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Animus – 3

Animus sat at the kitchen table, waiting. He’d been there for nearly two hours, soaked and muddy, in the very chair his mother directed. Animus shivered, the house feeling somehow cold despite the warmth of the night. Several times he thought of changing clothes or wrapping in one of the old blankets underneath his bed normally used in winter. But his mother was very specific. He dared not cross her. Nobody crossed her.

He knew his parents would eventually work out what happened. He would be in for it. And he also knew his regular punishments that consisted of work, were probably not severe enough. But he could hope.

Doing dishes for Clovas was more boring than anything. The dishes never stopped coming when the fat innkeeper could use him as free labor. Several times Animus swore he washed the same pot three times, all while Clovas smiled with his hands on his protruding gut. His father sent him there when Animus crossed him, though sometimes Animus swore he didn’t do anything. And lately it was for the mildest of misunderstanding. Every night he was there, father waited in the common room, drinking, sometimes all night. Father would check on him, too, making it nearly impossible for Animus to sneak a pint of Ale or smoke with the other workers. I sometimes got a pint though, even a smoke with the men, sometimes the waitresses. He liked looking at the waitresses.

It was either that or father would send him to Relenn the baker. He did a lot of lifting of the flour bags, the vats of dough and anything else heavy, but the fresh bread and butter, the warm pastries with icings of all varieties, made working there worth it. There were some nights he could barely move he was so full. He would hardly mind it, except for Baizee.

Relenn’s daughter, she was the same age as Animus. Together they would make dough or have to clean the bakery. She never ever stopped talking. She would talk for hours about absolutely nothing he cared to hear about. What kind of dress she wanted, how a certain woman’s boots were just what she wanted, the fragrance someone at the women’s meeting was wearing, things that just hearing about made Animus want to leave. Lately he’d changed his mind about spending time with Baizee. His annoyance lessened after he kissed her the first time. It was the one thing he could do to stop her from talking. And he liked it. Since that first time they kissed often, whenever they thought they could get away with it. Over the summer Animus became very aware of her breasts and how they’d seem to have grown overnight. One day they were suddenly very perky and seemed much bigger, like some of the women in town. He couldn’t manage to stop beholding them. And just last week when they kissed, Baizee took his hand and placed it on one of them. If was then he realized that he no longer dreaded seeing Baizee. In fact, he wanted to work with her. Do I actually like her now? The very thought confused him.

Animus hoped for those punishments. Oddly, they didn’t seem so bad anymore. But some part of him knew something was different this time. His twisting stomach emphasized that. As did the rope burns all over his arms. You’ll pay for that, sister.

The back door opened and his father entered. Mud caked his boots but he had changed clothes, for they were dry and free of mud. Animus noted those things through the fear of his father’s disappointment. He took a breath and tried to steel himself.

His father never broke stride as he walked past Animus, but there was no missing the scowl on his face. Just as he entered the hallway, his father stopped and directed his stare at him. Eyes like a starving mountain lion.

Animus saw one when he was in the foothills behind their house a few years ago. It was a gaunt creature; Animus could see its ribs. When it rose, it licked its lips. Only a well-placed sling stone by Jilt drove the beast away, allowing them to escape back to the village. Jilt’s father was a hunter. He put it down the next day. Jilt and his father were gone, though. Yayisha had seen to that.

Animus tried to withhold the anger mingled with fear as his father looked ready to pounce. His fists had turned white they squeezed so tight. And he shook. The anger fizzled away, leaving Animus to embrace only the fear. He felt his lips start to quake as he tried to remain still, to meet those hard eyes.

His father opened his mouth and then paused, then took a deep breath and turned to walk down the hallway toward the front sitting room. He looked ready to beat me like he did those three men at the inn two months ago. That rage, directed toward him, all because he refused to let his sister get the better of him. Animus leaned forward and put his head in his hands and tried to stop shaking.

Sterl was injured and it was his fault. He’d taken advantage of his last true friend. The other three had either left the village or avoided him as if he was blind. Blind people are cursed by the Gods.

Or so the people of Haver told him.

The loss of his friends was Yayisha’s doing. She’d never been blamed for any of their accidents. Nobody ever even accused her. Animus knew better.

Three years ago, she’d scarred his best friend Stilt when she animated a pitchfork. They’d all been playing in the barn when Stilt knocked her down while playing “King of the Haypile”. She screamed and thrust her hands outward. It was the first time Animus felt her use magic. He watched as a rusty pitchfork hanging on a wall soared unerringly toward Stilt and impaled him, one of the points lancing through a bicep.

That very night, upon hearing their son’s side, Stilt’s parents went to the council and demanded a trial. As the council considered the demand overnight, his father brought Stilt’s parents to the temple in the middle of the night. Animus knew because he was there, hiding behind the bookcase at his mother’s command. Say nothing of this incident to anyone. Never speak of it. Do you understand?

He did. There was something about his mother that night that demanded he heed her words. So he stayed quiet and tried to listen. He heard them arguing but somehow couldn’t make out any of the words. The next morning, Stilt and his parents were gone, their home abandoned. And they never returned. And he never dared to ask.

Stilt had been the first of his friends she’d driven away. Teren and Felice were hurt next, each a year apart. Teren lost an eye. Felice would probably never have kids, or so he overheard Yayisha saying to mother. And every incident, no matter how she deserved it, Yayisha always escaped their wrath. Even when mother caught her trying to kill me.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Sterl could have escaped her wrath until Animus talked him into trying to scare his sister. He brought Sterl to her attention. He felt awful, guilty and selfishly angry it didn’t work. Sterl was hurt bad, that much he figured out from the look on his father’s face.

Oddly, when he told mother what happened in the temple, she didn’t seem angry. But she never seemed angry. He’d heard the men and women whispering about her wrath all around Haver(the village), but only when they couldn’t see him. Animus knew every nook around every building where he could hide himself, a skill which allowed him to listen in on people’s conversations. Animus smiled when he remembered what Relenn told him in his broken way of talking. Feet of panther. Ears of bat.

The back door opened again and he sat up straight. It was mother. She took off her cloak and hung it on a wall. He knew better than to speak to her first; it was one of her many peculiarities. Why she demanded she speak to people first was beyond him, but he learned to follow the rule quickly. One of the men in the bar, Earless Val they all called him, swore that it was mother that took off his ear and not frostbite. Animus never doubted it, not after seeing what Yayisha’s full wrath. Mother was teaching her magic, after all. Reason demanded that his mother was much more powerful. It’s why they call her the “Storm of Haver”.

The men in town avoided her as much as possible, while the women couldn’t stop talking about her; they either admired or hated her. None, however, defied her. At least not that Animus had heard.

She motioned for him to stand. As he stood, he feared her anger or disappointment. Yet, her eyes were green seas of grass, somehow moving when you looked into them. Her face was unbroken by lines of worry or angst. She seemed calm; there was a small grin on her face. His skin was a shade lighter than his, barely brown compared to his darker color. Long black hair ran straight past her hips, the tips curled.

She strode toward him and clasped his hands, her slim fingers wrapping around his own. “I can barely see you under that mud. Do you feel up to talking?

“I do, mother.”

Her face never changed as her hands trolled up his forearms, stopping where the rope burns twisted around his arms. “These require my attention. Hold still.” Her eyes focused on his arms and he watched her eyes begin to glow. Animus gasped when he glimpsed her hands. The same green glow lit her fingertips. He’d never seen that before.

She gripped his hands tighter. “Be still. You must not move, do you understand?”

“Y-yes.”

The green light oozed from her fingertips and covered the entirety of his arms in their green glow. Animus felt sweat bubble on this head as coolness covered his arms. There was no pain, only a slight sensation of numbness.

His mother looked up. As she did the glow in her eyes faded. “Take a few deep breaths, son.”

He breathed and the tingling in his arms faded.

She rubbed one of his hands with her palm. “The pain is gone?”

“Yes, mother.” And it was. As were any signs of ever being burned.

His mother nodded. “Good. After we speak you will go to the washroom by the barn and cleanse the mud from your body. I assume the arms are the worst?”

Animus nodded. “I think so.”

Her eyes held his. “You were attempting revenge on your sister this night?”

How did she know that? But he knew better than to lie. “I was just going to scare her.” That had been his intention. If she just happened to get hurt, well…

His mother nodded. “It is good to show you don’t fear her.”

It was?

She looked toward the hallway where father had gone for a long moment. Then she looked at him again. “I see. Other than your pride, you are otherwise unhurt?”

There was no anger, no hostility toward him. “Yes, but—“

Two of her fingers covered his mouth. “Shush. I will speak with your father regarding this and meet with you after. When you wash, change clothes. Return here when you are finished.” She pointed to the chair he had been sitting in.

That’s it? Animus had to know. “Mother, why aren’t you mad?”

Her grin disappeared and she looked at him. His heart thumped in his chest.

Finally, she said, “Yayisha deserved it. You were right to go after her. But Animus, you must never try to hurt her.”

Animus quickly shook his head. “Of course, mother.” Not much, anyways.

She leaned close and whispered, “She’s bullied you for the last four years. Hurt your friends. Yet, you still fight back. Some would call that foolish.”

And she tried to kill me. He decided to not mention that part.

One of her hands grabbed the back of his head. She pulled him down so their foreheads touched. “You are my son. My blood flows in your veins. You should never fear her or anyone else.”

He should have felt invigorated by that, but he was still scared. “I-I didn’t know she was that powerful.”

“How could you? You barely see each other anymore. But I promise you; tonight will be the last night she’ll attempt to do you harm.” His mother kissed him on the cheek and then whispered to him again. “She can’t break you, Animus. Unless you let her.”

That confused Animus. He let it go and changed the subject. “Is Sterl going to be okay?”

She stepped back and shrugged. “His soul is in the Gods’ hands. We are doing what we can. Tomorrow, you and I will go see Sterl. If he lives.”

She doesn’t know that Sterl will live? “If he dies….”

She put fingers to his lips again. “Worry is for a fool. What’s happens now is up to the gods. Go now. Be strong, my son.” She motioned toward the kitchen door. “Get cleaned up, son of the Wind.”

She only called him that when it was just the two of them. And he had no idea what it meant. But he never dared repeat it to anyone. Mother was not to be talked about when she wasn’t around. He’d learned that the hard way. So as soon as his mother disappeared down the hall, Animus left the house, his mind whirling. How can she not be upset with me?

As he stepped into the night, Animus realized that, for the first time all day, the rain had stopped.