10 - Animus

It had been a long time since Animus remembered walking down the street with his mother.  He’d spent most days these past few years with father, sometimes only seeing mother her two or three times a week, and only then at a dinner.  He knew mother’s studies at the temple kept her from coming home, but he also knew his parents had not been getting along.

Mother stayed quiet as they walked.  Her right hand rested on his shoulder, allowing her to control his pace.  People were coming out of shops and the inn to get a glance at them.  Familiar faces, and yet not a single young child to be seen. That’s odd.  The main street is their main playground.    

They passed the bakery where Mallak and his daughter Baizee stood.  The portly man rubbed his floury hands on a cloth, eyes and nose scrunched together when he caught sight of them. That’s the same look he gives me when he catches me talking to his daughter.   He acknowledged them with a nod.

Mother nodded back and kept walking.

Next they passed Reyenne’s candle store.  She stood porch in front of the shop with her husband Leir, who was Sterl’s cousin.  Sterl didn’t like Leir at all.  Neither did Animus.   He’s a drunk.  And a bully.    

Both Leir and Reyenne’s mouths were cinched together.  Reyenne had their arms crossed under her perky set of breasts.  Animus and every other boy in town gaped at the red-haired beauty whenever they dared.  And only when Leir wasn’t around.  He’d beat a man bloody for looking at her once.   Right in the middle of the street.  

Leir’s arms hung at his side, his huge hands closed into fists.  A tall, muscular man in his mid-twenties, and like Sterl’s father was a lumberjack. Why’s he home?  It’s a sunny day.     Animus knew it would be a day’s lost wages for him.   And he’d heard Baizee’s father talk about the money he owed practically ever shop owner in town.

As Animus met the man’s eyes, Leir grumbled something and stepped into the muddy street, shrugging away Reyenne’s attempt to grab his thick arm.  

Mother stopped walking and pulled on Animus’s shoulder.  “Stay behind me.”  She took a few steps toward the lumberjack.

“Your daughter caused this,” Leir yelled.

“I think not,” Zelicia said.  

Leir pointed his finger at her, yelling even louder.   “You’re a liar.  We’re all tired of our kin being hurt by that daughter of yours!  She’ll answer for this, witch.”  

“Don’t be a fool.  The council will never take action against—“

“I’ll make her pay. The Bear God grants me his strength for a reason.

Animus saw the tattoo of a standing bear on Leir’s forearm.   He worships the bears.   Animus had heard about the Bear Temple that had been built in a small village on the other side of the mountains.  It was said their most devout worshippers could call upon there revered beast’s strength to serve them.  

With his full thick beard and wide body, Leir could be compared to a bear.  Animus thought the man’s strength might almost match father’s.  Fear tickled Animus as the man towered over mother.   All Leir would have to do is take a few steps to reach out and grab mother’s throat.  Animus saw him do that to a barmaid once.   Nearly killed Sheal.  Put her in a temple sick bed for a month.  

“Go home and sober up,” his mother said.  “Stop this before you hurt yourself.”

Leir took another step forward.  “You and that bitch of a daughter need to leave Haver or—. “

Animus felt something unseen stir around him.  His stomach and chest tightened. Is Yayisha here?  

Leir started to cough, softly at first.  After a few seconds his face reddened.  He hacked and gasped, seeming to struggle for air.  His breaths became wheezing, and his own enormous hands grabbed at his throat.   After a clumsy staggering step backward he fell to his knees, one hand squishing into the muddy road to support him.  Blood dribbled from his nose and mouth.  

Gasps and screams came from farther up the street.  Animus looked up to see that more people had appeared.   It seemed everyone lined the main road of Haver.  

Reyenne sloshed through the muddy road to her husband.  There were tears in Reyenne’s eyes as she stepped in front of him.  Dropping to her knees next, she clasped her hands together and dared to meet Zelicia’s eyes.  “Don’t kill him.  I’ll give you anything.”

His mother said, “I can see why you insisted your husband stay home today.  I may be able to help.  There’s a new type of insect this season.  Their bite can cause such coughs.  I shall send our new priest Zalarius tend poor Leir.  Do you think you can get your husband to his bed?”

Reyenne cried, mumbling,   “Thank you.”

“No,” Leir said as he scrambled to his feet, falling once into the mud again before finally accomplishing what should have been a simple task.  Reyenne put her hands on his arm but Leir shoved her away, the force sending his wife splashing chest-first into a sopping mud puddle.  

Blood ran freely from his nose, mixing with the mud that seemed to coat every fiber of the man.  Leir wiped the mud and blood from his face as best he could, then jutted fist toward Zelicia.  “This isn’t over, witch.”

She stepped toward Leir, her hand touching the man’s muddy chest so fast Animus barely realized what she’d done.  His gut and chest tightened again, and this time he saw mother’s hands glow green.  Leir’s eyes rolled back in his head.

Reyenne scrambled to her feet, or attempted to.  Coated in slick mud, she fell several times before finally reaching him.  As she placed her hands on him, Leir screamed and flung his arms in a wide circle.   One of the arms struck her in the shoulder, the force knocking her back into the mud.  Leir fell himself then, first to his knees.  Then he fell back first to the soupy ground.  The splash of Leir’s girth sent a torrent of mud at Animus’s feet, leaving his new boots covered.

The confrontation had ended.  Leir lay on the ground quivering; his head leaned to one side awkwardly, burying both his left eye and nostril into mud.  

Animus moved to help him.

“No,” mother whispered.  Her hand pointed at the ground where he stood.

Part of him still wanted to disobey yet he knew better. Only a fool would stand against her.    And one fool already lay in the mud quivering.

Zelicia yelled down the street, waving her arms. “Quickly, Leir is very sick.  We need to get him to the temple!”

She sounds so convincing.     And so calm. Animus watched.  For several long moments, nobody acted.  Then the mud-drenched Reyenne screamed, “Help!  Somebody!”  She crawled to her husband’s side, pulling his head from the ground.  She cradled it in her lap and cried, so covered in blood that she was nearly unrecognizable.  

People started moving towards, plucking their way through the mud.  A few tried running but ended up slipping. A few even fell.  

Zelicia placed herself behind Leir and Reyenne, motioning Animus to stand behind her.  He could see the green energy all around his mother.  He stared at her in wonderment, and then to the crowd.   Can they not see her aura?  What just happened?  Was he really sick or did mother do something to him?  Part of him already knew the answer.

Animus glanced Mallak approaching from behind them.  Farther back stood Baizee, still on the porch.  From the road behind them that led up toward the temple came father, running as fast as the muddy street would allow.  He seemed to have no problem slogging through it.

Mallak gave his mother and Animus a wide berth as he walked over to stand with the coming townsfolk.

Mother eyed them all as she closed the distance between her and where Leir lay.  She leaned down and touched Leir’s side.  Leir’s wife started sobbing louder but mother quieted her.  “He’ll be okay, Reyenne.  May I attempt to heal him?”

Her eye widened.  After a few moments, she nodded.  “Please.  Just don’t let him die.  I’ll—.”

“Calm yourself,” mother said.  “Relax.”

Animus watched green tendrils ebb from her fingers into the Leir’s quivering body.  As morr townspeople reached them, Leir’s breathing eased, as well as his shivers.

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Animus noticed a few strangers in the approaching crowd.  A tall, lanky man wore a drab green uniform.  Several silver pins attached to his left shoulders near his neck.  A woman in similar clothing stood next to him, her build short and stocky.  A cudgel was strapped to her belt, and a round wooden shield with a chipped side was strapped to her back.  Her hand rested on the cudgel as her gaze swept the crowd.  They moved confidently through the mud, their footing as sturdy as if it was dried clay.

It was the woman that addressed mother.  “What beguiles this man?”

“Stiggler’s fever, I believe,” Zelicia answered.

The woman nodded at the man.  “May I?”  

Zelicia nodded.  The uniformed woman knelt by Leir.  From a large pouch at her belt she pulled a brown rag and used it to clean off Leir’s face.  Then she put a hand to his forehead.  Animus noticed that she never acknowledged Reyenne.  

After a few moments, her hand slid inside his shirt.  “Could be Stiggler’s.  But I’ve never seen it this far north before…”  She turned to her lanky companion.  “Grab several of ours and take him to the town’s sick house.”

“Yes, Mistress Veln,” Warn said.  

Veln stood and turned and spoke to the townsfolk.  “This man must be isolated until his symptoms clear.  I will speak to your healer here and suggest treatment.”

A man named Scalpa asked, “Mistress Veln?  What is Stiggler’s fever?”

“Our troops call it ‘leaf fever’.  It comes from tics.  Our healers belive they carry the disease in their blood.  Another disease the green-tinged men of the South have brought upon us,” Mistress Veln said.

“How bad is it?”  Scalpa asked.

Mistress Veln said, “Usually there’s a fit of coughing and the throat swells.  The first fit kills many, but thank whatever God you worship here.  Your healer knows her skill.”

The woman had obviously never been there before.  Unlike most villages that worshipped primarily one God, being it a great deity or Animal Spirt, no Gods were favored in Haver.  At least not since Animus was five.  That was the morning the priest of Vecca woke up one morning with his head removed from his body.  Mother’s “temple” held no allegiance toward any one God.  There wasn’t even a priest in town.

“Will he make it?”  Someone from the crowd asked.

“With enough rest and proper treatment, yes,” Mistress Veln said.  

“Who are you?”  Mallack asked.  

“I am a Mistress of Battle, Serving the High Lord Goth North of the Bloody River.  I am fighting in the Great Blood War.  I’ve come here to find talent.”  

Her eyes settled on Zelicia.  “Healer’s especially.”

His mother shook her head.  “My place is here.”

One of the young men asked, “You’re here to recruit us to fight?”  

“Young people, or those older with necessary skills.  We need men and women alike willing to work hard.  There is much honor in serving, and of course a share of whatever loot we reap once we drive the green-tinged bastards to the seas.  But that can wait.  If we don’t get him quarantined, he could spread this sickness throughout your whole village.  We need to move him.  Now.”

Her words were calm and loud.  The confidence and command of her voice thrust the townsfolk to action.  Administrator Warn waved to three more strange people in the crowd that came running up the road, two women and another man.  Without further guidance, they picked up Leir took him to the Temple’s sick house.  Reyenne trailed after them, sobbing.

Animus realized that in all the fuss his father had quietly maneuvered to stand behind them.  He held a knife in one hand.  As Animus watched, mother’s hand touched father’s wrist.  It only then that Kas slowly sheathed it.  

The three of them stood for a moment, looking at the people of the town facing them.  Nobody spoke.  Animus watched their faces, seeing scowls, wide eyes full of tears and several pair of tightly closed fists. They fear or hate us.  Or both.    

“We’ve all got places to be, eh?”  His father yelled.  

Slowly, people broke from the crowd and walked away.  His father’s hand gripped Animus’s shoulder as the crowd broke.  Soon only a few families were left standing across from them.  Mallak remained, along with Scalpa, Harl and his wife Tehla, owners of the general store.   Council members.  Three of the most important people in town.  

They all looked at Animus.

“He stays,” Kas said.  

The four exchanged glances, then Tehla asked, “Will Leir make it?”

His mother shrugged.  “Depends.”

“Aye,” Scalpa said, his head perspiring. “You’ll forgive his words, right?”

“So long as he don’t run his mouth again,” Kas said.

“Fever will make a man say some crazy things,” Scalpa said.  

“Anyone speaking such accusations about our family could end up with the fever too.  Make sure they know I can pay them a visit,” Zelicia said.

Mallak wrung his floury hands on a towel he always wore around his waist.  Harl and Tehla locked hands, their eyes looking anywhere but at his mother.  Scalpa blew air through his cheeks as a large bead of sweat dribbled into his left eye, causing him to curse under his breath.  

Then Scalpa clapped his hands together.  “Well, like Kas said, we’re all got places to be…”

“No trial,” Zelicia said.  

“No meetings,” Kas said.  “And if any of you find out they are happening, tell us.”

Tehla said, “We can’t stop people from talking about last night’s incident.  Or about what just happened in the middle of the street.”

Zelicia walked toward Tehla and reached out to touch the woman’s shoulders.  Tehla’s face paled and she took a few steps away.   His mother quickened her pace and closed the distance between them, eventually laying her hands on the Tehla’s shoulders.  “We know they’ll talk.   But if we hear word of our children being brought before the council for any reason, things worse than this fever will break out.”  Her hand touched Tehla’s cheek.  “Nobody wants, that, do they?”

Tehla shook her head, seemingly unable to speak.

His mother walked back to him and father.  Then she brushed her hand toward them.  “Now, off with you.  We must take our son to see his injured friend.”

“That’s not a good idea.  Sterl’s father is furious at—.”

“Let us worry about that,” Kas said.

The council members left then, each trudging back to their proper businesses.

Kas waited for them to leave.  Then he said, “I need to stop by the smithy and grab my sword.”

“We’ll meet you there in a moment.  I need to speak with Animus,” Zelicia said.

His father nodded and walked up the road toward the smithy.  After a few moments, Zelicia cupped his chin.  “The first rule of using magic is what?”

Animus shrugged, but asked, “What did you do to Leir?”

“He threatened us.  I stopped him.”

“By making him sick?”

She nodded.  “I could have done much, much worse.  Does that scare you?”

I can’t lie to her.    “Yes.”

“It should.  But what should scare you more is what he would have done to us if I hadn’t stopped him.”

“Leir wouldn’t have hurt us.  Would he?”  Animus asked.

“He was drunk and upset.  You know he’s cousins with the boy?”

Animus nodded.

“He’s also a killer.  Several towns over Leir killed three men in a bar brawl,” Zelicia said.

Animus felt his eyes widen.   A killer?  

His mother continued.  “I stopped him.  But none of them townspeople know how I stopped him.”

Animus pointed to her hands.  “They didn’t seen your glowing green hands and eyes?”

“No.  Only you can see that.  And only because I let you,” Zelicia said.  “They believe me a healer.  Every town has one.  I’ve made it a point to show them I can do that.  Some may suspect I can more, but none have seen my magic with their own eyes.”

“But they’re all scared of you,” Animus said.

She smiled.  “Yes.  Yes they are.  They fear what they don’t know.  And thus, the first rule of magic:  Never show anyone what you can really do.”