by Ross Hightower
in Issue 112, May 2021
Lachlan finally caught up to his bedraggled warriors as they trudged along a muddy track below the rocky outcrop his clan called Loric’s Bluff. As he gazed down at them, the misty rain which relented for the length of the brief battle, resumed, adding to their misery. Daga’s tears, but are they tears of despair or tears of joy? What has Daga in mind for my clan? Clan Gabran had run into hard times. As the clan’s chief, he knew better than most how close to the brink they were. Today’s disastrous skirmish against clan Angus was only the latest in a long string of humiliations. Clan Angus scattered his warriors as dead leaves before a gale. At least this time, the battle ended so quickly, they hadn’t lost anyone. Setting his jaw, he gripped the haft of his axe tighter, and headed down to join the sad procession.
He met them at the base of the bluff, emerging from the mists that gathered in the low ground like shambling apparitions of his once proud clan. Casting about for encouraging words, he came up empty. He expected anger, rage even, at the gods, their rivals, the fates, or even him, but instead he saw on their faces the slack expressions of the defeated. Even the birds had fallen into a sullen silence. With nothing to offer, he fell into step near the back of the group, plodding along through the sticky mud.
For a time, the only sound was the squelch of their footsteps, but the murmur of hushed conversation grew until it caught his attention. He wasn’t surprised to find it was Daegon, his biggest rival in the clan. The man had schemed for the chief’s downfall ever since the clan chose Lachlan over him. That he would take the opportunity of their defeat to foment rebellion wasn’t surprising. What was surprising was the number of people gathered around him. With dismay, he noticed Oleg and Lothan, two of his closest supporters, among them. Lachlan trudged along, staring at the group, considering what it portended.
“If we lose another one like that…we won’t have to worry so much about Gabran’s future.” Lachlan startled and glanced toward the voice. It was his friend Odell, the livid red scar that ran from his forehead to his jaw, a reminder of their waning fortunes.
“Aye. Course, the other clans might leave us alone now.” He returned his gaze to the group walking with Daegon. “We’ve little left they would want.”
Odell snorted. “I suppose there is that.”
They walked in silence for a while until his friend cleared his throat. The chief glanced at him and said, “You got something to say, just say it.”
Odell hesitated before saying, “I supported you when we made you chief. Put your name up, matter of fact.”
“But…”
“You remember, nearly everybody wanted you. And it was good for a long time, really good. The clan was prosperous, people felt safe and secure.”
Lachlan waited, knowing what was coming.
“But things have changed. There’s others…” He nodded toward the group at the front of the line, who were whispering among themselves now and glancing Lachlan’s way. “…that are thinking the time for a change is past due.”
Lachlan took his friend by the arm and pulled him to a stop, turning him so he could see his face. “What do you think?”
Odell held his eye, reluctance written across his face. “It’s this thing with your daughter, Lach.” The corner of his mouth quirked up. “She was the sweetest, smartest thing. A handful for sure, but you could never stay mad.” His expression darkened and his gaze drifted away from Lachlan’s face. “When she changed…those others started whispering. But it was just whispers. Now she’s getting worse and things being so bad…they don’t just whisper anymore.”
The big chief tightened his grip on the handle of his axe, adjusting the tilt of his head until his friend had to meet his eyes. “What do they say?”
Odell winced. “It’s gettin to you too, Lach. You don’t sleep. I can see it in your face.” A pleading note seeped into his voice. “You’re not making the best choices. I think you got her on your mind, and you can’t think clear.”
“What do they say?”
The man who had been his friend since they were lads, shook his head, lifting his hands in a placating gesture. “Now, keep in mind, this is what they say.” After glancing around to ensure he wouldn’t be overheard, he leaned in. “They say she’s a witch, that Daga has cursed the clan for allowing her to live.” He drew a breath and sighed a sour cloud into Lachlan’s face. “And, they say she should be burned.”
Lachlan turned away and started walking, teeth clenched, the whoosh of blood in his ears drowning out all sounds except Odell’s last shouted words.
“They say this bad run we had is not just luck.”
He already knew what they were saying. It was his job to know what went on in the clan. He heard the whispers as soon as they started, but he and his wife hoped if they kept their daughter, Abria, hidden away, people would forget. Maybe whatever she had would go away when she got older. But it didn’t. It just got worse, and Odell was right, the whisperers were no longer so shy.
Their daughter was a lively child when she was young; smart, outgoing, curious, one might even say mischievous. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, remembering her as a five-year-old, slipping a fish down the back of Odell’s tunic. His smile faded at the memory of the day she came home, distraught, claiming her friends called her names and chased her away. He didn’t believe it at first. Abria was well liked by the other children. When he pulled her into his lap, trying to understand her through her tears, he felt it for the first time; a twisting, squirming inside his head. It was frightening and painful. He’d stood abruptly, dropping his daughter to the ground. Her shocked expression would shame him for the rest of his life. It was a full day before he and Illiana, his wife, admitted the truth. They both felt it, the writhing, agonizing sensation, and Abria was the cause. Back then, you had to be right next to her to feel it. They hoped they could keep it quiet by teaching her to keep apart from people. She didn’t understand, what child could, and people soon noticed. And it got worse as she got older.
Nothing they tried shed light on her condition. Abria could offer no explanation. Whatever curse she bore, it never seemed to affect her, only the people nearby. Although it had grown steadily worse, she remained the buoyant spirit they remembered as a child…until recently. In the past month, he and his wife had noticed an ominous change in their daughter. On more than one occasion, they found her staring into the distance, brow furrowed, her lips moving as if she were conversing silently with someone unseen. She deflected their questions, claiming she was merely remembering the tales her father told her as a child. It was troubling. They thought of leaving the clan many times, but where would they go? No other clan would welcome them, and no matter where they went, Abria wouldn’t be safe. So they stayed. At least, as chief, Lachlan could offer her some protection.
Odell was right about another thing as well. He hadn’t slept a full night in his own house in months, and it was affecting him. Fatigue and distraction led to poor decisions. Other clans, sensing weakness, took advantage. The clans of Vollen were a warlike people, taking what they wanted from the weak and fighting for what was theirs against the strong. Bad decisions led to losses, which led to fewer options, and it snowballed. Lachlan was shocked at the speed of their downfall. Their neighbors took whatever they wanted from clan Gabran, until they had little left to take. The battle today lost them the last patch of flat land in their mountainous territory, leaving them nowhere to plant their gardens in the spring.
With these gloomy thoughts on his mind, they emerged from the forest to find those they left behind waiting, anxious to know the outcome. The bedraggled appearance of their returning warriors sent many of them scurrying back to their homes, unwilling to face their clan’s shame. Lachlan steeled himself and strode through the village, holding his head high and forcing a confident smile onto his face. He was climbing the hill to the chief’s lodge, perhaps for the last time, when a hand landed on his shoulder. Turning, he found Odell, the grim expression on his face pulling at the scar.
Odell glanced back at a group gathered at the base of the hill and said, “Maybe if you…did something about her.”
Lachlan tensed. Even my best friend? “She’s my daughter. You’re asking of me something I can’t do.”
His friend gave him a sad smile. “Aye, you’re that kind of man. It’s why you were the right man when things was good. You care more than most for others.” He withdrew his hand, his lips drawing into a tight line. “But times aren’t good anymore, not by a long shot.”
Lachlan stared at him.
When he didn’t speak, Odell looked down at his feet and said, “It was different when things was good. You keep her inside, people looked the other way.” His gaze drifted across the crumbling village. ”When things start to go bad, people search for a reason.” He met his chief’s eyes. “Just…think about it.” Glancing back at Daegan who was at the center of a group of people watching the exchange, he said, “Just don’t think too long.” He turned and walked away.
Lachlan watched him go, then glared at his rival, who held his gaze. A tiny wiggle in his mind distracted him. Oh no! He whirled around and scanned the chief’s lodge. Abria was still inside and he could feel it. It was getting worse. He burst through the door into the common room, startling Illiana. Her haggard face in the light coming through the door told the story.
“She’s worse,” he said.
Illiana nodded. “What are we going to do? We can’t go on much longer this way. None of us can.”
Lachlan walked past her, dropping his axe on the table as he passed and approached his daughter’s room. He stopped outside the door, gathering himself and clenching his teeth against the twisting sensation in his mind. When he was ready, he knocked. “Abria, can I come in?”
A small voice answered, “Yes, Papa.”
He eased the door open and peered into the dim room. Their daughter was sitting on her bed, hands clasped in her lap. Her smile faltered when she saw the blood matting his hair. “Are you hurt, Papa?”
Lachlan smiled and stepped into the room. “They ain’t made a warrior can hurt your papa…” His voice trailed off and Abria’s eyes dropped to gaze at her hands. Lachlan’s heart broke. His daughter, so full of life, became this shy, fearful person. Yet, she remained a gentle soul, despite so much sadness in her life. “How are you, dumpling?”
She looked up. “I’m fine, Papa. Did you win?”
“Well, see, sometimes it’s a bit hard to tell. The battle ebbs and flows such…” He trailed off and gazed into the corner of the room.
When she stood and took a step toward him, he flinched involuntarily, causing her to stop and take a step back. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
“That’s okay, dumpling. I’m going to say hello to your mama.” He turned to leave, but paused, looking back, and said, “Maybe I can tell ya a tale later.”
She smiled, but her voice was low and lifeless when she said, “I would like that, Papa.”
He hesitated, wanting to say more but not sure what. Instead, he just nodded, pulled the door closed and backed away, ashamed at how relieved he was to put distance between himself and his daughter. When he turned, he found his wife’s red-rimmed eyes on him.
“What are we going to do?”
The tone of her voice demanded an answer, but Lachlan had none. He dropped onto the bench beside her and held his face in his hands. *Was Odell right? Was it possible that it would be best for everyone, even Abria, to end her life?* No. There had to be another way.
“The shepherd’s hut,” his wife said.
It took a moment for it to sink in, but when it did, he looked at her.
“The shepherd’s hut,” she repeated. “Up the high meadows. No one’s there half the year, and no one’s there now. If we take her, it’ll give us time. Maybe…maybe she’ll be better. And if not, we’ll build her another place up there so she can be away from everyone, and she’ll be safe.”
Lachlan stared at her. “We can visit her.” Then he shook his head. “No. It won’t work. No one’s in the shepherd’s hut now because they wouldn’t survive the winter in that shack.”
She clenched her fists on the table. “We’ll make it work. We got…a month before the first snows.”
Lachlan stared into the fire in the hearth. “A month…maybe.” He nodded. “Yeah, it’s worth a try.” He took her hand, easing her fist open and interlacing their fingers. “We’ll go first thing tomorrow.”
She shook her head, pulled her hand free and stood. “Now. We’ll go now.”
He held his hand out to her. “Illiana, it’s late. We’ll never make it today.”
“I don’t care. We can’t spend another night here.”
“You…you can go stay at Brana’s. Get a good night’s sleep. She’d be happy to have you.”
“No, Lach, you ain’t heard people talking while you were away. It’s Daegon’s wife at the center of it, and it sounds like they got plans.” She put a firm conviction in her voice when she said, “I don’t think they’ll wait until tomorrow. We have to get her out of here tonight.”
Lachlan stared at her, then looked at the door, thinking of Daegan whispering in the ears of Oleg and Lothan. Who was left to stop them if he tried something? “Aye, you’re right, let’s go.” He stood. “I’ll get Abria ready. You organize some provisions. We’ll take her up, get her safe and settled, then we’ll arrange for something long term.”
When he entered his daughter’s room, he found her staring into the shadows, muttering. He pulled up and stared. Her eyes drifted toward him, staring vacantly, as if she didn’t see him. Lachlan half turned, intent on calling his wife, when Abria’s eyes focused on him.
“Papa,” she said dreamily.
Lachlan opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing, but changed his mind. There would be time for such questions later. Instead, he said, “Abria, we’re leaving.”
Her reaction nearly broke his heart. She jumped up, suddenly alert, an eager smile lighting up her face.
“Where are we going, Papa?”
“Up to the shepherd’s hut in the high meadow. You remember it? Took you there when you was little.”
“Yes, I remember,” she said, an echo of her younger self animating her voice, before her voice grew somber. “We’re going there so I don’t hurt anyone, aren’t we, Papa.”
He started to speak, a lie ready on his tongue, but he couldn’t lie to her. She deserved the truth. “Aye. There are people who wish you harm. Your mama and I, we think it’s best we get you away.”
“I’m sorry.” The tears in her eyes reflected the soft glow of the oil lamp.
Heat rushed up the back of Lachlan’s neck. “Don’t you be sorry, dumpling. You got no reason to be sorry. You did nothing to deserve what the gods done to you. You hold your chin up and be proud. There’s few as had the struggles you have, and none that would be such a sweet young woman after that.”
She smiled, a tear leaving a shimmery trail on her cheek. “Thank you, Papa.”
“We’re walking out of here with our heads high. Don’t worry about what you hear people say.” Lachlan waved his hand around the room. “Now, wrap some clothes in your quilt, something warm. We won’t be back soon. Come out when you’re ready.”
She rushed to do as he said.
He found his wife finishing her preparations, already wearing her mukluks and a heavy cloak. Nodding to her unspoken question, he began stripping off his leather armor. Now it was decided, an urgency to get started swept his aches and fatigue into the background. He dressed for cold weather and was picking up his axe when Abria’s door opened. He and Illiana turned to watch her peering into the common room, before stepping carefully across the threshold. She stood, looking from her father to her mother, a bundle wrapped in the quilt she sewed herself over her shoulder. “I’m ready.”
Lachlan looked at his wife. “You ready?” When she nodded, he added to both of them, “There’s likely to be a crowd. Just ignore them and keep walking. If anyone gets in the way…well, just keep going.” He turned without waiting for an answer, pulled the door open and stepped onto the threshold.
The group at the base of the hill was larger, divided into several smaller groups engaged in heated discussions. Angry voices fueled a tense atmosphere. When someone noticed him, they pointed and shouted, bringing the conversations to a halt. Glancing back, Lachlan stepped out into the drizzly rain and motioned to Illiana and Abria to come out. His wife pulled the door shut, and Daegan’s unmistakable nasally voice punctured the silence, “Where you going, Lachlan?”
The clan chief shifted over in front of his wife and daughter, holding his axe low across his body. With his daughter standing just behind him, he had to fight to keep the pain from showing on his face. “We’re taking Abria up to the shepherd’s hut.” He swept his gaze over the crowd before settling on his rival. “She’ll be safe there.”
“I’m afraid it’s too late for that,” Daegan drawled.
Lachlan was alarmed to see more than a few people nodding.
“Daga has made his will known.” Daegan gestured around to the dilapidated village, his voice rising as he said, “The troubles we’ve had is Daga’s punishment for harboring a witch.” He pointed theatrically up the hill. “Something should have been done about her a long time ago. If we had—”
Lachlan stepped forward and overrode him. “So, god confides in Daegan now, does he?”
His rival closed his mouth and sighed. “No one is sorrier about this than me, Lachlan.” Flicking his hand toward the chief’s lodge, he said, “Go get her. Let’s get this over with.” Some, maybe most, of the people in the crowd started climbing the hill, drawing weapons. Lachlan lifted his axe.*Can I kill my own people?*
“Come on, Abria. Let’s get inside,” Illiana whispered urgently behind him.
A stone thrown from the back of the crowd dropped out of the murky sky. Lachlan heard a soft whump and a sharp exclamation from his daughter. Lifting his axe to ward off more stones, he was startled by Abria’s astonished laughter. Whirling around, he found his daughter hugging herself, bent slightly forward, staring into the distance, a wide smile on her face.
“Abria?”
Her eyes focused on her father. “I…I think I understand.”
Lachlan could only shake his head at Illiana’s pleading expression. He took a step toward his daughter, his axe hanging limply from his right hand, his left reaching out to her. “What…”
Two more stones flew, one of them striking his wife’s hip, causing her to cry out and stumble against the wall of the lodge.
Abria craned her neck around toward her mother. When she looked back at the approaching mob, Lachlan shrank back. Violence was a way of life for the people of Vollen. They fought the other clans for the limited resources their rugged land provided and fought among themselves for dominance, to settle disputes or, sometimes, out of pure spite. Reading the signs of violent intent was as critical for the Vollen as hunting or making fire. Seeing those signs on the face of his sweet, shy daughter was the most frightening thing Lachlan had seen in his life.
At a lost for how to respond, he watched as a serene smile smoothed his daughter’s face. She relaxed, straightening and letting her head fall back. Her arms swept up and out to her sides, and the air, still and heavy with moisture, stirred, lifting and tossing her raven hair. Lachlan took a step back and found himself among the villagers who had stopped and were staring uncertainly at Abria. The gusty breeze strengthened, and Lachlan turned in place, staring in wonder at the low clouds which had begun to drift slowly in a circle. When he looked back at his daughter, she was gazing dreamily at him. In a quiet voice, she said, “Get down, Papa.”
Lachlan dropped.
Abria screamed, and the world came apart. The blustery breeze exploded into a roaring gale that lifted him and rolled him helplessly across the muddy ground until he came to a stop against the trunk of an old oak. Screams, crashes and splintering wood were quickly drowned out by the roar. He dug his fingers into the rough bark of the tree and squinted up at Abria through flying debris. She stood at the center of the storm, motionless, arms outstretched, eyes closed, an ecstatic smile illuminating her face. Behind her, the wind peeled the cedar shingles from the roof of the lodge and whipped them away. Will anything be left of my clan?*
And then it stopped.
There was a moment of deafening silence, followed by the crash of debris, swept up by the storm, coming to earth. Into this cacophony, the wails and moans of the survivors began. Abria! Lachlan levered himself up on the tree trunk and stood on shaky legs. His daughter huddled on the ground, her small body shuddering with soft sobs. Illiana, who had sheltered from the storm at Abria’s feet, got to her first, wrapping their daughter in her arms and speaking quietly.
Lachlan’s gaze swept the remains of his village. None of the buildings escaped undamaged, and a few were simply gone. The people who were climbing the hill lay scattered, tossed about like a handful of pebbles, some of them unmoving. Those who managed to find shelter were emerging warily, staring around with vacant, shocked expressions.
Lachlan turned back to his family, took a step toward them, then pulled up. What am I feeling? Staring at his wife gently rocking his daughter, it came to him. It wasn’t something he was feeling, it was something he wasn’t feeling. He shook his head and put his fingertips to his temples. The squirmy sensation in his head, Abria’s curse, was gone, despite standing beside her. Kneeling, he lifted his daughter’s chin, searching her pale blue eyes. “What happened dumpling?” he asked gently.
Tears streamed down her cheeks. “I think I understand, now.” She looked past her father and her lip quivered. “I’m sorry, Papa.”
Ignoring the first question that popped into his mind, Lachlan shook his head and smiled reassuringly. “You don’t be sorry, dumpling. You done what you had to do to protect yours.” His heart fluttered at her small smile, and he helped Illiana pull her to her feet. “Go inside. We’ll talk soon.”
Lachlan waited until the door closed, and they were safely inside, before turning to gaze at the devastation. His shoulders sagged. He couldn’t guess what it would take to rebuild, but he was sure it was more than his demoralized clan could muster.
People were beginning to recover. Some sifted through the debris while others tended to the injured. More than a few peered fearfully up at him. His people, the people he grew up with and led through good and bad times, were afraid of him? No, not him. Abria. They were afraid of Abria. He glanced back over his shoulder, the instincts that made him clan chief whispering to him. The ephemeral bits of an unformed idea hovered tantalizingly out of reach. It would come together if he gave it time, but time was precious. His clan would begin to recover soon, and they would be looking for someone to blame.
Spotting Daegan, Lachlan strode down the hill and planted himself in front of his rival. He fixed Daegon with a stare, assembling the threads of his thoughts and allowing everyone to notice him. When they did, he recognized the signs of impending violence in the many faces turned his way. Still not sure what he would say, but out of time, he raised his arms out to his side and let his voice ring out. “The will of Daga!” Turning slowly, he spoke with a passion and conviction he hadn’t felt for a long time. “Aye, it is the will of Daga, but his will is not what this grundunk told you.”
Daegan, getting his wits about him, stepped in front of Lachlan, pointed at the chief’s lodge and shouted, “You saw it! The girl’s a witch. No one is safe with her alive.”
And with those words, the scattered bits of his thoughts came together. Lachlan grabbed the neck of Daegon’s tunic, yanked and dropped him into the mud. Standing over him, gazing at the gathering crowd he said, “Yes, you saw what happened, but you don’t understand. You think, because of the poison this man has poured into your ears, that Daga has cursed us. Cursed us because we have allowed a witch, my daughter, to live among us.” There were nods and gathering scowls. “Aye, things have been tough. The other clans — Angus, Cockburn, Baird — all of them, they take what they want from us and leave us with dregs.” He spied Odell, his alarmed expression warning Lachlan to silence, but ignored him. “Daga had to be sure we were worthy, so he tested us. Tested our resolve, tested our fortitude and now…” He lifted his arms, palms up, gesturing around the devastated village. “…he has found us worthy and given us his blessing.”
Confusion and anger greeted his pronouncement. He likely had only moments before things turned ugly. “Daga has not cursed Abria, Daga has blessed her.” There were angry murmurs and shuffling now. “Daga knew we would need to see for ourselves to understand.” He paused and scanned the crowd, finding Odell and giving him a significant look. Opening his arms, he smirked and said, “Ask yourself…whose warriors can stand up to clan Gabran now?”
Silence. Most of the crowd stared back at him blankly, but there were a few…enough…who nodded, a dawning comprehension transforming their expressions. A buzz started, small at first, but as the few who understood, explained to their neighbors, it spread like a fire out of control.
Odell grinned at Lachlan, thrust his fist into the air and shouted, “Aye! Who can stand up to clan Gabran now?”
An energy, not seen in the village for a long time, swept away the shock and disorientation. Lachlan lifted his arms and yelled, “Daga has granted my daughter a great gift, and we will use Abria’s gift to take back what was ours…” He spun slowly in place again, making sure he had everyone’s ear before shouting, “…and take what we want!”
Clan Gabran roared their approval. Lachlan let them celebrate and peered down at Daegan. “I think it is the will of Daga you move on. I expect you gone on the morrow.”
Daegan scrambled backwards, stumbled to his feet and disappeared through the celebrating crowd.
“Are we okay?”
Lachlan turned to find Odell, his expression unreadable.
“Aye, Odell, we’re okay. You were my only friend when times were bad. I expect you to be first among many from now on, ‘cause times are about to get good.”
The warriors of clan Angus emerged from the forest on the far side of the meadow, the sun glinting off their armor. They were joking and laughing, not worried about the coming battle. Lachlan chuckled. They had a right to be smug. They carried the day easily the last four times they met clan Gabran in battle, and they brought at least three times as many warriors to the field today. He shared a smile with Odell and then edged along their thin line until he was standing beside Abria, no hint of the twisting sensation in his mind. It surprised him to find her calm, no sign of nerves on her serene face. The corners of her mouth lifted when she saw him approaching.
“Hello, Papa.”
“Hello, dumpling,” Lachlan said, returning her smile. “Are you ready?”
“Aye, Papa, I am.”
Lachlan squinted across the meadow. The Angus warriors were ambling toward them, drawing their weapons. They were no longer laughing, but neither did they look worried. In moments, they would charge across the field, confident in their overwhelming numbers. He dipped his head to Abria and said, “Now, dumpling.”
She nodded, closed her eyes, and lifted her arms. In a moment, a freshening breeze lifted her hair.
“Everyone, down!” Lachlan shouted down the line.
The Gabran warriors dropped to the ground. Risking a glance at the oncoming warriors, he found them glancing uncertainly at one another. Lachlan smiled at what they must be thinking. He covered his head as the wind roared across the meadow, the roar not quite drowning out the screams of their opponents.
When it was over, he stood and yelled, “At em, clan Gabran!” His warriors surged across the field, falling on the dazed Angus warriors, a thirst for vengeance fueling their fury. Lachlan watched them go, then turned to Abria.
She returned his smile. “Like that, Papa?”
He nodded. “Aye, that’ll do.” He lifted his axe and sprinted after his warriors, giving voice to his joy.
©May 2021, Ross Hightower
Ross Hightower’s other published work can be found in Fiction on the Web. This is his first appearance in Swords & Sorcery.