The Black Oath

Pain often plants a dark seed in the minds of lesser men.

"Pain plants a dark seed in the hearts of men"

The morning after the burning of Monmonoth.

     Coughing, a puny blackened boy with soot crusted hair shields his mouth and lifts his bewildered head to gaze upon his mysterious surroundings. Pillars of smoke and ash are billowing upward all around him. Tongues of fire lick at fallen timbers drawing the breath from out of his breast. Straggled amid burning embers and lingering ash clouds the malodorous stench of crisping flesh assaults his nostrils. He can barely make out the charred bodies scattered about the ash and flames.

      Who..? Where am...

      The odor is so potent it wrenches his gut and he violently begins to empty his stomach. His last disembowelment leaves him too weak to even lift a finger to wipe the vomit from his lips. He looks more a mad dog foaming at the mouth than a boy.

      ...I...I, don't...under...stand, where am I? What, what...happ..

      Confusion fills his thoughts, its fear that grips him now, fear of the unknown. The lumbering ash clouds burn his trembling seafoam eyes and he is forced to surrender his body's water.
    
     Wha...what?

     Unable to recall the events that had previously transpired he becomes aroused to anger. All he could suffer to retain is a minuscule but potent bit of knowledge.

      This was my...my...home. No!..NO!

      His inner voice screams and raising his head he sees the morning sun making its ascent into the carnelian sky as his hands begin to shake violently from the white heat distorting the air above the torrid coals. Salt trickles down his begrimed face and collects at his chin until it grows so fat it falls to the ground with a sizzle.

     ......noooooooo!!!!

     He wants to roar but couldn't muster the breath. His throat swollen and dry from the blaze within his breast but raspy words escape his parched lips none the less.

     "I - swear....the - black - oath"

     Only a broken whisper to the ear it resounds as a mighty war cry reverberating within him. A symphony of pain begins to throng throughout his entire body. Each muscle seems stiff and unresponsive as if his body is not his own. Again he attempts to probe his memories but they remain elusively lodged within the labyrinthine depths of his subconscious.

     ...the...Black...

     The sound of silence now rings in his ears and a possible future is burning away with his estranged surroundings.

     ...the - Black - Oath, he again resolves and a thought, a single driven thought takes root in him and acting upon it he reaches down, grasps a handful of searing hot ash, and brands his palm. Clenching firmly into a trembling fist his uncut nails break his crisping skin while warm liquid bleeds between his fingers, and trickles down into the hot ash. Instinctively he coils into a ball and rocks his body feverishly. The fire in his hand begins to throb as if he ripped his heart from his very breast and holds it still beating in his shaking fist.

      I hate you....he tells himself and releasing the burning ash from his grasp he uncoils, coughing as he props himself up onto his hands and knees. And there, in the vengeful silence a stray memory as flotsam surfaces to his conscious thoughts.

     The ring!

     Jerking back he reaches for his leather satchel to retrieve it but finds it's not there. Now the levies that were damming his anger begin to break as he dumps the contents from the bag and scrounges through them violently in the ash.

      Where is it!! He yells.

      The realization renews his strength with a furious vigor. The sea of flames around him now burn within his breast. He jumps to his feet and runs into the Thieves Thicket leaving his satchel, its contents behind with the young puny boy still prostrating in his wake.

      Each step wild and without thought pushes him into a myopic dash that darts him between the trees and the sound of leaves crunching beneath his bare feet. Where he is going he doesn't know, only where his legs will take him. His mind broken and blinded by the darkness clouding all but his primitive rage that guides him haphazardly through the earthen cathedral. Tears cascade down his cheeks and roll away behind him as if they are to be his last. Sore eyes ebb with each step as exhaustion overtakes him until he no longer has the strength to keep his eyes ajar. It feels of freedom, the forest air in his face, the nothingness, and the rush of the run but darker thoughts outweighs these now. Sightless he collides into a stranger and they toople together like a ball with limbs. They tumble together upon the forest floor and slamming against a small stump they are thrown apart. 

     The stranger is quick to his feet with paranoid reflexes and shaking his head with an ill favored grunt he yells at the fallen youth, "why don't you be watch'n where you be goin ya lunatic. No place to be runnin amuck without a care mind yas." Black stubble from an evening shadow frames his slender face. Short in stature but lean and fit. He wears a dirtied cream vest and a pear sash tied round his waste. His fingers twitch with spidery movements as they grasp the satchel hanging at his side.

     The boy ignores the man's slander, props himself up, and seeing a gold band at the strangers feet his eyebrows begin to furl and muscles contract.

     ...mine...the tunnel visioned lad murmurs.

     The thief is familiar with the tempest in the youth's eyes and it pries old wounds. Divine be damned me knows that look me does. Although compelled to empathy for the blackened boy he knows feelings are just as dangerous as any blade. How it be shape'n us miserable souls it does, well not for much longer, in his case anyway. Concentrating on the moment the pilfer primes for the confrontation to come. Retrieving the ring, his eyes cling carefully upon the wildling all the while underhandedly pulling his dagger from his pear sash around his waist. Relaxing his shoulders he plants his feet firmly. As of late me has been a wee weary of fight'ns I have.

     Drawing a blade always gives him the feeling of being cut away. Though he never doubted the inevitability of its use. Not all losses be counted in lives, that be a fact that is. The thief's eyes remain fixated on the boy with a sneer of mal intent.

     The wild youth jumps to his feet and charges him without the slightest hesitation.

     Let him be fall'n onto me blade. He's got the look ask'n fors it he does. Flipping his blade edge face down he shifts his weight to his right foot behind him while he prepares for the strike. Good lad come to me edge.

     The mad atramentous boy dashes the thief who skillfully steps to the side leaving his blade outstretched. The sting of its edge bites the boy's thigh and causes him to fall to the ground kicking up the dry leaves where he falls. The thief backs up slowly and raises his weapon to his chest. "Come on then lad, there be plenty a knife here for yas."

     The crazed youth jolts back up to his feet and charges the man with a fools determination and yet again the thief steps to the side and leaves him bloodied and in agony. Rage stays the boys pain and in his stubbornness is back to his feet. Charging a third time only his pace slows.

     That's a good lad come to me knife's edge I be cuttin that there frown'n face of yers. Again the thief skilfully dodges his attacker but the youth comes to a halt avoiding the outstretched blade. The boy turns his right foot digging into the dirt and pushes forward thrusting his body into the stranger.

     S**t!!! The man nearly panics.

     The thief falls over with the youth on top of him, lightning quick jabs find their way to his face. He raises his blade as to catch his attacker's hands but the boy ignores the pain. Quickly kicking the lad off of him he rolls to his feet, and pins the crazed boy down. But the lads hands break free and flail wildly until they find the thief's throat. The man gasping for air presses the blade's point firmly to the savage youth's throat but the boy does not release his grip. The thief quickly stabs his attackers side and it shocks the grip around his throat loose.

       "Ahhh!!!" The boy screams dropping his arms to grasp his wound where ribbons of red fall though his fingers. He curls up into a ball rocking his body in agony and he blacks out nearly diminished of his strength. He knows he is dying and at first he accepts it, if only for moment but a voice within his head calls from out of the black.

     The - Black - Oath!

     But he wants his revenge, whatever it is, and he would defy death to do it. After regaining consciousness he sees the blur of the thief's face hovering over him and it brings his arms back to life. They find the man's throat but the stranger presses the tip of his blade till it draws blood and the boys grip lessens. The thief gasps for air but leaves his blade fixed on his stranglers gullet ready to finish what his blade had started. "F**k'n hell lad, yers mad!"

     The boy now absent of any strength collapses while blood pools from his side and his skin pales with a sickening complexion. The stranger waits cautiously to ensure the mad cub is no longer a threat and his fears subside. Me wouldn't have been guess'n steal'n this here ring would be bring'n so many troubles. Me figure on top of this here bloody book why not. He shrugs while debating the fate of his young assailant. He did try to kill me yet on the other hand me dids feltch from him. "What I be doin, have'n a conscience gets ya killed. Best me can do's is put an end to em. Better to die quickly then starve out here and left for pickens amoung the wolves."

  Pausing for a moment he begins to pace around the fallen youth and decides to examine him. He's rather puny, though theres somethin, strange...cant sees it but I cans feel it me can. "Hmmm for certains he's got one of them fools gumption I'd be grant'n him that." Bending down he presses his hand to the boy's mouth feeling for breath.

     "Damn the Divine there be no good deed goin withouts consequence that bein a fact that is." Mumbling he stands back up. That pesky empathy nibbles at him. "F**k!" He kicks a rock that skips along the duff. "Well ya damned fool lets be taken this here wild cub to Farnith. Me be certain someone theres can patch him up."

     Convinced he tares off a piece of his pear sash and wraps it around the boys wound. "This won't be holden, I better be get'n us to Farnith with haste." Eyes glance down at the satchel to his side the very thought of its contents gives him pause. Fear now overshadows his concern for the boy. Fear of his burgled parcel and fear of those who sought it. Are they still bein out there, those devils?

Author's Note

This chapter is still being edited but I feel I'm getting closer to getting this right.

Reviews

[blue cave]

Nice :)
I wonder if there is a different way to describe the boy instead of "youth" since you have to mention him quite a lot...something that will make me see him in my mind while this glorious fight is taking place

[Mati]

Ok yeah I defianetly used that word far too much. Thank you. When I finish the rough draft I will be sure to make the appropriate changes.

[blue cave]

its just that i know he is an adorable character and I want to see him

[Mati]

I understand. :)