The Taleweaver

On the road, part twelve

Setting camp turned out being more difficult than they had imagined, mostly because of a hard wind threatening to carry away anything not nailed to the ground. At least the rain had subsided, but Harbend was still miserable, cold and wet. It took several, frustrating failures to build a small fire. If it rained for a few days more finding dry twigs to mix with the tinder he'd brought would become increasingly difficult, but that was a problem yet to come.

He looked at Arthur in sullen silence. Arthur's earlier rebuke still stung, and as he had chosen to remain silent for the entire afternoon neither of the men's moods improved. Being tired and hungry after climbing the narrow track in drizzling rain hadn't helped neither, but Harbend bit back on his irritation while they were still on the road. Now, when they had finally managed to get their camp in order he turned to his companion feeling a childish need for petty revenge.

"So, I understand you got tired of being everyones' property, but it still fails to make sense," Harbend said as if half a day hadn't passed since any of them last spoke.

Arthur gave him a tired look but refrained from answering.

"I fail to understand. You are, what, fifty-five years old but from what you have told me earlier you tired of your fame almost five years ago," Harbend continued. "Then just one day you take off for a journey that may last for years. Do you not feel any responsibility? At your age you should have a woman and children." He suddenly saw raw pain in Arthur's face, but resentment forced the rest of the words into the air. "Do you not care about the family you left behind you in your heartless selfishness?"

Arthur was silent. With a sinking feeling Harbend knew he shouldn't have finished his accusations. Rather than wait for a defensive outburst he vanished into the wood gathering more firewood as an excuse to be gone from their camp. As darkness had fallen so had the wind and in the heavy underbrush beside the track getting a fair amount of dry wood was easy work and he soon had to return to the fireplace.

Arthur was still sitting in the same place and he was crying silently, tear brimmed eyes reflecting the flames. Harbend sat down, sharing the silence and waiting for the explanation he knew would eventually come. He added some sticks to the fire for extra light and warmth and started rummaging through their bags for some food when Arthur suddenly rose.

"I did care for my family, you know," he said and spread his arms as if excusing himself. "Five years ago my wife and son died in an accident. I almost gave up then, but I still had my daughter to care about so I continued with my shows." He took a few steps around the fire before resuming his words. "Much later I got to know a competing newscaster wanted me out and that it hadn't been an accident."

"How do you know?" Harbend asked.

"They thought I would be so caught up in my grief I simply had to quit."

"But how do you know?" Harbend repeated, this time with a feeling of unease.

"They killed my daughter half a year ago."

A coldness like a blanket of ice ran down Harbend's face and he knew all color must have left it. "Gods! How old was she?"

"Ten."

Harbend didn't have any children of his own, but his sister did. He turned to Arthur, a question still unanswered, but Arthur answered him before it could be voiced.

"They sent me pictures from both kills to make sure I understood the message."

"I am sorry," Harbend said suddenly at a loss for ways to express his sympathy. He mentally groped for words with which to wash away his shame, but none came forth. He had duped his friend to reveal a painful secret, no not just duped but forced him into submission. And it had been wrong and ugly to do so.