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Vic jumped over the puddle and bounced on, his whole body buzzing with happy and excited butterflies. It had been the best day ever! When the Master had told them that they could take the afternoon off, he hadn’t believed him at first. There was still so much to do. But then he had shooed them out the door, and he’d found himself standing there and squinting into the sun. A full day to himself!
He’d been about to run to his secret hiding spot when Martin had asked him to join the other boys and play, and now he was so tired. They had played for hours and hours. They had climbed trees; they had built a shelter out of branches; they had pretended to be noble’s guards and fought with stocks. He grinned at the sore pain pulsating from his upper arm where someone had struck him - a real battle wound he had received from protecting their castle when the peasants attacked.
His excitement was pierced by a wail as he neared the shack where he lived with his aunt and baby brother. The thin walls did nothing to hide the raised voices coming from inside, and for a moment Vic just wanted to turn and run. And to keep running, until he was far, far away. Until he was in a place where he could play all day, every day, and not ever have to open the door that he was standing outside again.
He clenched his jaw and hands, trying to make them stop shaking. Aunt’s Anger would rise and rise and rise until it exploded, and then… Then it would hurt, but after it would be calm. For a while. He could hear from the tone of her voice that the explosion had still not happened. He needed to be there when it did. His brother was still so small.
He put on his best grin as he opened the door. “Hello, Aunt!” he declared as he stepped into the shack, where everything they owned was strewn across the floor of the single, small room. A large man could have reached both walls if he stretched his arms out wide. A small pile of clutter in one corner made up Aunt’s Possessions–never to be touched. The porridge had been kicked over, and Vic saw his dinner mixing with the mud floor right in front of where Will was trying to hide behind a dirty sleeping mat. Aunt was standing in the middle, her Anger pouring off in waves.
“Vic! Where have you been?” She yelled, taking a step towards him.
Let’s get this explosion triggered, Vic thought. “We finished early. Me, and Martin, and Gar… We went into the woods to play.” He looked up at her and saw he was nearly there. He closed his eyes before continuing. “We had so much fun! All day, we–”
The first strike made his arm explode in a sharp pain, right on top of the bruise he had earned for defending the castle.
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“Get up, get up, get UP!” she yelled as she turned the corner and spotted him sitting there with a book. “Mistress will be home from the market soon, and you haven’t even peeled the potatoes!”
She drew her hand back to slap him over the head, and he suppressed the instinct to block the strike with his hands, bowing his head to receive the soft slap.
“Yes, mother. Sorry, mother.”
“Oh, you are such an idiot,” she said affectionately and drew him into a hug as he got to his feet. Just nine years old, he was already taller than her, and he dropped his head down on top of hers and returned the hug.
“I just wanted to finish the story,” he explained as they made their way through the cold hallways of the mansion. She was tussling his hair in that way that made his insides full of embarrassment and love. “The army was almost there, almost at the monster lair!” he gushed enthusiastically when she smiled down at him.
“You can finish the book later,” she said, taking it from him and hiding it in her pouch. “But you need to be more careful. Thor, this is important. If that had been the Mistress finding you hiding away with a book…”
“Yes, mother,” he said, head bowed. “I know. I will be more careful.”
“Now run ahead to the kitchen. And work fast. I will have Searen fetch some water right away, and if we work together, we will have the food made in time for lunch. Off with you!”
Thor gave a wave as he ran down the empty hallway, skidding to a stop and walking more slowly as he got closer to the kitchen. It wouldn’t do if Miss Teer saw him running in her kitchens. He saw the pile of potatoes and went over to it, fetching a peeling knife on the way, and sat down to work.
As he worked, he let his imagination run wild. He was a noble’s guard protecting his castle from waves of evil peasants, or a mysterious collector on a secret mission. At the front of a massive army, he was the spearhead of an assault on a monster lair, receiving grateful adulations from the countryside that had been terrorised for months. Just him, Thor, standing there alone at the end. Him and the monster, him against evil. An epic duel, and he was victorious after receiving just the right amount of wounds. It must really hurt to have a blade stuck inside you. Returning to Marint a victor, the Duke would smile at him and declare him a hero. The Hero, who would march down the streets right next to the Duke. In the middle of the town square, the Duke would turn to him and declare, in front of everyone, that now he was a noble. Thor and his mother would get an estate by the ocean, with a library filled with books and cooks and servants who would wait on his mother.
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And then mother would live. The Wasting wouldn’t take her.
He smiled as he imagined his mother’s expression when he told her. That she didn’t have to die. That he had saved her.
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Shawn’s face was drawn together in a display of absolute concentration. He had one hand on his brother’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze as he considered what to do. The other boy was shaking violently.
The viscountess had gone too far, even for her. Ter’s body was twitching, his jaws biting down on the piece of wood Shawn had stuck between his teeth. Shawn knew that he’d be ok, eventually. Ter always rebounded, no matter how hard that bitch came at him. But today was different. He knew that this marked a change, another line in the sand.
Just like that one night last summer, another line in the sand. Shawn and Ter had been looking forward to the midsummer banquet when they saw the wagon arriving in their village. The wagon loaded with all the supplies; food and drinks. Beer and cider. They watched from the treeline as the wagon was unloaded, and waited for nightfall before sneaking into the storage shed. It wasn’t even as if they’d taken that much. Just a bottle each, that they’d carried back to the forest.
The viscountess had arrived when they were halfway through the first bottle. Together with two friends, she had found them there, haughtily threatening to bring the guards down on them. And then Ter had smiled and joked, just like he usually did, and just like Shawn knew it would, his brother’s charm had won her over. And after Ter had worked his magic, Shawn had snuck back into the shed and brought out three more bottles. One for each of the girls.
That had been the best night of their lives.
After finishing the bottles, Ter and the viscountess had disappeared into the forest. The rest of the night was a blur of images to Shawn: his head resting in a lap, looking up at a pale breast. Laughter. Ter’s head looking down at him, his hair a mess of leaves and grass, his grin foolish and wide. The viscountess flushing red, a strange expression on her face.
It had lasted until the next morning, when they were woken violently by four brutes breaking into their home. They left again some minutes later, leaving Ter broken on the wooden floor.
Since then, the men had reappeared weekly. Like clockwork. On the same day, at the same time. Every time, beating Ter bruised and bloody, breaking toes and fingers. The happy, go-lucky brother that had been Shawn’s best friend broke.
Three months later, Shawn and Ter joined the army.
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Matt stood in the yellow sea, squinting up at the intense sun that was shining down on him. Absent-mindedly, he brought his hands up to his face, taking a deep breath and drawing in the smell of the black soil. His bare shoulders and upper back were glistening with sweat, and he felt the prickling on his back that warned of sunburn. He would be sleeping on his stomach tonight.
"Lunchtime soon?" He asked Mother, who was working nearby. Little Shiar was asleep, wrapped to her chest.
She smiled back at him. "Let's finish this row first."
Matt gave a determined nod and turned back to the stalks of wheat, bending down to all fours and pulling out a small green plant. Working efficiently and systematically, he crawled down the row of wheat, weeding as he went, his mind on the group of soldiers he had seen this morning.
They had been travelling down the road towards Keylor, and Rob and Farw had exclaimed in wonder at the metal of their weapons glinting in the sunlight. Swords and spears, shields and armour. Rob had been convinced they were noble’s guard, heading off to defend their castle against an invasion. Matt had just stared at the horses. So large and majestic, their hooves throwing clouds of dust into the air as they carried heavy men and bags as easily as anything. Two strong beasts were dragging a cart that made the earth rumble as it passed their little farm, and Matt’s mind tumbled with an avalanche of ideas as he imagined what else the animals might be capable of.
Without conscious thought, his hand brushed his shoulders where scars were scabbing over. Some weeks earlier, he had been so proud to be added to the pull team. For a few minutes, he had worn his harness with pride. That had lasted until the plough was hooked up. The first five minutes had been hard, the next ten minutes had been pain. The last two hours of his shift had burned into his memory. He had finally understood the deeply scarred grooves that all the young men wore across their shoulders and down their backs.
He had imagined horses pulling that plough. Large, strong, majestic horses, who could replace at least five men, maybe more. Of course, the animal would need a bigger harness, and that harness would need to be strong and well made. Perhaps they could even make a bigger plough, one with two or even three teeth. How quickly could they prepare a field then?
But then…. What would all the men do? “Idle hands go hungry,” Mother always said. Of course! He thought. They would need men to make the ploughs and the harnesses. And if more people made ploughs, maybe they could make other things?
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