by Dylan Doose
So now Aldous only sighed and prepared himself for another round.
“You can take a break, Weaver.” It was Chayse who spoke now. She was walking up the hill toward the sparring circle from where she had just been further honing her skills with the bow in the field below—not that they needed any more honing. She took off her quiver and put down her bow. “I’ll take this round. Ken, what do you say?”
Aldous shot a glance at Theron and noticed his frown. Chayse was normally not so jovial in her interactions with Ken. She was polite, but distant, and always, her dislike was just below the surface. So her easy manner now made Aldous wonder—and from Theron’s expression, made him wonder, too—what she was about.
“Sure.” Ken stood.
Aldous hurried from the circle. He had watched the two of them spar before, and Theron had to break it up more often than not. Chayse usually went at Ken with all of hell’s fury.
Theron tossed his sister a sparring staff from the weapons rack; she caught it in one hand.
“Don’t go easy on me, Ken. I’m sick of it,” Chayse said, ignoring her brother’s scowl.
Uh-oh. Aldous backed up another step.
“It’s a spar. The whole point is going easy,” Ken said as he walked into the circle with his staff over his shoulders, as if he were going for a stroll.
Aldous knew he was taunting her. It was subtle, but that was how the large man operated: with a calm subtlety. Chayse knew it, too.
“You’re just afraid,” she said. “You’re afraid that if we both go at it, that if you actually try and end up losing to me, you’ll have lost to a woman.”
Ken huffed. “That has nothing to do with it, kid.”
“Kid?” Chayse said, her grip tightening on the staff, her knuckles going white. “Kid!” Chayse yelled as she charged.
Uh-oh, Aldous thought again.
“Uh-oh,” Theron said.
Ken raised his staff, blocking the first two-handed strike. Chayse delivered a roundhouse kick hard to Ken’s ribs. Aldous winced, but Ken did not. It was enough to back him off, but clearly not enough to hurt him. He stepped back, then circled right, twirled his staff, and swung at Chayse’s left side. She was quick and blocked the blow, but it was too heavy for her to deflect, and it sent her off her feet. She rolled and sprang back up, right on the edge of the circle and nearly into Aldous, who was standing just outside the ring.
Aldous shot a glance at Theron, but the other man’s face gave no indication of his thoughts.
Kendrick rushed forward now, holding the staff like a spear. Chayse met him head-on, using the grip of a two-handed sword. Ken thrust, the same movement he had used to drop Aldous, but it did not have the same effect on Chayse. She deflected the thrust and stepped forward into his guard, too close for Ken to use his weapon.
She forgets that Ken is the weapon.
Chayse tried to bash Ken in the face with the pommel of her staff, but the large man snapped his head forward and cracked the hard part of his brow against her fingers where they held her weapon. Chayse gasped and dropped her weapon, pain and rage mingling on her beautiful face.
Ken bumped her with his shoulder and forced her back far enough to use his thrust. Teeth bared in a snarl, she twisted out of the way, making a quick recovery, and grabbed the shaft. She pulled. Ken did not budge, but the momentum threw her forward and, using it, she drove her knee hard into Ken’s groin.
Ken groaned.
Chayse pulled back on the shaft with her full weight, and aimed a second blow at Ken’s groin, this time with her foot. Ken twisted to the side, taking the blow on his thigh instead of his stones, but the move gave Chayse the momentum to pull the shaft from his grip.
Now he was the one disarmed.
Aldous dropped both hands to cover his stones even as he silently cheered for Chayse.
“I told you not to go easy on me this time,” Chayse said, grinning as she twirled Ken’s staff and circled just outside his reach.
“Unfair, Chayse. Very unfair,” Theron said from the sideline, but there was too much mirth in his voice for it to be a scolding.
“All is fair in a fight,” said Chayse. Again she twirled Ken’s staff and kicked her own that she had dropped out of the circle. “You’re unarmed, Ken. You’re done.”
“Not likely. I’ve gotten through a lot worse than sore stones and no weapon.” Ken adjusted his posture, hands ready, legs sturdy, torso bent a bit forward at the hips.
Directly behind Ken’s left foot was the crevice Aldous had created in the mud with his practice sword. He wanted to warn Ken as he watched Chayse rush forward. But if he warned Ken and because of it Chayse lost… well, he feared her wrath—and worse, her dislike—perhaps more than he feared Kendrick, and so Aldous remained silent.
Besides, hadn’t Ken taught him that a warrior should always be aware of his surroundings?
The staff came down, perfectly straight. Ken leaned to his left at the same moment as he slid his left foot back in an attempt to wheel out of the way. His heel caught, and he went off balance.
Chayse’s eyes went wide. Her foe was not down, but his arms were outstretched as he tried to recover his poise. She did not fully follow through with her downward strike; instead she back-swung halfway through the motion and caught the Ken hard in the temple with the shaft.
If the blow had hit Aldous in the temple, he was certain that he would never wake. Ken was a different man, with a different kind of head. He went down, but was quickly stumbling back to his feet. His eyes were dazed and wild, but he was conscious.
It was an impressive show of constitution, but it did not matter. He was too rattled to defend or dodge the next blow, which swept his legs out from under him. Aldous gasped. How could anyone take down Kendrick the Cold? But he couldn’t help but grin, for Ken had done the same move on him over a hundred times, and he reveled at the sound of the air leaving Ken’s lungs as he hit the ground.
Chayse stood over Ken and put the edge of the staff at his throat, her face lit with triumph.
Aldous could not tear his gaze away. Her hair was down that day, strands of golden light flowing beneath the winter sun as the snow falls from the heavens. She was a painting, not yet captured, for what painter could capture such perfection? She was a northern goddess of battle.
Theron clapped him on the shoulder. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, boy.”
“I told you not to go easy,” Chayse said to Ken, her tone annoyed.
“I didn’t,” Ken wheezed from the ground, and brought a hand to his temple.
“Did I just witness that?” said Theron.
“You did, brother,” Chayse said, her eyes only on Ken, the staff still at his throat. Aldous thought she would be more jubilant at the win, but she sounded wary… questioning.
Theron grabbed the staff and yanked it from her hands, then heaved Ken to his feet.
“I’m sorry, sister, but that was luck,” Theron said, shaking his head. “Ken tripped, and he tripped in that little hole Aldous shoveled out with his sword.” Theron then turned to Aldous and raised an accusing finger. “Were you in on this? Did the two of you plot this? I find it all to be very convenient.”
“Chayse won and that is that,” Aldous said. “We had no previous discourse.”
It was Ken who now turned his gaze to Aldous, and at the cold stare, Aldous shrank away a step or two.
“What do you say, Kendrick the Cold? Did I win?”
Aldous couldn’t believe she was asking the question as if there could be any answer but yes. She had won. That was all.
Ken turned back to Chayse. “Yes.” There was no emotion in his tone, no spite, no embarrassment.
“But it was unfair. She struck you in the stones, and you tripped,” Theron protested.
“Why can’t you just accept that I beat him? Why must you always belittle me?” Chayse took a step toward her brother, as if she was ready for another round, but with Theron this time.
“Because I can’t even b
eat Ken, so—”
“So how could I?” Chayse laughed. “Your ego truly is boundless, brother.” Chayse turned and sauntered away, back toward Wardbrook.
“What a woman,” Aldous said. No one was listening.
“I don’t know if I want you teaching me anymore, Ken. Losing to my sister, and clumsily falling about like that…” Theron said with what looked and sounded like complete sincerity.
Ken laughed with the same sincerity.
“Well, Ken?” Aldous said, stepping in between the two.
“Well what, boy?”
“Do you think it was a fair win?”
“No.” He shook his head, and in that moment Aldous wished he had the balls to give Ken another kick in his, but then Ken surprised him: “It wasn’t a fair win because it was never a fair fight. The odds were in my favor. I’ve fought as many battles in one week as Chayse has in her life. Killing is killing; combat is combat. She won despite my vast advantage.”
“Why don’t you tell her that? It would please her,” Aldous said.
“You can tell her that, wizard. I think you’re the only one interested in pleasing her.” Ken winked at Aldous, and his cheeks set to burning in an instant.
“Unbelievable,” Theron muttered. “I’m really not sure that I’m willing to accept this, Ken.”
“What? That the boy pants after your sister?”
“Not that.” Theron made a dismissive gesture. “The win!”
Ken shrugged. “Choosing to accept or deny reality doesn’t change it.”
“You should be proud of her, Theron. Not jealous,” Aldous said, and at Theron’s thunderous look, he thought for a moment he was going to receive a thrashing. But Theron Ward, as usual, was a surprise.
“Yes, you’re right, young Weaver,” he began, in that pleasantly positive tone he often took on. “You are most certainly right. As you know, I am a man with many strengths and upstanding morals, but modesty is a policy I still struggle with, and a most difficult struggle it is.”
Aldous could not help but wonder if Theron was a very foolish or very intelligent man.
Ken’s stomach growled.
“I suppose that is just as good as the dinner bell,” said Theron.
As they walked back to the estate, the light snow falling, Aldous felt he was among friends, strange and extraordinary friends. He wondered if maybe he was happy. He wondered if he felt safe. He thought he did.
But that was just for a moment, because he knew that after they ate and he went to his chamber, sleep would come, and with it dreams of his father burning, the ravens watching, the wolves howling.
* * *
Every man and woman is subject to seasons within the self. Most do all they can to make an endless inner summer, do all they can to pursue and hold the warm season, the season of joy. That is the pursuit of the many, and a foolish pursuit it is. Humankind does not pick the seasons of the outside world. It is beyond their power; so too is controlling the seasons within. The fall must come when joy runs its course, and at the bottom of the fall comes the long season, the true season, the human season: winter. For woe is man, woe is his soul, and woe is his flesh. If it were not this way we would never cherish the warm rays of the sun when the summer finally comes. An endless summer would be nothingness. Endless happiness is nothingness. We can love the warmth only when we have suffered the cold.
* * *
Excerpt from Seasons of the Soul, by Darcy Weaver, written and published two years before he was burned at the stake.
* * *
Chapter Fifteen
Winter
It had been a week since Ken lost against Chayse. They had sparred twice more since, and Ken had won both bouts.
“I won’t lie, Theron. I’m worried to fight alongside your sister,” Ken said, as he stretched side to side, getting ready for another round of grappling with Theron on the cold-hardened grass.
“She can handle herself. You should know that by now. She did drop you on your ass.” Theron widened his footing and raised his hands, flexed like claws ready to grasp, a classic southern wrestling stance that Ken had just recently taught him.
“I don’t doubt that,” said Ken, as he circled the hunter. Ken had been winning on every takedown since they started their grappling, for he had the advantage of weight and Theron was relatively new to wrestling. But each day Theron became a more difficult adversary.
“Then what’s the problem?” Theron asked just before he lunged.
Ken back-stepped and swatted away the incoming hands. “I fear she may mistake me for the wrong kind of monster and put an arrow through my throat.”
Theron snorted.
Ken continued to back-step and shift side to side, swatting away grasps. “Stop clawing like that, you’ll—”
Theron performed a pirouette and hooked his heel behind Ken’s knee, then the hunter brought his forearm hard across Ken’s chest, trying to knock him down. It was so quick another man might have been lying on his back on the ground. But Kendrick wasn’t another man, and so it was Theron who stared up at him, flat on his back.
He held out his hand to Theron and hauled him to his feet.
“She doesn’t hate you that much,” Theron said.
“But she does hate me.”
“Certainly.”
“I am a changed man,” Ken said.
“I know you are, and I don’t hold your past against you.”
“We aren’t talking about you, we are talking about your sister.”
“Is that why you let her win? Because you care what she thinks about you?”
Ken was tempted to knock the man down again, because he was tired of this question. “I didn’t let her win,” he said. “Get back in position.”
But Theron wasn’t inclined to let the matter drop. “Short of rescuing a litter of puppies from drowning in a river just before you leap into a burning orphanage and save all the children, I don’t think there’s anything you can do to change her mind.”
“I would do those things now. I would save those puppies.” Ken growled. I would, now.
“So you did let her win.”
* * *
Dinner was meat pies, everyone’s favorite, except for Aldous. Back at the church Aldous would stare miserably at his plate of stale bread, pissy soup, and sometimes mutton with a longing for something substantial. After two months at Wardbrook, Aldous was nearly certain he never wanted to eat a substantial meal again.
“Eat, boy!” Ken ordered with his mouth full, halfway through his third pie, while Aldous worked on his first.
“I’m not entirely hungry, Ken.”
“You’re never hungry. No more of that excuse. Eating is part of your training. You must become like Ken and myself.” Theron flexed his arms at the head of the table, reached across to Ken and punched him in the shoulder, then shook out his hand, making a face of mock pain.
For an intelligent man, Theron played a great fool.
“Leave him alone, you ape,” said Chayse. “Aldous has a different kind of masculinity than you two meat piles. If he is not hungry, he need not stuff his face until he becomes ill.”
Aldous had a warm sensation in his body when Chayse came to his aid, mostly the lower half.
Across the table, Ken said nothing, only continued shoveling meat pie into his mouth.
Theron rolled his eyes. “Chayse, there is only one kind of masculinity, and it’s called being a man.” He turned back to Aldous. “Eat.”
Aldous looked back at the pie, then after a moment returned his fork to it.
“Don’t you eat that, Aldous. You’re not hungry,” said Chayse without taking her eyes from her brother.
The warm feeling disappeared, for now he was aware that the sole reason Chayse came to his aid was because she wanted to fight with Theron. Besides, he was starting to feel hungry.
Aldous looked at Ken, who shrugged and went back to his food as the Ward siblings’ bickering about what Aldous should or should not eat turned in
to an argument about something else entirely. It was a frequent occurrence, and things were brought up that were of no interest to Aldous, so when the dinner table turned into their battlefield, he and Ken ate—or did not eat—in silence.
Aldous thought he heard a bell chime.
“You don’t even know what that word means, you dolt!” Chayse yelled.
The bell may have sounded again.
“Excuse me,” Aldous said, lifting one finger.
“Of course I bloody well know what it means,” Theron yelled back.
“Tell me then, brother, what is a philistine? Because if you knew the word you would know it is you, not I—”
Aldous was certain now that he heard the bell. “Excuse me,” he said again.
“Don’t bother,” Ken said, frowning, and Aldous wondered if he, too, had heard the distant sound.
“—are a philistine,” Chayse yelled.
The bell certainly was sounding, and it was frantic, clanging again and again.
Ken pushed back from the table and got to his feet.
“Quiet,” Aldous said as he perked his ears to the bell. He rose from his chair and slammed his hand on the table. The candles lighting the meal gave a momentary flare, and all eyes turned to him. “Silence!”
The others tuned in to the sound of the bell.
“They are here,” Ken said, already striding from the room.
“The village,” Theron said, rising from his chair with such force it flew back and clattered to the ground. “Arm yourselves—we are under attack.”
Aldous tried to rise, but there was a weight in his head that burst into excruciating pain, dropping him back into his seat. The flame of the candle before him on the table snuffed. He blinked, trying to clear his vision, to see the room before him. But he saw only burning blue eyes, close but far away. He heard the squealing of rats in his mind, not his ears, and he could smell burning flesh.
It felt like hours, but it must have been seconds, because when he finally bolted to his feet and ran after the others, they weren’t far ahead.