On the Path of the Giants

Chapter 12: Lydia

        They had walked away from the sun for most of the day, and then followed it as it descended. The column ahad stopped now that the sun was getting closer and closer to the horizon, in a small maple grove. Some of the village-converted soldiers had been able to hunt a deer for the party to eat, and Lydia was busy preparing and cooking it properly. She had left the carving to the soldiers, and started to boil some water she had taken from a nearby stream to make a stew. The other women were working alongside her, and Lydia was realizing that they recognized a certain authority within her, as if it had been handed down to her directly from Ron Sharp. She quickly became aware that she was the only woman from the village preparing the meal. She tried to avoid thinking of where the others were.

        Ron Sharp was taking care of his blade, trying to make it as shiny and sharp as possible. His horse had been groomed by some of the younger soldiers, whom he referred to as his squires, and had been put away in a makeshift stable, underneath a large and twisted maple tree. It was impossible to get Sharp too far from his mare, and so he was sitting next to her, leaning against the trunk of the gnarled maple.

        The smell of its sweet sap was filling the air, and Lydia thought about adding some of it to the stew. But she did not dare, fearing some might not like it, and the ways they would let her know...

        As the sun vanished beneath the horizon, Lydia declared the meal ready, and it started being served to the men of the column, who were now sitting in front of a campfire. Sharp was not amongst them; he preferred to eat on his own, next to the large maple tree Despite her fear, Lydia still thought it her duty to bring him his meal personally. She took a bowl, and filled it deeply with the concoction that she had brewed. Its smell was invading her nostrils, and her stomach began to growl. The long march of today had made her hungrier than usual, and it took almost all of her efforts not to faint on her way to Sharp.

        He heard her approach before seeing her, as she made her way to him, dodging the branches that hung low over the earth. The sweet smell of maple sap started to mingle with the aroma of the stew, and Lydia thought that she should have added it to the mix. Sharp did not move his eyes up from the blade he was polishing, using a waxed cloth to make sure it was as shiny as it could be. Even under the branches of the tree, she could still see the starlight reverberate on it, as if encompassing a constellation of its own within the edge of the blade.

        “Your meal, sir.” Lydia remembered the way that Sharp liked to be talked to, and Sharp seemed to appreciate the effort. He finally moved his gaze from his blade to Lydia, and peered into her eyes the way one peers into a soul, as if there was some dark secret in them for him to discover. Lydia feared he might discover traces of Joshua, and of her sorrow at his departure. Or traces of her guilt, of having been spoilt by her uncle, and of the way she had not felt remorseful at his death. At the way she had almost felt glad about it, as if his death had meant that the event had never happened, that she would be whole anew. But that was short-lived, as the loss of Joshua had meant that she could never be whole again. Never, unless he came back. His departure had hit her harder than if she had been told he was dead. The way he was gone, she could not even be sure whether or not he survived, and feared that she might never be able to know. The world, she realized, was getting bigger and bigger by the minute, and she did not know which way he went. But she feared it must have been east. With every step she was taking, she was getting further and further away from him, and that truly broke her heart.

        Thankfully, Ron did not seem to see the sadness of her eyes, and the sorrow of her smile. He was not able to look pass the façade of her visage, preferring to find in it what he wants, instead of truly seeing what was wrought upon it. He extended his hands towards her, waiting for her to place bowl and spoon into position. She obeyed. She did not dare to look at his face for too long, but could not resist stealing a glance from time to time. He bore a flagrant moustache, brown under his nose, but with traces of ginger by its tips. He had the chin clear shaved, as if it had been done very recently, with extreme precaution. He was not wearing his metal shirt, preferring to let it lay beside him, with a damp towel on top of it. She knew that he would be working at it, making it as shiny as his blade, applying it with the same care.

        He takes care of his belongings. That is one good thing about him. It would be better if I remembered that when I speak to him.

        Lydia thought back on her grandmother’s words, always to think nice things of the people she is talking to, remembering only their good sides. All of a sudden, her smile became more genuine, and she lost part of the sadness that was written into it. Sharp seemed notice, but did not understand the reasons behind it. Thankfully so, thought Lydia, because otherwise he would have smelt the hypocrisy in her face, and everything would turn from worse to worst, potentially ending her life. Or worse.

        Ron was sipping on the stew, approving of the taste. She could see the deer fat of the stew wet his moustache, his tongue linking his lips, attempting not to waste it. Lydia did not know whether she ought to leave, or to stay there in case he needed anything. She looked at the ground, and saw the roots of the tree gnawing at the earth, which was wet from the melting snow. She attempted to take a step backwards, subtly expressing her desire to leave and to eat from her own meal. Sharp saw her attempt, and moved his head from his bowl, looking directly at her face.

        “Stay. I enjoy your company.” She continued to stare at the ground, looking at the way the black layer of mud rested upon the earth, and how it transitioned from liquid to solid. She had already mustered all of the happiness she could for today, and only felt like going back to the cauldron, eating a bowl, and collapsing on the floor.

        “Come sit by me” he said, gesturing to an empty space, on his right side, while his blade lay on his left side. The blade shone so bright, it felt like it was the only source of light under the tree. Lydia kept her head down, but it soon became obvious that this was not what Sharp was expecting. She could hear the sound of his lips on the stew, and the sound of his lapping as he gulped more and more of it. She could feel his eyes burning a hole through her skull, as if silently commanding her to look up, to look at him, to give him the attention he felt he deserved. Lydia tried to ignore it as much as she could, before it became too obvious she was ignoring him. She finally looked up, at first towards the falling branches, and then turned her gaze towards him. She focused on his moustache, trying to avoid his eyes, fearing she might recognize in it the destruction of her village, the death of her friends and family. She feared that she might recognize in it the sparkle of love that she had shared with Joshua, that sparkle that will forever be reserved to Joshua. She feared that she might see the fires of lust, the same one that had burned in her uncle’s eyes that night everything started to fall apart.

        She could feel his breath as he leaned closer. The smell of the herbs from the stew was overpowering her nostrils, making her stomach silently growl. She slightly backed away from him, still not daring to look at his eyes directly, fearing they might burn into her. She knew there was no way for her to retreat eternally, that she would have to comply to his will sooner or later, or else. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine a better scene, trying to forget the fact that her belly was rumbling, the fact that the village had been sacked, and that the man who did the sacking was in front of her right now. The fact that Joshua was gone forever.

        She stopped moving, closed her eyes, and braced herself for what was to come. She felt his wet, warm lips upon hers, his tongue trying to wring its way into her mouth, and realized that she was doomed.