| Subject: Mike brand Fiction (Chapter one) |
Author:
Mike
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Date Posted: 02/21/05 2:53:39pm Mon
It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining in a clear blue sky, and mountains were painted across the horizon, the day had been met by the lapping of waves against the cliffs overlooking the sea.
It was in this setting that Rethan, the fourteen year old son of a local farmer sat on an old, neglected watchtower that overlooked the ocean, looking out over the waters at the horizon, wondering at times what sort of people lay beyond those waters.
It was however, at this time, watching the waters, that he spied a boat off in the distance, something out of the ordinary, for no one ever visited the farming communities here. As the ship grew closer, Rethan was able to discern the men on the ship, all of them well armed and active. Seeing this, Rethan immediately set to running, down the stairs and towards the village, resembling nothing so much as a swift hunting cat chasing after its prize.
Finally, reaching the village only a few minutes more before the ship itself might have, Rethan called out warning. Men came running from their houses with bows drawn, while women and the smaller children immediately began to flee the village.
As for Rethan himself, he was old enough to be counted among the able-bodied men, and found himself holding a bow in a grip that promised competence in spite of youth.
They waited, and nothing happened. They waited some more, and nothing happened. Just as the men of the village began to breathe sighs of relief, relaxing their pull on strings and lowering bows, something did happen.
The crew of the ship had apparently put to shore just a bit away from the village, rather than assault it directly, and came in from the west side, catching the unfortunate farmers off their guard. Rethan found himself practically being strangled by some sort of loop attached to a stick, though he had no idea why they would use such a weapon, he fought for all he was worth, reaching back and elbowing the man in the stomach twice, before a cruel jerk was applied to the rope, dropping Rethan, gasping for air into the dirt.
“This one has a little fight in him, eh?” Yelled his assailant before landing the toe of an iron shod boot into Rethan’s ribs. Again that foot came around, and again, before his cruel assailant reached into his belt and got out another stick, and began to strike at Rethan.
Still, it wasn’t as though the young man was just giving up, indeed, even as the stick came out, Rethan’s foot came up, catching him squarely in the groin. And then there was a sharp crack across his forehead, and he blacked out.
He awoke in the dank hold of a ship, his hands bound. The first thing he noticed as he woke, was how much it hurt when he tried to move. His chest and arms felt like he had caught the bull by the horns, and his head ached. Memories came flooding back to him and he groaned.
The men had been slavers, and as such, two days later they pulled into port. Rough hands pulled him to his feet, and, with them remembering him, they did not want to risk him making an attempt at running, so instead of loosening his bonds, they used a knife to remove his shirt before splashing him with a bucket of water to clean him off.
The slave pens were almost as bad as the ship itself had been. Potential buyers yanked up on his lip to see the perfect teeth that the slavers had boasted of, they had prodded him to check the firmness of his muscles. Some women gave appreciative looks at his lean body and almost luxurious hair.
In the end, a swarthy man made a proposition to purchase him, and bargained with the slaver, haggling over price, one of the big detractors to his price being that he was only fourteen years of age, not even into the bloom of manhood.
Rethan’s life turned out to be a hard one. His owner was a seafaring smuggler, and Rethan was immediately thrown to the oars, where his lack of proper knowledge at first had the whip across his back more often than any of the other slaves, driving a burning hatred into his heart. His thoughts and desires quickly turned to strangling the overseer with his chains, but the overseer, evidently recognizing the hatred the slaves all seemed to mutually bear him, stayed well out of reach, and paused only long enough to bring his whip across a back.
Almost three months later, Rethan was still rowing, the wounds that he had suffered when he had been taken were long healed, but he bore the scars of the whip across his back and shoulders. This day, there was a palpable feeling of tension.
A yell came from up on deck, and the overseer seemed to almost panic, his eyes widening in fear, and he began to run towards the hatch. It was in that moment, he stepped just a little to close to Rethan. Rethan’s chains gave him little leeway or reach, but they had just enough slack for him to trip the overseer, the whip falling from his hand as he fell. In half a moment’s time, Rethan, needing greater reach, was sitting on his hands, and his legs coming up, to wrap around the overseer’s neck, an drag him closer in the same movement.
Even at this young age, Rethan was strong, no titan of muscle and bone, no behemoth, but still fairly strong, and with a twist of his legs, there was the sickening crack of bone, and the body beneath his legs went slack.
In the struggle however, the keys to the slave chains had fallen out of reach from the oar benches, even as far as Rethan’s feet went, they were out of reach. Immediately, he took the overseer’s belt knife, and began to hack at the wood where his chains were secured, frantically trying to release his chains at least, so as to reach the key… because having killed the overseer, if he did not escape, his owners would have his head mounted on the wall as an example.
Perhaps it was providence, or perhaps a strange quirk of fate, but at that moment, the ramming spur of another ship, the reason for the overseer’s fright, and for the tension on the ship, crashed through under Rethan, who only barely jerked his legs up in time to avoid the fate of his unfortunate bench mate, who lost his legs from the knee down as the spur ripped through the hull.
This had two profound effects. The first, was to immediately rip the boards holding Rethan’s chains to bits, effectively releasing him from the bench, and the second being to unleash a spray of water into the ship… the first of course, was very good. The second, unfortunately, was very bad.
Still, Keeping his wits about him, Rethan dove for the keys just before the water would have washed them into some corner of the ship where Rethan would have never found them. Precious minutes were spent trying to find the right key before his manacles fell from his wrists and, tossing the keys to another slave, Rethan headed for the deck, knife in hand.
Fate however, has a funny way of tormenting those in a bad position. Rethan was just in time to duck his head back down below deck as one of the masts came crashing down, effectively blocking his escape and leaving him with no way to escape the swiftly rising water.
All about him, slaves that had been freed from their chains were in a state of panic. With no apparent way out, it seemed that all was lost, yet, it was at that very moment that the water coming into the hold intensified as the ramming spur ripped out of the hull, taking many boards and part of the framework of the ship with it, dragged by the barb.
Rethan could only take a deep breath and go under water to try and avoid the spray of water that was keeping him from his one and only escape. His lungs burning and his eyes stinging from the saltwater, he swam out the hole in the side of the ship, and grabbed onto a rising piece of wood, kicking his feet hard for the surface as he did.
It felt like the entirety of the world’s weight was crushing down on his chest, and the desire to open his mouth, to try to breathe in spite of the water that would fill his lungs, came upon him. And then, he burst from beneath the water, gasping for air.
The smuggler ship was sinking, and quickly, but men from the other ship seemed to be intent upon pillaging it before it went under, which, in Rethan’s mind, was just as well. An escaped slave would be looked upon as just another prize to whomever owned this other ship, and their distraction allowed him to quietly make for the shoreline in the distance.
Hours later, exhausted from fighting against the current, cold, and hungry, Rethan crawled onto shore, with only a knife, and some debris from the wreck washing up on shore.
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