The next morning, John was still fretful, but as soon as Antal opened the door to step outside and begin his chores, John immediately began to follow him, oblivious to the fact that he wore only his nightshirt.
He'd struggled when Antal urged him back inside, and so the younger man had talked quietly to John until he calmed enough to allow Antal to help him wash and scrape the few days worth of dark stubble from his face. He then helped John dress warmly enough for the chilled morning air before venturing outside.
Antal remained close to home that day, his mother having forbidden him to stray outside the village in light of Tosia's foul mood. He didn't mind so much – there was more than enough to be done around their home to keep him occupied. Winter's cruelty would be upon them any day now, and there was still much to prepare for its arrival. For the second year in a row, the crops and harvests had been even sparser than usual, and all the villagers feared there would not be enough to see them through. Antal remembered how many of their kin they had lost last year, his one close friend, Laris, among them.
However, it wasn't easy to get on with his chores, as it seemed the moment Antal turned his back, John would wander off, his motions so quiet as to be almost stealthy. One time, he had only gone to the privy, which he had been managing himself since Antal had shown him where it was. Another time, John had strayed so far that he'd almost reached the outskirts of the village before Antal found him and was able to lead him stumbling and resisting back to their small barn.
Frustrated, Antal had tried to coax John back inside to the warmth of the hut, but he'd balked and dug in his feet with such stubborn refusal that Antal had given up on the idea. Short of tethering the man to the fence, which Antal had briefly considered, he reasoned that John must simply be bored and decided to put him to work.
Antal had almost finished chopping kindling for their fire when Tosia emerged from the hut, wrapped from head to toe in her heavy robe and shivering with cold. Her features were set in an irritated scowl, but when she glanced at John, standing in place save for his faint swaying motion, arms piled high with kindling, she allowed a smirk.
"Antal, he does not need to hold that while you are still working."
"It was the only way to get him to stay put," Antal said with a shrug, "and he will not go back inside."
"You took him to the ruins yesterday, didn't you?" Tosia said without preamble, her cloudy eyes fixed on Antal's dark brown ones. It was too cold outside, and Tosia was in too irritated a state for any mollycoddling and hedging around what she had to say.
Antal blushed and ducked his head. Tosia had caught him so by surprise, he was unable to do anything but admit the truth. "It was only for a little while."
"I thought we had an agreement, Antal."
"I do not remember any agreement. I only remember being told what I can and cannot do," Antal said, petulant.
"The ruins are not safe. You know that."
"Yes, they are!" Antal protested. "There is nothing to be afraid of there. It's just a dead place, and you told me many times that dead things can't hurt anyone. You and everyone else in the village are just jumping at shadows, being fearful over nothing," he said, repeating what Tosia had told him when he'd been a small boy and afraid of the dark.
Tosia narrowed her eyes in anger at that. If Antal had still been that boy and not a man over twice her size, he was certain she would have walloped his backside for such a disrespectful manner.
"How many times have you been there?" she said, after taking a moment to rein in her temper.
"Many times," Antal said quietly, seeing no point in lying anymore. "I only brought John there once, though. And that is the truth."
"I should not be surprised. You have always been far too willful for your own good." Tosia let out a frustrated sigh, anger causing her heart to pound too hard in her chest and the ever-present ache in her side began to throb in time. "Why are you all so foolish? Why do you never listen until it is too late?"
Antal blinked, unsure how to respond to that.
"How many times do I have to forbid you from that place before you decide to pay attention, Antal? Hmm?" When Antal only stared at his boots, she continued through teeth gritted from both pain and frustration, "Very well. You are a grown man and I can no longer stop you from doing as you will, but you are not to take John there again."
"But he does not mind—"
"Antal, for once, listen to me," Tosia interrupted, her tone brooking no room for further argument. "Do not bring him there again. I do not want a repeat of last night with him. Promise me."
Antal was tempted to tell Tosia that he thought the reason John had been so distressed was that he hadn't wanted to leave the ruins, not because they had upset him. But there were some things you couldn't tell Tosia – not unless you wanted a tongue-lashing – and this was probably one of them.
"All right. I promise," he said reluctantly, and gave John a sympathetic look. Perhaps when Tosia was visiting with her ailing friend, Magda, he could sneak John back there for a short time.
Drawing her cloak tighter around her, Tosia nodded, satisfied. If Antal could not bring John, his perpetual shadow of late to the ruins, the younger man would likely stay put himself, or so she could hope. As she turned back to the hut, she said, "Do not be too long, Antal. It is getting colder outside, and John's arms must be getting tired."
Antal had completed his task, and was about to gather the remaining kindling from the ground when Silas strode by. Raising an eyebrow, the older man stopped to blatantly stare at John.
"Good day, Silas," Antal said, using the polite, typical greeting, but without much enthusiasm. Like Tosia, he did not like the self-important man, and Silas's arrival was not helping Antal's already difficult morning.
"Good day, Antal," Silas echoed just as flatly. "It appears as though you have finally found some use for him." He jerked a thumb in John's direction, and John's vague gaze drifted to the older man.
Antal frowned. "What do you mean?"
"Perhaps you could hitch a plow to him and put him to work that way, as well," Silas jeered, "have him earn his keep."
"Plows are for beasts, not a man," Antal explained, speaking slowly, as though to a very ignorant child.
Silas smirked and raised an eyebrow. "Is he not as dumb as a beast, Antal? Although I suppose you are the last person I should be asking such a question."
Antal's hands clenched into fists. His eyes stung with tears and he ducked his head to hide them. He jumped at the sound of a clatter. John had allowed the kindling to fall to his feet.
"Oh, too bad," Silas said in mock sympathy. "Perhaps he is good for nothing, after all. Is Tosia inside, boy? I need to speak with her."
"I do not think she—" Antal started, but Silas roughly shoved him out of his way, causing the younger man to stagger. Antal caught himself on the rough wood of the fence, splinters digging painfully into his palms.
"Clumsy oaf," Silas chortled. "You should mind where you're stepping."
Antal straightened and glared at the man. "And you should mind your manners."
Silas placed himself in front of Antal and grasped the front of his shirt, pointing an upraised finger in the young man's face. "Do not back talk me, boy! You need to learn your place!" Silas growled, giving Antal a rough shake. Silas jumped when something struck him on the shoulder and landed at his feet. It was a stick of kindling. Silas looked over to the stranger who was stooped over, watching him closely.
Narrowing his eyes, Silas's features flared with anger. "What did you do that for?" he demanded. He shoved Antal aside and rushed at John, grabbing hold of his arm. John backed up a few steps, and his feet tangled in the kindling on the ground. Silas, grinning nastily, let go of John's arm and pushed hard at his chest. Stumbling backward, John lost his balance, and with a clatter, sat down hard on top of the pile of wood, his teeth snapping together with an audible click.
When Silas reached out to haul John back to his feet, Antal, who had been momentarily frozen with surprise and indecision, sprang into action, and pulled on Silas's shirt collar, yanking him back. "Leave him alone!"
Silas spun on his heels and swung a meaty fist, connecting with the side of Antal's head. Antal cried out and staggered sideways a few steps, his hand flying up to his stinging ear.
"I told you to mind your place, you imbecile!" Silas growled.
Tosia and Lasca, hearing the clamor, rushed from the hut in time to see Silas grab at Antal. He had the dazed young man by the arm, his fist raised to strike him a hard blow.
John, moving with unexpected speed, lunged to his feet and grabbed Silas by the shoulder. He spun the older man around, punching him in the gut with a short jab. Silas clutched his middle, gasped out a curse, then charged. Snarling with fury, he swung a fist, grazing John's face. John stepped back, then suddenly and fluidly shifted his balance, ducking forward and catching the bigger man in an unfamiliar hold. He twisted his body and shifted his weight again, bringing Silas sailing over his shoulder and flipping him head over heels to land on his back with a thud. John stood over the other man, panting, hands upraised, threatening.
Tosia, Lasca and Antal stared at him, stunned.
Still on the ground, gasping and struggling to catch his breath, arms tucked protectively around his bruised middle, Silas turned his head in Tosia's direction. "I told you that you should not have brought him here! He is deranged!"
"From what I've witnessed, he was only defending Antal," Tosia spat, furious. "Does it make you feel more of a man to beat on a boy, Silas? Get out of here. I have nothing more to say to you."
Struggling to his feet, Silas swiped the dirt from the back of his pants, fuming. "I have much more to say to you, old woman," he snarled. "But we will speak of this later. That you can be sure of." With that he stalked away, arm still clutched around his belly.
"Are you all right, Antal?" Tosia asked the young man, sparing Silas no further attention.
Antal nodded, staring at John in awe, his wounded ear all but forgotten. "Did you see that, Tosia! Did you see how easily John beat Silas? Silas will not be bothering us again, that is for certain."
"Yes, I saw," Tosia said, nodding impatiently and cautiously moving closer to John. He was breathing hard, watching Silas's retreating back. His upper lip was split and already swelling. When Tosia hesitantly placed her hand on John's shoulder, she could feel his body still vibrating with unspent adrenaline.
"Where did he learn to fight like that, do you think?" Antal continued. "Do you think he can teach me?"
"Antal, stop such talk," Lasca said in a sharp tone, and when her gaze darted over to John, her expression became wary. "You have never been a fighter, and I do not want you to start now, do you understand?" When Antal's face fell and he looked down at his feet, nodding, Lasca gave him a quick hug. "Come, let's bring this wood inside."
As Tosia watched Lasca and Antal gathering the kindling in their arms, the old woman's thoughts raced. She thought of the weapon John had carried and the strange bits of technology she'd found in his pockets. The manner in which he'd fought clearly showed him to be more than a mere shepherd in his previous life. He had the bearing of a soldier, a trained warrior.
"Where did you come from, John?" she inquired in a soft voice – meant only for his ears. She did not expect an answer, but even as Lasca and Antal disappeared inside, still she waited, looking at John's face for any sign of reaction. He only raised his hand to his oozing upper lip. Staring at his bloodstained fingers as though not comprehending where the blood came from, he took a few shuffling steps away from Tosia, his motions unsteady, eyelids fluttering.
Taking pity on him, and not wishing to distress him any further, Tosia continued speaking to him in that same quiet voice. "Shall we go inside, as well, John? These bones of mine are too old for such weather. I only hope they can withstand another winter." She took John's arm as though he were one of her beau's from years past, escorting her to one of the many functions she'd enjoyed. "Come, let us go inside."
John muttered softly under his breath, but Tosia thought he was merely echoing her own words. He allowed her to lead him back to the hut.
When she pulled the door shut behind her, Tosia caught Lasca's uncertain, almost frightened glance at John. The younger woman quickly lowered her gaze when Tosia's eyes met hers and she directed Antal to stoke the fire.
Tosia led John to the chair by the table and urged him to sit. Without prompting, Lasca went to the small kitchen area, dipped a clean cloth in the bucket of water and handed it to Tosia. Grasping his chin with one hand, Tosia daubed at John's still oozing mouth. He winced and squinted his eyes, but offered no resistance.
"Mother…" Lasca began hesitantly. "Do you think John might be dangerous? I am grateful to him for protecting Antal, but…" she paused, "we know nothing of him..."
Tosia glanced at her daughter then back to John. In that moment, he appeared anything but dangerous as he sat hunched on the chair, arms wrapped around his chest and slowly rocking himself. Dressed in Antal's too large clothing, his shirtsleeves falling to the tips of his fingers, his pant legs rolled up so he would not trip over them, he appeared more of a frightened child than a threat, but Tosia was beginning to suspect what he might be capable of. When he'd fought Silas, that now familiar vagueness in his eyes was completely gone. Instead, it had been replaced with flat, steely determination. She'd seen that look many times before, in the eyes of warriors and soldiers. It spoke of the sort of training that was so deeply ingrained it became unconscious.
Tosia wanted to answer Lasca, to try and explain the instinctive feeling she'd had about John, the one that told her he had been a good man, that he was still a good man if he could only find his way back. But even as she tried to find the words, she began to question her own conviction.
Perhaps, the real truth was that he only reminded her far too much of Gaereth.
The sudden thought made her pause, made her old heart stutter, and she stared at John's features anew. She was amazed she hadn't seen it before. It wasn't a striking resemblance, but there was something in the slant of John's eyes and in his high cheekbones that was so very similar to Gaereth's.
The unexpected revelation brought a sharp pain to Tosia's chest, and she let out a soft, 'oh,' stumbling back a step, the cloth falling from her hand and onto John's lap. Perhaps she hadn't wanted to see it before. The loss of Gaereth, even after so many years, was a wound that would never heal. She would miss him until she drew her last breath.
Yes, the resemblance was clear, and perhaps her judgment had been clouded all along.
"Mother…" Lasca said, worried, touching Tosia's shoulder. "Perhaps you should sit down a moment."
Tosia shrugged off the concern with impatience. "I am fine. Do not fuss." She immediately regretted snapping at her daughter when Lasca pulled her hand away as though scalded. Tosia had foolishly allowed herself to become too wrapped up in her thoughts, in the grief that always hit her when she thought of Gaereth. That was why she tried not to remember him. Some things hurt too much to remember, and that hurt became weakness. Tosia abhorred weakness. "Lasca, we have nothing to fear from John," she finally answered. Perhaps if she vocalized the sentiment enough times, it would become truth.
"How can you be so certain?" Lasca said, a frown marring her pleasant features. "He is unpredictable. His mind is not sound."
"Neither is mine, but that never stopped you from staying near me," Tosia said, raising an eyebrow and smiling faintly. "Even before your parents died, you were always coming around to hear a story, weren't you? No matter what some people said of me back then, you were always so trusting." The memory of the sweet, innocent little girl Lasca had once been helped ease the sting of renewed grief, and so Tosia clung to it.
Lasca couldn't help a soft laugh and shrugged. "Well, you are the best storyteller in the village." She noticed John's gaze darting between the two of them, as though he were comprehending their words. He pulled on his upper lip with his teeth, then winced at the sudden pain, his tongue flicking out to taste the still seeping blood. Softening, Lasca picked up the rag, wet it again and carefully placed it back over his mouth. John took hold of the rag himself after a moment, allowing the soothing coolness to ease the fiery sting. Lasca sighed, and brushed his tangled, unruly hair back from his eyes. "What do you suppose Silas will tell the others?" she asked.
"If he had any sense, which he does not, he would say nothing," Tosia replied. "It is probably best if John stayed near home for a while."
The rest of the day passed without incident and without any unwelcome visitors, for which Tosia and Lasca were grateful. John seemed unperturbed by his skirmish, and had even eaten his dinner without fuss and fallen asleep as soon as night fell.
The next morning, Tosia was the first to wake even before the sun had fully risen. When she shuffled into the cold main room the first thing she noticed was that John was gone – his nightshirt lay crumbled on his abandoned bed. His boots and jacket were also nowhere in sight. She went to Antal's small room where he lay asleep, and lightly shook him.
"Antal, have you seen John?"
Without opening his eyes, Antal muttered, irritated, "He's sleeping. So am I." With that, he turned over and went back to sleep.
Tosia shook her head in mingled frustration and amusement, and quickly dressing and taking her lamp, she went outside to look for John. But he was nowhere to be found. She thought of the crystal and the glyph in his pocket from a few nights ago, and without going back inside to tell the others where she was going, Tosia headed for the ruins.
-- tbc --