Avempartha

by Michael J. Sullivan

  “It must be awful for you. But I’ll bet there is good food. Those nobles really know how to fill a store house, don’t they?”

  “Well, yes, of course,” the deacon replied. “As a matter of fact, the margrave had put by a remarkable amount of smoked meats, not to mention ale and wine, but I only take what I need of course.”

  “Of course,” Hadrian agreed. “Just looking at you I can tell that you’re not the kind of man to take advantage of a situation. Did you supply the ale for the funeral?”

  “Oh no,” the deacon replied, aghast. “I wouldn’t dare pillage the manor house like that. Like you just said, I am not the kind of man to take advantage of a situation and it’s not my stores to give, now is it?”

  “I see.”

  “Oh my, look at the cheese,” said the deacon, scooping up a wedge and shoving it in his mouth. “Have to admit one thing,” he spoke with his mouth full, “Dahlgren can really throw a funeral.”

  When they reached the end of the tables, Hadrian looked for a place to sit. The few benches were filled with folks eating off their laps.

  “Up you kids!” the deacon shouted at Tad and Pearl, “you don’t need to be taking up a bench. Go sit on the grass.” They frowned but got up. “You there, Hadrian is it? Come sit here and tell me what brings a man who owns a horse and three swords to Dahlgren. I trust you aren’t noble or you’d have knocked on my door last night.”

  “No, I’m not a noble, but that brings up a question. How did you inherit the manor house?”

  “Hmm? Inherit? Oh, I didn’t inherit anything. It is merely my station as a public servant to help in a crisis like this. When the margrave and his men died, I knew I had to administer to this troubled flock and watch after the king’s interests. So I endure the hardships and do what I can.”

  “Like what?”

  “What’s that?” the deacon asked, tearing into a piece of mutton that left his lips and cheeks shiny with grease.

  “What have you done to help?”

  “Oh—well, let’s see…I keep the house clean, the yard maintained, and the garden watered. You really have to keep after those weeds you know, or the whole garden would be swallowed up and not a single vegetable would survive. And oh—the toll it takes on my back. I’ve never had what you would call a good back as it is.”

  “I meant about the attacks. What steps have you taken to safeguard the village?”

  “Well now,” the deacon chuckled, “I’m a cleric, not a knight. I don’t even know how to hold a sword properly and I don’t have an army of knights at my disposal, do I? So aside from diligent prayer, I’m not in a position where I can really do anything about that.”

  “Have you considered letting the villagers stay in the manor at night? Whatever this creature is, it doesn’t have much trouble with thatched roofs, but the manor has what looks to be a sturdy roof and some thick walls.”

  The deacon shook his head, still smiling at Hadrian as an adult might look at a child who just asked why there must be poor people in the world. “No, no that wouldn’t do at all. I am quite certain the next lord of the house would not appreciate having a whole village taking over his home.”

  “But you are aware that the responsibility of a lord is to protect his subjects? That is why his subjects pay him a tax. If the lord isn’t willing to protect them, why should they honor him with money, crops, or even respect?”

  “You might not have noticed,” the deacon replied, “but we are between lords at the moment.”

  “So then, you don’t intend to continue taxing these people for the time they are without protection?”

  “Well, I didn’t mean that—”

  “So, you do intend to uphold the responsibility of a steward?”

  “Well, I—”

  “Now I can understand your hesitation to overstep your authority and open the manor house to the village, so I am certain you will want to take the other option.”

  “Other option?” The cleric was holding another slice of mutton to his mouth, but sat too distracted to bite.

  “Yes, as steward and acting lord it falls on you to protect this village in his stead, and since inviting them into the house at night is out of the question then I presume you will be taking to the field to fight the beast.”

  “Fight it?” He dropped the mutton on his lap. “I don’t think—”

  Before he could say any more, Hadrian went on. “The good news is that I can help you there. I have an extra sword if you are missing one, and since you have been so kind as to let me board my horse at the stable I think the least I can do is lend her to you for the fight. Now I have heard that some people have determined where the lair of the beast is so it really seems a simple matter of—”

  “I—I don’t recall saying that lodging the people in the manor at night was out of the question,” the deacon said loudly enough to interrupt Hadrian, so loud that several heads turned. He lowered his voice and added. “I was merely stating that it was something I had to consider carefully. You see, the mantle of leadership is a heavy one indeed, and I need to weigh the consequences of every act I make as they can break as well as mend. No, no, you can’t rush into these things.”

  “That is very understandable and very wise, I might add,” Hadrian agreed, keeping his voice loud enough for others to hear him. “But the margrave was killed well over two weeks ago, so I am certain you have come to a decision by now?”

  The deacon caught the interested looks of several of the villagers. Those who had finished their meals wandered over. One was Dillon McDern, who was taller than the rest and stood watching them.

  “I—ah.”

  “Everyone!” Hadrian shouted. “Gather round, the deacon wants to talk with us about the defense of the village.”

  The crowd of mourners, plates in hand, turned and gathered in a circle around the well. All eyes turned to Deacon Tomas who suddenly looked like a defenseless rabbit caught in a trap.

  “I—um,” the deacon started to say then slumped his shoulders and said in a loud voice, “in light of the recent attacks on houses, everyone is invited to spend nights in the protection of the castle.”

  The crowd murmured to each other and then Russell Bothwick called out, “Will there be enough room for everyone?”

  The deacon looked as if he was about to reconsider when Hadrian stood up. “I’m sure there’s plenty of room in the house for all the women and children and most of the married men. Those single men, thirteen or older, can spend the night in the stables, smokehouse, and other outbuildings. Each of them has stronger walls and roofs than any of the village homes.”

  The inhabitants of the village began to cluster now in earnest.

  “And our livestock? Do we abandon them to the beast?” another farmer asked. Hadrian did not recognize him. “Without the livestock we’ll have no meat, no wool, or field animals for work.”

  “I’ve got Amble and Ramble to think of,” McDern said. “Dahlgren would be in a sorry state if ’n I let sumpin’ happen to those oxen.”

  Hadrian jumped to the rim of the well where he stood above them with one arm on the windlass. “There’s plenty of room inside the stockade walls for all the animals where they will be safer than they have been in your homes. Remember there is safety in numbers. If you sit alone in the dark it is easy for anything to kill you, but the creature will not be so bold as to enter a fenced castle with the entire village watching. We can also build bonfires outside the walls for light.”

  This brought gasps. “But light draws the creature!”

  “Well, from what I can see. It doesn’t have difficulty finding you in the dark.”

  The villagers looked from Hadrian to Deacon Tomas and back again.

  “How do you know?” Someone asked from the crowd. “How do you know any of this? You’re not from here. How do you know anything?”

  “It’s a demon from Uberlin!” Someone Hadrian did not recognize shouted.

  “You can’t stop it!” A woman on the r
ight yelled. “Grouping together could just make killing us that much easier.”

  “It doesn’t want to kill you all at once and it isn’t a demon,” Hadrian assured the villagers.

  “How do you know?”

  “It kills only one or two, why? If it can tear apart Theron Wood’s house, or rip the roof off Mae Drundel’s home in seconds, it could easily destroy this whole village in one night, but it doesn’t. It doesn’t because it isn’t trying to kill you all. It’s killing for food. The beast isn’t a demon; it’s a predator.” The villagers considered this and while they paused, Hadrian continued, “What I have heard about this creature is that no one has ever seen it and no victim has survived. Well, that doesn’t surprise me at all. How do you expect to survive when you sit alone in the dark just waiting to be eaten? No one has ever seen it because it doesn’t want to be seen. Like any predator, it conceals itself until it springs and like a predator, it hunts the weakest prey; it looks for the stray, the young, the old, or the sick. All of you have been dividing yourselves up into tidy little meals. You’ve made yourselves too convenient to resist. If we group together it might prefer to hunt a deer or a wolf that night instead of us.”

  “What if you’re wrong? What if no one has seen it because it is a demon and can’t be seen? It could be an invisible spirit that feeds on terror. Isn’t that right, deacon?”

  “Ah—well—” the deacon began.

  “It could be, but it isn’t,” Hadrian assured them.

  “How do you know?”

  “Because my partner saw it last night.”

  This caught the group by surprise and several conversations broke out at once. Hadrian spotted Pearl sitting on the grass staring at him. Several asked questions at once and Hadrian waved at them to quiet down.

  “What did it look like?” a woman with a sunburned face and a white kerchief over her head asked.

  “Since I didn’t see it, I would prefer Royce tell you himself. He’ll be back before dark.”

  “How could he have seen anything in the dark?” one of the older farmers asked skeptically. “I looked outside when I heard the scream and it was as black as the bottom of that well ’yer standing on. There’s no way he could have seen anything.”

  “He saw the pig!” Tad Bothwick shouted.

  “What’s that, boy?” Dillon McDern asked.

  “The pig, in our house last night,” Tad said excitedly. “It was all dark and the pig ran, but he saw it and caught him.”

  “That’s right,” Russell Bothwick recalled. “We had just put the fire out and I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face, but this fellow caught a running pig. Maybe he did see something.”

  “The point is,” Hadrian went on, “we’ll all stand a better chance of survival if we stick together. Now the deacon has graciously invited all of us to join him behind the protection of walls and a solid roof. I think we should listen to his wisdom and start making plans to resettle and gather wood before the evening arrives. We still have plenty of time to build up strong bonfires.”

  They were looking at Hadrian now and nodding. There were still those that looked unconvinced, but even the skeptics appeared hopeful. Small groups were forming, talking, planning.

  Hadrian sat back down and ate. He was not a fan of blood pudding and stayed with the smoked fish, which was wonderful.

  “I’ll bring the oxen over,” he heard McDern say. “Brent, you go bring ’yer wagon and fetch ’yer axe too.”

  “We’ll need shovels and Went’s saw,” Vince Griffin said. “He always kept it sharp.”

  “I’ll send Tad to fetch it,” Russell announced.

  “Is it true?” Hadrian looked up from his plate to see Pearl standing before him. Her face was just as dirty as the day before. “Did ’yer friend—did he really catch a pig in the dark?”

  “If you don’t believe me, you can ask him tonight.”

  Looking over the little girl’s head, he spotted Thrace. She was sitting alone on the ground down the trail past the Caswell’s graves. He noticed her hands wiping her cheeks. He set his empty plate on the table, smiled at Pearl and walked over. Thrace did not look up so he crouched down beside her. “What is it?”

  “Nothing,” she shook her head, hiding her face with her hair.

  Hadrian glanced around the trail and then back up at the villagers. The women were putting away the uneaten food as the men gathered tools, all of them chattering quickly.

  “Where’s your father. I saw him earlier.”

  “He went back home,” she said sniffling.

  “What did he say to you?”

  “I told you it’s alright.” She stood up, brushed off her dress, and wiped her eyes. “I should help with the cleaning, excuse me.”

  ———

  Hadrian entered the clearing and once more faced the remains of the Wood’s farmhouse. The roofing poles listed to one side, framing splintered, thatch scattered—this is what shattered dreams look like. The farm felt cursed, haunted by ghosts, only one of the ghosts was not at home. There was no sign of the old farmer and the scythe rested, abandoned, up against the ruined wall. Hadrian took the opportunity to peer inside at the shattered furniture, broken cupboards, torn clothes, and blood stains. A single chair stood in the center of the debris beside a wooden cradle.

  Theron Wood came up from the river a few moments later carrying a shoulder yoke with two buckets full of water hanging from the ends. He did not hesitate when he spotted Hadrian standing before the ruins of his house. He walked right by. He set the buckets down and began pouring them into three large jugs.

  “You back again?” he asked without looking up. “She told me she paid you silver to come here. Is that what you do? Take advantage of simple girls? Steal their hard-earned money, then eat their village’s food? If you came here to see if you can squeeze more coins out of me you’re gonna be disappointed.”

  “I didn’t come here for money.”

  “No? Then why did you?” he asked, tipping the second bucket. “If you really are here to get that club or sword or whatever that crazy cripple thinks is in the tower, shouldn’t you be trying to swim the river right now?”

  “My partner is working on that as we speak.”

  “Uh-huh, he’s the swimmer, is he? And what are you, the guy that squeezes the money out of poor miserable farmers? I’ve seen your kind before, highwaymen and cheats—you scare people into paying you just to live. Well, that’s not gonna work this time, my friend.”

  “I told you I didn’t come here for money.”

  Theron dropped the bucket at his feet and turned. “So why did you come here?”

  “You left the wake early and I was concerned you might not have heard the news that everyone in the village is going to spend the night inside the castle walls.”

  “Thanks for the notice,” he said and turning back corked the jugs. When he finished he looked up, annoyed. “Why are you still here?”

  “What exactly do you know about combat?” Hadrian asked.

  The farmer glared at him. “What business is it of yours?”

  “As you pointed out, your daughter paid my partner and me good money to help you kill this monster. He’s working on providing you with a proper weapon. I am here to ensure you know how to use it when it gets here.”

  Theron Wood ran his tongue along his teeth. “You’re fixin’ to educate me, are you?”

  “Something like that.”

  “I don’t need any training.” He picked up his buckets and yoke and began walking away.

  “You don’t know the first thing about combat. Have you ever even held a sword?”

  Theron whirled on him. “No, but I plowed five acres in one day. I bucked half a cord of wood before noon. I survived being caught eight miles from shelter in a blizzard and I lost my whole damn family in a single night! Have you done any of that?”

  “Not your whole family,” Hadrian reminded him.

  “The ones that mattered.”

  Hadrian dr
ew his sword and advanced on Theron. The old farmer watched his approach with indifference.

  “This is a bastard sword,” Hadrian told him and dropped it at the farmer’s feet and walked half a dozen steps away. “I think it suits you rather well. Pick it up and swing at me.”

  “I have more important things to do than play games with you,” Theron said.

  “Just like you had more important things to do than take care of your family that night?”

  “Watch ’yer mouth boy.”

  “Like you were watching that poor defenseless grandson of yours? What was it really, Theron? Why were you really working so late that night, and don’t give me this bull about benefitting your son. You were trying to get some extra money this year for something you wanted. Something you felt you needed so badly you let your family die.”

  The farmer picked up the sword. His breath hissing through his teeth, puffing his cheeks and rocking his shoulders back. “I didn’t let them die. It wasn’t me!”

  “What did you trade them for, Theron? Some fool’s dream? You didn’t give a damn about your son; it was all about you. You wanted to be the grandfather of a magistrate. You wanted to be the big man, didn’t you? And you’d do anything to make that dream come true. You worked late. You weren’t there. You were out in the field when it came, because of your dream, your desires. Is that why you let your son die? You never cared about them at all. Did you? All you care about is yourself.”

  The farmer charged Hadrian with the sword in both hands and swung at him. Hadrian stepped aside and the wild swing missed, but the momentum carried the farmer around and he fell to the dirt.

  “You let them die Theron. You weren’t there like a man is supposed to be. A man is supposed to protect his family, but what were you doing? You were out in the fields working on what you wanted. What you had to have.”

  Theron got up and charged again. Once more Hadrian stepped aside. This time Theron managed to remain standing and delivered more wild swings. Hadrian drew his short sword and deflected the blows. The old farmer was in a rage now and struck out maniacally, swinging the sword like an axe with single, hacking strokes that stole his balance. Soon Hadrian did not need to parry anymore and merely sidestepped out of the way. Theron’s face grew redder with each miss. Tears filled his eyes. At last, the old man collapsed to the dirt, frustrated and exhausted.