[This is an excerpt from my upcoming novel "Son of the Memory Merchant"]
Just A Boy
I was awakened by the sound of rapping on our door. Metal on wood. Insistent. Before I'd opened my eyes, father was on his feet, signaling to me to lie down and be quiet. I watched him gather a robe about himself before heading off to answer, sword in hand.
He was dragged outside almost immediately after opening the door. I lept from my bed and rushed toward him, grabbing my sword along the way.
The men were large and armored, stinking of the sickness. One of them lay near the front door with a great slash across his chest. The other five had managed to subdue father.
My father had been pinned to an elm tree, a sword run through where his shoulder met his torso. One of the men held a dagger with which he meant to cut his throat. My father cried out like a wounded animal.
“Run, boy! I’m already dead! You must -”
The largest of the men struck him so hard, he hung there for a moment, unconscious.
I couldn't cry out. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred with useless tears. Our years of running had come to an end. And now, my father was going to die. “No!”, my heart cried.
I rushed to meet them.
They seemed to take no notice of me until the moment I was in striking distance. And, even then, the first of them didn’t take me seriously. He taunted me on my approach and braced for me with a weak defensive stance, his sword sheathed. Before the last taunt fell from his lips, I had taken his left arm above the elbow and buried my sword in his belly to the hilt. He looked from his gushing limb to me and back in disbelief.
“Just… a boy”, he gurgled and fell to his knees.
I took his head.
Four men remained.
Two of them drew swords and approached me, one circling around, hoping to flank me.
I let him.
The first came at me with a volley of heavy blows, each one sending violent reports of pain up my arms. My hands began to hurt. And I knew it wasn’t long before my shoulders would give out. “Four more men”, I thought, and steeled myself.
The man in front of me drew back for another heavy blow just as the man behind me made his move. At the last possible moment, I pivoted and dropped to my knees. The man to my rear, caught off guard, hesitated, his sword above his head. With all my strength, I thrust my sword upward into his chin. He made a face as if he were going to cry out but didn’t. Instead, he stood there. Stunned. Dying.
The man who had been in front of me had only momentarily been stunned by my kill. I heard the whisper of his sword coming for my head and rolled out of the way.
I was not able to retrieve my sword.
Three men remained.
The two who had remained with my father now drew their swords and came for me.
One of the men struck with a downward blow, meaning to cleave me in half. I stepped into and under his blow, catching him by the wrists and tossing him over my hip, disarming him in the process. I planted his own sword into his face. His hands flew to his face clawed at the blade. But only for a moment. Then he was still.
Two men remained.
“You’ve some fight in you, lad”, one of the men snarled.” And you may think you know what you’re doing with that sword. But, make no mistake, pup. You will die on the end of my blade this day.”
He lunged and I side-stepped the tip of his sword, only to step on the handle of another sword that had been dropped on the ground. It was just enough to throw me off balance.
I fell.
He caught me by the wrist and broke it. The larger man began to close in. “Two men”, I thought. Before the larger man could reach me, I shoved my knee into the groin of the main that had latched on to my wrist, stunning him just long enough for me to remove a dagger he had on his belt. I planted it deep in his chest and twisted it once for good measure. He let loose a strained groan and fell.
I could still hear my father pleading. “Run, boy! Run while you still can! I’m already dead! I’m already dead!” But the words never fully reached my ears. It was not my father but his ghost. His voice rang hollow and impotent in my ears.
One man remained.
The last and largest of our attackers came forward. He considered the bodies of his four dead companions before giving me his full attention. After a moment’s thought he came for me, drawing a dagger and throwing it at my throat. I easily sidestepped the dagger and reached out to pluck it from the air, only to realize my mistake at the last moment. After throwing the dagger, he had launched himself through the air directly at me. Before I could react, he collided with me shoulder first, taking me off my feet, landing on top of me, and knocking the wind out of me.
I lay on the ground, crushed beneath him, gasping like a fish. He then reached back with one of his great fists and smashed my face. There was a bright flash of light and an enormous amount of blood. He’d broken my nose. By sheer force of will, I remained conscious.
He stood and picked me up by my broken wrist, meaning to force me to watch my father's execution. My father’s voice, once urgent and demanding, had become thin and desperate. He pleaded hoarsely, begging the man to release me.
“Shall I kill him first, old man? Or should I let him watch his father die?”
“Please,” my father whispered. “He’s just a boy.”
The man tightened his grip on my wrist, causing me to cry out. “Aye, he sounds enough like one. But no boy I’ve ever known could have done what he’s done to my brothers just now.”
He walked forward until his and my father’s noses were nearly touching. “T’would be blessing enough if I kill him quickly.”
“Please,” my father whispered. “Just… just a child. Spare him.”
The man lowered his voice, his teeth clenched. “The only thing he’ll be spared from is watching his cowardly father beg for his life.”
He then held me aloft by my wrist, and drew back his sword to run me through.
My father cried out in utter anguish.
The man growled. “What say you now, boy?”
I saw the hairs on his arm began to stand on end. His hair, also, stood up by itself. He looked about himself, momentarily unsure. Then, “Speak, boy! Or go to your grave mute”
I looked him in the eye, and spoke a single word.
“Burn.”
Lightning cracked from my hands and struck him in the face and shoulders. He released me and fell to the ground dead. My father cried out with his husk of a voice. “Declan! You mustn't!” But it was too late.
The power soon overtook me using my anger as a conduit. This time, it arched from every part of my being at once, annihilating the slain men on the ground, the grass, the trees, everything. Smoke and ozone filled the air. My muscles contracted painfully, trying in vain to restrain the onslaught. The smell of burning flesh was everywhere.
I called for my father in the chaos. Nearly all of the trees about us had caught fire. The smoke was as thick as wool. I knew I didn't have much longer. I called to my father once more, straining against the pain of my broken wrist. The last thing I heard before succumbing to the smoke was my father's voice, screaming in agony.
The fire had reached him.
I was awakened by the sound of rapping on our door. Metal on wood. Insistent. Before I'd opened my eyes, father was on his feet, signaling to me to lie down and be quiet. I watched him gather a robe about himself before heading off to answer, sword in hand.
He was dragged outside almost immediately after opening the door. I lept from my bed and rushed toward him, grabbing my sword along the way.
The men were large and armored, stinking of the sickness. One of them lay near the front door with a great slash across his chest. The other five had managed to subdue father.
My father had been pinned to an elm tree, a sword run through where his shoulder met his torso. One of the men held a dagger with which he meant to cut his throat. My father cried out like a wounded animal.
“Run, boy! I’m already dead! You must -”
The largest of the men struck him so hard, he hung there for a moment, unconscious.
I couldn't cry out. I couldn't breathe. My vision blurred with useless tears. Our years of running had come to an end. And now, my father was going to die. “No!”, my heart cried.
I rushed to meet them.
They seemed to take no notice of me until the moment I was in striking distance. And, even then, the first of them didn’t take me seriously. He taunted me on my approach and braced for me with a weak defensive stance, his sword sheathed. Before the last taunt fell from his lips, I had taken his left arm above the elbow and buried my sword in his belly to the hilt. He looked from his gushing limb to me and back in disbelief.
“Just… a boy”, he gurgled and fell to his knees.
I took his head.
Four men remained.
Two of them drew swords and approached me, one circling around, hoping to flank me.
I let him.
The first came at me with a volley of heavy blows, each one sending violent reports of pain up my arms. My hands began to hurt. And I knew it wasn’t long before my shoulders would give out. “Four more men”, I thought, and steeled myself.
The man in front of me drew back for another heavy blow just as the man behind me made his move. At the last possible moment, I pivoted and dropped to my knees. The man to my rear, caught off guard, hesitated, his sword above his head. With all my strength, I thrust my sword upward into his chin. He made a face as if he were going to cry out but didn’t. Instead, he stood there. Stunned. Dying.
The man who had been in front of me had only momentarily been stunned by my kill. I heard the whisper of his sword coming for my head and rolled out of the way.
I was not able to retrieve my sword.
Three men remained.
The two who had remained with my father now drew their swords and came for me.
One of the men struck with a downward blow, meaning to cleave me in half. I stepped into and under his blow, catching him by the wrists and tossing him over my hip, disarming him in the process. I planted his own sword into his face. His hands flew to his face clawed at the blade. But only for a moment. Then he was still.
Two men remained.
“You’ve some fight in you, lad”, one of the men snarled.” And you may think you know what you’re doing with that sword. But, make no mistake, pup. You will die on the end of my blade this day.”
He lunged and I side-stepped the tip of his sword, only to step on the handle of another sword that had been dropped on the ground. It was just enough to throw me off balance.
I fell.
He caught me by the wrist and broke it. The larger man began to close in. “Two men”, I thought. Before the larger man could reach me, I shoved my knee into the groin of the main that had latched on to my wrist, stunning him just long enough for me to remove a dagger he had on his belt. I planted it deep in his chest and twisted it once for good measure. He let loose a strained groan and fell.
I could still hear my father pleading. “Run, boy! Run while you still can! I’m already dead! I’m already dead!” But the words never fully reached my ears. It was not my father but his ghost. His voice rang hollow and impotent in my ears.
One man remained.
The last and largest of our attackers came forward. He considered the bodies of his four dead companions before giving me his full attention. After a moment’s thought he came for me, drawing a dagger and throwing it at my throat. I easily sidestepped the dagger and reached out to pluck it from the air, only to realize my mistake at the last moment. After throwing the dagger, he had launched himself through the air directly at me. Before I could react, he collided with me shoulder first, taking me off my feet, landing on top of me, and knocking the wind out of me.
I lay on the ground, crushed beneath him, gasping like a fish. He then reached back with one of his great fists and smashed my face. There was a bright flash of light and an enormous amount of blood. He’d broken my nose. By sheer force of will, I remained conscious.
He stood and picked me up by my broken wrist, meaning to force me to watch my father's execution. My father’s voice, once urgent and demanding, had become thin and desperate. He pleaded hoarsely, begging the man to release me.
“Shall I kill him first, old man? Or should I let him watch his father die?”
“Please,” my father whispered. “He’s just a boy.”
The man tightened his grip on my wrist, causing me to cry out. “Aye, he sounds enough like one. But no boy I’ve ever known could have done what he’s done to my brothers just now.”
He walked forward until his and my father’s noses were nearly touching. “T’would be blessing enough if I kill him quickly.”
“Please,” my father whispered. “Just… just a child. Spare him.”
The man lowered his voice, his teeth clenched. “The only thing he’ll be spared from is watching his cowardly father beg for his life.”
He then held me aloft by my wrist, and drew back his sword to run me through.
My father cried out in utter anguish.
The man growled. “What say you now, boy?”
I saw the hairs on his arm began to stand on end. His hair, also, stood up by itself. He looked about himself, momentarily unsure. Then, “Speak, boy! Or go to your grave mute”
I looked him in the eye, and spoke a single word.
“Burn.”
Lightning cracked from my hands and struck him in the face and shoulders. He released me and fell to the ground dead. My father cried out with his husk of a voice. “Declan! You mustn't!” But it was too late.
The power soon overtook me using my anger as a conduit. This time, it arched from every part of my being at once, annihilating the slain men on the ground, the grass, the trees, everything. Smoke and ozone filled the air. My muscles contracted painfully, trying in vain to restrain the onslaught. The smell of burning flesh was everywhere.
I called for my father in the chaos. Nearly all of the trees about us had caught fire. The smoke was as thick as wool. I knew I didn't have much longer. I called to my father once more, straining against the pain of my broken wrist. The last thing I heard before succumbing to the smoke was my father's voice, screaming in agony.
The fire had reached him.
-- D. Brathwaite 12/7/11
