I poured the last few litres of water into the slightly rusted barrel standing between the old barn and the outhouse. It hit the bottom with a hollow, miserable thud. Not enough. Again, not enough.
Out of the corner of my eye I watched Ernest. Tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth, he was waging a deadly serious war against a frog. The green beast — maybe fifteen centimetres long — leapt away from every swing of his stick with the kind of ease that made it look like it had been mocking him for years.
I snorted under my breath.
The kid wasn't swinging wild. He wasn't throwing himself at it. He'd approach, cut off its path, wait.
Growing up to be a fighter, the thought crossed my mind.
Then came the second one, heavier.
Just not like his father.
— Ernest! — I called out.
— What? — he muttered back, not even turning around.
— Clean the barrel. By the time I'm back from Miranda's, I want it spotless.
The words came out sharper than I meant. I winced immediately. For a fraction of a second I had the strange feeling I was hearing Marv's voice coming out of my own mouth.
Wonderful. That's all I needed.
Ernest finally glanced back over his shoulder.
— What for? It'll be empty again soon anyway.
I looked at him hard.
— I need to buy some water. The way things are going, Evi won't make it to morning.
Only then did he sober up. He lowered the stick. The frog seized its chance and vanished under the barrel.
Evi stood by the fence, chewing dry grass as if she could still wring some life out of it. I'd found her once at the edge of the Shadowed Grove, half-dead and trembling like something from that forest was still chasing her. Ernest had set her leg, dressed the wound, and ever since, the goat had stuck to our yard — giving a little milk from time to time.
A little. Never enough.
In Kera even milk smelled more like money than like home. Whenever I tried to picture myself growing old here, something tightened in my chest. That vision was worse than hunger. I didn't want that kind of future — not for myself, not for Ernest. That scrawny, sharp-tongued little blond was all I had left, even though I'd only just turned sixteen.
A familiar voice from behind the shack I was passing pulled me out of my grim thoughts.
— Good riddance! I won't keep a piece of filth under my roof! — a hard, male voice reached me.
— You always were a bastard. I don't want to see you again... — came the reply, softer, but so frayed it seemed barely holding itself together.
I passed a wooden, rotting fence that wobbled more than it stood, and then I saw her.
Revi.
— Oh! Hey, Revi! — I called out a little louder so she'd notice me.
— Hey, V. — Her voice softened instantly, as if that argument had never happened moments ago. She stepped closer to the fence. — Where are you headed?
— Miranda's. We're out of water again...
— That's bad. The way things are going, someone's going to have to go into the forest.
— Or sign up for a contract...
I didn't even believe what I'd just said myself.
Revi looked at me in a way that made me drop the act immediately.
— Don't joke about that. You know how contracts end for people like us.
I said nothing, so she went on:
— I heard my mother say Zirek didn't come back from his contract.
— Zirek signed up? — I was surprised.
— Yeah. They promised him two hundred litres and two menwams.
— That's quite a lot.
— Quite a lot for a life? — she answered with a faint, bitter smile. — Seems like you don't rate yourself very highly.
I snorted.
— I'd say at least a hundred litres and half a menwam.
She smiled. I didn't know why, but whenever I looked at Revi, this bleak pit of a place gained a few rays of light. She lived in worse filth than me and Ernest, and she could still smile.
The worst of it was that I'd seen her father try to shove her into the forest more than once. She'd managed to get away every time. To this day I couldn't understand what a man had to do to look at his own child with that kind of hatred.
I told myself it wasn't my problem. Revi always found a way.
I moved on.
Passing the tavern on my right, I noticed it was buzzing as usual, even though the sun was already sitting low.
Right. Marv's in there. Wonder what he's done this time.
I didn't have to wait long for an answer.
The tavern door swung open slightly, and I stopped out of instinct. Usually this scene ended the same way — one drunk beating another, while everyone else watched as if it were a perfectly normal part of the evening.
This time the main performer turned out to be Marv.
— You son of a bitch! That's the third chair this week! — someone roared from inside.
— So what — came the familiar, drink-soaked voice from behind the half-open door.
A moment later a large figure came flying out. Marv spun a full rotation on his own axis and then landed face-first in a yellowed puddle beside the entrance.
A fine father. A model above all models. Though even he wasn't my biggest problem right now. The sun was already slipping behind the tree line. I still had a good stretch of road to Miranda's rainwater stall, and if I was late, Ernest would never forgive me. Not when Evi's surviving until morning depended on it.
I ran until I reached the large wooden sign with its metal fittings spelling out a single word: Water.
My shirt was soaked through, my breath tearing in my chest, my legs buckling with every step. Maybe half an hour until sunset, and on the way back I'd be hauling a full jug.
Wonderful. Shame I didn't bring my steel sword. Oh wait — I remember now — I don't have one, because my father needed it to settle a debt at the tavern a year ago.
Sometimes I wondered what he'd threatened all those innocent people by the river with, if he could drink away even a sword.
Doesn't matter. Focus, Virc. On the goal.
The goal was simple. Water. Like almost always in this godforsaken place.
I took two steps under the sign. To my left, a ginger tomcat was sprawled in the dirt. Not exactly an encouraging sight. Honestly, that cat could serve as the crest of all Kera — left eye overgrown, probably knocked out long ago, and on his ribs a royal bard could have played a hymn of praise to the magnificent reign of Bartalia. Not here, though. Here he'd have gotten his face smashed in for it.
To my right stood a massive barrel set on its side. Enormous.
How much could that thing hold? It crossed my mind. Enough for winter. Maybe longer.
— What do you want?! — a raspy voice came from behind the shack.
— It's me, Virc! I need some water, Mrs Miranda! — I called back.
Miranda's best years were long behind her. It was better to speak to her loudly and clearly, because if she missed something, she had a talent for filling in the gaps herself. And that could get complicated.
— Don't have any. All gone. Even the rain has stopped coming around here.
— I only need a little. For the goat.
— Nothing for people. Something for a goat. Wait.
From inside the shack came a crash, as if a wardrobe had toppled onto a laid table. Miranda didn't have much, but everything she had was stuffed into her little room. I suspected life in a place like that wasn't simple, but what did I know. She probably still remembered the days when people died in more human ways.
A moment later she came out carrying a small wooden bucket filled halfway with slightly grey water.
— This is the last of the rainwater.
I took it carefully, as if it held something sacred.
— Thank you so much, Miranda. I'll bring the bucket back tomorrow and try to set aside a little milk.
Even as I said it, I knew I was promising more than I could deliver. Evi had given almost nothing for weeks.
— Yes, yes. You just tell that father of yours I've got work for him. Tell the old drunk to come by. The roof's started leaking.
Tell my father. I'd rather go into the forest.
That fool had been dead to the world for as long as I could remember. The last time I'd seen him sober was probably at his brother's burning. Though honestly, even that I wasn't sure about.
He'd like to say he fell apart after what happened to mother. Only the bastard wasn't even there when it happened.
Not worth the breath.
— Sure, I'll pass it on, — I said. — But I'm not making any promises. The bucket I'll definitely return.
I couldn't afford to get into Marv and his distinguished achievements of the last decade. The sunset was bearing down on me. And if I didn't make it in time, I'd feel the weight not just in my arms, but on my conscience.
Miranda's a good woman, the thought drifted through my head as I ran through the village. She's always been better to us than she had to be. She knew mother. Knew father better still, probably — and maybe that's why she looked at me and Ernest like we were half-orphans.
If I had to save someone from this rotten village, I'd save Miranda.
And Revi.
Actually, Revi first.
There's still Ernest.
So Ernest first, then Revi.
Though if you asked me on a bad day, I'd probably say the opposite.
I picked up my pace.
Wonder what she's doing now. By the tavern she'd turned deeper into the village. Judging by that subtle exchange of words with her father at the shack, she didn't have a particularly pleasant evening ahead of her.
She's tough, I thought. She'll manage.
The sun was barely a smoulder on the horizon now. I flew back into the village as if something were actually chasing me. Two monsters, maybe.
As I approached the tavern, I noticed a few people standing by the roadside shrine. I slowed instinctively. Crowds never meant anything good.
I got closer. I peered between the shoulders of some tall bystander and then I saw the figure lying at the base of the shrine. Curled up. Motionless. Long hair tied in a ponytail.
Revi?
One of the people in the crowd grabbed her by the shoulder and rolled her onto her back.
The bucket slipped from my hands.
It was her.
Her face was beaten and bloody all over. She looked like a horse had trampled her, or like someone had tried very hard to make sure she never got up again. I reached her in two strides.
— Revi! Revi, can you hear me?!
She didn't answer.
— She's dead, — someone in the crowd said flatly.
It barely reached me. If I'd had a sword then, I would have cut out his tongue.
— Revi, please... get up. Revi!
I started shaking her by the shoulder, as if sheer stubbornness could force her to open her eyes. I kept expecting her to look at me the way she always did — with that light, easy smile of hers, like everything could still be fixed.
She didn't move.
I froze. My hands went numb, tears blurred my vision. If this village was going to swallow someone else, it wasn't going to be her. Not Revi. She was the only ray of light I'd ever seen here. Too bright for this hour. Too alive for this dead ground.
— What's all this?! — a heavy, familiar voice rang out. — What's going on here?!
I looked up through my tears and saw a large figure approaching.
Marv.
Of course. Why you. Why now.
— What happened, Virc?
That voice pulled me out of my stupor.
— I don't know. I ran to get water, came back, and they were all standing here... and she was lying there. — I nodded toward Revi.
Marv knelt beside her, bent over her chest, and listened for a moment.
— She's breathing.
In that moment I forgave him everything. He poured hope into me so suddenly it actually hurt. I wiped my cheeks, and before I'd even registered what was happening, he had Revi thrown over his shoulder.
— We're going to Kansa's, — he said. Then he looked at me hard. — Move.
Only then did it sink in how much time had passed since his performance outside the tavern. His head must have cleared. Maybe he'd been on his way home. Maybe he'd just been lucky enough to be in the right place.
I followed him, and only after a moment did I notice my hands were shaking.
My hands.
The bucket.
The bucket with the water.
I'd left it at the shrine.
Doesn't matter. Some things are more important than a goat.
The herbalist's shack wasn't far, fortunately. Someone long ago had decided he should live near the centre of the village. Before tonight I'd never cared. Now, for the first time, I thought maybe the gods didn't have us completely in the gutter after all.
A few minutes later we were there. Marv walked in silence. Then again, he never was much of a talker. Mostly he barked short orders at me and Ernest — hard, dry, without a trace of a human being.
Going out to earn bread and water. When I'm back, the outhouse better be fixed.
That kind of thing.
When we reached the fence, Marv was already bellowing from the road:
— KANSA! OPEN UP!
A moment later a candle flickered to life on the left side of the door. The narrow, half-rotted door creaked open and a short figure peered out. Black hair, bulging eyes, a long nose. Not someone you'd comfortably hand your life to.
Except I didn't have another choice.
— Don't even tell me you need patching up again, Marv, — he croaked.
— No. Not me this time.
Kansa narrowed his eyes.
— Who is that?
— It's Revi! — it came out louder than I meant.
— Why does she look like that?
— I don't know. I found her at the shrine.
Kansa pushed the door open wider.
— Right. Bring her in.
Father laid Revi carefully down on a pile of packed straw. The inside of the shack looked far better than the outside. Clean, tidy, almost neat. I'd expected a herbalist's walls to be lined with plants, flasks, books and all that mystical-medical clutter, but none of it. No great shelves, no mysterious mixtures on display.
Kansa simply reached under the bed and pulled out a wooden box. From inside he produced a cloth and a small bottle of bluish, foul-smelling liquid. He soaked the rag and began cleaning the blood from Revi's face.
That was when I really saw her for the first time.
Strong features. A small, neat nose. Lips still red beneath the dried blood. Yes, it was Revi. The same one who just a few hours ago had stood by a fence and brightened my walk simply by being there.
— She'll live, — said Kansa.
As if a boulder had been lifted from my chest. No — as if a heart that had briefly turned to stone had suddenly started beating again.
— She's badly bruised, — the herbalist muttered, examining her temple. — Whoever attacked her wasn't trying to kill. Or was trying and was exceptionally bad at it.
Only when he said that did I feel something hot beginning to collect inside me. Not relief. Not entirely. Something worse.
I wanted to kill someone.
And I was certain I'd be better at it than whoever had gotten to Revi.
I didn't know yet who that was.
But that was going to change.
— He needs to rest, — Kansa said, in a lower tone than before.
— Understood, — Marv replied.
— Her condition isn't as bad as her body makes it look. She was lucky. She took a few blows to the face and lost consciousness. The attacker must have gotten scared off, — the herbalist continued.
— I don't know what happened, — said Marv. — She was lucky it didn't end worse.
Kansa looked at us more carefully.
— Right, let's get to the point. She needs a few days of rest. Do you know her?
Marv shot me a glance that left no room for silence.
— That's Revi. She lives near the tavern.
I wasn't sure how much I should say. I had no intention of telling him the whole story of how we knew each other.
— Does she have family? — Kansa asked.
— She does, — I answered.
— Then go tell them. I don't work for free, — he said, cooling whatever faith I had left in human decency.
That sentence knocked me sideways. Why had I expected anyone in this hole to do something out of the goodness of their heart? Everyone here watched out for their own piece of the gutter.
— I'd rather not, — I said. — Her father won't pay.
And then I felt hope peeling away from me again from the inside.
— Here. — Marv reached into his coat and flipped a coin straight into Kansa's palm.
I was dumbstruck.
Him? The eternal drunk, the model of everything a father should never be, had paid for a stranger?
I was sure I was dreaming. That I'd wake up in a field somewhere with a bruised shin, because Ernest had swung his stick a little too wide again.
I rubbed my eyes. I didn't wake up.
But the moment came when it was time to leave. Marv squeezed through the narrow doorway with surprising care. Even half-drunk he apparently knew he couldn't afford to replace a rotting door frame.
Outside, dusk had already settled. The sun had disappeared completely behind the tree line. Trees. A cruel invention. Or maybe not the trees themselves — maybe what hid between them.
The simplest way to become a village legend was one: walk into the forest and never come back. One day I'd go there myself. I wasn't going to let my mother's soul rot trapped inside some bastard.
— Why did you do it? — I asked. I didn't want it to sound like an accusation, but that's exactly how it came out.
— Do what? — Marv grunted.
— Why did you pay for Revi? Why didn't you leave her, the way you left me, Ernest, and mother?
Marv looked at me heavily.
— Don't start again. I didn't leave anyone. — He probably didn't believe those words himself. Only he'd never been able to admit to a mistake. Not even to himself.
— Seriously? — I scoffed. — Because I think you just did exactly that.
Had I ever said that to his face? I don't think so. And if I had, not like this.
— You have food? — he said. — You have water? There you go. Seems like I didn't leave you after all.
— I have food because I hunt. I have water because I drink rainwater — the kind we usually buy with money from hunting. If it weren't for the game, me and Ernest would have been dead long ago.
Marv was quiet for a moment.
— Show some respect for your father. — His voice had changed. Quieter. Less certain than before.
— If I had a father, maybe I'd find some respect.
That landed. I could see it. And for a moment I didn't know if I'd done the right thing. He'd just helped Revi, after all. If it weren't for him, she might already be dead. I drew a breath.
— Listen... — I said, quieter now. — Thank you for helping Revi. I mean that. But it doesn't change the fact that as a father, you're an outstanding piece of shit.
This time I knew that was exactly what I'd wanted to say.
We made our way back toward the shack at a fairly steady pace. Ernest was dozing in the chair by the entrance. Apparently waiting for me was an exhausting occupation.
I'd have liked to check whether he'd cleaned the barrel, but in that light I might as well have judged it by smell. Besides, I'd have bet a thousand litres of clean river water that an army of powerful frogs had attacked him and he'd fought them to the last. There certainly hadn't been time for the barrel.
The barrel...
The bucket.
Right. I'd left it at the shrine. A good hour ago. It was probably already gone. Around here opportunities get taken, not admired.
— Evi! Please, just hold on a little longer! — I shouted toward the pen.
— Virc! Brother! — Ernest leapt up from the chair. — You came back a hero with the water, right?
— Not exactly. A hero, yes... but without the water.
Even as I said it I felt a sting of disappointment. It sounded like something Marv would say. No. I don't want to sound like that. I don't let people down. At least, I'd always tried not to.
— What do you mean, no water? What about Evi? What's going to happen to her?
He ran to the pen as if he could apologise with the sheer speed of it.
— Wait... WHERE'S EVI?!
I went after him. Marv, unmoved, sank into the chair Ernest had just vacated.
Evi was indeed gone.
— Ernest, where is Evi? — I asked, though the reproach came through in my voice anyway.
— I don't know. She was here. Then I went to clean the barrel.
— But?
— But I forgot the brush... so I went back to the porch. And then I saw a rat by the grain in the doorway and I tried to chase it off...
He trailed off quieter and quieter, roughly as fast as the last scraps of my belief that anything in this village could be kept alive were dying out.
— Right. It's not your fault, — I said. — The important thing is finding Evi.
But I already knew what we were both thinking.
Dark. Forest close by. If she'd gone that way, she was gone.
Like the bucket. The water in the bucket. Miranda's faith in my promises. And my honour.
I looked at Ernest. Tears were gathering in his eyes.
— We'll look for her in the morning, — I said, though I didn't believe my own words.
Our conversation was cut short by a flash to the right. Like a torch, from the direction of the road to the city.
I turned my head.
Marv was already dozing in the chair. Naturally. A hard day. First get blind drunk, then sober up, and finally fall heroically asleep.
The flash came a second time. Then a third.
Riders.
— Ernest, inside. Now.
He didn't listen.
He stood beside me and stared into the darkness just like I did, from which the thunder of hooves was growing clearer by the second. Horses. And horses didn't belong to ordinary people.
My heart started beating harder.
Who is this? What do they want?
By the time I counted five silhouettes, the first was already just a few metres away. He pulled up sharp and steady, like someone who doesn't ask for directions — someone who comes to collect what's his.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw that Marv was no longer asleep. He was sitting upright. Soberer than I'd seen him in a long time.
When the rest arrived, the thunder died. Silence fell. Bad, heavy, unnatural.
The third rider broke it.
— Hello, Marv. We've come to collect a debt.
He paused for a moment, then added:
— I see you're living in comfort, — he said with a laugh.
— But don't worry. We'll find something to take. — He added that last part without smiling.
His voice was calm, but hard. I didn't yet understand exactly who this was or what was actually happening around me, but one thing I felt immediately — nothing good was going to come of this.
I looked at Ernest. He stood frozen. He wasn't even trying to look tough. Pure fear sat in his eyes. I hated that sight. He was too innocent for this world. His natural enemies should have been frogs, not men on horses riding in at night to collect debts.
Out of the corner of my eye I glanced at Marv.
I'd expected his usual drunk routine. Something like: No money, so get the hell out.
But no.
Marv stood motionless, almost as rigid as Ernest. As if he'd sobered up more in a few minutes than he had in the last several weeks. His whole body was tense, but not the way it was before a fight. This wasn't attack tension. This was paralysis.
I'd never seen him like that before.
There had been times he'd brawled with someone over planks from the outhouse. Times when someone showed too much interest in our barrel and ended up with a split lip. Marv had looked different then. Then he'd been furious.
Now he looked like he'd seen a ghost.
— The debts are paid, — he said at last.
The rider gave a quiet snort.
— Marv... — he said, almost gently. — You really believed that a few odd jobs and a few years of quiet settled the matter.
That sentence hung in the air like a stench.
Marv didn't answer straight away.
The rider swung down from his horse and moved toward him with a slow, unhurried step.
— The fact that I let you walk away wasn't mercy, — he continued. — It was an investment.
Marv's face was beginning to change. The fear didn't leave, but anger was starting to push through it.
— I'm very sorry you never got to live a quiet life beside your beloved, — the man said.
— Shut your mouth, — Marv growled.
— The one you left us for, — he finished calmly. — Fate has a cruel sense of humour.
Marv took a step toward him.
— What do you want?
Only then did the man smile — truly smile — but there was nothing human in it.
— Repayment.
— I have nothing, — Marv said. — I live modestly, barely scraping by. I have nothing left.
He practically spat those last words. His voice carried anger, shame, and something even worse, all at once.
The rider stopped right in front of him and looked him over from head to toe.
— You haven't forgotten how to fight, I assume?
Marv said nothing.
The man grimaced and waved a hand under his nose.
— God, the stench. — He tilted his head slightly to one side. — No. A wreck like you is no use to us.
Then he looked at me and Ernest.
I felt that gaze like a nail being driven between my ribs.
— But here... — he said quietly. — Here I see something more interesting.
He stepped closer. Ernest went rigid.
— That small one looks lively. — He smiled crookedly. — Fast runner, Marv?
In that moment everything became clear.
They hadn't come for money.
They'd come for us.
Ernest stood frozen with fear. Marv began shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot.
— Leave him! — he said, his voice breaking halfway through.
— Marv, easy. — Firs spoke gently, too gently. — I lost a runner last week. You understand. I need a new one.
He was certain he'd leave with what he'd come for. You could hear it in every word.
— Firs, please. He's just a child. I'll go with you, please, just leave him.
Hope was dying in his voice faster than the last scraps of his dignity.
— I don't need a walking corpse, — Firs replied, not even looking at him.
He crouched beside Ernest and raised the torch, lighting him from below. My brother looked in that light like an animal caught in a snare.
— Fast runner, kid? — he asked in the tone used to calm frightened children.
— He won't answer you, — I said before I had time to think.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like something gone mad. If I'd been here alone, I'd have run long ago. But Ernest was beside me. That changed everything.
Run?
Where?
Forest on the left. Road to the city on the right — too open.
No. I can't. Not with him. Not now.
— My brother doesn't speak, — I said.
The words came out on their own. Only a moment later did it sink in what I'd actually said.
Firs slowly turned his head toward me.
— A mute? — he murmured.
— Is he some kind of halfwit? — one of the riders bellowed from behind him.
Firs ignored him completely.
— And you? — he asked, looking only at me now. — Is something wrong with you?
When I met his eyes, I felt a wave of heat strike my back. Unnatural. Like someone had blown the heat of a furnace straight into me.
— No... I don't think so... — I managed.
My own voice sounded strange. Weak. As if it no longer belonged to me.
— Excellent.
He rose from his crouch in one quick movement.
— Marv, consider your debt settled.
He moved toward me.
I saw only the flash of a black glove.
When I came to, it was dawn. Maybe five o'clock, maybe a little later. The right side of my face pulsed with pain, and my vision was clouded, as if I were looking through dirty water.
I was draped over the back of a donkey. Along with me it was carrying several smaller packages and one larger crate.
Wonderful.
Even as a prisoner, I was just cargo to them.