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thephoenixandthecrocodile · 1 year

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Short Story: The Martyr and the Widow

Synopsis: Marcus, also known as Heva's Bane, is the most feared and wanted rebel in the Killbraugha. He is literally fearless except when it comes to professing his love for his best friend's and second in command's sister: Caroline. With his feelings growing harder and harder to hide each passing day, Marcus desperately desires to tell her how he feels, but how can he when she is still grieving her murdered husband?

This is a short story featuring rebel leader Marcus Galloway (he/him), his second-in-command Kerry McNair (they/he), and Kerry's sister, Caroline McDermott (she/her). They are three sides characters from the book I'm currently querying: For the Next Killer Who Dies (the one about queer anthro crocodiles giving the middle finger to colonial asshats).

The Martyr and the Widow

Mars 21st 1825 – McDermott’s Cottage, Marston County, Killbraugha

Marcus knew this was a mistake but said nothing as Kerry led him down the winding road to Caroline’s cottage, the lush green hills of the Killbraugha offering an eternal peace and quiet found nowhere else. Even now, when Hevian forces flooded the land and the Ilkhatal rose up in righteous rebellion following Marcus’ and Kerry’s every command-even the foolish ones and there had been many. So many painful lessons learned, so many good Ilkhatal lost. A burden God gave to them for reasons unknown. A burden given or a burden taken? Were he and Kerry destined to this lonely, bloody life or was there another way, hidden from them by their pride and Kerry’s lack of faith? What did that matter on the road to lovely Caroline? Why bring that doom and gloom to her door, one who had already lost so much and would only lose more?

It was rare to see Caroline, the war making it unsafe to be with the ones they loved, so when Kerry asked Marcus if he wanted to tag along, how could he refuse? Only God knew if Kerry would see her again before the end. Now, however, it was clear that Marcus had been a fool, placing his own desires before the needs of his friends and the cause. He had plenty of chances on their journey to her cottage to turn back and return to his duties as a guerilla leader and bane of the colonial Hevians, but he said nothing, allowing himself to be led to his doom.

Caroline, oh perfect Caroline. Marcus would die happy if he could see her one last time and yet it would be the sight of her that killed him. Caroline, who was too pristine for any mortal of this world, including her late husband who Marcus led to his death. Not purposely, no, his feelings for Caroline made him mad, but did not make him a dishonorable traitor. No, Caroline’s husband met his fate the same way as many of Marcus’ other soldiers: a hate filled Hevian and a well-aimed bullet. The same way Kerry and Marcus would meet their fates, leaving Caroline alone with her grief and three young sons. Unfair, but that was the Hevian’s nature. Destroy everything beautiful and gentle in their unending quest for conquest and bloodstained wealth.

They stepped down a steep slope, Marcus’ already tight suit tightening further as he tried to keep his balance. It was safer to approach the cottage from the backroads then down the gentle, sloping main road, but it was also more difficult. Kerry cursed every time they got dirt on their usually pristine sack suit, the Ilkhatal taking great pains to maintain their appearance despite hating the flirtatious attention it attracted. “I do it for myself not them,” they said when Marcus asked them why they bothered if they wanted people to leave them alone. Marcus knew Kerry was a handsome Ilkhatal despite never finding anyone personally attractive, well, until Caroline anyway. Beautiful Caroline. For so long Marcus thought he was the Kerry type of asexual: no desire for anyone ever. Then he met Caroline and felt a desire never felt before, discovering that being ace was far more nuanced and beautiful than he originally assumed.

Not that he shared his thoughts with his prickly friend, half of their bad temper originally from the fact that Kerry stopped growing once they hit 5’4 (unlike Marcus who felt like he never stopped growing). If Kerry had been short and stout maybe they wouldn’t have felt the need to cut everyone down to size, but, no, poor Kerry never outgrew their lanky, scarecrow phase. Their body so thin it suggested they didn’t need to eat to survive. Their thin and sharp snout added a hint of standoffishness, but their glorious and meticulously groomed horns that curved in before flaring out added to everyone’s confusion. So many Killers would gladly trade in their ears and all their teeth for Kerry’s exquisite horns.

And so, the desperate and the arrogant tried their luck only to bleed from Kerry’s acerbic tongue and if they persisted Marcus would intervene, often times his reputation and his Minotaur like frame enough to scare them away. There were always those few though, those stupid few…Kerry, despite being able to fend for themselves, always came out of those fights worse for wear than Marcus, griping that they didn’t need help, but a sheepish smile betraying their gratitude. Occasionally Marcus would receive a thank you later in the night, but most of the time it was understand instead of said.

While Marcus’ size and strength benefitted him when it came to terrifying Ilkhatal and Hevians alike and attracting people whenever a leader was needed, it was a nuisance in every other aspect of his life. On the battlefield, he was at home, his presence often enough to turn the tide, but outside the battlefield, he was a misfit, unwanted and unwelcomed. Outside he felt he could breathe and move freely, but in establishments and other people’s homes he felt like a Minotaur surrounded by glassware. One wrong move and he would shatter everything. All of his clothes had to be custom tailored, and every normal sized utensil felt like it was made for children when he held it. Whereas Kerry purposely made a statement with their appearance but wanted to be ignored, Marcus purposely ignored his appearance despite wanting to belong.

Marcus’ razor-sharp teeth were chipped and one or two were missing. The scales that ran down his wide and flat snout were broken, missing, or dulled by dirt from the battlefield. He only took care of his bull-like horns because it terrified the Hevians, inspiring more than a few horror stories they published in their journals and newspapers. The horror stories that shouldn’t have inspired as much pride as they did.

They reached the bottom of the slope and walked around the mossy stone cottage built to withstand the ravishes of time. Faint smoke issued from its short chimney, the warm spices of a stew brushing across their nostrils. Frantic motion crossed the few windows as they approached the front door and two young boys in overalls burst out, squealing, “Uncle ‘Erry!”

The boys latched onto Kerry’s legs, nearly knocking them over.

Cathal, the oldest of the boys came halfway up Kerry’s waist, surely worrying Kerry who was exhausted of constantly being the shortest Ilkhatal in the room. Cathal’s long and narrow snout was too big for his head, and he looked like he was going to fall forward every time he took a step. That didn’t prevent him from swaggering with pride, showing off his first grown up teeth jutting from his lips, adding to his lopsided appearance.

Harry, the youngest of the two, came up to Kerry’s hips and was already as lanky and coordinated as a weathered scarecrow. His white fluffy ears were long enough to be used as wings and the thinner patches of fur revealed that he had taken to the habit of tying his ears back out of embarrassment. Wide yellow eyes took up most of the boys’ faces adding to the comical phase of early childhood every Ilkhatal went through growing up. Their horns were mere knobs on top of their heads (although as Kerry shepherded them inside, Marcus noticed Cathal’s horns were worn suggesting the impatient boy tried to file in the sharpness associated with adult Ilkhatal) and their scales were still soft and leathery.

“Here are my little monsters,” said Kerry, waddling into the stone cottage, Marcus awkwardly hovering behind him, just outside the front door, “Where’s your mother?”

“Putting Elliot te sleep,” Cathal false whispered, “So we have te be quiet.”

This was wrong. There was no place for him here. Fool, what a fool. Marcus half turned around to walk away when he heard Caroline’s throaty voice.

“Ah, Kerry, good te see yeh. Where’s Marcus?”

He swallowed, praying his heart would stop pounding against his chest, and adjusted his ill-fitting suit as she approached him.

“Marcus, what are you doing out there? Come in! I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Caroline was perfect in every way, a sign of God’s very existence, for who else could create a being like her? Tall and severe like the Kanas Mountains that surrounded Killbraugha. The roughness of the countryside and being married to a rebel had worn away all superficial beauty, but left behind a true and tested soul more beautiful than the most precious jewel in all of Telamacre. She shared Kerry’s thin and sharp snout, and (smaller) twirling horns. Her ears, however, were smaller and covered in less fur. Her high collared, grey and blue dress was stained and mended multiple times and her rough hands bore the scares of motherhood and poverty.

“Ah, yes, uh thank yeh,” he nodded hesitantly as he walked into the small cottage, his enormous size making it feel more cramp than it actually was.

His dark eyes instinctively swept the room, an exit plan forming in the back of his mind. The cottage consisted of one room, the only exit the front door and three small windows. Blankets lined around the roaring fire, the wooden crib resting before the warm flames.

“Forgive the mess,” Caroline whispered, resting a hand on his arm, “I tried te clean before you two arrived, but Elliot wouldn’t fall asleep and these two were fighting.”

“Fighting?” asked Kerry, sitting down on a splintering chair, the two boys jumping on his lap, “Now, what did I tell you two about fighting?”

“Make sure yeh can win before yeh start,” recited the oldest boy.

“Thank you, Kerry,” Caroline's sarcasm drawing a mischevious smile from her sibling, “Come, Marcus, sit down.”

He gulped as her hand glided off his arm and he bumped into a bushel of herbs hanging from the ceiling. He took a step back with ‘oh’.

“Sorry,” smiled Caroline, delicately pushing the herbs out of his way.

That sweet, warm smile inspired one of his own and he almost leaned forward before catching himself with an embarrassed cough and sat on Kerry’s right. The children stared at him curiously. He had only been here a few times before and they had been so young, no one could expect them to remember him. They slowly glanced back at their uncle and Harry grabbed his ear.

“Woah there! I need that.”

“Harry,” Caroline quietly scolded as she pulled the kettle from the fire, “We don’t grab ears!”

“You’ve got a strong grip,” said Kerry, rubbing his ear.

“They’re really fuzzy,” grinned the young Ilkhatal.

“Yes, Kerry inherited Grandpa Ross’s ridiculously hairy ears,” smirked Caroline, pouring three glasses of tea.

“They’re not ridiculously hairy,” frowned Kerry.

Caroline shot him a knowing glance. Harry stood up in his lap, stepping on Cathal’s hand in the process, and nuzzled his snout against Kerry’s furry ear, giggling.

“Ow! Harry!” snapped the oldest Ilkhatal, hopping off Kerry’s lap.

Quiet!” Caroline hushed as the baby made a noise.

The room froze as Caroline held her hand out, watching the crib like a hawk, but thankfully the baby settled back to sleep. Caroline sighed with relief before rounding on her children, “Behave you two or you can go outside and do your chores.”

The sons promised to be good as Caroline passed out the tea.

“How do you take yours, Marcus?”

“It’s fine like this. Thank yeh.”

“I can get you cream. I have a little left over.”

“Oh, no, please. It’s perfect,” Marcus stumbled over his own words and took a sip to settle his nerves.

He looked down in surprise as Cathal pulled on his sleeve.

“Cathal! Be polite,” snapped Caroline, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. How may I help yeh?” Marcus asked, ignoring Kerry’s amused smile.

“I don’t know yeh and Ma says I should introduce myself te strangers. I’m Cathal,” said the young boy, sticking out his hand.

Marcus wrapped two fingers around his small hand and shook it.

“Marcus Galloway.”

The small Ilkhatal nodded his head and looked him over.

“You’re big.”

“Cathal!”

“Yes, I am.”

“My Da was small. I don’t wante be small.”

“I want Uncle ‘Erry’s ears,” grinned Harry, curling up against Kerry’s chest.

“There is nothing wrong with my ears!”

“They could be used as carpet, Kerry,” said Caroline.

“Wow!” said Cathal, his eyes widening as he placed his hand inside Marcus’ large hand, “Ma, look!”

“Shh, Cathal. And well, he’s a grown Ilkhatal. You’re still young.”

“But look,” he moaned.

Marcus held out his arm as Cathal mournfully examined his muscles, Caroline huffing as she struggled to contain her embarrassment before jumping out of her chair, reprehending herself under her breathe.

“What’s wrong, Cara?” asked Kerry.

“I forgot Farmer Knealey promised me a bit of beef for our stew. I’m sorry, but Kerry, Marcus, could you look after the children for a half hour? He lives just down the road.”

“Woah!” said Cathal, hanging from Marcus’ arm as he rose from his chair.

“Yeh can’t go alone!” Marcus interjected before anyone else could, “It’s not safe.”

Another sound from the crib and Kerry throw him a crossed glare.

“She’ll be safer without us than with us,” he hissed, “We’re the wanted ones, remember?”

“I’ve been alone for a long time now, Marcus,” said Caroline, her warmth subsumed by a steely determination, “I assure you I can take care of myself.”

“Please, Mrs. McDermott,” he whispered, immediately wondering why he went with such a formal address, “Let me accompany yeh. No one will recognize me. I assure yeh. I am a master at disguises.”

Another sentence that made him want to kick himself, especially as he registered Kerry’s judgmental look. Caroline glanced at her fussing baby before saying, “Very well, Marcus, if you insist.”

One could hardly call this his most successful disguise, a battered and mended cloak draped around his suit and a large harvest hat that barely fit his head, his horns piercing through the straw, ruining it for any future use. Kerry told him it made him more conspicuous but Caroline said nothing and so he followed her out dressed like the fool he was. They walked to Knealey’s farm in silence, Marcus trying hard to swallow normally as his heart pounded in his long ears. He did his best not to spend too much time watching Caroline’s every move, but his eyes naturally gravitated towards her. She no longer wore her black mourning clothes, but the sorrow and lost was still palpable, as if it replaced her bones and blood and she would disappear without it. He was a fool and a sinful Ilkhatal for coveting a widow still trapped in her loss. Her husband died only two years ago. He didn’t even get to meet Elliot before the end. Selfish idiot!

“Thank you for coming with me,” she said, holding a wicker basket containing the small, wrapped piece of meat and random vegetables.

“I could not let yeh travel alone.”

Thick, white clouds crawled across the clear blue sky, softly blanketing the gentle slopes, and shielding them from the burning sun. In the distance stood the towering and jagged Kanas Mountains, their peaks lost in the lazy clouds. Unmoving, intimidating but beautiful, so much like Caroline.

“If it was out of nothing more than your misguided sense of duty, then you insult me,” she snapped with uncharacteristic defiance and anger, “Imagine being arrogant enough te think I need protecting because I am lowly mother and a widow, as if I haven’t survived without yeh or Kerry for months at a time. Or did yeh imagine I’d be grateful that I finally had a strong partner te protect me. That I spend every day terrified for my life and the life of my sons and if only someone would come save us-”

She stopped short and her ears flickered in embarrassment as she held her basket closer to her body and avoided his astonished gaze.

“Mrs-Caroline,” he began, his tongue unable to move without tripping over itself.

Oh, to speak what was in his heart. To embrace her and tell her he loved her and that he came because to be separated from her for even a moment was pure torture. How he wanted to beg please, please love me too.

“I’m sorry I offended yeh,” he settled, avoiding her gaze, “I-It grieves me that I’ve convinced yeh I could ever think so little of yeh. I know what yeh are capable of and I-“

Worship you for it.

“Whatever your reason,” she began, her full on accent disappearing as she regained her composure, “I’m glad you are here. It is nice te have company now and then.”

“Yeh sound like Kerry.”

A rare half smile flirted across her snout.

“I hope they help more than they cause trouble.”

“I would be lost without them. They are the leader I wish I could be.”

He felt her gaze travel over his large form, and he chose to believe it was a gaze of compassion.

“They are fond of you,” she said, “I’ve never heard them praise anyone but you.”

“There isn’t much te praise.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

He raised his brows in unexpected joy, and she added, “Kerry tells me you were once part of the Order of St. Thomas, is that true?”

“Yes,” he replied, wondering why he always had to feel unstable around her.

Why couldn’t he just be honest and risk the shame and rejection?

“I was raised by the monks, but I never took my vows. The Hevians saw te that.”

“And now you’re a rebel," she said and Marcus frowned at the unspoken question.

“When the Hevians burnt down the monastery, they not only took everything from me, but they also took away our god. I had no other choice but te join the IFM. We will only be free te preach the true religion, amongst other things, once they are destroyed.”

“Will God forgive you for that?”

“It is God who placed me on this path. This is His plan for me.”

Her face softened as she glanced his way.

“And what will you do once we are free?”

“I will rebuild the monastery and leave it in proper hands.”

“You will not preach there?”

His frown grew.

“I cannot, in good conscience, preach His Word on such holy ground.”

“Where will you go once the monastery is rebuilt?”

“I don’t know. Wherever God needs me, I suppose.”

They walked around a bend and saw her house, a little less than a mile away, the black smoke crawling across the cloudy sky. He awkwardly scratched the bridge of his nose as Caroline broke off a piece of wheat and played with it.

“Thank you for coming over. I know it is unsafe and you are busy, but I enjoy having you and Kerry around. It is good for the boys.”

“They’re good boys. Rambunctious, but good boys.”

“They’re excited. They love Kerry.”

“They’re good with them.”

“They’re an ideal unty.”

They walked in silence before Caroline threw the piece of wheat away and refused to look at him.

“Do you ever see yourself with a family?”

He choked on his own breath as he stumbled forward, tripping over his large feet. She grabbed his arm and he swallowed, his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, his mind screaming at him to escape before he did something foolish. Her grip warm, even though the cloak and suit, and he wanted to shift deeper into her arms until she held him close, stroking his back and telling him it was ok. He was home. He was hers.

“I’m sorry if it’s a forward question,” she said, her ears lowered and her own snout twisted and turned with embarrassment, but there was a wild and determine look in her eyes, as if she had been wrestling with a great beast and this was to be the end of them both.

“It’s a surprising question,” he said, swallowing his fear and desire.

She looked down as she slipped her hand from his arm.

“An Ilkhatal who sacrifices everything for his god and country, should not die alone.”

“Such a Ilkhatal is not made for a family.”

She stared at him, her cold, grey eyes flashing.

“Why?”

It was an accusation as much as a question.

“I already married one rebel and we had three boys. Why would it be different for u-”

She caught herself and looked away, her face twisted in embarrassment.

“Caroline!”

He didn’t know how or why, but he held her close by her arms, one of her hands resting on his broad chest, the other holding the basket between them.

“I’m sorry,” he said, taking a step back, his mind spinning, his world no longer making sense.

She placed the basket on the ground and grabbed his large, callused hands.

“Marcus?”

By God, she was beautiful, the only pure being on Telamacre. So much like the Kanas Mountains, a towering figure of strength and untouchable virtue. No, not a being of stone, but a living, breathing woman who could shatter God himself with a glance, but who also needed trust and love. Someone to share the burden of this world with. He was the wrong Ilkhatal. He had only known the demanding righteousness of God and the brutality of war.

“Caroline, if things were different, if I was different. I would…”

She took off the harvest hat and let it fall to the ground as she gently rested a hand on his scaly cheek.

“I don’t think you are destined te fade away after this war nor are you meant te carry that burden alone. Our God is not that cruel.”

“It is our own foolishness that invites cruelty inte this world,” said Marcus, avoiding her gaze.

“Then don’t be a fool who thinks he can decide for the both of us,” she said, a harshness entering her voice, “I know what you are, who you are, and what that means for us. I’m no fool, but I love you.”

His eyes widened as he met her earnest gaze.

“And that means embracing you for who you are, the good and the bad.”

He wrapped his hands around her own and brought them to his chest.

“Long have I loved yeh, Caroline,” he said gasped, her own strength and courage providing him the push he needed, “but I cannot give myself te yeh, just yet. Not the way a husband should. The war…it requires too much of me.”

“Then we marry when we are free,” she said, closing her eyes and nuzzling her snout against his, almost as if she was searching for forgiveness or acceptance.

He tightened his hold on her hands and nervously returned her affection.

“But know this, Marcus. From this moment forth, I am yours and you are mine. Whatever you can give me, I will accept. You’ve lived a dark and lonely life for so long, Marcus, but no more.”

He rested a scaly and clawed hand on her cheek and closed his eyes as he nuzzled his snout against hers. His arm snaked around her waist as she grabbed at his suit, their snouts rubbing and nipping at each other’s scales. How long had he wanted to hold her like this? To speak of his love and have it returned. To submerge himself in her warmth and love and know that he had a home when this war was over. That he had a purpose beyond the battlefield.

He slowly opened his eyes and took a step back, his arm still around her waist, and their snouts barely touching. She looked at him expectantly, her dignity and discipline slowly returning.

“I am yours and your are mine,” he whispered and they both smiled and he knew God heard their vows and accepted them.

She pecked his cheek before breaking away and picking up her basket, glancing at him shyly as she offered her hand. He took it and kissed it before they walked towards the cottage, hand in loving hand.

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