ULTIMATE FANTASY (I - III)

by J. G. Cuff

  “Young man, I need passage to Amicitia. The walk is longer than I'd like and I'm sure you can find me a cart headed that way. I'll be having a hot dinner,” he said and pointed a thick finger toward the tavern door. He would have stayed the night, but something urged his mind to move him west. The young man nodded, closed the ledger and then made his way outside into the lamp-lit street, where he then disappeared. Wagons traveled the protected roads at all hours. Some drivers even preferred to travel at night when the mud had hardened and their horses could make faster miles. John walked through the tavern door and grinned from ear to ear at the thought of his first meal since he had scrounged-up bark and winter berries from the forest floor along the Void in mid-winter.

  Outside, the cheerfully inebriated sheep farmer patted the dogs on their wide backs, while they sat at either side of him on the wagon bench in the moonlight. He smiled, thankful of the kind man he had just met.

  “He seemed like a nice fellow, didn't he? A real gentle-giant that one is,” said the farmer merrily to his new companions. He turned his horse and wagon out onto the road, and headed north to bring the orphans to their new home.

  TAKEN

  16

  TIUM was shrinking in the distance, as they pulled out onto the old West Road. The pink and yellow sunset ahead of them was their beacon home. Atticus smiled nervously, listening to the sound of Autumn's hooves, the rolling wagon wheels beneath him, and the distant laughter coming from the windows in the village behind them. The chaos in the woods the night before had left him shaken. He finally had enough sleep to decide that the drunken man deserved what he had received. He only hoped that the young girl managed to flee in time. It was dark enough to have hidden in the trees. Atticus figured that at her age, she would have been able to outrun those men.

  He looked over at Marcus, who was already asleep. Atticus was beginning to think that his son may grow-up some day to be a man of the road, just like his great grandfather was. The two new pick-axes in the back rattled together behind them. He had also purchased a good length of rope; more than 50 feet of it, in the case that any of the ledges beside the cavern had broken away and fell into the Void over time. Tomorrow, he would meet with a man that he had worked with, on and off, for the past five years.

  Tom Raine lived in Otium. He had worked for Darius over the years and had proven to be a hard and honest man. Atticus simply called him 'Raine' for short. He trusted him like a brother. Tom had three boys of his own who were now grown and gone, and he had been a big help to Atticus throughout his loss of Alina and Marcus' earliest days. He still visited with them often and worked on the neighboring ranch when the horses came in each spring, and when the hay needed cutting in the fall.

  Raine had been a swordsman and a skilled bowman in the Amicitia Army for seven years, before he lost the use of his right thumb and first finger to frost bite, and could no longer steady a bow or wield a blade with his good arm. He moved back to the country to be with his family. Raine and his wife had taken to raising rare flowers and selling them at local markets and city festivals. Atticus had helped them build the long glass house, where Marcus said that they grew the rainbow into petals.

  Autumn pulled the wagon into the lane after an hour on the road, just as the moon was rising. Atticus sighed in relief, thinking of the fire he was about to build in the hearth and the slab of salt-pork that was he was about to fry in the pan. He stepped down from the seat and stretched out his back. “Thank you Sir,” he said to Autumn, giving him a gentle pat on the neck. He then detached the rigging and walked him into the livery beside the house.

  Atticus made his way back to the wagon, where a large lump lay snoring lightly underneath a heavy quilt. He climbed back up to the bench seat and Marcus opened his eyes, just as his father kissed his forehead.

  “My dear boy, I do love you. You're all I've got. The best damned thing that ever happened to me.”

  “I love you too Father,” Marcus said in a tired little voice. Atticus smiled and carried him down from the seat. As he turned to take him into the house and off to bed, he was abruptly startled by the sound of many hooves pounding into the dirt. Atticus looked up toward the road with Marcus in his arms, and he counted four torches and five horsemen in black armor, turning from the road and into his lane. They were headed straight toward them.

  An instant fear gripped Atticus. He was holding his young child, unarmed and outnumbered. Marcus peaked out at the loud noise and then he pressed his face back into his Father's chest.

  “Whoa, whoa!” the riders shouted, as they stopped their horses, only a few feet in front of them. Two riders rode in front, two in behind, and a large man sat up ahead of them on a fifth horse. They did not dismount. The riders carried no flags and no banners. In the torchlight, Atticus could barely make out the emblems that graced their chests—a griffon and serpent coiled around a shield. He recognized their mark—Lawmen from the Queen's Guard Amicitia. He could not see their faces behind their visors.

  Atticus' heart was pounding like a drum.

  In a commanding tone, the lead rider spoke.

  “Atticus Sloane, you are to be seized and taken into our custody. We are to deliver you immediately to the prison house in Amicitia.”

  Atticus tried his best to seem surprised and unknowing of anything.

  “Seize me?! For what? I have committed no crime. This is a mistake. I'm the son of a poor farmer, and a poor ranch-hand myself, as you can see.” Atticus, holding Marcus up with his left arm, waived his right hand toward the tiny stone house behind them and to the small wooden stables to reassure the riders that he was indeed, a poor ranch hand—no one of any interest to them. Marcus kept his little head buried into Atticus' breast. He was afraid of the loud voice and he knew that something was wrong.

  “Ah, so you are Atticus Sloane,” said the lead rider, “Thank you for confirming that you're the one we're looking for.” He then turned his helm left, toward the rider behind him and said, “Keep a bolt fixed on his head.”

  “Yes Captain!” barked the Queen's Guardsman, as he lifted a crossbow and set a bolt into the flight groove. He aimed the weapon directly at Atticus' face. The two riders in the rear sat quietly in their saddles.

  Atticus' hands began to shake while he held on tight to his son. All at once, the world around him was falling down, as he realized what was happening.

  “We found your knife in the hand of a whore. She told us that you killed a man—stabbed him in the neck more than eight times,” the captain barked angrily at him from up on his horse.

  Atticus had no choice now but to explain the truth.

  “Captain, please. I speak the truth. I was there, yes. We were coming back from Solarium and I heard a scream in the forest. I only went to help, I swear it. I saw a man trying to take a girl, clearly against her will. I only shoved him down and then he got up and gave chase. I tripped and fell down and he tried to kill me, but the girl had hit him over the head with a stick. And then before I could stop her, she picked up my knife and stabbed him. I tried, but it was too late. Please, you must believe me!”

  “A little girl killed my brother? You should use your words more carefully Mr. Sloane,” sneered the captain.

  Brother? Atticus' stomach was twisting. Things were quickly getting worse.

  The captain put his fist out and then opened his hand and laid the palm of his black leather glove out flat, so that Atticus could see what he was holding. Resting on the captain's palm, coated with layers of dried blood, was Atticus' cherry-handled carving knife. He could see part of his name engraved along the handle. There was no doubt that the knife was his.

  “My men caught her...and then we finished what my brother started,” the captain said with an eerie bitterness.

  “What?!” whispered Atticus. He was not prepared for that.

  “That's right, Mr. Sloane, you committed both crimes, and I'll see to it that you pay 'em both.”

  They had all the proof they needed. Atticus felt as if h
e were going to faint.

  Oh God. Marcus....

  Atticus quickly whispered into his son's ear. “The place in the forest where we pick the berries. I want you to run there, fast as you can, like a rabbit!” Atticus dropped Marcus to his feet and the boy froze. “Run Marcus! Now!” Atticus screamed at him.

  Marcus ran, and without looking back, he was off around to the side of the house, where he slipped into the thick woods and disappeared, like a shadow into a black wall.

  The captain watched the boy run and then he turned his attention back to Atticus and dismounted his horse without any reaction. Atticus felt a tremendous relief that the captain hadn't stopped Marcus from fleeing, and that the man with the crossbow had not fired his bolt at him either. The captain walked with a slight limp and after a few steps, he was standing with his chest against Atticus'. He had a long sword sheathed at his right hip. He lifted his visor to reveal narrow eyes and a large nose, where a long black mustache grew down and nearly covered his lips. He turned his head and shouted, “Garin! Lock him in irons!” The right front rider dismounted and withdrew two sets of shackles from his saddle bag. He moved behind Atticus and began to clamp his wrists and ankles.

  The captain stared intently into Atticus' eyes. He wanted to observe the reaction of the young father when he gave the next order. He looked up at the two remaining men on horses and shouted, “Guards! Find the child and bring him to me!”

  “Yes Captain!” they called out their replies together.

  Atticus shouted in a panic, “NO! He's just a boy! Leave him!”

  The riders broke-off fast, riding around to the back of the house. Atticus could already hear them crashing through the trees, chasing after his son.

  “They'll run him down!” Atticus yelled angrily, “He'll be trampled!”

  The captain watched the heartbreak in Atticus' eyes.

  “Don't worry,” said Garin from behind him, as he finished latching his wrists, “They'll find him. I'll bet you really wish that we hadn't found you though.”

  Atticus grit his teeth angrily and looked at the dark eyes in front of him with pure rage.

  Then, without any warning, the captain drove his hard fist into Atticus' crotch, buckling him instantly, and he dropped to the ground, gasping in gut-wrenching pain. He couldn't breathe. The agonizing throb spread out over his groin and up into his stomach, making him vomit into the dirt beside his head. A moment later, Atticus pleaded in low breaths, hoping they would spare his son.

  “Please Captain; my boy has nothing to with this. He's only a child. Take me...do what you will, but you leave my son...leave my boy alone!”

  “You killed an officer of the Queen's Guard—my brother!” the captain spat back at him. “A soldier knows that death is honor. Killing you would be a gift and all your suffering would be none!” The captain knelt down beside his head on the ground and turned up his nose at the smell of vomit, as he spoke to Atticus.

  “I was going to kill you, but I am going to keep you alive, just so I can watch you rot in a stone cell. And one day, when they're tired of feeding you, and they need to make room...they'll string you up.”

  “Please,” Atticus begged. “Please Sir; leave him. My son's a good boy.”

  It was all a surreal nightmare. The captain suddenly grabbed a fist-full of Atticus' hair and lifted his head back and spoke warm, rotten breath into his face.

  “When I get you locked away, you'll be a number,” the captain shook his head slowly, “And nothing more. There will be no trial, no tribunal and no bleeding-heart arseholes to object. I made sure to carve-up that girl in such a way that no one will want to doubt our story. Her mother won't even recognize her, and I'll have caught me a monster...they'll be cheering my name. And for killing my brother, I give you my word Mr. Sloane, you're going to disappear into the walls.”

  The captain stood and ordered Garin to strap the prisoner over his horse. Once they had him draped over the back of Garin's saddle, the captain then told the officers to search the little house.

  “Find the boy's mother!”

  “Yes Captain!”

  The officers went into Atticus' home, leaving him alone outside with the captain.

  He could hear them knocking things around inside and he was relieved for the first time ever that Alina was gone. She would not have to go through this. The captain smiled to himself, quite pleased with the havoc he had wreaked undetected. He enjoyed his power; the way the men in robes at the council bowed to him whenever he entered their chambers. He was to them a brave and valiant man. A man as tough as an iron shield and braver than an angry lion. He was someone they respected, but most of all, they feared him. Atticus would worry about himself later. As awful as his future was beginning to sound, he only wanted Marcus safe.

  “Alright Captain, you win. You have me now and we can go. I just want my boy left out of it. Please, I ask you as a father, call your men off!”

  The captain stroked Atticus' cheek affectionately with the back of his gloved left hand. Leaning in close, he whispered into his ear,

  “My men will find your son, and when they do, I am going to make him do things that would break a father's heart.”

  “No!” Atticus begged him. “Please! You can't! I will give you whatever you want! Take my land, all I have! I beg you with all my heart, please don't hurt him!”

  The captain quickly moved his hand down and gripped it around Atticus' throat. He smiled at him, crooked and wide, baring his yellow and brown, rotted teeth.

  “I'm going to use your knife Mr. Sloane, and that pup will scream until there is no more blood in his tiny heart to pump out.”

  The sound of horses suddenly erupted came from behind the house, along with a victorious shout:

  “Captain! We've caught him. We've found the boy!”

  The captain turned to face Atticus and smiled a twisted grin.

  “Well, well...they've found my little lamb. What did you say his name was? That's right, Marcus.”

  Atticus looked up, as the guards came around the house into his view; their two torches burning low, and he saw his son sitting in front of the left rider, in between the reigns. Marcus was bleeding from his forehead and tears covered his face.

  Atticus' exploded and fought frantically over the back of the horse, pulling at his hands and kicking, but the shackles only cut into his skin.

  “Don't you touch him! I'll kill you, you bastard!” he shouted at the captain.

  “That's right!” the captain hollered, and then loudly pounded his right fist against his black steel chest, “I am a bastard! Captain Bruce, The Bastard!”

  He then withdrew his sword, raised it high and slammed the thick, rounded pommel down hard against the top of Atticus' head, knocking him unconscious.

  RABID IN HIS NAME

  17

  OHN never questioned the pulling feeling; the drawing forward; the gentle tug on his aching right hand, leading him to his next kill. It always felt natural. As natural as waking-up and falling asleep. At times, he had walked for miles, even throughout the night, until he reached his victim. Days, weeks, or months could pass when he would live in quiet peace; renting a bed and taking paid labor where he could find it. Eventually the path of hearts would present itself again, and off he would be. There goes John with his iron skull-splitter. He was simply culling the pack; hunting down only the worst of them.

  Murderers, rapists and the violators of children were his prey. The rest didn't matter, as long as they kept their hands to themselves.

  There was no shortage of wickedness in the world around him. Deceptive wolves had blended in with the flock. But John saw them for what they really were.

  With the exception of one occasion, they had all been men. When he had found her living the comfortable life of a merchant's wife, in a large house on the western outskirts of Amicitia; a mother to three children, and the head of a local charitable order, he was conflicted for the first time on his path—unsure of the Father's lead. But his
hand never lied and he soon ended up in her bedroom in the dark.

  That night, John had waited until her family slept. He took her quietly while her husband snored loudly beside her. John's huge left palm easily sealed off her mouth, silencing her screams. He lifted her up from the bed and quickly carried her out the back door, into the small forest behind their home. Lights from the neighboring houses prompted him to pull her deeper into the trees, where the only light was moon.

  He stopped at a massive elm tree and gagged her with an old leather glove that he had found in his earlier travels at the side of a road. A tool, he believed, left for him to find. The soft, worn leather mitt was always a perfect fit. John put her to her knees and gripped her pale face with both hands, and spread her eyes wide open. The show started, and he saw colored leaves, floating past on a swift creek in the autumn morning light, as she held her younger cousin by the hair and drowned her in a shallow pool. In a jealous fit, she had murdered her for courting a wealthy man whom she herself had desired.

  When the younger and more beautiful girl had finished kicking, she turned her body over onto the pebbled bank, and then lifted her wet, white dress and tore the clothing apart between her legs. John watched, as she picked up a fist-sized rock, knelt down beside her, and then repeatedly smashed it in between her lifeless eyes. She believed that this trick of hers would help those who found the body to conclude that the girl had been sexually assaulted and then killed by some wild criminal, and left for dead beside the creek.

  But someone had already seen her crime. John saw the little girl, watching from the trees on the bank, holding a little, white bone carving in her hand. She was six or seven at the oldest and terrified to all hell. When the murderess looked up and saw the accidental spy, the child dropped the bone horse that she had found in the forest and turned to run.