Confrontation

Jorlin woke up when she thrashed herself awake. She stared at a sliver of light that came from the crack in her wall and fell onto the floor as she slowly began to become aware of her surroundings. Her back cracked as she forced herself to sit up, and she took a shaky breath, rubbing her face with her sweaty hands.

Just a dream, she thought. Just a dream.

The scent of alcohol drifted into her room from downstairs, as well as the chatter of the townsfolk. She let out an exasperated sigh, wanting only to be alone. She stood up, her knees still somewhat weak, and quickly combed her hair as best she could, her hands still shaky from the aftershocks of the nightmare. It was time to take over the bar for a little while for her father, so she exited her room and descended the stairs.

There weren’t many people at the bar, and after she exchanged places with her father she began cleaning dirty mugs to keep herself busy and her mind occupied. The best she could do was temporarily distract herself from being aware of the void in her chest. It felt like her heart beat slower than it did before. When her back was turned, she swore she could hear her name being uttered in peoples’ conversations, or maybe it was just her imagination. Even if they were, she didn’t care all that much; she found it hard to care about anything.

It was in the evening when a familiar, low voice came from behind her as she set a cleaned mug on the shelf behind the counter, “I’ll take my usual.”

A smirk tugged at her lips, and she turned around to face Tholan, who was perched on a stool and leaning on the counter, wearing his leather hunting jacket, cloak, and, as always, his quiver and bow.

“Ah, Tholan. How’ve you been faring?” she asked as she fixed his favorite beer.

“Alright,” he replied, drumming his fingertips on the counter. “I got a decent amount of coin for the pelts I sold yesterday. Game’s been getting scarce lately.”

She slid the mug over the counter, and he wrapped his hand around the handle then took a swig.

“And how’ve you been?” he asked.

Jorlin looked away, then shrugged. “Like I said before, I’ll live.”

The silence that settled between them was broken by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching the door outside, as well as the clink of armor.

“Tholan, I think a patrol’s here,” she whispered, not taking her eyes off the door.

A look of dread came over his face, and he said, “I need to hide!”

She stepped back, then motioned to the floor by her feet. “Quickly, get behind the counter.”

Tholan swiftly jumped off the stool, and scrambled behind the bar counter, crouching on the floor. There, he would be hidden from almost anyone in the tavern. He hugged his knees against his chest, and peered up at Jorlin with his piercing blue eyes. Wordlessly, he put a finger to his lips, and just as she nodded, the door swung open. In the doorway stood Slater and one of his men.

Instantly the bar fell silent, and a few eyes darted over to Jorlin, watching her next move. She clenched her jaw, more anger than she expected flaring up in her chest. She gripped the handle of the mug she was cleaning tight enough to make her knuckles turn white and glared at the men as they strolled up to the counter. They smelled foreign in contrast to the familiar scent of the tavern; they smelled like wind, grass, metal, and horse. Tholan, under the counter, narrowed his eyes, able to discern who it was judging from the scowl on Jorlin’s face. Eventually the volume of chatter resumed its former level.

“How are you this fine day?” asked Slater as he slid onto a stool, his voice far from sincere. He loudly set his helmet on the counter, and the other soldier sat near him.

Jorlin ignored him and continued cleaning the mug, the only thing keeping her from exploding with rage. Slater put his hand on it, and slowly but forcefully dragged it out of her grip, forcing her to look at him. He smirked, the formation on his chiseled face somehow making Jorlin even more livid.

“I said, how are you?” he insisted. It was obvious that he recognized her from the other day, when he took Asher away.

“I…” she paused for a second to let her voice stop shaking, then she finished, “I’m… lovely.” She cracked the most fake smile she could muster.

Slater returned a smile just as mocking. “Wonderful.”

Jorlin took a deep breath, then growled, “What do you want?”

“A beer, of course,” he replied. “Give us a round.”

“What kind?” she snapped.

Slater sneered, “Surprise me.”

As she fixed their drinks, the cheapest kind the bar carried, Slater and the soldier chatted about the happenings of that day’s patrol so far. He seemed to recall drafting a few serfs louder than usual, making sure Jorlin heard him. She bit her tongue to keep from spewing out a string of curses at him.

When she slid their drinks over to them, she muttered, “Anything else I can do for you?” She tried her best to suppress her wroth as she turned to clean the shelves, her back to them.

“Aye,” Slater answered. He paused to take a drink of beer before finishing, “Remember who’s in charge around here. As long as your kind keeps their faces in the fields things’ll stay ordinary and peaceable.”

The other soldier snickered.

Jorlin turned around, placing her hands on the counter and leaning forward. “I’m done with trying to stay ‘peaceable.’ Unless you don’t want peace, get out of my tavern.”

Slater’s fake smile faded into a straight line, and his eyebrows lowered. “Watch your tongue, girl,” he ordered. “I’m in charge here.”

“That’s hard to believe,” she snapped, the words spilling out of her mouth, “coming from someone who has as much honor as a pile of dung.”

The tavern fell silent, and Slater stood up abruptly, the stool he was sitting on falling to the floor. They glared at each other for a few seconds, before he grabbed her throat, his fingers gripping the pressure points just below her jaw. Jorlin let out a gasp.

“I said I’m. In. Charge,” he fumed.

Jorlin heard Tholan abruptly stand up, and yank an arrow out of his quiver. When she turned her head slightly she saw him standing beside her, his bow in his hand and the end of the strung arrow at the corner of his mouth. The tip was aimed right between Slater’s eyes.

“Let her go,” he growled, his teeth clenched together. “Now.” When the general did nothing Tholan pulled the arrow back even farther, and added, “Unless you’d like this arrow embedded in your skull.”

Reluctantly, Slater pulled his hand away from her throat, and she rubbed her neck, the places where his fingers were white on her skin.

“Thanks,” she muttered to Tholan, not letting her sight off of Slater, who had drawn his sword.

“Do you really think that’s a good idea?” Tholan asked. “You’d be dead before you had time to swing. And don’t think I wouldn’t hesitate to kill you.”

Slater let out a growl, then sheathed his weapon. Tholan lowered his bow, and put the arrow back in the quiver slung over his back. Jorlin’s heart stopped beating quite as fast, and she allowed herself to exhale the breath she was unconsciously holding in.

Before her mind could process it, Slater had leapt over the counter and snatched Tholan’s bow out of his hand. He put his foot on the curve and stepped down on it with all his weight, and it made an incredibly loud snap, the bow now in two pieces. Tholan’s face quickly turned to that of horror, and he numbly stared as Slater threw the broken bow to the side. He glared at Tholan, a triumphant smirk on his face. Tholan’s fists clenched up, and he bared his teeth, enraged.

“Do you have any idea how long it took to make that bow?” he roared, stepping forward. He stood up taller, even though the general was still a few inches taller than him. “It takes years to make a bow, and you snapped it just like that.”

Slater yanked out his sword again. “Step away from me,” he ordered. “Now.”

“I still don’t believe you just broke my bow,” he said. “Now I’m going to have to make a new one.”

“I said step away.” He held up his sword.

“No,” Tholan said, stepping closer.

With a yell, Slater swung his sword at Tholan, who jumped backwards, dodging the swing. He yanked two arrows out of his quiver, one in each hand, and slashed at Slater with one of them. Some of the people who were sitting at tables ran out the door, while others stayed to watch the fight. The soldier that accompanied Slater got up to assist him, but Jorlin shoved him to the ground while Tholan backed Slater into the wall. She took a mug and smashed it over his head, and he fell onto the floor with a groan, holding his head. When she turned, she saw Slater take a swing at Tholan’s shin, but the archer was too slow to escape a short but deep gash. He cried out and backed away, Jorlin already rushing over, functioning on her instincts. She picked up the arrow he had dropped and let out a shout as she drove it into Slater’s unarmored thigh. Her stomach churned as she felt the tip dig into his flesh, and she let go before it could get too deep. He cried out, then slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, his leg giving out.

“Get out of my tavern!” she screamed, pointing to the door.

The other soldier slowly escaped out of the front door, holding his head in pain, while Slater gripped his leg where the arrow protruded from his lower thigh. Tholan sat on the ground behind her, putting pressure on the wound on his own leg. Slater glared up at Jorlin and took a deep breath before snarling and ripping out the bloody arrow. She almost felt sorry. Almost. She was too high on anger to feel any remorse. He tossed it to the side, and she glowered at him as he slowly stood up, then hobbled backwards in the direction of the door.

“This isn’t the end!” he shouted as he limped. “I’ll see to it that your miserable tavern is burned down for your treason! And you,” he pointed to Tholan. “I’ll be back for you, archer.” He spat on the ground. “I’ll be sure you’re put on the front lines.”

He slammed the door behind him, and Jorlin was surprised when she realized how shaken she felt. The few people left in the room instantly resumed talking, recalling the fight they just witnessed and the consequences that would undoubtedly follow. She paid no attention to them as she rushed over to Tholan, who was still sitting on the floor.

“That dog broke my bow,” he muttered angrily, his hands covered with his blood. “Blasted man snapped my bow like a twig.”

“Great God, your leg,” she gulped, noting how bloody his pants already were.

“Eh,” he looked down at his wound. “Had worse. But it does look bad.”

“Come, let’s get you into the kitchen,” she offered, standing up and holding her hand out to him.

He got up using his good leg, and Jorlin let him lean on her while he hobbled through the doorway to the kitchen, which was behind the bar counter. It was a small room with not much more than a fireplace, shelf of ingredients, a cupboard, and a table in the center. Jorlin helped him into the chair beside the table, and he let out a tired, pained sigh.

“My mother keeps bandages in the back. I’ll go get them,” she said, still feeling somewhat dazed.

When she returned to him after retrieving the said bandages from the back of the room, he was sitting with his right pant leg rolled up, revealing the gash on his shin that was smothered with blood. She inhaled sharply through her teeth when she saw it.

“I’ll get water to wash it u-…” he began to say.

“No,” she interrupted, pointing at the chair. “You’re staying right there. I’ll get the water.”

It didn’t take her too long to come back with a rag and a bowl of water. She knelt on the ground by his feet, rolling up her sleeves.

“I’m really sorry, about all of this,” she said, dipping the rag in the water.

“There’s nothing to forgive,” he replied. “I’m just glad that you’re safe.”

“Aye, but you’re not.”

He winced when the wet rag came in contact with the gash on his leg. The blood smeared around as she cleaned it.

“I’ve been running from the draft for too long,” he replied, his voice strained.

“You should have stayed under the counter,” she said, wringing out the rag over the bowl of water then cleaning the blood off the skin surrounding his injury.

“And what, watched him choke you to death?” Tholan asked, frustrated. “Look, just because he knows I exist doesn’t mean I have to stop hiding from him. I can still avoid the draft.”

“Yeah,” she mumbled, wiping the last of the blood from his leg. “But thanks for saving my skin. I owe you.”

“Likewise,” he replied, pretending not to feel the pain when Jorlin began to wrap the bandage around his calf. “Where are your parents?”

She shrugged. “Not here right now, apparently.”

After she finished applying the bandage, she straightened up and set the bowl and rag on the table. He rolled down his pant leg, then leaned back in the chair with a stifled groan. A silence fell over both of them and lingered there for a while.

“Good heavens!” cried out a voice from the main room. It was Jorlin’s mother.

She could hear a few men relating everything that happened earlier to her, then she ran into the kitchen, her eyes growing wide when she saw Tholan’s leg.

“Jorlin, what on earth happened?” she exclaimed.

“Didn’t they just tell you?” Jorlin asked, feeling annoyed.

“Don’t worry, miss,” Tholan said, standing up on his good leg. “I was just about to leave.”

“No, young man, you’d better sit down,” her mother said sweetly, stepping forward to help him back into the chair. “What’s your name?”

“Don’t you remember Tholan, Mother?” Jorlin asked.

She looked at him a moment before saying, “Ah, yes! You’re much older-looking now, but I do remember. You can spend the night here if you need, son.”

Tholan smiled awkwardly. “Thank you, ma’am, but I really ought to get going.”

Jorlin could tell that he was anxious to leave and find the cover of the woods where Slater or anyone else would have trouble finding him.

“I can walk well enough,” he added, getting to his feet and trying not to wince.

“Are you sure?” her mother asked.

Tholan nodded, hobbling over to the doorway. “I’ll be fine.”

It took him a while to limp over to the exit and leave, but when he did Jorlin’s mother said, “I was gone for half a day! Half a day!”

“I couldn’t help it!” Jorlin retorted, matching her mother’s volume.

“I’m sure you could have. You always have such a temper.”

“The men, the ones who explained to you what happened, what did they say?” she asked.

“That the patrol general came in for a beer with two of his men, and supposedly gave you a hard time-…”

“’Hard time’ is right,” Jorlin muttered.

“Then you resorted to insulting him, which provoked him to grab you by the throat. That was your fault! And that archer stood up for you, nearly getting his leg chopped off in the process.”

“That was not my fault!” Jorlin said. “He’s the one that came into this tavern only to insult me!”

“And you broke a mug over one of the soldier’s heads! I thought I raised you better than to act like some sort of… northern barbarian!” her mother scolded bitterly.

Jorlin clenched her mouth shut, more affected by her mother’s words than she would care to admit.

“And he threatened to burn this tavern down,” she uttered, tears in her eyes. “How could you do this?”

“Mother, he’s a coward! You don’t actually expect that he will?”

Jorlin’s question was answered by glaring eyes.

“That’s it. You’re not going to be in charge of this bar again,” her mother stated coldly, then strode out of the room, the end of her dress flying behind her and her shoes hitting the floor harder than necessary.

Jorlin fell into the chair Tholan was sitting in earlier and listened to her mother stomp up the stairs after informing the patrons that the tavern was closing for the night. She rubbed her face with her hands, her eyelids drooping. Phrases from the long, upsetting day whizzed through her head.  Jorlin cradled her head in her hands, not wanting to leave the kitchen and be upstairs with her mother. She felt incredibly alone. Desperately, she wished that her thoughts would stop haunting her and that her soul could be at peace for even a moment. Nothing was right in life anymore. What had happened to the world she had grown up in, playing in the woods and fighting imaginary monsters with wooden swords alongside Asher? Now that Asher was gone, the imaginary monsters were replaced with real horrors.

Eventually, Jorlin trudged up the stairs when she was sure her parents were asleep, too tired to clean the bloodstains off the floor. Her mother would undoubtedly see to it that it was done bright and early in the morning the next day. She decided to head over to Tholan’s tree stand in the woods after she cleaned up the next day, and bring some supplies for him; there was no way it would be safe for him to live in his house anymore. He would have to live in the woods, which was a continually growing problem with winter approaching faster than usual. She was eager to go to bed and find release with the occasional peace that came with sleep. Hoping that she was too tired to have the nightmares that had been plaguing her, Jorlin climbed into bed and quickly drifted to sleep.