Jesse Bullington - The Sad Tale of the Brothers Grossbart

“Knew she was a witch and still let her touch me?” Manfried demanded while they ate looking down at the morning’s ascent.

“Little choice,” Hegel replied.

“Could a had faith I’d get better, put your trust in Mary and not some heretic.”

“Yeah? You was turnin colors and wouldn’t a lasted the night.”

“So you risked my soul to save my flesh, that it?”

“Only one riskin their soul was me, so how’s bout a bit a gratitude, you thankless cunt?” Hegel bit into his half-raw horse meat.

“Look, brother,” Manfried said, adopting a paternal tone. “I ain’t mad at you, I’s just sayin you need to exercise a touch more discretion, particularly in who you’s associatin with. I know your intentions was right, and this time we lucked out as we’s both still drawin breath, but next time-”

“Next time I’ll leave you to the crow’s mercy!” Hegel barked. “You got no concept a what I done for you, and you act like I shit in your beard. Some brother!”

“You got us cursed, Hegel!”

“So? Scared we can’t break it? Won’t be the first time someone wished us death.”

“Yeah, but it’s different comin from a witch. Why’d she heal us in the first place? You know that get-us-later meck don’t wash.”

Hegel grew pale and put his lunch away. “Time we got movin.”

“What was the price?” Manfried lowered his voice. “Wasn’t your soul, was it?”

“Dunno,” Hegel whispered, his voice cracking. “Hope not. Just remember you’d be dead if I didn’t do what I done.” He marched off, Manfried quickly stowing his things and rushing after.

Catching up, Manfried clapped his brother’s shoulder. “I won’t forget. Just gotta be careful now that we got a hex on us. We’ll be cleansed a any taint by our own righteousness.”

“Yeah. Careful.” Hegel had his doubts if anyone shy of the Virgin could clean his sin. He remembered her warmth, and how in his passion he had called her Mary and given his devotion. The knot in his gut tightened every time he thought of it, the only act in his wretched life he actually regretted.

The wind dried their sweat but the chill remained, their teeth chattering whenever they paused to survey the terrain. Hours later they found themselves on a mountainside identical to the last several they had crossed, but Manfried had faith his brother was not leading them in circles. Hegel did not share this certainty, nervously chewing his beard until they crested a pass and he gained proof they were not backtracking-the ridge they traversed fell away sharply into a ravine. On the next mount, directly level with where they stood, snaked a worn road. Hegel shook with happiness, and Manfried showed his improved health by cutting a jig on the scree.

The road stretched on forever but, unlike the first leg of their journey south, the following week on a marked path filled them with expectations of continued good fortune. The road, though poorly maintained, exceeded the one on which they had started their journey in both size and smoothness. They lamented their loss of Horse and cart but tactfully avoided the topic of their dwindling provisions. Even Manfried had to admit that their encounter with the witch and her husband had been a turning point.

“Proves we’s doin right in Her Eyes,” Manfried said on the eighth day. “We keep up with the righteousness, we’ll be sackin them Arab crypt-castles come Easter.”

“You think?” asked Hegel. “How far’s it to Gyptland anyway?”

“Dunno, and don’t care neither. If we’s doin what She wills, we’s gonna get there by the by, and probably be rich fore we even arrive.”

“Suppose so,” Hegel concurred.

“We’d burned that witch like I said, we’d probably found some prime ponies loaded with truffles long the way.”

“Still might.” The idea of succulent mushrooms reminded Hegel they would soon be out of horse meat. Another few days, at best.

“Husband? So you say she told it was a man fore a monster?” Manfried still could not comprehend that their enemy in the wood was anything but a manticore.

“Yeah. Queer tale she told. Mind I drowsed a bit at the slowness, but soon enough got proper strange.”

“Kind a wish I’d heard it.”

“Nah, you don’t. Sad stuff. She used to be a right pretty girl, and honest too, and loved Mary with all’er heart. Kind a woman make a decent wife.”

“Now how you know that?”

“She told me.”

Manfried snorted. “Yeah, go ahead and believe everythin a witch tells you.”

“Didn’t say I believed it all.”

“But you think she was fit? Ever? Imagine it young and it’d still be all tainted with heresy. No such thing as a pretty witch.”

During the intervening days Hegel had often tried to separate one portion of a certain memory from the other aspects. He silently ruminated. He almost had it, but every time his brother would say something like-

“No sir. That witch done fucked that animal-man-thing, fucked’em often, too. And et the babes what come out. Imagine that crusty crone spread-”

Hegel leaned over and vomited so hard his sphincter twitched. Manfried jumped back from the spray, laughing heartily. Hegel shot him an evil glare through spew-teared eyes.

“That horse not agreein with you?”

“It’s that vile tongue a yours. Who’d wanna think a thing like that?” Hegel spit but could not dispel the taste-memory of her.

“Just sayin.”

“Well, don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“Eh?” Hegel wiped his mouth and looked where his brother did. The road stretched off around the bend, appearing intermittently down the long ridge, but behind them on the last mountain they had traversed the highway came back into view, and here a large black shape moved. It went quickly, and Hegel could make out both the wagon and the team of horses making good time.

Manfried squinted. “I can’t-”

“It’s a damn ride, is what it is!” Hegel slapped his brother with his wide-brimmed hat.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah!”

“What they doin comin through the mountains in dead winter?”

“What we doin here? Same as them. Now get to task.” Hegel rushed ahead to where a boulder jutted out of the roadside.

“Good lookin out,” Manfried said, jumping into action.

They each worked a side of the slab, Manfried with his ax, Hegel with his pick. Every few minutes they would pause and set to, but it still would not budge. Desperation took over, but the more they dug the deeper into the mountainside the boulder went.

“Look,” Hegel panted. “We oughta haul that dead tree back a ways over here and wedge it in, try to pry this out.”

“What’s that?”

“That dead tree was on the upper slope, a little ways back. We hurry, we can get it back here fore-” Hegel paused, seeing the look in Manfried’s eyes, and altered his intent: “Or we could just lay that log across the trail stead a this boulder.” Manfried nodded slowly, scowling at his brother.

No sooner had they backtracked to the log, scrambled up the roadside, and rolled it back down than they heard the horses approach. They stretched it across the road and waited, and when Hegel caught sight of the wagon rounding the bend they leaned down, acting as though dried, crumbling wood possessed enormous weight. The wagon slowed to a stop and two men jumped from the rear, exchanging words with the driver before advancing on the Grossbarts with crossbows in hand. Seeing this, the Brothers retrieved their own notched crossbows from behind the log.

“Hold, now!” Hegel called when the men came into range.

“Why this?” the bigger of the two demanded.

“Seen yous comin, decided to lend a hand, get this out the road for you,” Manfried yelled.