by Sidney Wood
Lynn veered to the south while the Lieutenant, even more carefully, moved forward at a snail’s pace. After only ten meters, Chase was able to see the boulder rising above the valley floor. The axeman was still on top, standing watch as Guy had described. Chase froze. He willed his eyes to move down to the southern side of the rock, but his view was blocked by a medium sized pine tree. Any movement would catch the century’s eye if he happened to glance this way. Chase knew that time was a factor, so he took a chance and stepped left, placing the tree between himself and the man atop the rock. He was able to see the two men still sleeping below, but not the big man Guy had described as the leader.
“Where the hell is…” Chase wondered.
SNAP…
Lieutenant Chase Martin raised the crossbow to his cheek as he spun, and dropped to a knee on instinct. He couldn’t see anyone or anything yet, but there was someone behind him, and close. His mind raced. “Is it Sergeant Hayes?"
CRACK…
The sound came from the south this time. “More than one…that’s not good.”
Chase was painfully aware that he was now caught in the middle. “Breathe,” he told himself. His ears were working overtime, trying to pick up any movement behind him as his eyes searched for movement ahead. He played out “what if’s” in his mind as he waited for the first target to appear. He imagined firing the crossbow bolt into the first man’s chest and dropping it. In the same movement, he would reach his right hand up and over his right shoulder and grasp the pommel of his sword, swinging it high and free of the scabbard on his back as he stood and closed with the second man to the south. He would then scoop up the crossbow and move south to link up with Sergeant Hayes, keeping mindful of the men near the rock.
He could hear rustling in the trees in front of him as someone or something moved forward, heedless of the noise they were making.
His trigger finger began to squeeze slowly, taking up the slack in the mechanism.
Shouting and the unmistakable ringing of steel on steel erupted from the south. The rustling in the trees ahead of Chase became thrashing as the hidden person changed direction and forced their way toward the sounds of fighting.
Still crouching, Chase turned back toward the camp to see the two sleepers awake and looking startled. They already had swords in hand and were crouched defensively, looking south. Chase pressed the trigger, and the bigger of the two dropped like a sack of flour.
Chase reloaded the crossbow as the other man, stupefied, looked down at his comrade and the bolt protruding from his temple. He aimed carefully and pressed the trigger a second time. The smaller man fell to the ground, dead. The bolt punched through his face and out the back of his neck, severing his spine at the base of his skull.
Chase quickly reloaded and stepped around the tree, indexing the crossbow to the top of the boulder.
Nothing.
He turned 360 degrees, scanning for any threats, and then moved south toward the skirmish that was still underway.
Not far away, Lynn stepped on the body of the first man and launched himself into the air. Swinging with his full body and the added momentum of his descent, he brought the axe blade down on the head of the second man who had attacked him. He felt the man’s skull fracture and give way as the broad blade sunk completely through and deep into his torso.
He kicked the corpse off his axe head, and turned angrily to face the next threat. “These are not the men Guy described,” he thought as he caught sight of his third victim.
He stood ready, amid the bloody bodies, and waited for the man to approach.
The man looked scared. He had stopped and without taking his eyes off Lynn and his axe, he wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. He wore shabby metal armor, and his hair was thinning. Lynn wondered how this unlucky bastard had wound up here. “He is no soldier,” he thought. “At least, not a good one.”
“I mean no harm stranger,” the man said. “I have no fight with you. We’re….I’m just looking for an escaped prisoner.” He looked at the bodies lying at Lynn’s feet and swallowed hard. He seemed to be unable to look away from the carnage as he asked, “Who are you anyway?”
Lynn ignored the question and kept listening to the forest around him. He expected another ambush, and as the coward spoke he scanned side to side. He watched for movement in the trees all around without letting the man leave his peripheral vision. “Where are the rest?” He demanded.
Sarge hesitated, weighing the cost of admitting too much. Then, a little too calmly, he said “We’re just a scouting party. There’s a full company just behind us to the south,” he lied. He turned and pointed the wrong direction. Turning back toward Lynn, he startled and stepped back involuntarily.
Lynn saw the fear on the man’s face and moved just as fast, ducking, turning, and taking a giant step forward and left. The man Sarge had seen over Lynn’s right shoulder was a warrior. He was a tall and broad young axeman with hardened muscles and enough scars to prove he had experienced battle. Lynn could see the smaller man in his left peripheral as he leapt back to avoid the powerfully swung axe blade aimed at his chest. Lynn stepped left again and at the same time swung his axe with full force in the same direction, crushing the smaller man’s face with the flat of his axe. Sarge sunk to the ground, out cold.
“One less to worry about,” Lynn reasoned as he circled with the younger axeman.
They sized each other up, looking for weaknesses. The younger man grimaced with undisguised anger and growled like a furious beast. His muscles, and the veins woven across them, bulged as he tensed his whole body, ready to attack.
Lynn forced a look of calm determination and confidence. His eyes narrowed and the corner of his mouth turned up slightly in just the hint of a smirk. Inwardly, his heart was thundering and his own anger was surging through his body, igniting his muscles and quickening his reflexes.
Lynn’s smirk, and his calm in the face of the younger man’s ferocity, sent the other axeman over the top. The younger axeman roared and swung his axe high overhead, ready to bring it crashing down in a flash. Seeing the man’s head leading his body into the upward motion gave Lynn a split second opening. Before the young axeman’s arms and shoulders even raised the big axe above his head, Lynn rushed forward and swung cross body at his opponent in a downward slash. There was a sickening crack, and crunch as the brutish man’s femur snapped. Sticky red blood erupted in a cloud as the axe swept through his right leg and sunk deep into the left.
At the same moment, before his body even dropped, a bolt struck the young axeman in the chest below his left armpit. Lynn let go of the bound axe and drew the sword from over his shoulder in one motion. He spun to meet the new threat. From a ready crouch he saw it was Chase, already reloading a new bolt in his crossbow. Both men scanned the area and slowly walked toward each other.
Chase shook his head as he looked at the carnage. “You’ve been busy I see.”
“They were looking for you,” Lynn said flatly, and he stared hard into Chase’s eyes. Covered in gore and sweat, he looked down right intimidating.
Chase didn’t flinch. He nodded and pointed toward the bodies. “Unless there are more of these, we’re just lacking the tall ugly one. By the way, it looks like this one is still alive.” He said as he looked at the rise and fall of Sarge’s chest. His face was ruined. “I really don’t want to carry this prick, or deal with him at all, but he’s our captive now. They don’t follow the rules, but I’m an officer of the King’s Guard. I’ll have to make sure he…”
His sentence was cut off by the wet sounding thunk of Lynn’s axe blade sinking through Sarge’s neck and into the soil below. The body spasmed slightly as the severed head half-rolled to the side.
“Problem solved.”
“…uh, yeah. That’ll just about do it I suppose.” Chase said as he looked sideways at Lynn. He watched him more closely as they made their way back to the cabin. He was no longer sure he could trust the legend, and his back i
tched whenever Lynn walked behind him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
(Present Day: 237 Cycles into the Light)
Guy was bored and uncomfortable. He leaned his left shoulder against the wall and sighed. His good leg was tired, and his foot was aching from overuse. After standing at the window for an hour in discomfort, he dragged a chair over and knelt on it with his good leg. The chair was just a little too low, so he had to kick his wooden leg out which was fine for a while, but even that was getting uncomfortable now.
He rested the crossbow against the chair, shook the stiffness out of his arms and leg for a few seconds and then looked around. The old man, Seth, had also commandeered a chair for guard duty, and was sitting just outside the door with his sword in his lap. He looked entirely too comfortable, and for the hundredth time in as many minutes, Guy wished he had been more honest about his skill with a sword. He could be the one resting comfortably on his backside, instead of propped up to look out of the window.
He stared at the finely crafted sword in Seth’s lap. Not every moment of his time on the island was spent as a captive. He still couldn’t reconcile it in his own head, but for a few of those years he was more like one of the crew than a slave. Curly had treated him more and more like a son during those years, and even trusted him to carry a sword. He trained with Curly’s pirates during the stormy months when the seas were too rough to leave the cove, and a few times he even went out on raids, or “resupply missions” as Curly called them. That is how it was at least, until the day he lost his leg. That’s when everything changed, and he was glad it had. He winced again, like he always did when he acknowledged feeling anything but hate towards the men that hurt Gretchen. “What kind of man can ignore or forget that?” But he had. He had felt appreciated, and in some strange way, loved when Curly treated him well. He wanted a family. He wanted Curly to be proud of him. When he went out to sea with Curly and his men, he was part of the crew; the team. He forgot about his own lost family, how he was a captive and a slave; and sometimes he even forgot about Gretchen. That’s what hurt the most.
Unconsciously, guy grasped the small key hanging by a twine loop around his neck. He turned back to the window and caught a hint of movement in his right peripheral. He leaned out, suddenly keyed up and alert, but saw nothing. He began to think he had imagined it when a low growl came from beneath the floor.
“Slap your sister,” he said aloud. As he turned back toward the door, he saw Seth kick over his chair as he stood with his sword at the ready.
Guy raised the crossbow to his shoulder and hurried toward the door.
Below the floor, Charity was terrified.
At first, the horrible noises of metal ringing against metal made her jump. Then as the speed and intensity of the noises grew, it was the dull thumps and thuds, and moments of silence that made her tense. Then all at once, the noises stopped and she could hear a frightening gurgling sound and scuffling noises as if boot heels were vainly seeking purchase on the hard wood floor.
Slow, heavy steps walked in from the doorway
Then one final thump sounded, heavy and flat.
Charity’s little dog, Cuddles, whined and growled during the fight despite all of her attempts to keep her quiet. Now the puppy stood with her tail rigid and her hackles up. She was completely quiet as they both stared at the floor above them where the footsteps had stopped.
Charity held her breath…
Cuddles began to growl again, deep within her chest. The footsteps continued slowly toward the trap door. Someone tried to open it, but the lock held. Charity slowly let out the breath that she had been holding.
Perhaps the lock would hold and she would be safe. Perhaps this man would give up and leave. Perhaps her dad would return and save her. “Please daddy,” she thought.
She jumped and let out an involuntary scream when a heavy blow struck the trap door, sending splinters of wood down into the hidden space below. She screamed again and Cuddles barked as a second blow landed, sending larger chunks of wood below. Long pale fingers reached through the newly made holes and grasped the edges of the broken door.
Suddenly, the entire door and the fingers grasping it disappeared. The sound of a wooden plank crashing against the wall and clattering to the floor shattered her confidence in rescue. Charity held Cuddles around the neck with one hand and gripped the handle of the hand’s length dagger her father had given her with the other. She wasn’t sure what to do.
One large boot stepped down through the hole. Charity pulled Cuddles to her and began to scramble backwards, pushing her way to the furthest corner of the crawl space. Cuddles was going mad, growling and whining simultaneously. She was obviously frightened, just like Charity.
Charity hesitated. A surge of emotion swept over her and she stopped moving backward. All of her fear was instantly eclipsed by a terrible and righteous anger at the man who inspired such a reaction from her sweet puppy. In that moment she forgot herself. She didn’t think about being twelve years old, or that she was a girl. It didn’t matter that the boots in front of her belonged to a killer.
Without a sound, Charity let go of her dog and rushed forward in a crouch. Before the second boot had touched the ground she plunged her knife into the back of the first knee. She yanked it out and stabbed again. She bit her lip to keep from screaming and stabbed again.
The man had his weight on that first leg as he was stepping down into the crawl space, and with a cry, his leg buckled. He fell into the basement, flailing his arms wildly.
It was dark in the crawlspace. If she could see the terrible man who fell through the hole onto the ground beside her, Charity may have been too frightened to move. She pushed inside his searching arms and continued to stab at his vulnerable flesh.
His arms frantically wrapped around her body and began to squeeze, but the arm that held her knife was free and her blade continued to find purchase in his face and neck. No words were spoken. Charity held her eyes firmly closed, and although she was already exhausted, she cut and stabbed until his arms went slack.
Charity pushed herself away from the body and dropped into a heap. Then, starting with a single tear, she began to cry. Soon it grew into uncontrolled sobbing. She startled at first as a wet nose touched her cheek. Then a little tongue began licking her face, and before long, Cuddles had curled up next to her and rested her face in the crook of Charity’s arm. Charity found great comfort in that simple show of love.
She sat up and looked at the opening in the floor above. She wanted to climb out, but that would mean crawling over the corpse, and Charity couldn’t bring herself to do that. She scooted farther away from the body and held Cuddles close to wait for her dad.
Outside, to the west of the cabin, Chase and Lynn approached. “There’s the cabin,” Chase whispered as he passed through the tree line. Then louder, in a normal voice, he said “I don’t see anyone in the window.”
They hurried across the grass and rounded the corner. Chase kept the buttstock of the crossbow firmly in the pocket of his shoulder and scanned side to side and behind them as they moved. Lynn had taken the lead, and stopped suddenly at the sight ahead of him. Near the doorway, and lying on his back was the Sergeant Major’s body. His head was several paces away.
“Charity!” Lynn yelled, and he raced to the door. Gritting his teeth and holding the axe in front of him, he charged through the doorway and into the house. The first thing he saw was the gaping hole where the trap door should have been.
“Oh no!” he thought. “Not this.” His stomach sank as he ran over to the opening in the floor. He saw another body below. He could tell immediately that it belonged to a man, and not his daughter. Instinctively, he leapt down to attack whoever might be assaulting his daughter. There was no reaction when his full bone crushing weight landed on the corpse. The man was dead. A live man, even injured or unconscious would have had some kind of reaction.
Lynn heard the frightened growl of a puppy in the darkness, and he turned tow
ard it.
“Daddy?” came the sound of a familiar voice out of the dark. Charity scurried forward and embraced her father fiercely. “I thought you were dead!”
Tears welled in his eyes as he wrapped his arms around her tightly.
“Charity, are you ok?” He asked. “Are you hurt?”
“I don’t think so. I mean, I think I’m ok.” She said as she buried her face into his shoulder and began to cry again.
Up above, Chase watched the tree line until he was satisfied they were not pursued. He walked inside and found his brother unconscious and slumped against the wall.
“Guy!” Chase shouted as he shook his brother’s shoulders. “I don’t see any serious injury,” he thought. He leaned closer and listened to Guy’s shallow breathing and then leaned back and watched his face.
With considerable effort, Chase picked up his big brother and carried him to a blanket covered straw pallet near the fireplace. He examined Guy more carefully once he had him lying down. He saw only superficial cuts on his arms and legs. All injuries appeared to be to his front, which meant he had not run or cowered in fear. He palpated Guy’s extremities for broken bones or unseen wounds, yet there was nothing that would have caused his brother’s unconscious state.
The last thing he could think to do was to check Guy’s head for injury. Perhaps he had suffered a blow to the head that wasn’t bleeding. He lifted the lids of each of Guy’s eyes and noticed one pupil was much smaller than the other. Then he began feeling his scalp for irregularities. “Damn,” Chase said aloud when he found the spot. Guy’s skull was fractured. Although the skin had not been broken, a terrible force had broken the top of his cranium. Chase felt a soft spot, like on a baby’s head, when he gently pressed it. “It feels like the pieces are still in place, just broken.” He carefully pressed again, trying to confirm that everything was in place. Then he imagined sharpened pieces of bone being pushed down into the brain cavity, or the pieces not lining back up when he released pressure, and he stopped.
