"The Aggrieved" - Chapter 2
After a longer-than-intended delay, I present chapter 2 from my upcoming short story, "The Aggrieved." You can read chapter 1 HERE to get up to speed. Enjoy!
-2-
Viktor's tone was soft, but his words cut through Keltin's protests like a knife.
"You were there?" Keltin whispered.
"Yes."
Keltin's angular face became full of sympathy, and Viktor felt tension drain out of his shoulders. All traces of Keltin the Novice were gone. Keltin the Friend had arrived at last.
Keltin sat on one of the three large rocks they had arranged around a fire pit he had carved with his Talent years ago. Holding an open palm over the pit, where burnt twigs and ashes lay, he spoke two words and jerked his hand away as a flame soared up, licking the ceiling before settling into contented crackling. Shadows danced along the cave walls. Abbuv watched them with an expression of awe.
"Tell us what happened," Keltin said.
Viktor sank onto his rock and shrugged, resting his arms on his knees.
"He was drunk, as usual, and she did nothing wrong, as usual. Burned the meat. That was her crime. She offered to cook him up another piece, and he just..." He closed his eyes but the horrors of his mother's final moments played out against his eyelids.
Viktor jerked when he felt Abbuv's calloused hand settle on his shoulder. Abbuv's plain face was crinkled in concern. Viktor gave him a small smile and patted his hand.
Absently, Keltin touched his novice collar. "You should go to the magister. You should," he pressed when Viktor shook his head. "Tell him what you saw. You're a respected member of our community, Viktor." His voice softened. "Your mother was, too. If you swear that you say is the truth, he can protect you. The village guard--"
"They won't help," Viktor snapped and looked away. Tripped, he heard his father say. The smugness of his father's tone saturated the memory, dripping from it like a rag soaked with blood. She just tripped.
Keltin straightened. "I'll vouch for you. The magister trusts me as much as he trusts his own blood."
Viktor swallowed a sound of irritation. Keltin the Novice had returned. Neither man noticed the deep flush of shame that had crept over Abbuv's face at Keltin's words.
"Everyone in the village knows we're friends," Viktor said.
"Just like they know Ralad is a drunk," Keltin said. "If we tell the magister, he can send the guards to--"
"They're not the knights of Solomnia, Keltin. They're a militia. They're more comfortable spearing bales of hay than they are sticking a sword in a man's belly." Especially a man who could probably jab them hard enough with one finger to break a few ribs.
"And you, Viktor? Could you stick a sword in a man's belly? In the man who fathered you?"
"There was little fathering involved."
Keltin raised his hands in assent. "I'm only thinking of you, my friend. What if you're caught? You would be the one tried before the magister, and your friendship with 'buv won't carry you far. The magister is a wise and impartial man, and--"
Viktor fought to keep his tone even. "I appreciate what you're saying, Keltin. Truly. But if you want to help me, then think this through. I saw my father... I saw Ralad kill my mother, and he knows I saw. He'll know I was the one who gave him over."
Keltin hesitated. "Are you saying you don't want to report your father because you're afraid? Because the magister can protect you," he finished in a rush.
Viktor clenched his fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. Once again he felt Abbuv's big hand alight on his shoulder, light as a feather. This time, his friend's touch, and the innocence in his eyes, brought no comfort.
"I want to do this myself. I have to. For my mother."
Liar, a voice at the back of his mind whispered. He shoved it away.
Despite the heat from the flames, Keltin drew his cloak around him.
"I won't kill a man. Not even a man like Ralad."
"You don't have to kill him." Viktor looked between Keltin and Abbuv, who had settled back and adopted his blank stare. He no longer felt fear. Only the urgency of self-preservation. "I'll do it. I just need some help."
Keltin tried to speak up but Viktor overrode him.
"I hold no illusions about my strength compared to Ralad's. There's no way I could take him in a fight, even if I got him drunk first. Not that he'd need much help from me." His gaze settled on Keltin. "I just need an edge."
"Such as?" Keltin replied after a moment.
Viktor licked his lips and leaned toward Abbuv. "Abbuv, the swords my father keeps around the forge are too large for me. I'm not strong enough, you understand? So I wonder if you might be able to stea-- to borrow one. Could you do that?"
Abbuv squinted and glanced at Keltin. Keltin was frowning at Viktor.
"What is it you need from me?" Keltin asked.
Viktor gestured at the flames. He forced himself to look respectful, even a little awed. "You're the sorcerer-in-training, Keltin. What do you recommend?"
As he'd hoped, Keltin puffed up slightly. "I'd say some sort of poison. Nothing manmade, because that could be traced back to you. It would need to be magical in nature." He started as if coming out of a trance. "Not that I'm agreeing to--"
"Of course not. I'm only asking you to consider what I'm asking." Out of habit, he glanced out of the cave. The fiery gold of twilight was fading to darkness. His curfew was drawing near. An icy vein of fear wormed its way down his chest and into his belly. He ran a shaking hand over his mouth.
"You are my closest friends. I have no one else. Please."
Abbuv, apparently bored with the conversation, hummed a tune and drew in the dirt with his fingers. Keltin studied Viktor for a long time. He rose and looked at the mouth of the cave. A light breeze stirred the leaves and moaned through the cave opening.
"We should get back. I have lessons in the morning."
Keltin waved a hand and started toward the exit. Abruptly the fire winked out. A few tendrils curled up from the ashes, crooking and beckoning like ethereal fingers. Viktor followed him out. Behind them, Abbuv scrambled up from his rock and hurried after them, a whine rising in his throat. At the sound, Keltin paused and put an arm around Abbuv's shoulder. Abbuv was trembling.
"Sorry, 'buv. I forgot." He held one hand palm-up and whispered a word. A glowing white ball hovered above his fingertips, illuminating the windy road and patches of trees on either side.
"Better?" Keltin asked. Beneath his arm, Abbuv grew still. He stood straighter and nodded gruffly.
"This way," Abbuv said, and set off like an intrepid adventurer, marching with his chest thrust out. The ball of light trailed above his head, tinkling softly.
Chuckling, Keltin took a step forward. He paused when he felt Viktor's hand on his arm.
"Think about it," Viktor said. "That's all I ask."
Then he set off without waiting for a reply.
-2-
Viktor's tone was soft, but his words cut through Keltin's protests like a knife.
"You were there?" Keltin whispered.
"Yes."
Keltin's angular face became full of sympathy, and Viktor felt tension drain out of his shoulders. All traces of Keltin the Novice were gone. Keltin the Friend had arrived at last.
Keltin sat on one of the three large rocks they had arranged around a fire pit he had carved with his Talent years ago. Holding an open palm over the pit, where burnt twigs and ashes lay, he spoke two words and jerked his hand away as a flame soared up, licking the ceiling before settling into contented crackling. Shadows danced along the cave walls. Abbuv watched them with an expression of awe.
"Tell us what happened," Keltin said.
Viktor sank onto his rock and shrugged, resting his arms on his knees.
"He was drunk, as usual, and she did nothing wrong, as usual. Burned the meat. That was her crime. She offered to cook him up another piece, and he just..." He closed his eyes but the horrors of his mother's final moments played out against his eyelids.
Viktor jerked when he felt Abbuv's calloused hand settle on his shoulder. Abbuv's plain face was crinkled in concern. Viktor gave him a small smile and patted his hand.
Absently, Keltin touched his novice collar. "You should go to the magister. You should," he pressed when Viktor shook his head. "Tell him what you saw. You're a respected member of our community, Viktor." His voice softened. "Your mother was, too. If you swear that you say is the truth, he can protect you. The village guard--"
"They won't help," Viktor snapped and looked away. Tripped, he heard his father say. The smugness of his father's tone saturated the memory, dripping from it like a rag soaked with blood. She just tripped.
Keltin straightened. "I'll vouch for you. The magister trusts me as much as he trusts his own blood."
Viktor swallowed a sound of irritation. Keltin the Novice had returned. Neither man noticed the deep flush of shame that had crept over Abbuv's face at Keltin's words.
"Everyone in the village knows we're friends," Viktor said.
"Just like they know Ralad is a drunk," Keltin said. "If we tell the magister, he can send the guards to--"
"They're not the knights of Solomnia, Keltin. They're a militia. They're more comfortable spearing bales of hay than they are sticking a sword in a man's belly." Especially a man who could probably jab them hard enough with one finger to break a few ribs.
"And you, Viktor? Could you stick a sword in a man's belly? In the man who fathered you?"
"There was little fathering involved."
Keltin raised his hands in assent. "I'm only thinking of you, my friend. What if you're caught? You would be the one tried before the magister, and your friendship with 'buv won't carry you far. The magister is a wise and impartial man, and--"
Viktor fought to keep his tone even. "I appreciate what you're saying, Keltin. Truly. But if you want to help me, then think this through. I saw my father... I saw Ralad kill my mother, and he knows I saw. He'll know I was the one who gave him over."
Keltin hesitated. "Are you saying you don't want to report your father because you're afraid? Because the magister can protect you," he finished in a rush.
Viktor clenched his fists so hard his nails cut into his palms. Once again he felt Abbuv's big hand alight on his shoulder, light as a feather. This time, his friend's touch, and the innocence in his eyes, brought no comfort.
"I want to do this myself. I have to. For my mother."
Liar, a voice at the back of his mind whispered. He shoved it away.
Despite the heat from the flames, Keltin drew his cloak around him.
"I won't kill a man. Not even a man like Ralad."
"You don't have to kill him." Viktor looked between Keltin and Abbuv, who had settled back and adopted his blank stare. He no longer felt fear. Only the urgency of self-preservation. "I'll do it. I just need some help."
Keltin tried to speak up but Viktor overrode him.
"I hold no illusions about my strength compared to Ralad's. There's no way I could take him in a fight, even if I got him drunk first. Not that he'd need much help from me." His gaze settled on Keltin. "I just need an edge."
"Such as?" Keltin replied after a moment.
Viktor licked his lips and leaned toward Abbuv. "Abbuv, the swords my father keeps around the forge are too large for me. I'm not strong enough, you understand? So I wonder if you might be able to stea-- to borrow one. Could you do that?"
Abbuv squinted and glanced at Keltin. Keltin was frowning at Viktor.
"What is it you need from me?" Keltin asked.
Viktor gestured at the flames. He forced himself to look respectful, even a little awed. "You're the sorcerer-in-training, Keltin. What do you recommend?"
As he'd hoped, Keltin puffed up slightly. "I'd say some sort of poison. Nothing manmade, because that could be traced back to you. It would need to be magical in nature." He started as if coming out of a trance. "Not that I'm agreeing to--"
"Of course not. I'm only asking you to consider what I'm asking." Out of habit, he glanced out of the cave. The fiery gold of twilight was fading to darkness. His curfew was drawing near. An icy vein of fear wormed its way down his chest and into his belly. He ran a shaking hand over his mouth.
"You are my closest friends. I have no one else. Please."
Abbuv, apparently bored with the conversation, hummed a tune and drew in the dirt with his fingers. Keltin studied Viktor for a long time. He rose and looked at the mouth of the cave. A light breeze stirred the leaves and moaned through the cave opening.
"We should get back. I have lessons in the morning."
Keltin waved a hand and started toward the exit. Abruptly the fire winked out. A few tendrils curled up from the ashes, crooking and beckoning like ethereal fingers. Viktor followed him out. Behind them, Abbuv scrambled up from his rock and hurried after them, a whine rising in his throat. At the sound, Keltin paused and put an arm around Abbuv's shoulder. Abbuv was trembling.
"Sorry, 'buv. I forgot." He held one hand palm-up and whispered a word. A glowing white ball hovered above his fingertips, illuminating the windy road and patches of trees on either side.
"Better?" Keltin asked. Beneath his arm, Abbuv grew still. He stood straighter and nodded gruffly.
"This way," Abbuv said, and set off like an intrepid adventurer, marching with his chest thrust out. The ball of light trailed above his head, tinkling softly.
Chuckling, Keltin took a step forward. He paused when he felt Viktor's hand on his arm.
"Think about it," Viktor said. "That's all I ask."
Then he set off without waiting for a reply.