house, a little door no bigger than three by four feet. Within hung her bell, and she rang it two times. She placed her hand on the bell and felt it vibrate.

  She had just rung her boy home.

  She fell asleep in her cot with her arms wrapped around her son. She knew his scent. How that was possible, she did not know, but the scent of his body was so familiar to her it comforted her in a way nothing ever had. His body was hard as a rock, and as she held it to hers, she wondered what kind of life produced this kind of body. He was lean as a cat, and lithe. He slept with soft breath. She laid in bed for a long time listening to him breathe. She fell into a deep sleep, and the rest she felt was a new experience for her.

  She woke before he did, and quickly made him breakfast. Eggs, sausage, a bit of boar meat and a bit of greens. When he woke, his smile beamed, and he giggled.

  “You love me, don’t you?” he said. She had never seen this kind of happiness before. He seemed about to break apart, as if he might emit light.

  “I do love you, Betten. How do you know?”

  “No one has ever cooked for me before.” He picked up the egg with his fingers and popped it in his mouth. The yolk broke halfway to his mouth and the runny yolk ran down his arm. As he licked it, she grinned even as she wept. No one had ever cooked breakfast for her son. He had spent a life without a person to make him a meal. She fought back the tears as he looked up at her with pure joy.

  She washed his arms and hands when he was done eating, and he squirmed as she did it.

  “Already had my bath,” he snapped. “You love soap.”

  She laughed, and he scowled at her before his mouth curved in a smile. She hugged him and realized that, should she die this moment, her life would almost be complete.

  She dressed him. He did not know how to work a shirt. Pulling it over his head seemed an impossibility.
He fought and yelled and cursed. He kicked when she tried to pull his pants on, and when she was lacing his neck, he bit her.

  She slapped him and pointed a finger. “Betten, you are seven years old. No biting.”

  “You’re supposed to bite. Why have teeth if you can’t bite?”

  “If you ever bite me again, you’re in trouble,” she said.

  “What kind of trouble? Will you send me back to the mountain?”

  She grabbed him up, weeping. “No, Betten, I will never send you away from me.”

  “Will you come with me when I go back?”

  “You are not going back. You live with me now. This is your home,” she said.

  “Okay.” He said it calmly, as if he were agreeing to turn over a rock, or pull up a plant. As if it were nothing at all, and he accepted it fully.

  She hugged him again, kissed his cheek, and he giggled and wiped it away. She gave him one more and rubbed it with her fingers. “I’m rubbing this one in so you can’t wipe it away.”

  He looked up at her and smiled.

  “Can we ring the bell again?” he said.

  “When we get back home we can. Now you will need to go see Yenna.”

  “Are you coming?” he asked.

  “Of course, if you will let me.”

  They walked out of the house together, and she saw Tulbo sitting on his barrel across the street, staring at the building with a smile on his face. He stood and looked at her.

  “I am right?” he asked.

  She did not speak. She could not speak. If she didn’t kiss him right then she would die. She walked up to him, gripped him by his hair and pulled him to her mouth. She heard Betten giggling behind her, and she smiled, fouling the kiss and morphing it into a laugh. Tulbo laughed as they stood with their lips pressed together in a smile.

  “Are you coming?” she said. “He is going to meet Yenna.”

  “Yeah, I’m done here,” he said. When they turned to walk up the street, she grabbed Tulbo’s hand.

  The hall was clear of all souls when she reached the path before Yenna Redfist’s court. Betten looked at her with fear on his face. She patted his head. “No matter what he says, you have a home and a mother. Yenna loves his people and will find you to be a great help to him. He will love you,” she said. And she knew it true, because if Yenna didn’t love her son, she would strangle the king chief with her own hands.

  When they entered, the room was clear of all except Yenna, his bastay Gerber Beastscowl, Flak, and Locke Fendis. Locke was serving as Yenna’s squire, so he was expected, but Flak was a surprise. Of all the times she had had occasion to be in this room, she had never seen Flak here.

  Yenna stared at her son with a hard look she didn’t like. She wanted to talk to him about it, but kept her mouth shut. Flak met them on the floor and stood beside Betten. Tulbo took Ellen’s hand, pulled her back. She fought him, not wanting to leave her son’s side, but Tulbo would not allow her to resist.

  She hissed at him, and he pulled close to whisper in her ear.

  “This is a very important day for Betten. He needs to do this on his own.”

  She pulled her hand away, but went without further fight.

  Betten stood before Yenna for a long time before he rapped his spear on the ground and turned to face Flak. He dropped to his knees and placed his spear before Flak.

  The entire room fell silent.

  Tulbo’s breath caught in his chest, and Ellen felt fear jump up and seize her.

  “You are to lay your spear at my feet. I am your king chief,” Yenna said.

  Betten said nothing. He kept his eye on Flak, watching carefully as Flak stared at him. Flak looked up at his grandfather and to Gerber.

  Gerber stood. Ellen stepped forward but Tulbo pulled her back. Gerber walked to Betten’s side and grabbed his arm. He made to jerk him to his feet and Betten bit him. Gerber pulled back with a hiss, his hand to his dagger.

  “I swear on my bell, Gerber, if you pull that weapon I will rip your heart out,” Ellen said.

  Gerber turned to face her, and scowled. He turned back to Betten. “Do you know who you just bit?”

  “The man that tried to part me from my king chief,” Betten said. He glared up at Gerber showing no fear, and Ellen was suddenly filled with so much pride and so much fear she thought she might just pass out.

  “That is not your king chief, boy,” Gerber said, pointing at Flak. “Yenna is your king chief. You will lay this spear at the feet of—” Gerber bent to pick up the spear and Yenna spoke.

  “Do not touch that boy’s weapon.”

  Gerber looked at Yenna before nodding and stepping back.

  “Flak is not a king chief. I am king chief of the Ragoth,” Yenna said. “I will command your spear.”

  Betten would not look at him. He simply stared at Flak.

  Flak finally nodded. “Rise and take your weapon. On his knees is no place for a warrior.”

  Betten stood and pulled his spear. He jammed its butt on the floor and turned to face Yenna.

  Flak stepped before his grandfather and lifted his hands. “Before you let your ire rise, think of this,” Flak said. “Freedom dictates any man or woman has the right to do with their life anything they wish. They can dedicate themselves to any cause or any idea.”

  Yenna nodded. “And every man has a nation. If he wishes to stay in that nation, he needs to respect and follow the commands of that nation’s leaders. Betten is Ragoth. Therefore, he is to bow before me. Unless you wish to challenge me to combat for leadership of the nation, this is my man,” Yenna said.

  “Betten is not a Ragoth,” Flak said.

  “Betten is too a Ragoth, Flak Redfist. You watch your tongue or I will—” was all Ellen could manage before Tulbo clapped his hand over her mouth. She elbowed him in the rib and it was like elbowing a solid wall.

  He whispered in her ear, “Do not interrupt the Redfists when they are speaking. To do so is treason.”

  “That man just insulted my son,” she hissed.

  “Listen and find out if he really did,” Tulbo said.

  “Betten is of the mountain,” Flak continued. “His father never taught him of his nation. What he knows of the Seven has been taught to him by strangers and stories he heard around other people’s camps. He is known by all the nations. And respected by most. He knows no borders and walks the mountain free. To call him a Bloodblade is accurate. To call him Fendis is as well. He is a creature of the mountain, its true soul,” Flak said.

  Ellen liked that.

  “This man is of a nation we have yet to see, a nation of all nations. Often, we have talked of uniting the mountain, bringing them all under the rule of one king chief. We have dreamed of that day, what it will mean for the mountain, and what it will mean for the world. You have admitted to me often that you will never wear that crown, but you wish it for me,” Flak said. He pointed at Betten and smiled. “Grandfather, this man is from a future nation. He is from the nation of one mountain. He is a citizen of one, and as such, he has come to this city to find his ruler. Who would you want that ruler to be?”

  Flak stepped forward and stopped in the middle of the floor. He looked his grandfather in the eye and bowed. “Whose man is this, Redfist king chief, yours or mine?”

  “It is with a humble breath I grant this man of the future, this mighty founder of a new order, the ruler of his choice. May we all one day join his nation and praise his king chief,” Yenna said.

  Betten turned around to look at her, seeking her approval. She had never been that happy before.

  When she stood at the gate with her son, she wept bitter tears. He was leaving. Flak sent him back to the mountain. She did not understand it, and argued with him for hours. She cursed the name Redfist and even strove to strike the young man, but Tulbo held her back. Now standing here watching her boy turn to the east, she thought she would be sick.

  “Don’t go,” she moaned. “Stay with me. I love you. I just found you. I cannot bear to lo
se you again.”

  “His command was clear,” Betten said with wet eyes. “I am the scout for the new order. I am to learn the mountain so I can lead him back to it. I am to search until I find the hub of it all, and prepare him for that place. It is my chore to find a home for my king chief. Flak will one day rule the entire mountain. He needs the scout of the nations united to seek his home. I can’t let him down.”

  “You can’t leave me,” she sobbed.

  “He has given me the leisure to return as often as I can. I will be back here before you know it. I will come often and stay with you for many months at a time. You will be able to ring that bell again soon. But for now, I need to go.”

  He took off his shirt. He took off his pants. He kept his loincloth. She looked at her son, her young seven-year-old boy, and shook her head. “Let me come with you,” she said.

  “Your life is here. And I need you to live it. Provide me with a place to come home to. With arms to run to when I am weary,” he said.

  She grabbed his head. “Look at me.”

  He looked up at her.

  “Hear me when I say this,” she said.

  He nodded.

  “I will always be a place for you to come back to. These arms were made to hold you. I will always wake to make you breakfast.” She hated mornings, but every day with him she had woken up before him and had breakfast cooking. “I am your home. I am your mother. And you are loved. You always have shelter in my arms.”

  He nodded with tears in his eyes and kissed her hands. She hugged him, and he wept.

  She pulled her knife and sheath off her hip. She had been given this by her mother, the one thing her mother had ever given her, a parting gift before shoving her out into the world alone. It had been on her hip every day since they found out she was pregnant. She held it out to him and pressed it into his hand.

  “Take this. It is all I have to give you. It is a good knife, and keeps a good edge. It has served me for years and will serve you, too.”

  Betten looked at it before nodding and binding the belt around his thigh.