Wavebreaker

by A. J. Norfield

  Trembling, Landon looked at his friend’s face. The soldier made a stabbing motion and imitated a death cry while the others laughed. The row of kneeling prisoners cursed or turned their heads away, eyes tightly shut. They already knew what was coming.

  Slowly, Landon lifted the sword up in the air, the tip pointed downward. Trista, her eyes wide with horror, could see the blade shaking.

  Don’t! Don’t do it!

  Perhaps her unspoken words reached Landon’s mind; he abruptly threw the sword to the side, cursing the soldiers with all the terrors from the ocean’s depths. The first soldier jumped forward and struck Landon with a closed fist.

  For the second time, Landon ended up with his face in the dirt. The soldier picked up the sword, dragged Landon to his knees and then kneeled behind him. Locking his own hands around Landon's, he touched the sword to Sterak’s chest. The soldier pushed Landon’s hands downward, forcing the blade into his dazed friend’s chest. Another cheer rose from the spectators as Landon let out a wail, struggling to escape the soldier’s cruel grip.

  Trista remained motionless, unable to process the atrocities happening in front of her. Her heart raced painfully when the soldier pulled the sword from Sterak’s chest and, in one motion, stabbed Landon straight through the neck.

  Trista once again put her hands over her mouth to muffle her shocked scream.

  They mustn't hear me. They mustn't hear me…

  Luckily, no one took notice. The soldiers laughed as the young man whom Trista's mother had intended her to marry slumped forward across the corpse of his best friend. Trista felt ashamed of her outburst that afternoon. She had called him a dumb ox, unworthy of being her partner. But not even the worst townsfolk deserved a fate like this.

  A voice suddenly filled the air.

  “Landon! No! You monsters! Why did you do that?! He won!”

  It was a voice Trista knew all too well. It had called her home for dinner on sunny late afternoons; had teased her when she returned home from her dates, and annoyed her immensely when she was not in the mood for any silliness. But now…now the sound of her little brother’s voice was like a songbird’s call at dawn, full of promise.

  Her eyes frantically sought for the source of the sound.

  There!

  There he was—across the square, beside the shrubbery. Trista saw her little brother rage against his captors from inside one of the primitive cages. The soldiers only laughed at the boy’s outbursts, eventually throwing a burning piece of wood toward him to make him shut up.

  He’s still alive! He’s really still alive!

  A storm of emotion flowed through her. Relief and excitement about her brother being alive battled the fear of having to push further and closer to the danger in front of her.

  “Just keep quiet, Decan. I’m coming,” she whispered to give herself the strength and courage to continue.

  Wiping tears of sorrow and happiness from her face, Trista slowly backed up and retreated to the edge of the village. She would have to take the long way round to get to her brother unseen.

  Moving only when she was absolutely certain none of the soldiers were looking, Trista made her way toward Decan. Above her, the clouds scattered, showing that the moon had gone way beyond the highest point. Luckily, it also meant more of the soldiers were now passed out.

  As she skirted the square, she passed the remains of two more captives. These men had been used for target practice; arrows, throwing knives, even an axe had all introduced their own form of suffering to the victims. Trista was glad their screaming had ended along with their torture.

  Trista had just double-checked to see if she was moving toward the right cage when a soldier's shout startled her. Stopping dead in her tracks, she quickly looked around to see if they had spotted her. But the soldier was moving toward the seven remaining men to pick out two more contestants. Both captives struggled to get away, giving Trista the opportunity to cover the distance to her little brother’s cage. She hated that others were suffering, but her brother was everything now. She needed to save him. There was no past, no future—only the danger, and her task to get him out of there.

  “Decan,” she whispered as loud as she dared.

  He didn't respond.

  “Decan…it’s me, Triss.”

  Still her brother remained motionless. Perhaps he had passed out from exhaustion. She looked closer, but barely recognized him. His face was swollen on the left side, his cheek and eye covered in dark bruises.

  Trista felt as if she was being watched. She turned her head; two large eyes looked right back at her. Trista stared back in silence at the girl in the cage next to her brother, afraid that she might scream. The girl looked like she had been through hell. Her clothes were ripped, part of her hair was scorched and someone had taken the liberty of bursting her lips with a punch or two. It took a moment before she recognized her as Hali.

  Hali and her friends had never liked her, although Trista never really knew why. Over the years, they had developed numerous ways to make Trista’s life as unpleasant as possible, from name-calling when they were little to gossiping and false accusations as they got older. They even tried to corner her after one of the summer dances; Trista had given two of them bloody noses, and the girls had never resorted to physical harassment again.

  Now, on this dark night, eyes which had always looked at Trista with disgust and rejection were begging her for help.

  “Trista? Is that you?” the girl asked shakily.

  Quickly, Trista put her finger against her lips to urge the girl to be quiet. She eased her hand into her brother’s cage and rested it on his leg.

  Decan twitched and looked over his shoulder. He seemed exhausted from his earlier outburst, but when he recognized her face Trista saw a sparkle of light in his one open eye. The smudges on his face showed lines of dried-up tears.

  In the meantime, the soldiers had chained the two chosen captives' hands together, as well as their feet. The chain between them was only a few feet long, keeping both men close together. Each was ordered to sit down while the soldiers started a small fire in the spot between them. Their limbs and chains formed a circle around the fire.

  While the soldiers were distracted by this new form of entertainment, Trista quickly took her knife and started on the ropes that tied the thick branches of her brother’s cage.

  “Trista!” hissed Hali. “You’re not going to leave me here, are you?”

  Again, Trista put her finger to her lips, urging Hali to keep quiet. The soldiers were bawling loudly in that unfamiliar language, but if any of them were to hear or see them, Trista doubted that she could get away.

  But Hali had no intention to keep quiet and risk losing her only chance of escape. She grabbed Trista’s wrist.

  “Help me. Please! You don’t understand what they do to the girls,” she whispered, tears running down her face. “Please….”

  There had been moments over the years when Trista had hoped an accident would happen to Hali; maybe a broken leg, or a stingray jabbing her. The girl had not been a pleasant part of her life. But here in the dark, with the horrors forming in front of them, she just wanted to get her little brother to safety. So she tore her arm loose and kept working on the ropes of the cage.

  As she cut the third rope and started on a fourth, the branches of the cage became loose enough to move. Her brother watched her progress intensely with his one good eye.

  Just one more…

  The soldiers were feeding the fire between the two captives. As they threw on fresh wood, the fire increased in size, and the flames crawled closer to each shackled man. The iron of the chains was slowly heating up; it would not be long before it would start to burn their flesh.

  With a soft snap, the fourth rope sprang loose, giving Trista and her brother enough room to push the branches apart and let Decan wriggle out of the cage.

  Meanwhile, the fire had grown so big that the heat was getting too much for the captives to bear. Both men fea
red the flames, trying to get away from the fire as the soldiers kept throwing on more wood. If they side-stepped too far, the onlookers jabbed them with their swords. But if one man pulled away from the fire, the chains pulled the other one toward it. It had become a tug of war to the death.

  Hali seemed hypnotized by the flames, perhaps wishing they would free her of things to come. But as Decan finally slipped from his cage, she suddenly turned and clung to Trista’s leg.

  “Wait! Help me get out of here, or…or I’ll scream, and the soldiers will get you,” Hali whispered with a sudden viciousness in her voice.

  Trista shot fire from her eyes. Part of her wanted to let Hali rot in there, but she had already seen so much suffering this dark night. Her mind played out all the terrible possibilities of what the soldiers might do to a young girl. She would not wish that on anyone—not even Hali—but she had no intention of keeping herself or her brother in danger any longer.

  Grinding her teeth at Hali’s rude, arrogant ways, Trista slowly twisted her knife around in her hand. Just for a moment, she thought of stabbing it in the girl’s arm, but instead she stuck the blade in the ground beside the cage.

  “Here. Do it yourself.”

  Hali snatched up the knife and started working on the ropes, completely forgetting about her savior. As Trista and Decan snuck away, screams rose up behind them. The sizzling of flesh announced the end of the tug of war as one of the men lost the struggle and was pulled into the flames.

  Afraid to look back, Trista pushed her little brother forward. They had to put as much distance between them and the soldiers as possible.

  They rounded a corner and the village square dropped out of sight. Unexpectedly, Decan half-fell, half-jumped toward Trista, throwing his arms around her neck and hugging her with all his strength.

  “Sis…” he sobbed.

  “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Just be quiet. We’re not safe yet. There’s soldiers everywhere,” she whispered.

  “But they shot Mother and Father. They killed them.”

  Trista fought back her own tears. She needed to be strong for Decan.

  “I know, I know. But we can’t mourn them yet. We must survive first. We’ve got to get out of here.”

  “But where do we go? We’re on an island!” the boy whispered with a panicked voice.

  “A big island. And it doesn’t matter where. Anywhere but here.”

  Her day at the cliff slid back into her mind.

  “The caves. Let’s go to the caves. We can hide there.”

  Decan gave a quick nod, relief in his eyes. He turned to face the direction that would take them the shortest route to the caves.

  “Not that way," said Trista. "I want to stay as far away from the square as possible.”

  “Shouldn’t we help them?” asked Decan softly. Trista remembered his earlier protests at Landon's unfair demise.

  “I wish we could, but we can't. There are so many of them. The entire beach is crawling with them, too. I made a promise to Mother and Father when I found them that I would do everything to keep you safe, and that’s what I'm going to do.”

  Their hushed conversation was cut short by shouting from the village square. It was not the soldiers' usual sadistic laughter. It sounded like something had unexpectedly gone wrong.

  Trista snuck to the corner of a house and briefly peeked around it.

  “It’s Hali! They spotted her trying to sneak away.”

  The girl was running as fast as her legs could carry her away from the village center, with several soldiers shouting after her. Some of the soldiers stayed behind, laughing at the escape attempt, but their fellow bullies closed in on her quickly. Hali would not be able to outrun them for long.

  Trista swallowed hard, every fiber in her body wanting to jump out of hiding and help her former nemesis, but her fear was too great. She knew there was nothing she could do. The only upside—if one could call it that—was that the distraction would at least allow them to escape more easily. Trista instantly felt guilt at the thought.

  “Trista!”

  The panic in her brother’s voice made her jerk around. Decan backed away from a swaying soldier who looked too drunk to fully understand what was going on. He appeared to have stumbled upon them by accident while looking for a place to take a piss and seemed unsure as to whether he was dreaming.

  Tripping over his own feet, Decan landed ass-first in the sand. The soldier made a grab for him as he squirmed away, then lunged forward again to grasp the boy’s feet.

  Trista’s mind raced looking for a weapon. With her spears out of reach, tugged behind her back, her hand found something hard and solid in the sand. The rock's weight was just right, light enough to swing at speed but heavy enough to make a real impact. Somehow, it had a familiar feel to it. It was like the entire island was in her hand. It felt like…home. She had been here all her life, walked on these grounds, and now it was like the island recognized her—wanted to help her.

  For the drunk soldier, Trista came out of nowhere like a ghost. The rock slammed into the soldier’s temple, cracking it open as the force of the swing slammed the other side of his face into the wall.

  Trista did not look at the result. She jumped up, dragging Decan to his feet and started running.

  Shouts from behind told her the soldier might have been taken by surprise, but he surely was not dead yet. As they raced through the narrow streets, the shouting increased as more soldiers joined the search. Trista dove into a burned-down house; climbing out the window on the opposite side they quickly closed in on the border of the village.

  They ran like the wind, Trista pulling her brother along so fast his feet barely had time to touch the ground. Her head started to pound again as her breathing intensified. Dizziness lingered in the corners of her mind, ready to intrude as soon as Trista let it. Her earlier fall had certainly given her a concussion.

  They left the last buildings behind as they ran across a sandy plain dotted with dry grass toward the cliffs. If they had been running any faster, Trista would have sworn they were flying.

  The rain had stopped. The clouds split as the land gave off the day's collected warmth and drove the gray blanket high above them apart. Stars and the moon sent down their light, which made it easier for Trista and Decan to see where they were going. Unfortunately, it also allowed a group of soldiers to spot them. Each came from a different direction, the light of three torches clearly headed across the plain toward them.

  The ground, which changed from hard to loose sand and back again, was not easy to run on if you were not used to it. One of the soldiers had already gone down once, and it was obvious that they were all still heavily under the influence of liquor. However, what they lacked in speed and coordination they made up in sheer determination and perseverance.

  “We just have to make it to the caves. We can lose them there,” said Trista to her brother between heavy breaths. “We’ll take the high path that goes down just before the caves.”

  The ground became firmer when they reached the cliffs. Trista tried to keep up the pace, but her—and Decan's—exhaustion was gaining even more quickly than the pursuing soldiers.

  Suddenly, a shape loomed up ahead. A soldier walking the cliffs had spotted them coming toward him—no doubt alerted by the shouting men giving chase.

  “Decan, whatever happens, stay behind me and keep going! Do not stop! Get to the caves, go in as far as you dare. Remember your way. It will be dark.” Trista let go of her brother’s hand.

  The soldier looked like he was ready for them. Sword in hand, he was focusing on Trista as his main target.

  This one is not drunk like the others. He´s much too alert. He´s dangerous, she thought in a panic. I´ll only have one chance.

  Closing in on her foe, she grabbed one of the two small hunting spears in her throwing hand. Hopefully he would not expect her to be armed.

  She pushed her hesitation out of her mind.

  It’s just like hunting fish…<
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  She counted her steps as she closed the gap between them. As she felt the ground change under her feet, she chose her moment.

  Now!

  Twisting her heel into a groove in the rocky ground, she launched her short spear with a quick movement of her arm. The thin spear was barely visible in the darkness. If it had not been for Trista’s sudden shift in movement and the glimmer of moonlight on oiled wood, the soldier would never have seen it coming. Instead, he dove out of the way, but the weapon's speed was too great and the distance too short.

  The spear hit the soldier's arm just below the metal plate protecting his shoulder. It barely even pierced his leather armor. Trista screamed and continued her charge without slowing down.

  The soldier recovered quickly and swung his sword in a vicious arc. But his timing was off, as Trista—anticipating his attack—slightly adjusted her speed. The slash left the soldier completely open to Trista's desperate lunge. Knees forward, she hit the man in the chest with her full weight. His armor caught the blow without much trouble, but he toppled backward from the force of the impact and slammed to the ground.

  Gripping her last hunting spear near the head, she stuck the point in the only vulnerable place she could spot. As the spear burrowed into the soldier´s neck his surprised roar was replaced by a deep gurgle rising from his throat. Warm blood poured over her hand. Her stomach turned.

  Decan shot past them as Trista tumbled forward from her own momentum. Miraculously still holding the spear, she scrambled to her feet and ran after her little brother, ignoring the heavy protests from her legs.

  As they took the path down to Boulder Beach, Trista saw Decan trip over a rock and land in the dirt. She tried to pick him up, but he could no longer stand. His breath came in short, husky bursts, and he clutched his ribs with both hands.

  “Get up,” urged Trista, but her brother only lay in front of her, dry heaving from exhaustion.