by Osku Alanen
“I reckon a good night’s rest is all I need,” Ronan answered, his words slurring.
“Trying to hit on him isn’t going to do you any good, girl,” Rose snorted.
“I wasn’t—.” Ivy started but was promptly interrupted.
“Oh, please. Do you take me for a fool? I see the way you look at the man.”
Ivy frowned at Rose, clenching her fists. The animosity they felt was palatable, and Raven had to intervene yet again.
“Girls, girls, girls. There’s no need to fight. Save that nonsense for when we’re back to civilization.”
Rose sighed, nocking an arrow. “If we’re stopping for the night, then I better find us something to eat, then.”
“You do that,” Raven replied, silencing her with a blunt stare.
Rose left the campfire, looking furious. She looked back at Ivy and stepped into the dark forest with no word. Ronan felt worried, but the woman was a skilled hunter; he had no doubt she would manage on her own.
“I wasn’t trying to hit on you, you know?” Ivy muttered, looking ashamed.
“I know.”
“It’s just that… back when you fought the beast, I was the only one who couldn’t move a muscle,” Ivy said. Her hands were shaking so much she had to wrap them around her body. She crept closer to the bonfire. “I was completely frozen then; I couldn’t move a muscle. If not for all of you, I would’ve died—just like that. I didn’t think I was so… weak. While you… you fought the beast until you couldn’t. How?”
Ronan shrugged. “I have fought my entire life—it’s in my blood, fighting is.”
“But I have fought. I had to prove myself again and again to lead those men that you killed. I have no problem with killing—never have. So why now?”
“It wasn’t your fight. And fighting men is different from the Daemoni. Hell, I half expected you would just run and let the beast eat us.”
“Aye, I thought about it. Hell, I might’ve done that if my legs had worked,” the woman laughed nervously. “I’m not a good person, trust me on that at least. I’ve done terrible things myself. Things I’m not proud of. Hell, if you all fell asleep now, I couldn’t guarantee I wouldn’t just take your coin and flee into the night.”
“Nah, I don’t think it will come to that,” Ronan laughed. He lowered his voice, softly tracing his finger on the scars on his palms “And I have done bad things in my youth, too. You’re not alone in that, not by a long shot.”
Ivy moved her body closer, looking at Ronan strangely. “Like what?”
Ronan flinched. “Bad things. I’ve hurt people, people who had done nothing wrong. I was a brainless fool then, going wherever I was ordered to. I fought anyone who even looked my way. Breaking arms and legs and chins like it was nothing. It’s a part of my past that’s best left forgotten.”
“Hence the name Berserker?” Raven said, stepping in. He sat by Ronan, looking at him with a curious face. “Because of your… anger?”
Ronan flinched. “Something like that, aye.”
“Back then,” Ivy asked, voice sounding hesitant. “When the beast first hit you. I could’ve sworn that you were dead. But you stood up, like it was nothing. You looked like… someone else, Ronan. What was that? For a while there, I thought you might attack us instead of the beast.”
“I—,” Ronan said. His heart was beating rapidly in his chest. Could he dare share them his secret—his sin? Would they think him mad?
Embrace who you are, warrior. There is darkness in all men. Only few men have the courage to embrace it. Why hide what you truly are?
Ronan panicked, if only for a moment. His injury during the battle had broken something inside him—the wall that he had worked so hard to build. The presence of the voice was more pressing than it had been for years, now. It made Ronan fear he would lose control again—lose who he was, just like in his youth. No, it was something he would never allow again. Not again. He would rather die.
“Ivy, I think we’ve all gone through a lot today,” Raven smiled. He seemed to sense something was troubling Ronan. “What do you say we leave the questions for later? I believe we could all use some rest.”
“There’s not going to be a later for me,” Ivy replied.
Raven cocked an eyebrow.
“I’m free to go, remember? Once we’re back in Riverend, I’m out of here. I have things I have to take care of.”
Raven stared at Ivy without so much as saying a word. Ronan thought the man might’ve been angered, but he smiled instead. “Of course. I always keep my word.”
“Good.”
It took close to an hour until Rose returned from the forest. Somehow, she had managed to bring back with her two dead rabbits and a handful of berries. How she had managed to capture the animals in a forest this dark, Ronan had no idea, but his stomach was thankful for it. He devoured his share with hunger. Rose sat by Rust’s side, chewing the roasted rabbit in silence. She was obviously brooding. Could she still be carrying a grudge?
“What’s her story?” Ronan asked Raven quietly. He made sure to talk with a low enough voice, so Rose wouldn’t hear them over the fire.
“Rose? She’s a complicated woman. She’s been through a lot, the poor girl, young as she is. Things you wouldn’t want to know. Just know this; she has her scars. And while she may not show it, she feels sorry for shooting the wolf, you know? She just has trouble… showing her emotions sometimes. Hence the outbursts.”
Ronan nodded. “Aye, I gathered as much.”
“Oh, poor girl. Gone through a lot, eh? You would turn pale if you only knew what I have suffered through, boys,” Ivy replied, overhearing their conversation. Thankfully the sound of the roaring campfire mostly drowned her words. Ronan would’ve hated for yet another argument.
Luckily, it seems even Raven had gotten enough of the two women. “What’s your point, woman?” Raven asked. Ronan saw anger for the first time in the man’s eyes.
“What I mean is that my life has not been all that pleasant, either. Yet, I don’t go around hissing and cussing at everyone. It is no excuse to treat the people around you poorly.”
“Aye, maybe so. Still, best leave her in peace. Don’t antagonize her,” Ronan added.
“I don’t—,” Ivy furrowed her brow in frustration, but the angry look from Raven was enough to shut her down.
They ate their rations in quiet and took whatever little rest they could get before dawn.
***
By the time the sun was visible over the horizon, Rust still hadn’t recovered enough to walk on his own, but, luckily, he had regained consciousness. Ronan was surprised to find out that Avalon had already departed. Raven said that was not unusual of him, and that they would surely meet him in Riverend in due time. The man preferred his own road.
They passed through familiar terrain, and despite the exhaustion Ronan was feeling, the ache of soon seeing his son made it all seem worth it. In the end, their quest had been a successful one: the beast was dead, and everyone had made it out alive.
“Look, over there. Is that… smoke?” Raven pointed over the treetops to the northwest, frowning.
“Aye. I can smell it in the air. Something is burning,” Ronan replied.
“It’s not Riverend, is it? I mean that’s not the right direction, I don’t think,” Ivy said.
“No, Riverend is still some ways to go. The only place over that direction that I know of is….” Ronan stopped on his tracks. It was as if he had seen a ghost. “No, it cannot be,” he gasped.
“What is it?”
“It—. My friend lives that way. The one that takes care of my son. That’s where her cabin is.”
Ronan had no choice but to let Rust down on the ground, gently.
Rust replied weakly. “Go.”
Raven nodded, frowning. “We’ll be right after you.” He looked troubled.
Ronan dashed towards the smoke behind the distant trees. He hoped it was all a simple mistake. He hoped that it wouldn’t be Eira�
�s house that’s on fire. It would be a simple forest fire. Yes. That’s all it was.
Except, he had never heard of a forest fire when winter was this close; the ground was too damp, and there had been no storms for months, now.
“No,” Ronan gasped, breathless. “No.”
The building by the lake burned. The flames licked the outside of the cabin, desperately trying to escape the confinement of the enclosed space. If someone had been inside, they would have been dead long before Ronan was there to help them.
He was too late.
“Keran?” Ronan shouted at the door. The heat was too much for Ronan; if he went any closer, he would surely die, too.
There was no answer.
“Eira?” Ronan shouted, voice breaking with emotion. He listened over the roaring fire, begging for a voice. Begging for any trace of his son or of his caretaker.
Nothing.
Ronan circled the cabin, looking any sign that they might have escaped. He found clothes on a rope by a nearby tree; they were damp—Eira must’ve only just done her laundry. He ran for the lake, dipping Eira’s thick furs in the ice-cold water, wrapping it around his body. He took a shirt and pressed it against his face, hoping it would prevent the smoke from burning his lungs.
I do not sense the little one inside. You should not risk your life for naught; he is not there.
“I have to know,” Ronan replied through clenched teeth. How could he trust the voice after all he had done to him? Surely, he would rather lie than to risk Ronan’s life.
Ronan swallowed nervously and entered the burning cottage in front of him.
Ronan’s breath was immediately taken away by the extreme heat and the smoke hitting his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t see. He knew he had only moments before he would suffocate. There was no sign of them in the living room, so he had no choice but to go for the bedroom behind the closed door.
He clasped the handle with both of hands, screaming in pain as the metallic door handle burned into his flesh. He took a step back, leaving a trail of smoking flesh stuck in the molten handle. He wanted to vomit, but there was no time. He barely felt the pain, though—it would come later. He kicked the door in, rushing inside. The blanket of smoke hit his lungs immediately after, and the flames were close enough to lick his face. Even the clothes he had dipped in the cold water had turned dry in mere moments.
“Keran,” Ronan tried saying, but words were stuck in his throat. At the very instant, the roof crumbled, almost crushing Ronan. His reflexes from the battle with the beast were still sharp, and he dodged the burning log with ease, towards the bedroom. He looked around, expecting to find both Eira and Keran dead in their beds.
They weren’t there.
Ronan felt the toxic fumes affecting his mind already; his muscles hardly moved. He took a step towards the door, finding that a wooden pillar had crashed before it, preventing his escape. With his last strength, he tried lifting the pillar, but he couldn’t. This was it, Ronan realized. Death had come knocking, but Ronan still smiled, almost welcoming it. His son was safe. He had to be. He might die here, aye, but his son would live on. It was not the end he had imagined for himself, but then again, life rarely gives you what you want.
Save your breath. Help is near,” the voice said.
Ronan’s knees failed him; he fell to his hands, lungs wheezing with the effort of trying to get what little air there was left in the smoldering ruin around him.
Ronan thought of his son as he passed out.
***
“Ronan,” a voice to his right said.
“A moment longer, Keran,” Ronan yawned. “Just a moment longer….”
His son kept pulling at his blanket. Blasted kid. He always woke him up whenever he pleased. Hadn’t he taught him that adults needed their sleep after a long day’s work? By the gods, his body hurt all over—his arms especially so. What had he done yesterday to work his muscles so?
Ronan opened his eyes in sudden horror, remembering the burning cabin.
“Keran,” Ronan shouted, looking around in a panic.
“No, my friend,” a familiar voice said—Raven?
“What… where am I? My son… is he… safe?” Ronan said, coughing between words. Gods, his lungs burned.
“Relax, friend. You inhaled a dangerous amount of smoke. You’re lucky to be alive. As for your son… he was not inside that house. Trust me, we checked thoroughly; the house was empty.”
“Thank you,” Ronan whispered, hiding his face in his palms in shame, crying tears of happiness. It had been years since he had last wept; it was as if a dam had busted open inside of him and all the buried emotions surfaced at once. He felt blessed to be alive, and happy that his son wasn’t inside the cabin. At least he still had a chance to find him. “Thank you, Raven.”
Raven placed his hand on Ronan’s shoulder. He whispered in Ronan’s ear gently. “You are very welcome, friend. And do not worry for your son. I sent word around the town. It’s only a matter of time before he is found.”
Ronan looked around him, suddenly recognizing the familiar surroundings around him. They had carried him back to the Tavern. Back to his bed.
“I was worried as I saw you enter the burning house, so I sent Rose after you. And lucky for us that we did. If her mind hadn’t be as quick as it had, you would’ve died back then.”
Ronan looked down on the floor in shame. “Aye, I wasn’t thinking with clear mind there, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it. The important thing is you’re still with us. I would hate for your newly found companionship to end so short.”
Ronan groaned as he moved himself to the edges of the bed. Let placed his legs one by one on the floor; his arms were shaking with the effort. The toxic fumes inside the house had really taken their toll in his body. Gods, he felt so weak.
Raven lent out his hand in support, and Ronan accepted without a word. “Are you sure you’re strong enough to walk?”
“Aye, I’ll live. I need to look for my son.”
“I understand, just take it easy, will you?”
“I’ll try,” Ronan said, showing a pained smile.
Ronan spent the rest of the morning wandering around Riverend, asking anyone he passed by if they had seen a small boy and a woman. After a few hours, Ronan had grown increasingly frustrated; no one had a single clue. It was as if the earth had swallowed him.
“Ronan, is that you?” a familiar voice shouted from across the street. It was Han, a blacksmith whose services Ronan had depended on time and time again.
“Aye, who else?” Ronan replied, grinning. He liked the man. He could always rely on the man’s steel. The man motioned Ronan to come over.
The man laughed out loud, carefully placing his hammer back on a nearby table. He took a dull-looking blade, lowering it into a bucket of hot oil. The blade caught afire immediately after, and Ronan stepped back nervously. The man took off his mitts, patting Ronan on the back. “So, how long’s it been, man? I swear I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
“Aye. I’ve been busy. The Huntress asked me for a job, and I had no choice but to obey.”
The look on the man’s face turned quickly into a frown. “I thought you were gonna quit for good? For your son. Where is he by the way? You’re not letting him stay on his own all day, I hope? Things have been dangerous of late, I hear.”
“Things didn’t go as planned, I’m afraid to say. He was injured, so I left him in the healer’s care. You remember Eira, right? A feisty woman. Likes her peace. As for my son he’s… missing. I was hoping you had seen him, maybe?”
The man wiped his sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. The heat of the furnace made Ronan anxious. It reminded him of the burning cabin. He could still feel the heat through the bandages in his arms. His hands were badly burned and would likely require much time to wield his axe comfortably. He had tried lifting it back in the tavern, but he found the pain unbearable. He couldn’t dare risk going outside unarmed, so with the help
of Raven, they managed to hoist the weapon on his back. He couldn’t draw the weapon, aye, but the sight of it was probably enough to scare any thieves away.
“No, ‘fraid not.”
“Aye, I thought so. Well, it was nice seeing you, but I’m afraid I have to go.”
“Wait, Ronan,” Han added. He clearly had something in his mind, but he seemed uncertain if he should as it. “You wouldn’t happen to need a new weapon, would you? I’ll give you a discount, too. Don’t take this personally, but can see the shape your axe is in. You wouldn’t want your weapon to give in during the heat of it, you know? Life’s precious, I reckon.”
“I reckon you’re quite right,” Ronan muttered.
He felt his purse—it was empty. Still, they had completed Raven’s task, hadn’t they? He was due reward—a sizable sum at that. He felt the axe on his back; it had once been beautiful craftmanship, to be sure. But those days were long gone. Flinching with pain, and with Han’s help, he put down the weapon on his back, inspecting it more closely. There were terrible cracks along the edge of the blade. He was right, Ronan realized. This axe had seen its best days. One or two hard blows, and the metal itself might crack. And a man without a proper weapon was a dead man in this part of the world.
Ronan snorted. “You’re right as usual, Han. Aye, I’ll take you up on your offer.”
“A double-edged one again?”
Ronan paused for a moment. He had always preferred a hefty weapon. An axe was slower than a sword, but it was the more powerful one by far. A skilled fighter could crush anyone with it. Still, the burns in his hands were serious. He wouldn’t be able to swing an axe of that size any time soon. He needed something swifter. Something lighter. Something he had wielded in his youth. “You know what? I think I’ll go with hatchets this time. Getting too old to swing an axe of this size anyhow, you know?”
