October 31st, 1795 aex

Mak Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

Mak awoke to the screams of a little girl. He sat upright in bed. Jerri! He shook his head. Jerri wasn’t a little girl anymore… and she was gone. He closed his eyes and went back to sleep. There came another scream, one that shook him from sleep completely. Skylde!

He shot out of bed. Daun knelt in the center of the house, not far from Konni’s cookery. He had plunged a knife into Skylde’s chest. She lay motionless. Her face was pale, and she did not react as he continued to stab her. Daun wore the same emotionless expression he’d had since arriving, but his cheeks were wet with tears.

Mak dashed toward them. Konni screamed in terror. Mak fell to his knees before Skylde, pushing Daun violently away. Daun smacked against the ground, making no effort to resist the push.

Mak cradled his dead daughter in his arms. Blood drained from his face. He stared at her closed eyes in shock and brushed a bloodied lock of hair from her blood-splotched face. There were countless wounds from her neck to her legs. Blood leaked into his trembling hands.

“Why?” He wanted to shout but he could barely produce a voice. “Why?” He tried again but got the same result. Konni rushed to them and pushed Mak away, nearly as hard as he’d pushed Daun.

Net cried on his bed, blankets pulled to his chin. He couldn’t look away from the horror.

Mak’s eyes slowly moved toward Daun. The man lay, weeping as if a tragedy had just befallen him, and not come from his own hands. “He told me it was the only way he’d let my family live,” Daun said. He got to his knees, their eyes locked. “My family could live if I kill yours.” His eyes were wild and absent.

Mak’s brows furrowed and rose. His tongue tied, but his lips moved as if he was going to speak.

Lady Marlay’s barrel was thrust against Daun’s temple, nudging his head to the side. Daun turned and pushed his brow against the barrel, fearless.

Sherik held the gun. “You told us they were dead.” His voice trembled as much as his hands.

“They killed my dog,” Daun’s face never changed, but tears streamed. “They raped my wife and daughters in front of me!” His voice rose. “They beat my children, countless times. I had to accept their deal!” His head sank, and Sherik pushed it back up with a strong thrust of Lady Marlay. Daun grimaced.

“Guvson came to me one day,” Daun continued. “Told me my family would be left alone if I took yours. So, I pretended to be a good man, someone who wanted to help. But I’m none of those things, Mak. I’m just a man trying to protect his family.”

Mak said nothing. He’d lost the ability to speak and think. His gaze was continuously pulled back to his daughter, in disbelief. Konni rocked back and forth, Skylde’s head nestled softly in her lap.

“Bullshit!” Sherik’s shout rang in Mak’s ears. Sherik pulled the rifle back then thrust it forward again, twice. Daun flinched at the pain.

Mak rose and wandered across the room on flimsy legs of straw. Each step threatened to topple him as grief rushed to his head. He collapsed onto his favourite redwood chair and sobbed. “How could you do this?” He met Daun’s gaze. “I don’t care what position I was put in, I’d never stoop to that level.”

“I would have said the same, once upon a time.” Daun ignored the gun pushed against his temple. The skin around the barrel’s end reddened. “When you watch a group of men take your wife, and you can’t do anything about it, your daughters…” His words were cut by weeping.

Mak put all his efforts toward holding back tears. His chest burned, and each breath felt like it did not bring in enough air.

“She wasn’t supposed to scream,” Daun said. “I would have killed you all, quiet and painless, Mak, I swear it.”

“You think that makes us feel any better?” Sherik smashed the barrel of the musket into Daun’s face again, the hardest strike yet. There was an audible crack as the steel crushed Daun’s nose. Blood poured from his nostrils and he fell over. His hands came up to cradle his nose. “What do I do, Pa?”

Mak wanted to respond. He chose the words he wanted, arranged them carefully, and pushed them out. They climbed, slowly up his throat, as if through cold honey. They crawled along his dry tongue and pushed through his teeth, but when his lips parted, there was nothing but weeping. Mak, for the first time, wept before his family. It wasn’t a tame, quiet cry of a few sobs and a couple tears. It was the weeping of a child. Loud, long, and clear cries, the pitch high like a pup, a shameful sound to leave a man.

“Kill him,” Konni said with authority. Her own voice was rattled with sorrow.

Sherik hesitated. He stared at the man he’d called Uncle his whole life with pity.

“Kill him!” Konni shrieked.

Sherik tried reasserting his aim. He held the musket against at the man’s head. Daun got back to his knees. He stared at the gun for a moment and closed his eyes, eagerly awaiting the blast. “I can’t do it.” Sherik said.

Konni shot to her feet. She stormed toward them, slapped Sherik across the face, took Lady Marlay, and pushed the barrel into the loose flesh of Daun’s brow.

Sherik’s hand went to his cheek where he was slapped, and he looked away from Daun.

Konni pulled the trigger. Blood splattered about her cookery and the closest wall. Daun fell limp and Net shrieked. She dropped the musket hard on the floor and returned to cradle Skylde’s head, her face ghostly white and unreadable.

Mak watched what remained of his family through tears. He looked around the house. Death, blood, destruction. All of this because one spoiled northerner couldn’t accept the word “no.”

He made a fist as he wept. I’m going to kill you, Guvson. I swear it.