Capable

“What know you of battle, foreigner?” the nobleman spat. He drew the blade on his belt.

“I know that for all you Romans have conquered nations and peoples, I’m still standing,” Flavia said.

The nobleman turned to Master Angelus. “You would let her speak this way? A woman?”

“If I’m just a woman, why did you draw your knife?” Flavia was taunting him.

Dael was torn between kneeling to clean up the spilled wine and moving to stand beside Flavia.

“To gut you like the foreign mongrel you are,” the man spat.

Flavia beckoned and said, “If you are capable.”

Standing Ground

The nobleman raised his eyebrows. “You speak brashly, for a girl. What would you know of war?”

A smile played at the corner of Flavia’s lips; it wasn’t a nice smile. “I know if war were to strike this house, I’d be able to run.”

Anger and embarrassment crossed the nobleman’s face. “A true warrior stands his ground!”

“He’s not a warrior if he’s standing because he has not strength to run.”

Master Angelus winced. “Cousin –”

The nobleman dropped his goblet. It clattered on the marble stair. Wine splashed everywhere. The laughter on the other side of the curtain died.

Spoils of War

“Surely,” the man said, leaning in, and Dael couldn’t help but turn his face away, “you are willing to share.”

The silence that fell was immediately shattered by a, “No.”

Dael lifted his head so fast he almost collided with the nobleman, but he, too, was looking at the source of the flat denial.

Flavia’s hands were curled into fists, and Dael recognized the silent slide of her feet as she shifted stances. She was ready for a fight. But she had no sword.

“What my cousin means –” Master Angelus began.

“Is the spoils of war are for warriors alone.”

Fortunate, Unfortunate

Master Angelus, who had risen from his place at the table, came to stand behind the nobleman, shielding the scene from the rest of the nobles who were craning their necks like curious chickens.

Dael felt himself trembling with the effort of forcing himself not to wrench away from the foul man.

“We were fortunate to obtain him at a reasonable price,” Master Angelus said. “Mostly because I caught this one myself.”

“And brought him back as a gift for your cousin? Such a generous man you are.” The nobleman’s smile changed, and Dael felt horror crawl up his spine.

Specimens

The noble who stood at the edge of the curtain, wine goblet in hand, was fat and positively ancient. Dael had heard some of the other servants joke that he was still alive only by virtue of the fact that he’d pickled himself with all the wine he drank.

Wine was rancid on his breath when he loomed over Dael, placed a finger under his chin, tilted his face up.

“It’s understandable, and frankly, enviable,” the man said.

Dael swallowed the bile that rose in his throat.

“You don’t find specimens with this coloring, do you? At least, not alive.”

Second Nature

Dael reached up, slid a hand around the back of Flavia’s neck, and kissed her.

Cerdic was right. It was dying and coming alive all at once.

It was all the times he’d been breathless after sword practice, and the sweetness of the orange fruit she’d shared with him.

It was –

“Fascinating. The lady of the house taking up with a servant.”

Dael wrenched himself back. Terror curled through his limbs, and instinctively he stepped back, bowed his head, and when had being servile become second nature?

Out of the corner of his eye, Flavia stood tall.

“What of it?”

His Chance

“It’s a wonder no one was struck blind, you mean,” Dael grumbled. Then he cleared his throat and straightened up, inclined his head at the perfect angle. “My lady, I live to serve, and serve I must, if I wish to live.”

Flavia reached up and stroked his hair. “We never imagined we’d have a golden-haired servant with eyes quite like yours.”

“Are you saying I’m odd-looking as well as hideous?” His words had no sting.

“I’m saying your beauty was beyond our imagination,” she said, and leaned in.

This was his chance. He had to take it.

Wonders

It wasn’t until after the entire formal meal had been served and cleared that Dael had to face Flavia and her smirk. He’d been tempted to spill wine or some of the smaller, neater finger foods on her, but he didn’t want to risk the lash.

Flavia gave an elaborate speech about how she was glad to have the fat, belching, powdered and coiffed nobles dining in her home, and then she excused herself to arrange for the entertainment, a gang of acrobats in the courtyard.

She stopped Dael in the kitchen.

“That tunica does wonders for you,” she said.

Household Colors

The duties for formal banquets, as it turned out, were numerous and complicated, and Dael supposed he should have paid better attention instead of smiling at Flavia, because the tunica Quintus was trying to force on him was hideous.

“They’re the household colors,” Quintus insisted. “All who serve at table will be wearing them.”

“A corpse wouldn’t be seen wearing them,” Dael said.

“You have to wear it, it’ll be the lash for you.” Quintus waggled the tunica warningly.

Dael sighed. “Fine. I’ll wear it.”

He pretended he didn’t see Flavia stifle laughter when he stepped into the dining room.

Her Happiness

Dael could only sputter wordlessly, but then Flavia turned and walked away, and Quintus came to tell him Tertius was looking for him.

Later, when Tertius was informing Dael he’d been restored to his former duties, Dael spotted Flavia with Tertius’s lieutenant, reviewing the guest list. Her expression was grim, and there was an air of exhaustion about her.

Tertius had just started in on Dael’s extensive list of duties for formal banquets when Flavia looked up.

Dael caught her gaze and smiled.

She smiled back, her happiness emerging from her exhaustion like the sun from behind a storm cloud.

Size Isn't Everything (Reprise)

He swallowed carefully, then straightened up. “It is sweet,” he said.

Flavia smiled, pleased. “Do you think it’s sweet enough to catch tadpoles?”

It was Dael’s turn to be confused. “Perhaps, but...it’s too big, don’t you think? It might crush the tadpole.”

“Maybe.”

Flavia leaned in, gazed into his eyes, and he swallowed hard.

“But remember,” she said, “size isn’t everything.” And she patted the top of his head.

Dael knew the condescending gesture, had endured it from his brother all his life. “Oy! I’m not short!”

Flavia’s eyes were bright with suppressed mirth. “I never said you were.”

Juice and Skin

Dael caught it easily. “Do you wish to play a game?” he asked, turning it over in his hands. It had a pocked surface, was spongy.

Flavia laughed softly and came toward him. “No - it’s fruit. From Hispania. You must peel it before you eat it. Watch.”

Dael handed the ball back to her and watched her sink her nails into the surface, peel back to a layer of pale whiteness. And then a translucent orange wedge fell onto her palm. She offered it to him.

“Try it - it’s sweet,” she said.

He leaned forward, tasted juice and her skin.

Something Sweet

Dael said, “You might try a net, or perhaps a treat. What do tadpoles like to eat?”

“I don’t know,” Flavia said.

“Maybe something sweet?” Dael suggested.

Flavia shrugged one shoulder. “Maybe.”

Someone shouted from the kitchen, and both turned back to the house.

Dael hefted his water jars. “I’d better get moving.”

Flavia nodded. “We both have duties.”

“Farewell, Flavia. For now.” And Dael headed for the well.

Later that afternoon, he spotted Flavia as she returned from sword practice. She trotted up the veranda and paused, called his name.

She added, “Catch.”

She threw him an orange ball.

Size Isn't Everything

Flavia looked up. “Pardon?”

“The face on the surface of the water is beautiful,” Dael said quietly. “You keep destroying it.”

At first, Flavia was confused; then a cautious smile settled over her features.

“I’m trying to catch a tadpole,” she said.

Dael didn’t know the word, and Flavia explained with gestures and sound effects. Eventually, Dael realized she meant a baby frog.

“They’re tiny,” he said, peering into the fountain.

“Makes them hard to catch,” Flavia said, and met his gaze briefly before turning back to the water.

Dael said, “Size isn’t everything,” and lifted an eyebrow.

Flavia laughed.

Images Marred

The day after that, when Dael rose early in the morning and started for the well with water jugs under each arm, he saw Flavia again. This time she was sitting in the garden, on the edge of the fountain, staring at her reflection. Every once in a while, she’d reach out, hand darting fast as a snake, and thrust her hand into the water.

Each time, her hand came out empty.

Dael came to stand beside her, curious.

On the surface of the water, he saw her reflection.

She struck the water again.

“Why mar such a lovely image?”

After the Banquet

The next day, while Dael was hauling jars of water into the kitchen, he spotted Flavia on the veranda again. He knew from the glow of her skin and her tousled hair she’d been out practicing with her sword. She was leaning on the railing and gazing out at the garden, eyes distant.

He paused beside her a respectful distance away. “My lady.”

She slewed him a sideways glance.

He corrected himself. “Flavia.”

She half-smiled. “Dael.”

“I hope practice was well,” he said.

Her smile brightened. “It was very well. Perhaps,” she said, “after the banquet, you'll join me.”

Hope, Restore

“Cook says you’ve been great help preparing for the banquet.” Flavia looked at him hopefully.

Dael knew better than to upset a member of the household proper and met her gaze. “I have learned much about cooking.”

Flavia must have seen the hesitation in his eyes, for she nodded and took a respectful step back. She went from exhausted girl to lady of the house in a single instant; Dael envied her ability to pretend.

“I will have Tertius restore you to you former duties. I’ll need you nearby for the banquet.” She turned away, paused. “Don’t forget your sword.”

Missing

He bowed his head deferentially and said, “Mistress.”

She sighed. “I didn’t mean to make you – I’m sorry.”

Dael lifted his head, startled. He hadn’t realized how long it had been since he’d heard those words.

“I didn’t mean for Tertius to banish you to the kitchen.”

“I cannot question your wisdom in running your household –”

“I’ve missed you,” she said suddenly.

Dael fell quiet. He wanted to tell her he’d missed her too, he’d been desperate to kiss her again.

“I miss sparring with you, and...”

Of course. She missed her pet. Dael bit his lip and looked away.

Same Skies

The veranda stretching around the entire perimeter of the house afforded him excellent views of the night sky, and he wondered why he’d never looked before. Somewhere far away, his mother was looking at the same night sky, he knew it.

Dael tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, curled his hands into fists. He could feel it, blue power dancing just beneath a skin. On a night like this, if he wished it enough, he could raise a man from the dead.

Footsteps startled him, and he spun, ready for a bow or a sharp word.

Flavia said, “Dael.”

Born-Day

Dael knew his born-day instinctively, always woke the with a sense of alive he didn’t feel any other day of the year. Back home he’d know by the colors of the plants his born-day was close. Here, in this prison-land, he woke to it suddenly. When he took his waking breath, his first thought was that he’d see Ma, Da, and Cerdic. They’d eat all his favorite foods and share gifts.

Then he remembered where he was, so he worked silently all day, and saved enough energy to slip out and look at the stars that night.

Unnumbered Days

Dael spent the next unnumbered days - too many to count - banished to the kitchens, scrubbing and chopping and hauling, boiling and scraping and kneading. Quintus looked sympathetic, but Tertius just looked smug, as if Dael had received some sort of comeuppance he hadn’t even known he deserved. Most days Dael didn’t even get to stick his nose out of the kitchen, and if he had any notions of wandering around during his free time, Cook kept him so busy he just collapsed onto his pallet.

The few times he glimpsed Flavia, he noticed she looked as drained as he felt.

Cursed the Gods

Flavia shook her head. “No. I can’t. I’m sorry.” She turned and fled.

Dael started after her and nearly tripped over her sword. He caught himself just in time to watch Flavia vanish around the corner. He sighed, picked up the sword. He was a fool. She was his owner; he was just a slave who was particularly good at meeting her every strange whim, like sword-fighting and calling her by her given name.

But he was still a slave, and she was the one who owned him.

Dael cursed the gods, picked his sword, and headed for home.

No, Please, Again

Dael sucked in a shuddering breath. He tried to say her name, but instead of words what came out was a moan when his lips brushed hers, and then they were kissing.

Kissing.

He’d once kissed Damia, a girl in his village, when he was five, and Cerdic had told tales of kissing girls, how it was like dying and coming alive all at once, the world roaring in black and white and stars behind his eyelids and –

Flavia jerked back, her eyes wide, her expression stricken. “Dael, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have –”

He reached for her. “No, please, again.”

Not Alone

Dael’s breath caught - up close, her eyes really were golden, flame-bright.

“Mistress,” he began, and she shook her head. The tip of her nose brushed his.

“I told you - call me Flavia,” she whispered.

She was close enough Dael could feel her warmth, could feel his own heart racing against his ribs.

“We’re not so different, you and I,” Flavia said, and she was so close their lips almost touched. “Both of us kidnapped, taken to places unknown, and burdened with inexplicable power.”

Fire. She could make fire. That’s why Dael felt so warm.

“With you I’m not alone.”

Nose-to-Nose

“I’m sure Angelus thinks so,” Flavia said. “But this place is so...different. Women here, while many are intelligent and well-spoken are fierce...” She shook her head. “I’m as much as a slave as you are - you just can’t see my chains.” She sat up. “But you’re right - I suppose I should head back, see to the banquet he’s hosting next week. We’ll have lots to prepare.”

Dael hauled his tired body to his feet, offered a hand to her. When he pulled her up, she rose lightly as a dancer, and then they were almost nose-to-nose.

Other Things

When they were exhausted, Flavia toppled over into the grass, her delighted laughter ringing in the air.

“You’re getting much better,” she said. “We can practice every day now.”

Dael sprawled beside her, careful to keep his sword within reach. He noticed she had done the same. “If you wish it.”

“You know I do.”

“Not to sound...impertinent, but don’t you have other things to do besides teach an uppity, disobedient slave how to wield a sword?” He tilted his head to look at her. In the fading sunlight, she was beautiful, the setting sun turning her skin golden.

Confused Moments

Dael didn’t know when Flavia spoke to Angelus, but one morning when he and Quintus were huddled over their morning bowls of gruel, Tertius stepped into the room and demanded Dael to his feet. Dael scrambled to obey, bowed, and had to fight off the urge to recoil when two servants descended and began putting their arms around his waist. A few confused moment later, he had a sword belt strapped to his waist, complete with a version of the sword he used to practice with Flavia.

And ten minutes later, he and Flavia were sparring in an open field.

Something Else

Dael rolled his eyes. “Living with the gods, or roaming the stars? You believe that?”

“Maybe. And maybe it’s something else.” Flavia tugged on his shoulder. “Hurry along now - we have things to do if we want to make this work.”

“Shouldn’t we train with a sword some more?”

“Yes, you should,” she said. “I need to have a word with Angelus and ensure you will have permission to carry a sword.”

Dael’s eyes lit up. “My own sword?”

“For my protection, of course. You saw how those guards were.” Flavia turned her nose up and mock-sniffed. “You ready?”

After Death

“Yes, me,” Dael agreed quietly.

Flavia sighed. Then she stepped closer, put a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t be like this forever. We’re both destined for greater things.”

“Really?” Dael lifted his head, searched her face.

“Really. Things now are complicated, but if we do this right, things will get better, and eventually we’ll be free of everything.”

Dael remembered the murmurs and groans of the men packed onto that ship with them, as they tossed on the waves and fell further and further from home.

“We’ll be free of everything when we’re dead.”

“There is life after death.”

Look at You

“How...?”

“Same way you do, I expect,” Flavia said. She shrugged. “I just...know how.” Her smile widened. “It’s always wonderful to find someone else who’s like us.”

“Us? Then Master Angelus –” Dael remembered himself and scrambled to catch up to Flavia.

“Don’t ask,” she said. “But yes. We aren’t so different, you and I.”

“I suppose you’re never cold in winter,” Dael said.

“And you are never ill.”

Dael nodded. “It’s true. But...why do you need me to protect you, if you can do that?”

“Because we’re not omnipotent, no matter our gifts. After all, look at you.”

Forward, Back

Dael believed her. There was something in her ringing tones, in her fierce golden eyes - he knew she could protect him. Just as he would protect her.

Then he said, “You won’t tell Master Angelus about what I can do,” he said.

Flavia turned and started toward home. “If you don’t want me to. I suspect he already knows.”

Dael stood rooted to the spot, shocked. “What? How?”

“Because he knows what I can do.”

“What you can do?”

Flavia smiled over her shoulder, and fluttered her fingers at him. Flames danced on her fingertips.

Dael fell back a step.

Duties and Promises

“Anything, Flavia,” Dael said.

She eyed him shrewdly, and for the first time in a long time Dael knew it was right to lift his head, draw himself tall.

“You must be willing to keep my secrets, even from Master Angelus,” she said.

He nodded. Was she going to overthrow her own cousin?

“And you must learn to become a fighter, better than any petty Roman soldier,” she said.

He nodded again. She’d been teaching him. He could learn, right? Of course, those soldiers were professionals, had gone to wars, slaughtered his people --

“I will keep you safe,” she said.

With Anything

As they walked home, Flavia told Dael a wonderful tale about an orphan boy raised in a forest like a half-wild animal who became a king after he was chosen by a magical gladius planted in a stone plinth. Just as Flavia was getting to the good part, where the boy’s former tormentors were forced to bow and confess him king, she paused.

“Dael,” she said, and she was still one of the few who could say his name right, bothered to say his name at all. “Will you help me?”

“With anything, my lady.”

“Please, call me Flavia.”

Grateful Tales

“I’ll heal,” Flavia said, ducking away from his hand, but Dael caught her chin and dragged her close.

“Let me,” he said again. Blue power sparked at his fingertips.

Flavia jumped, but she didn’t pull away, and Dael let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Everyone heals,” Dael said. And he smiled tentatively. “Maybe some people ought to heal faster.” He pushed the power into her gently, and her eyes fluttered closed.

“Thank you,” she whispered when it was done. Then her eyes opened, and she said, “Have you ever heard the tale of the sleeping king?”

All Right, Fine

A bugle sounded across the city, and the soldiers cursed, turned. They flung insults over their shoulders at Flavia and then fell into formation, marched on the double. Dael watched them go and wished Flavia let him carry his training gladius with him.

Not that he’d have been a match for any of the soldiers.

Once they were gone, Dael turned and helped Flavia to her feet.

“Are you all right?” he asked in broken Latin.

“Fine,” Flavia muttered, but her words were slurred from her wound. She pressed a hand to her mouth gingerly.

“Let me see,” Dael said.

Only So Powerful

Angelus wasn’t so powerful that Dael didn’t find himself standing between Flavia and four young men dressed as soldiers. Flavia pushed herself up, pressed a hand to the corner of her mouth where it bled. Her eyes blazed.

Dael knew that fury. He’d felt it himself the first time he realized he was property in this land.

The soldiers laughed, flung the word “stranger” at Flavia. Dael wasn’t sure what they were saying, but he knew it was rude from the way Flavia’s mouth tightened.

Dael held his arms out to shield her, and one of the soldiers stepped closer.

Stranger, Powerful

He didn’t have a chance to ask her about it for nearly a week, and then it was after they’d sparred beyond the fields again (he was getting minimally better, he thought), and he was out of breath.

Flavia looked barely stirred by the exhaustion.

“You don’t like the other women, do you?”

“They would marry my cousin and displace me from my own house,” Flavia said. “It is not easy, being a stranger in this land, and it is dangerous, being a powerful stranger.”

“You’re not citizens?”

“No, but Angelus is too powerful for anyone to complain of it.”

Somehow He Knew

What was more exhausting than sparring and shopping was dinner parties where Angelus’s soldier friends and their wives or sisters came to lounge around the house all day eating, making conversation, and listening to musicians play.

Dael was assigned to wait on Flavia, who was apparently assigned to make everyone happy. Dael couldn’t understand the words being flung rapidly back and forth between the cushioned benches everyone reclined on, but he knew these people were wealthy from the way they were dressed and their own servants cowered, moving among Angelus’s own.

And somehow he knew Flavia was angry at everything.

All Again

After sparring with Flavia beyond the fields, following her through the markets as she ordered food for the household, and waiting on Flavia and Angelus at supper (under Tertius’s watchful eye), Dael was exhausted. He fell onto the pallet beside Quintus’s and was asleep before he took his next breath.

When he awoke, Quintus shoved a bowl of gruel at him and attempted to ask where he’d been the day before. Dael didn’t know how to explain, and he suspected he shouldn’t tell anyone about the gladius, so he shrugged - and groaned at the thought of doing it all again.

What's In It For

“You bought me to...set me free?” Dael narrowed his eyes. “What’s in it for you?”

“I’m not setting you free - you’re earning it,” Flavia said. “What’s in it for me?” She paused, considered, and Dael had a moment to study her face properly, clear of the wariness she wore around the other Roman citizens. And she was - young. Perhaps younger than him.

And she was lovely.

And then she began to move, made the blade sing through the air, and Dael felt his heart leap into his throat.

“What’s in it for me is a sparring partner. Guard up!”

Almost Gods

“People aren’t property,” Dael spluttered. “You can’t treat me like –”

“I own you? Because I do. Paid good money, too. And we clothe and feed and house you,” Flavia said.

“I’m a person!”

“As am I. And yet I can be bought and sold, same as you. For me they’ll call it marriage, for you it’s called servitude.” Flavia looked at him steadily. “Now, learn to use that gladius well, and perhaps one day you can buy your freedom.”

Dael took a deep breath. “Really? How?”

“In the colosseum. The best gladiators are almost gods. You could earn the money.”

Neither Man Nor Protector

“Should you be out here alone with a man?” Dael accepted the sword warily.

“You’re a slave, not a man, so no one will care. Usually Angelus sends Tertius with me, but he let me buy you for my own purposes, so as far as Rome cares, you’re my new chaperone and protector.”

“Not a man?” Dael spluttered. “How dare you –”

“Not that I really need protecting.” Flavia poked around in a cluster of bushes on the side of the path and came up with another sword. She unsheathed it, brandished it. “Are you ready to learn some more Latin?”

Bad Habits

A gladius was a sword, a short, broad thing Dael had seen the soldiers wield, different from the sleek spears. Flavia shrugged off her cloak and hung it from a bough, and she wore a sheath at her waist.

“Women here are soldiers?” Dael goggled. It made some sense - her master (brother? Husband? Surely not father?) was a soldier.

“No,” Flavia said, “which is why we’re out past the farmers.” She added, “Agricolae,” for good measure. “Do you know how to use one of these?”

“I was a farmer,” Dael said flatly.

“Good. Then you won’t have any bad habits.”

New Words

Oddly enough, Dael learned a lot by doing. Flavia took him walking first.

(“Ambulare, to walk.”

“So we’re...ambulare?”

“No. Ambulas. You walk. Ambula. I walk.”

“What’s the word for I?”

“Well...ego, sort of.”

“So...ego ambula?”

“No, just ambula.”

“But if ego means ‘I’ –”

“Ambula all on its own means ‘I walk’.”

“That makes no sense.”

“Shut up and keep walking.”)

Dael tried to remember all the new words, but it wasn’t going well. Flavia tried refusing to talk to him in his own language, but he knew so little it was hopeless.

“You’ll like this word - gladius.”

By Doing

“I’m sure they do.” Flavia looked amused, and Dael suspected she knew about how the maidservants would coo over him and pet his hair. He really was a baby lamb, wasn’t he?

“First things first,” Flavia said, “you could do with a Latin lesson or two.”

“Latin,” Dael said. “That’s what they call their tongue?”

Flavia tilted her head to the side. “What do you call yours?”

“You speak it. What do you call it?” Dael shot back, and Flavia’s golden eyes sparked.

Dael remembered himself and ducked his head, terrified, but then Flavia said,

“Come on. Learn by doing.”

Special

Dael lifted his head again, and he was startled to find Flavia almost nose to nose with him. Her eyes were truly golden, like that of a hawk or a wolf, and something in them glimmered - like laughter.

“Yes, Angelus really did choose well,” she said. She sat back, smoothed down her skirts, and she was smiling fondly at Dael the way some girls smiled at newborn lambs.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, wary. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” Flavia sighed happily. “You’re special, aren’t you?”

“Lots of people have hair this color where I come from.”

Properly

Tertius, who really must have been able to read minds, nudged Dael in the spine and growled, and Dael bowed his head, the gesture a token of respect but really to hide the hatred in his eyes.

He was a person, and he was being treated little better than a horse.

“Have fun with him, Flavia,” Angelus said, and he stood up, swept out of the room.

“I will, My Lord,” Flavia said. Something about the way she uttered ‘My Lord’ was dry. Then she spoke rapidly to Tertius, who grumbled but left.

“Now,” Flavia said, “look at me properly.”

Consequences and Fury

“Dael,” he said, emphasizing both syllables.

“I am Flavia, though Tertius and the others may expire from righteous indignation if you call me anything but ‘Mistress’,” she said. “His name is Angelus, but you should probably call him ‘Master’.”

“I want to go home,” Dael said.

Tertius smacked him upside the head.

“Your home is gone,” Angelus said easily.

“You mean you –”

“Not us. Another one of the kings in your land, I suspect.” Angelus shrugged. “Never you mind. You belong to Flavia now. You’ll do as she says, or you won’t like the consequences.”

Dael choked back his fury.

Answer, Slaughter

Tertius jabbed Dael in the spine again, and he lifted his head, twisted around with a snarl - and there was a hand on his chin, tugging him around to face –

Her.

The woman from beneath the red hood, Dael was sure of it. Belatedly, he realized she, too, had been speaking his language. She had dark skin, different from the other servants in the house, different even from the master’s, and her eyes were bright, golden, and fierce, like a wolf.

“You picked well,” she said to the soldier, and then to Dael, “What’s your name?”

Tertius answered, slaughtered it.

Your Eyes

Dael lifted his head sharply, and there, sprawled across the stone bench was none other than the soldier who’d captured him. He was without cape and armor, grinning. He looked almost like a prince.

Tertius kneed Dael in the spine, and he remembered himself, lowered his head. As much as the other servants were nice, they were fiercely loyal. Dael would have sworn they could read his mind and sense the moments rebellion rose in him, urging him to flee or disobey or drop everything he was doing and cry out –

“Lift your head. I want to see your eyes.”

Question of Choice

Dael knew from the whispering in the halls, the sudden scattering of servants, heads bowed, that the master and mistress were about, and only special servants could look upon them.

But the old man - Tertius - dragged Dael up, up, up to the main chamber where the master and mistress stayed. He shoved Dael to his knees in front of a wide stone bench, and Dael bowed his head. He heard the whisper of robes, the familiar cadence of a soldier’s boots.

And then a familiar voice said, in Dael’s own tongue,

“What do you think, Flavia? Did I choose well?”

Never To Go

It took Dael a day or three of following the young man around to figure out his name was Quintus and Quintus had named Dael, against his will, Angel. Dael tried to correct him, but Quintus couldn’t seem to wrap his name around the syllables and Dael was stuck, to dismay, with Del. Quintus did simple jobs, mostly carrying things around the massive house, moving furniture and transporting firewood into the upper rooms.

Dael was just learning his way around the house when the old man reappeared and dragged Dael where Quintus had showed him he was never to go.

Angel and Quintus

The old man led Dael into a low, squat building below the main halls. Other servants in plain robes were gathered here and there - cooking, mending, cleaning. The old man barked a command, and several other servants surrounded Dael, stripped him of his clothes, scrubbed him down with hot water, and dressed him in one of the plain tunics the other men wore.

“Quis est vestri nomen?” one of them asked.

Another man ruffled Dael’s hair and said, “Angel.”

Dael wasn’t sure if it was an insult or kindness.

“Angel.” Then the man tapped his own chest and said, “Quintus.”

Followed

Water glittered as it cascaded across tiny stones all the colors of the rainbow arranged in patterns to look like birds and trees. Plants bowed and swayed in a gentle breeze, and Dael stopped, stared.

The woman glided past it all, seemingly oblivious to it. How could she not see the beauty, the wonder? Dael started after her - and was jerked backward abruptly as the old man yanked on his chain. The woman ascended the stairs, and other women in plainer robes - servants - came to relieve her of her cloak and hood.

The old man grunted, "Era," and Dael followed.

Far Away

It was a long walk back to wherever the old man and the woman lived, far beyond the bustling crowds of the markets. When the buildings became infrequent and crowds thin, Dael recognized fields - sort of. The trees were different from any he’d seen, and the hills were a rolling, deep red instead of the brown, sturdy earth he’d grown up farming.

And he could feel a different, deeper thrum of energy in the ground beneath him. He was somewhere else, somewhere far away.

The woman’s house was set atop a hill, a sprawling affair, gardens and courtyards – a palace.

Sold

One of the captors handed the old man the end of the chain still attached to the collar at Dael’s throat, and then he said, slowly, as if to a dumb animal,

“Prosecutus suus. Vestri era.”

Dael blinked, confused. The captor prodded him. The old man tugged, almost yanking Dael off his feet, and he understood well enough: go.

The woman turned, skirts whispering, and strode through the crowded market. People stepped out of her way, and Dael wondered if she was some sort of princess. The old man followed along, muttering about Flavia Magna.

Dael realized he’d been sold.

For Now, Blessed Rescuers

His captors hesitated, but then they moved forward, untied him and yanked him around to face the intervenors who, for now, were also blessed rescuers.

The man was ancient and stooped, a mass of wrinkles like a walnut shell, and wearing simple robes. The woman was - shadowed beneath a hood, bright red over the paleness of her robe, which was obviously finely crafted in comparison to the man’s.

She reached into the folds of her skirt and handed the old man a pouch. It clinked loudly when it landed on his palm, and Dael’s captors accepted it with eager greed.

Only Hope

Dael felt fear churn low in his gut when they tied him fast to a pole, and he heard the crack of a whip on the air.

And then a woman spoke, and the anger in his captors’ voices faded.

Dael tried to crane his neck to see over his shoulder who had frightened his captors, but all he saw was a giant bull of a man, tapping the crop of his whip impatiently on one hand.


The woman spoke again, and one of the captors cut her off, and then an old man spoke, and Dael could only hope.

Imminent

Dael got in two, three, four hits before several captors landed on him and dragged him back. Avery had dived to cover Osbert, which only disrupted the line further. Dael didn’t understand his captors’ language, but he knew profanity when he heard it, and he supposed he should have expected the sharp blow to the skull that followed once the fray was settled, but that didn’t mean it hurt less.

He was cut free of the line and dragged away from the others, and this was it - they would leave him be or kill him. Either way, escape was imminent.

Worth the Risk

Dael watched buyers come and go, watched his captors squabble or acquiesce, cut people loose and kick people loose, and he tried to figure out why some were chosen and some were not, what made a good slave. If he could make himself seem like he would be a terrible slave, maybe no one would want to buy him, and he would have time to plan an escape. Only what if the captors would kill anyone who didn’t get sold?

Dael decided to risk it, and he lashed out, punched the man on the other side of Osbert.

Chaos followed.

How it Works

Dael watched prospective buyers circling the people. Captor tipped boy’s head back, allowed a portly man in an odd white robe to check his teeth, prod at the boy’s arm and leg muscles. And then the man grabbed the boy, leered, and Dael felt his stomach roil.

Avery nudged him in the ribs. “Can you get us free? You know, with your...” He fluttered his fingers.

“It doesn’t work like that.” Dael sighed. “Sorry.”

“Maybe we can stay together,” Osbert said. “Whoever takes one of us has to take all of us.”

“Don’t think it works like that,” Avery said.

Most of Our Lives

Rome had markets, just as back home. In those markets, food, cloth, wine, and cattle were sold for use and slaughter. And people were sold alongside the cattle. Dael stared at the rows of people chained up. Most of the people on the other side of the market platform chained in winding rows wore clean clothes and looked even more exhausted and empty than any of Dael’s fellow captives.

“Some must have been slaves most of their lives,” Avery said.

“When we die, we will have been slaves most of our lives too,” Dael murmured and hoped Osbert wouldn’t hear.

Rome

Rome, the new place was called, or so said one of the other captives. Rome. Such a small word to encompass so massive a place, as if twenty villages and their markets had been dropped into this one confined place and everyone was intent on stepping on each other as much as possible.

Dael lost track of their captors, but he continued to see soldiers in flashing red capes patrolling the streets as new captors - gruffer, unwashed men - herded them along the eerily straight paths.

Rome was taking everything Dael had ever known and turning it all on its head.

The Journey

Dael remembered the beginning of the journey, being herded onto one of the massive ships like so many head of cattle. He remembered the end, stumbling onto a wooden dock on shaky legs, sweating and faint and hot and looking onto a sheer mass of humanity, more people than Dael ever thought possible crammed into one place. Massive gleaming buildings reared toward the sky, and there was noise, a hundred markets at once.

Dael couldn’t remember the middle of the journey, but Avery said it was for the best - he’d never seen someone be sick that many times without dying.

Tethered

“Just...be calm,” Dael said, and reached inside himself. The energy was weak, tethered to the waxing and waning of his own energy, but it was there, a coil of blue sparkles waiting for release. So Dael caught it up and pushed it out, into Avery’s forearm.

Avery hissed in a breath, eyes wide, and his gaze shot toward Dael. “You - how did you -”

Dael shook his head. “There you go. Should help a bit.” He held Avery’s gaze, warning, and Avery nodded slowly.

“Aye. Thanks. You are good with a mend.”

“Welcome.”

Behind him, the soldier watched - and smiled.


Hand for a Mend

“Why, did he kidnap you?” Osbert asked. “I was clubbed over the head by one of his thugs while I was farming.”

“I’m sure that’s how all you young’uns were snatched,” Avery said. “Half of us - we were caught on the battlefield.” He shifted, and Dael saw him wince.

“Where are you hurt?” Dael asked.

Avery shrugged. “Just a scratch.”

“I always had a good hand for a mend,” Dael said. “Let me have a look?”

“If you like.” Avery was stoic as Dael studied the gash.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“You can’t be any worse than them.”

Personally? No

“Cold?” Dael remembered the man being charming, almost friendly. Callous with other human lives, but Dael suspected, if the man were not a soldier and Dael were not an enemy, they might have been friends.

“People mean nothing to him,” Avery said. “He kills as easily as most of us breathe.”

“The last stupid man who tried to escape –” Osbert began, but Avery cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“Dael’s just awakened. Means he can still sleep. No need to give him nightmares.”

“Did he kidnap you?” Dael asked.

“Personally?” Avery snorted. “No. He’s much too important for that.”


Strange, Dark, Cold

“My brothers went to fight,” the boy beside Dael said.

“As did my sons,” the man said. “Those bastards killed them.” He turned his head to the side and spat.

“My father and brother left,” Dael said. “They never came back.”

“The stories are the same all around,” the man said. “What’s your name?”

“Dael.”

“I’m Avery,” the man said.

“And I’m Osbert.” The boy smiled tiredly.

“Think we can escape?” Dael asked.

“More than one man has died trying.” Avery lifted his chin in the direction of the soldiers. “That leader, the strange dark one - he’s a cold one.”

On a Grim Necklace

The boat was bigger than any Dael had ever seen, the length of nearly four houses, and had a massive sail of billowing red, just like the soldiers’ capes.

Soldiers. Dael craned his neck, which resulted in tugging on the ropes and earned grumblings from the people on either side of him. Sure enough, the soldiers who’d stopped by his farm were seated at a fire in the middle of the camp, sharing food and drink, laughing.

More soldiers, bristling with weapons but without capes or horses, ringed the camp, guarding the slaves.

Slaves like beads on a grim necklace.

After the Boat

Dael came to on hard dirt. The air was cool, and the world beyond his eyelids was dark, flickering - distant firelight. He tried to sit up, and his neck burned.

“Another one’s coming around,” a boy said.

“Poor fool,” a man said. “Should stay asleep.”

Dael opened his eyes. “Where am I? What’s happening?” Then he noticed the rope at his throat, the same rope that bound him to the man and boy on either side of him.

“We’re being loaded onto that boat,” the man said. He was tanned and scarred, a seasoned warrior. “After that, I don’t know.”

What We Came For

One of the horses whinnied, threw its rider. That startled Ma into running. Dael leapt between her and the soldiers. Three of the other horses stamped and snorted, but the lead soldier’s horse remained eerily calm. He gazed down at Dael with something akin to recognition in his eyes, and before Dael knew what was what, he’d been plucked up and thrown across the man’s saddle.

The soldier said, deliberately for Dael to understand, “Forget the old woman. We have what we came for.”

Dael’s world jolted and spun as the horse lurched away, and then his world went white.

Pushing Gifts

The lead soldier laughed. “I know what I have gained, claiming you as a prize.”

“Angelus Caput,” one of the other soldiers said, and strange words flowed from his lips.

Dael put a hand on Ma’s shoulder, nudged. “Run,” he whispered.

She hesitated. The soldiers were arguing. Dael nudged her again.

“Now,” he hissed.

She was confused; the soldiers talked of slavery, but they seemed kind, almost jocular. She didn’t realize they’d probably killed her husband and other son.

“Run, Ma!” Dael yelled, and shoved.

The soldiers cried out, brought up their weapons.

Dael reached for his gift and pushed.

Won and the Choice is Yours

“A slave?” Ma echoed, puzzled. Dael put a hand on her wrist.

“You intend to make a slave of me?” he asked.

The soldier smirked. “A boy like you would fetch an excellent price.”

Dael met the man’s gaze. “What would you sell me for - a house, a field?”

“Maybe. Or perhaps the colosseum, or a lady’s bed.” The soldier smirked.

Colosseum. Dael had never heard the word before. The way the other soldiers chuckled, it couldn’t be good.

“You don’t know what you waste, turning me into a slave,” Dael said. “But you’ve won, and the choice is yours.”

Spirit for a Slave

The soldier spoke with a northern accent, but he had darker skin than Dael had ever imagined - he was stranger than most. Ma made the sign against evil. The other soldiers stirred, surprised at this soldier' ability to speak so fluently. 

"Vikings?"

"Fierce warriors.  Raiders.  Massive men, pale, in dragonboats," the soldier said. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "You don't really look big enough to be one, but I haven't seen hair that color since, well, the Franks, but -"

"We know not the king," Dael said. 

The soldier blinked, confused, but then he laughed. "You have spirit - for a slave."

Who, Here

That Dael had golden hair was not completely odd - the men in the north were paler, like him.  But most people in the village paid more attention to Dael's gift than his hair.

One of the others spoke in a strange, rolling tongue that made Ma flinch. 

"What does the color of my hair matter? What of our fathers, brothers, friends?"

"They were defeated -" the soldier began, but the other soldier - Dael noticed he wore a different plume on his helmet - interrupted. An argument ensued, and then the other soldier dismounted, tugged off his helmet. 

"Did the Vikings land here?"

Soldiers, Golden

Ma's first instinct was to bow. Dael kept his head high, watched the riders draw to a halt at the end of the hedge. They wore gleaming helmets with tall feathered plumes, and they carried swords, spears. They were soldiers. 

The leader spoke without removing his helmet. "Where is your king?"

He spoke with an accent, but he head learned the language well, spoke it as one accustomed. Dael had never seen his kind before, but he knew who they were.

"Our king is distant. He doesn't even know we're alive," Dael said. 

The leader said, "You have golden hair."

Closer, Closer

The men in the village had nought but work drays. Those horses came up the road fast, a storm of dust flying in their wake. Dael ran to Ma’s side, and they shaded their eyes, watched as the horses came closer and closer.

For one moment, Dael thought the dark-haired man at the front was Bayard’s son Leofrick, but then Dael realized that the men were wearing bright red cloaks, too red to be blood, redder than anything but that worn by a king.

In the midday sun, the riders’ armor glinted, and Dael realized who they really were.

In the Distance, Riders

Ma made it seven days before waiting got the better of her. Dael was inspecting the hedges between his field and Bayard’s - his wife and aged father were tending the land in his stead - when he caught movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned and saw Ma running full tilt, faster than she’d ever run before, toward the end of the hedge, toward the road down which Cerdic and Da had gone.

Dael called after her. She was mad – she couldn’t run all the way to the shore herself.

And then he saw, in the distance, riders.

So Long As

Dael kept his head down, worked sunup to sundown, humming songs from his childhood and doing his best to remember what Da and Cerdic had taught him, using his talent when things seemed rough.

Ever since he was a small boy, he’d had the touch, the sparks of blue and gold at his fingertips that repaired a butterfly’s wing, that saved a dying apple tree. Everyone in the village knew of it, but none mentioned it, so long as he used it for good.

If he focused on the farm, he didn’t have time to worry about Da and Cerdic.

Hearth Fire

In the evening, Dael and Ma sat by the fire, Ma mending clothes and humming soft songs, and Dael sang with her, easy lullabies he remembered from childhood.

“You trying to put me to sleep?” Ma asked.

“We both need to sleep - we’re two doing the work of four,” Dael said.

Ma tried to smile and failed. “We’re doing it well.”

“That we are.” Dael eased himself to sit at her feet, rest his head against her knee. “Tell me about the dancing stones.”

Ma tangled a hand in his hair and said, “When all the world was very young...”

The Rising of the Sun

For the first time since he could remember, Dael woke with the rising of the sun to head into the fields to till the ground, tend to the goats and hens, to repair the fence and the roof where some of the thatching was thinning. Ma worked in the house, and Dael could hear her faint songs over the rhythm of the plow and hoe. Da would be proud of the rows Dael made, neat and deep and straight.

Dael watched the southern horizon, same as Ma and the others in the village, waiting to hear word from the cliffs.

Dael Knew

In the sunset, Dael saw that Ma wasn’t the only woman bidding farewell to a husband, son, or brother, that men from all the houses in the village were streaming south toward the white cliffs where, if a man stood on a clear day, he could see Brittany and Gaul where their cousins lived. Few men stayed behind - the elderly, sick, or lame, and Dael knew they thought him odd, but he knew he was doing right, staying to protect his mother.

He would make sure she was all right.

“C’mon, Ma,” he said. “Let’s have some of that supper.”

The Rush

“How do you know this is even true?” Ma asked as she stood beside Da and Cerdic at the door. “Old Man Bayard speaks nonsense all the time –”

“It wasn’t just Bayard,” Da said. “We must hurry. We will not prevail if we haven’t enough men.”

“Be careful,” Ma said. “I don’t like this. What’s with the rush? Surely you can stay for supper. I cooked for four people, and now half of it will go to waste –”

Da silenced her with a kiss. “Be safe, love. Dael will look out for you. Cerdic and I must go.”

Dael waved.

Given In

“Cerdic,” Ma began, but Dael moved to stand beside her as well.

“He’s strong - he and Da will be fine, show those upstarts what for.” Dael smiled gently.

Cerdic suppressed a grin. His eyes shone with gratitude when he nodded at Dael. “We’ll come back victorious, Ma,” he said.

Ma reached for the sack she used to pack provisions whenever Da went on a journey to another village. “You’ll need food and blankets to keep up your strength. All we’ve got is my father’s axe to fight with.”

Dael saw Da and Cerdic relax. Ma fussing meant she’d given in.

Show His Worth

“You’re not going to fight - I won’t let you,” Ma said.

Da crossed the house, put a hand on her arm. “We’ll be fine. We have the high ground - they’re still down in the water. But they need all the men they can get.”

“Go, Da,” Dael said. “I’ll stay here with Ma. That way they won’t take me, and one of us can still tend the farm.” He glanced at Cerdic; he knew Cerdic wanted to join the fight. Dael was special, had his ‘blessing’. Though he never mocked his brother, Cedric wanted his chance to show his worth.

So Bayard Says

Cerdic frowned. “Who, Da?”

Da was pale, frightened; Dael had never seen him frightened before. Da was the one who’d killed a fox with his bare hands when it went after the hens.

“Soldiers, in a boat that looks like a dragon. Wearing armor and carrying swords, spears. Dark fellows. Heard they’d taken Gaul and Brittany. But they’re here now - for us.”

“For our town?” Ma asked.

“For our lands, our men.”

Cerdic reached for his pitchfork. “We’ll go help.”

“Cover your hair,” Da said.

Dael reached for his hood. “Why?”

“They like the pale-haired ones, so Bayard says.”

At the White Cliffs

“You’re a blessed boy,” Ma said, pressing a kiss to Dael’s jaw as he staggered past with a bundle of sticks for the evening fire.

“Am I not blessed?” Cerdic asked. He grinned good-naturedly.

“You are,” Ma said. “I’m just grateful Dael’s been saving us from starvation.”

Dael blushed. “Not just me - Cerdic, too. I can help, but it takes a skilled farmer to make it really grow.”

“Well, I’m blessed to call both of you my sons,” Ma said.

Da flung the door open.

“Don’t be such a boor,” Ma said.

Da said, “They’re at the white cliffs.”

Hedge Wizard

“‘S odd, what you do,” Cerdic said, leaning on his hoe.

Dael knelt beside a stubborn sapling, hands cupped around it. “If I’ve a gift, I should use it well. So I use it to feed us.”

“Don’t use it too well, else the other families’ll snatch you to feed them.” Cerdic smiled gently; he had the same easy, comforting smile as Da.

Dael grinned. “No one’ll take me from our family.” He sent one last little nudge of energy into the sapling and then rose up. “That should do it.”

“Hedge wizard,” Cerdic said, and Dael chased him home.

Time to Grow

“Dael,” Ma said. “Get out of bed and help Cerdic with the goats already.”

Dael opened his eyes, blinked up at the ceiling of the hut. Daub and wattle, same as every morning, infused with the scent of Ma’s stew over the fire and Da’s tobacco smoke. Da prodded Dael in the ribs with his toe.

“Move, son,” he said. He was smiling, so Dael knew he wasn’t too late.

It wasn’t difficult to haul himself off his pallet, scrub his face with water before heading for the door. It was time to make some crops grow, weather be damned.

Interlude 9

The wind through the trees was a springtime song, a lullaby from another world, and the pale, colorless man standing on the edge of the fields could feel life rising anew at the hands of a boy.

The man reached up, blinked briefly-blue eyes, and he smiled. The boy was kneeling, hands cupped around a tender shoot, coaxing it to life. Blue-gold energy poured from the boy’s fingertips, bringing the shoot higher and higher, pushing it toward growth.

Then the boy’s father shouted, and the boy scrambled to obey, and the man knew another healing time had come.

A Girl, Once

Flavia said, “I’ve seen a boy, a warrior.”

Angelus huffed. “It’s always a boy. Why will it never be a girl?”

Flavia cast him a sidelong glance, reached for her purse. “It was a girl, once. You just weren’t there.” Then she peered out the window to where the sun was climbing high in the sky. “Now, don’t you have somewhere to be? Like, say, the parade ground with the rest of the Praetorian guard?”

Angelus scanned the sky and let out an impressive string of multilingual curses. He grabbed his spear, sword, and shield and bolted for the door.

Failure for Failure

“I suppose we’re even, one for one,” Angelus said.

Flavia concentrated on gathering the hem of her stalla just so, arranging it so it sat neatly over her tunica. She tucked her bulla inside the front neckline of the stalla and reached up to check her hair. She was ignoring him, but he didn’t care.

“A failure for a failure. I failed to bring the shape-changer, and you failed to bring the fire-wielder. Luckily for the both of us, we have another chance,” Angelus continued blithely. “At least, that’s what Old Master tells me. What have you seen?”

Interlude 8

Three wounds had healed, and a fourth was starting along. That they healed one at a time was aggravating, but he had the world enough and time. That last flash of fire had sealed this chapter, and when he turned his gaze toward the southwest, his eyes flashed sky-blue.

Whenever he looked at her, his hollow chest ached, his eyes flashed green, but he remained pale and lifeless, bleeding from deep wounds as he was. He turned from the shore and began to walk. He would walk and walk again, and he would feel the rain on his face.

After All

Brenna could make out something faintly humanoid in the mass of flame that rose toward the heavens. Ciaran had been a strong-hearted, stubborn, humorous lad. Whatever he was now was something else entirely.

Maybe gods and men weren’t meant to mingle after all.

The edges of the pond were still steaming, and the earth that had once housed the life-stream for an entire society was dry as an aged husk.

Dolan’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he collapsed.

Brenna took the chance to escape and slipped into the shadows.

Old Master wouldn’t be pleased at this.

No Words

The look on Dolan’s face upon seeing his village’s life source evaporate away wasn’t quite as good as the look on his face upon seeing Brenna claw her way out of her winding sheet and dust herself off.

Most everyone was screaming and fleeing. Some had reached the trees. Others had flung themselves in the shadows of their houses and sobbed for help from their goddess.

“Shame,” Brenna said. “Their goddess sent help, and they tried to kill it.”

Dolan looked at her, and his eyes almost fell out of his head. His mouth worked, but he had no words.

Skin and Bones No More

The world was water, but the water boiling hot, and he was tumbling, roiling, bubbling to the surface, a surface that was filled with screams and fear. Then he was hissing, writhing toward the sky.

The water pushed, and he pushed back, burning hotter and hotter until he thought his very skin would fly off his bones –

And then he realized that he was skin and bones no more, but living flame, rising up from the ashes of the village pond, and all the water was fading into the air, nebulous as smoke, as clouds.

They would never drink again.

Fill the World

They were pinning him beneath the surface with something long, sharp.

A fishing spear.

Ciaran never liked those fishermen anyway.

He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of throwing himself onto the spear. He had a better plan.

In Brenna’s training, she’d always warned Ciaran against going past a certain point, in losing himself in the world beyond as he sought out the flames, because the flames would consume him – and everything around him.

Everything around him was water.

So he let go.

It was heady and thrilling, stepping outside of his own body, swelling to fill the world.

Against His Heart

Ciaran thought they’d have at least some farce of a trial, or a moment when he could renounce his evil ways and be welcomed back with open arms. But they went straight to execution, forcing him to his knees beside the pond.

“You’ve killed one person here. Killing two here will make this water undrinkable for sure,” Ciaran said.

“Silence,” Eoghan snapped.

Two of the men bound Ciaran’s wrists behind his back, and then they shoved him into the water.

Ciaran’s first reaction was to fight, and fight he did, but then he felt it, crushing weight against his heart.

Show Me How

“If you think it’s right, then you’re sorely mistaken,” Ciaran said, “but you always told me to deal with the consequences of my decisions, so here’s your chance to show me how.” He raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.

Immediately he was surrounded and dragged into the center of the village square. The women looked disgusted and afraid; the men looked angry and determined. Only Dolan, standing on the edges of the crowd, looked ashamed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Ciaran asked. By now Niamh and the others had escaped. And they’d forgotten about Brenna.

No Regrets

“You speak blasphemy,” a woman said, Brenna’s accuser.

“And you speak ignorance,” Ciaran said.

“Step away from the body,” Eoghan said.

Ciaran shook his head. “After what you did to her, she deserves one measure of peace, even if all I can give her is a proper burial.”

Eoghan said, “She will be burned. And you – you will be tried.”

“I will be tried, but not fairly, and you know better than to burn me,” Ciaran said. “But if you drown me, you’ll regret it.”

“No man regrets doing what’s right,” Eoghan said.

Ciaran looked at his father and sighed.