A Splatter of Other #Wattys2015

XIII

We sit in the same private balcony, but this time Enoch and Estelle are there, so an extra chair is quickly located for me. I sit next to Estelle, the pretty leader's wife, and she asks me about Artie as we watch him play in the dirt at our feet.

"So, Archer tells me you are teaching him to speak with his hands?" Her accent is much stronger, and I have to concentrate for a moment before I understand exactly what she is saying.

"That's right," I reply proudly, "Artie, show Estelle your words." He stands shyly before signing off a string of gestures, and holding up his wolf. "He was asking if you liked his wolf, Aleksandar."

Estelle gently takes the figure in delicate hands, a small smile on her face. "I do, Aleksandar is a strong name. I used to have a wolf like this when I was of a similar age to you, I called her Nala," she hands the wolf back and settles to watch as he returns to his game. "I know you don't want to be here, Franceska," she murmurs, eyes still on him. "I understand that, and I would like to help you, but," she sighs, "I have known Archer since he was five years old, and since you've been here, he's been...I don't know, kinder. Attentive, understanding. Happy," she shakes her head, dark eyes resting on me, "you may not notice it, but I do. He's always struggled with the Rage, he has his Fathers Berserk blood, and it's made him bitter and unpleasant. Even as a child, he was so lonely," she sighs, an aching sadness reverberating in her soft voice. "He's never had a girl before that made him...open up. He's built these walls to protect himself, and after all these years I am finally seeing past them, just a bit." She takes my hand, her own surprisingly cold, "I know you want to go home, but I fear if you do, it will hurt him, and he will retreat so far into his mind that he will be a completely different man, one I do not want to see." She moves away, into a position to watch the fighting that will begin soon. "I would like to help you, but in the end, the well-being of my son takes priority, and if you are what makes him happy, then you are what he will have."

I cringe away from the tone of her voice, surprised by the turn in the conversation. I can't possibly believe that I would be the cause of such a change in Archer's attitude, but it does niggle at the memory of surprise when I was talking about stopping Archer from murdering those men. Of course along with that my heart sinks. Not only is Archer trying to keep me here, but now his protective step-mother is going to add to the roll of prison warden. It puts me in a sullen mood, and I barely react to the violence below me. I spend the rest of the day in my room, still feeling slightly unwell and upset, and end up spending an hour and a half in my hot pool. I do help Artie with his lessons, but it's clear to both of us that I am not in the mood for it, and he finally goes off to play with some boys his age, who have invited him to play hoops. I go to sleep early, curled up under the covers, and am woken violently by a loud crashing.

The candle I had left burning had almost reached the end of its wick, and now sits in a pool of animal fat. The glow is dim, and I can hardly see a thing. Someone I stumbling around in the dark, knocking into things, that much I can see. I slip out, grabbing the first thing I can, which happens to be a metal water jug. I tiptoe around, despite being unnecessary considering the noise, and come up behind them. It must be a man, given the size, and I am struck by panic. What if he's come to rape me? Not thinking any longer I slam the metal down between his shoulders. He grunts in surprise and turns sloppily, as I barrage him with strikes. He smells strongly of some substance that burns my nose, and I am momentarily distracted by this, giving him enough time to wrap his arms around me, rendering my arms useless. I go to scream, but my mouth is smothered, and I bite down. I string of words slur out of his mouth and I freeze in my struggles.

"Archer?"

"Who the fuck else?" He demands angrily, his words blurring drunkenly. I'd only ever seen a few people drunk, but he certainly had the symptoms.