Chapter 2 #4
The first time she witnessed one of the other children bullying him, she’d attacked the boy with a feral violence that shocked everyone who saw it. It had taken a pair of adults to pry Disaris off Minghis jin Vorjes and not before she managed to bloody his nose and yank out a clump of his hair.
Both her mother and Bron’s as well had scorched Disaris’s ears for that escapade, and Bron spotted her a few days later cleaning the privy belonging to Minghis’s family.
He’d expected to find Minghis nearby, taunting her about her punishment, but he was nowhere in sight.
Disaris, despite being filthy and reeking, wore a smile that only grew wider when she spotted Bron.
She waved, and he waved back, unwilling to draw closer in case his presence earned another punishment for her.
Her defense of him had been admirable and made things worse.
"A chicken-shit hiding behind a girl’s skirt!”
“My baby sister is free next week if you need someone to fight for you, Bron-Bron!”
Those insults, and many more like them, rained down on him like a torrent after that, though no one dared to physically accost him, either wary of his willingness to fight all comers or of Disaris, who’d made it plain for all to see that she’d turn into a rabid dog if her precious Bron was threatened.
That, more than the insults, humiliated him, so he began to avoid Disaris in case she decided to play savior again.
Their own questionable courage was displayed when, after a long day working in the village fields during harvest season, Bron faced a pack of his tormentors blocking his passage along one of the trails leading home.
Five altogether, and he guessed they must have been waiting a good hour for him to appear.
He knew them all—two of the blacksmith’s youngest sons, the cooper’s boy, and of course Minghis and Hulgin, who’d always been Minghis’s toady.
Hulgin spat on the ground, the wad of spittle landing near Bron’s feet. He smacked his fist into the palm of his other hand. “Hope you like the taste of dirt, Pink Eyes, because you’ll eat it today.” His companions sniggered, mimicking his fist-punching gesture.
Bron’s fast-beating heart threatened to thump its way out of his chest. A cold sweat broke out across his forehead.
The willingness and ability to fight didn’t mean he wasn’t afraid, and at the moment, he nearly choked on terror.
Five against one guaranteed he’d lose this confrontation.
With any luck, he’d land a few punches, blacken an eye or two and maybe keep most of his teeth before the bullies beat him to the ground.
The image of his mother’s face, pinched with sadness and impotent rage, stiffened his back, and he raised his fists in readiness.
For all their bravado, none of the five rushed him, unwilling to be the first to take a punch from their victim.
Minghis shoved Hulgin toward Bron. “Go on, Hulgin. Hit him!” The toady’s eyes widened and he hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at Minghis who gestured impatiently.
“Hurry up! There’s five of us and one of him. ”
Bron balanced on the balls of his feet, waiting for Hulgin to charge.
The other boy never got the chance. A muffled thump followed by Hulgin crying out and clutching the side of his head startled them all.
More noises, of something hard hitting something softer sounded, and this time Minghis and the cooper’s son joined Hulgin in the chorus of pained howls.
Soon all five were spinning about, searching for the source of their agony as a hail of small stones sailed rapid-fire across the path, striking the five with stunning accuracy.
Bleeding and crying from the injuries inflicted by their invisible attacker, they abandoned their goal of fighting Bron and fled in different directions, sobbing and crying for their mothers.
Left alone suddenly in the middle of the path, Bron turned in a slow circle, searching for his savior among the overgrown hedgerow lining the way.
He allowed himself a small smile when one particularly lush bush parted and Disaris stepped out, the pockets of her apron bulging, her hands full of river stones.
“I wondered if it was you,” he said. “How did you know they’d be here waiting for me? ”
She shrugged. “I overheard them talking by the creek, so I picked good rocks and ran here to wait in the bushes.” She regarded him with a puzzled look.
“Your eyes are purple today, not pink, though I’ve seen them that way before.
” An angry fire ignited in her gaze, and her face squinched into indignant scowl.
“It isn’t fair, five against one,” she said, letting the stones she held drop to the ground.
“I also hid so they wouldn’t make fun of you.
” Her mood was as mercurial as her expression, changing from outrage to sorrowful pleading.
Her lower lip jutted out, and her chin quivered. “Will you play with me again now?”
An uneasy guilt settled alongside his growing affection for this wild, fierce girl.
Disaris had declared herself his friend the instant they met and had remained so since, even when the others in the village ostracized him for his odd appearance and shyness.
Even if she’d embarrassed him on occasion, she’d been a better friend to him than he had to her so far.
The quiver in her chin and the simple request made him regret his shunning of her.
“Yes,” he said and held out his hand for her to take. “I’ll walk you home.”
Her delighted gasp and the way she almost squeezed his fingers numb made him smile even more and the two played a game of chase on the way to their respective homes.
They reached Disaris’s first, and Bron bowed to her father, Reylan, who sat on a stool outside the front door, puffing on a pipe as he whittled a stick of white oak with the knife he held.
He barely gave them a glance when Disaris raced to the door, bellowed a greeting to her father, then an equally loud farewell to Bron before disappearing inside, waving so long she almost closed the door on her fingers.
Bron waved back, offered another bow and made to leave only to halt in his tracks when Reylan spoke.
“For all that you’re no more solid than a rasher of wind, you possess backbone to admire and don’t run from a fight.
” He paused in his work, his brown eyes measuring as he regarded a wide-eyed Bron from head to foot.
“She told me what she overheard. I helped her gather the stones.” He went back to his whittling.
“But all that courage won’t do you much good if you don’t have skill.
Won’t help my girl much either, and she won’t always be around to save you. ”
The hot blood of shame set Bron’s face on fire, and he struggled not to lower his gaze and look for the secrets of the world in the lacings of his shoes. He gulped, praying he wouldn’t stutter when he answered. “No sir. She’s braver than I am, and good at throwing rocks.”
Reylan gave a gruff chuckle. “More courage than sense most of the time. I’m teaching her the sling.
We’re starting with basic target practice.
” His amusement faded, his craggy features returning to their usual serious mien.
“You don’t have a da to teach you such things, but I’ve seen you’ve a willingness to learn, even if you have to teach yourself.
If you want, come by each evening after the harvesting, and I’ll show you a few tricks for putting those turds who bother you in their place.
” He gestured with the whittled stick and knife.
“I’ll teach you this too if you’re interested. ”
Stunned by the offer, Bron gaped at him for a moment before bowing several times and repeating “Thank you, sir” until Reylan told him to stop.
He raced home after that, telling his mother the news in rush of tumbled words that had her handing him a cup of water just so he’d pause long enough to breathe.
“That’s very generous of Reylan, Bron,” she said. “You’ll need to find a way to thank him with more than just words.” She peered at him in much the way Reylan had, and once more he squirmed inside. “And thank Disaris too.”
That night, as he lay in the narrow bed tucked away in the loft above the cottage’s two ground floor rooms, Bron considered and discarded a thousand ideas for how to repay Disaris’s father.
He wasn’t brawny and strong like the field hands some of the yeoman hired from other towns to help bring in the hay or rebuild the stone walls that had tumbled down in places and let the sheep through.
He was, however, a hard worker. A dedicated one, too, unafraid to learn something new.
Every family could use an extra pair of hands to help out, and there were times when his mother didn’t need him, especially with the work of midwifery.
An image of Disaris’s face blossomed in his mind’s eye, both hopeful and sad. “Will you play with me again now?”
He had apologies to make and thanks to give to the friend who stood by him. And a gift. He’d make her a gift.