• 3. Relocation

    I slip out of bed silently, giving Maddie a shove on my way to the door. It is my fifth week in Mediaeval. I had been left at the door of the Tillman's by a still smiling Candy, my bags dumped beside me and a note for my new keepers in hand. Mrs. Tillman was robust and loud, but nice enough once you got to know her. Mr. Tillman was gruff and hardworking, spending most of his time in the barn with the animals or in the fields. There were many fields on the Tillman farm, and just as many unwanted and miscreant teenagers to work them.
    The house consists of thirteen people: the Mr. and Mrs., me, Maddie, Adelade, Bethy, Sidd, Rogue, Crimson, Tado, Pixie, Bian, and Logger. Most are self named and some have gang names, like Rogue. Maddie is my favorite. Sidd, Rogue, Crimson, Tado, Bian, and Logger help Mr. Tillman with the oxen and large animals, while we mere women must work the fields and do housework. This is one of the few drawbacks of living in the Mediaeval time period. For the most part, Mrs. Tillman couldn't care less if we acted the part of ladies. So long as the chores get done and we're out of her hair, she's happy.
    Maddie grumbles incoherently and drags herself out of bed, turning to wake the other girls. We all head downstairs where Mrs. Tillman has breakfast waiting. Groans sound all around. Porridge. Again. Mrs. Tillman glares at us reprovingly and begins ladling out steaming portions into wooden bowls. The mixture in the pot bubbles and makes sickening plopping sounds. I down the scalding stuff quickly, trying not to taste.
    “C'mon now girls, go make yerselves useful. Pixie and Adelade, you go get them lunches ready for the boys. Bethy, the chickens laid plenty o' eggs fer you to collect, better start now.” Mrs. Tillman rattles off orders. “And you two,” she says, pointing at Maddie and me. “ You need to go into town and visit the miller, an' the cooper, an' the seamstress. We need two pounds o' flour, three barrels by weeks end and Twilla, you need more work clothes.” She hands Maddie some coins and shoos us away.
    We walk in silence; our shoes stirring up the road dust and making it form swirling clouds of dirt. The roads are filled with carts and pedestrians all waiting for the village gates to open.
    “Oh good, it's market day!” Maddie says excitedly. I look at her questioningly.
    “Market day. You know, there are tons of stands and merchants and stuff. I wonder if the Mrs. will be able to tell if she only gets one and three quarters of a pound of flour?” Maddie murmurs the last to herself while counting out coins. Market day, hmm. This could be interesting. Plenty of new faces to see, the possibility of brawls. It sounded like fun to me.
    The crowd rushes forward and we're swept into town. Maddie drags me out of the mass and pulls me to a fruit stand nestled in between two low buildings.
    “Now, I'm going to meet some of my townie friends, so I'll meet you back here in an hour. Stick to open streets and roads. Here's some money, spend it wisely and remember to haggle.” She pats me swiftly on the cheek and runs, grinning, straight into the mob.
    I look at my surroundings, trying to figure out where to go next. The toothy old woman manning the fruit stand points wordlessly in the direction of the crowd. Her silence scares me and I look around again, spotting a lone shape detaching itself from the throng and heading towards us. I run.
    I’m already in the spinning vortex of human bodies by the time I realize that I’ve really been running my whole life. I stop short; It’s time to end my running days. And begin my fighting ones. Weaving through the people, I look for that lone shape. It’s gone. But now I am not afraid, and that’s a good feeling. I’m free. I run for joy this time, passing merchants and their stalls in a blur. Voices yell, colors stream past, the packed earth is solid under my feet; and this all adds to my elation. I race the breeze until a wall cuts off all wind.
    “You’re quite fast.”
    I halt in my tracks and look around wildly. A few feet away from me is a pasture filled with sheep. Against the fence reclines a lean but well muscled young man. His dark hair is cropped uncharacteristicly short for the time period; about ear length. He’s obviosly not a soft city-boy, judging by the strength of his bearing and the callused hands casually twirling a peice of straw between thumb and forefinger. He’s tough, hardened. The man chuckles at my scrutiny.
    “Most people say thank you when complemented, though I’ll excuse you this time.” I just stare at him, looking for knives on his person. I find wrist and boot knives, plus a dagger at the belt. I check my sheathes for reasurance. “Why are you looking at me like that?” He asks in confusion.
    “I’m trying to figure out whether or not you’re a threat.” I say honestly.
    “I’m a threat to those who would steal my sheep, but no threat to you. Unless you are a theif, that is.”
    I laugh. “I have no use for live stock.”
    “By the way, do you inspect every person you meet for weapons, or just me?”
    “Everyone. I find it vital to know how well any possible enemies are armed.”
    “And who trained you? Surely a young women like you does not learn this by chance.” He grows suspicious as he speaks. I just snort.
    “Experience can teach you a lot. Like, never trust, never feel betrayal.” I speak coolly.
    He nods in understanding, then gestures to the spot next to him. I sit on the soft grass instead, inhaling the sweet tang of animals and hay. We rest in silence for a while, listening to the quite movements of the feeding sheep. I watch the clouds making their way slowly through the sky, revealing the sun in its full burning glory before covering it once again in a fluffy white mantle.
    “Vin.”
    “What?”
    “You were wondering what my name was, right?” I had been wondering what his name was. Creepy.
    “Twilla.”
    He smiles to himself, then begins chewing on his straw thoughtfully.
    “How long have I been here?” I ask, suddenly missing the modern conveinience of having clocks.
    “About an hour, maybe more.” I swear.
    “I have to meet someone, and I’m going to be very late.”
    I swear again and scramble up. Saluting Vin, I dash back into the swarm. I findMaddie pacing in front of the old woman’s stand, worrying her bead necklace and muttering in agitation. I apologize, making up an excuse about getting lost. I’m not sure why I lied to Maddie, maybe because of the anger I can see in her eyes, or maybe because I want to keep the mystery of Vin to myself. I don’t know.
    We make our way to the cooper’s, where I place the order for the barrels. Maddie handles the transactions at the millers, and we head to the tailors.

    *************
    I feel pins dig into my skin and grimace in displeasure. If Mrs. Tillman had gotten her way I would be wearing a dress now like all the other girls. As it was my new “pants” looked very much like a skirt.
    At the tailor’s, Maddie and I had picked out a basic blouse and petticoat ensamble. The Mrs. was now turning skirt into trousers, or what she thought trousers ought to look like. I thought they looked more like olden day clown pants. All I needed was a pair of big shoes and a red nose. Ugh. But still it was better than having to wear a gown. You can’t fight well in a gown.
    And that’s what I wanted here, where it was alright to not always feel peace. The boys had agreed to teach me the fighting arts of Mediaeval. At first they had been wary; they had never before met a female interested in attaining these skills, never even seen a woman possesing them. I was new in both ways, and newness scared them.
    Eventually they got over their shyness and asked me what I could do.Taunting. Challenging. Sidd was my first opponent. He circled, sizing me up, looking for weaknesses; I showed him none. This was my element, my forte. This was what I was made for. We were both armed with small, sharp bladed knives, the kind I was used to.
    Sidd feinted to the right then went for my unprotected rib cage. This I was anticipating, and answered the attack with a small adjustement and a slash of my own. Sidd felt the bloody scratch on his arm with his thumb and reassessed the situation. I lunged forward at the height of his distraction and moved my blade in a half-moon sweeping motion from stomach to chest, pressing the point of the weapon against his shirt; right where his heart would be.
    “Dead.” I say softly.
    “Never underestimate the power of the tigress, my boy. They hold beauty in one paw, death in the other.” Rogue reprimanded Sidd, grinning at me through his lecture.
    Rogue was a former gang leader, a theif lord some might call him. I knew he would be a harder fight than Sidd, and I wasn’t eager to find out exactly how much harder.
    I had plans to takes lessons from Rogue as soon as my new clothes were finished. By the looks of it they would be done by tomorow.
    Mrs. Tillman sticks in the final pin and helps to pull the pants off of me. Adelade and Bethy giggle at the volumous folds of fabric the Mrs. has piled into her lap. I stick my tongue out petulantly. They stick out their own tongues in reply, rolling their eyes about and making faces.
    “They’ll stick like that you little hooligans!” Maddie grabs the girls by their smock strings and hauls them out of the room, pausing to smack me upside the head on the way. Apparently she still has not forgiven me my afternoon foray.
    “Ah yes, I been telling them children foah yeahs that their faces would stick like that. They ain’t never paid no mind.” Mrs. Tillman chuckles and shakes her head. Then her eyes grow quizical. “Since when have you and Miss Maddie been at odds, huh? Seems most’a the time you two enjoy ‘chothers company. Least ways it looked sommat like that. Not many good folk take kindly to her; them city friends o’ hers gettin’ inta worlds o’ trouble wit’ the law. You do good to her, ya hear, make it right between the two o’ you. I don’ want nothin’ happenin’ to Maddie, and I have the feelin’ you could help her.” she dabs at her eyes with a threadbare handkerchief, shooing me out of the room in embarrassment.
    I make my way up the stairs slowly, stomping loudly on each step as I go. Maddie is hiding under her quilt when I come up; my warning gave her plenty of time to feign sleep.
    “I know you’re awake.”
    “hmph!” Comes the muffled reply. I smile.
    “If you don’t forgive me you’ll be stuck alone with Bethy and Adelade.” I threaten. The lump moves a little and I smother a laugh; this will be easy.
    “The boys will start calling you a fancy little lady again. Remember what they thought before I came, that us girls were just silly silk kerchiefs; no good for anything but to look pretty? Come on, we fighter gals gotta stick together.” I hear a giggle and the covers shake.
    “Ha! I knew you couldn’t stay mad at me for long. I’m too lovable.” I say it with a straight face, pulling another laugh from her. I tickle her.
    “Okay. Okay! I forgive you!” She says, her head popping out of the blankets.
    “Good.”
    “So, what were you hiding from me earlier?”
    “Hiding?” I ask inocently.
    “Oh, don’t insult me. I can always tell when someone’s lying to me.”
    Iknow by the look on her face that she’ll never let it go. Her eyebrows are drawn together, and on her forehead is a line of stubbornness. I sigh.
    “Can’t hide anything from you, can I?” I grumble. “I wouldn’t really call it hiding......” I trail off, my eyes cast downward.
    “Twilla!” Maddie growls.
    “Okay! I was running and then I met a shepard. It was no big deal. We just sat together and talked a little. His name was Vin.”
    Maddie turns white and looks at me wide-eyed.
    “You.... you..... sat down and talked to Vin! What is wrong with you, didn’t you realize he was dangerous? “ She gasps.
    “Dangerous? Well, yes. But not a threat, I made sure of that. Why?”
    “Let’s just say that even I would never go near him. My own friends fear him, and they are far from being noble softies.”
    “He was perfectly nice to me.” I say defensively. Maddie just rolls her eyes.
    “Well, just because he was polite to you doesn’t mean that he isn’t bad news.”
    “I didn’t say he was polite.” I insist.
    “Fine, nice then. But he still has a dark story and background. You need to stay away from him.”
    I look at her sadly, my lower lip jutting out and my eyes pleading.
    “I mean it Twilla.”
    “All right.” I sigh. I’m good at lying.

    *************
    Rogue swears. I’ve knicked his chest and his shirt is in shreds. I, though equally disheveled, am scrape free.
    “Are you done now?” I ask politely. “Can we continue this battle? I would like to win before I turn gray. And we both know that I will be victorious.”
    “Aye, we can continue. But you will never best me.”
    I just roll my eyes and get in position for his next attack. His knife lashes out towards my ribcage, but I’m no longer there. I skip and twirl around him joyously; this is what I was always meant to do. This is my own personal form of art.
    Rogue growls in frustration, but continues moving his blade in complicated patterns. Up, down, to each side, even in stars and intricate forms. All mesmerizing. I quickly turn my head so that my eyes do not get caught by the sight, and move in to land a right hook on his cheekbone. He practicaly snarls. Giggling, I dance away, knocking the knife from his hand as my spinning dance comes to an end. He bows his head in defeat.
    “I have misjudged you. I therefore offer the status of Tigress in exchange for your forgiveness.”
    “Hmmm, Tigress you say? And what exactly are you?”
    “I am but a humble wolf.”
    “All is forgiven then, I suppose.” I say with a sniff, acting like an offended cat settling for milk instead of cream. We both laugh and gather our things.
    Suddenly I can’t see. I am no longer with Rogue behind the cattle barn. I am nowhere. Fuzzy color swatches whip across my vision, dizzying with their speed. Slowly, the colors arrange themselves into a whole. Rows of faces. All are different, but one thing unites them. Each one has the cold, blank stare of the dead.
    Then the voices come. The screaming. The moaning. The pleading. These are wronged souls, they have no peace. And now, neither do I. I wish for them to stop, but I have no voice of my own, no power.
    I hear death, I see death.
    The portraits dissolve away to reveal a gruesome scene. There are bodies everywhere, they fill the deap, bottomless pit that is all I can see. And I am forced to watch as more and more vacant shells fall down into the darkness. They all land with the ringing finality of flesh against flesh, and snapping bone.
    Cold, dead, all bone white and mangled.The screaming turns into a high pitched roar, a bloody symphony in my ears, rising higher and higher, filling the empty blackness where I stand with a palpable sense of loss.
    And then my head snaps back unexpectedly and the people vanish.
    My vision clears and I find Rogue kneeling in front of me. And next to him is...Vin. I try to voice my surprise, but all that comes out is a strangled sob. Tears flow relentlesly down my face, and I tremble. I can barely hear the heated conversation of Rogue and Vin. It all sounds disjointed to me, broken. Just like my heart.
    “What...hell...doing...her...you...slap...could...beat...up...for that!” growls Vin.
    “Don’t...what...she...sudden...crying...didn’t...what...do...figured...needed...snap...of it...sorry!” Rogue spoke frantically, obviously afraid of Vin.
    I stare at them both through my water-filled eyes, as they argue. It hurts too much, and I can’t stand it. Anger, pain, death, it all fills me with horror.
    But I have to know something. I run.
    “Twilla!” They both yell. Rogue in fear and confusion, Vin in worry and agony. No, don’t look of them. I think to myself. This is more important.
    I race to the house and bolt up the stairs past a startled Mrs. Tillman. With so little space in the room I share with the other girls, I never fully unpacked. After pulling out sacks of old clothes and dusty photoghraphs, I finally find it. My box of drawings. Taking a deap breath I slowly lift the lid. They stare up at me, those faces. Hundreds of them. I lay them out in rows on the floor and then stand up to survey the finished product.
    These people had eyes of the living, but there was no way I could mistake these drawings to be any others than the faces from my vision. The happy faces stared up at me, living in a peaceful time. A time when they weren’t dead.