Lathan walked quickly, palms sweating at the thought of being the subject of his father's anger. He was in another one of his moods, and Lathan did not want to stick around and bear the brunt of whatever punishment he doled out.
“I had better at least make myself useful or he'll be mad I left...” He saw the axe laying in its usual place in the yard and snatched it up, thinking about chopping some wood to get the forge fires started. They also used it inside the house, as coal was far too expensive to waste on the family’s cooking fires.
As Lathan rounded the corner, muffled shouts filtered from inside the house, followed by a scuffle, a thump, and then a quiet sob. Lathan sighed, ashamed of himself for his cowardice, but continued towards the woods, where he planned to chop wood until things calmed down.
Ethan. Of course, Lathan knew that if he wasn’t around, it’d be Ethan, one of his older brothers. Ethan was his mother's favourite son, and perhaps the most sweet natured and kind person Lathan knew. Ethan was not like Ronan or Lathan, who were both stocky and muscled like their father. He was small, thin, and not suited for work in the forge. Usually he helped their mother and sister with the housework and the other domestic tasks that, according to Father, were “women's work”.
Lathan recalled the amount of nagging it had taken Mam giving Father for him to grant Ethan his belt, and even then, it wasn't as wide and thick as most men's belts. “He's too skinny for a proper belt, it'll be a waste of good leather,” He had said. But Mam had worn him down, and now Ethan had his belt and could be considered a grown man, regardless of how he spent all of his time in the kitchen with the women. Lathan often wondered when Ethan would leave the house. He could go if he wanted to, now that he was a man, so why should he stay?
Lathan ran to the woods, leaving the house behind him. He couldn't go back just yet. He couldn't bear to see what had happened this time. Perhaps it wasn't so bad. Perhaps he only slapped him. Hot tears stung at his eyes as he arrived at his usual spot and began hacking branches off a nearby dead tree. Maybe he shouldn't have left. He should have stayed there and took the hit instead of Ethan. Lathan felt miserable, but he channelled that misery into his work. He cut wood as though he would die if he stopped. Chopped until the feeling of wretchedness drained out of him and he collapsed to his knees, his arms aching and sweat dripping from his chin.
Lathan returned with arms full of firewood and his stomach full of dread, but his Father seemed to be in better spirits. “Ah! There you are, boy. I see you've been working hard for once. Good, now get the fires going. On top of our usual work, we've shoes to make for Old Corrin's mare. He'll be bringing her over later, so we'd better get moving.”
Lathan was tired but he took his place at the bellows as his Father pottered about readying the iron and his tools. Ronan appeared quietly at the door and Father signalled to him that he should help get the fires going. Ronan obeyed wordlessly, and once the fire was roaring, he shovelled coal into the forge and then stood back with his thumbs tucked into his belt, looking to his father for further orders.
Ronan was the favoured son. He was strong, quiet, and he followed instructions without complaint or chatter. The perfect son. He would inherit the forge one day, and Lathan would probably work alongside his brother until Ronan had enough boys of his own to work for him. When that happened, Lathan would be free to do what he wanted. Which was a nice way of saying he would have no place in the forge any longer. Maybe he could be a farmhand. Or a fisher? He was certainly strong enough for any hard work that was put to him, although he had his head in the clouds most of the time. It was in this moment, his mind wandering and thinking about what his future held, that he received a sharp blow across the ear.
“Pay attention, boy! Fire will go out if you're lying about. Get on with it, come on!” Father hadn't hit him hard, for he was in a good mood now. But Lathan thought he had better not test his good mood by being lax. He shook himself out of his wandering thoughts and focused only on the task he had been given. His arms protested; he was already tired from chopping wood. But he pushed on, pushed through it.
He was given a brief reprieve when Old Corrin came to get his carthorse re-shod. Ronan and Father worked together in the forge, and as usual, Lathan was given the job of entertaining Old Corrin while he waited. “Entertaining” Old Corrin was one way of calling it. Really, Lathan was the only one who wanted to listen to his stories, so he’d be ushered through to the house and listen to the old man’s tall tales while the older men worked on the shoes.
“Did I ever tell you boy, about the Singers?” Old Corrin croaked, leaning over the cup of siphe that Mam had given him, the steam billowing around his moustache. “My grandson used to love this one before he went off across the sea.”
“Not yet, Mr Corrin. What’s so special about singing? I sing all the time; nobody is going to tell a story about that… Unless I sound terrible, I suppose.” Lathan said, and quieted when the wrinkled man raised a bushy eyebrow at him.
“The Singers weren’t merely people who sang well. They were magic. They sang so well that their voices could affect the very fabric of the world around them. Some of them were almost as powerful as the Gods, even!” Even as he spoke, Old Corrin, always a superstitious man, held his fingers aloft in the sign of reverence towards the shrine in the house. The patrons of the hearth and of the forge stood staring down at them with their unblinking stone gaze. “So, the Singers… Well, this is an old story, boy. I only heard it once, but I’ll never forget it, and neither will you.”
By the end of the day’s work, Lathan was exhausted. Father told him to get dinner in his belly and go straight to bed before he falls over. There was more work to be done in the morning. They had nails to make, and then after that he had the afternoon free as Father had business in town with the shipwright. Ethan bent over the cooking pot on the stove, stirring the simmering supper. His posture was feeble. He held himself in a way to make himself even smaller than he actually was. Looking closer, Lathan's stomach sank as he saw a purple bruise blooming on his brother’s cheek. As he received his bowl of stew from Ethan, Lathan couldn’t meet his eyes, ashamed at the thought that the bruise was his fault.
In the morning, Lathan rose early, wanting to get a head-start on the task he had been set, so that he could go down to the caves on the sea shore while Father was out. There was one in particular he enjoyed exploring while the tide was out. When the tide came in, it brought all kinds of fascinating things with it. Usually he found interesting crabs, maybe a pretty shell and some old rotten fishers nets. He'd bring the crabs home in a basket for Mam, and a shell for his sister Marnie to string onto a necklace or tie into her hair. Sometimes, he found broken pottery, a piece of green glass that had been smoothed by the sea, or even a shiny button. Those rare finds were his treasures, which he kept in a little pouch under his bed.
Ronan would tease him about his childishness, but what Lathan really liked to do was to imagine that the cave was the hideout of a band of swashbucklers. He'd take a long stick, which he would make-believe was a sword. He was a pirate captain, and he’d order his imaginary crew to bring the treasure there and bury it in the cave. Any stragglers or “scurvy dogs” would have to walk the plank, or feel cold steel!
That day, after making what must have been thousands of nails, he left the forge and made for the beach. Basket on his back, stick in his palm, he swung his arms as he marched himself down the shoreline. On arriving at his favourite cave, he was greeted with an unexpected but not unwelcome sight. He shook his head slightly, thinking that maybe his daydreaming had gone a bit too far and now he was actually seeing things, but no. This was definitely real. Before him, laying on the shore near his cave, was a small wooden chest. It was locked, so he guessed it must have something important inside. The chest was covered in seaweed, so Lathan thought it must have been submerged underwater for a long time. He poked at the lock, but it was stuck fast. It looked corroded, however, and so he gave the chest a hard kick, and the lock broke into two pieces.
Lathan tentatively lifted the lid, and his shoulders slumped with disappointment. The chest was full of murky sea water. He was about to leave the mouldering box and continue into the cave, but then a cloud moved away to reveal the sun, and something glimmering in the water caught his eye. Real treasure! He tipped out the water onto the sand and his treasure was revealed to be a shining golden necklace with a pendant. This amulet was a large clear red gemstone encased around the edges with the precious metal. He felt drawn to it as he looked at it, and almost without realising what he was doing, he picked it off the sand and fastened it around his neck. The gemstone felt almost warm against his chest when it fell into the space between his shirt and his skin.
It was strange, but at that moment, he felt complete. It was as though something had been missing for all his twelve years, and that missing thing had finally slipped into its rightful place. He touched the pendant lightly through his shirt and continued into the cave. His heart suddenly felt light, as though he could face anything and it could never hurt him.
Later that day, Lathan arrived home with a basket almost over-spilling with crabs, and a pocket full of shells. After exploring his cave, he had run along the entire length of the beach collecting these, and by the time he returned, he still felt as energetic as he had on leaving home in the morning. Ethan was waiting in the kitchen for him with a bemused look on his face at seeing the full basket.
“Did you decide to not leave any on the beach or something? Mam, come look! Lathan’s been busy today!” He laughed. Mother burst into the kitchen, with her arms full of dirty clothes ready to be washed. On seeing Lathan, she joined Ethan’s chuckling, her face rosy with the exertion of doing her housework. Dropping the mound of fabrics into the washing tub with a gentle splash, she beamed at the sight of Lathan’s proud face.
“How did you get so many? And why? We can't eat all those! You'll have to take at least half to Silas, see if he can sell them.” She said all this while her quick hands selected the largest and best crabs and threw them into another basket for cooking that evening. “Go on then, get off with you. If you hurry, he will still be open. Make sure you get a good price for them, and maybe tomorrow you could get yourself some sweets. It's been a while since you had a treat.”
Lathan quickly emptied his pockets of his collection of shells before again taking up the basket. “Those are for Marnie. Thought maybe she'd like them?”
Mam looked them over and then gave Lathan a quick kiss on the cheek. “You're a good boy. I'll give them to her. Now go. Time is wasting.”
Lathan held the basket casually under one arm. It didn't seem as heavy as he imagined it should have, but he supposed all the time at the bellows must be making him strong. Mam cocked an eyebrow at him and turned to prepare the crabs for cooking. Lathan exited the house through the kitchen side door and, upon seeing the sun beginning to set, decided he would run to the fishmonger's in case Silas had closed the shop early.
A sudden rush of energy flowed into him. He felt it as a warmth pooling around his chest and rushing into his heart and lungs. Lathan breathed it in, reached for it instinctively, and he felt it filling him like water into a cup. He felt it in his feet as he ran, as though they were lighter, faster. They were moving so fast that his toes barely even touched the ground. His breath caught in surprise when he realised how far he had run in what had seemed such a short time. He was just outside the fishmonger's shop, and the white-haired shopkeeper was just closing up the door.
“Oh, Silas! Sorry to bother you, I see you were just closing. But I've got all these... I found too many, so Mam told me to bring them to you. Do you want them? I'll sell them to you.”
“Where did you come from all of a sudden? I must be losing my wits.” Silas was startled for a moment, but he shuffled over to Lathan, looked into the basket, and raised his eyebrows. “So many! You've been working hard. I can give you at least a couple of silvers for them, for sure.”
Lathan knew he could do better than that. He knew Silas would charge more than double that for these, as they were all good sized and there were many of them. “Make it two silvers and five copper and you've got a deal.” He held out his hand in the manner he had seen Father doing when conducting business in the forge.
“Aha! Very good. I see you're a professional. All right. Two and four then. I'll not go higher than that, you scamp.” Silas clasped Lathan's hand firmly, before extracting the coins from a small belt pouch he had dangling at his hip, and placing them in Lathan's palm. He took the basket of crabs from Lathan and set it down near the door. He gave Lathan a shrewd look. “You know, you've got a good head for business… I've no children to inherit my shop, and am not likely to get any… and, if you remember, both my nephews went over the sea with the Corrin boy and his lot. So, if you find yourself no longer needed at the forge in a few years, come work for me. I'd be glad for the help.”
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
With that said, he picked the crabs up and disappeared back inside the shop. Lathan was left outside, looking at the door. Become a fishmonger? It was a logical thing. He would be good at it, and would get plenty of work here in Crabton Port. Lathan didn't feel excited at the prospect, though. He was sure the smell of fish would become tiresome before long. He couldn't picture jovial and kind Silas beating him, however. That could be as good a reason as any to work there. Lathan turned back up the path towards the forge and home, and began striding back in the direction he had come. The sun was just passing below the horizon, and The Mother shone a little brighter in the sky, its crescent shape sparkling through the orange clouds. The Child, as ever, was twinkling close to its parent.
On arriving back home, the sound of Father bellowing sent Lathan’s heart hammering against his ribcage. It sounded like business with the shipwright had gone badly and he was taking it out on whoever he could. Breath catching like a thorn in his throat, he quietly opened the door, taking care not to let the latch rattle too much. He crept inside, and took off his sandals, turning them to face outwards. Then, trying not to draw too much attention to himself, he slipped into the noisy room. He had almost made his way to his usual spot by the fire when Father noticed him. Suddenly, the room went quiet.
“Lathan. I see you're back. Your Mam told me that for once you've actually spent the day doing something productive. Unlike some layabouts around here!” He snarled the last few words towards Ethan, who shrunk back from him and looked at the ground, while fiddling with his belt. He looked so small, so helpless. Lathan felt a sudden heat in the middle of his chest. It was as though he was an empty vessel, and strength was pouring into him, and he was drinking it in. His mind became still and calm, and he seemed to see every detail around him so much clearer. Every expression and movement in the room was a story he could easily read and understand.
In this moment of absolute clarity, he saw his brother. Saw the old bruises underneath the new ones. Lathan saw the posture Ethan held, to make himself look even smaller and frailer, as though afraid of what would happen if he stood up straight. He saw his hands, chapped and sore from the hard work in the kitchen. The dark shadows under his eyes from lack of sleep, and the slightly too thin face, a sign that he was having trouble eating.
Seeing Father as though for the first time, he saw the graze on his knuckles. He saw the blood throbbing through the veins in his neck and forehead, and the telltale stain on his lips that spoke of drinking. He saw the look of disgust on his face, paired with an aggressive stance, poised almost as though ready to launch into one of his tirades, or even to skip it straight to the physical violence.
“What happened in town today, Father?” Lathan spoke in an even and measured tone. “Whatever it is, it's nothing to do with Ethan. He wasn't there with you. He was working hard helping Mam.”
There was a moment of silence. An eternity seemed to pass, with not even the sound of breathing. It was so quiet that Lathan imagined he could even hear the heavy thudding of everyone's heartbeats. The moment ended, and Father exploded in rage.
“How dare you, you little rat! I was praising you for a job well done for once in your life, and this is the response I get? You swine… Get here right now. You may be almost old enough for your belt, but you aren't too old to have mine.” Father spat. “Do you know how lucky you are? I could have sent you to the army years ago, you miserable brat! Bend over, worm.”
Lathan winced. Why had he said anything? What had gotten into him? He hadn't been belted for a very long time, and the last time he hadn't been able to sit down for weeks. But there was no going back now. At least it would take the focus away from his brother for a while. He hoped, at least. Lathan stepped over to the chair, as Father removed the elaborately tooled belt. It was made from wide, thick leather, with a heavy pewter buckle. As he leaned against the back of the chair and steeled himself for the beating, he wondered abstractly whether the intricate patterns in the leather would be imprinted on his skin afterwards.
Crack thud. The belt landed across the backs of his legs. It stung a little, but nowhere near as much as he had expected it to. A slight breath of surprise emanated from Father, and he swung the belt again. Crack thud. It made contact this time with Lathan's shoulders. He barely felt it, and wondered for a moment if this was some kind of trick, but he didn't move. A quiet sniffle, Marnie was trying not to cry. Crack thud. Crack thud. Crack thud. Father kept on hitting Lathan, obscenities streaming from his lips. Another small sob from across the room. Mam was crying now. “Doran, please! That's enough. He's learned his lesson now. Look, you've hit him so hard he can't even cry out! Please...”
But Lathan was feeling no pain. It was unusual. He supposed he should be screaming or weeping from the pain, but he barely felt as though he had been scratched. He could perceive a slight itch forming on his back, akin to the itch of an old scab that was almost healed. But beyond that, he felt nothing.
“Please stop! Doran, please stop it, don’t hurt him anymore, pl-!” Mam cried out again, and then her protests were cut off by a loud slap. He had hit her. He never usually hits Mam. Or did he? Lathan stood up straight and turned to face his Father. The blacksmith was pulling back a muscled arm to strike at Lathan’s Mother again. Time seemed to slow. Mam was cringing away from Father. Ronan was comforting Marnie, who cried quietly in the corner. Ethan had fear in his eyes. Anger boiled up inside Lathan.
“No!” he shouted, and pushed his Father away from Mam. He hadn’t meant for it to be a hard push. Lathan didn’t even know where this strength and fearlessness had suddenly come from. But he shoved his Father, who, being in his cups, lost his balance, and toppled head first onto the stone hearth. The patrons above watched on in silence as blood oozed from the broken skull of Doran the Blacksmith.
“You… You’ve killed him.” Mam said, “Oh, no! No, no! They’ll hang you for sure! The Mystic will want to read us and when they know it’s patricide, that’ll be it. Never mind that you were protecting me. Oh merciful Gods, how can this have happened?”
“He’ll have to run away, won’t he, Mam?” Ethan spoke up, “I’ll go with him. He’s not old enough to make his way by himself, not even got a man’s belt yet. Besides, he’ll starve if he ever has to prepare food for himself.”
“Oh my poor boys, am I to lose both of you?” Mam said tearfully. “Well, if this is how it must be... You look after your little brother, my Ethan. You keep him safe. Stay together and keep each other safe. But first, we will have dinner and you will have a few hours' sleep. You need rest if you are to make a journey.”
Mam nodded to Marnie, who served the family their dinner. The meal was eaten in silence, and after the consumption of it, the room emptied, each family member retiring to their bed.
Tap tap. Lathan’s eyes shot open at the small sound and sat up in bed to see Marnie at the door. Ronan was sleeping like a rock, his hulking form a lumpy mass of blankets from which a low snore emanated.
“Shhh, Marnie, what is it? We’re sleeping…”
“Your back must be hurting you still, you dullard. Mam told me to come and put this paste on your back. It’ll help.” Marnie tiptoed into the boys’ bedroom and set the candle down on the small table beside Lathan’s cot. Producing a jar of paste from a pocket, she frowned at Lathan. “Were you sleeping on your back? Are you mad? Or just an idiot?”
“I feel fine Marnie. I actually don’t think he hit me that hard. It didn’t even break the skin. To be honest, I feel great. I’m happy I stood up to him.” Lathan whispered. “Though… I wish it hadn’t ended this way. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
“You were bleeding, Lathan, I’m sure of it. He whacked you hard enough to cut your back right to the bone! Let me have a look at you, at least. You found me some pretty things today, after all.”
Lathan let out a sigh and pulled up his nightshirt, twisting his torso so that the candlelight would illuminate his back for Marnie’s inspection. She was as stubborn as a goat, so there was no use arguing with her about it.
“But that’s… That can’t be right… I saw him hit you! He hit you really hard, Lathan!” Marnie’s loud whispering disturbed the sleeping form on the other side of the room, who mumbled something in a half-sleep, and turned over before resuming the rumbling snores. Marnie continued, a little quieter; “Maybe it’s just a trick of the light… Well, do you know where you will go? You’ll have to go quite far away to avoid being caught…”
“I don’t know. But it’s alright Marnie. I’m fine. Thanks for worrying about me, but I’m alright. You should go get some sleep. Night Marn.”
“Well… If you’re sure. Night Lath. Thanks for the shells.” She took the candle and the paste and crept quietly back to her own small room.
Night fell heavily over Crabton Port, the shadow and the silence settling over the small fishing town like a thick blanket. The only visible lights in the darkness were The Mother and Child hanging overhead, and the warm flickering flame of a candle, barely visible through a window in one of the homes of the sleepy settlement. The wind was still and calm, and there wasn't so much as the rustle of a leaf to be heard. In his bed, Lathan was sleeping soundly, and his last night to sleep under the oppressive roof of his childhood home was filled with pleasant dreams.
_______________________________________________________________
The shadowed forest warped and shifted around her as she ran. She couldn't escape. It was right behind her. She wanted to look over her shoulder, but she was afraid of what she might see. Always right behind her, always following her. She could feel it, feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. The frigid wind screamed the cry of a wild animal, and her rain-drenched clothes clung to her legs, threatening to trip her and leave her sprawling in the mud. She had no time to lift her skirts up and so she forged on, stumbling through the dark.
She could barely focus on her surroundings through the sleeting rain but frantically searched for a place to hide. Something caught her attention. A lumpy shape in the gloaming became a desiccated and hollow tree stump on closer inspection. Lacking other options, she ducked off the muddy path and climbed inside. Her breath caught in her throat at the sharp pain as the rotten bark grazed her knees. Curled inside the dead tree, she shivered, wishing for this to just be over.
Lightning flashed and for the briefest moment she had a clear view of her pursuer, a dark silhouette in the grey murk of the forest. A tall, thin figure, crooked and hunched over. Unnatural was the elongated face that seemed to sniff at the air. It was a predatory muzzle like that of the monstrous beasts from ancient myth.
"It's not real. It's not real. It's not real," She sobbed quietly under her breath. "It's not real. It's all just a bad dream. It's not real!" Lightning flashed once more, illuminating the shape of her pursuer again. This time its features were in stark contrast, as it had turned its long face towards her. Gnarled teeth in a shaggy and twisted jaw, small eyes that seemed to radiate hatred from beneath a stringy and dripping mane of tangled black hair.
Lysette woke in a cold shivering sweat, with the sheets in a tangle around her legs. “Another one…” She lay in her bed for a moment, her head beginning to throb. Covering her green eyes with her arm, she tried to ignore the morning sunlight as it filtered through the curtains. Her head ached and spun, and she lay unmoving while she tried to shake off the bad dream that haunted her.
The sound of plates clinking from the kitchen next door told her that Granny was awake. Granny was always an early riser. No point sleeping when there was work to be doing, she would always say. Lysette sat up delicately, trying not to let the world spin about too much. She started when she saw her scratched knees.
"How...?" She shuddered, remembering the dream. "No, no... I must have done this yesterday without knowing it. That's all. It must be that."
After having a wash, she got dressed and after a few moments of struggle with a comb, her dark hair was tied in a simple bun. Just because she felt ill was not an excuse to look unkempt. She tied on her pockets under her skirts, and an apron over them. Her blouse was buttoned high, an attempt to hide the disgusting birthmark she had always hated. Just another thing that made her different, set her apart from the other youths as strange. Lysette wrapped the new shawl Granny had made for her around her shoulders and opened the door to the kitchen.
The warm and inviting scent of Granny's cooking wafted into her nostrils. Fresh bread was steaming on the kitchen table. Yum, it’s just come out of the oven, Lysette thought to herself. Granny was cooking eggs and bacon on the range. She gave Lysette a quick look and shooed her away. Granny made the nicest food, but she didn’t abide having people ogling the food while she was preparing it.
"Breakfast isn't ready yet, Little Duck. If you want to make yourself useful, go draw some more water and you can clean the dishes, hmm? Tea's brewing in the meantime, you can pour that out when you're done, eh?"
Lysette sighed, walking to the hall and collecting her shoes from the doorway. Sliding them on and lacing them up, she called through to the kitchen, “Who are we seeing first today Granny?”
“Mathilde needs a check-up. She's getting close now, hmm?” Granny's voice answered over the sizzle of bacon. “She's about ready to pop, I'd say...”
“I’ll go check on the ladies while I’m outside. I wonder how many eggs they’ve laid,” Lysette mused.
Granny's house was small, but not so small that it was uncomfortable. It was a perfectly cosy and respectable house. She had two separate bedrooms, a kitchen, a connecting room they grandly called “the hall”, though it was no bigger than a cupboard, and the aforementioned sitting room. There was a little outhouse behind the house, and the well was only a short walk away. The garden, though modestly sized, was well maintained, and Lysette helped Granny to grow many of the herbs she used for medicines there. There was also a small coop where they kept their chickens, and so they would always have eggs. When there was nobody who needed Granny’s remedies or midwifery, they often went to the village market and traded eggs that they had pickled in vinegar for the things they needed.
Grabbing her hat from the hook on the wall, Lysette unlatched the door. She closed it behind her, and shuffled down the path towards the well. The crisp spring wind threatened to tear her hat from her fingers as she fastened the ribbons behind her ears. Pulling her shawl close, she shivered, goose-skin crawling up her forearms. Another beautiful morning in the woods.