The Book of Swords. Gardner Dozois
She would rather sleep on cold earth with her family than sleep on the floor by the fire in Jelin’s house.
She ran past Jelin’s house and on, past the partially burned homes, away from the dim light that leaked from windows. This part of the village was dead; it stank of burned wood and burned flesh. She had lived in the same house all her life, but in all the destruction, she was suddenly not sure which burned wreckage had been their home. Thin moonlight reached down and glinted faintly only on wet wood and stone. She trotted through a foreign landscape, a place she had never been before. Everything she had ever known was gone.
She almost crashed into her father before she saw him. He was standing motionless, staring at where their house had been. She recoiled then stood still. He turned slowly toward her and for an instant the moonlight glinted in his eyes. Then darkness claimed his face again. He said nothing.
“Papa?” she said.
He didn’t respond.
The words vomited from her. “They burned the house. We saw them take you away. Your head was bloody. Mother told me to run and hide. She went to find Gef. I hid high in the old willow that overlooks the harbor. They took you out to their ship. What did they do to you? Did they hurt you?”
He was very still. Then he shook his head, a small quick shake as if a mosquito had buzzed in his ear. He walked past her toward the dimly lit part of the village that still stood. She hesitated then hurried after him. “Papa. The others in the village know you were taken. A man came from the king. He told the village to defend themselves against Forged ones. To kill them if we had to.”
Her father kept walking.
“Are you Forged, Papa? Did they do something to you?”
He kept walking.
“Papa, do you know me?”
His steps slowed. “You’re Taura. And you talk too much.” After he’d spoken he resumed his pace.
It was all she could do to keep from dancing after him. He knew her. He had always mocked and teased her that she was such a talker! His voice was flat, but he was cold and wet, hungry and tired. But he knew her. She hugged herself against the cold and hurried after him. “Papa, you have to listen to me. I’ve seen them killing some of the others who were kidnapped. We have to be careful. And you need a weapon. You need your sword.”
For five steps he kept his pace. Then he said, “I need my sword.”
“It’s at Jelin’s house. Mother and Gef and I have been staying there, sleeping on their floor. Mother gave him your sword, to let us stay with him. He said he might need it, to protect his wife and baby.” She had a stitch in her side from all the running, and despite hugging herself, the cold was seeping into her bones. Her mouth was dry. But she pushed all that to one side. Once Papa was inside the house, with his sword, he’d be safe. They’d all be safe again.
Her father turned toward the first lit house.
“No! Not there! They’ll try to kill you. First, we have to get your sword. Then you can get warm and have some food. Or a hot drink.” Now that she thought of it, there was probably no food left. But there would be tea and perhaps a bit of bread. Better than nothing, she told herself. He was walking on. She dashed ahead of him. “Follow me!” she told him.
A piercing scream rang out in the night, but it was distant, not nearby. She ignored it as she had ignored the angry shouts that came and went. She did not slacken her pace but walked backwards hastily, motioning for him to follow her. He came on doggedly.
They reached Jelin’s cottage. She ran up to the door and tried to open it. It was barred. She banged on it with her fists. “Let me in! Open the door!” she cried.
Inside, her mother lifted her voice. “Oh, thank Eda! It’s Taura: she’s come back. Please, Jelin, please let her in!”
A silence. Then she heard the bar lifted from its supports. She seized the handle and pulled the door open just as her father came up behind her. “Mother, I’ve found Papa! I’ve brought him home!” she cried.
Her mother stood in the door. She looked at Taura, then at her husband. A terrible hope lit in her eyes. “Burk?” her mother said, her voice cracking on his name.
“Papa!” Gef’s voice was both questioning and fearful.
Jelin pushed them both to one side. Papa’s sword was naked in his hand. He lifted it and pointed it at Papa. “Get back,” he said in a low and deadly voice. His gaze flickered to Taura. “You stupid little bitch. Get in here and get behind me.”
“No!” It wasn’t just that he’d called her a bitch. It was the way he held the blade unwavering toward her father. Jelin wasn’t even going to give him a chance. “Let us in! Let Papa in, let him get warm and have some food. That’s what he needs. It’s all that any of the Forged ones need, and I think if we give it to them, they’ll have no reason to hurt us.” At Jelin’s flat stare, she grew desperate. “Mother, tell him to let us both in. This is our chance to be a family again.”
The words tumbled from her mouth. She stepped, not quite in front of Papa, but closer to him, to show Jelin that he’d have to stab her before he could fight Papa. She wasn’t Forged. He had no excuse to stab her.
Papa spoke behind her. “That is my sword.” Anger rose in his voice on that last word.
“Get inside, Taura. Now.” Jelin shifted his stare to her father. He spoke sternly. “Burk, I’ve no wish to hurt you. Go away.”
Back inside the cottage, the baby started crying. Jelin’s wife began to sob. “Make him go away, Jelin. Drive him off. And her with him. She’s nothing but trouble. Oh, Sweet Eda, mercy on me and my child! Drive him away! Kill him!”
Darda’s voice was rising to hysteria and Taura could see in Jelin’s eyes that he was listening to her. Maybe he would stab her. Her voice rose to shrill despite herself. “Mother? Will you let him kill both of us? With Papa’s own sword?”
“Taura, get inside. Your father is not himself.” Her mother’s voice shook. She had hugged Gef to her side. He was sob panting, his prelude to one of his total panics. Soon he would race in circles, sobbing and shrieking.
“Mother, please!” Taura begged.
Then her father seized her by the back of her neck and her shirt collar. He flung her into the cottage. She collided with Jelin then fell at his feet. He was off balance and flailing when Papa reached in, past the tip of his own sword, to seize Jelin’s wrist. Taura knew that clamping grip. She’d seen him haul big halibut up off the bottom, his hands seized tight on the line. In a moment it happened as she knew it would. Jelin gave a cry and the sword fell from his nerveless hand. It was right next to her. She seized the hilt and scrabbled back into the room.
“Papa, I’ve got it! I’ve got your sword for you.”
Papa said nothing. He had not released his grip on Jelin’s wrist. Jelin was shouting and cursing and fighting Papa’s one hand, as if by breaking that grip he could win. Her father’s lips were pulled back from his set teeth. His eyes were empty. Jelin put all his efforts into pulling away. But Papa jerked the smaller man toward him. His free hand went to Jelin’s throat. He caught him there, his big hand right under Jelin’s jaw. He squeezed, and then abruptly released Jelin’s wrist and put both hands on his neck. He lifted Jelin up on his toes and Papa’s eyes were very intent, his mouth flat as he throttled the man. He tilted his head to one side and regarded Jelin’s darkening face with intent interest.
“No!” shrieked Darda, but she did nothing but retreat into the corner clutching her child. Gef seized two handfuls of his own hair and wailed loudly as he shook his own head. Taura’s mother was the one who charged in. She seized one of Papa’s thick arms and tugged at it. She hung her weight from it as if she swung from a tree branch.
“Burk! No, no, let him go! Burk, don’t kill him! He was kind to us, he gave us shelter! Burk! Stop!”
But