Thirty-one

“Pater is sending me back to our school today.”

“Our school?” Rian asked.

“You’ll come, won’t you?”

Rian was dismayed. “Now? With you?”

“No, no,” Geoffrey assured him, “Not until things are ... complete.”

“Complete,” the boy said, his voice dull, his eyes lost for a moment their luster.

“I’m sorry for you. You must know that.”

“Yes ... thank you.”

The boys were quiet for a time. Geoffrey looked up into the brightening sky.

“Bright enough for collecting firewood, I guess.”

“Yes,” Rian agreed. “Let’s get started. We’ve two priests to gather for.”

And then they heard the complaints of the village girl who couldn’t be far away at all.

“Take your hands off me!” she shouted.

The boys turned to each other, and then ran to the corner of a cottage where they saw the girl pushing away from a man in rags. He grasped her arm and held her tight. She fought back with her other fist.

The man grumbled, “Vixen, I’ll teach you to ignore me.” And he pulled her close, “Give a kiss, whore!”

Geoffrey yelled, “Unhand her!” and he closed in, too, Rian at his heels.

“Leave be, boy!” the man told him. “One kiss and I’ll be home.” His free hand rubbed across the girl in a sickening way.

For her part, the girl stayed calm. She aimed to strike the drunk–his sour breath and the dirt of him repelled her–but he had her fast in a wide grip now. Instead, she stamped hard on his foot and he let her go in surprise.

“Bitch!” and he made to grab her again, but Geoffrey pushed him away and the drunk nearly tumbled.

“Bitterfolk!” Geoffrey mouthed with disgust. Another man appeared, armed with a club.

“Turn away now, I tell you, or you’ll regret your filthy words and pawing.”

Rian raised his own voice, “Geoffrey, calm yourself. We want no fight with our brother.”

But the drunk would have none of the boy’s appeasement. “You’re not my brother.” The hatred boiled off of him.

“Friend then,” Rian offered, but the man only cursed them. And he stepped toward the girl.

Geoffrey moved to push him away again, but the man pulled a knife and aimed wildly for the young man’s side.

In a flash, Rian leapt in between them and took the blade. He was undone by it. No pain, but the warm blood began to fill his tunic with its stain. “Heaven,” he whispered as Geoffrey pulled his short sword.

The drunken man’s eyes widened and then he fell, too. Geoffrey had turned his blade so that he’d strike cleanly through the ribs and the man was dead in an instant.

The village girl screamed. She was terrified for Rian and ran for the boy’s father.

The other man nearly panicked when he saw the blood, but he managed a blow with his club. It landed squarely on Geoffrey skull. He ran away after.

From above, the rook saw Rian fall with his prayer. It took to wing, just as Geoffrey fell with all his dead weight.