Satin's Tale: Dealings Done

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Cruel Odds

It all started with fire, and death.

The stone formed a smooth, graceful arc, rising through the air.  As it reached its peak, a second rock whipped towards it, knocking it from its path with a sharp click.  Small hands retrieved them moments later, and the young child stood, ready to throw again.  His hair was black and short, uncommon for a boy from Rohan, but along with his grey eyes, it was a trait he shared with his father.

Evening was approaching, and most of the men and women of the small village were finishing with the heaviest of the day's labours.  The boy continued his game for a few minutes more before a call caught his ear and he let his stones fall, running instead for home.  Supper was simple, filing and good, and the boy ‘helped’ his mother clean up afterwards in the less than helpful, deliberate manner of small children.  It was then that the first shouts started.  His mother’s hand wrapped about his shoulders, holding him close as his father reappeared in the eating area.  They exchanged words briefly as the shouts grew, before his father left again, heading outside.  His mother watched from the window, still holding him close, but the boy wasn’t tall enough to see what was happening.  He felt her flinch back, beside him, and draw a sharp breath, and then he was being rushed away, down into the sunken pantry of the house.  The smell of cheese and salt was always one he’d been fond of.  His mother crouched down beside him at the back of the shelves, hugging him to her chest and whispering softly, rocking.

The smell of smoke began to filter down to them before long, along with the sounds of fighting.  The boy asked what was going on, but his mother only hushed him to silence.  They listened as the sounds of the struggle continued overhead, trying to ignore the smoke, until at last his mother hugged him tight and placed a kiss on his forehead.  She found his eyes, holding his shoulders so she could look at him.

“I have to go check on your da.  I can’t leave him alone out there.  You stay here, understand?  And not a sound.  I’ll come back.”  As she hurried form the cellar, the trapdoor let in the glow and crackle of fire before it closed, sealing the boy once again in darkness.  He waited, huddled between the shelves, unsure and frightened, until the sounds of the conflict began to recede.  Hesitant, he crept forward, edging closer to the trapdoor.

Small hands pressed against the heavy wooden door, pushing it up a crack.  Heat and sound rushed in, the growl and crackle of fire, and shouting.  So many voices he didn’t know.  There was a crash and the shouts became deafening.  The boy saw many pairs of feet scuffle across the floor, as the sounds of violence intensified.  Just as suddenly they stopped, punctuated by a strangled, gasping cry, and a scream.  The boy flinched, gasping.  The voice was his mother’s.  Looking through the crack he couldn’t see her, but could hear her shouting and crying.  Amongst the feet in the room, a body was dropped roughly to the floor, blood beginning to pool out almost immediately.

He couldn’t see much of the body, but as he stared, wide-eyed and horrified through the slit, he could make out a head of black hair, dishevelled and marked with blood.  His dad was the only one with hair like that.  Terrified tears began to obscure his sight, and his hands trembled.  There was another voice shouting now, overpowering the cries of his mother.

“Oi, what a shambles you’ve all made of this.  You lot, leave the woman alone.  Tie her up and have your fun later if you must, but get these damn fires put out first before there’s nothing left for us to take!  Or ‘ave you forgotten why we’re here?  Water, from the well, now hurry before it spreads further!  Harry, Elis, round up the others and get them putting out these fires, then do a sweep for any other resistance.  Get to it!  Hangnail, once the fires are out organise the salvage from their stores, the rest of us will be searching the… What have we—”

Suddenly the trapdoor was pulled up away from the boy’s hands and he stared up at the face of the shouting man.  His tiny white teeth grit, tears hot against the flush of his cheeks.  Overcome, he threw himself at the man, and was hoisted up roughly by the back of his shirt.  He kicked and spat and flailed, screaming in inarticulate emotion, but for all his attempted biting and scratching, the man remained unmoved.  He laughed.

“Got a live one here.  Look at the little blighter go.”  He chuckled again, scratching his chin.  Another of the attackers paused in the midst of hoisting a bucket of water over the flames.

“Just gut it and let’s get back to business, boss.  It’s not like he’ll survive long anyhow.”

“Oh I don’t know, Harry.  He’s a fighter…  seems like it’d be a bit of a waste, don’t you think?”  The other man just shrugged.

“Your call boss, but don’t expect any of us to change it.”  The boy felt his arms pinned down to his sides as he was thrust with brutal firmness under the man’s arms, and a long dagger held in front of his face.

“Ok, so listen kid.  Quit your crying and pay attention.”  The boy fell silent as the dagger was pushed against his neck.  “Here’s the deal—” As he spoke there was another cry from the other side of the room.

“No!  Don’t you hurt him!  Leave him alone you—”  The boy’s mother broke free of her captor, racing across the room towards the leader.  He stood straight and turned, then dropped a fast sweep, still holding the boy under his arm, to knock her feet from under her.  As he finished the circle, the dagger spun in his hand, into a reverse grip, and he dropped to one knee to drive it down hard and fast through the back of the prone woman’s neck.  Her body twitched and jerked a few times before he wrenched the dagger free and returned the point to the boy’s throat.  A trickle of blood ran from the point onto his skin.  Wide-eye and terrified the boy was frozen as the man continued, as though nothing had happened. 

“World’s a nasty place, and that ain’t your fault.  World doesn’t care that it’s not your fault though, and you can be stupid and brave about that, or you can be clever, and deal with it.  Most of us don’t get many real choices in life, all was can do is make sure we’re clever, and make the right choices when we can.  You got a choice here here, kid.  So let’s see if you’re clever to go with that fight, eh?  This is the deal.  Me an’ my men, just this once, we ain’t going to kill you.  That’s it, that’s your lucky break.  You can’t survive here long; there’s no-one left to look after you.  Stay here, you’ll die.  Or, you can come with us, and you’ll almost definitely die, unless you’ve got a whole lot of fight.”  The boy felt his feet touch the ground a moment later, though the dagger didn’t leave his throat.  “Now.  I’m going to let you go.  You brave?  Or are you clever?”  The leader released his awkward grip on the boy’s arms, and leaned back, still holding the knife-point to him.  The boys tiny fists clenched, fraught between fear and anger, but he didn’t move, staring sullenly back at the man, and getting a good look at him for the first time.  His hair was a sandy brown, rough-cut and short, and his face was lined and scarred and weather-beaten.  He might have been old, or just prematurely aged.  The eyes that watched him were a flinty blue, and they twinkled as he laughed.

“Smart move, boy.  James, get the kid outside, take him to the horses.  He doesn’t need to see any more of this.  He’s free to go where he pleases, but if he wants to come with us once we’re done, we’re letting him, understood?”  There was a murmur from the few men who remained in the house, and one of them grabbed the boy roughly by one arm, dragging him outside and away from the smoking and smouldering building.

As he stumbled across the square behind the raider, he could see other house in the small village that bore signs of fire.  It looked as though it had started from the small forge, and spread with the wind, but the bandits had it mostly under control and put out now.  Several of them were going through the buildings hunting for foodstuffs and other valuables.  The man pulling him by the arm glanced down.

“Chin up kid.  You may not see it, but old Marley just saved your life.  If it’d been me or one of the others, you’d’ve been shanked and left to die with your parents, all neat and simple.  Boss is a bit funny like that sometimes though, and we respect him.”  The thought of his parents again, with the smell of burning made the boy tremble and his stomach lurched uneasily.  He stumbled a few more steps before he became violently ill, making James jump back with small cry of surprise.  It was a few minutes before the retching stopped and he picked himself up again, tears streaking his face.  James was taking hold of his arm again a moment later and pulling him a long a little further.  He saw the man’s eyes looking at him briefly, before his face and mouth was being wiped clean with a handful of dried grass.  “And to think we call it kindness…” he murmured, almost to himself, then louder, “Come on kid.”

They arrived as a loosely assembled cluster of horses just outside the village area, mostly waiting, or nosing at the grass.  One man seemed to have been left in charge of watching them, and was trying to calm the few that seemed nervous from the smell of the smoke.  He looked up at their approach.

“What’s this then?  The boss picked up another one?”  He nodded to James all the same, who responded in kind.

“Aye, cut him the same talk, or something like it, though I doubt this one’s even old enough to understand half of it.  How the horses doing, Shoes?  Sorry about the smoke, idiot smith of theirs put up a fight in the forge, and accidents happened.”

“Don’t sweat it, they’re fine.  Few are a bit nervous, but they’ll be fine once we’re out of here.  This one though…” He took a moment to appraise the boy.  “He won’t last a week.  Kids not even old enough to be off his ma’s apron strings.  Recruiting is one thing, but he’ll never last.”  James shrugged.

“Perhaps.  Probably.  But Marley’s Kindness falls where it pleases.  You know how it goes.  I leave him to your watch, Shoes.  If he wants to come when we leave, then he comes.”  The boy felt James shove him firmly on the back, towards the other man, and glanced back to see him returning to help the other looters in the village.  The other man, sitting his horse in a relaxed pose, was in the process of lighting a pipe now that the raid was clearly a success.  He looked down at the boy with a casual glance.

“How old are you kid?  Four years?  Five?  Hmph…  Marley’s Kindness indeed… in a week’s time, when you you’re dying of starvation, sick and injured, you’ll wish he’d just killed you here.  That would be the kindness.  But see, you live, and you’ll come to see things as they really are underneath, a lot like we do, and it won’t be so bad.  Think carefully when you make your choice.”  He went back to smoking his pipe, watching the curling smoke from the village with distracted interest.  The boy didn’t respond, still struggling to deal with everything he knew changing in mere moments.

A few more minutes passed before the horse man looked down at him again.

“In shock, eh?  Most likely I can’t blame you.  But you’ll need to snap out of that soon enough if you want to survive.  World doesn’t care if you’re not ready for it, and it certainly won’t make allowances.  You got a name kid?”  When the boy didn’t answer, the man shrugged.  “Not that it matters.  They’ll find one for you soon enough, if you last long enough.  Everyone calls me Shoes, because of something a bit foolish from years back, so don’t worry; they’ll find something to call you.”

It was some time before the other men returned, a while after the last of the fires had been doused, and the remains of the village had gone quiet.  They made several trips, loading up their horses evenly and with care.  The boy still hadn’t moved or spoken by the time they were ready to leave.  The leader, Marley, looked down at him from the back of his own horse.

“Stay there and you’re dead for certain.  Come with us, and you can fight for a chance.  What’s it to be, kid?  You coming with us?”  The boy looked up at the older man’s face, his face a grimace of emotions, all held back behind eyes that struggled not to burst into tears.  He nodded once, and Marley laughed. 

“Knew you were a smart one.  Up you come then, boy!”  With casual ease, he leaned down to scruff the boy by the back of his shirt and hoist him up to settle in front of him on the horse.  His next words were a shout to reach all of his men, and the boy flinched at the sudden loudness.

“Right boy, let’s get out of here!  Safely back and no losses!”  There were returned shouts from the other raiders and they set off, riding away from the smouldering village.  The boy was jostled by the bad position of the riding, the horse far too large for his small frame, but the effort of staying on was enough to distract him until exhaustion began to creep up into his limbs and eyes.

He was roused again, roughly, as his body struck the ground, the flattened grass only going a small way towards cushioning his fall.  Blinking, he scrambled up, about to call for his parents before his awareness returned.  The force of it made him grit his teeth and fight back tears again, but no-one seemed to be paying him any heed.

They had arrived, it seemed, in a small camp; temporary, yet bustling.  Night had fallen, and he could make out the shapes of wind shelters which were pitched around a cleared area where a large fire had been set.  The raiders busied themselves unloading and caring for their horses, or else sorting and assessing their takings from the attack.  Marley was standing talking to a woman near the centre of the camp, unconcerned by the boy’s glare.  It seemed as though he’d simply been ignored once they’d arrived, and left to fall from the horse in his half-sleep.

Someone bumped into the boy, half-tripping and dropping several long bars of raw working iron in the process.  He cussed viciously, and glanced at the boy as he picked up his load.

“Watch it, brat.  Make yourself useful or stay out of the way.”  As he stood again, he called out.  “Oi, Marley!  You bring in another one?  This one looks like he ain’t even old enough to dress himself, what’re you thinking?”  The other man turned from his conversation.

“Easy there…  I’ve got a good feeling about this one.  He’s got spirit, and he doesn’t seem incurably stupid either, even if he’s only a babe.  He’ll learn, you watch.”  The other man snorted and he set his bundle down alongside several others like it.

“Good feeling, eh?  Ha, like as not he’ll run away and die first, but you’re the boss.  Don’t expect me to share any food with him though.  We’re all stretched thin enough as it is.”

“Oh, aye, fair enough.  He won’t be much use to anyone if he can’t even hold his own.  Give it a chance though.  You, Boy.” This last was directed at the child. “Over here.”  As the boy approached, Marley gestured about the camp.  “Your new home, for however long you last.  We move about a lot, so get used to it.  Everyone’s got a place they make for themselves.  You’ll have to find yours here if you want to survive.  Tonight’ll be easy for you, but that’s where it’ll stop.  If you’re lucky, folk’ll ignore you, for the most part.  If not, well, that’s your problem.  We’re all equal here, every one of us, so you’re just going to have to do whatever you need to, because there’ll be no special consideration, understand?”  He looked down at the child, who was still glowering at him.  The boy felt his teeth clench and unclench, tight in his jaw, as he fought off his distress.

“I- I want,”  Marley’s eyes twinkled slightly and he smirked, cutting the boy off before he could continue.

“Ah, none of that now.  If you need something, you seek it out yourself.  If you want something, you take it if you can.  If you want to keep something, then you hold onto it, if you can.  And if you want something from someone else, you tell them what they’re going to do for you, and you tell them good.  You’re going to need to harden up and fast, child, because softness will just get you killed in this world.  Now try again.”  The reprimand made him grit his teeth further, and his fists clenched, angry.

“I’m hungry.  Give me food.”  Marley laughed aloud.

“Ah-ha!  Much better kid.  But why should I, hmm?  I’ve got nothing to gain feeding you.  Look around though.  Most folk have eaten tonight already.  There some bread and meat over there still, that’s mine.  I ain’t got none for you though.  What are you going to do about it, hmm?”  Marley nodded in the direction of a stack of crates just behind him and to the right, where a small tin plate rested, bearing a thick slice of hard bread that was busy soaking up the juice from a hunk of fresh cooked meat, atop it. 

The boy felt a growl rise in his throat as his frustration grew.  He dashed forward suddenly, ducking under the first hand that reached down at him, before being caught from behind by another and lifted off the ground.  He shouted and struggled in vain.  Marley was laughing again.

“My, you are a quick little thing, when you want to be, aren’t you?  Nice try kid, haha!”  He was held tight until his struggles ceased, then placed back on his feet.  The plate was held in front of him, the smell of the cooked meat filling his nose.  He hesitated, watching it, and the hand that held it, warily.  “Like I said, boy.  Tonight it goes easy for you.  Here, eat up.  Last free meal you’re ever likely to see.”  Still angry, the boy hesitated a moment longer, before snatching the plate away and retreating several feet from the man with it.  As he took his first bites hungrily, Marley chuckled again.  “Savour every moment, little one; the world is only getting darker.”  That night, the boy fell asleep on the edge of the grass, not far from the fire.

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