Chapter 7
1105 Words
7
I’ll never know how they managed to find enough hay to coat the mud in the square. Not that the square was large, or even properly a square.
On the northern end of the village, someone, a very long time ago, had surrounded a square of land with heavy stones. No one had moved the stones or stolen them to build for fear of angering some unknown spirit. So, the rocks as big as my torso lay undisturbed, and the people of Harane gathered within them whenever the need arose.
Most often, the need came from the soldiers issuing Guild decrees or doling out punishment. But we used the square for things like weddings and summer celebrations as well. I don’t know if people thought there was some good to be gained from gathering within the stones, or if it was pure stubbornness in not letting the Guilds steal the square and make it an awful place where none of the villagers dared tread.
Either way ended with Henry and Malda standing side by side in front of a horde of people.
Tomin had become the eldest in the village after a lung infection took a few of the older folks during the winter, so it was his place to stand with Henry and Malda to perform the wedding.
“And in the bonds of marriage, do you swear to protect your other half?” Tomin said. “Through winter and drought? Through flood and famine?”
“I do,” Henry and Malda said together.
Henry’s face was pale, whether from fright of being married or exhaustion from walking back from Nantic, I couldn’t tell.
Tomin reached into his pocket and pulled out a filthy rag. “Hands please.”
Malda and Henry both held up their right palms.
Tomin unfolded the rag and patted the clump of dirt within it flat. “Hard to find anything dry.”
The villagers chuckled, and Tomin gave a gap-toothed grin.
“From the dirt we all have come.” Tomin sprinkled dirt onto Malda’s palm. “And to the dirt we all must go.” He sprinkled dirt onto Henry’s palm. “May your journey in between be sweeter for standing by each other’s side.”
Together, Henry and Malda tipped their hands, letting the dirt tumble onto the muddy hay at their feet.
“Your lives are one,” Tomin said. “Live them well!”
The crowd cheered.
Malda threw her arms around Henry’s neck and kissed him.
The children winced and whined―the rest of us clapped and hollered.
Before Malda had stopped kissing Henry, someone began playing a fiddle. A drum joined a moment later, and Henry took Malda’s hands, dragging her to the center of the square to dance.
I laughed at the look of pure horror on Malda’s face. An arm snaked around my waist.
“Are you going to look as petrified when I make you dance?” Cal whispered in my ear.
“I don’t think you could make me do anything.” I twisted out of his grip and darted toward the center of the square where everyone had picked up on the dance.
Cal raced to my side, taking me in his arms before anyone else could have the chance. We spun and bounced in time with the music as the hay beneath our feet was eaten entirely by the mud.
Cal lifted me and twirled me under his arm until my heart beat so fast I thought it might race out of my chest. His laughter rang in my ears. The bright joy that lit his eyes sent my soul soaring up high above the clouds.
Then Henry’s father wheeled out a barrel of frie. The crowd shifted toward the drink.
And the whipping post was there, waiting at the back of the celebration.
There was no blood on the ground, the rain had washed it all away, but dark stains mottled the post. The wood had been worn down in places where the soldiers’ victims had strained against their bonds.
My feet lost the feel of the dance, and I swayed, staring at the b****y monument to all the damage the Guilds had done.
“Ena?” Cal took my waist in his hands. “Are you all right?”
“Tired.” I nodded. “I’m just tired.”
“Come on.” He led me to the side of the square where Henry’s father doled out frie in borrowed cups. I stood on the edge of the crowd while Cal dove between people to snatch each of us a drink. He emerged a moment later, his hair rumpled, but clasping a cup in each hand. “Here.”
I took the cup and sipped the frie. The drink burned a path down my throat, past my lungs, and into my stomach, but didn’t make me feel any better.
Cal laced his fingers through mine and led me to the south side of the square. We sat on one of the largest of the boundary stones, watching the dancers spin round and round.
“It’s a nice wedding,” Cal said. “And Henry’s family seems happy to be getting Malda.”
“They do.” I took another sip of frie, trying to burn away the taste of sick in my mouth.
“Malda grew up on a farm, so she won’t have trouble getting used to the labor Henry’s land will require.”
“She’s a strong girl,” I said. “They’ll do well together.”
“We’d do well together.” Cal leaned in close. “Better than them. I could provide for you better than Henry ever―”
“I have my own work.” I tightened my grip on my cup.
“And you could work with Lily if you wanted,” Cal said. “But you wouldn’t have to. I’m going to inherit the tavern. It’s a good income, Ena.”
“Don’t, Cal. Please don’t.”
“I know we’re young.” Cal knelt in the mud in front of me, making it impossible for me to look away from his beautiful eyes. “And I’m not saying we should get married soon. We could wait until next summer, give Lily some time to get used to the idea of you moving to the tavern.”
“I couldn’t.” The truth of the words tore at my chest. “I can’t.”
“She’ll make do on her own.”
“I can’t live in the tavern. I can’t be married to a man who makes his coin from soldiers.”
“Ena―”
“The soldiers coming is good for your family, but to me it only means death. I couldn’t smile at them and serve them. They are monsters. Your family makes their living feeding the monsters who s*******r us.”
The glimmer of light in Cal’s eyes faded. I could still see the post over his shoulder, coming in and out of view as the people danced where they had stood to watch Aaron murdered only a few days before.
“You are everything bright and wonderful, Cal. But I could never be your wife.”
I stood up, set my cup down on the rock, and walked out of the square. I didn’t look back. Cal didn’t follow.
- Writer
