C. Redwine - Outcast

“I told Dad he was done,” I say as I meet Willow’s gaze. “I’m done too.”

Her grip becomes almost painful. “What do you mean you’re done?”

“No more weapons. No more fighting. I’m not going to be a monster like him.”

“You’re not a monster,” she says.

I don’t reply. The elders debate for hours. Someone brings Jared a blanket, and he wraps it around Willow. She tries to get me to talk to her, but I have nothing left to say. I’m hollow, my rage spilled out like my father’s blood. Jared sits quietly beside us, occasionally checking Willow’s wound. I’m strangely grateful that he still looks at me with clear-eyed calm instead of the terror imprinted on the face of every villager we see.

Finally, the elders leave the council house and approach. Elder Toilspun looks at me, his weathered face solemn.

“Several village laws have been broken tonight,” he says. “The most important, of course, being the law against killing a fellow villager.”

“He was defending himself!” Willow struggles to sit up, but hisses in a gasp of pain, shoving Jared’s hands away when he tries to help her. “Our father committed the crime. Hold him responsible.”

“We do, of course.” Elder Toilspun glances behind him at the group of elders, and then says softly, “But there’s also the issue of the village’s safety. After seeing what Samuel Runningbrook was capable of when he was angry, and then seeing that Quinn is capable of the same—”

“Want to see what I’m capable of?” Willow scans the walkway. “Somebody give me a weapon.”

“I’m afraid the elders have made our decision, and it is final.” He takes a deep breath and straightens his spine. “Quinn Runningbrook, you are hereby cast out of our village.”

Willow swears viciously and latches onto Jared’s shoulder so she can haul herself to her feet. She sways precariously, and sweat beads across her forehead, but no one knows how to take pain and keep going better than my sister. “If you cast him out, then you’d better do the same to me, or I will make you wish you had.”

“What about your mother?” Elder Toilspun asks.

“I go with Quinn.” Willow presses a hand to her wound.

Jared wraps an arm around her back and keeps her steady.

Elder Toilspun nods once. “Very well. Quinn and Willow Runningbrook, you are cast out. Jared Adams, as the council has found no proof of your guilt and wants no involvement in Rowansmark’s affairs, you are free to leave.”

Whispers blanket the air as the three of us slowly move down the walkway. Willow retrieves her bow and arrows from where Dad discarded them, and we take a moment to gather a few meager possessions from our home. Once Mom heard that Dad was dead, she disappeared into her room with her jar of corn liquor, not even coming out when I told her we were leaving for good. It doesn’t take long to pack up the few things we can call our own and rejoin Jared on the walkway that leads into the forest. I can feel the villagers watching us as we leave, but their gazes don’t touch me. Their words don’t matter.

I killed my father, and now I am both free of him and forever chained to the horror of what I’ve done. Somehow, I’m going to have to find a way to live with that. Jared puts Willow over his shoulder and carefully climbs down the northeast ladder. Willow smiles at me, and I read the forgiveness on her face.

Forgiveness I hope I can offer myself one day.

When the shock wears off. When the marks of violence fade. When I’m ready to look at this clearly and figure out what part is mine to bear and what part needs to be left on my father’s grave.

As I walk into the Wasteland with the lights of the village at my back, I promise myself that I will find redemption. I will find peace. I will become the man I choose to be.