Home > Son and Throne(45)

Son and Throne(45)
Author: Diana Knightley

“Trouty, Trouty, big and pouty, I’m gonna eat you, hungry hungry Katie goin’ to...”

That’s how I was alone, like that, silly rapping down by the river while I imagined Magnus was writing poetry while he chased rabbits. Though who was I kidding? Magnus was still, quiet, patient. He would just sit and wait for the rabbits to hop into his lap.

I loved that about him, his mountain-ness, his fucking depth. While my depths were shallow as the stream that I was standing beside, my emotions bubbling to the surface — he was calm as the mountain.

But we were both carrying sadness, and I could see his behind his eyes, a reflection of my own. We both missed our children. Together we both carried the loss of everything: our family, civilization, convenience, and he carried the loss of his throne, of being king, of being the one who handled things and did it well.

Right now we had each other.

It was enough.

I caught that third motherfucking trout. Because I was queen of the stream, the best of the fishers. I was a lean and mean fishing machine — the greatest of wishers.

He called me on the radio. “I hae a surprise for ye...”

“Is it—?“

“Nae, m’apologies, but I found buachiar and some greens and berries.”

“Awesome, I love mushrooms. I have breac.” I lifted the string of trout to my shoulder and carried it home.

I called it a feast, but it was only to be nice. We cooked the fish, and ate it with our fingers. The berries were too tart, but it was a nice change of pace. The green leaves were peppery tasting. It was a relief to have something different on my tastebuds.

Our routine was this: Eat leftovers first thing. Then hunt and fish, eat lunch, wrap up the last of the fish in a cloth, depart camp, travel for about three hours — today it had been mostly downhill, not as cold, and gorgeous, a trail through the woods, thick and lush, like a prehistoric forest.

Magnus had a way of knowing the direction and following the land. He led us to another stream, and then we set up camp, just as it was getting dark.

We climbed into the tent and ate the last of the fish. The transmitter on, the tent zipped up, inside our warm sleeping bags, I asked, licking fish juice from my finger tips, “What would you eat if you could have anything?”

Magnus thought for a moment. “Dost ye remember the dish Chef Zach made the night we watched the movie with the fightin’?”

I tried to imagine what movie it was... “Superhero fighting or space fighting?”

“There was the large green man, and the—”

“The Avengers, that’s one of my favorites.”

“Mine as well, though I hae only seen three movies, I daena think it matters which one I put first.”

I laughed. “True, what did we eat that night?”

“Twas a meat pie with a flaky crust.”

“Oh my, I remember that meal. That was delicious. Do you remember the carrots? Sweet, oily, and hunks of salt broiled onto them, like every flavor. Yeah, that was a memorable meal.”

“There was a salad as well. Made of dark green leaves with tiny slices of orange.”

“You joked it was a scurvy salad — man, now I’m getting really hungry.”

“We should think of somethin’ else. Like your breast, ever so close tae my hand.”

I shifted my top over a half inch so that his hand was on my breast. “Imagine that, so it is.” I giggled. “Funny how your wish is my command.”

“Ye are a verra obligin’ wife, and ye daena complain too much on the state of yer castle.”

“I don’t think it needs to be said, but your castle, Master Magnus, kind of sucks.” He squeezed my breast playfully.

I added, “But your cannon is nice.” I curled up on him. “We going to play around again?”

“Tis dark, the night is long, we daena hae anythin’ proper tae eat in days. Tis all we can do...”

I laughed, “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you sound like sex is a runner up in things to do. “

“Tis the first time I hae been this hungry around ye.”

“How many days before we get to Edinburgh?”

“I think three more nights.”

I sighed and joked, “Fine, sex it is.”

 

 

Forty-nine - Kaitlyn

 

 

It took five days to travel to Edinburgh. We were in lower elevations. It was a bit warmer, but also more wet. And if we got wet we got chilled through. Our last night was just outside of town. Hunger pulled at our stomachs, making us irritable and impatient, but it was too far to travel this last night, we had to sleep and arrive in the morn. We kept the horses close by, and we were quieter. Highwaymen might be about so Magnus was guarded. We kept our weapons close. We had passed two groups of people on our route, the roads were busier and more dangerous.

At dawn we packed up our tent in lovely weather and began the beautiful ride into Edinburgh.

 

 

The town was amazing after living in a tent for so long. How long had it been? Weeks and weeks. Ugh, I needed a shower. The main thoroughfare into Edinburgh was lined with house after house, that cool old fashioned kind with overhanging second floors darkening the road. The roofs were thatched, the details were timber, the walls were white-washed, and behind the houses gardens stretched away from the back doors, small urban farms, in a way. The road was small, crowded, and wound up a hill and settled imposingly at the top, a castle, a large tower that shadowed the surrounding town.

There were people everywhere, pulling carts and pushing loads, carrying baskets, everybody overburdened.

I tried not to stare open-mouthed, but there was so much to see. Weird old-timey work happening: weaving and thatching, women carrying bundles, hordes of unwashed children carrying on and rushing by, a dude with a slop bucket, slopping. A literal chicken slaughter with a loud squawk. A foul-smelling chamberpot poured from a top floor, splashing onto the road, with the call, “Gardyloo!”

Lots of horses and the smells of excrement and piss, plus barnyard, hard barnyard. Chickens clucked and raced around our horse’s hooves as they stepped and I tried to telepathically warn them, “That old man wants to kill you, don’t trust him.” We passed a pig sty, with a big ass pig covered in flies. Then a couple of small, thin dairy cows, being led down the path. The whole scene was a medieval shit-show and it was hard going to stay hungry. But ravenous was I.

I knew to keep my head down, Magnus held my reins and his own. He was on guard, cautious, watching everything, until finally he found someone respectable and called, “Hallo!”

They spoke at length. While we had been camping, he had been teaching me more words. But they were the words of forest and loch, not city and inn. I would need a lot more lessons to understand. Magnus and the man each pointed and discussed something farther along the road.

After they were finished, Magnus said, “He told me of an inn near Grassmarket and another farther along, but the first is near the market and that is enough for me.”

“Food?”

“Aye, food.”

We continued on, pushing through the crowds, coming to a retchworthy and stenchariffic slaughterhouse. Magnus said, “Turn yer eyes.”

I watched Hurley’s mane and went to my happy place, until we came to the very crowded fresh market, and then further along we passed under an archway into a courtyard, surrounded by a row of two story, half-timber buildings that were small and almost like hotel rooms.

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