by C. M. Lind
“We started with Amelia. She was a large bay horse with a touch of white around the hooves that stood 18 hands. Looking back now, she was probably about 2,000 pounds. She was calm and sweet. I’d feed her apples whenever I could, and she’d graze me with her lips.
“That day though, just a few minutes into cleaning out her area, she kicked. My father was behind her; I was in front of her. I hadn’t even started cleaning yet. She crumpled his head. It made this horrible wet, crunching, splat.” He slapped his hands together mimicking the collision in perfect unison.
Soli jumped at the noise and looked up at him.
He lowered his hands and reclaimed the bottle of wine from the floor. “I stayed at home for a few more years, but I never went near the horses again. I helped my mother in the house instead. Nel took over and the first thing he did was put Amelia down. ‘No one wants a horse that killed someone,’ he said. I hated my brothers, but life was tolerable with dad around. When he wasn’t there anymore, suddenly it wasn’t home.”
“Where did you go?” Soli asked. The hardness in her voice had diminished.
“In a couple years I was fifteen and done there. I took off and joined the military. Fifteen was the earliest I could do that. It turned out I was good at it. Needless to say, I avoided the cavalry unit—they tried to put me in it given my childhood training, but no way. I left after a few years. They paid too cheaply there, and good money can be made in mercenary work.”
“I’m not going to run off and become a mercenary.” The idea of fighting for pay sickened her.
“Not saying that you should, but, maybe if you don’t like it somewhere, you should go,” he said.
“It’s not that simple. I’m working on it. That’s why I’m even here.” She gestured to the house around her. “After these last few contracts, I’m heading north.”
“I’ve been north a few times myself. It’s a beautiful place.”
Soli snickered. “You mean it has beautiful women.”
Randolph laughed heartily in return. “A place can have both, and the north does.” There was a slight flush to his cheeks as he looked at her. “Don’t hold it against me if I notice that.”
“Were your brothers really so bad?” she asked.
“Oh gods, yes! They were awful! They tormented me whenever they could! I used to be so skinny and small back then. I made for an easy target. For years they would tell me of The Woodman who lived in the thicket of trees near our house. They told me he was covered with hair and dirt, and that he could hide in plain sight as long as he was outside. That he was so tall and thin that he looked like a tree. They said that he lived near our house because he loved children! Now, mind you, I was the youngest of five, so to The Woodman, we were a buffet! They told me he would watch us all while we would sleep, salivating at our bodies.” Randolph shuddered.
“Now our mother didn’t believe in piss pots unless it was colder than the peaks of the Cragmar Mountains, so, most of the year, if we had to go then we had to go outside to the outhouse.” He paused for a moment, as if lost in thought. “Funny name, isn’t it? Cragmar? Was he some guy who discovered it or something?” His musing was hypothetical, but Soli interrupted him.
“It’s for the great wyrm that has dominion over it, Cragmar. He is said to be petty and ruthless. Where I grew up we would send sheep up a mountain pass to him every year, to beg him to leave us alone.”
“That is so much better than my story. Did you ever see him?” asked Randolph.
She shook her head. “No, Mr. Randolph, I never did. Finish your story.”
He grinned. “Well, anyway, every morning I would wake up at least an hour before dawn. I would have to piss so bad it hurt, but I couldn’t leave. I’d always wait until my mother woke up. She never went out there with me, but I thought if she was awake she would hear me scream if The Woodman grabbed me.” Randolph put his hands in front of him, violently grabbing nothing but air, and shaking it fiercely.
“My brothers wouldn’t come out with me either, they’d tell me to go alone or piss the bed. I never went alone. I was terrified. I would hear scratching at night against the windows, and my brothers would say that was him pointing out which boy he is coming for. I would hear screeching at night, and I would think it was an owl, but my brothers would correct me, saying it was The Woodman mad with hunger. I would hold it, but there was a few times… I… you know,” his hand gesticulated in front of him, “couldn’t.”
Soli giggled with her hand over her mouth. “You? You? You.” She took a deep breath. “The walking mountain himself, Mr. Randolph, used to be a bed wetter?” She clipped him with her shoulder, and she giggled again: a young, childish, mocking cascade of laughter.
Randolph bit his lip and looked down with an accepting sigh. “Yep. All because of those jackasses.” He looked back up at Soli and waited for her to finish her bout of glee.
It took her two minutes.
“I wouldn’t miss them either! That is horrible! The worst for me was when my brother Vandill would tie my hair in knots when I played with his toy sword!” She couldn’t help herself, another giggle escaped.
“Yeah, that’s not the worst part of the story.” He smiled nervously.
She beamed at him, hungry to hear more. “You have all of my attention.” She turned that so all of her body was facing him, and she leaned in so as not to miss any details.
“My brothers said that mom and dad wouldn’t believe me about The Woodman, so I couldn’t talk to them about it. But then one night I didn’t have to take a piss, it was,” he cleared his throat, “the other thing.”
Soli’s grin had built into a full-blown, face-consuming smile.
“I begged my brothers to walk with me to the outhouse, but they wouldn’t, of course. When I explained to them that it wasn’t a piss, they decided the best course of action would be to hold me down,” he took a deep breath, “and tickle me.”
“Oh, no.” Soli whispered, her hands covering her smile.
“Yep. They didn’t stop until I shit my pants. In the morning my mother threw a fit. I told her and dad everything about my brothers and The Woodman. Dad made my brothers wash my pants while I took a bath. After that, my dad said that anytime I needed to go at night, all of my brothers had to come with, and just to sweeten the punishment, they couldn’t wear shoes or bring a lantern. We had a lot of frogs at my old place. Squishy, sticky, frogs.”
“I bet they loved that.” Soli chuckled through her hands, happy that justice was done to such brats.
“Oh, I made sure they got up every night for the first few months. I’d drink as much as I could before bedtime.”
“Did they ever do anything else to you?” She leaned in further, as if the story was a great secret only for her.
“You would think that they would, but they didn’t. I think they were too afraid of my dad. Even if they would have, I wouldn’t have cared. Looking back, the best thing that could have happened to me as a child was to shit myself that night. The Woodman wasn’t real, there wasn’t a monster waiting for me. I wasn’t scared anymore after that.”
Soli’s smile reduced to a toothless, amused expression, and her hands went to lap. “I’ve never been afraid of monsters.
“But, you lived next to a legendary great wyrm! You must have wonderful tales to tell! Stories that would beat The Woodman ten times over!”
“Cragmar has no interest in me. He has the mountains to dwell in. I have never been afraid of him,” she stated coolly. She was born there and lived there seven years, but never once did she see anything to make her believe the old stories were actually true.
“Alright then,” his voice lowered. “What scares the Mistress Soli?”
She leaned in close to him and lowered her voice. “It’s people that frighten me. People steal from you. Not just coin or jewels, but whole lives, bodies, and worlds. They hurt you. Some cut people down; others are content just to hurt with words. They take away those you love, leaving you all alone. It’
s not an animal instinct that drives them to do this. You cannot fault a varberg, excuse me, it is like a large cat from the mountains, for snapping the necks of travelers. It is their nature. They need the meat to live. But, a person? They choose cruelty. A simple, deliberate choice to be cruel,” she divulged those words eagerly to Randolph. He was the only one she had ever told of her fears.
Randolph moved his face closer to hers; they were just a few inches shy of touching. His lips parted slightly. Her eyes were on his lips, and his hand moved to her knee. His fingers gently rested upon her, and she didn’t pull away. She felt her cheeks flush, and she could smell a touch of spiced aftershave on him, from yesterday by the looks of his stubble. He opened his mouth further, as if he was forming the perfect thing to say.
“It seems I’m interrupting a party. Mistress Soli, are you ready to join me?”
Soli pulled back from Randolph, who was sorely close to her lips, and put a large smile on her face. She turned her head to the doorway behind her, and Etienne was standing in it, one foot in the parlor, one foot in the hallway. “Of course.” She turned to Randolph. “Thank you, Mr. Randolph,” she said as she bowed her head slightly. She walked right past the mercenary before he could even reply, or finally say the perfect thing he was concocting.
She walked up to Etienne and bowed her head slightly. “I was told you were detained by Ms. Monvel.”
“I was, but I have sent her away for the night. It is late already, and I thought if I made you wait any longer you might very well leave.” He grinned.
She grabbed her bag with her uninjured hand and slung it over her shoulder. It didn’t feel quite so heavy to her anymore. “Of course I wouldn’t. Shall we?”
He nodded his head and stepped from the doorway into the hall.
Soli followed him, and he offered her his arm to escort her as she had seen the nobility do with ladies. She accepted his arm with a modest smile, laying her bandaged hand on it. He did not offer to take her bag as he had done in the past. She had refused him too many times, and he gave up the effort. Her bowed lyre was too dear to her to see it in his hands.
From the parlor she heard Randolph sigh. “See you later… I guess.”
Etienne’s face turned stern when he saw her hand. “Mistress! Are you alright?” He placed his other hand on her arm. His skin was soft—even softer than her own.
“An accident. I am alright. I can still play,” she nodded to her bag. “Do not worry.”
“Would you like me to fetch a doctor? I wouldn’t want it to take a turn for the worse.” He patted her arm gently.
“I have already seen one. It will heal.” She signaled them to walk, and they began their trip to Etienne’s quarters.
“We shall keep the night short then, mistress. You have surely had a trying day.” He lowered his voice. “I apologize that you had to deal with that man. It was never my intention to force you to spend an evening with him.”
She continued the smiling façade. She was an expert at feigning agreement with those who paid her, and, for a second, she felt like a musical mercenary. “There is no need to apologize. I was not with him long, and he is always kind and gracious towards me.”
“I suppose he would be. That man has an eye and an appetite, I warn you now. He is nothing like us,” he said in an amused tone.
Soli didn’t know what all Etienne meant by that, but she didn’t push it any further. For some reason talking about Randolph with him made her feel dirty, like they were two-faced, gossiping housewives. “How did your business go?”
“Oh, it’s fine. My cousin backed out of a meeting tonight. I’ve been trying to get him to agree to my proposal for a year now! It’s always something though, and tonight it’s a tramp at the door. She shows up, and now he’s preoccupied. I’ll have to bring the proposal up next time he’s in a good mood. I have the figures, and it will be quite profitable.” He sighed.
Soli wished they would have walked faster, but Etienne seemed to be taking his time. He rambled for the walk: complaining about Jae’s lack of interest in business, lamenting the underused land to the south Jae owned, explaining that Jae’s attention had been captured by the Midsummer Jubilee that he planned every year.
Soli nodded her head and agreed when prompted, but her mind was elsewhere. Her mind and heart were tired from the day. Too many thoughts of home and lost loved ones took a toll on the spirit, and she was ready to rest. But there was something else that was lodged in her mind: the smell of Randolph’s aftershave, the perfectly carefree stubble, and his chapped yet inviting lips. Soli had never been preoccupied with such thoughts, and she felt ashamed of them saturating her mind after the ruminations of her long past family.
Roed always made sure to keep others away from her, to be her shield when interacting with men. ‘You can’t trust strangers,’ he would always say, ‘especially men.’ He would not have approved. Randolph was foreign and a mercenary. To Roed, a man like Randolph could never be trusted. Her parents would have seen his sandy skin and forbade her from speaking to him. For her, only a Northerner would be suitable: one who was a strong, honorable, worthy warrior.
Even in her own thoughts, she hated how much she wondered if Randolph had told his stories to other women—and how many of them he had bedded.
Etienne and Soli made it to his quarters. He fished the key from the pocket of his slate grey doublet, and he unlocked the door. He turned the brass handle with his free hand and escorted her inside. As was his custom, he locked the door behind him and poured them drinks.
Soli could still taste the Riesling in her mouth and smell the aftershave in her nose. “None for me please. I have had too much already.” She sat on the couch and opened her bag.
He shrugged at her disinterest in the wine then abandoned the bottles. He turned back towards her and joined her on an opposing couch. “No need for music tonight, mistress. Please, just relax; I have a surprise for you.”
“Really? But I waited for our appointment.” She was already short a few petals from the visit to the doctor earlier that day, and the idea of missing a night’s pay suddenly made her angry. The scent of spiced, faint aftershave lingered with her, and she cursed Etienne in that moment. He could have at least left them alone for just a few minutes longer, but then she would have overstepped a line that Roed had laid out for her: never get personally involved, even socially, with anyone in a household that you’re working for.
The logical, professional part of her was happy for the interruption, but the instinctual force that drives every man and woman with splendid urgency hated him for it.
“I know, and I am so sorry about that.” He leaned forward and put his hands together in a begging motion. “Please forgive me! I promise you will be compensated for your time; I’ll even include extra for making you wait with that man.”
He leaned back on the couch and smiled sincerely. “But my surprise should fix all of this. I know we have had irregular hours, and I thank you for your understanding, but it’s been annoying having to schedule around your other obligations. So,” he said, pausing to give her a large, toothy smile, “I bought them all! Now you just work for me!”
Soli was at a loss for words; she had never considered the idea of someone buying out her other contracts. Her mouth fell open as she gasped. “That…” she took a deep breath to steel herself, “is surprising. That must have been so expensive. Why would you do such a thing?”
“It was, but I think you’re worth it. So, here is the plan for the evening. You are to get your things. I already have a room arranged for you; it is right outside my quarters.” He pulled out a silver ring from his pocket that had three keys on it. “You will have a key to my private bath and library as well. Enjoy your stay here! This way you’ll never have to wait on me again. You’ll be able to entertain yourself and come and go as you please.”
“My lord, I have an apartment. I have three more months I have signed on for.” She felt faint and she clutched the couch to make sure she
wouldn’t fall over. The entire time she kept the mask of her smile strong.
“I’ll have it taken care of—don’t worry about it. It’ll be there for you when you are done here.” He stood up and walked over to Soli. “Now take your time packing. The room is right outside to the right. You’ll need this to open it.” He offered her the keyring.
She took it instinctually and held it against her breast. It felt cold and alien.
He offered her his hand, and she took it without a thought. He pulled her from the couch, and locked eyes with her. “I know this must be a surprise for you, Mistress Soli. You seem speechless.” He chuckled.
“I suppose I am. Perhaps more like thoughtless,” she said. His eyes seemed kind and open in that moment, like the warm, dark hot springs she would bath in at home as a child.
“You’re welcome. Now hurry along, I have much to do here, and you have things to pack.” He squeezed her hand for a moment before he let it go.
She nodded and stooped to pick up her lyre.
“No need, mistress. I’ll put it in your room. I have a key as well. See you at breakfast.”
She nodded again. There was no way she could have protested the request without insulting the man who had become her landlord as well as employer. She walked to the door; her mind moved as slowly as if it was trapped in a bog. Her feet knew the way though, and they lead her towards the front door of the manor, but turned to the parlor that she had left Randolph in before.
Her body was stiff as her feet shuffled into the room, back to the couch she sat at before, avoiding the ejected quiche’s remains on the floor. The food was gone, except for the unopened wine and the truffles. Outside Guy and Val were blabbering, about what she did not care. She slumped over, nuzzling her face into the crevice of the welcoming couch, and closed her eyes.
When she was younger, her mother taught her how to set traps and snares. They would catch small game in them, but Soli’s favorite was rabbit. She loved rabbit. The apples that she would leave in the trapped cages would always lure in a fat, unsuspecting creature. After the hare would take a bite, the trap would snap shut, and there would be no escape for the thing. Soli, in that moment, felt just like that rabbit: a prized morsel captured and ready to be consumed.