Satin's Tale: Dealings Done

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Opportunist

There was a general quiet murmur in the air as the band rested, stretching their legs and taking care of their horses.  The boy sat on the grass, unable to work out whether the sore, raw ache in his legs and thighs, or the insistent pain from his empty stomach was worse.  Despite both, however, he leapt to his feet when he saw Whistler approaching him, a small wrapped bundle in one hand, and a waterskin in the other.  It took all his restraint not to leap at her for the items, though she handed them to him quickly enough, glancing about.

“Promise is a promise kid, but don’t expect it again, alright?  You did good helping out this morning, but you’ll need to keep being useful if you want anyone to treat you as more than an annoyance.  Remember what I told you about the work tonight.”  She spoke quietly, and though the boy listened, he was much more intent upon devouring the contents of the bundle she had given him, hard bread and dried fruit, mostly.  It tasted like a feast.  When he looked up again, Whistler had already moved away again and was watering her horse, over the far side of the area.  He took a drink from the waterskin, and folded the cloth from the bundle carefully.  If nothing else he’d need to find a pack to carry things in.

By the time they were mounting up again, the boy felt somewhat better.  His stomach wasn’t complaining any more, though it was still far from full, and after two days, his legs were beginning to dull out the discomfort of riding a horse that was too big for him.  As he was approaching Marley’s horse the man was just mounting up, but a voice called out before he could scramble up after him.

“Oi, Marley.  I’ll take Satin this leg, if you want.  That old nag of yours will be getting exhausted.”  The call came from a man, a few horses over, one that the boy had seen talking to Marley often over the past two days.  He hadn’t caught his name yet.  Marley nodded.

“Suit yourself, Stitcher, but we’re pushing on until evening.”  He glanced down at the boy and nodded him in the direction of the other man, who helped him up.  Stitcher’s horse was smaller than Marley, and the boy was glad of the difference, even though the movement and shifting of the horse under him was more pronounced, once they started out.  They had been riding for a while when Stitches spoke to him.

“So, Satin.  Only been here a couple of days and something’s starting to stick already.  Good sign, you know.  Not bad as far as names go, either.  Be glad you didn’t end up like poor old Shoes.  Nothing against the man, and all, but it’s hard to strike fear, or command respect with a name like that.  Satin’s pretty nice, by comparison, I’d say.  You could be intimidating with a name like that, if you live long enough.”  He paused, and the boy felt like he was talking more to himself than anything else.  “Of course… it would work much better on a lady.  What can you do though, eh?  What do you think then, young Satin?”

“Why is everyone starting to call me that?”

“Everyone’s got to have a name, don’t they?  And you didn’t give us yours, so folk’ll pick out what sticks for you instead.  You could tell me what your ma called you, but by my guess, it’s too late for that now.”  The boy fought back tears, reminded of what he’d managed not to think about for a while.  Despite his efforts, his body quaked, holding down the sobs, and Stitches looked down at him.

“Damn… Sorry kid, that was out of line.  I was meaning the name’ll stick no matter what you do now.  If it’s any apology, none of us have had any parents or family for a very long time now… it’s too easy to forget what losing ‘em feels like, when you live a life like this.”  As they rode on in silence, the boy managed to recover himself.  After a while he spoke up.

“Why does he do it?”  Stitches didn’t respond right away, looking ahead.  After a moment he sighed.

“You’d be meaning Marley’s Kindness, aren’t you?  Fair question, coming from you.”  There was another long pause.  “We don’t rightly know what his actual intention is.  Every so often, he’ll grab a young boy, someone with fight and spirit, like you, and he’ll toss ‘em in with the rest of us to see if he can find his feet and survive.  He always gives ‘em a choice, but it’s usually a choice that’s no real choice at all.  That’s part of the point though, it seems.  He doesn’t just want this boy to be a fighter; he wants him to be sharp, and cunning, and adaptive.  He wants a kid who’s fresh and impressionable, but clever and tough as well.”  Stitches sighed again, sounding uncertain.

“This’ll all probably go right over your head, kid, but see, Marley ain’t like the rest of us.  He’s different.  We’re all here living hand to mouth, sure, but for us, that’s all there is to our lives; survival and life, life and survival.  Not for Marley though.  There’s something more, for him.  He sees things differently, thinks about things that seem like they’re no concern to any of us.  He plans outside of just us and the next meal, and he sees things about the world and what’s going on in it that none of us notice, or realise.  Ahhh…  Words were never my strong point, kid, and between me failin’ at explaining and you likely missing most of it, we probably won’t get anywhere.”  He lifted a hand to scrub at his face for a moment.

“If I had to put my money somewhere, I’d say that Marley’s lookin’ for someone like him.  Someone that’ll learn to see a bigger picture than any of us do, and that’ll have the stick to do something about it as well.  None of the boys ever make it though, at least not yet.  They run, or they stay behind somewhere, or get themselves killed somehow.  Some even try to kill him… which looks to my eye like where you’re headed.  A word of advice.  Don’t try it, not even when you’re older.”  The boy grit his teeth hard, his eyes prickling, this time with angry tears.

“I hate him.  He took…  He killed…” the words wouldn’t finish themselves, and the boy felt his body trembling again.  A hand rested on his shoulder.

“I know you do, Satin.  It’s in your eyes, every moment since you’ve been here.  And Marley is smarter than me, that’s for sure.  He knows how you feel.”

“He just smiles, and winks and laughs.”

“Yeah.  That he does.  He can look at someone he knows would kill him if they could, someone he knows hates them with every shred of their being, and smile, then give them food, and a ride on his horse.  I don’t know that I could do the same, and I respect him.  We all do.  I’ll tell you something else.  If not for Marley, we’d all be nothing but a band of pillagers, as like to turn on one another as anyone else, and with no sense of anything other than thoughtless violence and villainy.  There are plenty of folk who’d say that that’s exactly what we are now, anyhow, but with Marley leadin’ us, it’s different.  We’re different.  I can’t explain it, kid, but if you stick with us, you’ll come to understand it, and you’ll come to trust and respect Marley as well.”

“I never will.”  Stitches didn’t respond as they rode on.

Dusk was falling when they stopped again, but the atmosphere didn’t slow.  The band unpacked and stripped down their excess, reforming a stockpile of goods in the centre of the area they’d stopped at, but they worked quickly, tending their horses and prepping them for further riding.  There was more, as well.  People were checking weapons and equipping themselves for combat.  Many in the band seemed to favour short, fast weapons, though a few had the handles of heavy-looking two-handers in easy reach over their shoulders.  Marley was in the midst of a strategy talk with Stitches and Whistler, pointing to a roughly scratched picture in the dust.  The boy took a deep breath and squared his small shoulders then made for Marley’s horse while he was occupied.   He scrambled up, taking his normal place, and trying to stroke the horse’s neck reassuringly as he settled.  He waited there until Marley was done explaining and giving orders, and watched his eyes as he approached.

“You’re going to start a fire with a stare like that, kid.  Down you get, this trip isn’t for you.”

“How can I hold my own if you won’t let me?” The boy gripped tighter, holding the man’s eyes.  Marley started slightly, his eyebrows raised.  He glanced across to Whistler.

“You been putting ideas in the boy’s head?”

“Only the ones you forgot to, boss.”  She wore a tiny smile on one corner of her lips.

“Ahh…  He’s too young for this, Whistler.  A raid like this is no place for a babe.”

“He’s far too young for a lot of things, Marley, but you didn’t let that stop you.”  There was tension between them for a moment, then Marley muttered a curse under his breath.

“Alright, but you listen up, Kid.  Don’t you dare get yourself killed out there tonight.  Keep your head about you, and stay alive, you understand me?”  The boy nodded and Marley swung up into the saddle behind him.  He muttered to him as they moved out.  “You don’t even know what you’re getting yourself into, kid.  I hope you can handle it.”

As they rode through the darkness, the atmosphere was very different.  The riders all around them were silent and serious, and there was a sense of intent focus in the air.  About an hour had passed when a small cluster of lights came into view, ahead and to their right.  The group wheeled towards them and increased their pace.  As they drew closer the boy could make out a collection of temporary-seeming dwellings, in a rough circle; one of the nomadic villages of the plains, who moved around a collection of rough locations, at different times of the year.  At this time of year, they would have recently finished a deal of their annual trading, and be living in an approximation of comfort for at time.  Marley spoke up, shouting over the sounds of the horses to the other riders, loud enough to be heard by them, but only just.

“Fast and clean, boys.  Keep it neat.  You all have the plan.  Split off and take your sides!”  As he spoke, two groups of the riders, roughly a third each, peeled off and raced ahead, wheeling out to approach the village from different angles.

Marley pulled his horse to a halt a short way out side of the light and swung down.  The boy jumped off as well, as the others followed suit, stepping forward of the horses before unsheathing their weapons.  Shoes had remained mounted, apparently tasked with something else.  Marley took only the time to glance at the others, then he looked to Whistler and nodded once.  She put one hand to her mouth and let out a piercing sound that made the boy want to clap hands over his ears.  As the sound of her signal faded, the boy looked up to see the backs of the raiders as they ran forward as one, rushing into the light.

There was panic and confusion, and a lot of shouting and screams.  The boy found himself trembling, frozen still.  It was far too similar.  Behind him, Shoes spoke, snapping his attention.

“I’ve got to go round up the other team’s horses and bring ‘em together back here.  If you insisted on coming along for a reason, Satin-boy, then you’d best get it done, otherwise you’re just dead weight.  Go on, get in there.”  He rode off, leaving the boy alone to steel himself.  After a moment, he managed to follow the other raiders into the village.

Beyond the ring of the light, confusion reigned.  There were panicked cries, and the sounds of fighting from all around.  Some of the people were fleeing into the night, while others resisted and fought to keep what was theirs.

“Over here, child!  Get away from them, quickly!”  The boy looked to see a woman, holding several other children like him close around her, by the door to one of the shelters.  He hesitated, confused for a moment.

“I…  I’m not…”  He could though.  He could just hide away with the other children here.  It wouldn’t matter that he wasn’t one of them, the adults wouldn’t mind.  But no, that wouldn’t help.  All around, people were fighting, or fleeing.  They weren’t safe, wouldn’t be safe.  What good would it do?  Even if there was an adult there, protecting him…  It wasn’t really protection at all.  The boy shook his head, and backed away a step, then another.  After another moment of hesitation, he turned and ran from the woman, ducking instead into another building.  It was empty, the occupants either out fighting, or running for their lives.  He searched quickly.  Amongst the folded clothing and linens he found a travellers backpack and slipped it over one shoulder.  Even with the strap pulled as tight as it would go, it was still far too large for him, but it was something.  There were clothes in the same bundle, an assortment for both a man and a woman, as well as several pieces for a young child.  These were also a little too big for him, but he stuffed them into the bottom of the pack anyway.  Beside the clothing, there were three strap-fastened rolls.  He unfastened the smallest of them to discover a tailored bedroll, with the covering stitched to the mat, forming a pocket.  He grabbed one of the others that was still fastened, and slipped it into the pack as well.  Next was food.  There was nothing in the house though; perhaps there was a central store.

When he emerged into the village commons again, the confusion has calmed, though it proved to be of little comfort.  Many of the villagers were huddled in a group, being guarded at weapon point by some of the band.  Several others lay dead about the area; the boy fought down his own welling panic and averted his eyes.  He could still hear the sound of a woman screaming from another of the buildings, though it was quickly muffled.

“Anyone in there, Satin?”  One of the men guarding the villagers called to him as he stepped away from the house he had just explored.  It was a question he could answer at least.  He shook his head.

“Empty.”  He glanced about.  “No food either.”  The other man nodded.

“Aye, these nomad villages tend to keep their food resources in a common store, by and large.  You want that building over there.”  He pointed with the hand that wasn’t holding his sword.  “Go help the boys that are sorting it all out, they’ll put those hands to work.  The boy nodded and ran quickly to the building he’d pointed out.  As he did, he heard one of the captive shout about making children join in their villainy.

Inside, James and Felaren, along with another he didn’t know yet were taking inventory and separating packages from each other.  They looked up as he entered, then resumed, though James spoke.

“It’s our little Satin-boy.  Here to help again?  Good.  Take a look; we’re sorting the foodstuffs.  See where we’ve counted and where we haven’t?  Start at the other end there, and count, for every two of the same type of thing, set one aside over here.  Got that?”  He didn’t stop working as he spoke, and the boy could see that he was doing the same thing even as he instructed.  He moved to the other end of the stores and started on what seemed to be smoked meats.  The smell made his mouth water.  Even so, he was curious.

“You don’t take everything?”  James shook his head, still not looking up.

“No lad, not when most of ‘em give up peaceful like this.  A lot of ‘em ran for it and they’ll come back when we’re gone, most of the others surrendered.  Only a few fought back, stupid blighters.  We’ll leave them be, but that’s no good if they starve after we’re gone.  If we killed everyone we raided, we’d soon be starving to death ourselves, if you follow.  So we take all that they can spare, and leave ‘em enough to survive on once we’re gone.  The tricky bit is guessing their numbers when they run off like this.”  After another few moments moving and shifting, James paused.

“Say, Satin-boy.  We’re sorting the goods they have as we find ‘em, but if someone who was first time out, and didn’t have any personal stores set aside for themselves, were to fill a pack before we got to sorting it, and we happened not to see them, then I’m sure no-one would notice.  He’d need to be quick about it, though.”  The boy didn’t need the hint twice, and quickly filled the rest of the space in his pack with a selection of smoked meats, hard, flat bread, and some wrapped cheese.  The too-large pack felt very heavy on his shoulder once it was filled, but he shifted it once or twice and tried to ignore the extra weight as he got back to sorting again.  James cast him a small smile and winked.

It was only a few minutes before they were done, but as the frightened adrenalin faded from him, the boy felt increasingly exhausted.  His steps were uncertain as they came back out into the square, and James spoke to Marley, who began calling further instructions.  He heard them briefly talking about him, but didn’t catch what was being said.

“This way, Kid.”  A hand guided him, briefly, and then he was riding again.  His awareness drifted, despite the rough rhythm of the horse’s gait, and a strong arm ensured he didn’t slip or fall when he dozed.  He woke again properly only as he was helped down from the saddle, back at their camp.  He blinked, looking into Marley’s eyes.  The man was kneeling down at his level.

“You with us again, lad?  Good.  Listen to me.  You did well tonight.  You kept your head, and you even helped out where you could, and that’s good.  But you still aren’t ready for that sort of thing.  Doesn’t matter how quick you learn, you’re just a boy, and sharpness won’t help if the problem is the reach of your arm, or the strength behind it.  So, here’s the deal:  I’m not going to let you come on any more raids with us until I’m convinced you can defend yourself, at least passably.  I’ll teach you, or one of the others will, but no more raids until you’re decent with a weapon.  You understand that, kid?”  The boy looked at him.  He could still feel the weight of the pack on his back, and was heartened to think that he’d actually have somewhere warm to sleep.  He nodded once and responded.

“My name is Satin.”  He turned his back and walked away from Marley as the man burst into laughter.

 

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