The thick blanket of the night made me nearly invisible as I effortlessly shifted through the forest, dodging the flickers of torchlight that lay attached to misguided hands. If the order had been quieter and more discreet when searching for me, they'd have heard my movement and found me. The downside to traversing the forest in the dark is that I could barely see a thing, and every step I took made another brittle twig snap underfoot. I was on edge. Now and then, I realised I needed to breathe and had to take a rushed, hushed intake.
Such cold air. It was so frigid, making every breath difficult and sore. It grated the skin till it turned red and tender. It made the baby restless, but I could do nothing for him except hold him close, giving him the little warmth I had, which wasn't much. My clothes were filthy and damp with sweat, which only added to the irritability of cold, and my breath was laboured as the piercing air assaulted my lungs.
Exhaustion was still a problem. I was only passed out for a few hours at most, so I needed to keep calm and maintain control of the situation as best I could. If I had to run, I was going to be in trouble. The holy order's voices were loud. Even though they were scattered hundreds of feet apart, their voices carried far across this graveyard of trees. I couldn't make out what they said, but I felt the venom in it. The river from the cliff travelled eastward, so when I couldn't track the stars, I had the river in reserve if I needed it, at least for the time being. It wasn't easily visible, though; the moon lay smothered behind dark clouds, with the occasional attempt to break free reflected on the top of the water, but it wasn't much use.
I spent many of my years outdoors, so my survival skills were competent, and I made progress slowly but surely, even though the sea of torches seemed endless like they clung to my presence. My betrayal dripped like blood for them to lap up like hellhounds craving more. I was public enemy number one.
Keep moving. Don't stop. Don't fight. Conserve energy. Protect the child. As I travelled, I kept repeating these words like a mantra to keep me focused and diligent. It seemed like common sense, especially for me, but I wasn't in the right state of mind, so I needed to reassure myself every step of the way.
The moon fell low and, in doing so, brought the light. My only assistance was fading fast as the sun climbed high, brightening the landscape and exposing my location. The order wasn't in sight, but I had to move quickly, using what little darkness I had left to my advantage. The good thing is that the sun brought the heat as it began warming the baby and me up and also making it easier to see where I was headed. I could see where I was headed, but the forest stayed prominent. I kept my quickened pace as my stomach growled, but that had to be dealt with later.
Weeks were spent travelling to reach Darsoon, and there was little life to be seen; maybe they were hiding from us, but that doesn't explain the little wildlife we saw either. We saw a handful of villages in those early weeks; I wouldn't call them villages, just a spattering of run-down shacks that we promptly decimated.
Most of my journey since Darsoon was much the same. I spent most of the day after leaving the druid's home walking and hungry, hoping for a village or a single house where I could find food, not for me, but for the baby. He fussed due to not having eaten since the massacre of Darsoon unless the druid fed him, but I had no idea.
I travelled until nightfall. Not a single torch, no clanging metal armour, not a single member of the holy order was near. Eventually, I found a small stone house with a straw roof nestled amongst trees in the forest, where a thick smoke radiated from their chimney. Whoever lived in that house could've given us shelter, food, and some vague directions, even if we couldn't understand each other. There was also the possibility that they'd be hostile and attack, but I had to try.
As I approached the house, I got a bad taste in my mouth, like I had made a mistake, but I just pushed it down against my better judgment, even when the baby began to cry again.
When I was close enough, I peered into a window and stifled the kid's cries by covering his mouth with my hand. It incensed him, and the monster I was bubbled to the surface as I was the cause of his panic.
Inside the home, a family gathered around a dining table, a husband and wife with a young boy of around five years old and an infant. A family was a good and bad thing in this case. It was good because the mother could feed the baby, but bad because the husband would react badly to my presence. After all, a stranger in the night, scarred, the butcher of his people. I prayed he didn't know me or my 'accolades'... I never deserved any help; only my death was deserved. I was alone but had to take the risk. I hovered my fist over the door before finally deciding my path, and I slammed my fist twice onto the wooden door.
Shadows dispersed from inside. I caught the movement of the young boy as he peered from a window before the door cracked ajar. The husband answered as expected, burly and mean-looking, a good foot taller than me, roughly my age, but his muscle mass was frightening. "Don't piss this guy off" was my first thought, but he seemed more afraid of me as he hesitantly opened the door and spoke. I had no idea what he was saying, but it wasn't aggressive, but rather anxious. When I was with the holy order, we travelled further into the savage lands than most expeditions, and the language we knew the savages spoke was different to this phlegm-filled throat dance he uttered to me.
I shouldn't call them savages, but old habits die hard.
The silence was thick in our interaction as the husband's family stood behind him until my baby whimpered and eventually cried loudly. I didn't even get the chance to react, but the wife squeezed her way between the doorframe and her husband as her motherly instincts kicked in and rushed to comfort the baby. I was apprehensive as I held the baby tight to my chest, but her eyes seemed kind as I loosened my grip and let go as she took him inside. The husband, with a silent exterior, stood back before uttering more gibberish, but I understood the gist and walked in.
The warmth was well received. I hadn't realised how tense I was until I managed to relax. The family sat back down and ate while the wife kept the baby calm and fed him, acting like I was a guest and posed no danger to them. The husband put meat on a plate and signalled me to sit with them. I still have no idea what I ate, and maybe it was the hunger talking at the time, but It was delicious. After the food was finished, the wife took her young son and infant to bed along with my baby. Even being out of sight made me anxious, but I pushed that feeling down. Sleep was soon after, and a few hours, even on a wooden floor by a fire, was good enough, and I had to stay ahead of the order anyway. I fell asleep fast. I was exhausted, which made sense, but I was also a soldier at heart and tuned into danger, like an aura surrounded me when anyone became a threat.
I awoke. Slowly, I peeked open an eye to see why I woke up, and the husband stood with his wife. Their demeanours were agitated, but they kept their voices hushed—bad news. A glimmer of moonlight reflected from a knife as the husband picked it up.
"Don't make me do this,"
I kept repeating that to myself as if it would make a lick of difference. The husband skulked, like a predator closing in on prey, halting his movement when the floorboards creaked before slowly creeping again. I was no prey, and he was no predator. His hand shook as he gripped the dagger. He was afraid of me. This man wasn't a savage wanting my head as a trophy; no, he was just a husband and a father wanting to protect his family. I was the real savage, the real monster that parents used to teach their kids to behave. I wish I could've stayed still and let him kill me; It would have been more than I deserved, but I lived for someone else, so I had to fight back.
I let the dagger come close, close enough so I could control his wrist. I grabbed his wrist tightly and kicked at his shin; I was on the floor, and he was crouched, so he was off-balance and easy to manipulate. His leg slid back as he fell forward. A killer would've grabbed the inside of his elbow and turned the dagger around on him, but he was scared, and I wasn't going to kill innocent men anymore. Instead, I bit his hand, and he reeled with pain as his grip came loose. I scrambled to grab it, throwing it far enough away that It couldn't be used again.
The scream started next. The wife shrieked in fear, spouting that gibberish again, still not knowing what was said, but the husband let out his anger. He grabbed me by the throat and squeezed so tightly like he was releasing the pent-up rage of the atrocities I committed on his people, I was sure my eyes would pop out. I wished I had the dagger again at that moment, but we live with our decisions, and there isn't any need to dwell on something so insignificant. I could've broken his arm effortlessly, but that's a death sentence anyway, so I punched, clawed, spat and bit anything I could to get him off me, but nothing worked. So I gripped his ear and pulled. A missing ear is painful but not life-threatening, and It worked well as he reeled in agony, which gave me just enough time to push him off as I scrambled to my feet.
The respite was short-lived. By the time I stood up, the husband charged into me, slamming me into the stone wall as my head bounced against it, dazing me. I had no idea how I could incapacitate this man without killing him, and my body knew it, too, as it screamed for me to murder him. It wasn't just a fight with the husband, but myself too, fighting against my instincts as decades of killing men like him with ease was frothing for another number to add to that list, begging me to gouge his eyes out and do whatever it took to win. He rag-dolled me around the home while I held onto his shirt dearly. Eventually, my grip slipped, and I got thrown across the table, flipping it over and knocking bowls onto the floor.
My sweaty hair clung to my face, and I threw it back and used the moment of reprise to grab a bowl as the table obscured my actions. The husband moved around the table; the blood from his missing ear soaked his shoulder, but his adrenaline pumped hard, making him an unstoppable juggernaut, and I was running out of time to find a way to let him live. I launched the bowl at his face. It missed, but he covered his eyes instinctively, giving me a perfect chance to kick him in the nether regions. It wasn't honourable but better than death. He hunched over, wincing in pain, and I followed up with a knee to his nose; the crunch of it made my stomach turn, but I wasn't finished, and neither was he. Lastly, I jumped onto his back and put my arms around his throat as I pressed with all my might. Every ounce of energy was focused on squeezing, and I refused to let go until his body went limp, but that took a while. He fought on, but he couldn't shake me off, so he resorted to throwing himself into the walls, and every time he did, it was agony for me; my whole back must've been black and blue after that fight. Eventually, though, he slowed down, gasping for breath as he fell to his knees, collapsing unconscious.
I loosened my grip but waited a few seconds in case he woke back up, but he was out like a light. I leapt to my feet to grab my baby, but the woman stood in the doorway, frozen in place, so I pushed her away and picked him up. The commotion woke the baby, but he was calm enough, belly full of milk and wrapped up warm. On the way out the front door, I grabbed a cloak that hung up next to it. I felt bad about stealing their belongings after what happened... still do, but I had to. They knew who I was, which meant others would know, too, and I had to be discreet.
Again, we were out into the cold night—no torches nearby, though, which was very welcome.
End Chapter