Rain pattered on the roof overhead. Thin light trickled through the window, now held shut by a small wooden wedge. Feagrim surmised that it was much later than he would have liked to start his day. He looked around the empty room once more and let his eyes linger on the telltale marks where furniture used to be and the pegs in the walls were things used to hang. For better or worse, tomorrow he would be leaving it all behind. He considered briefly starting out right then but shivered at the thought of being wet all day.

For several minutes he replayed the conversation from the previous night. About how he and Eorrid shared their pasts and talked until late. If he read between the lines of some of the things she said, it could sound like she was trying to confess she had feelings for him. He shook his head at the impossibility and hoped Garmer wasn’t too harsh with her when she got home. He’d be free of that soon too. Heored was right, someone needed to fight back. Just, that person shouldn’t be him. With the shield gone, it would be inevitable that Garmer would get what he deserved.

Feagrim pushed the covers off and sat up. Stiffly, he dressed. Still sore, but the swellings were receding. He left the bed, opened his footlocker, and took everything out. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, he picked up his jerkin and rubbed a lump of beeswax into the leather. He put the jerkin back in the footlocker and waxed his boots as well. He unwrapped his wool cloak from his short sword and checked its scabbard and the blade for any rust. Satisfied he wrapped it back up and put them on top of the jerkin. On top of that, he put his spare clothes, then the folded bedding, and locked it. He took a moment to look around the room and left.

His thoughts for a peaceful lunch were dashed when he saw his father and brother already at the table. They looked at him expectantly as he came down the stairs.

“Feagrim,” began his father, “isn’t it time for you to come back to your apprenticeship?”

“No. I cannot fulfill such an obligation. You never considered my opinion and forced your will . . .”

His father interrupted, “As your father and the head of this house, it is for me to say and for you to do.”

“My understanding was mother made you miserable and it was all you did whatever made it bearable.”

“Let’s not bring that up now.” Said Dungel.

“It’s the truth,” said Feagrim, “it’s not meant to be happy or comfortable.”

“Feagrim, you will obey me in this.” His father snapped.

“No father, I won’t. I get persecuted enough, I won’t take it from you as well.”

“You should listen to father,” said Dungel.

“Not doing it. He had all those years to listen to us and maybe be a parent. Instead, he just didn’t bother and it’s too late to change it.” said Feagrim.

Their father struck the table. “You reap what you sow. I don’t know what you did to Garmer to get him after you . . .”

Feagrim interrupted, “I got between him and someone half his size that he was beating. Then I did it a few dozen more times.”

“Well, that explains it, “said their father. “You butted into someone else’s business.”

“I stopped a bully,” said Feagrim.

“And got bullied instead,” snickered Dungel.

“I couldn’t stand by and do nothing!” snapped Feagrim.

“It wasn’t any of your business!” their father roared.

“I bet you say the same thing when he breaks into my room to steal what he wants and destroy the rest,” said Feagrim.

“He doesn’t bother the rest of the house, it’s just you.” said their father.

“Yep, it’s just me,” said Feagrim cooly, “he doesn’t go after anyone else now.” He stared his father in the eyes. “Since it’s all about Feagrim now, isn’t there something you should be telling us? After all, we can’t ask mother why she was outside in nothing but a nightgown and slippers the night the goblins attacked right after the two of you had an argument. Or did you really think both of us would sleep through that?”

The color drained from their father’s face.

Dungel stammered, “Hey, what?”

“Did we conveniently forget what Shopmaster Leoleth said?” Feagrim pressed, “The house on the west side we were building for the newlyweds? That hunters had seen goblin footprints and met with adventurers from Stormfort? We were all there. If you have any doubts why I quit the apprenticeship, your answer is sitting right there!” Feagrim thrust a finger towards his father.

Their father lept to his feet, his chair scraping the floor behind him. “How dare you accuse me!”

“I’m not,” said Feagrim.

“Father, did you chase mother out of the house when we were warned about goblins near the village?” Asked Dungel, who was slowly backing away from the table.

Their father lept at Feagrim, his fist flying. Feagrim took a half step back and planted the foot. Ducking under his father’s swing, he tightened his core and elbow up, locked his fist to his chest. He lunged out and up, driving the point of his elbow into the soft flesh between jaw and trachea. Their father’s head snapped back and he flew into the wall behind him, breaking several boards. He slid to the floor gagging, blood bubbling between his teeth.

Feagrim stepped towards his father and looked down on him. “I did not make an accusation, but someone’s silence shows guilt or maybe it’s just a conscience or regret. I’ve known for a long time that mother was leaving the house at night and it seemed to have stopped years ago. I asked her why she kept abandoning us, why you were never here. She cried and started trying to do the things a mother should do.”

The slumped man sputtered through the blood, “Get out.”

Feagrim turned away. “I wonder how it felt to be at the wake last night. Did you even notice who most of those people were?”

Their father clawed at the floor and snarled, “Just go!”

Dungel stood in silence.

Feagrim returned to his room and for the second time emptied the footlocker. He remade the bed. He tossed his spare clothes on the rickety chair. He pulled on and buckled the freshly waxed jerkin and belted on the short sword. Tossing on the wool cloak, he picked up his satchel and boots and went back down the stairs.

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Dungel was trying to help their father to sit up. They looked up at Feagrim as he walked past them to the pantry. Dungel asked, “When did you have a sword?”

Feagrim went to the pantry and helped himself to bread, cheese and took the rest of the spiced sausage. He wrapped them in his cloth and dropped the bundle into his satchel under the cloak. He went to the front door, dropped his boots, and stepped into them. He pulled the hood up and unlatched the door. Turning back he called, “It’s strange that I lived here for seventeen years and I have nothing to show for it but threadbare rags of a family and clothes that are more patch than whole cloth. Isn’t it funny how one day I’ll be back to stop the village from being burned to the ground? Kodrun Grousler, this is a fine send-off.” Feagrim turned back and tugged his hood lower as he stepped through the door and closed it behind him.

Several neighbors were watching from windows and doorways as Feagrim stepped out of the door. Feagrim avoided eye contact and chose to just nod and mutter his ‘Good Afternoons.’ As was his habit he started towards the blacksmith’s shop. A few minutes later he stopped and looked up into the rain. He couldn’t impose on their kindness any longer. Turning down a thin alley he started to hide his destination. Beyond the Kursk homestead was the quarry. Before the quarry was a disused barn. That land was said to be haunted by the farmer’s family that lived there and died of a mysterious illness. A long time ago he used to go there to be alone and might have been responsible for some of the ghost sightings. Feagrim smiled as he slogged through the overgrown fields and saw that it was still standing.

He was much larger now, which made squeezing through the old door challenging. Inside it was dry and the ladder up to the hayloft was still there. It creaked ominously as he climbed up and a few birds spooked at his sudden appearance in their roost. Flapping furiously they fled through gaps in the siding.

Feagrim had been hungry for a long while, so he spread out his wet cloak, kicked a tuffet of straw together for a seat, and opened his satchel. Like so many times before his repast was cold and solitary. As he ate he thought of all the families that had invited him to supper in the past. In his mind, he heard their gratitude again and the reminder warmed him. He wondered if Eorrid had ever been able to visit with others or if it was her jealous brother that squashed the possibility.

He laid back on the straw and listened to the rain drum and hiss on the roof of the old barn. With not having anything else to do, he closed his eyes to wait out the rain.

The mud sucked at his feet, each step gave a sickening squelch. The greasiness of its texture clung to his boots making each step slower than the last. He’d made it off the hill and down into the valley. His clothes were soaked with the grim reminders of the past several hours. If you could call it solace, the rain was washing some of it away. The ground beneath his feet vibrated again, a thrumming which he knew to be some great bell was being struck. Breath came ragged, the effort almost too much. Forced to stop and rest, he spared a glance over his shoulder. The ground behind him was glowing a faint green and seemed to...squirm. Above, on the ridge, a great wagon was being moved. Burdened by the great weight the wheels groaned low, the sound making him nauseous.

Feagrim snapped awake, panting, his stomach churning. The rain had stopped. Beams of clear light were making their way through the cracks of the old barn. He shook the numbness from his fingers and took a slow calming breath. A creak came from below and he recognized the sound of the old door. He focused on where and what he assumed an intruder was coming and reached through the straw to unsheathe his short sword. He heard the rustle of footsteps through the old hay below coming towards the ladder. Feagrim quietly sat up and gathered his feet under him. The smell of warm bread wafted up from below as the ladder began to wiggle. Feagrim relaxed his grip on the sword and started picking straw from his hair.

“Poor child,” he called out, “pray tell why you have come to see the doctor?”

A feminine giggle came from below. “Because kind sir, I have fallen and my funny bone has broken.”

“This place shouldn’t be a secret anymore, besides funny bones what pried Catrine out of the house on such a wet morning?”

The familiar face of the Elder’s grand-niece came above the floor of the loft. She lifts a wicker basket up and passes it to Feagrim. The smell of fresh bread and hot butter is quite strong.

“I heard a rumor you had a row with your father and he threw you out of the house. The neighbors put up a fuss after you left and everyone thought you’d make your way to stay with Heored.” Nimbly, and most unladylike she threw her long legs over the last rung of the ladder and stepped into the loft. She was wearing tightly fitted trousers and a rain cape. “When Heored said you’d never arrived despite a few folks saying they’d see you going that way, we thought Garmer was up to no good again. But, the two of them were still home on account of the rain. Someone mentioned seeing a stranger heading towards the Kursk place, but no one’s seen you in that old cloak before. I figured that was you wanting time alone and the only thing out here is this old barn. So I waited until morning, and guessed that given the situation, you didn’t leave with much.”

Feagrim grimaced. “Thoughtful. You’ll make a fine elder someday.”

Catrine leaned forward and got down on all fours to crawl closer to Feagrim. She reached out and dragged a finger down his tunic. “There’s a few things I want to do before them. That day is a long time away.” She looked up at him, pouting. “I don’t want to be bored.” She gave an impish grin and flopped unto the straw next to him. She opened the basket. “I brought something to share, what about you?”

He chuckled. “Just some cheese and sausage. If I’d known I was going to have a guest I might have packed a better picnic.”

“But that’s like you. We had less on some of our adventures.”

Feagrim laid out the cloth from his satchel and Catrine tore one of the small loaves in half. She looked pointedly at the large chunk of cheese and thick links of sausage. She reached under her cape and brought out a knife with its sheath and handed it to him.

“I know why you don’t carry one. That doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” She tapped on the scabbard of his short sword.

Feagrim pulled the knife out and started cutting slices of cheese and sausage. “No, it doesn’t.”

“Keep that one.” Said Catrine around a mouthful of sausage. “It doesn’t even begin to repay you. And don’t worry, it’s not the one I used to, you know.”

Feagrim paused mid-slice, “I wasn’t thinking of that, but it’s reassuring to know. Whatever happened to it?”

“Oh, I still use it. The shepherds like the help in the spring so I save it for then.”

“They’re still impressed with your knife work?”

She rolled her eyes and snatched a thick slice of cheese. “They can’t deny it.”

“You’ll never live it down.”

“I’m not doing it for a career you know.” She chewed quietly for a minute. “Speaking of careers, sticking with your plan?” She reached towards the food.

Feagrim reached for a piece of sausage at the same time as Catrine did. He pulled his hand back and caught her smirking out of the corner of his eye. She handed it to him delicately and reached for another.

Feagrim sighed, “Thought so. No reason to put it off anymore.”

Catrine hands him a whole loaf, glistening in its glaze of butter. “At least you’ll head out with a bellyful of our bread.”

“And a little cheese and sausage I took when I left.”

“Did you know, you’re the only one he puts this much spice in the meat for? It’ll be one of the things I miss.”

They ate in silence for a while. Feagrim stole a few glances towards her, remembering some of the trouble they used to get into. It still impressed him, that the withdrawn red-haired boy turned out to be one of the boldest women he knew.

Catrine breaks the silence, “It’s not for me to say, but being the grand-niece of the elder does mean I have the inside on some things. The village is pretty disgusted with Garmer and I think we’re close to running him out. According to what I’ve read it’ll be the first time in thirty or forty years something like that happened.”

“I’d feel bad for Eorrid, he’s the last of her family.”

Catrine laughs, “Are you forgetting that guardian they had? Brionna I think? The big-time adventurer they called Auntie. And something is up with Eorrid, I don’t think you need to be worried about her being alone.” Catrine gave him a long, sly wink.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Not telling.” She brushed off some crumbs. “Now shake a leg and pack this stuff up for later.” Nimble as ever she hopped up, snatched the basket, and swung onto the ladder, her cape flaring. Feagrim could see, as usual, she wasn’t wearing much besides the leggings and cape. She flashed a smile and lept straight to the ground below, landing effortlessly.

“Thanks, Catrine!” Feagrim called after her.

“No, thank you!” she called back. “Safe journey!”