by Jim Galford
“If he is dead, you made it happen!” Atall screamed at Estin, waving the knife. “You’re trying to take mother from him!”
Estin swallowed hard as the knife skimmed his stomach with Atall’s last swing, the fine blade easily slicing through his shirt.
“Your mother is devoted to your father and to you, not to me,” he admitted, looking up to see Oria’s ears flatten back, her eyes on the cut in his clothing. “If there was anything between us, that was before she met your father.”
Atall seemed to struggle for a moment, then tensed as one of the gypsies tried to jump at him. He twisted, trying to stab at his attacker, but the blade glanced across Estin’s stomach, brushing firmly enough that Estin felt pressure from the blade.
Trying to get the gypsies to stop wrestling the weapon from Atall’s hands, Estin tried to shout, but his voice just would not come. He gasped for breath, then looked down to see that his stomach was pouring blood onto the ground. He had forgotten how sharp the kits’ weapons were. Numbly, he tried to apply pressure to the long gash, but blood just poured through his fingers.
Unable to breathe or speak, Estin collapsed, his magic uselessly trapped in his own head without the words to call it.
*
Estin came to slowly, pain flooding his stomach as he became gradually aware of his surroundings. Above him stood Feanne, Oria, and an orc woman that he did not know. It was the orc who was applying pressure to his wounds and whispering familiar words over the injuries to slow the bleeding.
“He will live,” the green-skinned woman stated as Estin opened his eyes, the flickering light of torches dancing off her eyes and white tusks. “The wound was deep, but I have done what I can to close it. Let him rest and keep him away from sharp things, or next time his intestines stay on the outside.”
The orcish woman excused herself and left the tent, leaving Estin alone with Feanne and Oria. Though Oria looked terrified as she knelt beside him, it was Feanne that drew his attention. Her face was wet and she was clutching his hand so tightly that his knuckles ached.
“Is Atall alright?” he asked, surprising himself with his raspy voice.
“Yes,” Feanne answered, a tear running into her fur. “He has given up his weapon and demanded that Ulra cage him until you are well enough to properly punish him for attacking you.”
Estin tried to sit up, but pain flared through his gut and he fell back, with Feanne applying pressure to his chest to keep him down.
“Don’t push yourself,” Feanne ordered him. “When I got to you, the gypsies were all that was holding your stomach in. You are lucky to be breathing. Had we not gotten to you soon enough, I doubt we could have found another healer who could mend your injuries in time.”
Estin brought his other hand up and squeezed back on Feanne’s hand, then reached over and wiped a tear off Oria’s cheek.
“Why are you crying?” he asked, smiling at the girl, trying to keep his mood light for her sake. “You weren’t the one who got stabbed.”
“Atall hates us both right now. I don’t think he believes either of us and he thinks I’m lying just to save you. He really doesn’t want to believe dad is dead.”
“Then he will be angry until he accepts it, but he needs to be mad at the undead, not me and certainly not Yoska.”
“You will need to talk to him about that,” Feanne added. “Right now, he will not talk to anyone. The last he said after Ulra caged him was that he will wait for you to speak with him. I think he expects you to demand he be punished…he may even think he will be executed for this. I made some stupid declaration a while back that an attack on my guards would result in execution, after Bockkan first suggested skinning Ulra.”
“Then help me go to him. I won’t have him sitting in a cage, while I lay here.”
Feanne began to argue, but gave in as Estin continued to struggle to sit up. Finally, she gave Oria the order to help and they got under Estin’s shoulders, helping him stand.
He was shaky on his feet and as soon as he was upright, his stomach began bleeding slowly, but Estin was unwilling to lay back down. Feanne even tried to order him to wait through the night, but Estin told her that he was fully intending to disobey her, drawing a teary-eyed promise of a flogging once he had recovered.
The mother and child helped him limp his way from the tent, where he found Ulra sitting guard closer to a wooden-framed cage than to the tent. The cage was built much the same way that Finth’s cage had been when he was first captured…ironically, Finth also stood guard with Ulra near the cage, giving Estin a dark stare as he approached.
Inside the cage, Atall was curled up in a ball, his face covered by his arms as he lay on his side.
“The kid doesn’t need guests,” said Finth, stepping in front of them as they neared the cage. “He needs time to think about stabbing people who care about him and what some people might do to him if he ever even thinks about doing it again.”
“Move,” Estin ordered Finth, who spit on the ground, then stormed away.
Estin had the females ease him to a seated position with his back against the cage, then told them all to leave him.
“I’m not going to leave you out here,” Feanne told him, kneeling in front of him and examining his bleeding stomach again. “You will need help getting back to the tent and it is cold tonight.”
“I’ll stay here tonight,” he replied, pulling her hands away from the wound. “Please, Feanne. Let me have this one argument.”
She hesitated, but finally took Oria and Ulra, the three returning to Feanne’s tent, though Estin did not doubt that they were listening and possibly watching.
“I understand why you are angry, Atall.”
The kit grumbled and curled tighter.
“I’m not trying to take your mother away from you. Your father was a good male, who wanted all of you to be safe. He died trying to make that happen. If I could give my life to give him back to you, I would do it without hesitation.”
Atall finally sat up, moving to the edge of the wooden bars so that he could look over Estin.
“Did I hurt you badly?”
“Yes.” Estin was too tired to lie or attempt to mislead the child. “I’ll heal, though.”
The silence between them was palpable for a time, until Atall spoke again.
“My dad told me to never trust you. He said you were trying to destroy our family.”
“Do you believe that’s true, Atall?”
“No. I just wanted so badly for my dad to come back, I had to believe he was alright somewhere. You saved us so many times, I’d decided that he might have been wrong. Then, when I saw you with mom, I heard all the things dad had said in the back of my head. You were mom’s guard though, so I had to lash out at someone.”
“Yoska.”
“Yep. I really didn’t want to hurt anyone. I was just mad.”
“I know. Sorry for getting in the way of the knife.”
Atall laughed weakly.
“If my dad’s really dead, I have no right to do the things I did out there tonight. It wasn’t right to stab you. Mom can do what she wants now. I’m sorry.”
Estin turned to be able to look at Atall, reaching through the bars to touch his arm gently.
“Your mother only cares about you two. Nothing else matters. I’ll resign from her guard as soon as I’m better. I don’t want you to ever have to worry again.”
Atall looked up, his face angry again.
“Don’t! I don’t want to see you and mom purring or licking each other or anything, but I don’t feel safe without you around. I want you to stay with us, Estin. I won’t promise that I won’t freak out again, but I’ll try…”
Estin chuckled despite his pain.
“I’ll stay, then. At least you’ve only cut me once. You’ve got a lot of catching up to your mother to do.”
“She’s cut you?! On purpose?”
“Not always. She taught me to fight, before I learned how to heal people. Your mother beat
me senseless so many times…”
Atall giggled and leaned back against Estin through the bars.
“Would you…would you stay and tell me about the things you two have been through? Dad said that you and mom traveled together before the war got going. Will you tell me about it?”
“Anything you ask.”
Estin sat through the night, leaning against the bars of Atall’s cage, telling him the stories of his first meetings with Feanne, her methods for teaching him how to fight, and even a little about the forest spirit she once served. Towards dawn, Atall even begged to be told about the battle for Insrin’s village from Estin’s perspective, which Estin saw no reason not to share, now that Feanne had shown her “gift” to the camp.
Atall listened to it all with amazement, asking few questions, but his face bunched up in confusion a few times, seemingly catching Estin when he left out uncomfortable details—such as why Insrin had disliked him so much. Luckily, the boy did not appear to notice Estin’s exclusion of the winter storm after his training and the time he and Feanne spent together.
When dawn finally did break, Atall at last had dozed off in the cage, while Estin still sat alongside, stroking the kit’s curled fur around his brows. At his touch, Atall began mumbling softly in his sleep.
Estin watched the kit sleep, keeping his free hand pressed against his stomach to slow his bleeding until he had the strength to heal himself properly.
As he brushed the child’s face again, Atall caught his hand and stared dully up at him, barely opening his eyes.
“You can stay with her,” he whispered, yawning loudly. “I’m sorry.”
“I won’t do anything to hurt you and your sister.”
Atall curled up again, mumbling as he drifted back towards sleep, “If I can’t have my dad back, I wish you could be my dad.”
Wordless, Estin just stared at the child, trying to find some sense in his suddenly jumbled thoughts. Before he could shake the shock of Atall’s words, Feanne’s voice startled him into looking away.
“Will he be safe to release?” asked Feanne, sitting down beside him. She hesitated and her ears twitched as she looked at Estin. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…he’ll be fine.”
Eyeing him as though she knew he was lying to her, Feanne cut the straps that held the cage closed and picked up her son, carrying him into her tent. Estin could hear some talking inside the tent, then she came back several minutes later, putting one of Estin’s arms over her shoulder as she helped him up.
They hobbled into the tent, where Estin stopped as he realized that his bedding had been stolen by the children. They had dragged all of his blankets and furs over near Feanne’s, then curled up together on his blankets.
Over where Estin’s bedding should have been, Ulra lay curled up, snoring softly.
Estin began to pull towards one of the few empty parts of the tent near the low embers of the fire, intending to at least catch some sleep on the ground, but Feanne would not let him walk away.
“The children insist,” she told him, easing him down onto her own bedding. “They said that they want you closer to protect us all, like Ulra suggested. I could not argue…they made me promise. It’s nothing more than that, but you will be sharing my bedding at least until you heal, or until the children ask me to move you. Atall was most firm in his demands.”
Though uncomfortable—especially with the pain in his stomach—Estin lay down as instructed, feeling somewhat guilty as Feanne lay down beside him, being careful not to bump his wound. He tried to object one more time, but she clamped her fingers over his jaw momentarily, preventing him from opening it to talk. That made both kits snicker, though when Estin looked around from the corners of his eyes, they hid.
“I am tired and you are disturbing the children,” she told him, yawning as she lay her head on his chest. She nestled her claws into his chest fur. “Go to sleep. You are no good to me as a guard if you’re too tired to heal yourself tomorrow.”
“As you wish, pack-leader.”
“Shut up, Estin.”
Chapter Twelve
“Cold, then Hot”
It always amazed me with how life could change without warning. One day, I had to lie to myself and the world about how I felt towards Feanne. The next, I still had to be just her friend, but even her children knew we meant more to each other than that. Atall practically insisted on his mother and I staying close. Oria I think had already decided that I would be Feanne’s new mate, though she was not saying that out loud.
Yoska, I was sure, would never let me live it down. Whenever he saw us, he would remind me of his stories of finding true love after a half-dozen marriages and not regretting a moment of the journey. Early on, I had thought the man mad. I had begun to think of him as conniving, instead.
My dreams were finally my own again.
I could see the war as a backdrop for the stories in my head, but it was something to be dealt with as required. Feanne and I would lead the children safely through it all, sometimes with the whole pack at our sides, sometimes the dream would take its price on our friends and allies.
Through it all though, I had the feeling of that leash still around my neck. No matter how I tried, I could never seem to figure out who held the other end.
“Healer, we need you now!” came the call outside the tent, as Estin shoved what remained of his breakfast into his mouth, nearly choking on the orange pastry. The obscure breakfast had been made by Alafa’s father as an apology for earlier behavior after Estin had helped another member of their family with a badly-broken arm.
He had hoped to grab some sleep with the sun rising, but instead he ran out into the day, finding the camp devolving into chaos. People were running rampant, though everyone was running either towards or away from the west end of camp. Whoever had called him had already disappeared, leaving him to figure out the crisis on his own as he stood shivering in the snow, not having had time to throw on a cloak or other garment to keep him reasonably warm.
Estin took a moment and recognized those who were fleeing versus those who were trying to get to the problem. He joined those running westward, where a wide line of warriors had formed, shielding the camp against approach from the outside.
He pushed through the line, finding half a dozen warriors encircling a huge beast. Scaled and easily as long as five grown men standing straight end-to-end, the lizard-like monster roared at the armed warriors, trying to snap at those who got too close. Near its clawed front feet lay an orc, her shoulder mauled and bleeding into the trampled snow around her.
“What is that?” Estin asked of one of the nearer warriors, a dwarf who was keeping his pike aimed at the creature. “And where did it come from?”
“Rock dragon,” the man answered. “There’s a few nests in the mountains. One’s in our cozy valley.”
Nearby, Feanne directed the warriors, urging them to drive the dragon back far enough that the fallen orc could be retrieved. Though they tried, the animal refused to leave the body, snarling and snapping as it stood very nearly atop her.
“Has anyone else ever fought one of these?” Linn called out from one side of the warrior line. This was the first time Estin had seen him armored and about since they had arrived at the campsite. From what he had heard, Linn had leapt right into active duty, aiding the patrols and taking charge of training the newer arrivals in the arts of defending a city.
No one answered the human and he cursed, backing out of the line.
“I need a shield and a sword,” demanded Linn, tossing aside the boar-spear he had been wielding, then flicking the clasp on his heavy winter cloak to let it drop onto the ground. He adjusted his belt to hold his chain shirt more snugly. Several of the bystanders ran off, apparently to find him the requested gear. “I’ll need two people who can make a lot of noise. No one comes near it but me.”
Seconds later, people were throwing shields and various swords at Linn’s feet, while the other warriors continued
to harass the rock dragon, at least keeping it from dragging off the woman’s body, which it attempted every few seconds.
“Rock dragons aren’t very smart,” explained Linn to Feanne, who helped him strap on his shield, while Estin dug through the swords and found him one that was in decent condition. “We grew up with a nest near our village. Takes three or more people to bring one down, but only one needs to fight it.”
Linn tested the weighting of his gear, taking a couple slashes with the sword to be sure of its feel. Once he had everything the way he wanted it, he marched back into the line, near the middle.
“Lots of noise on either side!” he shouted, the dragon hissing and glaring at him.
The warriors on the far ends of the pike-line began shouting, whistling and making whatever sounds they could. The dragon growled and began looking back and forth between the two sides, backing away slowly, seemingly unable to decide which end of the line was more dangerous.
“Wish me luck,” Linn told Estin, raising his sword. “Please heal me if I don’t get lucky.”
While Estin watched from the sides, Linn dove into the fray, using the slick ground to slide to a stop nearly over top of the fallen orcish woman. The dragon hissed at him, but kept its attention darting between the noisier members of the line.
Linn unleashed a rapid series of strikes at the dragon, though most were deflected by its horns and thick skull. He pressed on, pausing to absorb with his shield the creature’s attempts to bite him. Every few attacks, Linn would get an easy blow to its neck as the creature would look around at the people shouting at it, drawing blood each time. Between the strikes, Linn would shift farther over the fallen orcish woman, soon shielding her entirely with his body.
Twice, some of the other warriors began to step in, but Linn ordered them back. When the warriors who were supposed to be shouting would stop, the dragon would focus in on Linn, driving him back and preventing him from delivering so much as a scratch to the beast. It did not take long before his shield was bent and pieces of the edge were torn away.