Chapter 39

  Day Zero – Evening

  The village had been absent-minded for the last two days. Everyone was thinking about one question: ‘Who would be next?’ But they ploughed, shoveled and carted manure, ploughed some more, and searched for snails until the sun went down. Eight hundred acres of work for all three villages, in a fief that was three or four times that size in total. No rest, no break. Their life was not just endless toil, but when the time came, it had to be done. If there was one true law, it was that of the tides and seasons, above that of the King’s or the Prince’s.

  They had asked the neighboring villages of Bromwich and Luphton for help instead. Word spread around about what happened to Gothar. He who stole their trees on Fire Festival thrice, and charmed more than his wife when he was young. Helping Penram out was taken for granted, as was attending the funeral.

  As was custom, all of their clothes were dyed with young oak bark or the black soil of the river. The period of mourning lasted until the black had faded. Hundreds of men and women, old and young, gathered around Gothar, laid in repose on a funeral pyre. He was the only one in light colors – his freshly washed undergarments. Father Sun made the sky appear red, and plenty of torches were placed all around.

  “He was–” Bigge faced everyone up front, with his family close-by. His and Gothar’s father, like many of the other old-timers, sat on a stool. “He was my little brother.” He wiped his bald head with the coif that he held in his hand. There was no Auror to hold a Lecture. They didn’t even ask for one. But there was no reason to not treat it like this was a proper Lecture, which meant presenting your true self uncovered to the Stars. Bigge looked back at his brother’s dead body before he gasped. “All of you remember how often I had to get him out of trouble? When we were all still young and innocent… Havel?” He looked at a man whose face looked as if it was made by a mason. “You remember when you chased him from Bromwich to Penram and I had to knock you over or you’d kill him?” The man built like an underfed ox tried to smile. He really did. He constantly looked back into his brother’s face and at his own feet. Gasping and blinking. “Man, that’s–” His eyes wandered towards the sunset. The rite demanded to celebrate one’s life until the Stars revealed themselves, and then release one’s soul to join them. Leave no mortal shell behind. “That’s so much time. He was such a bright Star. And–” Bigge grabbed his mouth and nose, wiping what was not flowing. “If–” he uttered. “If only we could have been born somewhere else. In a city. Up that castle. Anywhere,” he said, looking up that mountain where their liege resided, and then Gothar again. When he turned back to his neighbors, friends and family, he moved as if time was about to stand still. “Anywhere. He would have made us proud; been something else. Something better.” Finally, he locked eyes with his sitting father, who hadn’t spoken a single word in two days. He just sat. No tears. No blinking. No reaction. Nothing.

  Bigge put his hands on his chest and took a deep breath. Instead of the thoughts about his brother though, a sigh came out and he formed fists. “Damned,” whispered the stout man, as all strength left his body and he slouched down. A couple eyebrows rose from the curse, but nobody dared to speak up. The sobs were enough for them. “By the Kraken, I am fifty years old,” he cried out loud. “I knew him for forty-six… and I have nothing to say.” Turning around, he braced himself against the pyre with both hands and looked at his brother. “Nothing meaningful. Neither for you, nor my wife, nor our mother.” Tears dropped on Gothar’s face. “Just fuck them,” said Bigge to him. “Fuck them all. Dry summers, cold winters, and they want fucking snails from us. F–, fucking–” A human touch made Bigge shiver in relief. When he turned around, his body answered the warm embrace without knowing who it was.

  “You’re doing great,” whispered Roda into his ear. “I’ll take over from here.”

  They held each other for a bit longer before brother and sister-in-law let go of each other. Bigge joined his friends and family – the good folk of Penram, Bromwich and Luphton. His son and daughter met him half-way and gave him another hug. Telf stayed behind with their grandfather, Talles, resting his hand on the old man’s shoulder. When Bigge faced his father, a sad look was returned.

  “I love you, Gothar.” The frail man’s voice trembled.

  “I love you too, pap,” replied Bigge with a bittersweet smile.

  The widow had been treated like a raw egg ever since her husband had died. They didn’t want her to work; but she did. They didn’t want her to cook for her son and Talles; but she did. They didn’t even want her to prepare Gothar’s starforsaken funeral. But she did. Her fellow villagers wanted her to rest, but she didn’t know how. And she never did, if she was honest to herself. When she stepped in front of the folk that wanted to celebrate her husband’s life, she felt more than tired. For the last few days, she feared that resting might kill her. So she wore Gothar’s clothes, no matter how alien it looked to the other women. Because they still smelled like him.

  Closing her eyes, Roda put all thoughts aside. “Before I moved from Bromwich to Penram – shortly after my mother was kicked in the head by that ox – she assured me one thing.” Roda paused and opened her deep green eyes again. She looked into the sky, searching for her mother, as the stars were coming out one by one. “She assured me that Gothar and I were a match made by the Stars. That when she was my age, that old Fate-Reader from St. Gellen told her she would bear a Wild Wolf that would find its match. Gothar was a bull – like his brother is–” She saw how Bigge chuckled for a moment, while wiping his cheeks with his coif. She also saw how Telf was approached by a girl from behind, and how he lightened up. “But he surely was a wild one too. Y’all know how he got that tree three times. And I know how many of you he got,” she said, looking through the ranks of women who suddenly avoided her gaze. “But I was the one who got a tree. I know I can be difficult. Stubborn, most would say. But that’s what made us work. Someone he couldn’t smooth-talk; and by the Stars could he talk smooth.” A couple more chuckles came from the crowd.

  Roda did not dare to look back at Gothar while speaking, nor could she muster that smile he asked her for. Her eyes were as sharp as ever, and she stood upright. Only her hands waved with her words. “Bigge,” she said and looked at her brother-in-law again. “You think you and Gothar were opposites. But you’ve always spoken truths. And no truth rings truer than what you said before…” She took another deep breath. “Fuck them,” she exhaled, and more folk dared to laugh. “Hopefully, we get one more day of work before the soil freezes. I’ll demand satisfaction from our liege on the morrow. He and his brood have done nothing but look down on us. Take our hard earned labour for the promise of security – for which we still can be levied. I know y’all have tried to talk me out of this, but we need to demand what little rights we have.”

  A murmur rippled through her fellow commoners. Whispers of sympathy and danger. Nobody had it in them to interrupt a widow at her husband’s funeral. What little Roda could understand was enough for her. She saw in their eyes; that she was right.

  “Gothar was a brave man. A foolish man even. But that did not make him a courageous one,” continued Roda. “If he was here, he would try to stop me. He hated it when I volunteered to talk to Sir Ludwald. But this winter has changed even him. Changed us. We talked deep at night. That we feared that one more winter like this would be our last. That none of us would last…” Remembering these nights, Roda grabbed her own heart, turning around to face her husband. A thin line of sunlight waited to be extinguished, but all the Stars were now with them. “Gothar of Penram and me, Roda of Bromwich, were deeply in love. Are deeply in love. He was a beautiful man, a kind man, and a funny man.” Her fingers caressed her husband’s cold face, and a gasp broke her voice. One more time, she allowed herself to cry. “Soon he’ll be with our babies.”

  Feeling that this was the end, the first attendants clapped. A damp sound with many sobs among it. Roda let go of Gothar and rejoined her family, holding each other’s hands. They had to wait until the sun was completely gone. Only then were they allowed to set the pyre ablaze. Set Gothar free from his body, and let his soul ascend.

  “Senna,” said Roda and greeted the hazel-haired girl that was with her son with a hug. “How long is it since we’ve spoken?”

  “I’m so sorry, Roda,” said the meek girl. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Don’t,” replied the older woman. “We’ll get by and I’ll–” Roda stopped, pressing her lips shut. Her eyes were closed for one awfully long breath.

  “Ma?” Telf put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you think there’s a village like ours up there?” he asked and watched the stars. “Like… with everyone that ever lived in Penram?”

  Putting her hand on top of that of her son, Roda joined her son’s gaze. “That would be nice, wouldn’t it?” she mumbled. “But we won’t find out any time soon. There’s plenty ahead of us.”

  Turmoil sounded from behind the watermill. Bigge and Roda, and many more adults, turned around at the sources of confused murmurs. But it turned out to not be a child, before anyone could snub the voice. A grown man pushed himself through the crowd, loud and unintelligible, sending shocks through the peasants’ bones.

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  “You insolent lil–” slurred Aurick, as he slapped a man that came too close to him. His lip was split open, and his left eye was black and blue. He reeked of wine. “Where’s that dimwitted arsehole?!” he yelled. “I need to take a piss!”

  Roda’s eyebrows narrowed at the sight, sound and stink of the man who murdered her husband. The thought of him waltzing into Gothar’s funeral, after what he did, made her whole body tremble. Foremost her fists. This was the most sacred rite, even more so than a child’s name-blessing at age one. As everyone moved to the side, Roda stayed. Her blood was boiling, and her posture stiff as a fence post.

  “I remember you,” said Aurick as he stopped in front of the peasant woman. “You that bitch who lost her stud.” He ogled her from head to toe, struggling to stay upright. “Want to be next, huh?”

  “Young lord,” replied Roda softly, close to silent. “Young lord!” She repeated as loud as she could. “I beg you, please, leave us be. I’ll come to your dear lord father in the morrow to settle this by law,” she commanded. “I need you to–”

  A loud ‘smack’ went through the entire village, and Bigge had to restrain Telf. Roda’s face – her entire body – was thrown to the side, as the knight raised his open hand above everyone. “You think there’s something to settle?” Aurick’s dramatic tenor rose. “My father took care of your grievances. Consider this over.”

  She had been known to become mad in her youth, but nobody had ever seen Roda’s face the way it was when she turned towards Aurick. The flames were reflected in her green eyes, as her lips stood open with bit teeth between them. Hundreds, nay thousands, of words went through her mind. Only the impuissance of her birthrights held them in.

  “But…” The young lord smirked at Roda’s feeble defiance. “You still owe me,” he uttered, leaning forward. He wore the same clothes he wore two days ago. And pointed at the loose threads and tear where his family’s crest used to rest.

  Not only Roda, but all the commonfolk held their breaths. Telf’s anger transformed into more tears, with Senna’s arms around him. His uncle stood right next to him, petrified. He couldn’t do anything. Even with his children and father around him, he felt alone and powerless. Again. There was only watching and silent prayer for the attendants of the funeral. The only thing they could do was endure more pain.

  “Fine.” Roda nodded after a gulp. “Just–” she stuttered, avoiding looking at her family. “Follow me home. Where my sewing kit is. Please–” She looked at the pyre and her dead husband, burying her nails into his chausses that she wore. “Not here. Not in front of–”

  “Have it your way,” interrupted Aurick. When Roda moved ahead, he slapped her behind to make her move faster. “No man of the house to punish you for wearing trousers, eh?”

  The peasant woman barely moved from it, but instead raised her voice without looking back. “Please, go ahead. Celebrate Gothar’s life; do not mind me. It won’t take too long.”

  “That’s up to me,” slurred Aurick, as he staggered down the trail through the village.

  After seeing Roda disappear into the dark, down the creek, more and more of the peasants looked ashamed. They didn’t dare to speak, nor to gasp, or continue with the rite. Silence tormented them, until Bigge dashed away to the side, into his own house. Every vein on his bald head bulged, even at night. Those who knew him, recognized that his head was not merely red from the dim light of the torches. His own children looked at each other confused, before running after him. Telf followed soon enough. There was no celebration without Roda. But something had to be done…

  Meanwhile, Roda heard each step and breath taken by her and Aurick. She kept ahead of him, to not show her face. She didn’t want him to see her sharp eyes, and what thoughts intruded her mind, screaming at her over and over. Focused on what lay ahead of her, she did not blink even once. Not even when a single tear found its way down her cheek. She vowed to herself that this was her last tear.

  “Don’t cry, whore,” said Aurick when they reached the door of their home. “If you do well, I might even tip you.” He went ahead, as Roda guided him inside. Skimming through the dark room, illuminated by the moon and stars, the knight placed his hand on the hilt of his ornamented longsword. “You commonfolk have your beds up there, don’t you?” Looking up the ladders, his gait was unsteady. “Get on the fucking table,” he ordered. “And get rid of these damned leggings. If I ever catch you with something like these again, this will not be my last visit.”

  Like the good serf she was, Roda walked over to her family’s table and hesitantly sat down on it. This was where they ate together, sang together, talked to each other and quarreled. Her heart was racing, but the rest of the world became slower and slower around her. She closed her eyes. “My–” she stuttered. “My husband was a wonderful kisser.” Disgusted at herself, she pressed her lips shut.

  “You wenches are all the same.” Aurick poised himself, grabbed his crotch and stepped in front of her spread legs. “In the end, you’re nothing but animals.”

  He placed his hands on her hips, and groped downwards, ready to rip off the chausses. All while he pressed his stinking breath onto Roda’s lips, forcing his tongue between.

  Taking one last breath through her nose, Roda felt every emotion she ever knew at the same time. What happened in the last two days – two months, or two years – flowed through her body, out of her heart and into her teeth. She savored the taste of blue blood, while hearing a gurgling scream that couldn’t properly form anymore. Her nails pierced Aurick’s flesh, before pushing him away and spitting his tongue in front of him.

  “You miserable piece of shit!” she yelled, with her lips and chin smeared red. “You leech!” Both their eyes stood wide open, meeting each other with the same intensity. Roda could not understand the melodic chortles the knight threw at her, nor did she care. She looked around to find something to arm herself with. “This is for my h–” Grabbing a piece of pottery from the table behind her, the following attack was easily deflected to the side. She felt how weak she was, no matter how drunk and hurt Aurick was.

  When the knight pulled out his sword, the blood loss was making it slip out of his hand before the blade reached Roda. Aurick stumbled against the peasant woman, making her crash against the table. She braced herself against him. Pushing him through the room with her legs, Roda sprinted past the young lord.

  With blood spilling all over his attire, Aurick’s eyes followed the peasant woman. He grabbed the decorated dagger that he had murdered her husband with, angry but unable to make himself heard. The young lord kicked a chair out of his way. Stumbling and slow, he followed her behind the wall that split the room in two. Sure that this woman could not do any further damage to him. The knight held the dagger, ready to thrust. As he moved around the wall, a flash of steel cut across his chin and into his throat. Years of training made him stab forward, without ever learning of his success.

  Standing above her young lord, Roda let out a feral shriek. Tightening the grip on the cleaver, she panted and stared at the puddle of blood she stood in. The shoes everyone in her family wore, the clothes of her husband, and her own skin were drenched in Sir Aurick’s blood. Her own blood was dripping into it from her right eye. Squinting at what she had done, she wiped her mouth; but only more red was smeared across her face.

  Roda watched Aurick twitch and curl up, trying to grab her leg. Seeing him struggle was… she did not have the time for that. A kick into his face, and one into his ribs, and one last one into his groin followed. She then knelt down and grabbed his hair. Gone was her feeling of weakness when she dragged him behind her. Blessed was she, with the righteous strength the Stars gifted her.

  After she kicked in her own door to get back into the village, she came to a full stop again. Right in front of her stood her brother-in-law, holding a threshing flail. Right behind him was her son, nephew and niece, all armed with whatever tool they could grab – as had everyone else. With each heavy breath, she looked at another man, woman or child that she had known for all her life. All she could do was let out another scream, making Bigge jump, before she moved on.

  The same way her fellow men had made way for Aurick when he invaded the funeral, they made way for Roda now. Afraid to stand in her way, touch her, or speak to her. She nearly fell over twice, tripping over her own feet, and dripping from her right eye. She didn’t stop until she reached her beloved’s pyre. Neither knowing, nor caring if Aurick was still alive or not, she reveled in Gothar’s peaceful face for a moment. Not for too long though, before she lifted the lumping body of their liege’s son and held his head against the pyre. Right next to her husband’s face. Filled with pain, she let go of everything that slumbered at the bottom of her soul for all these years. Over and over, Roda cleaved into the knight’s neck, chin, chest and whatever she could get. Butchering him like the rotten swine he was. All she wished for was for Gothar to see what she did.

  The continuous screams faded away after Aurick’s torso hit the ground, making way for dull groans. Again, she felt no touch, and no words could reach her. Roda braced herself against the wood and stared at her husband’s face. The rage was not gone. She still felt the hair between fingers.

  “Ma?” Telf’s sobbing broke through to her. “Thank you,” cried the boy, as he wrapped his arms around her, making her collapse into him. “Thank you so much, ma.”