Field of Death: The Unexpected

The room is bright with sunlight shining in from the clean windows, shaded only by a tree set just beyond the wall and the airy curtains that draped carefully at each window. Monica works furiously at the kitchen table, cleaning and storing her herbs as she did quite often in these days of Spring and Summer.

Below, in the finished basement workshop that Tuckian put in for himself, she heard the sounds of the men working. Tuckian spoke to Ultan, an older man who had come to work with Tuck when he came from Flaxley. Ultan's talent for detailed woodworking had always been a point of admiration for Tuck, especially since he'd overcome his partial blindness to achieve what Tuck considered a master standing at his craft. Now, Tucker was able to work closely with this man he had admired as a youth.

Monica settles a stack of long-stemmed herbs onto a tray and smiles at them satisfied. There was something about the process she'd learned to dry these herbs that completed her in a way no other activity did. Besides the fact that the sale of these dried herbs helped with the expenses of the house.

"I'll bring them oth'r tools when I r'turn," Tuck's says over his shoulder as he steps through the door leading to the kitchen.

"How's Ultan doin'?" Monica asks as she sets her tray in the window.

"He'll be fine." Tuckian says with a shrug then shakes his head, "Them guards shook him up a whole lot, though. He nearly stayed at home by himself 'til I tol' him he'd be safer wi' us here anyway."

Monica turns back to the counter and starts ripping up some leaves in a bowl there. Her actions match her sharpened tone, "Tha' Blackthorn thinks he's th' lard o' the land." She waves her hands in the air, still holding some of the leafy vegetation, then goes back to ripping it even more vigorously now, "Th' nerve o' him goin' an' makin' folk think you was part o' all this nonsense."

Tuckian doesn't reply, but makes his way through to the next room in the modest house. After some sounds of digging, he calls out, "Whar's tha' box o' carvin' tools I got from th' market last month?"

"Look on th' top shelf!"

"I don't see it. No, wait, thar it is. Thanks, Love."

Monica smirks and speaks under her breath, "I do b'lieve he's lose his head, if'n it weren't fer his neck stickin' it to his should'rs."

"What was that?" Tuckian's voice rings, much closer now and in fact in the same room as she.

Monica tilts her head and raises her eyes to the ceiling with a sweet smile, "Nothin', Love."

Tuckian walks back to toward the basement door, taking the longer router to pass his wife as she stands at the counter and brushes her backside. She giggles in return and leans back just enough as he passes to make his journey worthwhile.

"I best git back t' wark."

"Aye. Ya best." Monica smiles back over her shoulder at him as he walks away, "Oh and tell Ultan tha' he's welcome t' stay fer dinner. I'm makin' his fav'rite. Leeks and kidney stew."

"Aye, I will at tha'." Tuckian says as he opens the door to the basement and steps through with his toolbox in hand.

Within a moment, Monica hears a bumping from the basement. Her first thought is that Tuckian has taken a nasty fall down the stairs, but then she hears the voices raised in anger. Well, just one voice really.

She drops what she's doing and rushes to the door, throwing it open and calling out, "Tuck? What's goin' on down thar?"

Silence is her only reply.

"Tuck?"

She cranes her neck to look down past the stairway, but can only see the dusty floor at the base of the stairs and the back of a chair that had fallen over. She swallows as she steps once down the stairs, "Tucker. This ain't funny, lad." There is light in the silent room below. Tucker had installed a lantern for the evenings, but this light was no doubt coming from an open storm door that leads out to the back of the house. The white light creates darker shadows that cover the edges of the steps.

"Tuck! You answer me now, man! I ain't gonna play t'day!"

No reply.

She takes one step more down the stairway, the wooden beam beneath her foot creaking in the silence that surrounds her.

"Tuck?" she says weakly, her voice now more a whisper than anything, matching perfectly the stillness in the air.

A sounds of something shuffling, a single noise in the quiet, makes her start. Then a groaning and, finally, a cough, "Mon"

Tuck's voice was the best thing she'd ever heard and she rushes down the stairs now to try to find him. Scanning her eyes over the small shop, she notes the overturned furniture and crates whose contents are now scattered about the floor.

One of the crates tumbles off another and Tuckian stands from the dusty pile rubbing the back of his head. With a blink, he looks at Monica just in time for her arms to be flung around him. She hugs him tightly then backs away a step and pushes his shoulder with a frown, "Why didn't ya answ'r me, man! Scared th' livin'...” She stops and backs away a step as she notices something over his shoulder. A hand moves to her mouth and she stares with wide eyes across the room at the twisted figure crumpled beneath the work bench.

Without speaking, Tuckian turns and then turns back. Ultan, an old master woodworker and younger brother of Saoirse, lay slain on the floor with a slit cut to his throat and his chest covered in blood. There's a moment of silence between the two before Monica turns and runs out the open storm door, escaping into the sunlight. Looking around, she quickly dashes to a nearby bush and vomits.