“You shouldn’t mess with that,” Alexis said, watching Ulf scratch his shoulder.

“I can’t help it. The damn thing feels like it’s covered in nettle,” he said, scratching vigorously.

It was the longest sentence he had spoken in two days. Their horses and small wagon had been replaced by a team of two oxen and a large covered wagon. The close proximity to each other made the silence all the more maddening. It was refreshing to hear him speak, and she hoped it would lead to an actual conversation.

“Do you want to talk about what’s bothering you?” She asked.

“What’s bothering me?” He retorted.

“Ulf, you’ve been moping about for days. You barely eat, you’ve stopped teaching the boy, and you haven’t had a drink since the meeting. That fact alone is enough to tell me you’re upset.”

“Fine! You wanna talk about it, let’s talk about it!”

His words were angry, and he hurled them at her. She flinched at the tone.

“You lied to me,” he continued. “And now I have a death sentence jammed in my arm!”

“I didn’t lie to you,” she said, but the words sounded hollow. She had lied. By not telling him why they were going to Cathair, she had effectively forced him to follow her to the meeting.

“You’re right.” She amended. “I should have been more open, but the loyalty stone isn’t as bad as it seems.”

“Not as bad as it seems? I suppose it’ll start shooting rainbows and daisies out of my arm then?”

She sighed. “If you will calm down, I’ll try to explain what I know.

“Ya know what, I don’t want your explanations.” He said, turning away from her.

She had been acquainted with Ulf for a long time and always thought of him as a typical amoral smuggler. The more she learned about him, the more she realized she was wrong. Ulf had lived a hard life, and it had jaded him, but he had a core of goodness that could not be denied. It must be hard for him to deal with more disappointment, especially after opening up to her about his past. If he withdrew back into himself, she wasn’t sure he would ever come back out. She wasn’t going to let that happen.

“Ulf,” she said softly. “You have been very honest with me, and I have repaid you with secrecy and deceit. I want to change that. Ask me anything.”

He didn’t respond, so she let the silence stretch. When he spoke, his words were rushed.

“Who’s this guy Reka everyone keeps goin’ on about? Who’s he to you?”

The question stunned her. She had been expecting questions about the order or the loyalty stone. Hell, she was expecting any question but this one. Was this what was bothering him? He grunted, and she could tell she had waited too long to answer. She had promised to be honest.

“Reka used to be a good friend of mine.” She said.

“Used to be?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said firmly. “I suppose if I am to tell you the story, it may as well be the whole thing.”

He shrugged. “Ya got that much history, eh?”

She could not understand why this was bothering him so much. “Yes, and very little of it is good. Would you like me to get you a drink before I begin?”

“Nah, I’ll get it,” he said. He turned toward the back of the wagon. “Boy! Bring out the food. We’re stoppin’ for a bit.”

He pulled on the reigns, and the oxen slowed to a halt. The creak and jangle of the harness covered most of the sound coming from the back, but Martin was definitely not pleased. He hopped from the wagon and dumped an armload of supplies on the ground.

“I told you my name is Martin!” He shouted

“And I told you,” Ulf retorted, “names are for men. And men don’t pout.”

Alexis barely refrained from telling him that he had been doing just that for two days. Still, she could not repress a smile. Why ever Reka was bothering him, the prospect of learning the truth about it seemed to bring him around a bit.

She spread a large cloth over a soft patch of grass and began unpacking the provisions. They were surprisingly good. The barman at the Bucket had taken great care in making sure they had the kind of fare a family of farmers on a short trip would have. They had salted pork, dried beef, and even a few roasted hens. They also had a small assortment of fruits and vegetables to go along with the many loaves of crusty bread. It made a meal she would have been unashamed to serve in her own inn.

She started to set out three plates, but Martin simply tore a hunk of meat from the bird and retreated into the wagon. Ulf, she might be able to manage, but she was at a total loss as to how to handle the boy. She chastised herself for thinking of him that way and amended the thought…how to control Martin.

Ulf finished securing the oxen and strode to the back of the wagon. When he returned, she was a little pleased to see a large tankard of beer. Even though he hadn’t been drinking, she insisted the barman include a keg and a substantial upgrade to the size of the mug he was permitted. He noticed her grin and shrugged.

“Takes the edge off,” he said.

She waited until they were seated and had food in front of them before beginning her story.

“I suppose,” she said, “for you to really understand my relationship with Reka, you need to understand more about me. I never knew my mother. She died giving birth to me. My father was a cobbler, and though we were not wealthy, he did a good trade. We lived comfortably, and I was happy. I did not have a mother, but I had a father that loved me, good clothes, and the beginnings of an education. My father was very set on that point. I wanted to learn his trade, but he insisted that education would take me farther than mending smelly old shoes ever would.”

She laughed at the memory. He would always wrinkle his nose and wave his hands every time he mentioned those ‘smelly old shoes.’

“Then, when I was still very young, I got sick. I do not remember much of it, but I do remember the healers visiting and forcing awful tasting concoctions down my throat. And I remember how haggard and forlorn my father looked.”

She paused to take a sip of water. Ulf was eating and drinking heartily, but she could tell he was giving her his full attention.

“What happened?” He said between chews.

“He died,” she said simply.

Ulf swallowed hard. “Died? How?”

Such a simple question for such a painful answer, she thought. She had to remind herself that she promised to be honest.

“I killed him.” She rushed on before he could interrupt. “I did not know it at the time, but that is when my ‘gift’ emerged.”

“So you were all alone,” He asked. His tone was consoling though the pace at which he devoured the bird did not lessen.

“No. My father managed to stash a sizable amount of money away, and I went to live with his best friend. It was not a great experience. He had two daughters, and they were very jealous of my money, which he insisted on letting me spend how I pleased. Any time I would buy something new, they would ruin it. Even when I bought them nice things, they still treated me hard. I never told Peter about his daughters’ behavior. It could not have been easy for them. Their family was not as well off as mine had been. I used the remainder of my money, securing the best education I could.”

Ulf belched loudly. “Seems like ya had some hard times, but what the devil does this have to do with this Reka fella.”

She reminded herself that he wasn’t rude on purpose. He was just being Ulf.

“There are times when being around you is nauseating.” She said.

“Huh?” He asked.

“You make me want to puke sometimes!” She shouted.

“Ah yeah, well…” he said, slamming a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“If I may continue…”

He gestured with the hand that was not full of food, and she went on.

“I met Reka while I was going to school. I did not know what he was doing there. He was not a student, and he wasn’t a teacher either. He just sort of hung around talking to anyone that would listen to him. I will not go into detail, but we eventually became friends. He was the one that told me how my father really died.”

“And you took his word for it?” Ulf asked.

“I didn’t have much choice. He described to me what happened before I described it to him. Somehow, he knew what I was before I did. I did not want to hear what he was saying, and I cursed him for a liar out of spite. I came to accept what I am, but I never forgave him for telling me the truth.”

She paused to catch her breath. It felt odd. Ulf was only the second person to know how her father died. She kept her eyes down because she feared seeing judgment or disappointment in Ulf. Ulf put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. The touch was delicate. Too delicate for such callused hands. His expression was open and understanding.

“I know nothin of magic, but I know if ya killed your dad, it was an accident.” He said softly. “I know cause ya ain't like me.”

“Like you?” She whispered.

“Yeah, like me. Remember when I said I left the north after my father died?” She nodded. “I killed him, and I damn well knew what I was doin.”

“You must have hated him.” She said.

“I loved my father.” He said. “We was just on the wrong side of things.”

She was crying now. “Ulf, how do you live with that?”

“The same way I live with everything. I just keep breathing.”

He removed his hands, and she thought of Ulf killing his father in cold blood. It was an image she simply could not form. If he had really killed his father, it was not cold-blooded.

“Do you want to talk about it?” She asked.

“Not much to tell,” he said. “A man’s word is everything. I gave my word to some folks, and he gave his. He knew why I did it. The fool man praised me with his last breath. Said he was fucking proud to be my dad.”

He spit off to the side and went back to his seat. She noticed wetness around his eyes and looked away. He would not like her to see him vulnerable. His revelation was going to make the rest of her story that much harder to tell. He had killed his own father living up to his ideals. The men she had killed were out of sheer carelessness. He was right. He was not like her at all; he was infinitely better. He brushed some crumbs away and started to stand, but she halted him.

“There is more to the story. I want you to know all of it.”

He held up a finger and walked to the wagon. Martin met him at the back and shoved him in the chest.

“What’s my name?” He shouted.

“Dammit, boy! If ya think you’re old enough to be getting drunk, then you’re old enough to pour me a beer.” He said, thrusting his mug at Martin.

Martin tried to shove him again, but Ulf caught his wrist.

“One day, boy, you’re gonna get the chance at me you’ve been cravin’, but you’d best do it another time.”

The two of them stared at each other for a long moment before Martin looked away. Ulf nodded. “Don’t forget the beer,” he said. He came back shaking his head.

“That boy’s aching for a fight,” he said.

“Don’t you think you should ease up on him then?” She asked.

“No.” He said simply.

“But Ulf, he is going to kill you if he gets the chance.”

“Maybe,” Ulf said. “But if he don’t get this anger out soon, he’s gonna do a lot worse than kill me. He can’t hate the man he wants to, so he can hate me instead.”

She had no answer to that. He had once described himself as simple, but she was beginning to think it was his world that was simple, not him. He saw things in a way that she could never hope to understand. Without even seeming to try, he stripped away the layers of garbage and saw straight to the truth. Then he did whatever he felt was right, period.

“I guess you know what you’re doing.” She said. “Anyway, it wasn’t until a few years later that I discovered the order. More properly, they discovered me. Reka is a member, as you know. He told them about me, and they sought me out. In the beginning, I was used mainly as a type of scribe. They did not have many members that could read and write with the free time to handle the volume of papers that needed copying. I still had plenty of money, and so was able to go without paid work. I spent months copying old translations into these huge tomes. I wish I had paid more attention to what I was doing. You would not think you could spend your time writing down all that information without remembering it, but I was so engrossed in the copying that I never paid attention to the text. It was Gregory, though, not Reka, that recognized my true value to the order. He was always lamenting not having enough energy to get through all the magic he was doing. He came to me one day and asked for a boost. I thought nothing of the request and gave him nearly all the magic I had. That was when I discovered I could not recover my magic naturally. I got severely ill and was not getting better. One afternoon he led me to the city jail and explained my problem. He told me the only way to get better. My first victim did not survive. I was so drained that I took his entire life force and was still not satiated. That became my life. I would act as a source of magic for Gregory and other Order members, then I would drain criminals to recover. Most of the time, I was able to take from multiple sources so as not to kill them, but there were accidents. I assuaged my guilt by reminding myself that they were convicted men. I would still be doing that if it were not for Reka. He, alone, of all the order, never partook of my services. On many occasions, he called me an abomination and a murder. I owe him for those words. He took me from that life. I just wish he had not been so smug about it. I remember his last words to me. ‘Being forced to kill does not make you a killer, choosing to does. You are a killer.’ For all the reasons I have to hate him, I am grateful for his interference. I moved to the north and did not use my powers again until I killed that man.”

Ulf groaned. “So, because of me, you were forced to use your power again. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you dare take responsibility for my actions!” She snapped. “No one forced me to what I did back then, and you did not force me to kill that man. I haven’t always made the right choices, but they were my choices!”

She was suddenly furious. How could he have done the things he had and not understand the value of owning up to your mistakes.

“Alexis,” he pleaded. “That ain't what I meant. I didn’t understand at the time what killin’ that man meant to you. I’m sorry you had to do it is all.”

She forced herself to calm down. He was probably telling the truth. In fact, he probably did not care enough about what anyone else thought to bother with lying.

“I know,” she said. “Now you know about my relationship with Reka. Why did it bother you so much?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, I just thought there was something…more, I guess.”

She smiled inwardly. Could it be that he was jealous? She had never taken the time to view Ulf in that way, but now that she did, she could certainly do worse.

“Ulf,” she said, “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

“I’d wager there are lots of things I ain't told you,” he said. “But for now, we gotta get movin’.”

True to his words, he got up and started getting the oxen ready. She noticed he left the cleaning up for her. Dammit, she had to do something about that. With a groan of her own, she collected the dishes and stowed the cloth.

The remainder of their journey went peacefully, for the most part. Ulf would spend the day talking to her freely. They mostly talked about nothing, and they never once mentioned the order or Reka. He seemed content with the knowledge he had, and she was content to let him be so. The only thing that remained unchanged was how he treated Martin. Whenever he got the chance, he would pester the poor boy. The fight seemed to have gone out of him, and that made Ulf press even harder. Martin was a pot that was eventually going to boil over, and Ulf kept turning up the heat.