by Jesse Teller
Rachel stepped forward, and they laughed.
“What are you going to do, Rachel? Kill us with your swords?” the other girl said. “Be serious, little girl. If you killed us, Yenna would punish your entire house. Your father would lose his spot as Yenna’s bastay, and the Beastscowls would be shamed. No one is afraid of you, little Fury girl. Where is your bow? Where is your shaved head?”
Rachel felt shame. A confusing pain tolled in her chest, an empty hollow feeling that haunted her every time she saw a bow, every time she thought of the way a bow felt in her hand. She woke with that feeling, went to bed with that feeling, and in the face of this girl who mentioned her shame and pain, a white-hot rage ripped through her body.
The two girls laughed at her as more of their friends showed up to take their chairs.
“Do you know how I broke that bear I rode in on today?” Rachel asked, almost sweetly.
“What are you babbling about?” a pretty girl said. Rachel knew how to deal with the average pretty girl.
Rachel stepped closer and the girls before her laughed.
“The bear I rode in here on like a horse, that bear,” Rachel said. “Do you know how I tamed that beast?”
“Well, an animal can tame an animal pretty easily, can’t it?” the girl said.
“Her name is The Breath and Melody of Summer Light,” Rachel said. “I named her that because she is a beautiful creature.”
“That bear looks like a walking… no, no…lumbering piece of wolf poop,” spouted one of the pretentious pretties.
Rachel smiled.
“I rode her,” she said. “Jumped on her back.” Rachel stepped closer and laughed. “Like this.” Rachel leapt into the air. She flipped and landed on the pretty girl’s shoulders. The girl dropped like a stone. “I sat on her shoulders, like this.” Rachel jumped and landed with her rear tightly on the girl’s face. “And I just sat there.” She sat still and calm, looking up at the girl’s friends. “I just sat there.” She stayed still and would not move, would not let the girl up for breath. The girl’s arms beat on her body, and Rachel grabbed them both and hugged them tight.
“See, the animal thinks it is being challenged and it can’t stand a challenge. When an animal sees someone challenging it, it just gets so upset. So I just sat on it while it jumped and swiped at me and fought to break free of me.”
“She can’t breathe, Rachel. Get off of her,” a girl said. She was getting frantic, but not as frantic as the girl beneath Rachel. She was thrashing and kicking and fighting for breath.
“See… Summer,” Rachel smiled. “I like to call her Summer. She felt as if the beast in her was being smothered. She had to fight. She had to kick. See, she couldn’t breathe.”
“Get off of her, Rachel,” one of the other girls said. “I think you’re going to kill her.”
“So eventually the beast tamed,” Rachel said with a smile. “She just stopped fighting me, and let me do whatever I wanted to.” The girl beneath her went slack, and Rachel smiled. “Eventually everyone does.” She stood and the girl under her laid flat, staring up at the sky with wide eyes. Rachel feared she may have actually killed her, but the girl quickly woke up thrashing and kicking. Rachel sat in her chair and smiled.
“See? I know how to tame a beast, don’t I, girls? Even if they aren’t as brave or bright as a bear.”
The three girls ran. Rachel smiled and kept a look out for her friends.
A few minutes later Madeline walked into the hall. She wore a pink dress Rachel had helped her buy. It rose to a pale yellow in the bodice and flared out in every direction in pink and red. Rachel hated her a little for how beautiful she looked in it. Madeline walked to the table that would seat Flak, and stopped at the chair he would sit at. She touched it briefly with tender fingers. She whispered something to him, though he was not there to hear it, then turned to meet with Rachel.
“Last Brotherhood Feast you will spend with us. Next year, you and Flak will take your seat at the Redfist table. Next year, you will be a Redfist,” Rachel said.
“He wanted to be married last month, but I couldn’t have it. Father has yet to arrange for my wedding. Flak wants to wed me anywhere, in the streets if necessary, but Father would not agree. He is still negotiating with Yenna. There is so much of it to work out. I am frustrated with the whole affair.”
“You just want the ceremony over,” Ellen said as she pulled out a chair for herself. She was much older than they were, but Rachel would not hear of her taking a seat at another table. She wanted her Ellen close. Rachel jumped up and ran to hug her dear friend and former—and only—prisoner.
“I do, I want the ceremony over. Flak has talked of running to the mountain and having Borlyn wed us,” Madeline said.
“He would never do it. He would not step on Yenna that way, even if Flak asked him to,” Ellen said.
“He just wants up that pretty dress of yours,” said Rachel.
Madeline blushed, but it only made her prettier. “That is not it. He seems scared.” She looked worried, and Rachel felt a thread of fear stitched in her heart as she listened. “He has said a few times that he is afraid something will happen and we will lose each other. I tell him it is nonsense.” But Madeline didn’t believe that. Rachel could tell Madeline saw it, too. A dark pall had settled over the young couple.
Rachel looked to the other side of the room at Tulbo, and smiled.
“He is looking at you,” she said. “Staring a hole in the back of that dress of yours.”
Ellen looked over her shoulder at Tulbo to no effect. The man did not flinch away or look in another direction. He was bold in his gaze. He would not pull it from her. It seemed as if he needed to see Ellen, and would not apologize about it.
“He is not looking at me, Rachel, darling… he is looking at you,” Ellen said. “He is trying to figure out why you are painted.”
“The face?” she said, pointing at herself. “You are wondering about the face?” Rachel looked at Ellen, then Madeline. They both stared.
“It was a test.”
“What kind of test?” Ellen asked.
“I wanted to see if Locke could meet my gaze when I was painted for war.”
“Locke again?” Madeline said. “You’re too young. He is going to get married next year. Rumor has it he has been following the butcher’s daughter around these days.”
“Charl?” Rachel snapped.
“Yes, dear, that is her name. I went to get meat for my week, and he was standing and talking to her while she slaughtered a boar. She laughed and shook her head, but he looked very serious,” Ellen said. “I think he is smitten.”
“Well to the hells with him, then. Who wants him!” Rachel said. “He can kiss his blood-coated butcher girl if he wants to. I will not care one bit.” She crossed her arms and looked around for the butcher’s daughter. Maybe she would sit on her face, too. Plenty of beasts needed taming.
“Looks like you don’t care at all,” Madeline said. “I can tell by the calm vein throbbing in your forehead.”
“To the hells with him! I don’t care. He can’t take a kick anyway,” Rachel said.
“That is such a strange factor for deciding love, Rachel,” Ellen said. “Why does that matter?”
“If he can’t take a kick to the man parts without doubling over and weeping for his momma, then I don’t want him.”
“Well, all men double over when you kick them there, Rachel,” Madeline said. “It is a very delicate section of a man’s body.”
“It’s weakness,” Rachel said. “Men are flawed,” the common Fury retort still easy on her tongue.
“Maybe, but damn if they don’t hide it well,” Madeline said.
Rachel’s eyes were for the door when Flak, Locke, and Brock were walking in. Flak had his huge friend Whelter with him. Rachel thought him pathetic, skulking around with boys younger than him. He was ugly, and she imagined he smelled funny. He was always being sent to her papa’s brewery for more ale by his drun
kard of a father. The only redeeming factor of the boy at all was the fact he was rude and loud. He cussed too much and fought all the time. But even these things would not win her over.
Madeline looked at her lap and steadied her breathing. Even now, after all these years of looking at Flak, he still brought her to breathlessness.
He walked straight for their table, and Rachel looked at Locke, so handsome, so powerful at such a young age. She hated him a little for Charl, but not much. Charl was funny and pretty and tough as nails. She had once flashed a knife at Rachel when Rachel made fun of Charl’s father… She was alright in ways others couldn’t begin to touch.
“Will you come sit beside me tonight, Madeline?” Flak asked. Madeline smiled, and from the look in her eyes, Rachel could tell she wanted to, but Madeline liked to toy with Flak. Make him want her just that little bit more. She could spend the night sitting with him, or she could deny him and have him think about her all night long. Madeline made teasing Flak into an art form, so Rachel knew he would not have his way tonight.
“This one last year I think I will sit with my friends, Redfist,” she said. Flak deflated. “Besides, you will have plenty of ladies to dance with tonight. I would hate to keep you all to myself.”
Whelter laughed too loud and smiled at Madeline. “Let me pick her up and put her down in any chair you want her in, Redfist,” he said.
“If you pick me up, you will have to carry me away for yourself, Whelter,” Madeline cooed. Whelter went pink in a flush and the girls laughed.
“I hear you found an interesting seat earlier,” Flak said, looking at Rachel.
“Did she come whining to you about that?” Rachel said. “I’ll go beat her into the ground for bothering a Redfist with our squabble.”
“No need to go beating anyone into any ground. I sent her to your father. If he finds fault in your actions, he will talk to you about it,” Flak said.
“Thanks, Flak,” Rachel said. Her papa would never yell at her for teaching a girl a lesson.
“Let’s just try to take it easy on the people, Rachel,” Flak said. “Beastscowl is a duty, not a privilege.”
Rachel stuck her tongue out at him and Whelter laughed. Really loudly.
Dancing. There was so much dancing. The music never stopped once it got going. Rachel hated dancing on a full stomach, and she planned on filling herself to bursting tonight. Flak’s mother was seeing to all the cooking, and there was no better cook than Diana Redfist. The food would be exquisite. But before food, there was dancing, and she was wearing them all out.
The boys could not keep up with her. She did not dance to their rules. Music was not for prancing around in circles with hands up and smiling. It was not about bowing and presenting intention. Dancing was about sweat and exertion. It was about freedom and power. It was a thing for gods and goddesses, the closest men or women truly ever got to divinity beyond the battlefield. While all the others danced in their circles, she spun and slid through the groupings. She flipped her hair and moved her hips. She let the sway of her body and the waving of her arms speak of her power, and she loosed her war cry every time the music lifted her to heights unimaginable.
Every now and then a boy would meet her on the dance floor, and instantly she belonged to him. Dancing was different than searching for a worthy man. Dancing was different than holding herself back for a real warrior. Dancing was the gift she gave to her dance partner, and she took any man or boy who would approach her.
She flew into their arms. She wrapped herself around their bodies. She served them and let them serve her, and gripped tight to them and gasped in the power of their arms. But none of them could manage to match her passion, and they left her as they realized they could not hold their own with her.
Soon, the music stopped, but she was not done. The couples left the floor, and she hummed music to herself and kept spinning. She had not expressed her love, had not expressed her power nor her passion to its fullest extent, just yet. When the players let their instruments go cold, she ignored the silence and kept moving.
When she had been swaying for a long while, Yenna pounded his mighty sword on the table, and she stopped. She stared up at him, gasping.
“Minstrels, play for her! I will not have her art go without music,” Yenna demanded. “Rachel, you are a bright star. May we watch you glimmer upon our floor tonight?”
She had no words. She was caught in the moment, within the shine of her king chief and the hold of the dance. She bowed to him, and Brenden walked out onto the floor. She grinned at him as the music rose up. It was too dry, too polite for the kind of dance she needed. She stomped her foot and held her hand out to her brother.
“More!” Brenden yelled. “More, bards, more and faster, louder and harder! Bring the music to the pace of a Beastscowl’s heart, and my sister and I will join on the floor for battle and love.”
Brenden stepped onto the floor, glaring at her in wrath and power. She snarled at him, and her arm stayed locked out and reaching for him. The music lifted to a terrible riot and Brenden walked around her, staring at her and clicking his teeth. The crowd stilled as he gauged her and fought to find a way to approach her. He walked behind her and wrapped his arms around her. He hoisted her into the air and spun her wildly, seeking a rhythm. She flipped into the air and slid away. She wrapped her arms around her head and body, and lowered her gaze.
Soon, he peeled her arms away and glared stoic in her face. The music broke into a sway, and he spun her.
Brenden matched her as no man but a Beastscowl ever could. When she ached to be thrown, she was already in the air. When she needed him to bow, he was already doing it. They danced so many times that they moved as easily as the bending of an arm. They were in every way in step, in every way breathing as one. Hearts locked as tight as their embrace as they moved. Their very rhythm dictated the dance. Their very movement spoke of the speeds the music should reach. And when they heard the hard report of their father’s spear butt on the floor, the music stopped, and Rachel covered her head.
She heard her papa take the dance floor and waited with bated breath, still flush with the fervor of matching her brother. Gerber stood on the other side of the floor from Brenden. Both glared at each other with wrath and hate, and she knew this dance. She fought the smile that came to her face as she closed her mind around the moves her papa taught her. The music stilled. Gerber lifted his voice well above the silence.
“Bring us to war, minstrels. My son and I vie against one another. We fight as all Beastscowls for the one we love.”
The bards brought their instruments to a steady beat. She looked to Brenden; she looked to Gerber. She held her arms out to both, and they snarled at one another. With fury, Gerber roared, and they ran.
Both met her and twisted her in their arms. They tossed her backward and forward. Brenden ripped her away and spun her across the floor. He spoke to her of his love for her and his power. With his dance, he begged her to stay, but soon, her papa pulled her away to seek her favor with a finesse worthy of the dance.
The men battled each other and Rachel swayed between them. She was flung to each of them, her love for them at war on the dance floor. The room stared, and finally she flipped away from both, rolling and twisting until she stood as far away from both of them as she could get and stay the floor.
Both men struck a pose of anticipation, a Beastscowl face of allure painting both, and she glared at each of them. She screeched and the room thrummed with fear before she rushed to Brenden. She had chosen her champion, and her papa retreated in proud but resolute satisfaction, a grin of pride barely veiled on his grizzled and sweaty face. She danced a victory dance with Brenden before spinning away and dropping to a curtsy. Brenden bowed and the hall erupted in applause.
She hugged Brenden, though he dripped sweat. She held an arm out to her papa, and he joined them and bowed deep. She kissed them both and went to eat.
She was famished.
“What is she saying
?” Madeline said. She sounded frantic. Sounded scared.
Rachel stared at Jocelyn, knelt on the table whispering to Flak, and Madeline sobbed.
“She is taking him,” Madeline said. “She is taking my Flak.” Madeline could not move. She gripped the table as if it was about to drop her through the floor.
Rachel knew no force on the planet could tear Flak away from Madeline, his Madeline, but as Jocelyn whispered, Flak stared in wonder.
“I need to go up there, don’t I?” Madeline said. “I need to go say something.”
Ellen grabbed Madeline by the arm.
“You don’t want to hear what they are saying to each other,” Ellen said.
“…Yes. I will wait for you, Jocelyn,” Flak said.
Madeline screamed.
The hall went silent. Jocelyn looked up at Madeline, and in that moment, Jocelyn looked miserable, as if she would be sick. Madeline jumped to her feet and gripped the knife she had been cutting her meat with, intent on inflicting death upon who or what had brought such pain into this night of all nights.
Ellen jumped up, grabbed Madeline’s wrist and stepped in front of her. They stared at each other before Madeline shoved Ellen away and threw the knife to clatter across the table. She turned and ran as the entire hall watched. Rachel saw Flak tremble and blink. His jaw hung slack, then he shook his head as if dazed. He turned and ran after Madeline as Jocelyn stood to watch them run.
“What just happened?” Ellen asked.
Rachel could not tell, but she was scared.
Rachel jumped to her feet and rushed after them. She hit the hallway and slipped out. She saw them down the hall, and slowly began walking to their sides.
“I don’t know,” Flak said.
“Why, Flak? What did I do?” Madeline sobbed.
“You didn’t do anything. You aren’t to blame.” Flak looked frightened. He wiped blood from his nose. Had Madeline hit him? Rachel could not be sure, but that didn’t sound like her friend at all.
