The Sword Trick

Evangeline had such a great time traveling with Roderick, she was almost sad to see the twin peaks of Eldrica before them. When she was with him, no brigands dared to raise their ugly heads and those that did had them quickly removed. Ogres were no problem. Giants left town when they heard they were coming. Dragons offered payments just to be left alone.

  Roderick even taught her how to use her sword. She wanted to use their father’s, but he told her it was a Great Sword, one made for special occasions, like when a man wanted to feel pretty. It was not for fighting. She turned out to be very good with her own weapon though, and the best part was she no longer felt as if it were just a useless ornament at her side. When she put her hand on her hilt it was more than just a show of bravado.

  She had even been in two fights. Roderick had to dispatch the first guy for her. The second one she killed in self-defense then cried and threw up while her brother held her. He was so great. He always gave her the bed when there was one, and when there wasn’t they slept with all three swords between them just to be safe. And the best of all, he had been sober for two months.

  The first month was bad for both of them. He got angry a lot and had horrific nightmares. But no matter how late or early, he woke up screaming, Evangeline would listen to him, make him talk it out. His problem was that he had no one to speak to after his mother had died. He bottled everything up inside. He said it was because men weren’t supposed to cry or complain. They were supposed to be stalwart, unflinching, and hard as stone.

  “You must think me so unmanly,” he told her once while wiping his eyes.

  “What was so manly about being slumped over a moldy table or laying with a woman whose name you don’t know? Or for that matter, leaving children fatherless while you gallivant around the countryside like our father did?” Evangeline had asked him. “A manly man is loyal and has a good heart. As far as I know you are the manliest man I ever met, Roderick of Sobraleen.”

  She made him smile. She told him things she had not even told her mother. She explained to Roderick how it felt not to have a father like other girls. There was no one to tell her how pretty she was, or make her feel special, or boost her confidence. She had said yes to the first buck-toothed Cobbler’s boy who asked for her hand in marriage because she was afraid she’d never get any other offers. She didn’t even like the boy. Evangeline made Roderick swear he would marry a nice girl and stay faithful to her and their kids, or else she’d get him good. He made her promise not to wed until she was madly head over heels and even then that she would let him have the final say.

  As Evangeline took the scenic route home, she felt very different from the angry young woman who had left all those long months ago. She glanced up at her handsome brother. She felt... she felt so much like she was being watched by thirty or so gossips sitting by a river doing their laundry. The women had all stopped washing to stare at her and Roderick as they walked past on the road. Evangeline knew them all. They were the worst and quickest tale-bearers in Eldrica. They could ruin a reputation in a second.

  Evangeline stood frozen in horror. It was bad enough for her to run away on the day of her wedding but to return in the company of a man! Oh god, what to do? What to do? She’d have to kill them. That was the only answer, the only way to stop them. She pulled her sword. No, no, no. She couldn’t. It was wrong. She had to think of another way and fast.

  “What’s wrong?” Roderick asked, seeing her brandishing her sword. He looked around as if he were expecting seven black knights to pop out at them from the woods. Instead, he saw the little old ladies. He waved to them.

  Shocked, Evageline grabbed his hand and started shouting, projecting her voice as loudly as she could as they walked past the group of watching women, “Thank you, my long lost brother, Roderick, for escorting me on my journey to visit our father’s grave. It was so good of you to guard my honor with our father’s blade the whole time and assure that I remain an untouched flower.”

  “Uhhh...sure, no problem,” Roderick shrugged.

  Evangeline grabbed his arm then hurried him along through back alleys to her mother’s house.

  “Nice place,” he croaked as she pushed him inside and slammed the door. Evangeline peered through the window. No angry mob of cobblers yet.

  “Mum! Mum?” she called.

  Her mother, still pepper-haired and round, rushed out of the kitchen, dropped a dish cloth on the floor, and pulled her into her fat arms. “Oh, Evangeline, I was so worried!”

  “I missed you too, Mum! I’m so glad I’m home.” And she really was.

  “Where have you been? I found your letter, but I couldn’t believe it. Did you see it? The grave? Is he really dead?”

  Evangeline nodded, and her mother lowered her eyes.

  “But look here, Mum, this is Roderick, his son!”

  Evangeline’s mother turned to smile sadly at him.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” she said.

  “I’m very glad to make your acquaintance, Mi’lady.”

  Evangeline’s mother made Roderick feel at home. She waited on him hand and foot, seating him beside Evangeline on a bench. She fed him tea and cake, then lunch. And only when she was sure he was properly stuffed did she take a seat across from them.

  “I wanted to thank you, again, Mi’lady,” Roderick said, standing and bowing to her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had a real home-cooked meal. I didn’t know how much I missed them.”

  “Call me Bronwyn,” she said, bidding him to take his seat again. “Now, tell me, how did the two of you meet?”

  Evangeline and Roderick looked at one another and began laughing, then they told their tale. Roderick was a gentleman as usual, while Evangeline interjected, interrupted and over-talked him the whole time. Then she ended by taking the sword from its hiding place in the bed roll and showing it off. Her mother shook her head in disbelief at the whole thing.

  “You certainly are a lot like your father,” Bronwyn said.

  “Isn’t he just the spitting image?” Evangeline exclaimed.

  Her mother smiled then then frowned, moving her head from side to side as she studied Roderick’s face. “He looks a bit like him.”

  “A bit?” Evangeline squealed. This was going so well. She had saved her brother, gotten home in one piece and her mother was adopting Roderick just as she planned. “He’s the water-reflection of Garron Longshanks.”

  She dug the picture from her pocket and showed it to her mother.

  “Who’s Garron Longshanks?” Roderick asked.

  “That isn’t your father,” Bronwyn told her.

  “What?” Evangeline spat.

  The others reiterated what they had said then looked at each other. The sword and the drawing slipped from Evangeline’s hands. The green hilt shattered like glass on the floor. Stunned, they sat in silence for some time. Then suddenly everything became so clear.

  “That filthy old badger,” Evangeline said, thinking immediately of the monk. He’d tricked her. He wasn’t dead. It was all a trick. Roderick wasn’t even her brother. He was.... She turned slowly toward him, feeling his gaze. Their eyes met. Evangeline leapt across the bench and pressed her mouth to his even as he ran his hands over her.

  “Oh, thank God. Thank God,” she cried.

  She didn’t even notice when her mother got up quietly and left the room.