Shorn: Chapter 11

Shorn was headed back to the farm. Over his shoulder was slung a deer. In his free hand he carried his spear. He’d gotten pretty good with the spear over the months. Most times he went hunting he was able to bring home game.

Since he had no way to make a metal spearhead, he’d been through several spears already. But they were easy to make, so it wasn’t a problem.

All in all, things were going well. The crops were booming. Game was plentiful. The weather was friendly. He’d never really experienced peace or contentment in his life, so he wasn’t exactly sure if that was what he was feeling, but it was close anyway.

He heard the voices as he neared the farm and paused. They were men’s voices. Then he heard Melda reply, heard the fear in her voice. He dropped the deer and broke into a run.

He broke into the clearing where the farmhouse stood.

Four rough-looking men stood in a loose group facing the farmhouse. They wore battered leather armor. Three had swords. One had an axe. Two had half-helms on their heads. All had their weapons out.

One of the men was pointing his sword at Melda, who stood in the doorway facing them down. Her face was pale, but her expression was resolute.

Just then Kit popped out of the house, squeezing past her. He was clutching his spear.

“You leave Mama alone!” he yelled in his high, thin voice.

All of this Shorn took in in a glance. He bellowed and charged.

The men turned. Kit stabbed one in the knee with his spear. The man kicked him and knocked him down. Melda bent over the boy, reaching for him.

Shorn threw the spear as he ran. He didn’t bother to aim. He was simply trying to make them move, buying some time to close the distance.

The spear hit the axe-wielding man in the shoulder, the force of the throw punching through his armor and knocking him back.

Two of the other men took one look at the copper-skinned avalanche headed their way and ran. One of them actually dropped his weapon he was so frightened.

The fourth man, presumably their leader, didn’t run. Instead, he grabbed Melda, dragging her to her feet and putting his sword to her throat.

That was a mistake.

“I’ll cut her!” the man yelled.

Shorn didn’t slow.

The man fell back, pulling Melda with him, his eyes bulging. At the last moment, when it was clear Shorn wasn’t going to stop, his nerve broke, and he tried to run.

Shorn hit him once in the back. The punch cracked ribs, and the man went down on his face in a heap.

Shorn whirled on the final man, who was hobbling away, blood trailing behind him. Shorn ran after him, lifted him into the air in one hand and drew his fist back. He wasn’t holding back.  He truly meant to drive his fist through the man’s skull.

But then Melda was there, grabbing his arm.

“No, Shorn! Stop!”

Shorn turned to her, breathing hard. He was still holding the man. His hand twitched with his desire to finish the man off.

“You’re injured.” There was a line of blood at her throat.

“It’s only a scratch. Don’t kill him, Shorn. He’s not a threat anymore.”

Shorn shuddered, then dropped the man. The man climbed to his feet and staggered away. Shorn took a few deep breaths, calming himself. He looked at the others.

The children were staring at him. Was that fear he saw in their eyes? Whatever it was, it pierced him deeply.

He couldn’t look at Melda. He couldn’t bear what he was sure he would see there.

“I am sorry.”

He felt numb inside as he walked over to the man he’d punched. He knew without checking that the man was dead. He’d hit him too hard.

Why?

But he knew the answer.

He picked up the body. “I will bury him.”

He carried the body past the well he’d dug, picking up the shovel as he passed it. He dug the grave back in the woods and laid the body in it. Then he stood there staring down at the body.

No. Not just a body. A person. A man with a mother somewhere who would never see him again. Other family maybe. Friends.

“I’m sorry.” Anguish twisted his face. He had no excuses. He had nothing.

It was dinner time when he got back to the farm. He didn’t go inside but went straight to his room in the barn. He’d improved it over the last few months, building a bed to sleep in and shelves for his possessions, of which there weren’t many. Most of them were things the children had made for him: a woven grass bracelet, a crude wooden carving of a horse, some wilted flowers Ren had picked for him.

He felt a great sense of grief as he looked at them. He’d acted stupidly and thrown it all away.

Why?

His pack was hanging on a nail. He stuffed his cloak and blanket into it, along with his waterskin. He left the things the children had made for him.

He shouldered the pack and turned to leave.

Melda was standing in the barn doorway.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. Away.”

She closed the door behind her, hurried forward and grabbed his arm. Her eyes searched his. “Don’t.”

“I have to.” He felt too big, too awkward. He didn’t fit in anywhere. Suffering followed in his wake. “You see now that I have not changed. I cannot change. This is all I will ever be.”

“No.” Her expression was fierce. “I don’t believe that. You know why?”

“No.”

“Because it isn’t true. That’s not all you are.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.” She seemed angry now. “I’ve watched you. I’ve seen how you are with the children. You’ve shared your heart with me.”

“You don’t really know me. You’re wrong.”

“I often am. But not on this, I’m not. You’ve changed. I believe this with all my heart.”

He lowered his head. “I cannot take the chance. I could not live with myself if I hurt one of…” He couldn’t even say the words.

She set her jaw stubbornly. “You wouldn’t do that.”

There was nothing more to say. He started to move past her.

The door burst open suddenly, and the kids spilled into the barn. They’d been listening at the door.

They ran to Shorn, crying out.

“Don’t go, don’t go!”

Kit and Pol reached him first. Lysa was slower because Ren was gripping her hand tightly.

Kit threw his arms around Shorn’s thick leg and pressed his face against him. “You can’t leave, Shorn. You just can’t.” Tears were running down his face.

Pol had the other leg. “I don’t want you to go!” He was crying too.

Ren was wailing. She wasn’t exactly sure what was happening, but she knew it was something bad. She pulled away from Lysa and put her chubby little arms in the air, wanting to be picked up.

Shorn tried to hold back his own tears, but it was a losing battle. All of the children were crying and begging.

“Okay,” he said at last. “I will stay.”

His words electrified the children. They burst out into shouts, tears drying fast. Kit started whooping. Ren tottered around in circles, waving her doll.

Finally, Melda ushered them out. “Wash your hands and go to the dinner table. I’ll be right there.”

When they were gone, Shorn looked at her. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I am. You’re doing the right thing. Those kids need you. We all need you.”

“Then I will do better,” he vowed. “Such a thing will not happen again.”

She wrapped her arms around herself. “I was scared. But not terrified. I knew you would show up. I know you feel bad about killing that man, but I shudder to think what they might have done to my children without you there to stop them. It might be the wrong thing to say, but I’d rather it was him who’s in the ground and not another one of my children.”