GS#4: The Trespassers' Lent

The sound of jabbering laughter reached Feeona’s ears well before the three rings of the Densmen came into view. Every mercen known to her, and a few she barely recognized, were crowded within the middle and largest ring. Their cloaks created a moat of purple around the smoldering fire pit.

At the edge of the gathering, a portly figure draped in grey canvas watched the frivolity with a patient grin. Friar Whittleson had come to call upon the dell. A rare visit from Grovesport’s only friar was considered a good omen among most mercen bands. Arms folded across the top of his belly, the friar did not laugh with the men, but he seemed unruffled by their crude humor.

Pleased to see him, Feeona rushed to the friar’s side and gave him a strong hug.

He patted her back as they embraced. “Darling Fee. What a blessing to see you! We missed your ballads in town last winter. Christmas Vespers was far less festive without you there to sing for us.”

“And I missed your Christmas sermon.” Separating from him, she gestured to the Densmen. “What has everyone laughing?”

His delight faded. “A strange bit of business, Fee. It’s nothing I can explain beyond my simple part to play in it.”

Whirling around, Whent pressed through the crowd to approach them. He spoke loudly and with unusual delight. “Here, lads! Our first man returns…and Feeona with him!”

The mercens burst into a new round of laughter at his announcement.

“How did you find the meadow, Jamis?” Whent’s question careened over the hubbub. “Ideal for teaching maidens to preserve their virtue?”

“It was lacking, actually.” His detached reply barely reached Feeona’s ears. “We went to the cave instead.”

Whent stopped smiling. “Did you?”

“It offered a bit more challenge, but nothing we couldn’t handle. Right, Fee?”

Whent licked his lips. “And what if we should have wanted you?”

Jamis glanced around. “You all seem plenty amused without us. What has you laughing?”

“This thing here.” Flumm emerged from the hedge of purple cloaks. He held a length of crumpled parchment, its lower end curling. “It seems too ridiculous to be genuine, and yet after this morning, how could it be anything else?”

Feeona took the parchment and read it aloud so Jamis could hear. “’We will trade all such goods taken for thee Feeona, a lowlords daughter. Put such goods by the face of your cave, or she will be gone to this place and every other.’” Its haphazard scratch was almost illegible, as if a drunkard’s hand had crafted the note.

While a few errant chuckles slipped again through the crowd, most of the men fell silent. With every gaze fixed on her face, Feeona tried to appear calm beneath their scrutiny. Had the message been sent as a poorly-crafted joke, she would have endured the embarrassment by reminding herself how rarely these men had reason to laugh. As it was, she felt like a fox who had escaped a steel trap set in the middle of her den. Even if some man of the band had designed the note, Friar Whittleson would never lend his aid to such a prank.

Jamis finally broke the silence. “How did this arrive?”

“I brought it,” the friar said. “I found it yesterday in the poor box and thought it a joke until I heard talk in the market. Feeona was to be captured and kept for ransom by the Guildsmen.”

“Yellow cloaks,” Jamis muttered.

The friar rested a hand on Feeona’s arm. “The men say you were attacked this morning.”

Jamis answered first. “She was. By the river.” After a pause, he smiled at the friar. “If you have the time to hear confessions, I’m in need of forgiveness.”

“Lead the way. Perhaps you’ll inspire a few others to follow.” The friar spoke as he lived, with gentle authority and true humor. His bright eyes, however, were doused with worry while he followed Jamis into the decorated box that had once belonged to Doyen Canter.

~~~~~~

The privilege of joining a ring gathering was Feeona’s last and greatest triumph among the Densmen. For an entire summer, her first among the band, she sat cross-legged on the top step of Hoery’s porch and watched the mercen version of carousing unfold. She listened to the other rings as well, where men sang and boasted, whooped and argued. Longing to join in, Feeona waited with false patience for an invitation to sit down among them.

The call came in the midst of her second summer on the heels of a failed raid and fierce skirmish, when she saved several men from routine but cruel wounds. In a rare show of decorum, Doyen had actually offered her a hand and escorted her into the circle of Densmen. Twich moved to make room for her instantly, and Tevvy was first to offer some ale. Feeona felt at home in that moment, an equal who finally belonged to the band.

Since Doyen’s death, everything about the Doubter’s Dell had changed. Raids by other mercen bands had increased, with the skirmishes turning fiercer. Tevvy returned to drinking himself foolish by noontime, and Whent frequently left the dell in secret. Even among mercens, some courtesies were maintained like sacred laws. Every man honored them, including those with the dirtiest and worst of manners, unless he meant to send a message.

Without speaking a word, Whent made it clear he did not support Jamis as first man. Borgot was miserable, torn like most Densmen between loyalty to Jamis – long seen as Doyen’s unofficial son – and admiration for Whent. Feeona never understood what men possibly found to admire about a false-hearted rogue whose past crimes were so horrible, no one would even whisper of them.

“Take some drink, Fee?” Ale sloshed in the mug as Tevvy extended a bobbling hand.

“Not this night, Tev.” Smiling, she sat down between Twich and Flumm – still least changed and most predictable – among the company.

His lips twisting into a snarl, Tevvy dropped the ale mug. It hit the ground on one edge, and foam-laced liquid shot in all directions.

Joskin took the worst of it, but protest rang from every direction. Feeona rescued her skirts for the slim river of ale flowing in her direction, while Twich watched the liquid crawl as if it were something alive.

“Why did you do that?” Flumm demanded. “You’re wasting good ale.”

Tevvy looked unrepentant. “If Feeona won’t drink, perhaps none of us should.”

“I drink,” she reminded him. “I just don’t wish it tonight.”

“Probably wise,” Flumm muttered. “Keep your head clear in case those Guildsmen return for you. They may want to finish what they started.”

“Those weren’t Guildsmen,” Feeona told him. “They didn’t have cloaks or marks.”

“They?” Whent sat up. “I thought there was only one by the stream.”

Feeona felt her heartbeat quicken as she realized what she’d revealed. Jamis hadn’t asked her to keep their scuffle at the cave a secret, but she still felt as if she had betrayed a great confidence. Feigning boldness, she tried to wiggle her way around the truth. “Jamis and I crossed paths with his kinsmen near the cave. No harm came of it. Not to us, at least.”

“So there’s more of these blighters sneaking through the dell?” Whent’s smooth manner had vanished. “Why didn’t Jamis mention it?”

“He must have his reasons,” Feeona said with a shrug. She wondered the same thing but felt more compelled to defend Jamis than to voice her own puzzlement. “We dealt with them, so it doesn’t matter now.”

“Of course it matters!” Flumm whined. “What if there’s more of them out there, waiting to raid this camp and cut our throats soon as we start to snoring?”

“There aren’t,” Feeona assured him with her sternest look. “There were only two others, and they won’t trouble us.”

Borgot started to laugh. “Did you slice through their gullets with those fancy blades of yours?”

“No,” she said. “But I hamstrung one with Jamis’ sword and trussed the other with rope.”

An entirely unfamiliar silence covered the ring gathering like a thick blanket. Feeona felt smothered by the men’s attention, none of it pleasing or proud. They stared like a stranger had come to join them, and Feeona felt her cheeks redden beneath their scrutiny.

“This ain’t right,” Flumm muttered. “’Tisn’t wise or well for a woman to be swinging blades, even at the worst of men. ’Tisn’t your place, young miss.”

“Not all women are made to be wives,” Feeona shot back.

“That’s true,” Tevvy slurred. “Some are much better for whoring.”

Disgusted, Feeona let her jaw drop. She couldn’t a summon a response cutting enough to match the hideous comment.

“You sot,” Joskin growled, but then a giggle escaped his lips.

Feeona crossed her arms. “That is the worst thing I’ve ever heard any of you men say.”

“See here, Fee.” Whent shifted to face her. “If you’re not going to drink or sing for us, then go find yourself a box.”

“What?”

“Clear out of the ring,” he ordered.

“You can’t force me to leave," she reminded him.

“All right, then,” Whent replied. “I’m asking you to leave. Will you please clear out of the ring?”

Pushing upward, Feeona shook the dirt from her skirts, hoping it would fall into Whent’s drink. “You wouldn’t ask this of me if Jamis were out here.”

Whent grinned with wily intent. “Do you like that he protects you from us?”

Glaring down at him, Feeona realized she didn’t. She slid the dagger from her belt and unsheathed it. “I don’t need any man’s protection.”

Whent lowered his mug. “If you were a man, I’d kill you for baring that blade. As it is, I won’t fight some moonish girl.”

“I’m hardly a girl,” she snarled back.

“And you are certainly no mercen.” Whent turned his back on her. “Let’s have a tune. Joskin, lead the singing.”

Her face burning with rage, Feeona stomped away as the Densmen burst into raucous song.

~~~~~~

Flinging herself inside Hoery’s box, Feeona marched to her corner and plunged to the floor before he could protest. Hoery had been dozing by the stove, she could see, with an empty ale mug laying near his feet. Taking care to ignore him, she glowered down at her journal. She hadn’t crafted a single ballad – or much of anything – since Jamis agreed to let her stay with the band through the winter. She’d done most of her scribing while serving ale and sweeping floors at McCrimmon’s Inn in Grovesport. Those days seemed as distant to her as any, but Feeona couldn’t decide if she missed them or not.

After a while, she gave up on writing. The singing outside turned to drunken groaning and then a leaden silence broken only by the occasional belch. As she listened to the men begin to disperse, retreating to the warmth of their boxes, Feeona felt herself daring to hate them. She was an outcast.

Always before, she chose to separate herself from others. She abandoned households and inns before contemptuous feelings set in. Now she had been asked to leave the one place she’d worked the hardest to join. Tevvy was upset with her. Whent called her a girl. No one – not even Twich – had jumped to her defense, and she knew Whent was sending another unspoken message. An implicit demand lurked within his belittling question. Clear out of the ring. Clear out of the Densmen.

“I can’t sleep, Fee.” Hoery’s brittle voice barely reached her. “Sing me a song, will you?”

“I don’t feel like singing.”

“Well, I feel like listening. It doesn’t have to be merry. Just pleasant to hear.”

“It’s been a full day,” she reminded him. “I haven’t the strength to sing.”

“You have the nicest voice of any I’ve heard,” he added. “Help an old man go to sleep, will you?”

Suspicious, Feeona peered over at him. “Why are you being so kind?”

Hoery lifted his scraggly eyebrows, always the first sign of offense. “Kind?”

“Kinder.”

“Either way, ’tis an insult.” He sat up in his chair. “Why are you here, Fee?”

“Whent chased me out of the ring,” she complained.

“No. Why are you still here in the dell, with the band? I know what we were to you when Den was alive. With you being cooped in town all winter, the dell was a bit of freedom, a taste of what you feared you’d never have otherwise. But that freedom, is it still what you’re seeking? Because you’re not going to find it hiding in the dell.”

“I’m not hiding!” she spat back. “I’m…I am…waiting.”

“And so is Jamis. He’s waiting for you to admit you might want another sort of life. He’s too distracted to see the answer as plainly as I, and he’s too respectful of you to presume what you’ll choose. He knows what freedom means to you, Fee. It makes him leery of asking you to join him.”

Feeona remembered their talk on the cliff. “Join him?”

“In leaving the dell.”

She inhaled with alarm. “Jamis wants to leave?”

Hoery rolled his bloodshot eyes. “Sometimes you’re slower than the spring thaw. He wants the both of you to leave. He has no choice in the matter. But you do, and ’tis your answer what makes him nervous.”

“Why does he need to leave?”

“Does he never speak of his sister to you?”

Folding her arms, Feeona tried to feel something other than resentment. “No.”

Hoery shook his head. “That lad is beholden to your pride, Feeona. Have a care with the force of your wants in this life. It seems to turn all men, even myself, into footmats beneath your boots.”

Anger warmed her cheeks. “What does that mean?”

After pausing to yawn, Hoery stood. “Jamis wants to go find that sister of his, to see her safe and cared for.”

Feeona watched him walk on teetering legs toward his bed. “And you think I keep him from leaving?”

“Yes, but that isn’t what peeves me.” Settling onto the mattress, Hoery glared at her. “What I dislike is knowing you both stay here to avoid what I think you’re best made to manage. You’d make a fine wife, Feeona…for the right husband.”

The rare compliment soothed her temper. “If Jamis wants to find his sister, then why does he pretend to wish otherwise?”

“Because more than a sister waits for him where he’ll go.”

~~~~~~

Before Feeona could ask Hoery to explain, someone rapped on the door of the box.

“Bring yourself in, Jamis!” Never looking over, Hoery studied his grimy fingernails.

Jamis slid through the door, shutting it almost before every bit of him was inside. He looked disappointed to see Feeona. “I thought you might still be at the ring.”

“You didn’t hear? Whent booted me from it.” She paused to let Jamis show some protective emotion – anger or disdain – but kept talking when the mild frown never left his face. “Why aren’t you at the ring?”

“Because Doyen is dead,” Hoery blurted. “If Den were alive, this one wouldn’t tread on my steps. He’d be in the ring or over in Den’s box, talking about the past as if it were a mad wolf what hunted him.”

Jamis stared at Hoery with same grave countenance he often wore. Feeona had learned to see the real purpose behind it. He was waiting, and thinking, in much the same manner as Den had always done. If Jamis could find no reason to smile, he withheld any expression. “My past caught up with me last fall,” he said finally.

“And it left you with a new burden,” Hoery replied. “Not knowing what’s to come is far worse than knowing what’s been.”

Jamis walked to the empty chair and sat. Shoulders bent, he stared at his hands for a long moment, then glanced over at Feeona and gave her a slight smile. Leaning back against the chair, he exhaled deeply. “We’re not like them, are we?”

Hoery shook his head. “No. You two are an intrigue, certainly. You practice a hope these men can’t fathom, and I won’t say it hasn’t affected them. But you’re nothing like us.” He scooted backward, his body straining as if it carried the weight of everyone in the box, until his shoulder landed upon the bed’s wooden headboard. “All this used to be little more than a game between knaves and wayward servants. Men who didn’t like their assigned lot in life fled into these forests so they could, more or less, be lads forever. But then those men discovered they still needed money to live. They turned to mercenary work, and now… Do you know why I named this place the Doubter’s Dell?” he asked before answering just as abruptly. “Because there is no trust in it.”

“Twich often says the same,” Feeona noted.

“Twich is an idiot, but he’s right about that. The Densmen – all us mercens, really – are cruel, drunken, worthless husks of what the good Lord first meant to make. Better to keep such men here in loose support of one another than to turn them out, where they’ll rape and plunder their way into the jails. There’s darkness in these men, Fee, and there’s something else.” Hoery’s gaze moved to Jamis. “Doyen knew how to draw the better parts from all of them. He didn’t lead them. He served them. He forgave them daily, and he reigned them in when they strayed too far. None of these men want for representation. None will pay taxes or seek a lord’s charity. All of them need a reason to keep breathing and to let others breathe free from harm. Doyen gave them that. Whent wants to lead them, not help them, and they know it. The Densmen are not fools. They’re doubters.”

“Will they ever let me lead them?” Jamis asked.

“Will you ever want to?” Hoery countered. “They hold for your word, Jamis. They draw courage from your certainty, and they know when you have none.”

“Why do they care who leads them?” Feeona asked. “They’re mercens, not townsfolk or tenders.”

“You know the way of the bands, Fee. We may govern ourselves, but we still need a first man.” As he focused again on Jamis, Hoery’s voice lost some of its comfort. “This is your band, or it isn’t. We won’t be patient while you sort out your loyalties. Nothing chases you now, and so you need to decide if you want to be a mercen or seek some other life. You too, Fee.”

“Me?”

“It was different when you came and went with the seasons,” Hoery said. “But if Jamis won’t send you away, then you must commit to this life as the other men do. Most bards are wanderers, Feeona. Are you truly one of those? You never act like you want to leave the dell. If wanderlust doesn’t have you, then something else must.”

As she listened to Hoery’s pointed words, Feeona kept her eyes on the floor. For so long she had envisioned herself wandering free, unfettered and always ready to leave at a moment’s notice. She would never keep more than she needed. She would avoid the binding things that seemed to make people so miserable. While still a child, she dreamed of life sweeping her like a leaf down a single, long stream. As long as she avoided the rocks and banks, she would never become stuck. The river kept her free.

Her eyes filled with tears as she thought over the span of her seasons since leaving her father’s home. She had loathed its cold, boring walls and redundant days. But she hated the village inns, too. She disliked their drafty kitchens and dull routine. Only the people – owners and patrons and workers – brought her any joy within them. She never left because wanderlust called her onward. She left because she wasn’t content. Neither traveling nor staying seemed to bring her any joy, and Feeona wondered if anything might.

After wiping her eyes, she looked over at Jamis. Chin propped in one hand, he stared vacantly at the door, lost in his own mess of thoughts. He sat slumped and seemed tired, as if the dilemmas he considered had begun to take on actual weight and hang about his neck like millstones on a rope. Jamis was stuck. He was born to lead but loathed the notion. Whether he stayed with in the dell or left for his home, someone would wish him to accept the burden of guiding others. She had seen his gift for it within a few days of meeting him.

Absently she wondered what he saw in her. She prayed daily for freedom and never for love. But she loved Jamis with a deep, certain intensity. She loved the Densmen, even when they were cruel or dismissive. In the ballads she sang, those two things – love and freedom – were often the same. Even the friar had said as much, once, in one of his sermons. Nothing may cage a soul that knows love. Hearing it in the midst of winter, inside a chapel with shivering walls, Feeona had felt herself warmed from the inside, as though the brightest summer sunshine seeped deep into her skin. She could not bring herself to love a place, perhaps, because she was not meant to.

The realization made her feel daring, and she voiced her next thought without hesitation. “If we go to find your sister, you’re afraid we’ll have to live like them.”

Genuine shock made Jamis straighten where he sat. He shifted to give Hoery the same forceful gaze – at once angry and grateful – that he’d often shown Doyen. Lodged between those extremes, it took Jamis longer than normal to regain his composure. “Live like who?” he asked finally.

“Like nobles,” she said. “You’ll have to trade this life for one you hate.”

“I am afraid,” he confessed. “But not of that life. I’m afraid you won’t be able to live it alongside me. If I left the dell, would you come with me?”

Unsure of what Jamis truly meant to ask, Feeona lingered in her own silence.

“I can’t promise we’ll be any safer out there than hidden away in here,” he continued. “There are some…complexities in my life that I’ll have to manage. I don’t want to go back, really. I just want to find my sister. I need to know she’s well and safe. But I want you to be there with me when I find her. Feeona, I want you everywhere with me.”

Standing, he crossed the space between them with unexpected urgency. Kneeling beside her, Jamis took her hands. His rapier gaze bore more forcefully into hers than Feeona thought possible.

“I know you need your freedom, and I swear I’ll honor that.” He paused, uncertainty darting across his features. “There may be responsibilities I have to face, but I know I can’t face them unless you’re with me.”

Tears welled again in her eyes, for a different reason this time. “So…would I be your bard?”

Jamis smiled at the teasing question. “No. If you’re willing, you would be my wife.” A rare playful look came over his face. “The friar is asleep in my box. Should I go wake him?”

Feeona had to laugh. “I thought you came over here so the friar wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“I wish you’d think so well of me.” Hoery’s gruff complaint shattered the spell between them. “Carrying on inside my box with your moonish courting, and while I’m awake to see it! Go rouse the friar, get yourselves wed, and then send him over here. I’d like a little peace for sleeping afore this night is finished!”

~~~~~~

Rising from the floor, Jamis pulled Feeona up with him. He hugged her tightly until Hoery coughed loudly to remind them they still weren’t alone.

“I’ll get the friar,” Jamis said

Separating from him, Feeona crossed the room to embrace Hoery also. The old man looked irritated, but he didn’t refuse the affection. As Feeona gripped his shoulders, she realized how much Hoery had played father to both she and Jamis. “We’re going to miss you,” she whispered.

Hoery didn’t reply, but his rough hand landed atop hers and patted it gently.

A loud rattle made them both pull back and glance at the door. Gripping its handle, Jamis pressed one side of his body against the wood. The door wouldn’t open. Stepping back, Jamis kicked at its center, and the planks trembled but did not budge.

“We’re locked in,” he announced grimly.

“Hatchet’s behind the stove,” Hoery said.

Jamis hurried to grab it, then froze like stone in the box’s center. “Smell that?”

Feeona inhaled, noticing the acrid hint of smoke. “That’s not the ring fire?” As if to answer, a grimy mist began filling the opposite end of the box.

The men shared a frantic glance before Jamis started chopping at the wooden floor. Dashing past him, Feeona saw orange flames licking at the box’s corners like the tongues of starving madcats who discovered fresh carrion. She searched for a cloth large enough to swat at the hungry fire.

“Stay away from the smoke!” Jamis ordered as he continued to hack at the floor. “Find Hoery a wet rag to breathe through.”

Feeona’s hands trembled while she tipped the water pitcher and doused a dirty shirt. Wringing it, she passed the fabric to Hoery, then looked up to see the box’s far wall engulfed in fire. “Why would Whent do this?” she demanded. “The band won’t forgive him for it!”

“Whent?” Hoery’s reply was muffled. “You mean Tevvy, don’t you?”

For an instant, amazement replaced Feeona’s fear. “Tevvy?”

“He’s sick in love with you, Fee. Has been for seasons. He hates Jamis for winning you.”

“But Whent wants us both gone!” she argued.

“He also wants to be first man. He knows the band won’t have him if he did something like this.” Hoery stopped talking to cough.

Tossing aside the hatchet, Jamis extended his hands. “Bring him!”

Feeona half-carried Hoery to the hole Jamis had made. Both of them walked bent over, hoping to avoid breathing the black clouds gathered in the top half of the box. As the fire moved inward, the wood that fed it sizzled and hissed.

“No, lass!” Hoery barked. “You first.”

“She doesn’t need help,” Jamis shouted back.

The entire box lurched to one side. Feeona struggled to stay upright, feeling as if the world around her were about to be sick. When she regained her balance, she pushed at Hoery’s shoulders until he complied.

“Go flat when you’re out,” Jamis told him. “If the box tips, it won’t take you.”

Horrified, Feeona watched Hoery slip through the hole. Before she could take his place, the box listed again like a ship in a storm. Nearly half consumed by flames, it gave a loud crack and then another. Feeona felt the floor rise up beneath her until she started to slide down it. Everything tilted as wall became ceiling and floor became wall. The box had surrendered, and they were coasting toward the stream.

Somehow Jamis captured her before she tumbled away. Clinging to her, he dove forward and together they fell against the bottom of Hoery’s bed. Her back pressed to its splintered underbelly, Feeona tucked her head against Jamis’ chest and prayed for God to save them. She winced each time Jamis grunted, knowing something else had struck him.

Everything shifted again when they reached the bottom of the embankment. The walls folded forward, and ceiling became floor. The box still burned, smoke pouring through its interior and out the hole Jamis had made. Coughing, Feeona felt trapped by Jamis’ weight and disoriented from the jostling fall. They lay in an upside-down world, atop a bed resting against the ceiling, with Hoery’s possessions piled around them and flames near to reaching their feet.

Feeona tried to say Jamis’ name, but she couldn’t stop coughing long enough to speak. Unable to see past the smoke, she felt beaten and too weak to push Jamis away. Her chest burned on the inside.

She heard her own name once and then again, distantly. Feeling smothered, she gave up on trying to reply and only coughed harder until breathing turned painful, and she gave up on that, too. Dizziness spun like a cyclone in her head, and she felt like the box was tilting again, even though she knew they had already reached the bottom and could fall no further.

~~~~~~


Feeona awoke shivering. Coldness claimed every bit of her except for her lungs, which felt hot despite the frigid air filling them. Icy water flowed over and around her, and Feeona opened her eyes to see a nighttime sky stretched overhead, with the friar kneeling beside her. His thick hand held her head, and he watched her with calm concern.

Her lips quivering, she forced herself to breath until the ominous heat subsided. She heard coughing around her, and occasional shouts before the friar’s kind voice overwhelmed them. “Can you say if you’re hurt, Fee? Is anything broken?”

They had placed her in the stream. To her left, the ceiling of Hoery’s box touched the water’s edge. Its charred half still smoldered, and persistent cinders glowed like ocher fireflies in the darkness. Seeing it, Feeona remembered Hoery’s rushed escape and the chaos that followed. “Hoery…” she managed to say. “Jamis…”

“Hoery is fine,” the friar assured her, but then lifted his eyes to look away.

“Help me stand.” Feeona forced her trembling lips to cooperate. “Take me to him.”

The friar complied, lifting her shoulders until she sat upright in the drifting stream water. Already parts of her felt sore, and her right shoulder hurt worse than anything else. Wincing when the friar squeezed it, Feeona turned awkwardly on her hand and knees. Her wet skirts threatened to drag her back into the water, and she crawled along the streambed with the friar’s aid until she reached Jamis.

Jamis was also in the water, flanked by Hoery and Borgot. When he noticed Feeona, Borgot stood and moved away. He carried a lantern, its light turning faces and flesh ghostly in the darkness.

Kneeling beside Jamis, Feeona surrounded his hand with both of hers and lifted it from the water. Blood stained the left side of his face, but Feeona couldn’t find its source. She looked questioningly at Hoery.

“He’s still asleep but breathing. Right now that’s good enough for us.” When she leaned forward to touch the blood staining his shirt, Hoery nodded with understanding. “He’s cut above the ear. It’s shallow. We won’t know what else pains him until he wakes. If he isn’t talking by dawn –”

Hoery stopped speaking and Feeona squeaked when screaming erupted on the hill just above them. Squinting, she looked up to see two silhouettes – one dragging the other – moving down the embankment. Feeona recognized Whent before they reached the stream, but she didn’t know who he’d captured until lantern light made shadows behind them. Cringing in Whent’s grip, Tevvy’s flushed face was misshapen with fear.

Feeona saw the guilt clear on his features and still couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Whent had wanted her gone, not Tevvy. Tevvy was pitiable, not dangerous. Even though the drink made him careless, and angry at times, Feeona never saw in him the taint of soullessness that made, and then haunted, so many of the Densmen. Tevvy punished himself, not others.

“Apologize.” Whent uttered the single word with artful serenity, but then he squeezed Tevvy’s neck as if he meant to wring clean through it.

“I’m sorry…Fee.”

Sickened by all that had happened, Feeona returned her attention to Jamis. She didn’t need an apology or any sort of revenge. Tevvy might have tried to murder her, but Whent still wanted her gone from the dell. Every mercen served his own purpose first, whatever else might occur. Now that she and Jamis had decided to leave, Feeona couldn’t wait to make her goodbyes and find the road. She didn’t yet hate the Densmen, but she wanted to end the temptation.

As if disturbed by her yearning, Jamis opened his eyes. He shivered as she had, uncontrollably at first, until his muscles calmed and his gaze regained its familiar sharpness.

“Help me stand?” he asked finally.

Feeona guided him to sitting, and he kept moving forward until his head hung between his legs. He stayed like that for a while, then managed to rise, mostly with the friar’s assistance.

Throughout his recovery, no one made a sound. Everyone waited, mute and motionless, until it appeared they were all floating against a backdrop of darkness like moths eager for the light to speak.

Whent finally broke the silence. “You were right, Jamis. What should we do with him?”

As Feeona clung to Jamis’ arm, she realized the men weren’t expecting words of thanks or praise. They wanted a verdict.

“I’ll leave that decision to you.” Jamis sounded weak, and he coughed after uttering the words.

“Because you don’t want to make it?” Whent asked.

“Because I don’t want to be first man,” Jamis answered. “I’m leaving at sunrise, and Feeona is going with me.”

For once, Whent seemed lost for any response. His composure vanished, and his eyes darted from Jamis to Feeona as if he didn’t recognize either of them. “You’re giving up?”

Taking Feeona’s hand, Jamis started walking. “Tevvy’s fate is yours to determine.”

“You don’t want to push him in the Tumbler yourself?” Whent called to their backs. “You don’t want justice for what’s been done here?”

At the edge of the embankment, Jamis stopped and turned. “No one died tonight. Killing Tevvy isn’t just. It’s vindictive. Even Doyen would have understood that.”

“Doyen would have run him through,” Whent growled. For emphasis, he shoved Tevvy onto the ground.

“He still knew the difference.”

With a great deal of help from Hoery and the friar, they crested the hill. Feeona found it strange to see the gaping hole where Hoery’s home had sat for twice her lifetime. “How did Tevvy manage to tip that box all by himself?” she asked.

Hoery started to wheeze – his own distorted version of laughter – and continued until he had to sit down. Men within earshot began to chuckle, and some even repeated the question until most everyone was enjoying a laugh. Only Feeona and the friar shared the same confused expression.

Even Jamis was smiling. “Tevvy didn’t tip the box, Fee. Everyone else did that. If they hadn’t, fire might have spread throughout the ring and into the trees. We could have lost the entire dell.”

Feeona hid her chagrin in a look of concern. “Was anyone hurt?”

“Besides us? I don’t think so.” Jamis’ playful grin faded as screaming erupted from the woods. It was Tevvy’s voice protesting, and what few men lingered in the rings left to chase the shattering trail of sound.

Feeona shivered at hearing it, but she dreaded more the silence that would follow. “Why is he doing this?” she whispered. “If we can forgive Tevvy, then why doesn’t Whent spare him?”

“Whent needs to prove he’s worthy of leading the band,” Jamis replied.

“It’s no longer your business,” Hoery reminded her.

“The men would follow him without this!” she argued.

The friar turned away from the trees and rested a hand on her shoulder. “The best we can do, Feeona, is to live as we believe we’re meant, and pray grace for everyone who doesn’t, including ourselves.”

“God doesn’t want us to just sit silent and watch while people suffer,” Feeona told him.

“God also knows we cannot force goodness on any soul. A man makes his choices, and we are not to judge him.” Pausing, the friar tilted his head. “I thought you would know this after living among mercens for so long.”

She glanced at woods, which had gone silent. “I suppose pity makes me weak.”

“Pity is never a weakness, Feeona. It keeps us equal.”

Jamis put an arm around her shoulders. “Here, friar. Since we’re all awake, may we ask you a favor?”

While Hoery let out a knowing groan, the friar’s heavy brows lifted with curiosity.

“Would you marry Fee and I? Tonight…right now, even?”

Feeona watched the friar’s quiet progression from surprise to deliberation and then to another mood she didn’t expect – rejection.

“Absolutely not,” he blustered. “I’ll do no such thing, Jamis!” The friar looked as if they’d asked him to set another box afire. “I’ll certainly not marry you.”

“Why not?” Jamis demanded.

“Glance down and you’ll see the reason! Look at the two of you, covered in soot and mud and unspeakable things. You’re wet through and hardly dressed for such ceremony.”

“Is appearance more important than intent, friar?” Jamis spoke sternly, but Feeona caught the teasing in his words. It had taken her seasons to learn when Jamis meant to show some humor, which was rarely.

The friar let slip a laugh. “Both matter, I think, to most women on their wedding day. What say you, Feeona? Wouldn’t you rather be clean and in the church house, with proper attendants and a safe place to stay the night? We can start out for the town at dawn, and I’ll have you both married not long past three o’clock. Three o’clock is a much more proper time for such things.”

“Are you really leaving, Fee?”

Feeona turned to see Twich approaching with a lantern in one hand and a smoldering bundle in the other. “Yes, Twich. We’ll go to Grovesport at sunrise.”

“What will I do if you leave?” Twich’s big features drooped. “I have one job, Fee.”

The question unstrung her. She hadn’t considered Twich. Most days he trailed her like a puppy, and he had never left her unprotected during a skirmish.

“Why don’t you move into town?” the friar suggested. “I could give you work at the church.”

His expression didn’t improve. “Leave the dell?”

“Yes, Twich. You should.” Feeona reached out to clasp his arm. “Stay with the friar. He’ll give you a new job.”

Twich’s clumsy gaze wandered across the ring. “May I take my home?”

“Of course,” the friar said. “We’ll keep it in the pasture.”

Seeming less worried, Twich extended what he held to Feeona. “I found your ballad book. Can you still use it?”

Staring down at her burned journal, Feeona realized Twich was everything she loved about the Densmen. They never questioned what was important to her, never measured her talents against others or thought her less than someone richer or more gifted. None of the men needed her, but they all saw her worth through eyes darkened and dulled by their own worn lives. Among the Densmen, she simply was. They might not own mercy in life’s dangerous moments, but they gave it each day in a current as slender and steady as the stream running just beyond the ring.

“I think it’s too far gone to use,” she told Twich with a sad grin. “But I remember most everything in it. I can write my songs down again.”

Without hesitating, Twich flung the charred mess of paper into the ring’s fire pit. Fragments scattered, and some slid onto the wind, drifting up and above the boxes. As Feeona watched the remnants of her journal sail away, she felt herself longing to follow.

~~~~~~

At precisely three o’clock, the wedding service began with a brief chime of bells.
Ma’am Cheltham and Twich both attended, along with an assortment of passers-by more intrigued by Jamis’ purple mercen cloak than the ceremony itself. Gifts were plentiful, and Feeona was surprised each time someone – even strangers – extended a treat or convenience. Ma’am Cheltham offered her best room for the night and space in her stables for the two geldings Whent had insisted Jamis take. Feeona wanted to explain how there was no need, that Jamis had collected enough riches to content them for years. But she held her tongue until it managed to utter appreciation and nothing else, knowing gifts were sometimes much more for the giver.

The next morning, they rose early enough to leave before breakfast. Feeona didn’t want to linger and seem greedy. Jamis appeared to share her concern, and they hitched the horses themselves to avoid waking the stable boy. Before they could sneak away, Ma’am Cheltham forced another basket of food into Feeona’s hands, then waved them down the road with a yellowed handkerchief.

Waving back, Feeona doubted she would ever see Grovesport again. She disliked the maudlin sensation as it gripped her, and immediately she debated the notion with herself. Nothing kept her and Jamis from returning if they wished it. They were free as any two people could be, dragging their home behind them and wanting for naught. She left willingly, and so did Jamis. They could leave the next place just as easily, wherever that might be.

Struck by what she didn’t know, Feeona looked over at her husband. “Jamis, where are we going?”

He chuckled, obviously chagrined. “I’m sorry, Feeona. In all the rush, I forgot to mention that.” His humor vanished as swiftly as it appeared, and he suddenly looked anxious. Fear took years from his face, and Feeona glimpsed the boy he’d once been. “We’re going to the uplands. To Newedindon.”

Feeona’s jaw dropped. Her mind spun while pieces of everything she knew about Jamis clicked into place like a puzzle. “Your cousin is the king?” She almost didn’t ask, doubting the conclusion her own mind had reached.

“Yes, and God willing he’ll remain so. We’re traveling up to find my sister. Whatever else might happen…it’s nothing I seek. Do you understand, Fee?”

Nodding, she threaded her arm around his and leaned against him. As the box bounced and tilted beneath them, Feeona wondered about the noblefolk who waited, unaware, in Newedindon. If mercens were generous with their daily grace, the higher classes judged others with equal condemnation. She remembered enduring that judgment in her father’s house. Although she had left young to escape it, her memories of it still stung.

“That’s a heavy sigh,” Jamis said. “One day married, and you’re already pining.”

She gave him a nudge. “Hardly. I’m only thinking about what we might find.”

Jamis was quiet for a while. “We have one job, Fee. We take this life each day as it arrives.”

“Do you believe what you’re saying?” she asked. “It’s not exactly what you practice.”

“I won’t waste this life now that you’re part of it.” His words were fervent, his features set with resolve. “I’ll still prepare myself for things, but I won’t let them plague me.”

“Then neither will I.” Closing her eyes, Feeona began humming her favorite ballad. The pensive tune, written by some other bard, told of a lass who cast aside the world’s best treasures to wander far and wide until she found what was promised – the man most suited to love her.

Feeona empathized with the girl’s willingness to leave worldly things for what was divine, but she always felt a twinge of fear when the heroine at last found her soulmate. Always, she had doubted a promise of something so perfect. Staring inwardly at that doubt, Feeona looked past it and kept singing.