Hunted (Part 1)
The boy’s
days were spent at his father’s feet in a very literal sense fore he was the
son of a cordwainer and now that his eldest sister had run off with some
hooligan leaving him the only child and heir to the family business it was the
boy’s lot in life to learn all he could about crafting the fanciful shoes of
the wealthy and their repair. It was a terribly dull profession, but the boy
put his heart into learning it. After all, he did not want to disappoint his
parents.
His father would become dispirited
like when his sister left and take to the bottle again. He had only recently
begun to sober up though it was more than a year since she left.
The boy’s mother was in some ways
far worse. Ever since his sister left she would sit huddled in a chair with her
knees up to her chin and whimper or cry openly. In the winter, she was covered
with a blanket and in the summer, she was not. This was at the best of times.
At the worst she would begin sobbing uncontrollably usually triggered by the
boy walking in the room and he learned to avoid the poor woman and the
unexplained guilt this caused him.
So he studied his father’s work for
hours on end and learned his craft and at the ripe age of thirteen the boy
decided that he knew all he could about making fine shoes and was ready to set
out on his own, but he did not. He could not abandon his parents. Despite the
difficulties at home, they needed him and loved him.
Every night he stared out of his
window as he drifted off to sleep thinking of his sister and wondering where
she might be. Was she happy with the lout who stole her away? Were they married
now? He hoped so. His eyelids would grow heavy and sleep would take him to a
land of dreams that could be blindingly bright. He would see his sister there sometimes.
She would be sitting or cooking and the hoodlum would come up behind her and
hug her lovingly. Then, he would kiss her neck or her lips. They would laugh
often- much more often than the boy ever saw her laugh before.
At other times the dreams were darker
than any moonless night. Men cloaked in shadows would come for him and bang at
his window. The boy would hide under his blanket hoping that they would go
away, but they never did. They would break through the latched window with a
sword radiating a soft blue shine that illuminated their faces revealing
contorted features and eyes that hungered after the boy. The house would then
explode with noise as the house became overran with the cloaked men. They would
pull his covers, his only form of protection, away leaving him completely
vulnerable. Then one of the men would reach for him…
He was always startled awake at
that point. His body would be covered in sweat and his breathing would be
weighty and loud.
It was following one of these
dreams that he caught his first glimpse of one of these men. He had gone out to
fetch some lunch for his father and himself after they had spent most of the
morning cobbling old, but well crafted shoes or cutting strips of leather for
some new creations. The boy had worked up quite a hunger and was quick to
return with their cut of beef and bread. As he rounded a corner, he saw a
hooded man dressed in drab browns leaving his father’s shop. The hooded one
started a little as he almost ran into the boy turning the corner. His cloak
whipped up as he shifted his weight to avoid the boy revealing a sword belted at
his waste.
The boy hurried into the shop and
found his father glowering at the wall.
“What is wrong, father?”
“Nothing, Sane,” he paused as if he
had something else say, but only repeated, “It’s nothing.” He absent-mindedly
clunk some coins together under his palm. He would lift them up and let them
fall again producing the light clink sound. Eventually, he asked, “Do you know
why Avelice ran away?” His eyes were bloodshot.
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