October 27th, 1795 aex

Mak Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

A light voice called to him as he slept. He could feel the bed empty beside him. An icy cold hand touched his shoulder. He flinched and moaned his displeasure, turned away from the voice and grunted. The position he now slept in quelled the pain in his shoulder and enveloped him in peace. He smiled and sighed in pleasure as he fell back into a deep sleep.

“Pa!” The light voice woke him again. How long he’d slept, he could not tell, but the hand touching him was no longer cold. “Pa, wake up, please.” It was Net. The boy wept.

Mak succumbed to wakefulness and turned to face his son. “What is it?” His voice was hoarse. The first thing he noticed was that it was still dark, the middle of the night. He’d spent the day sitting by the fire with Sherik, Skylde, and Net. None had the motivation to work. They’d asked questions all day about their mother and sister, but Mak had no answers. Neither of them had returned, and even now the house was empty without them.

Their onslaught of questions had turned his mind to the whiskey bottle, which he did not yet want to finish, so he told them all the story of how his grandpa accidentally came upon their plot of land. It was the only way to keep their minds occupied without any work to do. He needed wood for the coop’s roof, and wheels for the plough. Mak cooked the porridge. It was poorly prepared, an insult to Konni’s presence had she been there. Come home, Kon. And bring that little lady of ours, too.

“I had a bad dream,” Net whispered.

Mak felt a shiver crawl through his bones. He wondered if the boy had the same odd dream he’d had a few nights before. He discarded the idea quickly and sat up on his bed. He rubbed sleep from his eyes and yawned. His throat was dry, and his jaw ached.

“Tell me all about it.” Mak got up, put a caring hand on his youngest son’s back and escorted him across the house to his bed near his snoring brother’s.

“There was a monster sneaking outside the window,” Net said. “It wanted to eat me, and it said it would eat you, too.”

Mak helped the boy into bed and tucked him in. He remembered Konni’s advice not to tuck the children in too tight, so he gently wrapped the blankets around him and tapped his shoulder with love.

“I think the monster is what killed our animals, Pa,” Net said through a yawn.

“Now, son, don’t start believing in monsters.” There’s enough men alive who act like them as it is. “You get some sleep now.”

A dark silhouette passed by the window closest to Net’s bed. Mak’s heart jumped and he gasped through his nose. He rushed to the window and peered out. There was nothing.

“Is Ma home?” Net asked.

The shape outside the window was far too wide to be Konni or Jerri. “No.”

“Is…” Net stammered and pulled the blankets to his chin. “Is it the monster?”

“No,” Mak rustled the boy’s hair. “There’s nothing to worry about. Get back to sleep.”

Net nodded, unsure, but trusted his father and nestled himself comfortably beneath the blankets. He looked up one more time and closed his eyes. It did not take long for the heavy breathing of sleep to resume.

Mak yawned and turned back to his empty bed. He glanced at his daughter along the way and found her sleeping peacefully. The air was strange. It didn’t smell different but there was an odd feeling to it. It seemed thicker somehow, warmer, but not in a comforting way.

He saw the silhouette just before it attacked.

They jostled, and the shadow brought Mak to the floor. Net shrieked and Sherik stirred. Skylde sat up in her bed and screeched.

“Pa?” His older son’s voice was frantic yet hoarse from sleep.

Mak ignored him and hoped he’d be smart enough to focus on protecting Skylde and Net.

A knee caught him just below the rib, sending the air from his lungs. Mak wrapped an arm around the intruder’s head and squeezed tight, restricting movement as much as his aching shoulder allowed.

The intruder grunted and thrashed to pull his head free, but Mak held strong. Mak jerked his weight and ended up on top of the man. He let go of his head and dropped a few fists, but each was blocked by raised arms.

Sherik ran across the floor and stood between the fight and Net. A fist shot up to Mak’s jaw as he focused on his sons. He was dazed for a moment, and the intruder twisted onto him.

They took turns gaining the advantage but continued to fight at a draw until Sherik finally came in when Mak straddled the man and put a knee on his chest. The man squirmed and thrashed. Even with two he was difficult to subdue. Mak pummeled him in the face with tired fists and stopped once the man’s flailing body calmed.

Mak and Sherik each took hold of a shoulder and hoisted the man to his feet. Net wept on his bed. Skylde sniffled as well. Mak nudged Sherik in the young boy’s direction and pushed the man forward with great speed. A loud thud shook the house when the man’s back collided with the wall.

The man coughed, and his head rolled back. He was not dressed as a northerner, but like one of the workers who’d been cutting Mak’s trees. He wondered why this man would risk his life for a company who undoubtedly treated him as poorly as they treated everyone else.

A long knife hung at the man’s belt. It was longer than Mak’s hunting knife, but it seemed unwieldy. The handle was much too thin, the blade, too long and broad. It was stained with what must have been blood. Mak wondered if it was cow blood.

“Who are you?” Mak asked, calm.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” The man said in a pitiful voice on the verge of tears.

“Answer me!” Mak shook him and slammed him against the wall again. Not hard enough for pain, but just enough to scare him.

“They paid me to do it,” the man said. “I have a family, too.”

“Did they threaten your family?”

He nodded. The man was a bit scruffy, an odd sight for a labourer as they usually let their beards grow wild. The blues of his eyes were smaller than usual, leaving the whites to seem unnaturally large.

Mak tightened his grip on the front of the man’s white shirt. “That doesn’t mean you can come in here and kill mine.” He raised a threatening fist.

Two dirty palms appeared as the man brought up his hands to defend himself. “Please, don’t do it!” He wept as he begged. “I was scared. I didn’t want my family to get hurt. I should have been a stronger man, I’m sorry, please just let me go. I’ll never bother you again.”

“Don’t listen to him, Pa,” Sherik said.

Mak regarded the man long and hard. Tears streamed down his grimy face. His lips trembled, and the fingers held before his bloodied face twitched and quivered.

“I’m taking your knife,” Mak said “then I’m letting you go. If you try anything, I won’t hesitate to give your knife back blade first, you hear me?”

The man nodded a thousand times in a second.

Mak reached for the belt where the massive knife hung, all the while keeping his other hand strong against the man pinned to the wall.

“Pa, let me take it,” Sherik said. A floorboard creaked as the boy took a step forward.

“No, stay back,” Mak said.

His grip wavered for a flash and the man pushed him back and drew his knife. All hints of his weeping were gone. Only blood dripped now. An evil smirk replaced the pitiful frown, and his lips and fingers were still as a pond.

Sherik scurried about behind him but he ignored the sound. The man stepped forward, the massive blade caught the faint glow of the moon through the window momentarily.

“Now I know you’re a northerner,” Mak said. “’Cause you’ve got no honour.”

The man ignored him and continued his approach.

Mak flinched at Sherik’s touch.

“Pa, take it.”

He glanced back and took the hunting knife from his son. The man lunged forward, blade first. Mak shoved Sherik out of the way and stepped back. The man withdrew his arm before Mak could slash at it.

They stood and faced each other in the center of the house, both armed. Sherik moved again, this time the man’s eyes followed.

The boy grabbed the gun from the corner in which it leaned. The man started for him.

“Sherik, look out!” Mak shouted and chased the intruder.

Sherik jumped out of the way, dropping Lady Marlay. The man’s speed was too much to stop, so he crashed into the wall, and Mak slammed into him with all the weight and speed he could muster.

The man fell to his knees but swiped a clumsy half-circle with his long blade. Mak was just able to dodge it. The man swung again, but Mak was out of reach.

They locked eyes. Sweat dripped down Mak’s face. The knife handle burned in his palm. “Sherik, you stay with the kids. Make sure nothing happens to them.”

The boy said nothing, but his footfalls moved toward the sobs.

The man jumped to his feet, and Mak charged. A long stained blade thrust his way, but Mak parried it like a sword, then drove a knee hard into the man’s ribs. He grunted and fell to his knees again, losing grip of his knife.

Mak sent the knife skipping across the floor with a swift motion like a dog digging. He pointed his own blade at the man’s throat and stood before him, victorious but wary.

“Just do it.” The man’s evil smirk was still present.

“You don’t have a family, do you?”

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

The man chuckled and rolled his eyes. “Why should I care what matters to you?”

“’Cause I’m holding a blade to your throat. And I see it in your eyes. You know I’m going to use it before the sun comes up.”

The man nodded. “I have a gift for these things, actually. I know when someone’s a killer or not. Unfortunately for me,” his smirk widened, “you’re a killer.”

“Not yet,” Mak lied. “Tell me.”

“Why do you care?”

“You lied to me,” Mak said. “I want the truth.”

“Momma died when I was a boy. Daddy beat me, so I killed him. Happy?” The man tried to keep his frown, but it wavered.

“You got friends outside I should know about?”

“Why would I tell you?”

“I’ll kill you quick if you tell the truth.”

The man’s shoulders dropped. He shook his head. “No one but me.”

“Whistle.”

The man looked up at him, dumbfounded.

“Scream, call for help.”

“Why?”

“I want to know if you’re lying.”

The man sighed and brought two grimy fingers to his lips. He whistled a piercing sound that hurt Mak’s ears in the small house. No one came.

“Call for help,” Mak said.

“Usually the fella with the knife tries to avoid that sort of thing.” The man shrugged. “Ey, boys! Come on in and help me kill this fucker! He’s got a gun, come on, get in here!”

Net’s weeping increased at the man’s raised voice. Mak tensed at the sound of it. He waited for some time, but no one came. “I’m impressed. Seems you can tell the truth.”

The man ignored the remark.

“Sherik, stay with the kids and keep them safe,” Mak ordered, his eyes fixed on the intruder. “Have Lady Marlay ready to fire in case something happens.”

“You got it, Pa.”

Mak grabbed the man by the back of the neck and pushed him to the floor. “Crawl.” He urged him forward with a kick.

The man obeyed. His head shifted toward the knife, just a foot out of reach.

“Don’t even think it,” Mak stomped on the back of the man’s knee, not hard enough to break bone. He screamed in pain. “Crawl!”

Mak opened the door and retook his position behind the intruder. “Out. Crawl to the count of ten, then stop.” He turned to Sherik. “Don’t let the kids look out the windows.”

Sherik nodded.

Mak followed the crawling intruder out the door and closed it behind him, leaving them alone beneath the black night sky. The moon and stars were enough to keep the man in sight. He stopped crawling.

“I only counted to eight,” Mak said.

“Oh, come on,” the man complained. “Just kill me, already.” He rolled onto his back. “I won’t come back if you let me go, I swear it. Keep my knife. I’ll get up and run off into the west and you’ll never see my ugly face again.” He forced a friendly smile.

“You won’t fool me again.”

Mak knelt before the man, in a quick, violent motion that made the intruder flinch.

“You set fire to my barn? To my home, while my family slept inside?” His voice rose during the second question.

“Me and a pal of mine.”

“Where’s your pal?”

“I don’t know.”

Mak raised a fist.

“I’m not lying!” The man brought his hands up again. “After we did it, he ran off back home. Said he had some things to take care of.”

“You kill my cows? My horse?” Plucker’s twisted neck lit a fire in his gut. He leaned in close and pushed the blade against the man’s throat. “You kill my birds? You the one who snapped their necks like dried twigs?”

“My pal took care of the animals.” His strange eyes were wide and glazed in fear. “I helped him load them on the wagon, but I didn’t kill any of them.”

“You start the fires?”

“Yes.” He answered quickly, as if he thought starting the fires would earn him less hatred than killing the animals.

“So, your pal killed my animals…”

“That’s right,” the intruder interrupted.

“And you tried to kill my family!” Emotion overtook him, and he plunged the knife into the man’s gut.

The man grunted in pain. He swung a fist and caught Mak in the temple. Mak’s ears rang and he was dazed, but he stayed atop his foe. The man’s strength faded quick.

Mak gave him a punch of his own, further bloodying his face. He kept his blade submerged in the man’s flesh and straddled him, restricting movement.

“One more question and I’ll let you die,” Mak said.

The man looked up at him, at his complete mercy.

“Was Aldren Knester behind you burning my farm?”

The intruder seemed perplexed for a moment before laughing. Mak could feel the contracting muscles around the blade of his knife. It must have caused him unbearable pain, but the man continued to laugh.

“What?” Mak twisted the blade in hopes of stopping him.

The man wailed. “You think that idiot has any power?” The man’s words were broken up by laughter. “He’s nothing.”

“Then who?”

“You said one more,” His face was pale. Mak hadn’t noticed until then. He must’ve already lost too much blood.

“Fine,” Mak said. “I’ll kill you.”

“I’m your first?”

Mak nodded.

The man chuckled. “It gets easier.”

Mak ignored him. He pulled the blade from the stomach and plunged it into the man’s throat, killing him quickly. He rolled off the intruder, stabbed the bloodied knife into the dirt, got to his feet, and returned to the house.

“It’s me,” he said before entering.

Sherik stood before his two frightened siblings, Lady Marlay aimed at the door. He lowered the gun. “Did you…”

Mak nodded and sat on his redwood chair. His hands shook uncontrollably. He beckoned his two youngest. They exchanged a look but came. He put one on each lap and closed his eyes, enjoying their scent and comforting touch. They were alive, and that was all that mattered.

Skylde flinched. Mak opened his eyes to find a bloody hand print on the back of her white night gown. “I’m sorry, darlin’, I forgot.” She hopped off his lap and returned to Sherik. “We’ll clean that up, don’t worry.”

He nearly fell asleep in his chair but was awoken by Sherik’s hoarse voice. “You alright, Pa?”

“He didn’t get me,” Mak assured him. “Couple punches. Nothing that won’t heal.” He straightened his posture in the chair. “Kids. Your ma doesn’t need to know that he broke into the house. Tell her I caught him sneaking around outside. She’d never feel safe here again if she knew the truth.”

“Should she feel safe?” Sherik asked.

“Of course, she should, boy,” Mak said, half asleep. “Now get back to bed.”