TITON

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The pungent scent of onion greens wafted through their home. Goat meat boiled with potatoes and the stalks of onions was Elise’s favorite dish, and so he prepared it for her, hoping his offering might lessen the blow of what he must let her know.

Unbeknownst to his clansmen, Titon had become somewhat of a master of the pot since his wife had fallen ill. It had been a challenge of his to try to recreate his and her favorite dishes, the ones she used to make for him when he returned from hunting or raiding. He had hoped that the smells of those dishes might bring her back to sound mind, but to no avail. Nevertheless, as in all things, once he put himself to task he never tired of his effort.

He ladled some stew into a large bowl and sat by his wife as she gazed out her window. He burned his lips and tongue on the hot broth, just as he always had when returning from conquest, too ravenous to wait for it to cool, savoring the familiarity of it. Fire, it seemed to him, burned much more gently than did the cold.

When it had cooled to a point where it was safe for his wife, he began to slowly tip spoonfuls into her mouth. After a while, her body would involuntarily swallow, an action he had seen enough by now to believe it was not painful.

“Good, is it not?” he asked, half expecting an answer given the perfection to which he had prepared it.

“My little Storm Wolf, I have good news. Our boys now lead a raid south to slaughter countless Dogmen and bring back food to last through the winter. Others may doubt them, the old and the timid who have failed before them, but I know they will succeed. I see some part of us in each of them, all the better parts or so it would seem.” The chair Titon sat on groaned in protest as he shifted his weight.

“I need to tell you something else that I hope you will understand. I am leaving for a while. How long, I cannot say. I have no way of knowing how far I will need to travel. Those lands to the south where the rivers flow like oceans and the goats grow fat as pigs, they are said to have healers—healers with potions, elixirs, and magic able to cure any ailment.” Titon fed her another spoonful and waited for her to swallow. “I do not believe in magic, the stuff of children’s tales, but I believe I can convince any such healer to inform me of his methods and ingredients. I can be quite persuasive.”

Titon had planned this trip for some time and had given it plenty of thought—certainly enough to realize the obstacles he’d face would be many. Southern men were not like to take well to a giant of a man such that he was, but that only concerned him to the extent that it would make finding her remedy more difficult. Though his people and those to the south looked little different, his size and dialect would reveal him for what he was, a Northman, and his scars would betray him as a Galatai warrior.

“Do not fear for your care. I have arranged for some of Ulfor’s girls to tend to your needs and comforts. Just do not be too mean to the poor girls. You can have quite the temper,” he gibed.

More troubling than the dangers of the journey itself was how Titon imagined his sons might react upon returning to find him gone. He did not like the thought of leaving while they were off, but it was the best way to ensure they would not follow him. Whichever of the two took his place while he was away, Titon had decided that that son would remain as clan leader even upon his return… Should he return.

“I am taking Keethro with me.” Titon answered the question his wife could not ask. He placed the empty bowl on the ground and sat in silence, trying to come to terms with his feelings on the matter.

He is a good man, thought Titon, wishing for that to be the end of his unrest.

He had known Keethro as long as he’d known anyone. Keethro was Titon’s most respected and trusted friend, and the one to whom Titon had turned to keep the clan fed when Titon could no longer lead the raids. But will he agree to come?

Titon had put off the asking due to his concern that he might be refused. Keethro was a cautious man, or at least he’d become one, and a trip farther south than any had attempted, to find an elixir that may not exist, was not like to interest him. I am still his leader, and I will command him if need be.

But the thought of ordering his friend to partake on a potentially futile and deadly quest was an ugly one. Fifteen years ago Keethro would have gone gladly, but things were different now. His harlot is what changed him, thought Titon.

It went without saying that Kilandra had been pressuring Keethro to usurp control of their clan during Titon’s decade of decline. Titon knew—better than even Keethro, perhaps—just how hungry she was for power. How much poison has that woman infected him with? Can I trust a man whose motives may no longer square with my own?

Leaving without Keethro was out of the question. Titon had never truly feared Keethro challenging him for leadership, but in his absence that might change. The idea that Keethro may fight Titon’s sons for the right to lead revolted him. Though it would not be a true betrayal, as these were the ways of their people, it still felt as such—perhaps only because he knew it would be Kilandra’s ambition that caused the needless death of one or both of his sons. Neither would be any match for Keethro, not yet. They lacked his veteran’s maturity. You would take my son’s from me? Because of that succubus?

The snapping of wood brought Titon back into focus. In his hand he held the right arm of his chair, now detached from its base. He looked at his wife guiltily, but she was far from accusing.

Keethro would come. That was simply the end of it. It made no sense to worry over scenarios that would not be. Even so, Titon was not free from misgivings when it came to leaving his sons behind.

To each of his boys, Titon had written a letter, best he could. To Decker he wrote of his pride in the man that he had become. He reminded him that the clans needed a leader who could unite them to conquer the Dogmen, take their lands, and build a defense against the other southern men who were liable to attack in retaliation. Titon was confident Decker would find his way to greatness with or without his further guidance.

His letter to his elder son was of a different nature. Throughout young Titon’s upbringing, Titon had been careful not to show how he favored the boy for fear that it would complicate matters when Decker inevitably seized the right to be the clan’s next leader. And though he’d kept it hidden, Titon was awestruck by his firstborn’s intelligence and wit as well as his prowess with axe and bow. He feared the boy had no idea of this, which was something he aimed to remedy in his letter. Given the likelihood that he might not return from his trip to the South, it was of great consequence.

 

Titon, I see in you the same soul of a Storm Wolf I saw in your mother, that which made me break from our customs and protect her as one of our own. Decker is a good lad and a man other men will follow into battle without question, but you are a far rarer breed. It is true, you are not the son I always wanted, you are one better. Please watch over and protect your brother and mother while I search for her cure. They will need your help and your guidance.

 

The sealed letters lay on the table where the boys were sure to find them when they came to check on their mother. With the reading of my words, they will understand my leaving, Titon resolved.

“Ellie,” Titon said to his wife with stony determination, “my promise to you is this: I will go to the South with Keethro. I will find the remedy to your ailment. You will awaken from your slumber, and we will be together again as a man and woman should.” He looked into her unmoving eyes and half imagined they showed an uncharacteristic wetness. “And I will kill every man, woman, and child that stands in my way.”