No Plan of Gods

A Fighting Man: Part Two

The Donaghey clan had traveled from the South. A long, tiring trek. Although three of their fighters had won, John's loss loomed over everyone now. Even the Northerners were in disbelief. Hell, even Paul was in disbelief. He'd openly admitted his surprise, and had already begun chugging a musty bottle of whiskey as the two clans rounded their horses for departure.

Cillian had pitched his horse on the edge of a stream on the other side of the farmstead. With his head down, he left to fetch it as the gaffer of each clan shook hands beside the pen. How strange he found it, the genuine respect between the two groups, all the while beating each other to near death. Kicks and punches and crunching headbutts, followed by firm handshakes and the sound of fading hooves. That was how it went. Every man took their loss on their chin, or their win with gratitude and a round of cider. He supposed hardship brought people together, even those from the other side.

The Southerners were diminishing, and fast. No one knew what exactly had caused the drought, but everyone knew its effects. A disease of the soil, crawling its way from tree to tree and village to village and crop to measly crop, the land was eating itself alive. Cillian had asked his father if it would ever reach them, but he shrugged it off. It hasn't got the legs to make it this far north, he'd said. As if the damn famine were a horse.

Cillian passed the crooked farmhouse, waving to the farmer who sat on the porch with a cigar in his hand. He didn't wave back, but nodded his head, puffing smoke all around him. At the back of the house, there was a beaten-down path that lead to the stream. Cillian walked along with it as it winded through a wheat field. The stalks bent and danced around him as a breeze fluttered across the land. As the path twisted out of the field and through a single line of trees, he heard two girls' voices by the river.

'You two ok?' he asked the two children as he stepped onto the banking. His horse was standing where he'd left it, shaking its head and mane excitedly. Perfect, a frantic journey home is definitely what I fucking need.

'Aye, we are just playing with her. She's just the cutest thing!' The young blonde girl said. She was draped in a white dress that had dirt speckled across its base.

'I wish Daddy's horses were like this', her sister said.

'I'm assuming your Dad is the farmer?' Cillian thumbed towards the farmhouse.

'Aye'.

'Yep.'

The horse snorted, startling them, and the girls burst out with high-pitched laughter.

Cillian tightened her reigns. 'Called her Sara. She can be crazy, but she's grand most of the time'.

'Can we take her for a ride?'

'Please' added the little sister, clasping her hands together and looking up at Cillian with sorrowful eyes.

'She's not the horse to ride if you don't know her well, trust me. She seems nice now, but she'll not hesitate to buck both of you into the water.' The brown stream guttered along the low-hanging reeds, and the girls took a hesitant step back.

The older sister folded her arms, frowning.

'What were you all doing at the pen, anyway?' The little sister hadn't lost her excited smile.

'Fighting'.

'Did you win?'

'Quite the opposite, I'm afraid'. Cillian untied the noose from the horse's neck and folded it, stuffing it into the weathered saddlebag.

'But', the young girl looked curiously at him, 'but you're not hurt.'

'There are many ways to lose in the fight business, young lass.'