The Weeping Books of Blinney Lane

by Drea Damara

  Every spectator there was clearly ecstatic for the peace that was about to be declared. She took a small comfort in the deafening noise, knowing that it was the sound of joy. If Ricky’s impending demise and her pain were worth anything, she knew the memory of these overjoyed people would be her only comfort in the years to come.

  A guard came and whispered to Vasimus, then departed. Vasimus stood from his seat and didn’t even have to raise a hand for silence. The roar of the crowd instantly ceased in anticipation upon seeing him rise, giving her goose bumps.

  “Good people of Farwin Wood! We have lived some twenty years embroiled in war and death throughout these lands, but today marks the end to the suffering of the good people of the North—” behind Vasimus a loud roar came from the crowd, “—and of our brothers in the South!” Another blast of cheering resounded from across the arena. “With the happy return of Lady Sarah Allister to Farwin Wood, she has seen what has become of our land since her untimely departure and has offered in tribute the hand of her nephew, Lord Ricky Allister, in duel against Lord Ranthrop Groslivo!”

  The crowd cheered like teenyboppers at a concert. Sarah thought her head might explode.

  The gate at the end of the arena to her right opened, and Lord Ranthrop rode in on a stroomphblutel guided by Varmeer. The throng on both sides went wild again. Flowers were flung as Ranthrop’s beast strode to the center. Sarah watched as he held a hand up and turned slowly from side to side with a stately wave. When Varmeer stopped the beast just in front of her and Vasimus, Ranthrop dismounted and stood before them. He and Vasimus both bowed.

  Vasimus called out: “Lord Ranthrop, do you accept the honor of this duel in the name of peace?”

  Sarah dug her fingers into the armrest of her chair when she saw Ranthrop draw his sword. Was he going to charge up the wall at Vasimus? She watched as he raised it high above his head and then he spoke.

  “I, Lord Ranthrop Groslivo, leader of the Southlands and all its peoples, accept this honor in the name of peace!” The second his sword tip stuck into the ground in front of him, the screams and shouts of everyone but three in the arena resounded.

  Sarah closed her eyes as the deafening cries rattled her eardrums. She gripped her fingers tighter around the handles of her chair as her heart pounded. When the cries died down, Vasimus spoke again.

  “Without further delay, Lord Richard Allister the Second of Oedher Village and Blinney of the North!”

  Sarah opened her eyes and saw Ricky ride in from the left as Henry led his stroomphblutel. Ricky met her eyes and gave her a nod with a faint smile before he looked back to the general madness about him. Henry, however, looked around until he caught her gaze and held it as the audience went wild again while he led Ricky to the center of the arena.

  Ricky dismounted when Henry stopped several feet away from Ranthrop. Ricky gazed over the crowd before him while they wept and waved and cheered like he was a hero. They carried on this bout longer than they had previously. It humbled him when they continued despite Vasimus’s raised hand, calling for silence.

  Two men ran out from either side of the arena to fetch the stroomphblutels and led them out of the gate. Varmeer inspected Ranthrop’s chain mail and shin guards, and helped him to remove his sword holster. Henry came over to Ricky and did the same.

  “Remember,” Henry whispered as he unfastened the belt from Ricky, “use your speed and keep your balance.”

  Henry handed the sword back to him once he saw Varmeer waiting to leave the two fighters in the arena. “Henry, thanks for everything.” Ricky smiled and took the sword.

  Varmeer walked toward the wall of the arena in front of Sarah and Vasimus. Henry turned and walked toward the wall in front of the Southlands crowd. Both men stood against the wall and looked out into the arena at their respective lords.

  Ranthrop was not enthused as he looked Ricky up and down. He felt like a fool with their size difference on display for comparison, but he pushed the thought from his mind and reminded himself of the gleeful uproar the crowd had sent them. They were satisfied with the sacrifice for peace, so he would be too.

  Ricky and Ranthrop turned to face the honor box. Ricky watched as one of Vasimus’s footmen handed a daphne flower on a platter to Sarah. She took it hesitantly and stood, meeting his eyes. She turned her gaze on Ranthrop then and let it linger as if to say, “Please don’t do this.” Ricky saw Ranthrop cant his head in what appeared to be a feigned stretch, likely an excuse to avoid her scrutiny. Sarah took a step, bringing her to the interior wall of the arena that formed a balcony rail in front of her. She stretched her arm out over the wall, flower in hand, and tossed it toward them where it landed in the dirt.

  Ricky turned on his heel to face his opponent and slowly raised his sword off the ground when he saw that Ranthrop had done the same. Ranthrop held his own weapon out to his side with only one arm and stepped to the left as he approached Ricky. Ricky wanted to take a step backward, but he chose to shift to the left too as they circled each other. He kept both hands on the hilt and raised the blade up so that it was parallel to knee-height.

  A sharp swooshing sound came with the flash of Ranthrop’s blade when he twisted his upper body to swing at Ricky’s head. Ricky pivoted and leaned back, sensing the tip of the sword mere inches from his face as it swung away from him. As the crowd roared, he could feel his heart pounding. And as deafening as the cries of the audience were, he could hear the whooshing pulse of his blood deep in his eardrums.

  Ranthrop growled and lunged toward him as he swung the blade back at a downward angle. Ricky instinctively brought his sword up this time, no longer paralyzed in fear but rather spurred by his panic. He arched back as he swung upward to deflect the blade from meeting his skull. The metal of the swords clashed together with a piercing clatter, and Ricky felt the force of the impact reverberate through his arms. The blow worked, deflecting Ranthrop’s steel up into the air and back over to the side.

  As they circled one another, Ricky kept his eyes on the man’s angry look. He watched for minuscule signs of movement that would indicate a sudden change in footwork or stance. When he saw Ranthrop’s wielding arm move back, he sensed he was in for a jabbing blow and twisted his wrists around to prepare himself to butt it, counter-clockwise. Ricky smote the blade with all his might and deflected it, barely missing his cheek. He was fast, he thought, but Ranthrop was strong. The impact jolted his forearms into his ribs. Was the protection remedy no longer working or was Ranthrop’s might just too much for what little Ricky and the hidden powder could muster?

  Ranthrop’s steps were forced to the side, and when his torso leaned with them to follow the force of his deflected sword, Ricky gaped at the opening it created for him. Quickly, he remembered the fluid motion Henry had taught him, not wasting time to reposition his weapon. He swung his blade downward, back in the other direction, and aimed for the place just above Ranthrop’s shin guards. Ricky felt the tip slice through the cloth and even the skin on Ranthrop’s leg and allowed himself to spin with the motion so he would be prepared for any angry retaliation from Ranthrop’s blade. As he spun, he heard a growl from Ranthrop. Ricky turned around to see a wild-eyed Ranthrop thrusting his blade down toward the side of Ricky’s neck. He ducked and brought his blade up, diverting Ranthrop’s to the space above his head.

  The crowd clamored with each motion, and Ricky was able to catch his breath when Ranthrop did not react straightaway. Ranthrop slowly turned his chest back toward Ricky as he grunted with each breath, holding Ricky’s face in his gaze.

  “And I thought for a moment, boy,” Ranthrop sneered, “that I might have to take it easy on you.” Any embarrassment over their size difference was now gone from Ranthrop’s mind. He wasn’t about to let himself bleed anymore in front of the whole of Farwin Wood.

  Henry watched with bated breath from where he stood some thirty feet away. Ricky had started out well. He wondered how much of it was Ricky’s quick adeptness to sword fighting mixed with adren
aline and how much was Franci’s doctored sword working its magic. He didn’t care as long as it continued that way.

  Henry anxiously gripped his own sword hilt as he watched Ranthrop’s blows increase in speed and onslaught. Ricky did his best to deflect them but had little chance to deliver any of his own. If he didn’t get one in soon, the boy would wither his endurance to nothing. “Come on, Ricky,” Henry muttered. His breath caught then as Ricky stumbled backward after leaning too far and fell to the ground.

  The crowd moaned at the sight, and he watched as Ricky quickly rolled in the direction he fell. Ricky shot up onto his feet just in time to stay off the running blow that Ranthrop charged at him. Luckily, Ricky’s defensive swing had enough momentum to deter his opponent’s swooping blade.

  “I can’t take this anymore,” Sarah muttered loud enough for Vasimus to hear. She leaned forward on the edge of her seat as Ricky rose off the ground. Vasimus moved his hand off his armrest and onto hers, clasping his fingers down over the top of her hand.

  “Sarah, be patient.”

  She yanked her hand out from under his and clenched her fists together in her lap. She gritted her teeth as she watched the sight below her. Ricky deflected several more blows but not nearly as fast as she thought he should have. The blood that trickled down the golden shin guard on Ranthrop’s leg matched the color of his tunic. Ranthrop stomped steadily toward Ricky whenever he swung. He let out an angry growl and did a spin of his own to mimic those Ricky had undertaken several times. When Ranthrop came around, Sarah caught the startled look on Ricky’s face as he waited with his sword to the opposite side ready to swing, but he started too late. The tip of Ranthrop’s blade grazed across the side of Ricky’s ribs; he had left himself exposed for too long.

  Sarah gasped as she stood and slapped her hand to her mouth. Ricky took a tumbling step backward. The collective inhales of the crowd were audible, along with the one to her side where Vasimus himself had also risen at the sight in the arena.

  Ricky clutched his side where a burning sensation instantly began to throb. He’d felt the pressure of the sword push the chain mail against his ribs hard enough that a section had broken, allowing the sharp tip of the blade to pierce his skin. He suspected it wasn’t fatal and that most of the pain was caused by an awful pressure burn that would make his ribs ache for weeks. The portion of his flesh that had been sliced, however, was enough for his hand to come away from the spot covered in blood.

  Ricky watched Ranthrop lumber slower than earlier from side to side as he did the same across from him. The older man was clearly growing tired from all the hefty blows he’d dealt. Ricky, however, didn’t know if he could get the upper hand again. He felt the exhaustion from the heat, the weight of the mail, and the numbness his tiring arms were causing his body.

  When Ricky’s hand came away from his side, covered in blood, Sarah whimpered behind her hands. She heard Vasimus inhale a thick breath as though it troubled him, too.

  He whispered, “I’m sorry, Sarah.”

  She closed her eyes, not wanting to hear the conviction behind his words. It was too late for apologies with Ricky bleeding before her eyes. The apology only distressed her more, knowing it meant that Vasimus didn’t hold much hope for the outcome to be in Ricky’s favor. Vasimus dropped back to his seat with a thud, and the finality of the sound left her to think it further signified his opinion on the situation’s hopelessness. When she opened her eyes again, she saw Ranthrop swing his blade low and then lean far into the thrust. Ricky stepped backward with one leg as far as he could and leaned, but before he could pull his front leg away with the rest of his body, Ranthrop’s sword tore across Ricky’s thigh.

  Vasimus listened as Ricky’s cry echoed throughout the arena. The boy staggered back, and Ranthrop stumbled to the side, catching himself as the bloody tip of his sword stuck into the ground. No one cheered this time. The arena was silent enough to hear not only Ricky’s howl resonate through it, but also the sound Sarah cried when she saw Ranthrop right himself before her nephew had even gathered his footing.

  “Nooo!”

  Before he could stop her, Sarah stepped up onto the top of the wall that separated them from the arena. He lunged forward and grasped the back of her gown, but she leapt for the dirt far below them. The force against her momentum caused her foot to slip from its place on the wall back toward the honor box. In a split second, her toe scraped over the wall and Vasimus was left with just a scrap of her gown in his hand as it tore away from her dress.

  “Sarah!” he cried as he watched her plunge headfirst screaming. He threw himself onto the wall in time to see her fall on her head in the dirt next to Varmeer, her scream ceasing immediately. The thud of her body slamming to the ground was the last sound he heard as the arena fell silent.

  Henry stood breathless for a second after the flash of gray caught his eye. When he did not see Sarah’s body move, his feet instantly pushed at the dirt beneath him, and he raced between Ranthrop and Ricky to the wilted pile of gray fabric. He collapsed to his knees at Sarah’s side next to Varmeer.

  She lay as lifeless as she had in her bed. He grasped one of her hands and reached his other out to her dusty face where he saw a trickle of blood drip from her mouth. He touched his fingers there to press at the skin just below her lips and, in doing so, easily parted her limp jaw, which revealed her bloodied teeth.

  “Her teeth may have hit against her lips,” Varmeer said softly looking up to him. “I think she landed face-first.”

  Henry moved his hand up to the darkest spot of dirt that clung to Sarah’s face and saw little clumps of dirt in her hair. He dusted the dirt away gently and could feel the warmth of her skin, which was red and already swollen. He slipped his fingers behind her neck and grazed the vertebrae, but he felt nothing jagged or bulging.

  Vasimus lay half-slumped over the wall, looking down at Sarah’s motionless condition as Henry and Varmeer looked her over. He jolted from his daze at the sound of more footsteps. He saw that the duel had stopped, Ricky and Ranthrop hobbling over. At the sight of Ranthrop’s sword still in his hand, he let out a low growl.

  “You!”

  Ranthrop stopped at the cry and pulled his eyes away from where Sarah lay, up toward the sound. He saw Vasimus leap down from the wall top and land with a thump just beyond Sarah’s feet. As Vasimus peered up from his crouched stance, his teeth showed between his lips, eyes fixed on him.

  “This is your fault!” Vasimus yelled, drawing his sword. “You and your vengeful duel! I’ll give you your blasted duel!” He snarled and charged toward him.

  Ranthrop braced his stance to receive a wicked blow, but he tore his eyes away from the raging predator before him when Ricky stepped into his line of vision. What was he doing? He reached a hand up to push Ricky out of the way, and in doing so, he saw Varmeer jump on Vasimus’s back. Ricky’s guard then clasped a fist around Vasimus’s sword-wielding arm.

  Vasimus tried to shake Varmeer off and push Henry away with his free hand, but Henry grabbed a fistful of Vasimus’s tunic and twisted the man’s wrist to loosen his grip on the weapon.

  “No! No more of this!” Henry exclaimed. He shoved Vasimus back once he’d finally caused the sword to fall to the ground.

  Ranthrop stood by Ricky, both of them panting. He exchanged puzzled looks with the boy and then looked back at Henry who’d widened his stance between the men.

  “Enough!” Henry glared back and forth at Vasimus and Ranthrop. “Enough!” he called out to the crowd.

  Vasimus huffed where he stood, both of his arms hung outward from his sides, fists clenched. He pointed a finger at Ranthrop. “I suppose now you will renege your peace!” The sounds of women softly weeping pierced eerily though the stagnant air.

  “I have had my duel, Vasimus,” Ranthrop said and glanced at Ricky. “Take my peace as a blessing to Lady Sarah’s health.”

  “If she dies I will kill you, Groslivo!” Vasimus said, snarling.

  Henry grabbed ano
ther handful of Vasimus’s tunic and shook him. “If she dies,” he muttered, “I will kill you!”

  Vasimus felt his chest rise with rapid breaths and rub against the tight fist that Henry had pressed to him. He tore his eyes from the man and looked back to where Sarah lay oblivious to the world around her. With another growl, he brought his hands up and ripped free from Henry’s hold. He rushed to Sarah and carefully swept her up in his arms. He carried her to where his footmen waited with a rider on a stroomphblutel pulling a long narrow wagon and sat down on the back of it, holding her in his arms. The man flicked the reins like his own life depended upon it and turned to race them out of the arena gates and back up to Daundecort Hall.

  Henry took a step forward and watched them go. He turned back to Ricky and eyed the boy’s bloodstained tunic and the trail that ran down his gaping leg. “You need to get that looked at, Ricky,” he said as he walked toward him.

  “I have a healer in my party. Let me escort you both back to Daundecort Hall, and he can tend us together and perhaps help Vasimus’s own healer with Lady Sarah,” Ranthrop said.

  “Thank you,” Ricky said, eyeing Ranthrop with a curious look. Even more astounding than the verbal gesture was the physical one Ranthrop did next: he offered one of his thick rough hands out to him.

  “You fought well, young lord.”

  Ricky scoffed in disbelief and glanced at Henry who also appeared surprised by the exchange. Ricky reached out and clasped forearms with the man. “You too.”

  As they walked to the edge of the arena, where a team of Ranthrop’s men waited with rides, he heard several claps. The clapping increased as they mounted the stroomphblutels, and both tired warriors looked up to either side of the arena at the sea of somber-faced onlookers.

  As they waved to the people on their way out of the arena, he heard Ranthrop say under his breath, “Imagine that—a war started because of a woman was ended by a woman.”