Tiny Story #5.0

Aaaaaand we’re back!! So let’s get right to it, shall we?

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BROTHERS: Part 1 of 2

Oliver struggled through the waist-deep snow, pushing it aside with his arms as best he could. The drifts had gotten deeper during the night, but still he plodded on. There were men somewhere behind, following. Oliver knew they were just playing with him. Like the fat farm cat did with the mice. The men would let him think that he was escaping, then draw close enough for him to hear their raucous laughter and jeering. Though he had only seen ten years, he knew that much. And he knew they were bad men. “The dregs of humanity,” Oliver’s father had called them.

He climbed a small granite outcropping and took a brief moment to catch his breath. He pulled his wolf-pelt coat tighter and cinched the straps around his wrists and waist. He had his woolen scarf wrapped around his mouth, and a fox-fur cap atop his head. Oliver looked towards the peak of the mountain. The rocks were jagged and steep towards the top, and he knew their horses would not be able to follow him up there. But the air was thin so high up and every breath came a little more labored. He moved up the slope and hid behind a house-sized boulder still trying to catch his breath. Oliver lay down on his back and stared up at the low clouds. They were streaking across the sky. He felt as though he could reach out and touch them. It made him feel restless. He wiped away his tears and, reluctantly, pushed to his feet. All he wanted was to lie down and sleep, just for a couple hours. Maybe when he awoke, his mother and father would be there, no longer stuck like slaughtered livestock. He had not slept all night as the evil men harried him up the treacherous slopes of the Bhediya. Sniffling, he wiped his nose with the back of his fur glove and made his way up the slope, climbing over sunspots and scurrying over the exposed scree.

His legs were numb from running all night, but it was either run, or die, so he made himself keep going. He jumped as a wolf howled. It sounded close but Oliver knew his ears played tricks on him in the mountains, the Captain, his father, had said so. Ridges and cliffs bounced the sounds around in strange ways. The wind began to pick up as Oliver clambered up a cliff face. It was no more than thirty feet to the top and he had climbed cliffs three times that height around his father’s manor house, but he was winded when he reached the top and his limbs trembled. He looked back the way he’d come and saw the score of men ride over a low saddle. He could see one of them pointing up at him. He knew he must have stuck out plain against the stark white snow. Still, the ground was rough for the horses and it would take them time to reach his present perch. They would have to ride around all the jutting boulders, while Oliver could climb right over them.

Oliver’s father had hanged the bandits’ leader, but it was justice for all the murders and rapes the monster of a man had committed. And the Captain had been ordered to do it by the Caliph himself. But the bandits wanted their own justice, so they had come in the night for the Captain and his family.

Oliver had not run out the back door as his father had commanded. He had had to see his mother one last time. He climbed the stairs as fast as he could to her bedroom. The fire in the hearth gave the room a pleasant warmth, but Oliver felt colder than the snow that was falling outside. He looked at his mother’s ashen face, and tears welled up anew. She slowly turned her head as he lightly touched her hand. “Oh,” she whispered. “My baby boy.” She smiled weakly. She tried to raise her hand to brush through is hair, but she did not have the strength.

She was so pale. He had never seen his mother like this. Why was she so pale? She had always been strong with a ready smile and a musical voice. Her once raven hair, now had a light dusting of salt, and lay limp upon the pillow. “Hello, mother,” he managed.

“My sweet baby Jon,” she whispered through her teeth. Oliver had to put his hand over his mouth to stifle a sob.

“Jon… Jon’s not here mother,” he said between shuddering breaths. “I’m Oliver. Remember, mother? Your youngest son, Oliver?” Tears blurred his vision. Jon was his older brother, but he had died when Oliver was only three.

“Yes, of course.” His mother’s voice was thin and drawn. “Sweet little Olli,” she smiled.

“Yeah,” was all he could manage. Oliver heard the clash of steel from downstairs. He knew he should run, but he could not leave his mother, not like this. She closed her eyes and fell back asleep, as he held her hand. “Sleep, mother,” he whispered to her. “This is a scary dream. A night terror. Sleep, and don’t wake up. Dream of sunshine and being strong. Dream of Jon, of Papa; dream of me, mother.” He scrubbed the tears from his eyes and cheeks. He ran to his room and grabbed his wolf-pelt coat, his woolen scarf, and a fox-fur cap. Oliver ran back to his mother’s side to see her once more. His father burst into the room and slammed the door shut, bolting it from the inside.

“Damn it, Oliver I told you to run!”

“I… I had to say goodbye.”

“Go, out the window. Climb down the tree and go!” The door shuddered and the wood around the hinges and bolt cracked slightly. “Go!” Captain Combe opened the window and hauled Oliver out onto the roof. “I’ve already lost Jon, I won’t lose you too. Off with you now. Hide, and stay out of sight. Remember this night, Oliver.” Captain Samuel Combe spun towards the door as it splintered open. The Captain’s curved blade was a blur.

To be continued…

I will post the second part on Friday… still working out the kinks… as much as I can work them out in just a day or two ;)

Tags: Tiny Stories