Epic by Conor Kostick Page B

the face until his nose broke and blood flowed everywhere.”
    A little dizzy, Erik risked a glance at his mum; she caught it.
    “You have to understand, your dad is not a bad man at all. Ragnok is the criminal. He is sick.”
    “Why? Why did Dad hit him? Didn’t he know the penalty?”
    “Of course he did, but . . .” She paused, then shakily poured water from a pitcher into a clay mug and drank it. “Ragnok had been drinking with me, drinking far too much mead, until my head was reeling and I was nearly unconscious. Then he tried to do something . . . but Harald came and when he understood that I was distressed, he hit Ragnok.”
    “But the solar panel—what were you doing?”
    “I hate it. I could not live with it. Just think, if we had left it alone, we would be happy. Your dad would be with us still.”
    For a while they sat in the dark room; Erik’s mind was whirling. He came to when Freya lit a lantern.
    “So, you think Dad was right to use violence?” He was genuinely confused. All through school and in every aspect of life it was agreed, there should never be recourse to violence—not when they had Epic to manage conflict. It was thought that once society allowed violent actions it would devolve to the same disastrous society that had supposedly driven their pacifist ancestors into space millennia ago.
    “No, violence is never right. But I understood him and I forgave him. Alas, our rules allow no exceptions.”
    “So . . . Dad was exiled?”
    “Yes. Only he escaped and found me, and I agreed to marry him, to make a new life far from Mikelgard, where no one would know us.”
    Now it was Erik’s turn to pour a drink of water, while he gave this thought.
    “Why didn’t you tell me? I’m old enough.”
    “Yes. Your dad thought we should. But it was to protect you. Anyone who knowingly harbors an exile is subject to exile themselves—depending on the ruling of a judge. At least you have the choice. If you want, you can stay here with your friends—or go to University.”
    “Stay? Without you and Dad? No. I’ll come with you.”
    “I don’t even know what I’m doing myself yet. It has all been so sudden. The judge was here today. I told her you knew nothing, but she will probably want to ask you herself.”
    They sat still, not looking at each other, silent and alone with their thoughts.
    “Mum, I’m tired. I must lie down and think about all this.” All desire for food had gone; he just wanted to lie in the dark and try to understand.
    “I know, Erik. I’m so very tired too.”
    Looking back at the still figure of his mother, you would hardly have known that anything was wrong but for the tears that were silently running down her cheeks to fall onto the table.
    Erik was tired, but not able to sleep. It was as though his mind was torn in two and bleeding thoughts uncontrollably: never to see his dad again; to struggle on with the farm; for Harald to live an unhappy and lonely life. That dark thought could not be put aside and as it welled up, so did his tears, forming hot and salty trails at the corners of his mouth. Yet there had to be a way to overcome this catastrophe. For a moment he could master his misery, channel the deluge of mental activity into thinking about the measures he could take to get his dad back. Unbidden, the deeply distressing image of his mother on the roof of the house interfered with his attempt to make plans. She hacked away at the cables of the solar panel. That outburst of apparent insanity was understandable; they would only be reminded of the disaster every time they used it. His dad, a violent man. The worst that anyone could be accused of: horrific, criminal and obscene. Society agreed; Erik had agreed. Those who committed acts of violence should be shunned. Exiled. It had not seemed so unreasonable. Exile, a place where they could be as perverse as they pleased, without harming any law-abiding person. But now his dad was on his way back to Roftig Island.