By the time Feagrim had made his way to the top of a grassy knoll that overlooked the Kursk homestead, most of the clouds had broken up. He sat between some rocks where the grass was thin and reclined to enjoy the warmth. He listened to the breeze whisper through the grass and leaves overhead. Though he was grateful for Derntor giving him a day off, he felt jittery and at loose ends. He needed to be doing something. On days when Derntor didn’t need him, the quarry was glad for his help. Egerton didn’t want him there anymore, or more accurately Feagrim chose not to because his presence caused some friction in their family. It was one of the few places Garmer wouldn’t come near, but he still used the knoll as a refuge.
He leaned back and closed his eyes and pondered what his own family might be like if it was like Derntor’s or the Kursk’s. In his mind’s eye, he pictured four neat place settings on the table, the house full of smells of his mother’s baking. He, his brother, and father coming home, their clothes still smelling of fresh sawn wood. Sitting at the table next to his brother and passing a basket of bread still steaming from the oven. A pot of thick stew to go with it and maybe they could have stopped and gotten fresh cider on the way home. The conversation would be about the new family that was going to move into the house they were building. They needed to rush and have it done before the baby came. His mother would exclaim that she would need to bake some extra for them and would talk to the neighbors and have them do the same to support the new mother.
Feagrim felt something tickling his nose. He realized he fell asleep, but the sun wasn’t on his face anymore. Nearly in a panic that he was going to miss the wake, his eyes flew open to a halo of glowing hair. His head rested on something soft. He looked up into a familiar face. His head was in her lap and she was shielding him from the sun. He looked up into gentle grey-blue eyes that didn’t shy away from his gaze.
“I was wondering when you were going to wake up. You were sleeping so well it seemed a shame to disturb you.”
Feagrim closed his eyes again, his body felt heavy and sluggish. His daydream clashed with reality. “I must have really been out.” He held back a yawn. “You shouldn’t be up here, Eadryth. What would your father say, especially if he saw us right now?”
“Father’s stubborn as the stones he builds with. He might not approve, but he hasn’t forgotten the respect he has for you.” She brushed some of her hair back.
Through her hair, he could see the sky was starting to get cloudy again. Feagrim started to sit up. She placed her hands on his shoulders stopping him.
“The nightmares have gotten worse, haven’t they?” She asked.
Feagrim sighed and let himself be restrained by her touch. “The Elder isn’t saying anything more about them. She just says she’s said all she’d going to say about them.”
His stomach grumbled, reminding him of his interrupted meal. She took her hands away. For a moment he missed her touch. Sitting up he reached for his satchel, but Eadryth already had it open. Out of her shadow, he squinted awkwardly at the brightness, a little embarrassed to watch as she deftly laid out his leftovers.
She frowned. “Don’t you think an apple might be a little much right now?” It quickly became a smirk as she waved it at him.
“It was Heored’s idea.”
“So you still went there first?” She rolled the apple between her hands. “I don’t know whether to commend your commitment to work or condemn you for it.”
“I’m just trying to stay busy and do my part.”
He reached for the cheese and she swatted his hand. Taking a small knife, she sliced the bread, cheese, sausage and apple into bite-sized pieces. While she worked, Feagrim watched her. He took in the dexterity of her hands, the way her hair bounced, the pale green of her dress, the way the light shone around her. She caught him staring.
“You’re doing that again. Engraving things in your mind like it will be the last time you get to see them. I won’t tell you to stop it, I like the attention. But it does make me feel a little sad like we’ll never see each other again.” She placed the cloth with its neatly cut morsels between them.
“There are few certainties these days,” said Feagrim, “I don’t want the last regret I have to be that I forgot.” He started to eat carefully, grateful to not have to open his jaw as wide. “I shouldn’t be the only one eating. Please join me?” Feagrim managed what he hoped was closer to a smile.
“For your sake, I will.” Eadryth chose a piece of the sausage and chewing, discovered its spice. She coughed, her eyes watering. Gasping, “pungent isn’t it?”
“Stormfort,” Feagrim began, “has an Adventurer’s Guild. While Elder Thordis wouldn’t tell me what the creatures in my nightmares were, she was adamant the Guild would help me learn everything I wanted to know. She hinted I might learn more than I ever could want to know.”
“Answers might be closer than Stormfort.” Eadryth was blotting her eyes on a handkerchief.
“I can’t ignore the Elder’s wisdom. She strongly advised me to go to Stormfort.”
“You will leave everything you’ve ever known.”
“But I need to learn more about the nightmares and if the key is in Stormfort. . .” Feagrim trailed off.
“Many people look up to you here, would you leave them?”
“They might learn to rely on themselves if I do.”
“What of the ones that want you to rely on them?” Eadryth said, her face turned down into her lap.
Feagrim scoffed, “And who would those be?”
“Have I not been worthy of your trust? Am I not someone you have relied on, and come to? You rescued me.” Eadryth raised her head, her eyes glistening. “Can I not rescue you?”
Feagrim glanced away. “What kind of hero would I be if I put you at risk?”
“Can I not take some risk for myself?” Eadryth said, biting off her words. “After all, father has forbidden me from seeing you. Even if you weren’t his apprentice, he didn’t take it well when you quit. Even if it was your father that forced you into carpentry, despite your talents being elsewhere. When you quit that apprenticeship that was the last straw to him.”
Feagrim looked at her hands, clenched around folds of her dress. Their calluses were thicker than he remembered. “You’re just as stubborn as he is.” He said.
“Someone on this hill is worse.” She scoffed. “There’s nothing I can say when you’ve made up your mind. Run away then, if that’s what you want.”
“I’m not running away,” Feagrim protested.
Eadryth carefully folded the empty cloth and tucked it back into Feagrim’s satchel. “You’re not going to get very far with this. Pray tell me what little risk I can bear for you.”
Feagrim hung his head. He took a breath. “I need food and supplies to get to Stormfort. I already have knives and a sword waiting with Derntor.” He paused, self-consciously picking at one of the many patches in his trousers. He continued, “and some better clothes are at the tailor’s.”
“About time you did something about those rags.”
“Like I’d waste money getting them before,” he retorted. “Garmer would just rip them off me.”
“Truth,” she said, “but father might have kept a better opinion of you. Leave your provisioning to me then.” She winked, “Kursk Mercantile has you covered.” She paused, her face getting serious. “It looks like you’ve had a little rest at least. You need to be getting back soon.” She sat straighter. “I’ve said it before, but, I, and on behalf of my family, wish to offer our condolences for your loss. We’ll be coming to the services later.”
Feagrim stiffened, his face falling. He looks straight at her and notices the tears she’s holding back. He swallows and steadies his voice. “We shall look for you then.” Standing, he shouldered his satchel and began the trek down the knoll.
Feagrim took his time. He wanted to sort out his thoughts and brace himself for the event that evening. Several people had been killed the night of the goblin raid, his mother was just one of the slain. The town decided to hold a wake for all the victims. The goblins were just scouts but had seen one of the homes at the edge of town as an easy target, breaking in through the back door. The panic spooked both the occupants and the goblins. The noise brought neighbors and a melee ensued. That home was near the site he, his brother, and father were building a new house. They were some of the first to get word from hunters that fresh goblin tracks had been found. What his mother was doing outside the house, let alone that far away wasn’t an answer he’d been able to get out of his father yet. He had mixed feelings about the whole thing. Making it worse was the way everyone thought he was supposed to be devastated by her death. They didn’t know the truth and didn’t need to. Some answers she took to her grave. He just needed to play his part, and let the whole mess blow over. He sucked his tooth. They’d just started to mend their relationship and the work it took felt like it just went to waste.
Some hours later, close to the square, there was quite the commotion. He had expected things to be more subdued. There was a crowd and like it or not he was going to have to mingle. He tamped down his emotions and envisioned his face as a stony mask. Wading into the throng he tried to make his way to the stage where the effigies were. The actual coffins had been buried when the individual families had their private funerals. The ones that were on the stage were there to act as a focal point, and out of practicality, storage for gifts to the aggrieved families. As he neared the stage he could see the altars each of the families had arranged for their deceased. They were filled with mementos and things they would have liked or treasured while living. He knew which was the one for his mother at a glance. It had very few such things and the empty space was filled with flowers. He recognized a slender girl with short hair from the back. She was putting a small bouquet of red poppies, his mother’s favorite, on the altar. Furtively he glanced around and did not see who he was looking for.
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Nearby he saw his father and brother. He could hear parts of the conversations they were having. His name was coming up a lot. He stepped into the gauntlet.
“Dungel, where is Feagrim? He’s coming, right?” Asked a young man of a similar age.
“I haven’t seen him since this morning. He left in a huff, and I haven’t seen him since.” Replied an annoyed Dungel.
“Kodrun, I’d like a word with you.” Said a short, stout man with a thick mustache. “My condolences go to you, shame about your wife. That boy of yours, Feagrim was it? I see him all over the village. He’s going a little wild isn’t he? A woman’s touch would reign him in. My daughter has looked on him favorably for a while now, what do you think about putting in a word for me?”
Their father looked down on the earnest man. “Feagrim is independant. He learned that at an early age, and I don’t wonder why. It does vex me to no end, and I can assure you that no matter what I say, he will do as he pleases. If your daughter has met him the same as the rest of this throng has,” he paused to wave a hand at the press of people around them, “then I think they hardly need an introduction.”
“I have done nothing worthy of such attention Shopmaster Leoleth.” Feagrim butted in. “Further, any time your daughter has come around, she seems much more taken with my brother.”
The two men started, surprise at Feagrims sudden appearance slowly fading while Dungel first blanched, then looked away his ears going red. Leoleth raised a bushy eyebrow and looked towards Dungel. Any response they would have said is cut off as several young men and women swarm Feagrim. He is quickly lost in a sea of faces, all of which he recognizes. Many of them are former victims of Garmer, the remaining are friends and family of them. Their initial exuberance is curtailed once they get a good look at him, the swellings and yellow-purple bruises, his limp, pained smiling around a fat lip, and the darkening outline of a boot heel on the back of the same hand that was missing part of a finger. One by one, they quiet down and nervously offer their sympathy. Some for the loss of his mother, some for the continuing abuse. He notices his father and brother standing with their backs to the group around him. For a moment he feels a little sadness and guilt. They were certainly closer to his mother it reminds him, that if nothing else, his distance was also his shield from her. Bobbing above the rest of the gathering he could make out the head of Derntor.
“If you’ll excuse me now,” announced Feagrim, “there are other families here. By my being close to the stage it is making it difficult for them to receive their respects. Let us make sure to honor and respect them as well. I will retire somewhere quiet and may return later, or you can see me another day.”
Feagrim extricated himself from the throng and made his way to meet Derntor. A clatter to one side came from some horses and he recognized the small carriage bearing the emblem of Kursk Mercantile. Master Mason Egerton Kursk was helping his wife down to the ground.
“So you haven’t gone into hiding yet?” Derntor clapped Feagrim on the shoulder. The good one, that wasn’t bruised.
“Not yet. But, as soon as I find a quiet place to sit away from everyone, I will.” Said Feagrim.
“I can’t tell whether you’re relieved or ready to fight,” said Heored.
“I would like to fight. Shopmaster Leoleth was trying to get my father to tell me to date his daughter.”
“Wait, isn’t Dungel and her . . .” Heored trailed off.
“I’d like to think they have a genuine relationship and they’re keeping it quiet. I don’t think they’re doing a good job of it, and I don’t think Leoleth is that clueless.”
Derntor scowled, “I don’t want to think they’re trying to use his daughter for leverage to get you to go back to your apprenticeship.”
“So I’m not the only one.” Sighed Feagrim.
“As much as I don’t like it, maybe the timing is auspicious.” Said Heored.
“I’m keeping with the plan. I think it will rain, and I’ll head out after that, so one morning soon.” Fegrim stood straighter. “Thank you for coming, the rest of my family is by the stage with the others. Please excuse me, I need a quiet moment.”
Derntor chuckled, “So formal all of a sudden.”
His wife stepped forward and handed Feagrim a small pouch. “Shortbreads. I baked them just before coming. Please have them while they are warm.”
Feagrim took them and said, “Thank you.”
He left, and giving a wide berth to the Kursk carriage, he walked away from the gathering. The nearby butcher’s shop was closed, but the outdoor table and chairs were still there. He put one of the chairs against the wall of the shop and sat down wearily. Leaning back with his head against the wall he looked at the sky. The light was nearly faded to black and clouds hung low. He closed his eyes and exhaled a long breath. The buttery-sweet smell of the shortbread enticed him. Without opening his eyes he reached out and set the pouch on the table. He raised his head and opened his eyes to see what was in the pouch.
Standing on the other side of the table was a short haired young woman that Feagrim immediately recognized. He gave a deliberate sigh and started to stand up.
“No, please! My brother isn’t here at all!” She exclaimed nervously.
Feagrim’s shoulders slumped and he sat back down wearily. He opened the pouch of shortbread and glared over it at her.
“I’ve wanted to see you for a long time but brother. . .”
“Yeah. Your. Brother.” Interrupted Feagrim. He carefully took out one of the shortbreads, looked at it, put it back and closed the pouch.
Her fists were clenched and her knuckles were turning white. “It’s not right, it’s not right, it’s not right.” She said.
“Maybe it is. My father says I’m the one that signed up to be his personal punching bag. He’s not going after anyone else these days.”
She jerked an arm behind her and pointed. “You don’t understand! Most of those people aren’t here just to pay their respects to our friends that died! They’re here because of you! Because your family lost someone. Most of these people are either those you saved from my brother or someone they love were saved by you. I’ve watched this happen for years and I can’t stand it anymore.” Her voice raised in pitch. “Your father is wrong!”
He looked at the distraught girl. “All this time and no-one else ever raises a hand to stop him. I was just told today that I needed to fight back.”
“You can’t just keep taking his abuse like this.” She said
“Eorrid, that scares me.” She covered her mouth with a hand. He continued, “I don’t want to take the last of your family away. You don’t deserve to be alone. I can’t take your brother away from you and leave you alone without anyone left.”
She swallowed. “I, I think that’s why Auntie left us. She couldn’t make brother stop either. And I don’t think it’s right for you to be alone either.”
“I’ve grown rather accustomed to it.” Feagrim smiled, and this time did not try to make it anything less than an awkward grimace.
Eorrid says, “But it’s not right and it hurts me.” she tapped her chest over her heart for emphasis, “I can’t watch it from the side anymore. Please, can I keep you company?”
Feagrim blinked and paused for a long moment before slowly gesturing to Garmer’s sister, the sister of the biggest bully in the village who had tormented and abused anyone he could, and the only one he couldn’t save, to sit in the other chair.
She quickly pulled the chair over and sat. She flashed a thin smile below damp eyes. “It’s not much, but I too lost my parents a few years ago, and I thought maybe that would be enough to offer some sympathy . . .” she trailed off, looking nervous.
Feagrim opened the pouch of shortbread and took two out. He left one on top of the pouch, which was doubtless cleaner than the table, and pushed the pouch towards her. He began to carefully eat the shortbread. It was still warm and soft and something his mother never tried to make. He watched her for a moment as she ate the shortbread too. She was flighty and nervous. There’s no telling what Garmer would do if he saw them like this. There’s no telling what he’s done to her behind closed doors and there were some dark rumors especially after their Guardian left. Anger flared up, hot and vengeful. He tamped it down. He was leaving soon.
Feagrim looked back up at the heavy clouds and began. “In my earliest memories, I am searching all over for my mother. I am cold, I am hungry and I’m getting scared. I’m running from room to room, calling and crying until it hurts to speak and all I can do is croak. Father was never around until very late so I knew not to look for him, but he’d be there, maybe too late. She’d tuck me into bed and I’d fall asleep, then the house would be dark, she’d be gone and I couldn’t find her. Isn’t it a bit much to expect me to have the same feelings for parents that kept abandoning their small child?”
Feagrim returned his gaze from the clouds to the girl across the table. Mouth open, hand half-covering it, tears streaming down her cheek.
“I didn’t know,” said Eorrid.
“You couldn’t, and neither does most of the town. Though some more might have a clue after how badly her altar was decorated. Thanks for the flowers. Those were her favorite.”
“I had met your mother some time ago. I grow flowers to sell for some extra money. She said she liked those especially.”
“I see,” said Feagrim, “I met your Aunt a very long time ago. One of the times I was trying to find my mother I ran into the street. A tall woman dressed in white, beautiful and terrifying. She told me to go home, so I did. I ran as hard as I could until I was back in my bed with the covers pulled over my head.”
“Auntie didn’t visit often,” said Eorrid, “it was really awkward when she did. It made mother really uncomfortable. Sometimes father looked at her like he did my mother. I think they used to be really close.”
*****
Eadryth was just getting out of the carriage when the blacksmith’s wife handed Feagrim a pouch. It was touching to see that he was still getting gifts like that. Feagrim left the blacksmith’s family and walked out of the crowded square. She wanted to catch up with him especially since she saw Garmer’s little sister stalking him. Being unwilling to interfere in anyone’s private business she didn’t stop her. Keeping her distance, she saw Feagrim sit at the butcher’s shop to collect himself. She was about to go to him when Eorrid approached and nervously fidgetted until he noticed her. Eadryth held back, her chest tightening as she listened to her vent frustration and finally beg Feagrim to let her keep him company. As they told their stories and shared memories of their lost parents she felt a new respect for Eorrid. Feagrim’s stories she’d heard before. Eorrid’s made her feel pain and fresh disgust for Garmer. She continued to watch over them, pensive but resolved. They needed this meeting and she could see them heal a little. She saw Feagrim relax and Eorrid lean forwards as he told about the day he finally demanded an answer from his mother about her disappearances. He suddenly paused, she saw a tear begin to make its way down his cheek. Eadryth closed her own eyes and turned back towards the carriage. Behind her, he finished the story, his voice shaking only a little.
Back at the carriage, Eadryth pulls out a heavy, well-made, and oiled pack. Undoing the straps she opens it and reaches between packets of food and a blanket to pull out a well-worn book. With a smile, she opens it and scans the pages full of stories she knew by heart. Nearing the back of the book, she takes out a quill and ink. With a dreamy sigh, she begins to add to the notes in the margins. The quill scratches away for several minutes before she puts it down. She leans back on the cushions with the book still in her lap and lets the ink dry. After a few minutes, she closes the book and hugs it tightly to her chest. Slowly, she tucks it back into place and checks over the pack one last time. She summons a messenger.
“Deliver this to Derntor the Blacksmith. Tell him it is from Eadryth Kursk, for Feagrim.”