The Enemy Across The River—Chapter Five

Concluding this standalone fantasy short story

Fendry

Moonlight on the water, a strewing of pearls. She found Sam at the front—the bow—leaning on the rail. He turned at her approach, smiled. Between moonlight and lamps, his expression was clear.

She leaned too, alongside him. "Sam…"

"Madam?" he said, deadpan, before grinning wickedly.

"That better be the first and last time you call me that."

"As ye wish, m'lady." She scowled furiously. "Ye had something ye wished to ask?"

"Somethin' I need to ask…" He cocked an eyebrow. Finally she found the words. "What did he mean about… about 'men-entire'?"

Unreadable expressions flickered across Sam's face. "Fendry… had ye not realised?"

"Realised what?"

"Many Riders are cut-men. Ye know what that means?"

"Explain, please."

"Hmm… In terms ye'll find familiar… if we were horses, we would be geldings." He watched her closely. "Ye did not know… yet I'm sure we mentioned 'cut' more than once."

"Happen you did. Happen I heard but didn't understand." Didn't want to understand, likely. "I should've asked, but there was always somethin' else."

"Aye." He essayed a laugh. "There's been much to think about, has there not?"

"Sam…" she said. "Why?"

He braced himself to her gaze. "It's believed that cutmen gain less weight than entires."

"You say 'believed'. Is it true?"

He shrugged. "Hard to be certain. It seems cutmen do…last a little longer, retire a little later, than entires. But then… some say entires are bolder fighters—or more reckless… We have many such discussions, often impassioned ones." He laughed. "There'll be many more, I foretell, about the wisdom—or folly—of bringing women into the Flight."

Doubtless that was true, and she would have to face it, but it was hardly her prime concern just now. "Sam… when…?"

"When was I cut? I was twelve."

She considered that. "And you were willing?"

"Willing and eager, if it meant I could fly."

Fendry thought she could understand that. She too might sacrifice much for the chance to take to the air.

But… "There must be feelings you've never…"

He shrugged. "Doubtless. But it's hard to miss what ye've never had."

Fendry wondered; had she discerned some difference in him all along? She had always felt easy with him. Perhaps that was all it had ever been, the rest mere imagining.

"I did think…" She balked, then opted for frankness. "I did think… I imagined… when you suggested I could come to the City, try to be a flier… that perhaps… that you wanted to be with me."

His eyes turned dark, wounded, hard to face. "Oh, Fendry…" he said at last. "They cut my balls, not my heart." She could not answer. After a moment he shook his head. "Aye, there may be some feelings I've never experienced. But there are many more that I feel just as strongly as any other man—or woman. Do ye think that a cut-man cannot care for someone?"

She stared at him, wretchedly shamed, lost for words. Sam too said nothing, but must have seen something in her face. He moved his hand on the rail. A paler hand over a darker, both silvered with moonlight.

A long silence; beneath it the rippling of water against the bows of the boat. Finally he drew a slow breath. "A few days ago, I imagined myself moments from death—mine and Aumersa's. Two more lost to the Flight, another small step toward defeat."

"And now?"

"And now?" A soft sound; Fendry realised he was chuckling. "Now, I have absolutely no notion what the future may hold."