The Chronicles: Three Sisters 02

A year after my marriage

- "Lowland ways been creeping into the Uplands." said Cenmin. "Little bit at a time."

- "Yep. Seen it happening." said Branhucar. "Better horses. More swords. More wine -" He reached for the bottle, and poured most of what remained into his friend's cup. He offered me the dregs, but I knew better than to try to match them, drink for drink.

Bacho had a stronger head for alcohol. I just wanted to sit with the two headmen, and listen to their tales and observations. He acted older - and looked it, too, with the full beard he was growing.

Many people knew why had Bacho stopped shaving - it was to cover the scars from his encounter with me. His chin would forever be marked. But his heavy moustaches and thick facial hair helped to conceal them. And no one ever said a word about his beard - me least of all.

- "Not necessarily better wine, though." said Cenmin. I snapped out of my reverie.

- "Finer cloth. Gemstones. Jewelry made of something other than bone." said Branhucar, counting the improvements on his fingertips.

- "Or a necklace of teeth." said Cenmin.

- "Is it true," asked Bacho, "that your granddam - Payl - had a necklace of foreskins?"

- "No, lad." said my father. "That's a myth." He winked at Cenmin. "It was her friend, Meeli DeadEyes - and she collected the whole penis - foreskin and all."

- "That's one thing that hasn't changed." said Cenmin, rolling his cup between his fingers. "Men are just as cruel. Just as ruthless."

- "That may never change." agreed my father.

Both headmen fell silent, revisiting memories that they wouldn't share, tales they would never tell.

- "Never thought I'd see a real live guslar in the Uplands, though." said Cenmin. "That's a definite improvement."

- "Apparently, they're out of fashion in Hvad town." said my father.

- "How the fuck would you know?" laughed Cenmin. "You've never been within a hundred miles o' the place."

- "That tinker told me. The one with the needles, and the brightly coloured thread. Drove a hard bargain, the little bastard - but he told me quite a bit."

"He said that Izumyrian things are all the rage in Hvad town now. Singers, with or without accompaniment. Flutes, a drum, or stringed instruments that are nothing like a gusle."

Branhucar leaned forward. He was just getting warmed up. "Joglari, they call them. Or menestrels. They sing of love more often than valour, or heroism."

- "If that's what the Niskadi value, they can keep it." said Cenmin. "I hope that shit never comes here. Bacho - get us another bottle, will you?"

There were other changes in the Uplands. Some were more subtle. Others were obvious. There was the taking of second names, for one. Down at the eastern end of the lake, under the shadow of Myeva, the headman and his family took the name of a famous ancestor as their own: Nadesti.

They still got nicknames, of course - like Stoneface, for Dengel, the eldest son. But within 20 leagues of the lake, everyone knew the name Nadesti.

***

Meonwe was a wonderful wife. I resisted the temptation for more than a year, but when she became pregnant, I had to ask.

- "Why did you choose me, Meonwe - over Bacho?"

- "Fishing for compliments?" She laughed. "It was easy, Veran. You were kind, and I liked your smile, from the very beginning."

Our first child - a girl - died before her second birthday, of a sudden fever. But the second, our son Iarn, survived. He took after his paternal grandfather.

After that, Meonwe was delivered of a boy - stillborn. We took it all in stride, as best we could. It was just a fact of life - and death. Children died. Far too often ... but that was the way of things.

Three daughters followed: Yevna, dark-haired, like her mother, then Tanguiste, who had my colouring, but Meonwe's fine features, and finally Guenneret - Guenna, as we called her. Our youngest resembled me to an absurd degree.

- "Your eyes, your hair." said Meonwe. "Same rosy cheeks, same mouth, same nose - poor thing. Not much of me, from the look of her."

- "She'll be smart," I promised, "just like her mother."

Bacho and Abrelda had a son, a little more than a year before our Iarn. They named him Kestutis. After that, Abrelda bore two more sons, and a daughter, but only the little girl survived.

I often wished that I could been closer with my wife's sister. Abrelda, though, seemed to shy away from me. One day, I began to understood why. That was the first time that I saw a livid bruise on the side of her neck.

Some time later, she had bruises on her forearm. Then a sprained wrist.

Life is hard, in the Uplands, and everyone pitches in to get the work done. Bumps and bruises, and even more serious injuries are common. But Abrelda always seemed to be trying to conceal hers. That, and her increasing shyness - furtiveness, really - told the tale.

Meonwe cautioned me about saying anything.

- "It's between them, Veran." she said. "Until she asks us for help, no good will come of you putting your foot in it. Abrelda has to make the first move. I'll talk to her."

Whatever the sisters said to each other, none of it reached me. Meonwe would no more have betrayed a confidence than I would have. Nothing changed.

Cenmin passed away when Iarn was nine. Bacho was acclaimed as the new headman at Bentwood, in his father's place. But the loss of his friend weighed heavily on my father.

- "It's the end of an era." he said.

Branhucar began visibly fading. There didn't seem to be anything wrong with him, physically. More and more, though, he began passing his duties to me. I accepted, on the condition that he spend time with his grandchildren.

My father agreed. He began training Iarn in the use of bow, axe, and sword. He took Yevna fishing, and taught her to handle a boat. Tanguiste was too small for such pursuits, but she loved to sit at his feet, and listen to his stories.

- "One more, Granpa." she would plead. "Just one more."

Guenna would simply toddle over, and climb into his lap. Branhucar couldn't resist her.

When my mother died, in the exceptionally harsh winter of the frozen lake, we were all surprised. Everyone had expected Branhucar to go first. But he lingered on until the fall of that year, and saw the leaves turn.

- "You'll be fine." he said. "You're a good man, Veran. Folk trust you. They'll follow your lead."

Branhucar did not die unattended. Our whole family was around him. No one thought the less of me when I cried at his passing.

***

Iarn was 12 years old - almost 13 - when I killed Lanko Nadesti. It was the right thing to do - perhaps the only thing I could do. I tried to consider what my father would have done, in my place. I decided that he would not have let murder go unpunished.

But I was also well aware that I was possibly committing my young family to a feud with the Nadestis. Iarn was too young to help me - but old enough to be a target. My daughters, my wife ... they were all vulnerable, too. Not for the first time, I wished that my brothers had not gone off in search of fame and fortune with the far-off Duke of Hvad.

On top of these worries, I found Povilas growing more and more distant. He was almost surly. Did he blame me for his father's murder? Or was he angry that I hadn't let him fight Lanko Nadesti, man to man?

- "He'll come around." said his friend Guithrit Firebush.

A wise person once said that there were three things that could drive a man from his home: a bad roof, a smoking chimney, or a quarrelsome wife. I had none of those. But we did have mosquitoes.

Asphodels grow best in wet, boggy moorlands - and there was a patch of low ground not far from our settlement. After a mild winter, and a wet spring, we suffered torments when swarms of mosquitoes attacked us.

I was burning hay, to kill them - something in the hay is deadly to them - when Bacho came to visit. He didn't say anything, at first. But then, he hadn't walked all this way to remain silent. I was prepared to wait for him.

- "What are you going to do?" he asked.

- "I'll have to fight Dengel - one on one - I suppose."

Bacho shook his head. "That's stupid." he said. "Stoneface'll kill you. No offence."

- "You're probably right." I was not looking forward to fighting Dengel Nadesti.

- "Even if you won, you'd have two more Nadestis to deal with. Plus their men. They'll never stop, you know."

- "I know that."

We were both silent, for a time. I had been thinking of little else, since I had killed Lanko. There were six men in Asphodels who would stand by me. The Nadesti brothers and their folk numbered 11 fighters. If we met them head on, many of my friends would die.

If I stood alone, I would die. And Iarn, for a certainty. The Nadestis wouldn't let him live, to carry the feud into the next generation.

- "There's another way." said Bacho, as he stroked his beard.

- "I can't think of one." I admitted.

- "What if I stood with you? Me and my people."

It was an incredible offer.

- "It's not your feud.' I said. "Why would your men want to fight for us?"

- "I'd rather have you for a neighbour, than the Nadestis." said Bacho. He was in earnest. "Your father would have done this for mine."

But would I have done the same for Bacho, if the roles were reversed? I didn't know.

"Think of it as me fighting with you, instead of for you." said Bacho. "Look at it from where I sit: if the Nadestis kill you, most of your men will bend the knee to them. They'd be fools not to."

- "I suppose."

- "Then what would stop the Nadestis - with even more men - from turning on me? They could control the whole lake."

Bacho didn't have an over-active imagination. That was precisely what would happen.

- "You have a plan, then." I said.

Bacho nodded, slowly, and stroked his beard again. "Yes, I do."

***

I had Guithrit Firebush and Povilas Harelip watching for the approach of the Nadestis. The lads were in sight of each other, so that they could warn one another if anyone tried to sneak up on them.

- "I want to fight, Father!" said Iarn, for the seventh time. I had threatened to take his sword away, but he persisted.

"Kestutis will be there!" he repeated. Bacho's son - Iarn's cousin - was only a year older, but he was bigger, and stronger.

- "He'll only be watching." I said. "He won't be involved in any fighting."

- "He says he will!"

I put my hand on my son's shoulder. "Iarn, I'm going to tell you the truth. I'm not sure if we're going to win today. If we should lose ..."

"The Nadestis will be coming to kill you, son. And they will probably kill your mother and your sisters."

"If I fall in the fight - if we lose - who can I trust to get our family away?"

- "Me." said Iarn - but he didn't like it.

- "You're right - I think you're too young to fight. But you're old enough to get the family to safety. You take the boat, and get across the lake. Then you go west. You understand?"

Iarn was a good boy. But he wasn't ready to face a grown man in combat. This was the best solution I could think of to dissuade him. Fortunately, it worked. I had feared to simply command his obedience - far better to appeal to his sense of duty.

- "There's the signal!" shouted my man Hedyn. He was a big fellow, but chubby, with two chins and jowls, despite his youth. He was the least experienced of my fighting men.

- "You're with me, Hedyn." I said.

Bacho clamped a meaty hand on my shoulder.

- "Ready?" he asked.

- "I know my part. But -- thank you, Bacho."

- "Thank me afterwards."

We waited at the Bend, the unofficial border between the Asphodels and Nadesti territory. Guithrit and Povilas joined us there.

- "They're comin'." said Guithrit. "Ten of 'em."

We all knew what we had to do. When our foes came marching across the clearing, we stepped out from the trees.

- "That's far enough, Nadesti!" I shouted.

Dengel Stoneface was in the lead. He glared at me. They came on, another thirty paces. Then they halted. I could see him clearly. He was wearing a studded leather jerkin, with chain mail on his shoulders. If looks could kill, I would already have been dead.

- "How do we do this, Hammerfist?" he called. "Single combat? Or a real fight?" He fixed his bug eyes on each of my men in turn.

"There's no need for all of you to die." he told them. "My business is with yon lyin' sack o' shit. You can walk away."

My men were loyal, friends of mine since childhood. But not one of them wanted to stand up to Dengel Stoneface. I couldn't blame them. I didn't want to face him.

- "We gonna fight? Or just talk?" said chubby Hedyn.

That broke the spell. My fellows laughed, and then braced themselves.

The Nadestis charged.

Dengel came straight for me, bellowing "He's mine! Veran is mine!"

That made things easier for me. I didn't have to worry about being stabbed in the back, or the side, by one of his brothers. It did leave my six men facing nine foes ... but not for long.

Bacho and the Bentwood men came out of the trees to the south, and raced to our aid.

Dengel nearly spitted me on the end of his massive boar-spear. I tried to block it with my sword - I might as well have tried to stop an onrushing bear with my bare hand. Only by leaping to the side did I avoid being killed outright.

Stoneface ran straight into me, and shoulder-slammed me to the ground. He pulled back that ridiculous weapon, preparing to plunge it into my chest - but Hedyn stuck his spear into the Nadesti's ribs.

Dengel looked down, as if amazed at the effrontery of the chubby fellow who had dared to stab him with a spear. Then he snarled, and backhanded Hedyn across the face with his hand.

That gave me time, though, to get my feet under me. I didn't hesitate.

I rammed the point of my sword just under Dengel's leather jerkin. The point pierced his lower belly, or his groin - I don't know. But his eyes rolled back in his head, and he dropped his heavy spear.

He clutched at my shoulders with empty hands, but there was no power left in his grasp. Dengel whispered something - I didn't hear it. He fell to his knees, and toppled over.

The fight wasn't over. Dengel's' brothers would not run, though four of their followers did. One of my fellows, Putvael, took a sword in the guts. Vidlo got a bad cut on the arm.

But Bacho and his men decided the day.

All three Nadesti brothers died there, along with two of their men. Two of their followers were captured, and three escaped. But the power of the Nadestis was broken. My family was safe.

- "You did it." I said, to Bacho. "You were right."

- "I'm not hardly finished." he said.

That was when somebody struck me in the back of the head, with a club, or some other blunt weapon. That was all I remembered of the battle at the Bend.

***

I woke to find myself sitting down, in the dirt, my hands tied with a studded leather strap - a belt of some kind. There was a three-foot tall post driven into the ground, and I was tied to that. My entire body ached. I didn't realize it at first, but I had been kicked - repeatedly.

There was a fisherman's hut forty or fifty yards away, and I could see the lake beyond that. We were perhaps a mile from the Bend - where Dengel Nadesti had almost killed me. But we had won - hadn't we?

My head was swimming. I could see three men piling firewood not twenty feet away. One of them was Povilas, the son of Eguen.

- "Povilas." I croaked - my throat was dry. "What's going on?"

Young Harelip stepped over towards me. He grinned, and then spat full in my face.

- "You fuckin' let my Da' die." he said.

A second figure came to stand before me. It was Guithrit Firebush.

He kicked me in the stomach - hard.

- "Easy." said a third man. It was Conwoion, one of Bacho's men. Conwoion was a big brute, with long hair, but a neatly trimmed beard.

"Don't want to spoil 'im - yet." he said.

- "Yer friends is all dead." sneered Povilas. "'Cept for Chubby. He ran away."

- "Shut up, Harelip." said Conwoion. "You talk too much."

- "What's going on?" I said. I wanted to shout it, but I could barely get sounds to come out of my mouth.

- "You'll find out soon enough, Hammerfist." said big Conwoion. He grinned. "Then you'll wish you hadn't."

I understood a little of the what, but not the why. Povilas and Guithrit had betrayed me. I had broken bread with them, showed them favour ... Firebush's most prized possession was a silver bracelet I had given him. He had always said that he would present it to his future wife.

Povilas apparently believed that his father's death was my fault. Yet I had started a blood-feud when I avenged Eguen. I couldn't figure out how two trusted companions could turn on me like this.

Worst of all, though, was Conwoion. If he dared to do this, then his master was somehow involved.

I had a terrible time of it, prey to my worst fears.

Then I heard a familiar voice.

- "He's awake? Good." said Bacho.

He arrived with his son, Kestutis - and with my family. Meonwe's hands were bound, and my children were likewise tied up. My wife's cheeks were streaked with tears. Iarn was grinding his teeth in frustration. He had a big bruise on the side of his face.

Dark-haired Yevna, now 10 years old, was glaring at her uncle Bacho. Tanguiste, my 8 year-old, looked about her in dismay. And little Guenna, barely 6, was studying my face. She was crying.

- "Isn't this nice?" said Bacho. "The whole family, all gathered together."

- "What are you doing?" I said. "What's going on?"

Bacho nodded to his son. Kestutis strode over, and kicked me in the stomach. I couldn't move, or dodge. He knocked the breath out of me - I gasped in pain, sucking air.

- "That's what will happen, every time you open your mouth." said Bacho.

We had been friends for almost 15 years - but I barely recognized him. His bulk, his size, and the full beard, I knew them well. But the gleam in his eye was entirely foreign to me.

- "Why?" I gasped.

Kestutis stepped forward, prepared to kick me again, but his father waved him off.

- "I'll allow the question." said Bacho. "I was going to tell you anyway."

He knelt down before me, and looked into my eyes. Then he raised his hand - and stroked his beard.

- "See this, Hammerfist?" he asked. "It's a reminder. Every day. Many times a day. Of how you wrecked my face, and shamed me forever."

"That's why we're here, you see. To erase that story. To create a new legend."

I didn't understand everything that he said. But Bacho had my three daughters tied up, and placed behind me - out of the way, I suppose. Conwoion took charge of Iarn, and trussed him up even more tightly.

- "Bring that stump." said Bacho.

Povilas picked up a thick, heavy log, perhaps two feet high, and a foot and a half in diameter. He placed it next to me, with Guithrit's help. At Bacho's direction, they cut the bonds around my wrists. Then they took hold of my right hand, and put it on top of the stump.

I resisted - but Conwoion kicked me again, and the two strong young men who had once been my friends were able to hold my arm in place.

Bacho swung an axe - sideways - and crushed my fingers with the flat of the blade.

Meonwe screamed at the same time as I did. I couldn't hear her, as I was shrieking in pain, but I saw her face. Conwoion laughed in my ear as he pulled my hands behind my back, and re-tied my wrists.

Meonwe might have been protesting, saying something to Bacho. He seized her by the throat, and pointed at our daughters - I don't know what he said, but she subsided.

Then Bacho threw Meonwe on the ground. Meonwe fought back, kicking and trying to squirm out of his grasp.

Bacho punched her in the stomach.