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Mari was getting annoyed. The whole matter was absurd and unfair. But twenty minutes of explaining how it was unfair didn’t seem to be sinking through the man’s thick skull. Which forced her back to the starting point. Again.

“But you can’t just take my home like that! Where will I live? I want to talk to Crisso himself!”

“There is nothing to discuss. You’ve failed to pay your debt for the past three weeks. He only granted you that much time since the baron understands how hard it is after a death in the fam-”

She continued to glare at the bailiff as he shifted from foot to foot. Had she the power to kill with her eyes, and at the moment she wished she did, he’d have been destroyed beyond the reach of the afterlife. As things were, she at least knew how to make him uncomfortable.

“Look Marson, it’s my farm, and my home! It’s been in Pyctine’s name for over ten generations! That’s twice as long as his family’s been here. My father was sometimes behind in our pay for whole seasons and Crisso never so much as whined. Why is it that I am threatened with eviction for a mere three week’s lapse? Tell me the fairness of that, my good sir!” She spat the last words and added in an attempt to appeal to reason. “Besides, it’s not as if he has anyone else waiting to move in. My living there is no loss to anyone. What could he possibly need with an empty farmstead? There are three other abandoned homes already. He’s wasting his time and money throwing me out.”

The bailiff fumbled with the rolled parchment as he put on a front of authority and achieved pompous instead. Mari bit back a snarl of disgust. By birth, bailiff Marson was not far removed from her own class. But since taking his position, he chose to both align himself with and act as if he were above it. Mari disliked traitors.

“First off, you know that as a peasant, all your property is granted to you by the baron, so it’s never really been yours. Second, as a woman, you are not entitled to own property anyway under the new ordinances of the empire. So, you have no real claim without a male family member. I’m sorry, but with your father dead, and you still unmarried, that’s how it is…”

Mari narrowed her eyes. She knew he didn’t mean any real slight, but she disliked the tone of that last remark, wondering if he knew. Flustered, the bailiff dropped his parchment, picked it up, and tried to shake off the ants.

“My father is not my only family, Marson. The baron knows that. You know that. By those ordinances, my brother still has claim, even if he is away. You cannot simply make decisions about our home without letting him know first. The law says so.”

The bailiff gave a weary sigh. They’d had this argument before.

“While that would be true, Miss Pyctine, master Pyctine has been gone for over four years-”

“Yes! But he still writes me letters each month-”

“-Which stopped coming over six months ago. I’m sorry, I really am. But you must face reality, Miss Pyctine. Your brother is dead, and he’s not coming back.”

Mari felt a terrible pang of cold pain sear through her throat and chest for a moment. Then she reminded herself in front of authority was no place for worry or grief. She hardened her face and looked the bailiff straight in the eyes.

“My brother is alive. He will return. And I still say you and the baron have no right, Sir.”

She turned and stormed away from the manor gates. The swinging weight of her long braid adding emphasis to her resentment.

The bailiff called after her.

“Miss Pyctine! Wait!”

She stopped but did not turn around to face him.

“Miss, do understand. If you would just pay off your debt and have 200 eggs for the baron by tomorrow afternoon, he might be more lenient. And then you’d have time to find a new start, maybe move up in life for the better.”

There was a long silence as she tried to interpret what he meant by “new start” and “moving up for the better”.

“And what if I can’t do that?” she asked, hating the way her voice turned fragile and glad he couldn’t see her face. “What then?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Mari suspected he was trying to think of a gentle response even though he always lacked tact.

“Well then…he kicks you out of your house, and you’re on your own…”

Mari stormed away again, more vehemently this time, down the slope to the hamlet below.

So much for his reassurances! Bastard…Hope ants eat his shoes…

She ignored the lively chatter of the birds and didn't bother to avoid the puddles from last night’s rain. Once she stubbed her foot on a stone jutting into the path.

“Damn it.” she swore and stopped.

She was next to the village graveyard, forever under the shadows of the trees and shrubbery. Wild lilies and ivy vines grew free among the headstones, except over a still fresh plot of earth. It was always quiet here every time she passed by. But this time it felt like it was because she was being watched if the prickling on the back of her neck spoke true. Mari didn't enter. But she paused to rest her elbows on the stone wall marking the boundary between cemetery and forest. In front of her, wooden post marked the recent grave of Nicholas Samuel Pyctine, 2972-3028 wd.

I couldn’t even give him a real headstone… It’ll rot in time. And in a hundred years, people will forget anyone is buried there…

“I’m sorry, Father.” She muttered after a long moment. “I’ve only tried to do my best. Always what I thought you would have done or asked me to. I just wish for once that it was good enough.”

She sighed and thought of her brother Jon, who more often than not seemed to achieve his best. When he messed up or failed, no matter how foolishly, he never lost the status of Forin's golden son. While she always came up short in comparison. She should have been resentful or jealous of the favoritism, but Mari loved him anyway.

Jon and Mari shared the same oval face and brown hair. But Jon’s hair was lighter with hints of amber, he was tall, and his bright hazel eyes matched their father’s gaze. In contrast, she was short and dark like their mother. But anyone looking at them would never doubt they were siblings.

It was in ambitions that they were the most different. Jon was the open dreamer, not content with the little things in life. No, he burned with too much passion to accept what their humble home life offered where they were. He’d desired adventure and glory, to do something to be remembered by for centuries. Jon wanted to change the world, while Mari simply wished for a way to live in it without trouble. He wasn't made for settling in youth as their father wanted. He had too much fire in him that needed more. So, with permission and traveler's papers from the baron, and a farewell for Mari, he’d gone off into the yonder four years ago.

For a while, it seemed he was achieving his dream. He sent a letter home every month, telling of trading cities, charming towns, fascinating people and amazing events. Delighted and intrigued by every tale, Mari devoured the tales. She also read them for her father and his friends in the local inn, while Jhed listened and helped her with the trickier words. Jon even once sent Mari a beautiful jade necklace of blue and green from the other end of the country and across the desert. According to him, it was made on request by a Faery peddler he met. She wore it every day, loving the smoothness of the pale stones as they warmed in the sun and cooled in shade.

Then, his letters grew sporadic and vague. He wrote less about his personal experiences, instead describing the places he visited. But still he wrote and showed that he was alright and still cared and would come home someday. So Mari did not become too concerned even as she missed him.

Then the letters had stopped coming entirely.

Mari watched every shipment coming in to Forin outside Jhed’s inn. She'd harried every messenger for any letters or news from Jon with increasing worry. Not a single word of him, or his fate.

She once believed it was the worst thing that could happen, but the past winter proved her to be horribly wrong. After a harsh winter that lingered past its time, their father caught pneumonia. and despite all Mari's best attempt to care for him, he died within the month. Now she had only herself and her home left, and even that now was at risk of being taken away. For no other reason that she could see than greed and indifference.

This never would have happened if he were here, she thought.

“What am I going to do, Father?” She whispered aloud, hating the way her voice cracked again and betrayed itself. “You always told me if I stayed true, I’d make out fine, but you never said how. Everywhere I look, there’s no way out except the ways they want.”

She looked around, waiting for an answer or sign even though she knew it was stupid to believe in such things. But none seemed to be coming. With a sigh, she resumed walking and soon forgot the sensation of being watched.

I should’ve known better, miracles are for special people…

Her home community of Forin was a cross between a scrap of a village and a string of homes flung together by chance. There had once been more to the village. More homes and pastureland, on its way to becoming a real small town, she knew that from talk passed down by adults. But those days of progress were gone. The wild forest had long since devoured most of it, reclaiming the stolen lands to its fold. Seventy people lived now in Forin proper. Eighty if she included Baron Crisso’s household and enforcer overseeing the community below. Dense forest surrounded the village and the even more forbidding Paretin mountain range bordered the east. Mist shrouded the valley in the mornings and evenings. It was a quiet place sheltered among the steep foothills that felt as familiar to her as her own hand.

One cobbled road through the Pin forest connected Forin to the rest of the trade-paths of Gaena, and that lifeline was zealously well kept. There was no real land for crops, and not enough people to renew the village’s mining business before the war. Signs of that old trade were still there. Mari still came across abandoned shafts on the mountainside near her house. But there was no chance of its return. What little open land there was, helped uphold the tiny remaining four farms on the edges of Forin. Mari’s chicken farm on the eastern mountain, Olsen’s southern sheep field, the small stable to the north, and the Carter’s goat dairy at the mountain base. But there was plenty of wood, wild game, and furs to barter for grain, metal, and textiles, the mainstays for people in the center of town.

Of course, most of the profit went to the baron landlord in his manor. The peasants who made up more than half the population were still left struggling as they aged. Mari saw the contrast between the old wooden cottages falling apart on the town edge and the large stone houses that clustered near the center. Everyone saw it, even her half-blind neighbor Mrs. Carter whom she nodded to as she passed by. Yet despite the slow death of the village as their prosperity drained out, folk rarely left. Not because it was a hassle getting a traveling permit like Jon managed. But because there often was nowhere else to go that could possibly yield better. Young and old were stuck with little choice but to make the best of their lot. Mari was only eighteen summers old and had lived in Forin every single drudging day of it. But even she knew deep down it was harder to start over elsewhere than to stay put and hold on.

But some did, some folk tried…Mari reminded herself. And such people were never thereafter heard from again. Like Jon. She struggled to blink back tears, wondering what to do.

“Mari!”

She looked up to see Jhed Talsin, the spindly old innkeeper of Forin’s only tavern and inn/post office, The Raven’s Claw. He’d been one of her father’s best friends since before she and her brother were born. And he was the only upper-class person she liked. Unlike most of the non-peasants in Forin, he valued company over money and gave a damn about the lives of others. He was also one of the few people whom she trusted enough to talk to. She did her best to smile, even though she knew he could tell a fake when he saw one.

“Mr. Talsin, how are you?”

“I’m well. Mari, how many times must I say you may call me by my first name? Everyone else does, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“One must be polite to one’s elders, Mr. Talsin.”

“Oh, don’t try that on me. The day age and wisdom give me the right to give myself airs is the day I want my legs broken. Besides, you and your brother never called me mister as kids, so no good in starting now.”

“True, but that’s because we were kids, Jhed. We thought the world was made to serve us.” She attempted to joke. “The mail’s come and gone already has it?”

“Yes, of course. A surprising bundle of it still waiting to be picked up from last week. Seems our good baron’s been in correspondence from on high of late.”

“Huh.” She blinked. “That’s news, someone important actually wants a word with him, and he’s not bragging about it. But how about me, Jhed? Any letters for me?”

The old man shook his head.

“Still no word from Jon. It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth…I’m sorry.” He added as Mari felt her hopes shrink again. Jhed sighed.

“It looks like you’ve had it hard today. Why don’t you come in for a bit and find something to wet your tongue? I’ve got time enough before the rush.”

She looked at him, recognizing the other offer underneath the first one. Everyone in Forin down to the poorest somehow had a coin tucked away to buy a drink and Jhed's sympathetic ear. It didn't matter how absurd or tedious the complaints or tirades were. Jhed somehow remained patient and provided the proper accolades of an understanding audience. Sometimes he even dispensed advice if he felt it deserved or requested as an encore by the other patrons. But by this hour the inn would be empty, save for Mr. Namnit and Old Man Jacquin playing card games at one of the corner tables. And they would pay heed to little else until Jhed had enough and kicked them out so he could go to bed. She’d have relative privacy to rant without side commentary if she wished.

“Now Jhed,” She said with mock reproach, “You know I don’t drink spirits. That was Father who did, I tagged along to see he didn’t overdo it. And I don’t have a copper on me-”

“Did I ask for money? No, and its cider I was intending. Just brewed some up this morning, and I need a taster. Come on. On the house.”

Mari managed a faint smile as she followed him into the small wooden inn. Ever since she’d been little, Jhed allowed her and her brother to try out his new non fermented drinks. He didn’t even mind when she and Jon once contested who could spray the most out of his/her mouth, despite having to clean the cellar afterwards. She sat at the bar and reminisced as the little bushy white-haired man went behind the counter with two mugs.

~

As Jhed drew up the flask and poured, he glanced back at the slender girl drumming her fingers on the counter. He knew when someone was troubled, and Mari was no different. Save for the fact that she’d never been so troubled or in trouble before. It’s a shame to see the world’s burdens heaped on one so soon, he thought.

She’s too young yet for it, anyone ought to see that.

She was tawny skinned from plenty of outdoor work and air. Perhaps more so than the other local girls. Jhed suspected Mari inherited some of her mother Isabail’s olive complexion alongside her temper. The resemblance grew every year, despite her attempts to mute it into prudent form. While her mother let her tresses fly free as her passions, Mari kept her own hair restrained in the traditional plait where it fell past her waist. She couldn't ever completely tame the few loose strands wafting homelessly around her face though. That face often wore a sullen expression. The look of someone forced to stay on the bottom rung of the ladder and nursed resentment at her lot delt. The constant frowning effected a plainness that blended into crowds of similar grudging. Jhed thought it as ironic as it was a pity when he recalled that Isabail had been an arresting beauty. If Mari kept her mouth shut, she was easily missed on the first glance. Invisible. A nobody.

Unless one saw her large silver-grey eyes, another gift of her mother’s, in those initial few minutes. They often caught and held folk's intrigue and were Mari's best feature. It wasn't the mere rarity of color, her gaze held a bright flame of awareness and defiance, revealing her nature. She wasn't made to accept slights or submit to her lot without question, no matter the authority who demanded it. She'd be better off seeking a place that allowed independence, somewhere that wasn't Forin.

But Mari stayed, stubbornly held in place by her own iron will as by others. Jhed suspected she was trying to convince herself more than him when she claimed she did not want to know of life outside town. For fear, or for the values taught, it didn't matter. She remained, arguing with the system of the world over entering and actually attempting to change it herself.

That was an outlook she’d learned from her father, though Jhed doubted it was the true nature of her heart. Nicholas Pyctine had been Isabail’s opposite in mood. He feared making trouble or anything that might rile another's anger toward him. Jhed felt that anxious desperation was Nicholas' greatest weakness and failing. And one he tried to encourage in his children, believing it safety. While his son fiercely resisted that prodding to follow his father’s path of convention, the daughter was more easily swayed. He guessed she wanted to make up for her brother’s disappointment and not be a cause for worry. She’d been an inquisitive and precocious child once, almost too curious and daring in her pride, and it still emerged at times of novelty. But now the fault of that lesson of playing quiet was at hand. Nicholas was dead, his son gone, there was no one else to head the household. Responsibility fell to her shoulders with no reason to keep up a semblance of assurance for family’s sake. She was lost on how to respond to it on her own terms.

Jhed drew the second mug and felt sorry for her. She wasn’t like Jon, who openly welcomed change and action without much forethought for the aftermath. Or her father, resigned to his meek parcel in life, and forever worried about consequences to the point of doing nothing at all. Mari always seemed torn between which example to follow, father or brother.

The mouse frozen against the wall or the bull charging off the cliff. There must be something better than either. But I can't guide her to what that is.

As Jhed set the mugs on the counter Mari took one and threw her head and mug back for a huge gulp. Since her mother died in childbirth, she’d not grown up with many lady-like sensitivities molded into her. Sensitivities like sipping to look sweet and demure instead of enjoying herself.

Indeed, her father’s uncertain parenting might bear blame for much of her brazenness, and her knack for antagonizing the young men of Forin. But Jhed recalled that Isabail herself had been a wild thing, proud and willful. Despite the dutiful mask she’d wore for her poor father’s sake, Mari held a ghostly reflection of that untamed essence. The effect drew others to seek to suppress it more, which only pushed her to rage.

“So,” he began, while she swallowed. “How has the week been for you? Anything new?”

Mari shrugged. “Nothing worth boasting about.” She paused and frowned. “Collin came up to visit the farm yesterday claiming that I took his shovel, and you know how he is.”

“I know,” Jhed replied shaking his head. Mari and the chandler’s grown son fought like cats, ever since childhood when the boy and Mari’s brother had been friends. There was no point in reasoning on the matter. Jhed learned the best way to respond to any Collin story was letting Mari rant when it came to her old rival. “You’ve told me many a time, almost twenty-one now and still a rat. Or a pig, you’ve never made up for sure which he is. Did you borrow it?”

“Certainly not. I have my own. I wouldn’t touch anything of his without two pairs of gloves and a long stick. He hadn’t even lost it anyway. It turned out to be an excuse to come up and tramp his dirty shoes on my floor after I’d just swept it and drink up my tea without invitation.” Her short nose wrinkled in disgust.

“A social visit was it? Unlikely. What did Mr. Kocoggins after this time?”

She hesitated, and to Jhed’s surprise, looked uncomfortable. In the past, she’d have launched into the tale with gusto, casting herself as the imposed victim and Collin as the vile wretch of the day. Jhed had heard several such versions. They paired well with Collin's counter-tales as the wronged man unfairly founded by an ill-tempered scold. While both parties were right and wrong in their truths at once, Jhed privately sympathized more with Mari. She had less to gain by lies, while Collin was never concerned enough with being doubted to tell the truth over a good story that gained him favor.

“Mari, what did he want?”

Mari looked around to make sure that Namnit and Jacquin were still engrossed in their drink and cards, and leaned in. “He asked me to marry him, ‘since I was all alone and poor and no one else would ever ask.’”

Jhed blinked. He'd long suspected Collin sought to irritate Miss Pyctine free from her brother's intervention. But he wouldn’t have guessed that there might have been motives beyond petty amusement. True, Collin was of the age to start seeking a settled life. And Mari was not only eligible, but indeed in a state where a quick match was traditionally counseled. Still…

But why would he pick Mari Pyctine, of all people? There are… quieter girls, more docile…anyone would say she wasn't his sort… Hell, I know he’s not the right one for her…

“He did? And what did you say? Not yes, surely?”

“Of course not.” Mari scoffed, sitting back. “I hate the little swine. He’s a snob, and always has been. He probably thought I’d be so desperate to not even think of refusing on my own without Father.”

Ah, there’s why. Thought so…the little coward…

“Sounds like his thinking.”

“-I told him if he ever insulted me like that again, I’d bury him in the privy, alive.”

“That’s cruel. Would you really have done that?” Jhed knew a lot of Mari’s threats and vows of retribution were bluff. But still, it never hurt to check. There could always be a first time.

Mari laughed, the brightening from her usual brooding reminded Jhed wistfully of how light-hearted she used to be. Back when Nicholas was alive and her brother was at home. When she was happy enough to smile was when she was the most like her mother. He wished she’d reembrace that freeness in herself more often.

“No I wouldn’t. Not even to Collin.” Smiling, she leaned in again and whispered in a playful tone, “But he doesn’t have to know that.” She thought, and added, “He’d never have dared try anything if Jon were here, Jon would have knocked his teeth out. It was a good thing I had the axe in my hands at the time, he didn’t like being told no. He got so angry you’d think he’d never heard the word before. Even had the nerve to claim my pride would be-” She paused and put on a somber mockery that even sounded a bit like Collin. "The undoing of me.’”

“I did wonder why he seemed in such a foul spirit last evening. I had to cut him off and send him home before the drink took what remained of his manners away.”

And with a temper like his while drunk…no, thank goodness she said no….

“I’m not sorry. He always so rude and arrogant himself. I think it’s only fair to return the favor now and again.”

“Indeed.” They both shared a private smile. “On that subject, I gather by your mood and the path you took this afternoon, that you’ve been up to the baron’s manor.”

Mari’s face soured as she fished into her purse on her skirt, withdrawing a rolled parchment to slap on the counter.

“Read this.”

Jhed pulled out his spectacles and held the parchment up to squint at the cramped writing. He felt his mouth drop open. “An eviction notice! That pompous-” He checked his language in time. If her raised eyebrows and half-smile were any sign, Mari could guess the words popping into his head. Like her father and Jon she used them quite often herself. But he still thought it improper to swear right in front of her. “-half-wit. Why?”

“Because I’m three weeks behind in my dues. If I don’t have two hundred eggs by tomorrow afternoon, I lose my father’s home, and I’m out of the only life I know. After all, the baron ‘doesn’t run a charity.’” She quoted bitterly. “I have to make the full profit to keep everything.”

“Three weeks? But I’ve seen you go up each week to deliver your basket’s worth! You mean you haven’t been giving the full amount?”

“No. And I haven’t been keeping any for myself either. I’ve been living on bread and milk from Mrs. Carter for the past three weeks.”

Jhed stared at her disbelieving.

“You’ve been all but starving yourself for three weeks? Why didn’t you say anything to me? I’d have lent you as much food or money as you wanted if you told me.”

“I didn’t say anything because I wouldn’t be able to pay you back. I can’t bear being in debt, you know that, not even with my friends. The only reason I accepted Mrs. Carter’s was because she needed to get rid of the extra cream before it soured, and all but forced me to take it.” Mari muttered and took another swig. “The cider is delicious, by the way. You always outdo yourself.”

Jhed read over the notice again. “By tomorrow noon… This isn’t good, Mari. Without your house, you’re going to be stuck trying to beg the street like Poor Lyle. Worse than Lyle perhaps, he has free lodging and meals with Shepherd Olson in the rain and winter. Or have to be a lady-maid at Baron Crisso’s. And Mari, I mean no harm, but you are no maidservant. You don’t have the submission for it.”

“I know. I’m “too proud and fiery”, Mrs. Glasstig so said years ago.” Mari scoffed as she took another gulp.

"I'd hire you myself to tend bar. But we don't have enough customers to need it, and it still wouldn't pay enough for Crisso. Even I get strapped sometimes."

"No one in this village would accept a stein from my hand." Darkness clouded her expression, and Jhed suspected where her thoughts were sinking. "They would believe I'd make them and their children all poison-sick."

"That wasn't your fault, Mari."

"Tell it to them."

“Of course….” Jhed half joked, “You could always reconsider becoming Mrs. Collin Kocoggins.”

Mari’s eyes widened as she choked in mid-swallow and coughed for several minutes. Then she gave a revolted shudder.

“Euck…Never! I’d rather kiss a spider and die than be his wife.” She said with scorn, then looked at Jhed in surprise. “Why would you even suggest-”

“I was only jesting, Mari.” Jhed reassured her, “Just between us, I’m glad you turned him down. You’ve got too much spirit to shackle yourself to a blinkered candle-maker.”

Maybe too much to marry anyone for that matter…

“Thank you for being someone who agrees. I think I’d go mad.” Mari said, clearly touched. She sighed. “That still leaves me with the debt to pay off though.”

Jhed scratched his head.
“But why haven’t you had enough eggs to pay with? You’ve always had enough before. With twenty-five chickens-”

“Ten now.”

“What?”

She groaned. “Something has been getting into the henhouse for the past three weeks. I’ve lost fifteen of my hens, and the rooster too. I’ve checked every corner of the henhouse, and there’s no hole or loose board or anything. I latch the door every sunset, and in the morning, another bird is either gone or eaten and the door is open.” She threw up her hands in supplication, “I’m at my wit’s end.”

Jhed pondered this revelation.

“This has been happening at night?”

“Yes.” Mari said.

“Could be outlaws. People who lost their homes and have to steal for food. Or trying to sabotage you into leaving so they can take the place to themselves. Squatter's claims and all."

"That's outlawed before I was even born."

"True. But you're old enough to know outlawed and enforced aren't the same. I’ve heard word of it still going on elsewhere.”

“Somehow I doubt even an insane thief or wishful squatter would leave a chicken half eaten with its throat torn out.”

Jhed shrugged and whispered. “You don’t suppose it might be the work of the undead, do you? Somebody dies in the forest without a proper burial and rises under the moon to kill.”

Mari groaned and rolled her eyes. “The undead only attack people. If that were the case, it’d be going to the house where I am, not the henhouse. Unless of course,” the corners of her lips curled in a wry half-smile. “You believe in undead chickens that can undo a latch.”
Jhed chuckled. “There are strange forces in the world, Mari. But even that is a bit far for me.” He finished off his own cider and placed the mug on the back counter. “So, what are you going to do?”

Mari drained the last of her mug and handed it to him. “Do? I plan to stay up and guard the henhouse tonight and pray that somehow a miracle strikes. That’s about all I can do.” She slipped off the bar stool and smoothed down her slate blue skirt. “Which means I better get back home now. Evening’s coming fast. Thank you Mr. Talsin, I mean Jhed.” She passed back through to the dirt road outside where the sun shone its brightest before it would have to fade. Already people in the street were making their way back home.

Jhed followed after her to the door.
“One last thing Mari!”

She spun on her heel. He ducked back inside and went into the kitchen behind the bar and main room of the inn. It took him a few blind sweeps to find an empty bag. But he knew exactly what he was looking for before he reemerged where she waited.

He held it out to her. Mari took it and glanced inside to find it held a canteen of cider and cheese wrapped in a cloth.

“Jhed, I…”

“Don’t hesitate to ask for help. If things don’t work out, I’ll assist you in any way I can, no need for repayment. These are hard times in a world that no longer cares about martyrs and heroes.”

It hasn’t cared about them for a long time…

Mari blinked back the water from her eyes and managed a shy smile.
“Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.” And she turned and slowly disappeared up the main path through town from his sight.

~

The farm Mari, her brother, and their late father lived on lay in a clearing halfway up the mountain opposite the baron’s manor. It was very tiny, not even covering one acre. There was the wooden longhouse, with only two rooms; the largest of which was the main room and heart of the house. The second room was the larder which also served as Mari’s former bedroom. The roof was a mix of wooden beams and thatch, with a stone and mud chimney in need of resealing. Every wall wore a window with transparent mica panes and hand-sewn curtains with crude embroidery of birds and foxes and roses. Mari’s own handiwork. An iron horseshoe decorated the front door to keep away evil spirits.

Then there was the henhouse, with its man-sized latched door and slanted roof. A weathered ax leaned against its walls near a chopping block, and the surrounding ground was barren and scratched up.

As Mari came into sight of her home, she first noticed the henhouse door hanging open and the strange silence. Then she saw the bloody feathers and a few small still white brown and red bodies scattered around the door.

“Ohhh shit!” She gathered up her bag on one arm and hitched up her skirt to run to the henhouse. What for, she didn’t know. She looked in and saw that every one of her flock, her lifeline, was dead.

“Damn it.” she muttered.

And I’d latched the henhouse before heading up to the manor to prevent something like this. How…

A faint sad cluck caught her ear and she looked up. There was one white hen left alive, perching on the rafter with one foot and holding a bloody leg up gingerly. The hope that had died in Mari’s heart rose up with the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, thank goodness. Looks like you’ve had it hard today too, haven’t you, hon? I don’t suppose you could give me a clue to who did this, could you?”

The bird gave her an ill-tempered beady glare, typical of its kind. Mari inspected outside at the damp soil around her for a clue. She searched the entire yard; from the wash-line stretched between flowering apple trees to under the tin bathtub in back to the fenced-in little garden of moribund herbs and vegetables. But the tracks were all over the place, all she could make out of the hen-murderer’s prints were that they were very blurred. Which suggested her visitor was furry, even on the pads of their feet.

Well, that certainly rules out any somebody and puts it into the …the something category, she thought to herself. As if that is a good thing, was her second amendment.

She clambered back into the henhouse and advanced on the remaining hen, who puffed herself up.

“Alright you. You don’t like anybody right now, and frankly, I’m just as pissed. But we’ve only got each other now. So I think it best that you spend tonight in the house, in case whatsthatcritter comes back to finish the job. I need to bandage your leg anyway, so… come here!”

Mari pounced before the chicken could dodge her and seized her around the wings. The hen managed to land some hard pecks and scratched red welts on her forearms. But Mari was determined
and used to the daily pains of country life.

She carried the squawking bird into the house past the hearth and sleeping pallets that once belonged to her father and brother. There was only one other room in the house, and she was glad that the larder door was still open. Mari put her captive down and shut it before the hen could escape.

She managed a half-hearted smirk as she looked around at the walls. It was a cluttered view of pegs and hooks for everything from cloaks to dried garlands of herbs and flowers to pans, pots, and cutlery. A sharp contrast to the nearly clean floor with the table with four chairs serving as the center piece of the room. It was nearly clean because the hen made a trail of mess on the way in, and Mari didn’t take time to scrape the mud off her shoes. Had he been alive, her father would have protested against her actions. But Mari prided her own initiative, although the empty silence took some of the appeal away. The only complaints now were the annoyed clucks in the room behind her.

“I’ll take care of your leg after supper. Let’s see if our mysterious furry friend can ruin me now.”

She stepped outside and grabbed the shovel standing against the fence of her garden. The setting sun before her drew a sigh. She still had nine ruined corpses to bury before she could hope to pray for a miracle.

Description
Mari was getting annoyed. The whole matter was absurd and unfair. But twenty minutes of explaining how it was unfair didn’t seem to be sinking through the man’s thick skull. Which forced her back to the starting point. Again.

“But you can’t just take my home like that! Where will I live? I want to talk to Crisso himself!”

“There is nothing to discuss. You’ve failed to pay your debt for the past three weeks. He only granted you that much time since the baron understands how hard it is after a death in the fam-”

She continued to glare at the bailiff as he shifted from foot to foot. Had she the power to kill with her eyes, and at the moment she wished she did, he’d have been destroyed beyond the reach of the afterlife. As things were, she at least knew how to make him uncomfortable.

“Look Marson, it’s my farm, and my home! It’s been in Pyctine’s name for over ten generations! That’s twice as long as his family’s been here. My father was sometimes behind in our pay for whole seasons and Crisso never so much as whined. Why is it that I am threatened with eviction for a mere three week’s lapse? Tell me the fairness of that, my good sir!” She spat the last words and added in an attempt to appeal to reason. “Besides, it’s not as if he has anyone else waiting to move in. My living there is no loss to anyone. What could he possibly need with an empty farmstead? There are three other abandoned homes already. He’s wasting his time and money throwing me out.”

The bailiff fumbled with the rolled parchment as he put on a front of authority and achieved pompous instead. Mari bit back a snarl of disgust. By birth, bailiff Marson was not far removed from her own class. But since taking his position, he chose to both align himself with and act as if he were above it. Mari disliked traitors.

“First off, you know that as a peasant, all your property is granted to you by the baron, so it’s never really been yours. Second, as a woman, you are not entitled to own property anyway under the new ordinances of the empire. So, you have no real claim without a male family member. I’m sorry, but with your father dead, and you still unmarried, that’s how it is…”

Mari narrowed her eyes. She knew he didn’t mean any real slight, but she disliked the tone of that last remark, wondering if he knew. Flustered, the bailiff dropped his parchment, picked it up, and tried to shake off the ants.

“My father is not my only family, Marson. The baron knows that. You know that. By those ordinances, my brother still has claim, even if he is away. You cannot simply make decisions about our home without letting him know first. The law says so.”

The bailiff gave a weary sigh. They’d had this argument before.

“While that would be true, Miss Pyctine, master Pyctine has been gone for over four years-”

“Yes! But he still writes me letters each month-”

“-Which stopped coming over six months ago. I’m sorry, I really am. But you must face reality, Miss Pyctine. Your brother is dead, and he’s not coming back.”

Mari felt a terrible pang of cold pain sear through her throat and chest for a moment. Then she reminded herself in front of authority was no place for worry or grief. She hardened her face and looked the bailiff straight in the eyes.

“My brother is alive. He will return. And I still say you and the baron have no right, Sir.”

She turned and stormed away from the manor gates. The swinging weight of her long braid adding emphasis to her resentment.

The bailiff called after her.

“Miss Pyctine! Wait!”

She stopped but did not turn around to face him.

“Miss, do understand. If you would just pay off your debt and have 200 eggs for the baron by tomorrow afternoon, he might be more lenient. And then you’d have time to find a new start, maybe move up in life for the better.”

There was a long silence as she tried to interpret what he meant by “new start” and “moving up for the better”.

“And what if I can’t do that?” she asked, hating the way her voice turned fragile and glad he couldn’t see her face. “What then?”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Mari suspected he was trying to think of a gentle response even though he always lacked tact.

“Well then…he kicks you out of your house, and you’re on your own…”

Mari stormed away again, more vehemently this time, down the slope to the hamlet below.

So much for his reassurances! Bastard…Hope ants eat his shoes…

She ignored the lively chatter of the birds and didn't bother to avoid the puddles from last night’s rain. Once she stubbed her foot on a stone jutting into the path.

“Damn it.” she swore and stopped.

She was next to the village graveyard, forever under the shadows of the trees and shrubbery. Wild lilies and ivy vines grew free among the headstones, except over a still fresh plot of earth. It was always quiet here every time she passed by. But this time it felt like it was because she was being watched if the prickling on the back of her neck spoke true. Mari didn't enter. But she paused to rest her elbows on the stone wall marking the boundary between cemetery and forest. In front of her, wooden post marked the recent grave of Nicholas Samuel Pyctine, 2972-3028 wd.

I couldn’t even give him a real headstone… It’ll rot in time. And in a hundred years, people will forget anyone is buried there…

“I’m sorry, Father.” She muttered after a long moment. “I’ve only tried to do my best. Always what I thought you would have done or asked me to. I just wish for once that it was good enough.”

She sighed and thought of her brother Jon, who more often than not seemed to achieve his best. When he messed up or failed, no matter how foolishly, he never lost the status of Forin's golden son. While she always came up short in comparison. She should have been resentful or jealous of the favoritism, but Mari loved him anyway.

Jon and Mari shared the same oval face and brown hair. But Jon’s hair was lighter with hints of amber, he was tall, and his bright hazel eyes matched their father’s gaze. In contrast, she was short and dark like their mother. But anyone looking at them would never doubt they were siblings.

It was in ambitions that they were the most different. Jon was the open dreamer, not content with the little things in life. No, he burned with too much passion to accept what their humble home life offered where they were. He’d desired adventure and glory, to do something to be remembered by for centuries. Jon wanted to change the world, while Mari simply wished for a way to live in it without trouble. He wasn't made for settling in youth as their father wanted. He had too much fire in him that needed more. So, with permission and traveler's papers from the baron, and a farewell for Mari, he’d gone off into the yonder four years ago.

For a while, it seemed he was achieving his dream. He sent a letter home every month, telling of trading cities, charming towns, fascinating people and amazing events. Delighted and intrigued by every tale, Mari devoured the tales. She also read them for her father and his friends in the local inn, while Jhed listened and helped her with the trickier words. Jon even once sent Mari a beautiful jade necklace of blue and green from the other end of the country and across the desert. According to him, it was made on request by a Faery peddler he met. She wore it every day, loving the smoothness of the pale stones as they warmed in the sun and cooled in shade.

Then, his letters grew sporadic and vague. He wrote less about his personal experiences, instead describing the places he visited. But still he wrote and showed that he was alright and still cared and would come home someday. So Mari did not become too concerned even as she missed him.

Then the letters had stopped coming entirely.

Mari watched every shipment coming in to Forin outside Jhed’s inn. She'd harried every messenger for any letters or news from Jon with increasing worry. Not a single word of him, or his fate.

She once believed it was the worst thing that could happen, but the past winter proved her to be horribly wrong. After a harsh winter that lingered past its time, their father caught pneumonia. and despite all Mari's best attempt to care for him, he died within the month. Now she had only herself and her home left, and even that now was at risk of being taken away. For no other reason that she could see than greed and indifference.

This never would have happened if he were here, she thought.

“What am I going to do, Father?” She whispered aloud, hating the way her voice cracked again and betrayed itself. “You always told me if I stayed true, I’d make out fine, but you never said how. Everywhere I look, there’s no way out except the ways they want.”

She looked around, waiting for an answer or sign even though she knew it was stupid to believe in such things. But none seemed to be coming. With a sigh, she resumed walking and soon forgot the sensation of being watched.

I should’ve known better, miracles are for special people…

Her home community of Forin was a cross between a scrap of a village and a string of homes flung together by chance. There had once been more to the village. More homes and pastureland, on its way to becoming a real small town, she knew that from talk passed down by adults. But those days of progress were gone. The wild forest had long since devoured most of it, reclaiming the stolen lands to its fold. Seventy people lived now in Forin proper. Eighty if she included Baron Crisso’s household and enforcer overseeing the community below. Dense forest surrounded the village and the even more forbidding Paretin mountain range bordered the east. Mist shrouded the valley in the mornings and evenings. It was a quiet place sheltered among the steep foothills that felt as familiar to her as her own hand.

One cobbled road through the Pin forest connected Forin to the rest of the trade-paths of Gaena, and that lifeline was zealously well kept. There was no real land for crops, and not enough people to renew the village’s mining business before the war. Signs of that old trade were still there. Mari still came across abandoned shafts on the mountainside near her house. But there was no chance of its return. What little open land there was, helped uphold the tiny remaining four farms on the edges of Forin. Mari’s chicken farm on the eastern mountain, Olsen’s southern sheep field, the small stable to the north, and the Carter’s goat dairy at the mountain base. But there was plenty of wood, wild game, and furs to barter for grain, metal, and textiles, the mainstays for people in the center of town.

Of course, most of the profit went to the baron landlord in his manor. The peasants who made up more than half the population were still left struggling as they aged. Mari saw the contrast between the old wooden cottages falling apart on the town edge and the large stone houses that clustered near the center. Everyone saw it, even her half-blind neighbor Mrs. Carter whom she nodded to as she passed by. Yet despite the slow death of the village as their prosperity drained out, folk rarely left. Not because it was a hassle getting a traveling permit like Jon managed. But because there often was nowhere else to go that could possibly yield better. Young and old were stuck with little choice but to make the best of their lot. Mari was only eighteen summers old and had lived in Forin every single drudging day of it. But even she knew deep down it was harder to start over elsewhere than to stay put and hold on.

But some did, some folk tried…Mari reminded herself. And such people were never thereafter heard from again. Like Jon. She struggled to blink back tears, wondering what to do.

“Mari!”

She looked up to see Jhed Talsin, the spindly old innkeeper of Forin’s only tavern and inn/post office, The Raven’s Claw. He’d been one of her father’s best friends since before she and her brother were born. And he was the only upper-class person she liked. Unlike most of the non-peasants in Forin, he valued company over money and gave a damn about the lives of others. He was also one of the few people whom she trusted enough to talk to. She did her best to smile, even though she knew he could tell a fake when he saw one.

“Mr. Talsin, how are you?”

“I’m well. Mari, how many times must I say you may call me by my first name? Everyone else does, you don’t need to be so formal.”

“One must be polite to one’s elders, Mr. Talsin.”

“Oh, don’t try that on me. The day age and wisdom give me the right to give myself airs is the day I want my legs broken. Besides, you and your brother never called me mister as kids, so no good in starting now.”

“True, but that’s because we were kids, Jhed. We thought the world was made to serve us.” She attempted to joke. “The mail’s come and gone already has it?”

“Yes, of course. A surprising bundle of it still waiting to be picked up from last week. Seems our good baron’s been in correspondence from on high of late.”

“Huh.” She blinked. “That’s news, someone important actually wants a word with him, and he’s not bragging about it. But how about me, Jhed? Any letters for me?”

The old man shook his head.

“Still no word from Jon. It’s like he dropped off the face of the earth…I’m sorry.” He added as Mari felt her hopes shrink again. Jhed sighed.

“It looks like you’ve had it hard today. Why don’t you come in for a bit and find something to wet your tongue? I’ve got time enough before the rush.”

She looked at him, recognizing the other offer underneath the first one. Everyone in Forin down to the poorest somehow had a coin tucked away to buy a drink and Jhed's sympathetic ear. It didn't matter how absurd or tedious the complaints or tirades were. Jhed somehow remained patient and provided the proper accolades of an understanding audience. Sometimes he even dispensed advice if he felt it deserved or requested as an encore by the other patrons. But by this hour the inn would be empty, save for Mr. Namnit and Old Man Jacquin playing card games at one of the corner tables. And they would pay heed to little else until Jhed had enough and kicked them out so he could go to bed. She’d have relative privacy to rant without side commentary if she wished.

“Now Jhed,” She said with mock reproach, “You know I don’t drink spirits. That was Father who did, I tagged along to see he didn’t overdo it. And I don’t have a copper on me-”

“Did I ask for money? No, and its cider I was intending. Just brewed some up this morning, and I need a taster. Come on. On the house.”

Mari managed a faint smile as she followed him into the small wooden inn. Ever since she’d been little, Jhed allowed her and her brother to try out his new non fermented drinks. He didn’t even mind when she and Jon once contested who could spray the most out of his/her mouth, despite having to clean the cellar afterwards. She sat at the bar and reminisced as the little bushy white-haired man went behind the counter with two mugs.

~

As Jhed drew up the flask and poured, he glanced back at the slender girl drumming her fingers on the counter. He knew when someone was troubled, and Mari was no different. Save for the fact that she’d never been so troubled or in trouble before. It’s a shame to see the world’s burdens heaped on one so soon, he thought.

She’s too young yet for it, anyone ought to see that.

She was tawny skinned from plenty of outdoor work and air. Perhaps more so than the other local girls. Jhed suspected Mari inherited some of her mother Isabail’s olive complexion alongside her temper. The resemblance grew every year, despite her attempts to mute it into prudent form. While her mother let her tresses fly free as her passions, Mari kept her own hair restrained in the traditional plait where it fell past her waist. She couldn't ever completely tame the few loose strands wafting homelessly around her face though. That face often wore a sullen expression. The look of someone forced to stay on the bottom rung of the ladder and nursed resentment at her lot delt. The constant frowning effected a plainness that blended into crowds of similar grudging. Jhed thought it as ironic as it was a pity when he recalled that Isabail had been an arresting beauty. If Mari kept her mouth shut, she was easily missed on the first glance. Invisible. A nobody.

Unless one saw her large silver-grey eyes, another gift of her mother’s, in those initial few minutes. They often caught and held folk's intrigue and were Mari's best feature. It wasn't the mere rarity of color, her gaze held a bright flame of awareness and defiance, revealing her nature. She wasn't made to accept slights or submit to her lot without question, no matter the authority who demanded it. She'd be better off seeking a place that allowed independence, somewhere that wasn't Forin.

But Mari stayed, stubbornly held in place by her own iron will as by others. Jhed suspected she was trying to convince herself more than him when she claimed she did not want to know of life outside town. For fear, or for the values taught, it didn't matter. She remained, arguing with the system of the world over entering and actually attempting to change it herself.

That was an outlook she’d learned from her father, though Jhed doubted it was the true nature of her heart. Nicholas Pyctine had been Isabail’s opposite in mood. He feared making trouble or anything that might rile another's anger toward him. Jhed felt that anxious desperation was Nicholas' greatest weakness and failing. And one he tried to encourage in his children, believing it safety. While his son fiercely resisted that prodding to follow his father’s path of convention, the daughter was more easily swayed. He guessed she wanted to make up for her brother’s disappointment and not be a cause for worry. She’d been an inquisitive and precocious child once, almost too curious and daring in her pride, and it still emerged at times of novelty. But now the fault of that lesson of playing quiet was at hand. Nicholas was dead, his son gone, there was no one else to head the household. Responsibility fell to her shoulders with no reason to keep up a semblance of assurance for family’s sake. She was lost on how to respond to it on her own terms.

Jhed drew the second mug and felt sorry for her. She wasn’t like Jon, who openly welcomed change and action without much forethought for the aftermath. Or her father, resigned to his meek parcel in life, and forever worried about consequences to the point of doing nothing at all. Mari always seemed torn between which example to follow, father or brother.

The mouse frozen against the wall or the bull charging off the cliff. There must be something better than either. But I can't guide her to what that is.

As Jhed set the mugs on the counter Mari took one and threw her head and mug back for a huge gulp. Since her mother died in childbirth, she’d not grown up with many lady-like sensitivities molded into her. Sensitivities like sipping to look sweet and demure instead of enjoying herself.

Indeed, her father’s uncertain parenting might bear blame for much of her brazenness, and her knack for antagonizing the young men of Forin. But Jhed recalled that Isabail herself had been a wild thing, proud and willful. Despite the dutiful mask she’d wore for her poor father’s sake, Mari held a ghostly reflection of that untamed essence. The effect drew others to seek to suppress it more, which only pushed her to rage.

“So,” he began, while she swallowed. “How has the week been for you? Anything new?”

Mari shrugged. “Nothing worth boasting about.” She paused and frowned. “Collin came up to visit the farm yesterday claiming that I took his shovel, and you know how he is.”

“I know,” Jhed replied shaking his head. Mari and the chandler’s grown son fought like cats, ever since childhood when the boy and Mari’s brother had been friends. There was no point in reasoning on the matter. Jhed learned the best way to respond to any Collin story was letting Mari rant when it came to her old rival. “You’ve told me many a time, almost twenty-one now and still a rat. Or a pig, you’ve never made up for sure which he is. Did you borrow it?”

“Certainly not. I have my own. I wouldn’t touch anything of his without two pairs of gloves and a long stick. He hadn’t even lost it anyway. It turned out to be an excuse to come up and tramp his dirty shoes on my floor after I’d just swept it and drink up my tea without invitation.” Her short nose wrinkled in disgust.

“A social visit was it? Unlikely. What did Mr. Kocoggins after this time?”

She hesitated, and to Jhed’s surprise, looked uncomfortable. In the past, she’d have launched into the tale with gusto, casting herself as the imposed victim and Collin as the vile wretch of the day. Jhed had heard several such versions. They paired well with Collin's counter-tales as the wronged man unfairly founded by an ill-tempered scold. While both parties were right and wrong in their truths at once, Jhed privately sympathized more with Mari. She had less to gain by lies, while Collin was never concerned enough with being doubted to tell the truth over a good story that gained him favor.

“Mari, what did he want?”

Mari looked around to make sure that Namnit and Jacquin were still engrossed in their drink and cards, and leaned in. “He asked me to marry him, ‘since I was all alone and poor and no one else would ever ask.’”

Jhed blinked. He'd long suspected Collin sought to irritate Miss Pyctine free from her brother's intervention. But he wouldn’t have guessed that there might have been motives beyond petty amusement. True, Collin was of the age to start seeking a settled life. And Mari was not only eligible, but indeed in a state where a quick match was traditionally counseled. Still…

But why would he pick Mari Pyctine, of all people? There are… quieter girls, more docile…anyone would say she wasn't his sort… Hell, I know he’s not the right one for her…

“He did? And what did you say? Not yes, surely?”

“Of course not.” Mari scoffed, sitting back. “I hate the little swine. He’s a snob, and always has been. He probably thought I’d be so desperate to not even think of refusing on my own without Father.”

Ah, there’s why. Thought so…the little coward…

“Sounds like his thinking.”

“-I told him if he ever insulted me like that again, I’d bury him in the privy, alive.”

“That’s cruel. Would you really have done that?” Jhed knew a lot of Mari’s threats and vows of retribution were bluff. But still, it never hurt to check. There could always be a first time.

Mari laughed, the brightening from her usual brooding reminded Jhed wistfully of how light-hearted she used to be. Back when Nicholas was alive and her brother was at home. When she was happy enough to smile was when she was the most like her mother. He wished she’d reembrace that freeness in herself more often.

“No I wouldn’t. Not even to Collin.” Smiling, she leaned in again and whispered in a playful tone, “But he doesn’t have to know that.” She thought, and added, “He’d never have dared try anything if Jon were here, Jon would have knocked his teeth out. It was a good thing I had the axe in my hands at the time, he didn’t like being told no. He got so angry you’d think he’d never heard the word before. Even had the nerve to claim my pride would be-” She paused and put on a somber mockery that even sounded a bit like Collin. "The undoing of me.’”

“I did wonder why he seemed in such a foul spirit last evening. I had to cut him off and send him home before the drink took what remained of his manners away.”

And with a temper like his while drunk…no, thank goodness she said no….

“I’m not sorry. He always so rude and arrogant himself. I think it’s only fair to return the favor now and again.”

“Indeed.” They both shared a private smile. “On that subject, I gather by your mood and the path you took this afternoon, that you’ve been up to the baron’s manor.”

Mari’s face soured as she fished into her purse on her skirt, withdrawing a rolled parchment to slap on the counter.

“Read this.”

Jhed pulled out his spectacles and held the parchment up to squint at the cramped writing. He felt his mouth drop open. “An eviction notice! That pompous-” He checked his language in time. If her raised eyebrows and half-smile were any sign, Mari could guess the words popping into his head. Like her father and Jon she used them quite often herself. But he still thought it improper to swear right in front of her. “-half-wit. Why?”

“Because I’m three weeks behind in my dues. If I don’t have two hundred eggs by tomorrow afternoon, I lose my father’s home, and I’m out of the only life I know. After all, the baron ‘doesn’t run a charity.’” She quoted bitterly. “I have to make the full profit to keep everything.”

“Three weeks? But I’ve seen you go up each week to deliver your basket’s worth! You mean you haven’t been giving the full amount?”

“No. And I haven’t been keeping any for myself either. I’ve been living on bread and milk from Mrs. Carter for the past three weeks.”

Jhed stared at her disbelieving.

“You’ve been all but starving yourself for three weeks? Why didn’t you say anything to me? I’d have lent you as much food or money as you wanted if you told me.”

“I didn’t say anything because I wouldn’t be able to pay you back. I can’t bear being in debt, you know that, not even with my friends. The only reason I accepted Mrs. Carter’s was because she needed to get rid of the extra cream before it soured, and all but forced me to take it.” Mari muttered and took another swig. “The cider is delicious, by the way. You always outdo yourself.”

Jhed read over the notice again. “By tomorrow noon… This isn’t good, Mari. Without your house, you’re going to be stuck trying to beg the street like Poor Lyle. Worse than Lyle perhaps, he has free lodging and meals with Shepherd Olson in the rain and winter. Or have to be a lady-maid at Baron Crisso’s. And Mari, I mean no harm, but you are no maidservant. You don’t have the submission for it.”

“I know. I’m “too proud and fiery”, Mrs. Glasstig so said years ago.” Mari scoffed as she took another gulp.

"I'd hire you myself to tend bar. But we don't have enough customers to need it, and it still wouldn't pay enough for Crisso. Even I get strapped sometimes."

"No one in this village would accept a stein from my hand." Darkness clouded her expression, and Jhed suspected where her thoughts were sinking. "They would believe I'd make them and their children all poison-sick."

"That wasn't your fault, Mari."

"Tell it to them."

“Of course….” Jhed half joked, “You could always reconsider becoming Mrs. Collin Kocoggins.”

Mari’s eyes widened as she choked in mid-swallow and coughed for several minutes. Then she gave a revolted shudder.

“Euck…Never! I’d rather kiss a spider and die than be his wife.” She said with scorn, then looked at Jhed in surprise. “Why would you even suggest-”

“I was only jesting, Mari.” Jhed reassured her, “Just between us, I’m glad you turned him down. You’ve got too much spirit to shackle yourself to a blinkered candle-maker.”

Maybe too much to marry anyone for that matter…

“Thank you for being someone who agrees. I think I’d go mad.” Mari said, clearly touched. She sighed. “That still leaves me with the debt to pay off though.”

Jhed scratched his head.
“But why haven’t you had enough eggs to pay with? You’ve always had enough before. With twenty-five chickens-”

“Ten now.”

“What?”

She groaned. “Something has been getting into the henhouse for the past three weeks. I’ve lost fifteen of my hens, and the rooster too. I’ve checked every corner of the henhouse, and there’s no hole or loose board or anything. I latch the door every sunset, and in the morning, another bird is either gone or eaten and the door is open.” She threw up her hands in supplication, “I’m at my wit’s end.”

Jhed pondered this revelation.

“This has been happening at night?”

“Yes.” Mari said.

“Could be outlaws. People who lost their homes and have to steal for food. Or trying to sabotage you into leaving so they can take the place to themselves. Squatter's claims and all."

"That's outlawed before I was even born."

"True. But you're old enough to know outlawed and enforced aren't the same. I’ve heard word of it still going on elsewhere.”

“Somehow I doubt even an insane thief or wishful squatter would leave a chicken half eaten with its throat torn out.”

Jhed shrugged and whispered. “You don’t suppose it might be the work of the undead, do you? Somebody dies in the forest without a proper burial and rises under the moon to kill.”

Mari groaned and rolled her eyes. “The undead only attack people. If that were the case, it’d be going to the house where I am, not the henhouse. Unless of course,” the corners of her lips curled in a wry half-smile. “You believe in undead chickens that can undo a latch.”
Jhed chuckled. “There are strange forces in the world, Mari. But even that is a bit far for me.” He finished off his own cider and placed the mug on the back counter. “So, what are you going to do?”

Mari drained the last of her mug and handed it to him. “Do? I plan to stay up and guard the henhouse tonight and pray that somehow a miracle strikes. That’s about all I can do.” She slipped off the bar stool and smoothed down her slate blue skirt. “Which means I better get back home now. Evening’s coming fast. Thank you Mr. Talsin, I mean Jhed.” She passed back through to the dirt road outside where the sun shone its brightest before it would have to fade. Already people in the street were making their way back home.

Jhed followed after her to the door.
“One last thing Mari!”

She spun on her heel. He ducked back inside and went into the kitchen behind the bar and main room of the inn. It took him a few blind sweeps to find an empty bag. But he knew exactly what he was looking for before he reemerged where she waited.

He held it out to her. Mari took it and glanced inside to find it held a canteen of cider and cheese wrapped in a cloth.

“Jhed, I…”

“Don’t hesitate to ask for help. If things don’t work out, I’ll assist you in any way I can, no need for repayment. These are hard times in a world that no longer cares about martyrs and heroes.”

It hasn’t cared about them for a long time…

Mari blinked back the water from her eyes and managed a shy smile.
“Thank you. I’ll try to remember that.” And she turned and slowly disappeared up the main path through town from his sight.

~

The farm Mari, her brother, and their late father lived on lay in a clearing halfway up the mountain opposite the baron’s manor. It was very tiny, not even covering one acre. There was the wooden longhouse, with only two rooms; the largest of which was the main room and heart of the house. The second room was the larder which also served as Mari’s former bedroom. The roof was a mix of wooden beams and thatch, with a stone and mud chimney in need of resealing. Every wall wore a window with transparent mica panes and hand-sewn curtains with crude embroidery of birds and foxes and roses. Mari’s own handiwork. An iron horseshoe decorated the front door to keep away evil spirits.

Then there was the henhouse, with its man-sized latched door and slanted roof. A weathered ax leaned against its walls near a chopping block, and the surrounding ground was barren and scratched up.

As Mari came into sight of her home, she first noticed the henhouse door hanging open and the strange silence. Then she saw the bloody feathers and a few small still white brown and red bodies scattered around the door.

“Ohhh shit!” She gathered up her bag on one arm and hitched up her skirt to run to the henhouse. What for, she didn’t know. She looked in and saw that every one of her flock, her lifeline, was dead.

“Damn it.” she muttered.

And I’d latched the henhouse before heading up to the manor to prevent something like this. How…

A faint sad cluck caught her ear and she looked up. There was one white hen left alive, perching on the rafter with one foot and holding a bloody leg up gingerly. The hope that had died in Mari’s heart rose up with the corners of her mouth.

“Oh, thank goodness. Looks like you’ve had it hard today too, haven’t you, hon? I don’t suppose you could give me a clue to who did this, could you?”

The bird gave her an ill-tempered beady glare, typical of its kind. Mari inspected outside at the damp soil around her for a clue. She searched the entire yard; from the wash-line stretched between flowering apple trees to under the tin bathtub in back to the fenced-in little garden of moribund herbs and vegetables. But the tracks were all over the place, all she could make out of the hen-murderer’s prints were that they were very blurred. Which suggested her visitor was furry, even on the pads of their feet.

Well, that certainly rules out any somebody and puts it into the …the something category, she thought to herself. As if that is a good thing, was her second amendment.

She clambered back into the henhouse and advanced on the remaining hen, who puffed herself up.

“Alright you. You don’t like anybody right now, and frankly, I’m just as pissed. But we’ve only got each other now. So I think it best that you spend tonight in the house, in case whatsthatcritter comes back to finish the job. I need to bandage your leg anyway, so… come here!”

Mari pounced before the chicken could dodge her and seized her around the wings. The hen managed to land some hard pecks and scratched red welts on her forearms. But Mari was determined
and used to the daily pains of country life.

She carried the squawking bird into the house past the hearth and sleeping pallets that once belonged to her father and brother. There was only one other room in the house, and she was glad that the larder door was still open. Mari put her captive down and shut it before the hen could escape.

She managed a half-hearted smirk as she looked around at the walls. It was a cluttered view of pegs and hooks for everything from cloaks to dried garlands of herbs and flowers to pans, pots, and cutlery. A sharp contrast to the nearly clean floor with the table with four chairs serving as the center piece of the room. It was nearly clean because the hen made a trail of mess on the way in, and Mari didn’t take time to scrape the mud off her shoes. Had he been alive, her father would have protested against her actions. But Mari prided her own initiative, although the empty silence took some of the appeal away. The only complaints now were the annoyed clucks in the room behind her.

“I’ll take care of your leg after supper. Let’s see if our mysterious furry friend can ruin me now.”

She stepped outside and grabbed the shovel standing against the fence of her garden. The setting sun before her drew a sigh. She still had nine ruined corpses to bury before she could hope to pray for a miracle.