by Will Bly
Farah marveled at the way Kay controlled men’s perception of her. She dictated where their eyes were exploring and when. Farah remained lost in these thoughts as Kay yawned and stretched backward. A flash of tan skin flashed as her shirt lifted. She sat up, brought her arms back as if she were rowing and yawned. The result was the largest heave of breasts Farah ever witnessed. She looked up to find Kay regarding her through olive eyes ripe with intrigue and amusement.
Farah’s cheeks burned, but she tried to play off her embarrassment by gracing Leofrick with similar depth of observation. See, I’m interested in everyone—I’m just curious is all. There’s nothing special about you, or your tanned skin, or your voluminous bosom, or your raven hair, or your ridiculously seductive smile. Gosh, did I just use the word voluminous?
Leofrick blabbered as usual. “You know, Kay, I truly adore the hood-down look on you. You should wear it like that more often.”
Kay sighed and stared off beyond Leofrick. Her bored hands teased her raven locks. She pulled her hood up.
The scoundrel, of course, was not to be deterred. “Why Kay? Why not use your full name?”
To Farah’s surprise, Kay answered. “My name was taken from me at a young age.”
“Oh?”
“But I was lucky in my misfortune—I was saved by a man called Gren, a man who made me who I am today. He told me, ‘Why don’t you just go by K, the first letter of your name, at least, until you find your way back to yourself.’”
Kay’s hood fell around her eyes during a silent moment, but she continued before Leofrick’s open mouth could issue another sound. “It took a while, many hard years of training and traveling, in fact, but there finally did come a time when my name returned to me. I was content.”
“Won’t you tell me your name? I’ve grown rather fond of you. A bright, big bubble of scathing humor!”
Kay crossed her arms and remained quiet.
Leofrick laughed anxiously, as if only to fill the dead air.
More silence ensued.
The gravity of the situation made Farah feel uncomfortable. She reluctantly decided to pick up the reins of conversation. “Then why, Kay? Why would you stop using your full name again?”
The bounty hunter offered halting utterances. “Because it was, once again, taken from me. I watched... my name disappear... when I watched the life leave Gren’s face.” Kay reached down to her neglected mug and honored her mentor’s memory with a hefty draught.
Farah watched globules of ale stretch the skin of Kay’s throat as they made their way down the hatch. She couldn’t help but wonder how she could drink so much with so many secrets filling her. Kay was a warrior—a wounded one at that. Farah’s cheeks warmed. The fire of shame licked beneath her skin. Her guilt felt petty and jealous. Who am I to weigh my burdens against those of anyone else? Old Samford the innkeeper might as well be there to admonish her.
She felt a sudden urge to go outside. “I’m sorry to hear that.” She stood. “I hope someday you find peace again.” Her words waned as she passed the others by and shoved out the front door.
Her face was met with cold air, colder than recent memory, as if old man winter reached out with his slender, icy fingers to grasp at the skirts of spring. The weather had warmed as they moved south and the seasons began to slowly change. But not so much on this particular day. On this day, a bite touched the air, a sharpness in the cold that reminded her of less pleasant days, the frosted days they had spent in Frostbridge, Northforge, and the other northern places.
It was as if the cold knocked her spirit forward, separating her inner self from her body. She spiraled into a path of thorny memories and hazardous images. Except she wasn’t alone—the ghosts were with her—the ones who visited her dreams. They were all around her, shambling quietly as they passed through her memories. How many were there now? Her friends from Frostbridge, Claudia and Isabel... the kind lady from Quinn’s tavern—Anastas was her name... and the rest of Northforge’s dead during that night—all of that terrible gore. Jorin, the one who’d kept her safe throughout that horrific ordeal, the one who gave his life for hers, the one she felt most responsible for.
They surrounded Farah’s shadow-self, loud in their silence.
The frost of their dead eyes froze her in place. She fell to her knees and pleaded with them as they drew close. I’m sorry. Please, forgive me. Forgive Irulen. Forgive us! We were just trying to help.
The spirits jumped quickly, suffocated Farah, and blurred her vision. A rush of wind blew through her hair as a familiar presence shook her from her anxiety. Max somehow followed her through the tavern door, saw her episode, and knew enough to intervene. Farah blinked away the images, Jorin being the last to leave, and took a deep breathe. The air proved salubrious, cool and fresh off the mountains. Apart from a few drunks shuffling about, the place was quiet. Silent enough, even, for her to enjoy a moment of peace before turning back to the place.
She entered the tavern to find a precarious situation. A few men lingered around Kay with their chests puffed. They competed in overt fashion for the lady’s affections. For Kay’s part, she sat calmly, as if ignoring stray dogs begging for table scraps. Farah sighed. She had been around Kay long enough to know these types of things ended in one of two fashions.
If the men were generally sober, say under three drinks or so, they would eventually—with much reluctance—recognize the insurmountable challenge that was Kay. Kay chose her men, after all. She wasn’t one to be chosen.
The second way these propositions ended proved a bit more violent in nature. The second kind of suitors, often more than a few drinks in, wouldn’t take her disinterest as a hint. They rather view Kay’s demeanor as simply playing hard to get. So they’d wait, firm in their aggression, determined in their objective—much like a child waiting to look inside its birthday box. Except Kay wasn’t anyone’s gift, as she often made abundantly clear. These sort of situations, at best, ended with a threat of violence or some form of vocal castration. At worst, well, she’d have a man by his bollocks or some other form of vicious outburst. Sometimes the perpetrators wouldn’t back down and suffered worse for it.
It seemed to Farah, such a situation played in front of her now. At the forefront of the pack stood a lanky man with a ruddy complexion, his face flushed with booze and courage. The man used his elbows to keep the others back. “So, sweet cheeks, why you are treatin’ us all silent-like. That ain’t proper ya’ know.”
Leofrick laughed nervously. “I’ve always told her she’s too pretty to be so quiet.”
Kay snarled in silence at Leofrick while the man yelled at him. “You shaddup, ladyman, I’m talkin’ to ‘er, not you.”
“It doesn’t quite seem the lady is in the speaking mood, nonetheless,” Leofrick said, with what Farah recognized as contrived malice. Farah knew Leofrick cowered inside, but his voice came forward clear and clean.
The ruddy man cocked his head and squinted at the do-gooder. “You knah, ya’ kind’f pissin’ me off, nah!” His slurring worsened. “What’re you, defendin’ ‘er hon’r or som’thin? Cause if you are, ya’ berr be ready fer a f—fight!” He waved a fist in the air.
Leofrick stood slowly, as if using the time to gauge his options. He smiled and straightened up. “Perhaps I am defending her honor. What then? Does she not deserve it, you odious buffoon? Pray tell, why is it any wonder she has no interest in you lot while this place smells like cabbage and yet there’s no cabbage as today’s fare?”
Some of the men laughed, more took offense. Leofrick’s adversary shook with rage. Leofrick seemed to be leaning toward Kay as if petitioning for help. Kay’s shoulders shrugged, and Leofrick’s face dropped. Farah walked in closer.
Leofrick pleaded with Kay. “Oh, come on, I am putting my ass on the line for you, and you won’t help me out?”
“Well,” she said and smiled, “if you are going to defend my honor, then defend my honor—it takes more than words.”
“But words a
re all I have,” Leofrick lamented, the fear thickening in his voice.
Kay took a deep breath and lifted her palms face up into the air. “We shall see!”
“Oh, fuck it.” Leofrick sighed and threw his mug at the man. The throw landed somewhere around the groin. It was well-aimed but not well enough. The scoundrel ran from the table, and the angry drunkard gave chase.
Farah ran forward to move Merek away from the fray. He was confused but obedient, and she placed him near the exit should they need to leave. Max flew from her shoulder to take up residence on a crossbeam overhead. Kay remained seated, drinking her ale.
Leofrick, for his part, seemed a natural at cowardly flight. He bobbed and weaved, knocking plates off tables and tripping over chairs. The method wasn’t always pretty, but he kept just enough ahead of his assailant to avoid a beating. The dilemma proved, however, that the more he scrambled, the more of a mess he made and the longer the trail of angry patrons he left behind.
Farah went to Kay, who stared down into her mug. “Well? Are you going to do something about this?”
“About what? He wants to defend my honor. Let him.”
“I think, perhaps, it would be best if you would save his honor at this point.”
Kay stretched her arms wide and yawned. “Perhaps, but not until I finish my ale.” Farah’s mouth opened in protest, but Kay interrupted. “All of it.”
A scream erupted from across the tavern, one that split Farah’s ears. She almost expected to see a slaughtered pig, but no. Leofrick hovered in the air, caught up by the strong-man who chased him. The crowd had seen enough of his antics. “Please, by gods, plea—”
Sheer might, anger, and gravity combined could not break the table upon which Leofrick was thrown. Farah had marveled before at how solid the oaken tables stood. A crack rang out as the scoundrel’s body hit the table, but she doubted it had anything to do with the wood. More likely it was the sound of a bone fracturing.
Farah ran toward the fray to do what she could.
After struggling through a cloud of broad shoulders, Farah found Leo doing his best to flail his arms upward in defense. Not believing her own actions, Farah grabbed a nearby mug and charged the man. He had Leofrick pinned with his gigantic left hand while his right hand raised with skull-crushing intent. Farah smashed the mug across the man’s lower mouth, the point of contact being so precise, the sound of it so loud that she feared she unhinged the man’s jaw. She very well may have, judging by the way the man reacted. He stood up straight and stunned, bringing his hands to his face as if holding everything together. A trickle of blood escaped the man’s fingertips.
Miraculously freed, Leofrick popped up with eyes wide. He laughed upon seeing his attacker pained and sprang for his freedom. He didn’t quite make it back to where Kay and Merek were when more of the drunken rabble cut off his escape.
“Leave him for me!” declared the brute as he tested his jaw. He spit blood. “Buh first I’m gun’ tah beat in ‘dis bitch’s face!” Farah found herself frozen in terror as he loomed over her. He smiled, revealing two freshly-missing teeth, then he drew back a mammoth fist. His fingers flexed with anticipation as she closed her eyes. Then she heard it quick.
Psssuhh.
The hot breath of the bully’s scream reopened her eyes. His face was torn in pain, his menacing hand pinned to a nearby wooden pillar by the bolt of a crossbow. The fingers twitched discordantly. Farah turned back and found Kay standing up on their original table, holding her crossbow trained on the man.
“Finished my drink,” she said, then looked to the brute. “Stay where you are, or the next bolt will split your pecker.” Kay held her crossbow on target as more patrons moved in toward her table. Kay turned slightly toward the patrons with something in her left hand. The contraption was smallish, at least smaller than her main crossbow, but it certainly looked capable of shooting something lethal. Farah didn’t see where Kay had pulled it from, but she held it aimed at the people closest to her. She scanned the crowd with her weapons. “Don’t be cute, stupid or brave.”
“Or apathetic!” Leofrick yelled as he moved behind his protector. “Don’t pretend you don’t care, because she really doesn’t! She’ll rip your—”
“Shut up,” snapped Kay.
“Okay, no problem, let’s just—”
“Seriously, shut up.”
Leofrick opened his mouth again but refrained. He exited the tavern and Farah guided Merek after him. Once outside, Farah turned to find Kay fixed at the door, looking in.
“Aren’t you coming, Kay?”
“I will in a minute. I need you two to grab our gear and meet me outside of town. I’ll hold them here a little longer.”
“But how will you know where to find us?”
Kay tilted her head.
Farah smirked. “Oh, of course. Tracking—what you do.”
Max squawked above, as if jealous about not being included in the plans. Ah yes, Max can bring us back together too.
Leofrick ran ahead as Farah dragged Merek to the Inn. The keeper was nowhere to be found, perhaps even back at that tavern. Farah leapt up the stairs just as Leofrick thrusted packs and supplies out at her from their doorway. She slung what she could over Merek’s shoulders, loading him up like a pack animal, and grabbed up everything she could. Leofrick surprised her with the amount he carried. When it comes to valuables and possessions, he’s mighty strong.
Leofrick was, in fact, out the door before Farah had all her things together. A ruckus broke out in the distance as she spilled through the door with Merek and their belongings. Kay led the mob in the other direction, but Leofrick was nowhere to be seen. Farah ushered Merek around the corner of the Inn, removing themselves from anyone’s line of sight. She hazarded a peak again and gasped to find a few men moving her way. She pressed against the wall and swung her arm to keep Merek back as well.
The cursing and stomping came close, and the door to the Inn banged as it swung open against the outside wall.
Not daring to wait another second, Farah nudged Merek onward in the opposite direction. Chants of murder could be heard in the distance as she ushered Merek further into the woods. They stumbled through some rudimentary outposts of outward-facing, angled spears and ditches long-neglected.
A sharp pain in her ankle twisted her from the blind fright propelling her forward. She came up limp, half-dragging, half nursing her sprained appendage. Oh, forget it! Navigating the area proved difficult enough without having to lead Merek around. She settled into the nearest ditch and pulled Merek down alongside her. Fresh scratches ran along her arms and legs. The farther she ran, the more difficult if would be for not only the townsfolk to find them, but for Kay and Leofrick as well. She decided it was more likely for Kay to find them before the townsfolk did, and so she settled on staying put.
Still, she didn’t feel safe. She harmed someone—smashed a mug into a man’s jaw. It had felt good at the time, but violence begets violence, and she feared repercussions. It had been a long road, and she came to understand through Irulen and her own experience that people dealt justice in creative, horrific ways.
To avoid the unknown horrific, she decided to be creative herself. She peeked above the brim of their crater and looked for any close-by assailants. The ridge-line clear of movement, she pulled herself out of the pit, hobbled around to the front of the battlement, and began yanking at the set of protruding spears. Merek surprised her by helping, and they gathered the spears up quickly. Farah then laid the spears on top of the ditch while Merek followed suit. He even began re-ordering hers to make them symmetrical. She left him working and grabbed up all the nearby fodder she could. By the time she got back, the spears were all criss-crossed, ready for thatching. She threw the damp ground fodder on top of it all and gathered more. After a few trips, she found herself impressed by just how hidden their hideout looked.
She urged Merek into the hideaway, sat him down, and dropped a bunch of sticks at his feet. He stacked them neatl
y as she worked to fill the hole through which they’d come.
Max perched high above, staring at her. It seemed only a split second, but their eyes connected, and when they did, Max took flight and left the area. Where is he going? Farah felt jealous of the connection Irulen and Max seemed to share, as if they communicated directly. The raven could offer her no such reassurance.
She pulled an excessively large piece of bark over their entrance and settled down into the shaded darkness. Little shapes of light danced along the ground in front of her, poking through the leaves and sticks above. Having little else to do but wait, she followed them as if magical fairies roamed the floor.
Chapter 13: The Unkindness of Ravens
Comcka drew his blade.
Irulen put his hand out in a gesture to halt. “Look, this is a misunderstanding. The people who were your enemies set me up as well. They fed us false information, and the transgressions at your compound—well, they are regrettable.”
“Do you plan on fighting my sword with your words?”
“No, I’d rather avoid fighting at all. From what I’ve gleamed during my travels, you won the battle for Northforge, defeating the Mountain Folks’ army in the open field.”
“Aye, it was a victory of sorts, I suppose. But a short-lived one as I was betrayed by my own lieutenants for promises of power and riches. The coup was a success. Many of my comrades were slaughtered, but I’ve been cursed to wander the land not quite living and not quite dead. Then I remembered the wizard from the night the wights rose and the rebellion began. Your foul magic permeated and ruined our city.”
“That wasn’t me.”