CORDEL
By – Gabriella Catherine
“Are you just going to lie there and let him win? Get up and stop acting like a child!”
My throat burned from yelling. I scowled at the two men engaging in a mock-battle before me. One lay on his back on the ground, pinned beneath the sword of his challenger. He looked weak and frail, his expression like that of a lamb held in the fangs of a wolf. He’d given up.
Disgusting.
I trained my men to be warriors, not wounded animals.
Turning from the bothersome sight, I called, “Back to work, all of you!” to the small crowd that had collected on the training field to watch the battle go down. “We have swords that need to be sharpened.” I headed toward my tent.
“Lord Erguston.” I heard the weak man grunt as he pulled himself from the ground and jogged to catch up with me.
“You’re pathetic,” I said over my shoulder.
“What would you have liked me to do? The only way to get out of a hold like that would be to draw blood.” He was panting, and I heard the sharp ring of his sword going back into its sheath.
“I would rather you draw blood than give up.”
“Sir Lance is not my enemy. I was afraid I would injure him.”
Abruptly, I stopped and turned. I shoved him with both my hands on his chest. “Don’t you dare use the word ‘afraid’ in this camp again. We are men. Start acting like one, or I’ll gladly give you something to fear.”
I continued walking toward my tent, which was on the other side of the camp from the training grounds. Scraping, scratching, and clanging rang in the air as most of the men were working on sharpening swords. The others were training – some in archery, others in one-on-one combat. Their yelling, cheering, and swearing mixed with the sound of metal scraping metal. I listened to the same noises every day. Eventually, I began to tune them out. They were always there, so I hardly noticed them.
How long had I been in this place, anyway? Over two years. I hadn’t been home, hadn’t seen my people, or my family, in over two years. Well, I saw my brother, Jack, over the winter. He came to the camp to train every few months, even though he hated it. He was my exact opposite. He’d rather attend a ball than a jousting competition, and preferred flirting over one-on-one combat.
My sister, Scarlett, was only thirteen the last time I saw her. Now she was fifteen – the age I was when our mother died. Scarlett was only nine then, yet she seemed to cope better than I did. Maybe she was too young to fully feel the effects of losing our mother to a horrifying, deadly sickness.
Although she was small, young, and gentle, she was stronger than me in some ways. She looked me in the eye when I raised my voice at her. When faced with negativity or opposition, she gave a quick, impulsive, sometimes violent response. She wasn’t afraid to say what she thought.
I wondered if she got some of her stubborn traits from me. No, that wasn’t possible. I wasn’t around enough for her to pick up on my habits. I wasn’t there – I wasn’t there for her. I wasn’t there when she needed me, and now, she no longer did. She was strong. She had Jack. She had my father. She had several body guards. I would protect her – I would train every day so I could fight for her when the time came – but I knew she didn’t want to actually know me. She didn’t want anything to do with me, and I didn’t blame her. I didn’t want much to do with myself, either.
I entered my tent. My bed, my desk, and my clothes and armor were packed up. My saddlebags were full, ready for my journey back to Darrenberg.
My stomach churned, my muscles tightening.
Why was it that, even though the warrior’s camp was filled with noise, rough, barbaric men, and outrageous, rigorous training methods – that the thought of going home caused more stress and anxiety within me than the thought of staying here?
Stress and anxiety are for the weak. I forced those emotions away daily. They weren’t necessary. They were a waste of time, accomplishing nothing. I’d rather hit something – or someone – than feel any sort of emotions. It was more productive; more satisfying.
My father wanted me to return home so I could give him a report on how my army was looking. I could have sent him a message, or sent one of my men to give him the report, but there was more to be said than what I could fit on a piece of parchment. We had to talk about strategy; we had to talk about war.
I would spend a few weeks in Darrenberg. I would rest and see how everything was going there, check on the hunting grounds and the archery field. Then I would return to the warrior’s camp, and my men and I would finish this “war” for good.
###
“Get up.”
I threw Brendon’s satchel at him as he lay on his side in the dead leaves. The bag hit him square in the chest, jerking him awake. He moaned. “It isn’t even close to dawn. We only slept a couple hours.”
“And we still have several more before we reach Darrenberg. I want to get there by morning.”
When Brendon and the other knights still hesitated to get up, I asked, “Is there a problem?”
They heard the edge of warning in my voice; I could tell by the way they jumped up and frantically packed their things.
How good it felt to tell people what to do. Even better was the fact that people were afraid of me, and they obeyed me the second I told them what I wanted from them. I had power over them. They worked for me. Well, they worked for my father. Someday they would work for me. When my father died, I would become the duke of Darrenberg, and then the whole region would be under me.
But I didn’t believe my title was the reason these burly, well trained warrior knights feared me. No, I had made a reputation for myself outside of my title. I wasn’t just known as Lord Erguston, or as the heir of the wealthy duke of Darrenberg. I was impatient. I was impulsive. I was reckless. I didn’t ask permission before I acted. I had men at my disposal, and if they didn’t do what I asked of them, or if I had no more use of them, I got rid of them.
I didn’t need anyone.
Having people at my mercy was an invigorating feeling. It filled my veins and gave me purpose.
I untied my black stallion from a tree and mounted. The air was cool, and smelled like wet leaves and dirt, a familiar scent. The other men – there were seven of them – followed, and we headed out of the trees and back onto the narrow road. I’d ridden down this road a hundred times. It ran from the camp where I trained, back to my hometown, Darrenberg. I had it memorized, so I dug my heels into my horse and urged it into a run. Picking up speed, I could picture the nervous looks on the faces of my men as they tried to keep up.
It wasn’t that I was trying to commit suicide, as some people spread around in rumors. I wasn’t trying to cause one of my men to collide with a tree and spill their brain fluid on the gravel, either.
I wasn’t losing my mind. I wasn’t mentally ill.
Why do you ride so recklessly, then? My conscience asked.
That was simple.
To always be at the head of the pack. To keep that fear and adrenaline coursing through the other men. To flirt with death and win when I came out alive to see another day. To show the others that I didn’t tolerate fear, and neither should they, because a real man didn’t.
That’s what I taught the solders I trained at the camp, anyway. Fear was an unnecessary, intolerable weakness. We didn’t entertain it. We ran toward the things that spiked fear in us.
Some people called my way of living irrational. But to me, it was the adrenaline, the danger, and the uncertainty that sustained me. It gave me passion and purpose.
I saw that same attraction to adrenaline and danger in my sister. It left me unsettled. She didn’t know her limits, like I did. One day she would go too far and get herself hurt or into trouble.
The sky began to change from black to dark blue as morning approached. Gradually, the first rays of sun began to stream through the trees and light our path. Familiar landmarks came into view. We were almost there.
We passed the clearing where I shot my first stag. Since that day, hunting became my relief from life and reality. Hunting, fighting, training, riding at a dangerous speed, and drinking – they were all things I used to cope when depression and anxiety hit. I wasn’t running away from my problems, like people said. I was simply making them easier to swallow.
The next landmark was a huge rock, planted in the middle of the forest. I sat on it with my father when I was sixteen. That was where we made a plan to protect my sister.
“Scarlett needs you, Cordel,” my father said. “It’s time you act like a man and use your violence for good. Learn to tame your anger; use it to fight.” That’s when I left for the warrior’s training camp, and I’d been going ever since.
Have I learned to control my anger? I certainly used it to fight, but not always in the way my father intended. Sometimes it came out on my men, on my mentors, on my family… on my sister. My little sister, my baby sister, my responsibility. It was no wonder she was tough as iron. I was the reason she knew what it was like to go through hell and be treated like she’s worthless.
I intentionally kept my eyes forward, looking ahead at the path, when we passed the tree where I once tried to tie a noose when I was seventeen. Jeremiah, one of my father’s knights, found me before I blacked out. Some days I was grateful toward him; some days I was enraged.
Finally, the men and I broke through the trees and into the meadow that lied between the town gate and the forest. The village of Darrenberg, my home, stood before me. The tall towers of the castle rose above the other buildings, their bright red flags almost visible from the tree line as they shone in the morning sun.
In the last two years, I’d been through many days of training in the hot sun on the archery field, days of running and conditioning in the pouring rain, and days with a healer, in terrible pain, after injuring myself. But I would rather relive any of those days than face this one.
###
The streets of the village were packed. Too many people for my comfort. Were they all waiting to see me? Why? It wasn’t like anyone could have
missed me. They didn’t even know what I’d gone away to do. Most of them probably thought I’d simply abandoned my family to train for jousting competitions, or for some other vain reason.
I got to the plaza, the busiest section of the village. The people parted to create a path, leading toward the castle. I scanned the crowd, skimming the faces to find a familiar one. An overwhelming feeling seemed to suffocate me. So many people. So many faces. All full of anticipation. All cheering for me, shouting and looking for a response, expecting me to be someone I’m not. Expecting me to be a fair and selfless ruler.
They didn’t know me. I was anything but that.
Finally, a familiar voice called out. “Cordel!”
The only person that would call me that in public was my brother. It aggravated me. To these people, I was Lord Erguston. Calling me by my given name was Jack’s subtle way of showing he didn’t fear me like everyone else did.
I leaned down from my horse to clap him on the back as he stepped out from the crowd. His smile was sincere. He had a boyish look about him that I didn’t think he’d ever outgrow.
A girl stepped out from behind him. At first, I didn’t recognize her. But it only took me a moment. That curly mane of hair. That small frame. Those big blue eyes, full of anticipation and curiosity.
She called my name, gentle and sweet. She beamed, and before I knew what she was doing, she put her foot in the stirrup of my saddle and pulled herself up to throw her arms around me. She embraced me tightly, like I wasn’t wearing heavy chain mail and armor. Like we were small children again, back when we were close. Had she forgotten about all the things I’d done to her? Could she have forgiven me?
I wrapped an arm around her back, and my hand touched her soft hair. She had grown up. I could hear it in her voice. I saw a maturity in her eyes. She was no longer a child. Pain pierced my chest. I missed out on watching her grow up. I wasn’t there for her, and I hated myself for it. Clearly, she was better off without me, yet she was clinging to me like she knew it was me who was responsible for keeping her alive.
My sister, my responsibility. Her life was dependent upon me. As I held her, I became painfully aware of it. I suddenly felt insecure and incapable, a feeling I hadn’t experienced since before leaving for the warriors’ camp. I should have trained harder. I should have recruited more men.
I should have done more.
Pulling back my arm, I turned away from her embrace.
Scarlett released me and jumped back down to the ground, where she stood beside Jack, looking up at me. “I have missed you so much, Cordel!”
The anxiety seized my chest, this time harder than before. I was overcome with the inability to form words or sentences. She didn’t miss me. She was only saying that because it was what was expected of her. And what was she expecting me to say? That I had missed her? That I’d missed Jack – missed this place?
This stress and anxiety I felt was not something I missed while gone training. The woods, with its dreadful landmarks, was not something I missed. The cold stone castle, where my mother died, was not something I missed. These people, who saw me for someone I wasn’t, and expected more from me than I could ever give them, was not something longed for.
But how would I look to them if I ignored my sister?
I searched myself for a response. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t true; the image I portrayed to them was one of a strong, emotionless warrior, destined to rule this wealthy region. Arrogant? Maybe. Cold and insensitive? That was best; that way no one could tell what I was thinking or feeling.
“I have missed everyone here in Darrenberg as well.”
There. Vague. No emotions, no expressions.
Just before I turned away and continued on toward the castle, I saw the look on Scarlett’s face. In an instant, every ounce of warmth, hope, and anticipation was sucked from her eyes. Her expression fell, and her confidence faded.
I was familiar with this forlorn expression of my sister’s. I was the cause of this expression. Always letting her down. Never measuring up to what she deserved. Not good enough.
And I never would be.
I trained and recruited men so I could keep her safe. Physically, I could protect her from any enemy force. But did that even matter when I was constantly scarring her emotionally? I couldn’t take care of her emotions, her feelings, her heart. After years of forcing myself to silence any emotion inside me other than anger, it was foreign to feel things like love and gentleness.
So yes, I could protect my sister, but I couldn’t take care of her. Maybe Jack could, but I was incapable and unqualified.
And I hated myself for it.
