Faenella, Eganene

They sky was a soup of evening colors. Ian had been watching the snow-laden clouds drift by like dumplings, waiting for some sign. Having stalked the forests around his home, he was now making his way back to his family’s two-room cottage. There was nowhere else Simon could have gone.

Crouching beside a rain barrel, he narrowed his eyes. As if on cue, the smaller boy darted around the corner of the house. His brown hair flew out behind him like an enemy flag.

Ian didn’t hesitate, but grabbed his oak stick and ran after him. Slowing as he reached the house, he worked his way around the rear. The stacks of oak logs were familiar and the scent of his mother’s stew made his stomach grumble. She would have the pot above the fire, the broth bubbling with sweet onions, potatoes and rabbit.

Concentrate! he told himself.

Darkness was descending, the light and color fleeing from the winter clouds as the sun disappeared behind the snowy mountain bowl that surrounded their valley. Smoke from his father’s forge lay thick in the breezeless air smothering the last of the evening’s light.

The still air was not his ally. It masked his brother in curtains of smoke. Ian stopped at the next corner, crouching as he peered around the pine frame.

Neat rows of firewood, most over five feet tall, were piled one after another to the forest’s edge. The father’s forge chewed through a stack in little over a week. This winter, they’d pushed back the forest a good twenty feet. Chopping wood filled most of Ian’s day, but his father said it would make him strong. Ian raked his eyes along the forest’s edge. If he didn’t catch Simon soon, he’d have to give up.

He stepped out from beneath the eave of his house, intending to creep around the edge of the wood stacks, but something was wrong. It might have been the sudden silence in the air or the scrape of his brother’s sole on the wooden shingles. Whatever it was, it was luck.

A shriek split the silence as Simon leapt down from the roof, landing inches from Ian’s head.

His brother was off-balance and Ian saw his ankle turn as he hit the ground.

Simon shrieked again.

Ian rushed to his side and threw himself down, uttering consoling words. His father was going to kill him. And, he thought with a sinking feeling, he was going to end up with all his brother’s chores.

It was hard to see the extent of the damage. Simon’s arms were wrapped about his leg. His head hung beneath his knees. His brother was years younger and a foot shorter. He never should have jumped off the roof.

Shaking, Simon leaned back to uncover his ankle.

Ian should have known better, but all he saw was the subtle shift in his brother’s body. One moment he was squinting his eyes in the dusk light and the next he was staggering back as Simon’s stick cracked him over the head.

“What the heck, Simon!” Ian yelled, his ears ringing as blood rushing to his skull.

“Got you!” his brother squealed.

Apparently, there’s nothing wrong with his ankle, Ian thought, as he watched his brother retreat.

Ian shook his head, shooting his brother a withering glare, “So much for fair play.”

Simon smiled and Ian got a good look at his missing front tooth, “Payback.”

“That was an accident,” Ian countered. “I didn’t mean to knock it out. You were the one who ran into the door. I was just closing it.”

“That’s…”

“You should have been looking where you were going.”

“I was!” Simon managed.

Ian grunted, “And anyway, it’s not like it won’t grow back.”

“You’re not the one who’s got to go to town looking like an idiot. Today a lady just stared at me like I had two heads. Wouldn’t look away or anything. Even when I stared her down.”

“No?” Ian couldn’t help being curious. Few people could handle either of their glares.

Simon came back a few steps to explain, “She was clear across the street and she saw me and stopped. I thought it was because of my tooth, so I gave her the stare, you know. And she just walks over and grabs my face, twists it this way and that.”

“She didn’t!”

“Did so.”

“What’d you do?”

Simon shrugged, “Didn’t know what to do. So, I just stood there. She finally let me go and then off she went.”

“Gods. You didn’t recognize her?”

Simon shook his head, “She wasn’t from town. Maybe she was here ‘cause of the Market. She had her hair all done up in these little braids and was wearing this really nice dress.”

His brother’s eyes took on a faraway look. “It was cut low, too. When she grabbed my face, she held me close to her chest and I think I might have seen…”

Both boys startled as the window shutters banged open above them. Their mother saw them and fixed them both with a stare of her own. She was fresh from a bath, her hair bound up in a bun. Steam rose from beneath her woolen dress.

“Boys,” she said, “fetch some wood for the fire and then hurry. I want you both bathed before your Pa comes in.”

“But m…” Simon began, before Ian cracked him in the side with an elbow.

“Come on, Simon. We will be back in a moment, Ma.”

She smiled. It was a secret, knowing smile.

Ian lived for the moments she looked at him like that.

After she closed the shutters, the two boys set off for the woodpile. The house had wood stacked all around it, but that was for their mother to use or for when it snowed. The rest of the time, the boys were sent to fetch some to bring inside. It did give them time to talk.

“So,” Ian prompted, “What did you see?”

But the boy’s mind was elsewhere. “I think I saw someone in the woods today.”

“Our woods?” Ian asked.

The woods weren’t really theirs, the property belonged to the town, but it was a rare occasion for anyone else to be on it. Their house and forge were at the far end. While it was common enough for people to take trees, it was always at the edge of the road.

Simon rubbed at his nose with the back of a dirty hand. “Yeah. When we were playing. I was hidden up the big maple, you know the one. I heard some voices. I think there were two of them. Both of them men.”

“What were they saying?”

“Don’t know. I couldn’t make out the words and I couldn’t see them either. I didn’t want you to catch me, so I left.”

“Neighbors,” Ian offered, but Simon was already shaking his head.

“Couldn’t have been. They didn’t sound like anyone we know. I was thinking maybe it was some of the people from the Market. Maybe they got lost looking for Pa.”

“Maybe,” Ian frowned. “Well, whoever it was shouldn’t have been skulking about. Someone could have thought they were a deer or something and put an arrow in them. Don’t worry. We’ll just make sure the house is locked up tight tonight.”

Simon looked worried, “You don’t think they were Family, do you?”

Ian laughed easily, despite the thrill of shivers that ran down his spine, “Nah. Why would the Family come to our woods? Faenella’s not even important.”

“But what about spies?” Simon asked. His eyes were wide and troubled.

“Of course there are spies around. There always are. Can’t change that, now can we?”

Ian looked at his brother closely, “You don’t think the people in the woods were spies, do you?”

“Maybe?”

“No way. Spies wouldn’t be so careless as to let you hear them.”

His brother didn’t seem convinced.

“Anyway,” Ian finished, confidently, “spies only work at night.”

“Oh,” Simon grinned, the black hole where his tooth was supposed to be making Ian wince. “Good.”

Ian had Simon stack his arms full of wood and then the younger boy grabbed what he could. Inside, they got fire burning higher and their mother swung the stew pot out of the flames. She used a padded glove to grasp the iron arm, mindful of the metal’s heat. Ian found himself smiling. It was a perfect idea. Simon wouldn’t know what hit him.

The boys took turns filling buckets to be heated on the stove. Instead of wasting time taking turns to bathe, they got in together. It was a tight fit, but Simon was still small enough to make it possible. They scrubbed themselves diligently, taking turns flicking soap into one another’s eyes and then washed each other’s backs. Ian hopped out first. They only had one towel and Simon would have to make do with the soggy, chilly cloth once Ian was through.

His mother had already laid out their clothes on the bed and he hurried to dress. The smell from the kitchen was making him light-headed and he was sure he was on the very cusp of starvation. Leaving Simon, he set the table, thinking all the while about the logistics of his prank and how to avoid being caught. His mother stopped her work to check his hands. Ian was relieved when his fingernails passed inspection. Even his father had to wash his hands before he ate, although Ma did let him bathe afterwards.

At the thought of his father, Ian heard the door swing open, the swirl of chill air sending the fire into a fit. Pa was an immense man, over six feet tall with shoulders the width of the table and corded muscles that wrapped his torso and arms. Ian’s mother was all but eclipsed in his embrace. She squealed and swatted at him to let go.

“Your face feels like bark,” she laughed, backing away from her husband and brandishing a large wooden spoon. “Go wash up and let’s eat. I think the boys are like to die if we don’t get some food in them.”

“All right, Marybeth,” he smiled.

“You finished the sword?” Ian asked as his father bent over the sink.

“I did. And she is a beauty, too. Smaller than I thought she be, but the metal wrapped real nicely. You want to try her out tomorrow?”

Ian nodded emphatically. There was nothing he liked better than trying out his father’s new steel.

“Can I try too, Pa?” Simon asked, emerging from the bedroom. His wet hair left droplets of water on the pine floor.

“Sure. You both have got to finish your chores first. Ian will need to help me with the bellows in the morning, so you’ll have to do the animals yourself. Think you can handle it?”

Simon seemed to stand straighter. “Course, Pa. Ian just slows me down. I would be done twice as fast if he weren’t hanging about so.”

Ian’s father gave him a smile so that he knew not to take it seriously, “Good then. It’s a plan.”

After the family was seated, their mother said Grace. In her soft, singsong voice she led them in the psalm they all knew by heart. It was one of the longer passages, but Ian had always liked it.

Nineteen and Nineteen you shelter us from harm

In your embraces we feel the quiet and calm

Of all that the afterworld must be

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You cradle us in your care, until we may see

Father Sun, Rae, show us brightly the way

Moon Mother, Wul, guide us at night

Ventus, wind, blow the clouds away

Erde, soil, raise the plants with might

Lubhyati, creator of love, do not be masked

Plaisir, pleasure, grant us some

Sorge, sorrow, hold us when dreams are dashed

Tod, take our hands when our time has come

Lijf, life, grant us the gift of children

Hēow, color, lets us see their faces

Creare, you formed the animals and men

Tochier, let us feel so that we may mark their places

Their family recited in unison, but even so, the boys were the first to get a spoonful of stew into their mouths. Pa was not far behind. Their groans of appreciation were simultaneous. Fresh bread was eaten by the fistful and covered sparingly with the butter Ma took pains to make.

When all was through and the dishes scrubbed clean by the boys, Pa left to wash and to see to the fire. Ian thought about the hot pad and his prank, but had no opportunity to swipe it.

“Study time,” their mother instructed.

They read from the Nineteen and Nineteen, the only book in the house. Ian wondered why he hadn’t memorized the entire text. It was a large book, though, over four fingers, with a cracked, leather binding. Ian had gotten better in the last year, but Simon still struggled over anything with more than one syllable.

While their mother knit quietly by the fireside, the boys sat cross-legged at her feet. Simon began, his voice high and unsure, “And so it was Blessed Rae who lit the world and Hēow who bestowed a thousand colors so that the grass was green and the sky blue. Lijf then saw that this place was good and into creation was made Woman and Man. Erde saw their need for food and pushed from his body trees and fruits from which they might eat.”

Ian grinned at his brother to let him know his mistakes were not too bad. Then, he began to read, “Creare had helped Lijf to breathe life into the people. She desired more. To befriend and sustain the people She gave birth to the animals, hundreds and thousands each more unique than the last so that man would never tire of the sight of world. Tochier agreed and made the people’s hands sensitive to soft and hard, so that they might feel.”

Pa came and sat by their mother, his face clean and smelling of soap. Ian always thought it was odd when his father was clean. He seemed so much more natural with the sweat and grime from the forge covering him like armored paint. But, his mother loved clean things and his father loved his mother. Ian long ago decided that he would never marry, or if he did, he would not bathe daily.

It was dark now, the hooting of an owl audible over the fire’s roar. His mother lit two of their candles and set them beside Simon. Combined with the fire’s warm orange glare, it was enough to see by. They read for the remainder of the hour, each of them smothering their yawns as best they could.

For Ian’s part, he was hoping that his parents would retire early, as they sometimes did when they wanted to be alone. He never questioned this practice, but coveted the unsupervised time. If they went to bed, he would be able to grab the hot pad. Almost on cue, his father yawned and placed a massive hand on his wife’s knee. They exchanged a look, all but unreadable to the two boys, and then bid them goodnight.

The night couldn’t have been going more perfectly. Somehow he kept his eyes down and continued reading. An eternity later, when the passage was finely complete, Ian replaced the book on the mantel. Simon looked ready to fall asleep, but they both knew they needed to wait awhile before going to bed themselves.

After a particularly immense yawn, one that Ian was sure might just split his brother’s face, Simon tugged the pillow from his mother’s rocker and fell asleep on the floor. Ian intended to leave as soon as everyone was down, but he too submitted to the warm embrace of exhaustion.

Hours later, he woke cold and stiff upon the floor. It was still night, the sky outside the color of pitch. Quietly, he rebuilt the fire. Simon was asleep and he was loath to wake him. As soon as everything was in place, he put on his boots and tossed his cloak over his shoulders. Snatching the hot pad from its hook beside the fireplace, he retreated to the window and hopped out into the chill night. He was careful, mindful of the metal shrapnel that could push through the sole of his boot. His father kept a tidy work area, but there were always shards of metal around a forge.

Luckily, he was aided by the half-moon. Ian sent a prayer to Wul. It never hurt to thank a Goddess. His father locked the forge at night, but Ian knew under which cobblestone the spare key was hidden. He quickly had it in hand. He did not dare risk a flame, so he left the door wide in hopes that, combined with the two glass windows, he would have enough light.

Among the more common items, his father had a significant collection of chemicals. Besides his primary work making swords and knives, he was skilled at bow making and ceramics. Ian, having smaller hands and a lot of time, had worked with his father for years molding and casting tiles. This is what he sought tonight.

Ian took his time as he moved about the forge. Despite the moonlight that filtered through the barred glass, the rooms were as black as coal. Racks of weaponry covered the walls and each piece was deadly. His father’s less valuable weapons were stored outside, chained to the massive iron moldings that wrapped around the length of the building, but Ian wasn’t interested in those.

His plan was simple. Find and steal the ingredients for clay and convince his brother to haul out the morning meal with the hot pad. As long as he didn’t notice too much of the wetness inside and Ian had already dreamed up a thousand ways to distract him, when his brother reached near the flames, the clay would harden. He smiled to himself, imagining of the look on his brother’s face.

But what if Simon been faking sleep? Ian went back to the window and peered outside.

What he saw made his veins freeze. A wagon had just come to a stop in front of his house. Ian couldn’t see the horses, the forge lay to the rear of the house, but he was certain he’d seen it.

No one ever came to call so late.

Ian hurried out of the forge, relocked it and replaced the key. By the time he made it to the woodpile, the people were on the front path. Small rocks skittered across the stones, but the footsteps all but silent. Heart racing, he gave up any attempt at secrecy and flew to the kitchen window. The frozen grass crunched loudly beneath his boots, the blades breaking beneath his weight.

The window was open, the light inside flickering as the candles wavered in the winter’s breeze. He thought he’d shut it.

The cold must have woken his brother. Even by the fire, it would be chilly and Simon liked to be warm. He was always stealing the covers and pressing his ice-cold feet against Ian’s shins.

Hurling himself against the rough stones, Ian tried to catch his breath. Carefully, he peeked over the ledge, pushing the window glass with his fingertips. If anyone had been watching, they’d have seen two terrified brown eyes slide slowly into view.

There was no one, the common room was empty.

Ian had only a moment to wonder where his brother had gone before the intruders were at the door. The silence was shattered by the pounding fist. It probably took seconds for his father to rise from bed and cross the kitchen, but to Ian, it was an eternity. He had time to check their clock, his grandmother’s, which rested upon the mantel. In the light from the fire he could see that he was right. It was near midnight, much too late for visitors.

Scanning the room for his brother, Ian unfolded himself from a crouch, using his height to check the corners of the living room. His hands were resting on the window frame when someone grabbed them.

Fingers dug into his arm, the fingernails cutting through the skin. Ian hauled himself backwards, but he was unbalanced and slid on the icy snow. His knees crashed down hard.

Barely stifling his scream, he prepared to wrench his hands from his assailant. Bracing his feet against the stone base of the house, he shoved back as hard as he could. He would have been fine, but who ever had him chose that moment to let go of his arms.

Ian flew backwards, his head striking the ground. The impact was audible. He tried to rise, but his vision swam. Ian saw a night that was far blacker than the sky. White stars sped in from behind, crashing together in blinding brightness. Supernovas exploded and suns burst. He let himself back down again gently.

From somewhere far away, he heard a thud. He tried to open his eyes, to see if his assailant was following, but failed. Even the slightest movement brought pain. He wanted to throw-up, but couldn’t sit-up.

Soon, he felt a small, warm hand slip into his own. He knew his brother was with him. With his help, Ian managed to drag himself to a sitting position and lean his back against the cold stone of the house. He still did not dare open his eyes. A rushing sound screamed inside his head. It was a waterfall let loose, pounding his brain.

He tried his best to be calm, but he knew he’d done a number on himself. It was obvious now that it was Simon’s hands that had grabbed his. The poor kid was probably frightened out of his mind. His brother had been asleep when Ian left him and the sudden noise of someone pounding on the door had sent him wild.

He felt his brother tugging on his hand and he stood slowly. “Are you all right?”

Ian managed to open his eyes to slits. The moonlight was painful, but it was better than slipping on the ice again. A fall at this point might put him serious danger.

“I think so,” he murmured back, squeezing his brother’s fingers.

Simon led him carefully to their father’s forge. When he dropped Ian’s hand for a minute to locate the key, Ian felt the loss. His brother would get him to a safe place.

In the darkness of the building, he was able to open his eyes a little more. Eventually, the sound of rushing water slowed enough for thought. His brother helped him sit. He put his back against one of huge barrels his father used to cool steel.

“What happened?” Ian managed at last.

“Sorry I scared you,” Simon replied, whispering into the darkness.

“It is all right, I’ll be fine in a bit. Who was at the door?”

Dull moonlight shone through the two barred windows. Ian saw his brother shrug. “Don’t know. Pa let them in though, right after I jumped out of the window. I don’t think they saw me. While I was waiting for you to be able to walk, I peeked in a couple of times. There are three men and a woman. They all had cloaks on and their hoods up, but it seemed like Pa knew them.

Pa was angry at them at first. Mad that they were coming so late in the night and disturbing the family. He said that they didn’t have the right to be doing that, but one of the men handed him a piece of paper and Pa read it.

He didn’t seem so upset anymore and told the people to sit. Said they could talk business after he poured them some drinks. That’s when we left.”

Ian was disappointed, he had hoped for more clues. Whether or not Pa knew them, it didn’t make them friends. He remembered his brother’s story from earlier and couldn’t put it out of his head that maybe these strangers were the ones hiding in the woods. “Simon, can you remember anything about what they looked like?”

“Besides their traveling cloaks? Not really. The woman must have short hair though, because it wasn’t showing out from her hood. I think all the men had swords, too. You know how your cloak rises in the back when you are carrying…”

“They brought weapons into our house?”

Simon was nodding. “Yeah, but maybe they didn’t know it was rude. Pa said we are one of the only towns that let people carry. Maybe they think it is custom to bring them into people’s homes, too.”

“Pa should have said something,” Ian responded, gingerly patting at the back of his head. It was throbbing and he could feel his heartbeat against his skull.

“Well, maybe he did after we left. Those people aren’t going sit and have a drink with their swords on. They’ll take them off, probably their cloaks, too.”

He hoped his brother was right. “It’s after midnight. Why are they here now?” He checked the cloth he was using to stop the bleeding. It was dark and wet.

He knew he shouldn’t be moving around, but he couldn’t just sit there. He needed to know if the people were friendly, how his father knew them, and what was in the note. Ian had never seen his father’s anger cool once it was heated. This was something new.

The smell of the forge was strong, metallic and overpowering, as though the iron had been absorbed into the very air. Ian’s hands rested against the floor and tiny shards of metal pricked his skin. He realized his brother was waiting for him to say something. “I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll go wait under the window and when they leave, I’ll come back for you.”

Simon’s brown eyes were huge in the empty blackness. He squeezed Ian’s hand, “I can go. You shouldn’t be walking around. I didn’t want to tell you before, but you’re bleeding hard. You don’t look so good.”

Maintaining his smile, Ian punched his brother’s shoulder. There was no way he was letting his little brother get anywhere close to those people, blood or no blood.

“You think this little bump is going stop me? No way. The cloth will get it to stop. You stay here and find us some blankets. Even if they aren’t leaving, I’ll come back in a bit and grab a blanket and fill you in.”

“You sure?” Simon wanted to know, not releasing Ian’s arm.

“I told you. I’m fine.”

Despite his declarations, Ian stood slowly. He was forced to take a few breaths before he could steady himself. Simon wanted to help, but Ian smiled and waved him away. He was the older brother and this was his job. Still, by the time he got outside, he was breathing hard. He shut the door and let his shoulder lean against the frame. His head was swimming, the pressure increasing like a balloon filling with air.

At least it didn’t hurt as badly when he closed his eyes. He could post-up beneath the window and listen to what they were saying. He just needed to get there. Slowly, carefully, he made his way to the window, eyes trained on the house.

The immense woodpiles provided a natural barrier, but once he reached them, he was forced to cut right and swing wide. It took him longer than he wanted. When he pulled himself into position beneath the windowsill, he was shaking. Touching the back of his head, he used the pads of his fingers to comb gently through his hair. He was still bleeding.

Head wounds were notorious for that. He knew that even a deep scratch might ooze for hours. With the knock that he had taken, he was surprised he hadn’t split his skull. On a positive note, it seemed like the blood was freezing to his hair, making a natural adhesive.

Someone had closed the window. It muffled the voices a bit, but Ian was able to make them out. His father’s voice was easiest, his low rumble distinct among the others. Soon, he was able to distinguish between the four strangers’ voices. Apparently, his mother had stayed in the bedroom. Ian didn’t blame her.

“I still don’t understand why it needed to be tonight?” his father was asking.

“Smitty, we’ve been over this,” one of the men said. “None of us knows where the orders come from, they’re just delivered. It’s up to us to fill them. You signed on for this. Just because everything has been simple up to this point, doesn’t mean it’ll remain that way.”

Ian closed his eyes, trying to imagine what the mysterious stranger looked like. The man had a rough voice, like someone who didn’t talk much. Or maybe someone who yelled a lot. He wondered what it was that his father had signed up for.

“Do you have what we need or not?” the man continued. “If you don’t, we’ll be on our way. If you do, let’s have it then. We’ve got a long road to travel tonight and I want to make camp before light.”

“You need all of it tonight?” his father asked, sounding drained.

Another of the men answered him, his voice gentler, “All of it. Things have been heating up north of here and the rest of the shipment needs to run south once the weather breaks. We need to be prepared for the day.”

“You have had word it’ll be soon?”

“Smitty,” said the woman. “Even if we knew, we couldn’t tell you. But if it makes a difference, we don’t know. The only message we’ve gotten is to stop and supply. It’s not unusual for messages to be weeks in coming. I’m not sure why there wasn’t another.”

Ian heard his father sigh, a deep and heavy rumbling sound. “Can’t say this is the way honest folk do business. But if it needs be tonight, then it needs be tonight. Let’s talk about the particulars.”

The woman spoke next, “How much do you have for us?”

“I’ve been putting aside pieces for years. There’s a lot. How much weight can your wagon handle?”

“A thousand pounds.”

“I can fill it.”

They are talking about weapons! Ian realized. His father was selling weapons. Who were these people? Not Family, but who else would need weapons in such quantities?

“Excellent,” the woman replied. “What do you have for us?”

“Let’s do it this way,” Pa replied. “What do you need most? We can start there and once we take care of that, I can explain what else I have.”

“Smaller weapons are better. Easier to hide and lighter. And we can carry more,” a man’s voice answered. “Daggers, short swords, long knives, bastard swords.”

“Bows,” the woman added. “We have a lot of work to do before the day and the men outside the city have empty hands. We could be doing a lot more.”

“I have thirty. Long and short. I also made two crossbows.”

Ian choked. Crossbows! When had his father made those? He had seen the plans in the forge, but crossbows required small, metal parts. Parts he didn’t think his father could make. Had he gotten them from someone else?

“Ah,” the woman murmured. “That’s the best news I’ve heard in sometime.”

Pa grunted, sounding satisfied, “I’m glad. I’ve never seen one myself, so it took me a lot of time to draw up the plans.”

“Can we have a copy? To give to the other Smiths?”

“Of course, but it isn’t…”

“Let us worry about that,” a man’s voice interrupted.

“Fine. What else do you need?”

Ian leaned back against the side of the house and closed his eyes, tipping his head back in order to hear. His father rattled off weapon types, discussing the merits of each. Ian’s head grew heavy. He would never remember when he fell asleep.