by Jesse Teller
When the two men stepped aside, Brenden screamed, and the world echoed with his rage. He threw his spear and leapt forward. Helgor’s shield rose, and the spear bounced away. Brenden caught it and twirled it.
Slam, slam.
Slam, slam.
The spear of Brenden hit Helgor’s shield twice as it spun. The blade hit the shield, then the butt. The spear spun faster than anything Helena had ever seen before. Slam, slam. Slam, slam. Over and over again as Brenden moved and stalked left then right, fighting to get around the great shield. The shield rang like a gong until Helgor changed its angle and the spear went wide. Helgor turned in as he came, and his hooded axe hit Brenden’s side, his shield slamming Brenden’s face.
Beastscowl flipped twice in the air and landed across the circle. He picked up his spear, and the assembly gasped. Helena’s heart stopped. She had never seen anything like that before. Brenden roared and came again, his spear a storm as it hit twice with every twirl.
Before Helgor could prepare for it, Brenden dropped low and the butt of the spear swept Helgor from his feet. The boy slammed the ground on his back, and Brenden brought his spear butt down on Helgor’s forehead. Brenden flipped backwards until he was across the circle before he lifted his spear in the air and roared again.
Helena stared at the boy as if he were a thing not built of the parts of man. He seemed to be constructed of parts of storms and disasters, as if his very heart was a fire and his roar an avalanche. Brenden was nothing she could understand, and in the face of his wrath, Helena had no answer. She turned her face away and let the spectacle play out before her.
Jordai held a sword of air. The mighty two-handed Stonefist, which she had always been told was a weight almost too great to bear, seemed to be comprised of nothing but a faint breath and a dream. Erick was helpless in the face of Jordai’s speed. He took hit after hit from the hooded weapon. With every strike, Erick let out a grunt of pain. Helena had never seen anything like it. Jordai seemed to be fire, his sword smoke. He moved like water rolling downhill. He was indescribable.
Erick hit him twice. Jordai hopped back with each hit, sore. Erick moved forward, but Jordai kept the blade between them as he regained his breath and resumed his attack. It seemed the Stonefist was part shield, part sword, and when employed, it was impossible to get around. Erick reached out to grab it as it swung by once, but his hand let out a crack, and he never did that again.
As Helena watched him take hit after hit, her heart sagged in her chest. He seemed to change his strategy over and over again, to change the way he fought, reinvent and create the way Rugga had taught him, to adapt to his opponent’s style, but Erick could not readjust fast enough. Helena heard his rib break. His face twisted in pain, and she looked at Jordai’s arm and saw the hem of her dress tied there. She looked back at Erick. Shame rose up within her. She wanted it back, wanted to take back that hem and never have given it to Jordai at all.
Erick, desperate to change the way the battle was going any way he could, finally roared and rushed Jordai. The Stonefist boy seemed to be waiting for that very thing. He brought his sword around and down and swung up with lightning speed. The hooded blade caught Erick in the chin, and he flew back to slam the ground, landing on his back. Jordai replaced the sword on his back and rushed to Erick. When he reached down, Helena held her breath.
She had never seen Erick take a beating the way he just had. She stared at him as Jordai held his hand out. Erick paused before taking it and letting Jordai pull him to his feet.
Once he was up, he grabbed Jordai under the arms and held him in the air. Erick was massive compared to the Stonefist boy, and the crowd went silent.
“Stonefist!” Erick shouted.
The crowd made no move, made no sound. Jordai looked scared. Erick spun him like a weapon, threw him in the air. He caught Jordai on his shoulder and pumped his other fist in the air.
“Stonefist!” he roared. “Stonefist! Stonefist!”
The crowd seemed to exhale as one. They held their weapons into the air, shouting with Erick. “Stonefist! Stonefist!”
Helena looked at Erick and smiled. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a brute as he could be.
*******
“No, Virgil, you cannot,” Cochran said. No one thought she was listening, but she was. Helena kept as close to the hall that day as she could, and when anyone moved that direction, she followed. She was seven steps behind Cochran when Virgil came to him.
“I want to take my brand today, grandfather. I’m ready,” Virgil said. “I am going to do it with the rest of the boys. You can’t stop me.”
Cochran turned to his grandson and seemed about to devour him before he placed his impossibly large hand on Virgil’s shoulder and looked into the boy’s thirteen-year-old face. “These boys must be branded together. It is the reason Gerber sent Brenden to live his last two years of childhood with Hunet on the mountain. These boys need to be branded as one.”
“Why, grandfather? Why can’t I be branded with the Sons of the Seven? It is my right by blood.”
“They will serve the Redfist together, as my brother served. I was left here,” Cochran said. “I hated and loved to stay, but it was my fate. We are not the men of the kings. They are. Every generation, one boy stays the mountain, one goes to the City of Exiles to serve the Redfist. You stay here. They go. They have to be branded together in order to bind them together. They are all they will have.”
“And what will I be left with?” Virgil said.
“Your people,” Cochran said. “You will lead honorable men when your time comes. Your brother will lead criminals. You will defend your ancestral seat, this village and this hall we stand before now. Your brother will rot in an outlander city. I have seen how they live out there. It is slums and crime and dishonor. Your brother is going into that in a few years. You are not. Let him have his day. Let him celebrate with his people and enjoy the mountain. Let him be the shining bright light of the Flurryfist clan. For soon, he will leave us, and he will spend the rest of his days in a pit.”
Helena never thought of it that way. She had known all her life Erick would one day go to the City of Exiles, but now when she thought about it, she felt a deep sadness welling in a quiet place within her.
Cochran tousled Virgil’s hair and walked into the hall. An hour later, the women walked out.
They had brought four stools from the hall out into the lowest level of the village. This place was large enough for all the citizens and the guests. Usually, boys took their brands in the Warrior’s Circle, but this time it would be here, where all who had come could watch.
The boys sat on the stools, staring at the fire pits before them. All of them looked scared. They all watched as the women sparked their fires to life and stoked them. Terala saw to Jordai’s fire. His mother died many years ago, and Rugga and his wife had been asked to stand in for his parents. Erick’s grandmother, Sesca, began Erick’s fire, and he stared at it with growing panic. Tetla arranged the kindling for Helgor’s fire carefully, speaking to herself as she did, as if going through a mantra. Hunet’s wife saw to Brenden’s flame, and she worked fast.
As they worked and sunlight faded, Betten stepped out in front of the crowd and stood awkwardly. He opened his mouth and a slight moan escaped his lips. He shook his head, wiped sweat from his forehead, and looked out over the faces.
A woman came to him, took him by the arm to lead him away, and he stopped her.
“I-I ha-have a gift,” he stuttered.
Helena could hear because she was standing close, but the rest of the crowd had not.
A man farther back said, “Get that animal out of there.” It was Kecices, and Helena hated him.
“Flak Redfist sent me with a gift!” Betten yelled. All fell silent. Betten stared at his feet, looked at Helena and away again, and the elder woman who tried to walk Betten away took his hand and patted it.
“Speak, boy,” another man said. “Give the gift of the king chief.”
A hush fell across the world, and Helena gasped. The idea of having the kings back filled her with light. She looked at the hall, and the topmost floor, and thought of the glory of one day housing a Redfist there again.
“He will be leading these men branded today when they come to Tergor, and has sent me a gift for this very moment.” Betten reached into a bag and pulled out four large pieces of coal. “Each is carved with the symbol of the house whose fire it will aid. The king chiefs alone use coal for their branding, but Flak has heard stories of these four men as told to him by me. He wants the light of kings to aid them in their manhood.” Betten handed the pieces around and turned back to the four men. “The king chief of the exiles beyond bids you strength and pride as you take your fire.”
Betten looked so relieved Helena was surprised he did not pass out when he walked away from the center of the village and rejoined her.
“You did great,” Helena said. Sweat beaded on his face, and she patted his shoulder. She laughed. “You killed a bear with a spear when you were eight. I saw you do it. But that bothered you?”
“I am not meant to stand before a crowd. And it was actually two spears,” Betten said.
“Why not give the coal to the fire keepers quietly? Why make a spectacle of it in the first place?”
“It is how Flak wanted it. He couldn’t be here, so he sent me with that message.” Betten smiled. “He will have it how he wants it.”
“Betten, tell me of Flak Redfist,” Helena said. “What is he like?”
“He will change it all, Helena. He will change it all.” That was all Betten would say. Helena held tight to her hope and waited for the world to change.
The four brands were set in the fires, and the four boys looked at one another with panic in their eyes. Burle was first to speak.
“For Breathos and the fathers of the Steeltooth clan, I give you another to add to your glory. I have taught him in our ways. I have crafted him into the boy you see before you, and on my shield, I swear to you he will honor us all with his deeds and devotion. With this brand, I usher into the fold another of the Great Protectors.”
Helgor gasped for breath when the red brand seared into his flesh, but he did not cry out and did not flinch away. The crowd erupted in cries of his name, and Helgor jumped to his feet and grabbed his shield. He lifted it into the air and roared.
Hunet Beastscowl stepped forward. “The brand in my hand does not burn as bright as the beast before me,” he said. “With this act, I apologize to our line, for my brother will melt this brand. Brenden, stand. I will have it no other way.”
When Brenden stood, Hunet rushed him. He gripped Brenden by the hair and stabbed him forcefully with the brand as if it were a dagger. Brenden held his ground, and Hunet roared. Brenden stared into his brother’s eyes and roared back. Helena had never heard a sound like it and hoped she never would again. Brenden shoved his brother out of the way. He stalked to Terala Flurryfist and kissed her on the cheek. The whole crowd erupted in applause, and he went back to take his seat.
“I know your father,” Ruggamon said to Jordai, “And I have never been so honored as to be allowed to stand in for him on this day. Today, a legend enters a house of legends. The things I see in you will change the world, here and beyond.” Ruggamon set the brand perfectly, being careful to place it straight up and down, directly over Jordai’s heart, and held it precisely for the duration of time needed. When he was done, he kissed Jordai on the forehead and turned to the crowd.
“I present the man striding toward myth. I present to you the man, Jordai Stonefist, son of Gaulator.” The crowd erupted, and Erick lifted his fist in the air. The two men locked eyes. Erick nodded at him.
Cochran slapped his hands together and motioned to Erick. “Rise.” Erick stood. In that moment, he looked small and scared. He looked vulnerable in a way Helena had never seen before. She could not seem to pull her eyes away. He searched the crowd until he found her, then stared at her. He shut his eyes and waited.
“The son of Borlyn Flurryfist stands before you now. All bear witness to his might and count him among our greatest. We see his father in him. We see his future. His sons will change the world, and he will defend our king chiefs. He will find among you the greatest of wives, and he will know no equal in battle. I unleash the mind, the heart, and the body of Erick Flurryfist upon you all. Behold him and tremble.”
Cochran held out the brand of Leeven, and Erick walked into it. He held himself there, pushing and growling, until his grandfather nodded, and he walked away.
Helena wept.
III
22 Years Before The Escape
“How could a man love these damn goats?” Malsha said.
“You don’t like it, you should sing along,” Helena said.
“This song was written by a sadist,” Malsha spat.
“Breastion’s Goats is one of my favorites.” Helena heard the men straining to sing the fifty-sixth verse of the epic song of the man’s sixty goats, and she smiled.
There was Bandit we called him,
And he was a thief.
He'd make off with our tools,
With our veggies and beef.
He would grab things and run,
Disappear into the trees.
She whacked off his hooves,
Made meatballs and cheese.
Helena stepped over the slick spot in the floor where Tess had spilled lamp oil and jumped over a man’s extended legs. When she landed, she kicked back at him, and he snorted.
“Sorry, Helena,” he said.
“You just want me sprawled out in front of you,” she shot back over her shoulder as she rushed away.
“Like you wouldn’t believe,” he said.
She swung to the bar and was handed a hot wooden tray of meats. The tray was heavy, but in the last year of working the hall, she had gotten stronger. Her sixteen-year-old legs had gotten thicker. Her hands, where they had been chubby, had become lean and corded. Her stomach had flattened out, her arms developed into ropes of thin muscle. All her extra fat had burned away after serving drinks for hours every night and dropping platters like these in front of hard fighting men. She swung the tray wide and hoisted it high as a man stumbled into her path.
“Sorry, Dreadheart,” he shouted to her.
“Move it or wear it, Decehn,” she replied.
She dropped the plate before the elders and snatched up the tongs. A gnarled old man reached for a slab of ham, but she swatted his wrist. He pulled it back and rubbed it.
“Damn it, wom—” He looked up at her. “Oh, Helena, sorry. Why would you hit an old man?”
She pulled four plates off the larger tray and set it out before them all. She pointed at Virgil, who always seemed to be sitting with the elders. “Figured since we had a Flurryfist at our table, we might get a Flurryfist blessing,” she said. Virgil smiled at her, grabbed his drink. He took a long draw of his ale and held the rest of the drink high. As he poured his ale on the meat sparingly, she smiled at him.
Virgil was becoming one of her favorite people. He was kind, loud, funny, and mighty. She could count on him to back her up, and she knew how much he loved her father. She winked at him and picked up a thick slab of ham. She handed it to Virgil, but he shook his head.
“Elders first.” He smiled at her and stood. “Mighty legends of our tribe, I must dash off now. My grandfather is calling me,” Virgil said. Helena looked over her shoulder and saw Cochran motioning to him.
She served all the elders and kissed the oldest on the head. She grabbed the rest of the meats and continued serving.
She grabbed a few empty mugs and tossed them on her empty platter. She dropped it off at the bar and turned as the fifty-seventh verse rose into the air.
There was Ugl
y we called him.
What happened to his face?
It was splotchy and soupy
And seemed out of place.
The worst of it was when
He let out a mewl.
She chopped him in pieces
And made us a gruel.
“Do they know how obnoxious they are?” Domma asked. She snarled out at the floor, and Magna stepped before her. Magna always seemed to be standing right there when things like this were said.
“You’re done for the night,” Magna said.
“I’m sorry,” Domma said. “I was just talking about the song and how it seems to go on forever and—”
“That is the fourth time you have talked ill of the men in my hall tonight, and it will be the last for a while. Get your things. Say your goodbyes to the chief. See if he has anything else he wants of you and get out. In a week, I want you to come back here and tell me why I should let you continue to serve the brave men of this village even one more night.”
Domma nodded. She looked at Helena and turned to go.
“Got the rest of the night to get through and only six women now,” Magna said. “I don’t know how we will make it.”
“Six? I thought we had eight before you got rid of Domma?” Helena said.
“Had to send Gera home. She slipped on that blasted oil spill in the middle of my floor. I told the chief those lamps were too damn fancy. We made do with torches for generations untold, but that damn Erick saw them in the City of Exiles and brought them back. Now what do I do? Chicken grease is one thing, but how do you sop up lamp oil?” the old matron said, staring at the floor.
“Set it on fire,” Helena said.
Magna gasped and spun, her hands curling to claws. “What did you say to me?”
Helena feared one woman. She pulled back and held her hands up. “Just hear me out. The floors are stone. The spill is far enough from the pillars. The oil will burn fast. Just set it on fire. Hold the men back so no drunken fool sets himself to flames, and within a few minutes, it will burn away,” Helena said.