The Fortress of Suffering

by Kyle Alexander Romines

  “I’m listening.”

  “War is coming. Prince Eberdon needs a man who knows the east. A warrior who knows how to keep his mouth shut. You’re the right man for the job.” When Ahearn looks at me, he sees only a killer. He’s wrong. I have a family—a life.

  I expect he will attempt to recruit me to take part in Queen Scathach’s invasion of Connacht. His next words change everything.

  “Prince Eberdon desires his mother’s crown, and he means to have it.”

  I try and fail to hide my surprise. Eberdon isn’t raising an army to conquer Connacht at his mother’s behest. He means to depose her and rule as king. This is madness. If rebellion breaks out, this country will bleed.

  Ahearn continues. “Together with his brother, Prince Eldermar, and Laird McGrath, Eberdon is raising an army to march through the Glenshane Pass and cut off the east from the west. We need someone to lead a smaller force to seize Ravenswood Castle so that Laird Lagan is unable to come to the queen’s aid. Do this, and you will be richly rewarded. Prince Eberdon’s gift was only a taste of what lies in store.” He spares a glance at McGrath’s representative, who stifles a yawn.

  Suddenly, everything makes sense. Eberdon allowed the goblin king to surrender to save his men for the real war. I don’t know the cause of the rebellion. I’m just a commoner. Maybe the prince’s mother slighted him. Maybe he was too far down in the line of succession. It doesn’t matter. In the end, everything nobles do comes down to power. It’s always the common folk who suffer.

  I must choose my next words carefully. After this, there’s no going back. “No.” I made a promise to my daughter, and I aim to keep it.

  It’s Ahearn’s turn to betray surprise. “No?” The pleasant façade gives way to something darker underneath. “You would stand with the queen?”

  “I want no part of this war.” I have no love for Scathach. The Ice Queen is a tyrant who rules the north with an iron hand, but Eberdon is just as brutal.

  Ahearn is clearly displeased by my answer. “I don’t think you understand. It is not a request. Your lord—your prince—calls upon you.”

  “I’ve sworn no oaths to McGrath or Eberdon. I am a free man, and I am done fighting. I just want to be left alone.”

  “You may be done fighting, but the fighting isn’t done with you. The war will spread. Eventually it will come to Kells. I would ask you to reconsider.” Ahearn studies me carefully, looking for weakness. “Otherwise, I cannot guarantee your safety—or that of your family.”

  My temper gets the better of me. No one threatens my family. “Go to hell.” My hands ball into fists.

  Ahearn’s companions regard me with menacing expressions. One puts his hand on the hilt of his blade to intimidate me. I’m not intimidated easily.

  “Something wrong, Esben?” Old Ben stands behind me. Kent is with him.

  I don’t answer. It’s all I can do not to strangle Ahearn to death here and now.

  “I’m sure it’s just a simple misunderstanding.” Kent nudges me. “Isn’t that right?”

  I stare the others down and grunt noncommittally.

  The cutthroats look to Ahearn for guidance. A tense standoff ensues until he shakes his head, and the men back down. Ahearn’s lips fold into a sneer. “The prince will not be pleased when he learns of your decision. I hope for your sake he is in a forgiving spirit.”

  I walk away without another word, but not before noticing Galen observing from a distance. How long has he been watching us? I shrug it off and trek off to join my family. I’m insignificant in the grand scheme of things. Ahearn will forget about me. Still, that night I hold my daughter a little tighter.

  Even with harvest over, there’s always more work that needs doing.

  I chop firewood at the forest’s edge. We’ll need it when winter comes. Although the autumn season is long, winter is never far from anyone’s mind. Winter months are colder and darker here than in the rest of Fál. Starvation is common in times of poor harvests, and death from cold is a constant risk.

  I swing the axe again and again. It feels good in my hands. The work helps vent my growing restlessness. When winter comes, we’ll be confined to the cottage. The thought has me on edge. I need to be outside, working with my hands to keep from dwelling on dark things.

  My thoughts turn again to the festival. There is no news of Eberdon or his rebellion in the village, not that word would have reached Kells anyway. Ahearn and his men have not returned. Still, I wish I’d held my temper. Try as I might, I can’t escape the feeling some ill-fate lies in store. I tighten my grip on the axe and bring it down harder. Maybe I just don’t know how to be content. Life has taught me to expect the worst for too long.

  Sweat streaks my face, and my muscles ache all over. I’ve been at it for hours. I regard the growing pile of wood and keep going. I remember sleeping packed together with my parents for most of the day to keep warm during a particularly nasty winter when I was near Aileen’s age. We woke only to tend the fire or eat what little bread we had left. Before winter’s end, all the animals had died, and my mother nearly starved herself so I could eat.

  The breeze carries a savory aroma from the smokehouse, where Duncan hangs salt-covered hams and shoulders from slaughtered pigs over a fire. We leave little to waste; pigskin can be cured into leather, and Hilda mixes the blood with oats and fat to make blood pudding. As Duncan emerges from the smokehouse to pickle vegetables, he attempts to kiss his bride-to-be, who playfully swats him away. When she’s not knitting wool scarves, coats, and mittens—or teaching Aileen to do the same—Hilda stockpiles vegetables and grains to make pottage stew in the cold months. That woman will throw anything she can get her hands on into that pot. Even down to only a few herbs, she can make a stew fit for a lord’s hall, though admittedly, hunger makes everything taste better.

  Hilda rings the dinner bell. I plant the axe in a stump, pick up a bundle of firewood, and stalk off toward the cottage. I haven’t been this famished since the war ended.

  Duncan watches me dump the firewood outside the cottage. “You don’t have to work so hard, Esben. You’re making the rest of us look bad.”

  I bury my head in a rain barrel to cool off. “Someone has to pick up the slack while you two are off doing gods-know-what.”

  Duncan laughs and winks at Hilda. “I think you can take it easy. We’ve mended everything that needs mending, the animals are healthy, and we’ve enough food stores to last two winters.”

  I shake the water from my hair and glance around. “Where’s Aileen?”

  Hilda uses hand motions to tell us Aileen was collecting wheat stubble from the field to use as fodder for the animals. I haven’t seen her, and neither has Duncan. She’s gone.

  “She’s not here.” My voice is almost a growl, and I struggle to keep my anger in check. “How could you let her wander off?”

  Unable to hold my gaze, Hilda backs away.

  Duncan does his best to keep me calm. “There’s no cause for that, Esben. I’m sure Aileen hasn’t gone far.”

  I shoot him a murderous look and march back to the forest to find her. Sunset isn’t long off. What if she’s lost her way? I think again of the bear Ben and I encountered on the road home. Worse things than that prowl about this time of year. Monsters thrive in the dark months, and monster hunters can find bounties in nearly any town or village.

  We search for Aileen for the better part of an hour. I nearly make myself hoarse shouting for her. Finally, I see her skipping down the trail with Faolán at her side.

  Her face lights up when she sees me. “Look what I did, Papa.” She turns her head to show me wildflowers braided in her hair but stops when she notices my expression. “What’s wrong?”

  “What are you doing out here by yourself? I told you not to go into the forest alone.” That’s when I see the cross around her neck. “What’s that?”

  “The priest at the festival gave it to me. He said the Lord would hear me if I talked to him.”

  Her w
ords fill me with anger. How could a loving God take my wife from me, or allow my father to beat my mother to death? I grab her arm and rip the cross from her neck before breaking it in two, prompting tears. “I’ll not have my daughter praying the Lord of Hosts.” I barely notice how hard I’m squeezing her arm until she winces in pain.

  “Papa, you’re hurting me!”

  Horrified, I release her, and she drops her doll and runs back to the farm. Faolán spares me a parting glance and follows.

  I stare at the doll, and my anger quickly fades to remorse.

  It’s late when Duncan finds me at the river. It’s where I come to get away.

  Fish swim under water bathed in the full moon’s light. My line dangles in the water, untouched. My mother was a fisherman’s daughter. She taught me how to fish. Sometimes when I come here, I can still feel her presence beside me. It’s been a while since I felt it last.

  Duncan lowers himself beside me and sits with me for a time before speaking. Somehow, he gives answer to the question weighing on my mind. “Aileen’s alright. Hilda fed her and put her to bed. In the morning, she probably won’t even remember it.”

  I shake my head. “What if I had hurt her, Duncan? I was so angry I could hardly see straight.” My gaze settles on the water, where my father dumped my mother’s corpse after beating her to death. “What if it’s too late for me? Fighting is all I know. What if I can’t come back?”

  “You love that little girl, Esben, and she loves you.” Duncan rests an arm on my shoulder. “Rhona would be proud of you. Everyone makes mistakes. Gods know I’ve made more than my share. The best you can do is own up to them and try to make things right.”

  I stare at him in the moonlight. “You’re a good man, Duncan. Better than I give you credit for.”

  He grins and rubs his hands together. “Good. Then let’s head back before I catch my death of cold.”

  Neither of us speaks on the way back to the cottage. We don’t have to.

  When we return, I linger at Aileen’s bed and watch her sleep. Faolán lies curled up at her feet. Before I can go, Aileen’s eyes flutter open.

  “Are you still mad at me, Papa?”

  I sit down beside her and take her hand in mine. It’s so small. “No, lass. I’m not mad.” I hand the doll back to her, and she clutches it to her chest. “I’m sorry I lost my temper.”

  “Are you going to go away again?” After everything, she’s still afraid I will leave her.

  “No. I’m not going anywhere.” My voice breaks, and I search for the right words. I’ve never been very good at this kind of thing. “My papa was a bad man—an angry man. He hurt everything and everyone around him. I don’t ever want to be like him. You can pray to whatever god you want.” I start to tell her I love her, but she’s already asleep.

  Thinking keeps me up most of the night. Mostly, I think of Aileen. I love her enough to change. No matter what it takes, I will be the man she needs me to be. It’s almost light outside when Faolán wakes me with a low whine and pokes her muzzle under my hand. My hand caresses her fur, and she sprawls out beside me.

  Aileen sleeps so peacefully I can’t bear to wake her. I stroke her fire-red hair and brush her forehead with my lips. It’s time to let go of the past. Starting today, everything will be different.

  She finds me chopping wood not long after dawn and flashes me a smile that could light up the sky. We share breakfast on the porch, and she laughs watching me scarf down a heaping portion. Duncan catches my eye and nods, as if to say I told you so. He grabs at Hilda, who falls into his arms while trying to keep her food away from Faolán. A warm feeling spreads through me unexpectedly at the sight of everyone gathered together. This is my family. Despite all the things I’ve done, I have everything I could ever want.

  We’ve only just returned to work when they come for me.

  I see them first. I don’t recognize the men at a distance, but their weapons I know all too well. Duncan doesn’t seem to realize the danger, but Hilda does. She looks at me with warning in her eyes. I call to Aileen, who comes running. Hilda, protective as a she-wolf, steps in front of her. Faolán bristles and barks.

  Duncan’s brow furrows. “Esben, what’s going on?”

  “They’re here for me.” As they draw closer, I recognize two from the harvest festival. Ahearn’s men. We don’t have much time. “Hilda, take Aileen to the barn. Get the horse and get her out of here.”

  It’s too late. The cutthroats have reached us. There are five in all, and an archer among them. There’s nowhere to run, at least not on foot.

  “Take a gander at this one’s face, lads.” The archer whistles while nocking an arrow and drawing back on the bowstring.

  Their leader, a bearded man missing the tip of his nose, sizes me up. “That’s him, alright.”

  “We have to fight him?” One flinches, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “He’s as big as a giant.”

  My back is to the cottage. I’m unarmed. I’ve never backed down from a fight before, but for the others, I try doing so now. “This doesn’t have to end in bloodshed. I have silver. Take it and walk away. Tell Ahearn I’m dead.” I search their faces for mercy where there is none to be found. These are hard men, like me. Killers.

  “I think we’ll just kill you and take it anyway.” Their leader smirks in anticipation. “Ahearn says we’re to make an example of you.” It’s then I notice his and the others’ swords are already bloody. They’ve already been through Kells.

  “Get ready, Hilda,” I say under my breath.

  A strange expression comes over Duncan’s face. “For Rhona.” He’s never been a fighter. Not like me. He’s lazy and given to excessive drink. I’ve always looked down on him—thought him soft and weak. But it’s Duncan who lets out a cry and runs straight at Ahearn’s men to give Hilda and Aileen a chance to sprint to the barn. It’s Duncan who draws the first arrow.

  “Get them,” their leader orders. “Don’t let them escape.”

  Hilda shields Aileen with her body. She doesn’t stop when the first arrow hits her, or even the second. I’m already sprinting after them. I knock a swordsman to the ground on my way to the barn. One of his companions grazes me with a sword, but I hardly notice. An arrow whizzes past my head. The next hits me in the shoulder. A growl comes from Faolán, who drags the archer off his feet. Hilda lays dying at the barn’s entrance, but there’s no time to comfort the woman who saved my daughter’s life.

  Aileen waits for me inside. She’s shaking. “Papa, I’m scared.”

  I hear them outside the barn. Ahearn’s men are coming. A whine comes from Faolán, who limps into the barn. She’s bleeding badly. So am I. That sword cut me worse than I thought.

  Our time is short, but I crouch low and hug Aileen to me. “I need you to be brave. Can you do that for me?” She wipes her eyes and nods, and I unlatch the stall door and put her on the horse. There’s no back exit, so she’ll have to ride out the way we came. “Don’t be scared. It’s just like we practice.” I give her a gentle squeeze. “Don’t look back. Everything’s going to be alright. I’ll find you.”

  She looks at me expectantly. “Promise?”

  “I promise.” I look back at Aileen one last time and turn to Faolán. “Ready, girl?”

  Faolán whimpers, rises from the dirt, and bares her teeth. She loves Aileen fiercely. She’d die to defend her.

  Ahearn’s men wait outside the barn. We fall on them together—me with a battle cry, and Faolán with a savage roar.

  I hit the first man with enough force to break his jaw. Faolán does the rest with her teeth and claws. Someone hits me hard from behind, and the world slips out of place. My movements slow, and a sword nicks my neck. I let out an angry shout and tackle my attacker before he can score another hit. It’s a struggle to pin his sword arm to the ground. My hand closes around his dagger, and I pull it free and stab at him wildly. When he grabs the arrow in my back and jerks back, it’s all I can do to stay conscious. The cutthroats’ lead
er slams into me, and the impact knocks me on my back. His blade’s edge scrapes against my bare forearms, and I drive my forehead into his nose.

  Hooves rattle behind me. Aileen gallops out of the barn, one hand on the reins and the other pressing her doll close to her chest. A pained howl comes from Faolán, nearly motionless under a tree. Blood covers her gray coat.

  I struggle to find my footing. The pain doesn’t matter. Neither does the loss of blood. I push myself forward through sheer force of will. I lost my mother. I lost my wife. I will not lose my daughter. I overpower the cutthroats’ leader by sheer force of will and roll on top of him. He thrashes madly as I dig my hands into his eye sockets and increase the pressure on his skull, but I do not relent. He dies screaming.

  That’s when I see the archer crawl to his bow and take aim at me. Aileen doesn’t notice. She passes between us as the archer’s hands release the drawstring. There’s nothing I can do but watch as the arrow finds an unexpected target. Aileen and I look at each other for one terrifying, moment, and she falls from the horse. The doll lands on the ground beside her.

  Ahearn’s men—or what’s left of them—flee. Their leader is dead, and I’m most likely done for.

  “Papa.” Aileen’s weak voice breaks my heart.

  I stagger to her and fall to my knees. Aileen clings to life. Already her skin is white as snow, and just as cold. My head hangs low as I gather her into my arms. She should be dead already, but she’s fighting hard. It dawns on me she’s holding on to say goodbye. I never realized how strong she was—strong like her mother, who struggled to her last breath to deliver our daughter while bleeding to death.

  Aileen’s eyes meet mine. Her mouth forms words, but no sound comes out. Her trembling subsides, and she falls still. I cradle my daughter in my arms and stumble forward, as if to fetch help, but she’s already gone. Her red hair sways gently in the breeze. She’s so small. I walk a few steps toward the cottage before I again fall to my knees. I hug her close and begin to weep.

  The farm is quiet. Faolán has stopped moving under the tree. Duncan and Hilda lie in each other’s arms. Somehow, they managed to crawl to each other before they died. I rock Aileen back and forth while wishing I had died with them. Finally, I pick her up and carry her inside. I gently place her on her bed and close her eyes. When Rhona died, Aileen saved me from despair. She gave me a reason to live. Her death breaks something inside me, leaving a great emptiness in its wake.