Page 22

WRATH

The elk moved gently through the forest, grazing on the grass between the stumps of trees, its antlers big and proud. I moved my forefinger to my lip and looked at Tiberius.

He was six years old, but his childhood had been robbed from him because of tragedy. I had to raise him to be a man when he should be enjoying boyhood as long as he could. I righted my bow and put the arrow to the string.

Tiberius watched, eyes wide with adrenaline.

I aimed the bow and released the string. The arrow launched into the air and pierced the elk in the side. He gave a guttural cry then collapsed. The other elk scattered away and dispersed before they were next.

I threw the bow over my shoulder then approached the elk. His eyes were open like he was gone the second that arrow pierced his hide. There was no suffering. Instant death.

Good.

I removed the arrow then placed my hand on its flank. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you saying sorry, Dad?” Tiberius asked.

I grabbed the arrow and cleaned it on my breeches before I returned it to the quiver across my back. “Because life isn’t fair.” I pulled the large elk over my shoulder and steadied the carcass before we began our journey back to the house.

Tiberius led the way.

It was a fifteen-minute walk back to our home on the outskirts of the village, a modest cabin that was just big enough for us to raise our two boys.

I hunted for our meals and sold the extra meat at the market.

Anya had her own garden and used the vegetables to cook in her stews. Our life was simple, but it was ours.

Until she got sick.

We approached the wooden fence around the house, our dog Pinecone barking at our approach.

Tiberius opened the gate and ran through the door. “We’re back. Dad got an elk.”

I carried the carcass to the workshop I’d built for myself. I prepared the meat away from my family, because the boys were still too young to witness that much reality. I washed my hands clean of the blood then walked inside the house.

Darius was two years older and, therefore, left in charge of his mother while I was gone. “Was it big?”

“Almost too big to carry.” I circled him with one arm and gave him a kiss on the head. He was tall for his age. Both of my boys were. Soon, they would be men, and this time would be a memory. “Did you take care of your mother while I was gone?”

“Yeah. I made her some stew.”

“Attaboy.”

Darius ran off with Tiberius, and from the other room, I could hear Tiberius bragging about the hunt and making it sound far more exciting than it really was.

I walked through the open door into the bedroom and found her in bed.

Dying.

It hurt to look at her every time, to see how withered she was—and I couldn’t stop it. Her eyes were sunken, and she was thin. It was hard for her to speak without coughing, so she was careful with her words.

She was so weak, she didn’t even perk up at the sight of me.

“Hey, baby.” She didn’t want my pity, so I had to pretend everything was normal when my life was literally dying before my eyes.

“Hey…”

I came to her bedside and pulled up a chair. “Tiberius and I found an elk. We’ll have steak and potatoes for dinner.”

“Sounds nice…” She barely finished her words when a coughing fit took her.

I handed her a glass of water, and she downed it and spilled some down her chin. I dabbed it with a linen cloth. Witnessing her agony was a different kind of torture than actually experiencing it. I would do anything to trade places with her. Would do anything to slowly die while she continued on.

I’d hunted for many weeks to afford a doctor to come visit, but he said she had an infection of the lungs that couldn’t be cured.

The winter had been harsh, and while I’d been gone fetching firewood, she’d gone into town with Tiberius because he’d sprained his wrist in my absence.

A blizzard came through…and brought the sickness with it.

If I’d been there, I would have taken him myself. Or he wouldn’t have gotten hurt in the first place.

Now, I was about to lose one of the people I loved most.

Her weak hand slowly reached for mine. “Don’t look at me like that.”

My eyes dropped to our joined fingers, the heartbreak in my chest enough to make my sternum crack.

We used to have a beautiful life, making love by the fire when the kids were asleep.

The times when she waddled around the house with a pregnant belly were the best memories of my life.

We were supposed to watch our boys become men and have their own families.

We were supposed to grow old together.

But now, I would raise my sons alone and enjoy the happiness of fatherhood while she became a memory to the sons she’d birthed.

It wasn’t fair.

I didn’t say what I wanted to say and said something else instead. “I love you.”

She smiled slightly. “I love you too.”

In light of the fire, I held her hand and tried to cherish these last days or weeks because they were all I had left. The boys were playing in the other room, not quite old enough to understand how profoundly their lives were about to change.

She whispered to me. “I want you to move on…when I’m gone.”

My eyes stayed on her fingers, and I inhaled a painful breath. “Don’t…”

“I just want you to know you have my blessing…so you never have to wonder.”

The idea of anyone else when there was only one woman I wanted for all my life made it hurt more. “I said, don’t.”

The house was quiet except for the crackling flames.

Anya was asleep in our bedroom. The boys had finally settled down after all the excitement of having their uncle down for a visit.

My brother sat across from me, never one to say much, but definitely with nothing to say now.

Because there was nothing to say.

“You know you’re welcome to live with me after it happens. I can help with the kids?—”

“I don’t need help raising my sons.” She’d been sick for weeks, and being a father was no hardship at all. They were good kids who helped around the house and took care of their mother when I wasn’t around. They were a blessing to me the day they were born, and they were a blessing to me now.

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Then how can I help?”

I stared at the fire as the emptiness in my chest started to fester. “You can’t.”

He watched the side of my face, his hands together in his lap. “You should move into the village. The boys will have other kids to play with. Other things to distract them.”

“This is where we wanted to raise them.” I wanted them to live off the land, to stand strong on their own two feet. To appreciate nature and the gifts that it granted us. We traveled into the village on occasion. “I will continue to do that.”

Gael gave a slow nod. “I’ll stay until it happens…unless you’d like me to leave.”

It was the one thing I wanted. Not to be alone when my wife died. So I could walk through the forest and grieve without my sons having to watch their father succumb to the wave of despair that would cripple me. “I would appreciate that.”

I dropped the carcass on the table in the butcher’s shop.

He looked it over and gave me a quote. “Fifty sickle.”

“Done.”

He put the coin on the table, and I pocketed it.

Gael had stayed behind with the boys so I could bring this to market, collect whatever coin I could to buy my wife a few things that would make her happy. Fresh flowers, her favorite cookies, a couple books…even though she wouldn’t have time to read them.

The butcher seemed to catch the despair in my eyes the way someone caught the reflection of the sun in a window. “How is she?”

“It’s almost time,” I said.

He gave a slow nod. “I’m sorry.”

Everyone was sorry. But no one was as sorry as me.

“Madame Hatchet at the apothecary has some opium. Eases the pain of the dying.”

I didn’t want her to die. But I didn’t want her to die in pain.

“But it’s not cheap.” He reached behind the counter and produced another fifty sickle before he set it on the counter.

“You don’t need to do that.”

“Consider it an advance on your next piece of meat.”

I stared at the coin for a moment before I took it. “Thank you.”

“When I said I was sorry, I meant it.”

I gave a slight nod in appreciation.

“You’re a good father to those boys. A good husband. A good man. A rare breed these days.”

I entered the apothecary and was immediately struck by the smells. Perfumes, flowery scents, a combination of so many things that it overpowered my senses. I walked down the aisles of odds things, plants that were black instead of green or sage, vials of substances that glowed purple or blue.

The old woman behind the counter was covered in what looked like multicolored drapes. She stared at me like I was a shoplifter. “Looking for something?”

“Opium.”

She studied me before she came around the corner. “I’m sorry for your loss…”

I wasn’t ready to hear that phrase yet. Wasn’t ready to be a widower. Anya was supposed to outlive me and be taken care of by the boys we’d raised. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be—and it killed me.

She went to a vial of clear liquid before she handed it to me. She gave me a heavy look, full of compassion, as if it hadn’t been full of accusation just a moment ago. “Who is it?”

I just wanted to pay for the damn thing and leave, but I stared at the vial she gave me. “My wife.”

“From what affliction does she suffer?”

“Infection of the lungs.” I dared to hope. “You wouldn’t have anything for that, would you?”

She pressed her lips tightly together before she shook her head. “No remedy for the illness. Only the God of the Underworld can change her fate.” She moved to the counter. “That will be fifty sickle.”

I stepped up to the counter and gave her the money that I’d earned.

She made the exchange and set the vial on the counter.

“You believe in that?”

Her eyes flicked up to mine before they narrowed.

“That the gods are real.” Because if they were real, my wife wouldn’t be on her deathbed right now.