Chapter 1 (Childhood)
Chapter 1 (Childhood)
A shrill voice cut through the chill spring air of the village. "I'm gonna beat you until there's nothing left to beat, you little weasel!" The voice belonged to a young girl, perhaps about ten. She was running at her best speed after a boy, who was staying well ahead of her despite the fact he was noticeably smaller. It also seems worth mentioning that she was soaking wet.
"Not if you can't catch me!" His voice came back in pants. Farn was beginning to feel the stress of keeping his lead. He was also starting to consider the fact that it might not have been wise to pour that icy water over her head, especially since he was so far from the inn that represented safety. His safety, in particular.
"You can't keep running forever!"
"Neither can you!" He was already getting a cramp in his side.
"The longer you run, the worse you're gonna get it!" Tara was beginning to sound a little breathy too. He just might make it. He chanced a look over his shoulder and squeaked. Her hand was nearly within grabbing distance. And after grabbing came...
His closed his eyes tight and poured on the speed. A satisfying growl of frustration came from behind him. He opened his eyes just in time to catch the wide path that rose along the cliff face. It was all uphill from here, but at least that went for both of them. She wouldn't have it any easier. The problem is he knew he couldn't keep this up until he reached the top of the cliff. He tried a different tact.
"Tara, 'ou 'ungry yet?" He could barely get out the words. A growl answered from way too close behind him. That lent him another burst of energy that he put to good use. She rarely got this mad, and when she did... He groaned. He was only halfway up the path.
Ahead, he saw some broken brush that had fallen from the top of the cliff. Taking a chance, he veered closer to the cliff-wall and jumped over the mound. He immediately heard the sound of her hitting the brush pile and then a soft 'thud'. He kept running, but glanced once again over his shoulder. Tara was facedown on the ground with her feet tangled in the brush. She wasn't moving.
Farn's feet skidded to a halt so fast he nearly fell, himself. Breaking into a trot back to her, he called out. "Tara? You hurt?" She still didn't move. "Tara?" His voice picked up a slightly more urgent tone as he moved closer. "Tara? Come on, you. Get up." He reached down, his face bunched up with worry. "Tara?" He laid his hand on her shoulder.
It was tensed like a steel spring.
He jumped back the moment before her hands grabbed for him. Backing up, he continued to look at her. Her breeches were bloody and torn at the knees. He could see bloody scrapes on her arms and hands, and a bruise on her forehead. She hadn't been faking, she really had fallen. Tara had just tried to take advantage of it, the same way he had taken advantage of the brush. Farn sighed and sat down on the path.
Tara looked at him like a hawk would look at a mouse waving a flag at it. Her hands worked at the tangle that had grabbed her feet.
"Can I help?" He tried to move closer and got a dark look from Tara that caused him to sit back again. "Guess not..."
It took several minutes for her to get herself free. And then she looked at her pants and bent her head forward. Water dripped from the rough-cut locks that hung down around her face. The slight points of her ears poked through the matted hair, a gift from her elvish father. No one knew who he had been, nor had even seen his face. He had just stayed a single winter's night at the inn, and left the next morning. Tara had come into the world that fall. The silence was becoming too much, he decided to say something.
"Listen, I'm really sor... Urk!" She was on him so fast, he never even saw it coming. Her bloodied hand was wrapped in the front of his shirt, bringing his face so close to hers that he could make out the flakes of gold in her dark eyes.
"Don't you say it." Her voice sounded distant, and he was finding it hard to breath. "Never say it."
Farn nodded as his vision blacked out toward the edges. All he could see were her eyes. Old Joseph always said that the eyes were the windows to the soul. Her's always looked so empty, so endless, especially when she got into one of these moods. The town called her a changeling, and refused to let any of their children play with her. Even his parents had told him to stay away, but he had snuck off so many times to play with her that they had given up. Other kids had told him that she was going to steal his soul. He had laughed at them, and gotten both Tara and himself beat up for his humor. He had tried to apologize then, too, and she had placed a hand over his mouth to stop him. He never forgot the quiet, almost frightening, words she had said that day: "Never tell me you're sorry that you're my friend."
Now that her eyes were taking up his entire view, though, he felt his mind wandering. What if she was a changeling, come to steal his soul? The next thought that filtered through the muddle of his mind was that someone, he couldn't remember who, had told him they stole it with a kiss. But then again, Joseph had said that all girls did that.
"Farn? Are you listening to me? Don't make me hit you." Tara's voice brought him back, and he realized she was no longer gripping his shirt.
"Got dizzy." He looked at her and tried to think of what to say. "You're hurt, we should get you to the inn."
Tara made a face and looked at her hands. "Momma's gonna kill me over my pants. They were almost new."
Farn nodded, knowing full well that Tara's mother would never hit her. Breanna never got angry, and had never raised her hand to anyone. But she would be upset when she saw the blood. You could see how it hurt her every time her daughter came home from another fight with a kid from the village. Lately, Tara and Farn had taken to avoiding the other children altogether. But it was a small village, and it still happened way too often.
Farn was sure, though, that Joseph would tan his hide for him once he told him what happened. It didn't matter if he was his father or not, because he acted like everyone's father. Especially Tara's. Joseph had been there the night she was born, and treated her as if she were his own.
"Your legs ok?"
"Yeah." She sounded tired.
He thought about it. "Need me to carry you?"
"You? Not likely." Her face formed into a smirk.
He stood, looking up the path and once more weighed his chances. If we're gonna get in trouble... "Why not? They say changelings don't weigh anything, cause they're made of..." He heard Tara scrabble to her feet and bellow out a yell of mock-rage. He was already, once more, running for the inn.
He wondered if he would make it?
---
"Tara! What happened?" Tara's mother dropped the basket of laundry on a table and rushed over to her daughter. Joseph, for his part, continued cleaning out the hearth with a small shovel. He looked up and nodded at Farn.
Tara just looked at her mother and shrugged. "I tripped." She walked across the inn's common room and grabbed an apple from the top of the bar.
Her mother followed closely behind. Her blond hair was frayed from the morning's work, and the corners of her eyes were wrinkled with worry. "Are you sure you're ok? You're bleeding."
Tara looked at her mother with a carefully blank expression. "I've bled before. I'm fine." After a long moment, Tara's face softened and she raked her hair back out of her eyes with her off hand. "Really, momma. I'm fine. We were running and I fell down. That's it."
Breanna seemed to begin breathing again, and smiled at Joseph with a nod. Looking back to Tara, she put a hand on her shoulder and began pushing her toward the kitchen. "Well, we still need to clean you up. And those leggings need stitching if you’re to wear them out again. At least it wasn't your good skirt."
Tara mumbled something as she was pushed past the doorway and out of earshot. Joseph continued shoveling quietly without comment.
Farn began to fidget where he was standing in the doorway, and finally pushed off from the doorframe. He walked toward Joseph like a man walking to the gallows. Joseph was a barrel of a man. He wasn't fat, just wide. He was strong enough to pull up a full keg of ale from the cellar by himself, and had been seen once bending a metal bar back straight.
Farn remembered when Joseph had dealt with old Barret the smith. Old Barret had thrown a hammer at Tara to chase her off, and had nearly hit her. Joseph had heard about it later, when one of the neighbors had come up for a drink. He had then calmly gotten up from his chair and walked all the way down to the smiths shop. He had then, just as calmly, picked up the smiths hammer and thrown it right past Barret's head. The hammer had missed by inches and torn a hole through the shop wall. Joseph had then walked back to the inn, and calmly sat back down in his favorite chair for an afternoon's nap. No one in the village doubted that he had meant to miss, and the adults didn't bother Tara much anymore, especially Barret.
Farn sat down on the floor next to Joseph and hunched his shoulders, waiting.
"Fell down, hmnnn?" Joseph seemed to be talking to himself.
Farn's head sunk forward more, hiding his face. Joseph glanced down at the short-cropped hair that covered the boy's head. "I kinda tripped her."
"Really?" Joseph practically drawled it. He continued working.
"She was chasing me. I jumped some junk to lose her. She tripped on it." Farn was nearly curled in on himself.
"I see." Joseph continued working for several moments and then stopped for moment, rubbing the back of his neck with a large hand. Farn looked like he was ready to start twitching. Joseph suppressed a grin and tried to look serious. "And she was chasing you. Why?.."
Farn stopped breathing for a moment. The then spoke in a sigh. "Cause I dumped a bucket of water on her." He though about it for a moment and then spoke again. "For fun."
Joseph shook his head, a sad look on his face. He gave a grunt as he stood up, and looked down a Farn. "Did -she- think it was fun?"
Farn looked up at him with red rimmed eyes. "No."
"And did you have fun?"
Farn thought about that. He knew what he should say. He should say that he didn't, and that he was sorry. "Kinda..."
Joseph raised a questioning eyebrow. "Go on..."
"The chase was actually kinda fun. I knew she was gonna beat me to a pulp if she caught me, but..." Farn's voice trailed off in thought.
Joseph rubbed his chin as he looked out the window. "But it was exciting." It was not a question.
Farn looked at Joseph and nodded sadly. He felt the words began rushing out. "But then she got hurt, and she got hurt because I tricked her, and I don't ever want to hurt her again, like the others, and..."
Joseph kneeled over Farn and placed his hand on his shoulder. Farn was shaking, and his teeth began to chatter.
"...and she wouldn't get up when I called to her..."
"Farn, calm down." Joseph's voice was calm, but firm. "Tara is fine, if a little bloodied. Your play just got out of hand and she got careless. You weren't trying to hurt her."
"But it's my fault she got hurt."
He sighed and shook his head. "You can't keep her from getting hurt, Farn. You can try, but you can't protect everyone"
Farn's voice took a stubborn tone, even as he blushed slightly. "Don't want to protect everyone. I want to protect her." His mind drifted to the way the other kids had treated her. "I won't let them hurt her anymore."
The old innkeeper's face lit up with understanding. "Ah... So that's what this is about..." He stood back up and walked over to the bar. He kept his back to Farn as he spoke. "You know, Farn, sometimes people don't want to be protected."
Farn rubbed his eyes. "I know, but she doesn't do anything about it!"
"No..." Joseph spoke slowly. "She doesn't. And do you know why?"
Farn shook his head and waited.
"She knows that they're not worth it. They're just frightened people who don't understand her, and are too afraid to try. That doesn't make them bad people."
Farn looked up sharply. "Yes. Yes it does."
Joseph shook his head. "No, it doesn't. They take care of each other as best they can. But they can't see past their fears, and this it what makes them dangerous. Do you understand?"
"No. Why should she just ignore it?"
"Because if she fights back and hurts them... Wins... Even once... They will have all they need to prove she is just as bad as they imagined. Then they might really hurt her. Now do you understand?"
Farn looked at him in silence for several minutes, their eyes locked. Farn spoke carefully. "But if I fight for her?"
"Then they can't make her into a monster... But you will have made her into a victim." The last word was spoken with sense of finality to it.
Farn considered his options, and how Tara would react to any of them. His throat hurt as he voiced the answer out loud. "She would hate me, worse than them."
Joseph pretended not to hear the last and turned around. "But you can be ready."
"Ready?" Farn looked at questioningly at him. "Ready for what?"
"Just in case things ever get out of hand."
Farn's face grimaced. "They beat her up all the time. Isn't that 'out of hand'?"
Joseph's voice took on a dark tone that matched the sudden look on his face. "They could do worse, Farn. Much worse." He coughed and brightened suddenly, giving Farn a grin. "But it won't come to that."
Farn shivered at the look Joseph had given him. "Not if I'm there, it won't."
"Good lad." Joseph seemed to nod to himself. "You know, I could use you up here. Strong lad like you would have no problem earning a few pennies with chores."
Farn's eyes went wide in surprise. "Work? Me? Here?"
Joseph feigned offense. "Well, if you don't want it..."
Farn scrambled to his feet and nearly yelled his reply. "No! I mean Yes! A job?! I can work hard!"
Joseph raised his hands and motioned for him to quiet down. "Just a few jobs here and there. And also..." Joseph seemed to search out something in Farn's eyes. He continued slowly. "I might be able to show you something about how to protect yourself."
Farn stopped, understanding suddenly. "And Tara, if she needs it?"
Joseph gave an innocent shrug. "Just in case, Farn. Just in case..."
---
Breanna looked down at her daughter. She was dressed in a white shift that was several sizes too large. Freshly cleaned scrapes and cuts covered Tara, and a knot had formed on her daughter's forehead. Breanna took a deep breath and began to speak.
Tara interrupted her. "We were running, mamma. I tripped on a bush."
Breanna exhaled again and shook her head with a tired smile. "I believe you, Tara. What I was going to ask was how you feel now."
Tara looked at her mother and blushed slightly. "Sorry. I'm fine." The words came out in a mumble and she turned her head away.
Her mother smiled again. "Yes, you are." Her voice picked up a playful tone. She cupped her daughters chin in her hand and turned Tara to face her. "You are the finest child I have ever seen. You are everything I have ever hoped for. And I will not see you sulking like this." Her voice softened. "What's wrong, baby?"
Tara grunted, she hated being called that. "I'm not a baby."
"No, you're not. Now what's wrong?"
"Nothing." Tara's pale face was impossible to read.
Breanna sat down on the bench next to her. "Please? I know you don't like to talk about it, but I want to help."
Tara looked her in the eyes. "You do."
"But you don't let me..."
Tara cut her off. "No, mamma. I don't. But you don't have to. You don't -need- to. I really am fin..."
It was Tara's turn to be interrupted. "No!" Breanna's voice was forceful, and her small hands were clenched into fists. "You're not 'fine'. You always say that. You said it when those girls cut your hair. You said it when that boy kicked you in the stomach. In fact, you only say it when something isn't 'fine'." Her voice took a pleading edge to it. "Please? Just tell me. Is there anything I can do?"
Tara's head began shaking violently from side to side, her eyes wide. "No... Really, momma..." Her voice choked and took a gasping breath. Her body began shaking with each sob as she began crying uncontrollably. Breanna grabbed her and clutched her to her chest. She tried to make comforting noises at her daughter, but Tara began speaking again between sobs. "I was gonna hurt him, momma. He dumped the water on me and I chased him. I was gonna hurt him bad."
Breanna smoothed her hair and placed her chin on the top of her daughter's head as she held her. "No, baby. You were just mad at him. You wouldn't have hurt him."
Tara slowed her sobbing and shook her head. "Yes... I would have. I wanted to hurt him."
"Now, why would you want that?" Her mother tried to keep holding her, But Tara pushed away and stood up.
Tara whirled around and began screaming. "Because they don't hate him! They all hate me! And I'm mean to him, and he won't go away. He keeps coming back like some dumb dog that likes being kicked."
Breanna rocked backward from the outburst. Her hands clutched each other as she began to speak. "Tara..."
"And they see him near me, and they beat him too. And he's too stupid to walk away."
"Boys get into fights, Tara."
Tara's voice became small. "They're not fights, momma. It's punishments. They try and hurt me, and he says something stupid to them." Tara squeezed her eyes tightly shut, trying to avoid what she was remembering. "And then they beat him up, and then they beat me anyway. And all he does is get himself hurt too."
Breanna rubbed her face and swallowed. Looking at her daughter, she asked a quiet question. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tara looked back. Her voice was barely audible. "Because I don't want them to hurt you too."
Breanna opened her arms and looked to her daughter. Tara, without a moments pause, entered them and hugged her. They stayed like that for quite a while, the torn and bloodied cloths forgotten in the corner.
---
Joseph watched from the doorway as both Tara and Farn ran through the woods near the inn. Breanna sat inside, next to the hearth and its warm fire. She was mending Tara's pants with a thin iron needle. It had cost Joseph nearly a full gold coin to buy if from the merchant, but it had made her happy.
He would do anything to make her happy.
Rubbing his neck, he sat down in a chair across the table from her. A comfortable silence filled the room. Finally, he spoke. "I've decided to take Farn as my apprentice. I think inn work would suit him."
Breanna did not look up. He noticed a small smile on her face. He relaxed a little. She and Tara were alright then. He had been worried when they'd come out looking like they had been crying.
He decided to say the rest. "He's a good boy. He'll make a good man. I think I might train him in... other things, as well."
Breanna's hand jerked and her mouth formed a wilting curse as she sucked on one of her fingers. He wondered if anyone else had ever heard her talk like that. He doubted it.
"I thought you had decided to put that behind you..." She looked him in the eye. "He's a sensitive boy. Training like that would harden him. Perhaps too much. And would you have him swaggering around like those drunken thugs down there?"
He shrugged again, and nodded to the village. "He's survived 'them' so far. As to the rest, that's why I would train him. He hasn't in him to become a village bully."
Breanna continued sewing. "I don't really think he does either. But it sounds dangerous."
"What isn't?"
She sighed and looked at the window of oil paper. "I don't want either of them hurt."
"They've been hurt, Breanna. I just want to put a stop to it. Will you trust me on this?"
"I've always trusted you."
"I know." There was a long pause again. "You know, that offer is still..."
Her voice was gentle. They had had this conversation before. "No, Joseph."
The silence stretched on for a time. "I wish you would reconsider."
Her face became sad. "I'm sorry. You're a good man, Joseph. I do care for you, but I won't lie and say I love you."
"I don't ask for a lie. I just want to care for you properly."
Her eyes met his. "But you would try to believe it, wouldn't you."
His head hung down for a moment. "Is it so bad a thing? What I offer?"
"Is what I offer not enough?" She asked lightly. Even with the pleasant tone, he winced. She suddenly felt guilty. This situation was nearly entirely her fault. She had allowed it to happen once, and then again, and again. Now it was not an uncommon occurrence. He wasn't the brute he looked, and was gentle. But...
"Well, I had best get the day's stock from the cellar." His voice ground out the words carefully, as if attempting to guard what he said. What did she expect, her words had nearly brutalized the man. He offered her everything he had, and she had turned him away. She wondered what she would do if he began to look elsewhere.
As she watched him disappear into the kitchen, unwanted tears tried to fill her eyes. She wondered once again what was wrong with her, that she could not offer him just that one little thing he needed so badly.
And once again her memory filled with the image of hazel-green eyes in a face of purest beauty, and her heart broke a little more.
