Jarryd: Chapter 3

Jarryd rose early the next morning, before the sun. He was eating and planning out what to work on first that day when there was a knock at the door. Surprised, he went and opened it. Well, dragged what was left of the door to the side. It was pretty badly burned.

It was Hervin, an older man who owned one of the neighboring farms. He and his wife were two of the people who’d stood up for Jarryd two days ago when the Rector had accused him of murdering his parents.

“Good morning, Hervin. What can I do for you?”

“Ah, lad, it’s what I came to do for you.” Hervin stepped aside and gestured. Behind him was parked his wagon. The back was filled with tools—saws, hammers, ladders and such—along with a pile of lumber.

Jarryd was stunned and couldn’t speak for a moment. Hervin continued.

“We told you we’d be here, the missus and I, when we saw you in town. She’ll be along later with some food and things. There’s some others coming too. Word got around.” He stepped back and looked at the roof. “I expect we’ll start with the roof, don’t you think?”

Jarryd was still dumbfounded. “I don’t know what to say.”

Hervin shrugged and headed for his wagon. “I don’t see as how there is much to say. Let’s get to work.” He pulled out the ladder and leaned it against the house.

By sunrise there were five others there. Vern, from the farm to the west, showed up along with his two teenage sons. After that were Mickel and Jordey, two brothers whose farm bordered Jarryd’s on one corner. All of them brought tools and lumber.

Soon, the sound of saws and hammers filled the air, along with good-natured jibes and of course plenty of stories from the past, some of them even true.

Jarryd thanked them all, maybe too much as Vern finally said, “Dang it, Jarryd. You’re making me feel all weepy. Cut it out now.”

But that wasn’t the end of his neighbors’ help. Charl showed up driving one of the big wagons. Lashed to it were a number of peeled logs.

“I got a delivery of some logs!” Charl yelled when he rode up. “Anyone here need some logs?”

“I do.” Jarryd hurried over. “But I didn’t order any logs.”

“You didn’t need to,” Charl told him good-naturedly. “We all been here. We saw what needed doing.”

Hervin’s wife, Dana, showed up mid-morning with a giant basket of food. She laid some planks on some stumps for a table and started spreading out enough food for a small army.

"I’m…thank you so much,” Jarryd told her.

“Happy to help, dear. Put these boiled eggs on the table, would you? That’s a dear.”

Then Driana and Tom showed up. Their farm was on the other side of Creekside. Besides tools and even more food, they’d brought a half dozen chickens in a small pen. Their two kids, a boy and a girl around nine or ten, were with them. Driana told them to unload the pen and take it to the barn.

“You don’t have to give me any chickens.”

“Well, I want to, so let’s not sit around and chatter on about it.”

After that it was Bert. He owned a small herd of milk cows and supplied milk, cream and butter to the residents of the town itself. Following his wagon was a red cow with a twisted horn.

“Thought you might need a milk cow,” he said by way of greeting. He untied the lead rope and passed it to Jarryd.

“I can’t accept this,” Jarryd protested. He was surprised to see Bert there. Bert had never been friends with his parents. He’d barely exchanged more than polite greetings with the man. “I can buy a cow from you. I do have some money.”

“Keep it. You’re gonna need it. Besides, old Jess is just that. Old. She doesn’t produce that well anymore, though it should be enough for one fella. I should put her down, but I’m soft on her. Thought maybe she could retire here.”

Jarryd swallowed the rest of his protests. “That’s very generous of you. I appreciate it.”

Bert tipped his tall black hat. “I’ll be seeing you around. Welcome home.”

The repairs on the house progressed quickly. By lunch, most of the burned logs had been pulled out and replaced. The burned part of the roof had been torn down and fresh rafters nailed into place.

More wives showed up with food. Delthy, Vern’s wife, brought a frying pan and a cook pot. “I heard you were short on such things. I’ll just take them on in for you.”

A woman from town whose name Jarryd couldn’t remember brought a kettle. She also had a basket with plates and cups in it. “These are from old lady Polly. She says she doesn’t need much, being just one person and all.”

Lenno, Kath’s father, came mid-afternoon with a small keg of ale and some mugs. “I thought your crew might have worked up a bit of a thirst.” He wasn’t wrong. The keg was barely tapped before there was a line in front of it.

By late afternoon they were leaving. There were still chores to be done at home, after all. Cows to be milked. Pigs to be fed. Chickens gathered and put away safely out of the reach of predators. Most said they’d be back the next day.

After the last one left, Jarryd just sat there at the makeshift outdoor table, marveling at it all. He couldn’t believe the generosity, the genuine love and caring. He felt choked up just thinking about it. If he’d ever had any doubts that Creekside was where he belonged, they were long gone now. He wished his parents were alive to see it.

He walked around the house, surprised at how much had been accomplished. All the new rafters were up. Much of the roof had been re-shingled. The exterior walls had new logs. A rough door made of planks had been hung.

The sapling growing in his parents’ room had been cut down. The window was still broken, and a board had been nailed over it. Someone, Jarryd couldn’t remember who, had promised to bring a new window the next day.

The kitchen looked almost normal. A number of the wives had worked on it during the afternoon. Someone had brought a chair—he hadn’t even noticed—and with the one that had survived the fire, he now had two. There was a tablecloth on the table. New shelves held his new cooking implements, plates, bowls and such. There was even a pile of wood by the hearth, and a cracked mug on the table holding fresh flowers.

Another day on the house, a day or two on the barn, and he’d be ready to plant. The brothers, Mickel and Jordey, had promised to show up with their plow horse to help him.

It really was still unbelievable to Jarryd. He’d known he and his family were liked and respected in town, but he hadn’t realized to what extent. During the day, every single person had pulled him aside at one time or another and expressed their deep regrets over the deaths of his parents. Even Mickel and Jordey, who he’d always thought of as not having a sensible thought between them.

He'd tried more than once to pay for some of what people brought. He knew none of them were wealthy, and he had the coin his parents had saved, buried under the oak tree. But most times he couldn’t he get the offer out before they stopped him.

“After all you and your folks done for us,” they’d say, then relate the time he and his father pitched in, or the time Jarryd’s mother brought food and helped out around the house while someone was sick. “It’s time we done for you.”

If he’d had any doubt at all about this being his home, it had been eliminated today.

Jarryd sat down for a while. It had been a long day, and he really should rest. Tomorrow would also be long.

But he didn’t stay seated long. He didn’t feel tired. He felt energized. All along, while fighting the Dragon Queen, he’d harbored a deep, unspoken fear that he would never be able to return home. Either the town would be destroyed, or the people would reject him, blaming him for the deaths. Outcast from his own home. Somehow that was as terrifying as losing to the chaos.

And then, to get here and receive the welcome that he had so far. It was such a huge relief. A massive burden had been lifted from him. He felt like singing.

He went into his old bedroom and received another surprise. Lying on his old bed were some clothes, a pair of trousers, a couple of homespun shirts, socks. Even a hat. Someone had thoughtfully brought them and then just slipped them in here without saying anything.

He was still wearing the clothes he’d gotten from Kathor’s mother before they fled Tirania. They were considerably worse for wear. And they looked strange compared to what people wore around here.

Jarryd headed off for town a short while later, whistling, wearing his new, used clothes. They were a little snug, but they felt like home. Even the hat fit. It wasn’t much, just an old straw hat with a wide brim, stained from years of use, but it was comfortable. He’d felt strange without one on. All the men and most of the women wore hats in Creekside.

 

Jarryd strolled through town, taking his time, soaking everything in. Everywhere, people called greetings to him. Old lady Polly came out of her house and gave him a hug.

“I heard how you handled that rascal the Rector,” she croaked, peering up at him nearsightedly. “I say good riddance to a bad egg. Here. Take this. I made it for you.”

It was a cloth wrapped around some tarts. Polly made the best tarts in town.

Jarryd thanked her and continued on. Polly’s next door neighbor, Winton, was out in his front yard, working his beds over in preparation for planting his garden. He waved Jarryd to a halt and headed over to talk to him. There was a low, somewhat rickety fence around his yard. He had to wrestle with the gate to get it open. It sagged alarmingly. He cursed at the gate, then mumbled something about how he wouldn’t need the fence if Polly would keep her goat tied up. Making it through the gate, he pulled his hat off, wiped his white, wispy hair out of his eyes and regarded Jarryd.

“It’s good to see you, lad. Very good. You’re a sight for sore eyes, that’s the truth. I heard you been fighting dragons.”

“Um…is that so?” Jarryd was quite sure he’d never said that. “I don’t know about fighting. I was there for some of it, though.”

“Being modest, are you?” The old man grinned and punched him in the shoulder. “Where’s your sword? You should be strutting around like the biggest rooster in the yard.”

“You know. That’s not really how I am. I just want to be plain old Jarryd.”

“Hmm.” The old man shook his head. “If you say so. Welcome back. We missed you. Sorry about your parents. Nasty business that.” So saying, he went back into his yard, closing the little gate behind him. Or trying to, anyway. It was pretty poorly built.

“You want me to come by one of these days and give you a hand with that?” Jarryd asked.

Winton stopped fussing with the gate and looked at him. “It’s that bad, is it?”

Jarryd nodded. “It is.”

“I never was much of a hand with carpentry. And my bad shoulder makes sawing hurt something terrible.”

“Good thing you have me to help, then. We can get that sorted in an afternoon.”

“That’d be nice.”

“It’ll be a few days though. I still have some catching up to do at the home.”

Winton waved this off. “Take your time, take your time. The fence ain’t going nowhere and neither is Polly’s goat.” He said the last part loudly, directed at Polly, who was pulling some weeks in her garden.

“You’re the old goat!” she yelled back.

“I’m going to butcher that thing one day!” he yelled. “Cook it up and feed the whole town. You wait and see.”

“You touch my goat, and he’ll plant you on your old keister!” she hollered back. “Just you try.”

Jarryd left while they were still yelling at each other. Though it sounded bad, he knew there was no real animosity between them. It was more an old habit than anything. They’d been neighbors for decades, both of them widowed for some years now.

Jarryd greeted a few more people on his way to the Red Eel Inn. A couple of small boys followed him for a block or two, whispering loudly about him. He heard the word “dragon” a few times. He stopped and turned around. The boys got very wide-eyed and ran off. Jarryd chuckled, imagining the tales they were telling each other. He didn’t recognize the boys, but he’d been gone for a while. They probably were barely walking when he left.

He entered the inn and hung his hat on one of the many pegs on the wall by the door. There were only a few people there, though two more came in behind him. Kath was nowhere to be seen, but her father, Lenno was. Lenno nodded to him. Jarryd went over to him.

“I wanted to thank you again for bringing the ale. It did a lot for morale.”

“My pleasure. Don’t mention it. I’m happy to help.”

Jarryd looked around. “Do you need some help?”

Lenno shook his head, then changed his mind. “Actually, I could use your help. I need another barrel of honey mead brought up from the cellar.” He rubbed his back and smiled ruefully. “Those things are heavier every year. If you were to hold up one end, I’d be obliged.”

“Just show me which one.”

Jarryd liked it in the Red Eel cellar. He’d been down there a couple times in the past. It had a rich, earthy smell mixed with a variety of food odors. Dried hams hung from the ceiling, along with long chains of sausages. Against one wall were crates of potatoes and onions. Two of the walls were taken up with kegs and barrels in a variety of sizes. Mead, wine, ale, and cider.

Lenno led him over to the mead, but then he set down the lantern he was carrying and turned to look at Jarryd.

“Kath tells me you’re courting.”

“I’m sorry,” Jarryd said quickly. “I was going to ask you. I—”

Lenno smiled and put his hand on Jarryd’s shoulder. “There’s no need to apologize. None at all. My daughter makes her own choices. She always has. I wanted to tell you I’m happy for you. There’s no one better for my little girl than you. I’m glad you made it home. I feared she’d wait always for you.”

He broke off, putting his hand to his mouth, his grin widening. “Oops. I probably wasn’t supposed to say that. Don’t tell Kath.”

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

Lenno’s grin disappeared. “You’re taking my best help.”

“Not right away,” Jarryd protested.

Lenno made a dismissive sound. “You’ll be married by the harvest. Mark my words. And I’ll be here running the old place all by myself.”

“We won’t leave you high and dry, I promise. I’ll come by every day and help.”

“I know you will. I remember you tagging along after your dad. You were so serious, always trying so hard. I could see how badly you wanted to be like him. He was a good man. Your ma was a great lady. The best kind of people. I’m sorry about what happened.”

“Thank you.” Jarryd’s voice came out hoarse. “I mean to do right by their memory.”

“I’m sure you will.” He turned back to the keg. “Grab the other end and let’s get this upstairs.”

“Or I can just carry it myself.”

“Are you sure? It’s heavier than you think.”

“I’m sure. Besides, we don’t want to hurt your back anymore.”

Lenno looked at the keg again, then back at Jarryd, sizing him up. “You have filled out a lot. Fighting dragons probably does that to you.”

Jarryd sighed. “I’m not going to be able to stop that rumor, am I?”

Lenno chuckled. “You know how small towns are. The stories will only grow.”

“I guess it was too much to hope I could come home and just blend in.”

“Nope. Even if you didn’t say a word, look at you. You look like you’ve been places, seen things.” His expression grew serious. “Difficult things, I imagine. I served in the king’s army for a spell when I was young. Ran off to Rensfire with my head full of foolish imaginings about princesses and glamor. Instead, I saw things I can’t ever forget.” He gave Jarryd an intense look. “Things like that change a man.”

Jarryd nodded. “They do.”

“I’m not the type to go around offering advice not asked for, but I’m going to do so now.” He leaned in close to Jarryd, and in a low voice said, “Find a way to let that stuff out. Don’t hold it in. It’ll poison everything. It nearly cost me my family.”

“That’s good advice. I’ll remember that.”

“All right. Back to work. You sure you got that keg?”

“I’m sure.” It was instinct to feed a little extra kriyana to his arms and legs as he lifted the barrel. He realized as he did so that he was going to have to be careful using his power. All he needed was someone to see, and his hopes of living a quiet, ordinary life were probably gone forever.

Jarryd stayed around the inn most of the evening. When he saw them getting rushed, he helped out where he could. He cleaned off tables. Hauled garbage out to the back. Delivered orders to tables.

Kath tried to tell him it wasn’t necessary. “You worked all day. Sit down. You must be tired.”

“Not really,” he replied with a shrug. And he didn’t feel tired. He felt like he could put in a whole day’s work right then without trouble. It occurred to him that farming was going to be a lot different now. He could pull a plow without a horse. Though he’d still need someone to steer the plow. He could chop down a tree and carry it back to the house on his shoulder. It would be a lot easier to clear the lower pasture and plant that. He could probably pull the smaller stumps out by hand.

He looked at his hands. Who would have thought? All the awesome power of the Knights was his, and he was going to use it farming. That struck him as funny.

“What’s so funny?”

Jarryd looked up to see that Kath was gone, helping a customer. Swick was standing there, an ale in his hand. Jarryd hadn’t seen him come in.

“Just something I thought of.”

Swick looked him up and down. “You been drinking?”

“No.”

“Not even the bits people leave in their mugs?”

Jarryd scowled at him. “Yuck. No.”

“It’s a little odd, is all. Staring at your hands and laughing.”

Jarryd shrugged. “Maybe I am a little odd.”

“You always were. Even when we were little. Odd Jarryd.”

“Thanks, Swick. I’d totally forgotten.”

“Hey, I’m not saying it’s bad. I mean, who wants to be just like everyone else? It’s boring. Look at me. My life is nothing. It’s boring. I should have run off to fight dragons with you.”

Jarryd groaned. “What is it with me and fighting dragons? Why do people keep saying that?”

“Are you saying you didn’t fight dragons?”

Jarryd didn’t want to lie, so he went a different direction. “I’m saying I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hey, no problem. We’re mates. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

Jarryd gave him a disbelieving look. “Did you say we’re mates?”

“Yes. Aren’t we?”

Jarryd was stunned. Was this really happening?

“I see that we aren’t. Well, if you change your mind.” Swick dug around in his ear. “I don’t have a lot of mates anymore.” He said the last part quietly and off to the side.

“It’s just…a little sudden. I got the distinct feeling you didn’t like me.”

“What gave you that idea?” Swick sounded genuinely puzzled.

“Oh, I don’t know. Things like breaking the wooden sword my father made me. How about pushing me around? The beatings?”

Swick got a pained look on his face. “You remember all that stuff?”

“How could I forget? You and your friends, Alferd and Chestar, bullied me all the time.”

“Yeah. About that. I don’t feel so good about that now.”

“Did you just apologize?”

Swick’s face twisted. “Maybe? Sorta?”

Jarryd regarded him for a long moment as Swick took a pull on his ale. “It’s the past. If you’re willing to leave it there, I am.”

Swick lit up. “Mates?”

“Let’s just take this one step at a time, okay?”

Kath stopped by a little later, after Swick had gone back to his seat.

“What was that all about?”

Jarryd put up his hands. “He wants to be mates.”

“What?”

“That’s what I said. Did he get hit on the head?”

“I tried to tell you. He’s changed. Well, he’s still an ass a lot of the time, but it feels like he’s trying not to be one, only he doesn’t really know how.”

“Huh. Maybe you’re right.”

“He doesn’t spend time with those other two idiots anymore. That has to mean something.”

“Really?”

“I’m telling you, when you punched him, you knocked something loose.”

“Maybe I should punch him again. It felt pretty good.”

“You wouldn’t do that. I know you better than that, Jarryd.”

“Maybe I’ve changed too.”

“You definitely have.” She lowered her voice and leaned in closer so no one else could hear. “For the better. Definitely for the better.”

Jarryd shivered and felt his cheeks grow hot. He glanced around. “We’re in public!”

Her smile grew wider. She leaned a little closer. “Is the big, tough Knight frightened of little old me?”

“No. We’re not doing this here,” Jarryd whispered, sure that everyone was looking at them by now.

“Do what?” she said in a normal, louder voice. “Talk to the man I’m courting? How, pray tell, shall we court if we do not speak to each other? Is this some new thing you learned while off fighting dragons?” Her grin was positively evil. She was clearly enjoying his discomfort.

Jarryd sighed. “You’re as bad as Hamisi. Isn’t there a table that needs cleaning?”

Kath laughed, patted his arm, and walked away.

Then it was Swick again. He spoke up as Jarryd was passing his table carrying some dirty plates.

“He just waltzes in, and all the beautiful women throw themselves at him. How are the rest of us supposed to compete? It’s not fair.”

“Maybe I should hit you again. Would you go back to hating me again?” Jarryd was feeling a little annoyed. He was sure the whole place had seen him and Kath. They were talking about him. Everybody was giving him funny looks. He didn’t like all the attention. He felt like going home.

“I never hated you!” Swick protested.

“You sure acted like it.”

“I never hated you.” Swick finished his ale and considered this for a moment. “I think I was jealous.”

Jarryd stared at him like he’d grown wings. “You clearly did get hit on the head. I don’t care what Kath says.”

“You had everything,” Swick continued. “The perfect parents. Not like me.”

Jarryd had heard talk of how Swick’s parents treated him. Word traveled in Creekside. It wasn’t pleasant.

“The girls always liked you best.”

“Sure. Now I know you the squirrels took your nuts.”

“It’s true. And you never even reacted. You didn’t even try to impress them or anything. I think it just made them like you more. Gods, I hated that. Everything I tried just made them run away faster. Why shouldn’t I have been jealous? You were always so calm, always looked like you knew what was going on.”

“I don’t…I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Was it true? Jarryd had a bit of disorientation as something he’d always firmly believed was turned upside down. He’d always been convinced the other kids didn’t like him. He believed it was because of the taint of evil he carried within him. But what if that wasn’t true? Old memories were starting to look different.