Chapter 24: Returned

In a circle of tents, Tybalt sat in front of a fire. A thick blanket draped over his back. His friends gathered around him near the campfire. Desdemona bustled around the campsite, helping Sten cook a dinner for all of them. They would celebrate Tybalt’s release.

Erik passed a chalice of spiced wine. The hot and sweet wine soothed Tybalt as he felt it nestle in his stomach.

“Not that you care, but Zoltan won the election,” Erik said.

Tybalt looked into his cup. He watched the pulp of the admixtures float on its surface.

“He’s probably going to begin his purge tomorrow.” Erik drank from his own goblet.

“Lukasz sends his regards, by the way.” Stanimir sat on the other side of Tybalt. “He’s needed to make preparations. If Vassilos hasn’t left the city yet, he’ll be dead by morning.”

“And if he’s caught in the outskirts, who knows what’ll happen,” Njal added. “The crowd got pretty riled up after your release. New rumours spread about as though you were a saint among men, unjustly framed by Vassilos and his crew. People started to say they would kill Vassilos if they saw him.”

Tybalt grin as he drank again from his cup.

The events of the day had been more than he could process. Even now, having only had his sentence commuted an hour ago, he did not realize what happened. He felt as though everything in his life had changed. He could not continue in his line of work any more. He could not simply do things for money. He could no longer kill or steal or do anything only for money only. He needed to reform his life. He wanted to reform it.

“It doesn’t matter to me,” Tybalt said. The spice from the wine hung onto his lips. “I want to leave this city, leave all of these memories behind me. Let Zoltan have his heap of ash.”

“A far cry from the man I met a few days ago,” Njal said. He had been doing maintained on the bicycles as he wait for his food to finish cooking. His hands were stained with grease and dirt. He pulled a towel from one of the motorcycle seats and wiped his hands. He threw the towel back onto the motorcycle.

“I think that man died,” Tybalt said. He stared into the flickering warmth of the fire. He imagined the whole of his old life in flames. It had been kindling for his rage, and, now, his rage had disappeared.

“I would not think that he is dead, but different.” Stanimir took a small bit of wood and threw it into the fire. He watched as that little branch was consumed.

“Still, I have no desire to return.” Silence hung in the air. “And you?”

Stanimir turned his head to Tybalt. He hadn’t thought about his future.

“Well, I guess I’m still technically employed at the hotel there, but I have no interest in going back, not after everything. It’s funny, I thought that I would be happy with a constant stream of coin into my pockets and a constant stream of food into my stomach, but that just made me more unsatisfied with other aspects of life. I could not see what I wanted from life with the distraction of hunger and thirst. Now, I don’t know, I’m willing to give it all up, to hunger and thirst again, if it means that I pursue something more.”

“You’re welcome with us,” Erik said. “When I get back home, we’ll see Corvus can do for you.”

“Thanks,” Stanimir said. “I appreciate it.”

“What about you Des?” Erik asked the grey-hair woman as she refilled his glass of wine.

“Oh, uh, I can’t return. I can’t return.”

“Why is that?” Njal asked. His curiosity overtook his sense of decorum.

“As I told Tybalt, this woman doesn’t have a clean slate,” Stanimir said. His words had the smallest of barbs. Desdemona made an unset chirrup and left the glow of the firelight.

Tybalt cast a dirty look to Stanimir, who groaned.

“I’ll get her in a bit. But, yeah, you want to know what she did? She was married to some rich guy, I forget his name. Big in the city. She was looker back her day, that’s what people say. It just seemed that one day, she just couldn’t take her marriage any longer. She didn’t know what to do and so she just killed him. Killed her husband in his sleep.”

“What!” Tybalt swung his head in surprise.

“Huh. I would have never expected her to be a murderer,” Njal said, taking a spot by the campfire.

“Neither did anyone. No clue what her husband did, or if it was just her own madness, but, yeah. Killed him in his sleep. His allies were powerful enough to throw her in jail for a long time. It’s been a decade more since she saw the outdoors.”

“Well, I’m glad she’s with us,” Sten said, as he was continuing to prepare his dinner. “She has proven herself most kind, most useful.”

Stanimir rose to his feet. “Alright, well, I better go get her. Don’t say anything to her. I just thought you guys should know.” Stanimir left the light of the campfire and went out to seek the old woman.

Erik poked the fire.

“I guess it shows that a person can change,” he said.

Tybalt said nothing, finishing his drink, and putting it aside. All the men stared into the fire, as though, within its fiery core, there lay the truths of the universe. Their attention snapped away when Stanimir came back with Desdemona.

“I apologized,” he said, taking his seat back.

Desdemona moved back to Sten and conferred with him briefly. She refilled everyone’s cup again, although she passed over Stanimir’s cup. She did not treat him charitably for the rest of the night.

When Sten finished cooking, he began to dole out the portions of his stew into small ceramic bowls. Desdemona passed them around to everyone, giving them metal spoons for their meal. Once everyone had their meal, they gave their thanks for the sheer fact that all of them had been able to sit here and eat and drink happily. The night could have been very different.

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As they ate, the spoke of lighter matters. Erik decided to change the topic.

“So, Tybalt, where do you see yourself now?”

Tybalt admitted to them that he simply wanted to settle down.

“I just want place to plant roots, raise a family, you know? I’ve been near death many times before, but I always managed to survive on my own. Or had my brother save me. I’ve never had others, had friends, save me like this. I just don’t know how to feel. I don’t know what to do. The world isn’t as dark or as desperate as I thought.”

“Well,” Erik said, “me and the men are going to return to our settlement tomorrow night. We’ve already spoken to Stanimir and Desdemona. They said they would be happy to join us, help us grow, help us settle the area, grow crops. Our pockets are heavy with Zoltan’s thanks. Plus, with him, we now have a clean connection to the city. Much easier to trade. What’d you say? Want to join us?”

Tybalt took a deep breath. He could feel the tension in his body melt ever so slightly at the offer.

“I’d like that, I’d really like.”

As the conversion turned and the stew was finished among their lot, Councilman Jurand’s daughter, the seven-year-old girl named Radmila, wandered into their camp. Like always, her five-year-old brother waddled behind her.

“Hello!” she said with spritely vigour. “How are you doing?”

Tybalt no longer felt annoyed by her presence.

“Hey, ‘mila,” he said. He introduced her to the rest of the group, who had only a slight inkling of who this strange girl was. If it had not been for her, everyone around this campfire would be drinking to his memory rather than to his life.

Tybalt gestured for her to join the circle beside him. Radmila took the spot to his right, her brother sitting closer to her.

“I’m ready to tell my story,” Tybalt said to her.

The little girl’s eyes shone with the lovely promise.

* * *

In the morning, as the campsite was dismantled, Erik outlined their journey back to his men. They had repossessed Odvar’s motorcycle from their hiding spot, which they bequeathed to Tybalt as his own. Likewise, with Arne’s motorcycle, they gave it to Stanimir, who would be riding with Desdemona.

The plan was relatively simple. Rather than making the whole journey in one go, they would be stopping my Erik’s parent-in-law. The family of his new bride lived almost midway between Carrion Hill and their settlement. He, Tybalt, Stanimir and Desdemona would make for their home, and spend the night and maybe a day or two there. Sten and Njal would join them as soon as they could with cart full of their ware.

Tybalt was given Odvar’s helmet, which fit him. Arne’s helmet didn’t fit Stanimir, and he, instead, gave his helmet to the elderly woman who would cling behind him on the journey. With their provisions made, with their tanks full of ethanol, their revved their engine and hurdled down the main road.

Erik led the triangle of motorcycles through the outskirts that surround Carrion Hill, turning and twisting until they reach the highway. As they slowly moved through the mass of people going about their morning routine, Tybalt felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude to these nameless individuals. He could not help but feel as though he owed them his life, this day and every day after. Despite everything, he had his own code of conduct, his own laws of life. Honour and reciprocation formed its cornerstone. How could he repay so many people? How could he thank all of them? He couldn’t. The only thing he could do was try to live his life honestly in the future. This was the only way to honour their magnificent action.

In the drive, they passed by the building he scoped out Odvar’s return, the charity kitchen that he fought within, the campsites where he spent the ruins of that night. He continued to follow Erik, trying his best to slow down their small trio, wanting to take in everything he could. As Erik revved his cycle a little louder, Tybalt thought he caught a glance at the woman with the headscarf. There was not time to stop, so he followed Erik onto the main road and blitz down the dirt path.

* * *

“Here we are,” Erik said, taking off his helmet. They had parked their motorcycles onto the patch of land before the simple wooden structure. Around it, fields of harvested flax lay fallow. Their stems having been cut down and processed have left their soil absent of growth. Only the vegetable garden around the house, alongside little plots for a variety of herbs and spices, provided an immediate sensation of fertility. The rest seemed almost ominous in its lack of life.

Tybalt could not believe himself. He had returned to the homestead that he had gone to in his injury, to the family that he stole from, that he threatened with killing their youngest child. He had done these deeds to the family Erik had married into. He had done so much rotten to them. He had even sold the clothing that he had taken from them for a low price, more eager to rid himself of the clothing than for the coin that he could use for purchase.

“Hey, Erik. Do you mind if I approach first?”

Erik looked at him terribly confused. He did not know why his companion wished to do such a thing, but he acquiesced to the decision with an outstretched hand.

“What business do you have with my wife’s family?”

Tybalt swallowed quietly. The matter seemed twisted in Erik’s mind. He would not be happy with him if he had known Tybalt’s treatment of them. It had been so long ago. He did not yet know these people, he did not yet know Corvus or any soul from Carrion Hill, save those in his distant memory.

“After my company was attacked, I spent a night here, out of their kindness. I repaid them poorly. I would like to make my restitution.”

Erik allowed Tybalt to go. He, Stanimir, and Desdemona would wait until Tybalt returned to them. Whatever this man’s errors, Erik would need to smooth them over. He loved his family-in-law, and wished them to be at peace with his new companion.

Tybalt approached the door. He sighed and tried to remake his composure. With the slightest hesitation, he knocked upon the door.

A young man opened the door -- the young mustached man of the city guard.

“You!” the young man exclaimed. “How did you find me!? Mama! Papa! Come see.”

The moustached man took Tybalt’s wrist and dragged him into the building.

“This is the man who saved me, who spared my life.”

Tybalt felt his stomach collapse, bottom out with the great shame, when he saw the momentary happiness of the matron, Elowyn, disappear from her face. In place of joy, horror gripped her. Her eyes darkened in a sensation of fear.

“Get him out! Get him out!” She began to wail. Her discomposure shocked the young man.

“But mother!”

“No! No!” She stepped back into the room that she came from, not removing her eyes from Tybalt. “Aldous!” she called. “Get your gun!”

“Mother! No, this man is good. He saved me!”

Aldous broached the room, a long rifle in his hands. When he saw Tybalt, he lifted the gun immediately and aimed at Tybalt’s chest.

“You have a lot of nerve coming back here,” the older man said. His voice was cold. In his mind, he had already decided to kill this man. The only question was the best time to do so.

“Papa!” the moustached man threw himself in front of Tybalt. “You always said we should be nice to our guests. This man is my guest. Treat him with respect.”

“No,” Aldous said behind his rifle. “You do not know the evil that follows this man. Rid him from my residence.”

“Father.”

“Now, Marlow! This is an order. I will not entertain this foolishness.”

Marlow, the young moustached man, escorted Tybalt from the entrance of the house into the front yard. Erik, Stanimir, and Desdemona were watching by their parked motorcycles.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over them.”

“It’s okay, kid. I understand it. I’ll let them explain it to you.”

Marlow said nothing in response. He looked over Tybalt’s shoulder and Erik with two other companions. Turning his attention back to Tybalt, he nodded slightly and went to greet Erik. The leader of Corvus embraced the young man and introduced Stanimir and Desdemona. Together, Marlow invited them into the house, while Tybalt was left on the margins of the homestead.

Rather than feel sorry for himself, Tybalt wandered over to the road. He saw the road spilled out before him. He looked down both ends of the road, one leading back to Carrion Hill and the other toward Erik’s settlement. He breathed deeply and made for his motorcycle. He mounted it, kicked it into life, and drove off.