Chapter 59 - In the Dark Tide's Wake

Taking shelter from the rain as best as he could, Skyle scurried forward along the muddy streets along with dozens of other townsfolk who were caught just as unprepared as he had been by the sudden storm. Gusts of wind pulled at his clothes but Skyle hunkered down under the hood of his oiled cloak and splashed his way past growing puddles that lapped at his feet. A small town like Sunny Meadow could not afford the luxury of cobbling every street with stone like Glory Peak, so under the assault of a downpour such as this, the streets quickly became quagmires that made finding steady footing a very tricky proposition.

A few miserable townsfolk bore testimony to this fact. Their bodies were caked in mud, and from the scowls in their faces it was obvious that they had slipped in the treacherous streets. In his rush to get out from under the rain, Skyle himself had a couple close calls. Still, the small boy nimbly found his balance every time, and his clever eyes were constantly scanning the ground under his feet.

“Strange,” Skyle thought to himself. “The dirt on the streets has been churned so much. Last time I saw this many tracks, the Solvanfaire caravan had brought dozens of trading wagons to open up the biggest festival we had seen in years. Could it have returned already?”

Just as Skyle was about to step under the arch of the town’s tavern and Inn, he was stopped by a heavy hand landing upon his shoulder.

“Hold up there, young fellow. This place is off-limits to civilians for the time being.” Came a gruff voice.

Skyle looked up to see a grizened soldier with a full beard of ginger hair. It was parted by a scar running down the left side of his chin. His skin looked crusty, and though his lips bore a lazy smile, his eyes were alert. Underneath the heavy cloak that shielded him from the rain, metal glittered as light reflected from a well crafted chain hauberk of black and gold. Upon its chest lay the ornate crest of a lion rearing up with its claws in the air and two flags upon its teeth.

The little boy did not fail to notice that one of the man’s hands rested casually upon the well-worn hilt of his sword. Just a cursory glance told Skyle that this was no ornamental weapon, no matter how fancy the man’s armor looked. Though well maintained, the grip looked worn with age and use, and from the man’s easy posture, he had been the one to place every groove and salt ring in it.

“You listening to me boy?” The soldier’s other hand gently shook Skyle’s shoulder while holding him at arm’s length with easy strength.

“Uh, I just wanted to take shelter from the rain. Most folk do during a sudden storm like this,” Skyle mumbled, staring.

“Well, be that as it may, area’s off-limits to civilians until further word. Now, off with you, little fellow.” The man’s voice was calm but firm.

Skyle’s eyes were riveted upon the crest on the man’s chest.

“That’s the crest of the Lion of Draxas. They must be Leon’s men,” Skyle maintained the dumb look on his face as his widening eyes took in the dozens of similarly garbed soldiers standing guard around the Inn. Underneath the thick cloaks, similar gleams of metal could be seen. Skyle had an idea of Leon’s high status, and thought he had gotten used to the idea of having a duke’s son for a friend. However, seeing all these veteran soldiers and knowing they were sworn to serve his young friend made Skyle’s head spin for a moment.

The soldier stood there watching the small boy with remarkable patience. It struck Skyle that he must hardly be the first little boy stunned speechless by the grandeur and presence of these steel-clad soldiers. Little did this soldier know that this little boy’s thoughts were spinning faster than any normal child’s.

“I can’t let them find Leon yet. He mentioned some sort of assassination attempt. He hasn’t even fully recovered yet. I can’t trust them, and just from the fact that Leon did not ask me or my parents to contact his men, I can tell he doesn’t trust them either.”

“Wait a moment, small town like this, it’s the first time I’ve seen your face, and I’m good with faces. What’s your name, boy?” The words were casual, but Skyle didn’t miss the sudden undertone of vigilance veiled within.

“Uh, mister, your armor’s so shiny. Can I see your sword?” Skyle babbled in his best simpering child voice, making his eyes go as round as he could make them. “Pleeeeease?”

One of the other soldiers sneered from behind his back. "I see you've caught quite the skilled spymaster this time, Darius. He even managed to disguise himself as a scrawny little farm boy. Maybe your time would be better spent seeking the young lord?"

“Not this again,” The soldier sighed through his nose, then brushed some water off Skyle’s shoulder with a surprisingly kindly gesture and handed Skyle something from his pouch. “Here, run off to the store later and get yourself some sweets, kid.”

Skyle looked down to see a handful of coppers in his hands. The town’s militia wore plain leather jerkins and carried weathered clubs. They certainly couldn’t afford to hand coins - even if they were coppers - to every kid who ran to them looking like a half-drowned cat.

“Wow, thanks mister! I want to be a strong warrior like you when I grow up!” Skyle giggled, and though he felt like he wanted to puke at his own simpering grin, the soldier seemed to have dismissed this simple child from his mind already. Mumbling happily to himself, Skyle walked off under the rain, his head spinning as he had the vague feeling that his simply farm life would never be the same again.

Skye couldn’t afford pay any attention to his steps any longer. As he rounded the front corner of the Inn, his gaze wandered to the stables at its back. They were packed to the brim with elegant carriages with extravagant decorations he had never seen. The edges of the doors were gilded with what looked like real gold, and silver motifs of the Lion of Draxas were embossed upon them. Just that one door represented more wealth than Skyle had ever seen, let alone the whole carriage. Now there were a dozen such packed in these rustic, muddy little stables.

Skyle did not envy Leon his wealth, for he had already seen the price his friend had paid for such luxuries. Murdering one’s own brothers and living under the constant threat of assassins - surely, no wealth in the world could be worth such a price.

In truth, Skyle felt pity for the young Lord of Draxas. He could see the hesitant look in his friend’s eyes when he invited him to the dining room. Perhaps Leon was worried about dragging his family into his convoluted political schemes. However, he knew there was more. It was almost as though Leon, the vaunted scion of House Draxas was intimidated by the tiny Farrow family.

On some instinctive level, Skyle felt this fear and even understood it to a point. It was like a feral snowblade tiger who was first introduced to the streak of tigers in the Farrow farm. It was a completely different world, and such abrupt changes were not always easy to take in.

Skyle felt that his parents understood this and thus let Leon have some time and space to deal with his own feelings at his own pace.

Now that Skyle had finally seen the grandeur of House Draxas with his own eyes, even if it was just a tiny part of it, he felt a little lost himself. It was as though a whole new world had opened its ponderous gates to him, and the comfortable life at his parents’ farm was just a tiny secluded corner hidden from the storm of the greater world outside.

It was the first time Skyle felt as though his training with his father and the lessons from his mother were inadequate. Not that there was anything wrong with them, but he felt small and unprepared to face giants such as the Duchy of Draxas and Adrausier.

Skyle had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he did not mind his footing and slipped. He flailed his arms awkwardly but it was of no use. He fell on his back and lay sprawled in the mud, and after a momentary struggle he spread his arms out to his sides and simply gazed up at the churning skies above. He followed the myriad raindrops as they fell upon his face like tiny rays of light that tickled his skin.

At this moment, when he felt so small and insignificant in the grand scale of the great expanse of skies above, Skyle felt a faint connection to something greater than himself. It was nothing but the faintest whisper that seemed to come from the wind and the rain, and it was gone the moment he tried to focus on it. Like a handful of sand that would only slip past his fingers even faster the stronger his grip grew, this odd calling that he felt teased him from the edges of his mind.

It was only when he gave up trying and simply allowed himself to indulge in this feeling, soaking it all in just like the mud in which he lay and the water that washed it off his face, that he truly heard it and was able to convince himself that he wasn’t just imagining things.

“Skyle..” This voice, it was familiar to him, painfully so. He yearned for it like a desert longs for the rain under the blistering glare of a thousand suns.

Skyle wasn’t sure how, but his mind began to unfold, opening like the petals of a flower greeting the light of dawn upon the end of a wintery squall.

“Skyle..”

Who was it? Why couldn’t remember who it came from, and yet felt so familiar with it?

“Bastard!”

The angry scream, immediately accompanied by a howl of pain, wrenched Skyle out of his trance. Suddenly, he shivered uncontrollably as he lay in the freezing mud, soaked to his bones.

Skyle shakily rose to his feet, his gaze still fixed upon the sky above. That mysterious feeling was gone, however, and all he could see were grey skies and the cold, indifferent drops of rain.

“Damn beggar, how dare you hit me? I’m going to kick in your rotten teeth!” came the same shrill voice that had forcibly dragged Skyle out of his reverie.

Skyle recognized that voice. Shaking his head, Skyle tried to wipe some of the mud off his clothes before giving up and following the rising cries coming from the narrow alley ahead.

There, Skyle came upon the scene he had expected to find. There were five teenage boys surrounding a smaller figure. The latter was a scrawny child who was likely around Skyle’s age, though with all the filth and grime caking his face, it was hard to tell. He wore rags tightly bundled around his feet for shoes, and the thin tunic he wore had as many holes as it had patches. His black shoulder length hair was now disheveled as he was roughly pushed to the wall by the bigger boys.

These boys were Ramsey’s crew. Ramsey Barclay was the biggest of the teenages, his shoulders broad and his arms massive. Before meeting Leon, this was the biggest boy Skyle had ever seen. Ramsey was fourteen and worked at a nearby quarry. Years of hammering rocks and bearing their load had made his body resemble a rock itself. His face was also one of stony belligerence as he glared at the street urchin.

“I’m sick of your stink every time I go take a drink from the well,” Ramsey growled as he cracked the knuckles of his massive fists. “I told you last time, that well belongs to Ramsey’s Crew, and I won't have no filthy street rats dirtying it.”

The street urchin pushed himself off the wall and glared back at Ramsey in silence, though he had to crane his neck up to look at the giant before him.

“Well’s not yours, and where I go is no business of yours either,” came the surprisingly intense voice from the beggar.

“It’s my well if I say it is, and my business ain’t nothing a filthy rat like you can say nothing about.” Ramsey reinforced this with a brutal kick to the smaller boy’s chest. Though the latter raised his arms protectively before him, he was lifted off his feet and slammed painfully against the wall.

Though visibly struggling to draw breath, the street urchin lay a steadying hand against the wall and raised his head to glare at Ramsey in wordless defiance.

“Take them damn eyeballs off me, you rat, or I’ll gauge them out. I told you last time when I beat you bloody that I’d break your legs if I ever saw you again.” Ramsey loomed threateningly over the smaller kid, with his four cronies laughing and jeering behind him. “Well, any last words before I make you piss blood for the next two weeks?”

Skyle stood at the mouth of the alley and swiftly looked around to see if he could see any of the town’s guard. The rain had driven most folks off the street, however, and he could hardly see anyone he could ask for help.

Ramsey was a bully, and like all small-minded bullies he would take his petty pleasure from roughing up his victims and asserting his dominance. Skyle himself had few encounters with Ramsey, as his family’s status and his own lack of interest in the town had isolated him from Ramsey’s sphere of influence. However, he had heard plenty of tales from Fatty and the other children. Adults frowned upon Ramsey and his crew’s actions, but since it was limited to a few scraps between children they were left alone for the most part.

“Maybe a bloody nose and a few bruises would be a fair price to learn to stay away from Ramsey and his ilk.” Skyle shook his head and drew a breath to warn Ramsey that he had called the guards. It would be an empty gesture, and Skyle knew it wouldn’t stop Ramsey. However, at least it should keep Ramsey from being excessive. That it would likely earn Ramsey’s fury did not concern him at all.

Skyle doubted Ramsey had ever killed a chicken, let alone other people. Wolves and bears made a small town bully like Ramsey look like a clown, let alone the magical beasts and deadly soldiers his own arrows had cut down. Just a single dracoling or giant spider would sent this entire town into chaos, and who knows how much innocent blood would be spilled onto the muddy roads before such deadly creatures could be slain?

Skyle had never understood his father’s steely insistence in passing down his skills, especially in the beginning when Skyle had absolutely loathed the lessons.

Now, after all that he had been through and what he had seen of the world, he finally understood. It was a dark, grim place out there in the real world, and it took both the conviction of the virtues imparted by his mother and the strength of blade and arrow passed down from his father to protect both his own life and that of those dearest to him.

Skyle’s time in Sanctuary had been a true baptism in blood, and he now looked at the world through the eyes of a child no longer.

Those same eyes flew wide as he witnessed what happened next. Skyle had been about to shout out his warning when the words got stuck in his mouth.

Ramsey had lifted a finger to jab it at the little street kid’s chest. The little kid abruptly grabbed the finger, then before anyone had time to react, he wrenched it sideways and up with a violent jerk.

Skyle could imagine the bone-crunching crack as the finger broke. Ramsey himself howled as he clutched frantically at his hand. The street urchin maintained his grip on the finger as he pulled Ramsey forward, bringing the bigger boy’s body following helplessly along. With a vicious twist, he sent Ramsey tumbling to the ground in a heap of flailing limbs and agonized cries.

Still not done, the little street kid sat on top of Ramsey’s chest as he maintained his hold on the broken finger. It was easy to see that it was no ordinary injury, as blood dripped steadily from his grip. He then raised his other hand and began to pound his fist against Ramsey’s face. The bigger boy writhed and shrieked under the vicious blows, but he couldn’t even put up a fight as any struggles were swiftly ended by a vicious twist of the broken finger.

Clearly, the winner had been decided. However, Ramsey had help while the little kid didn’t.

After the first moment’s shock had passed, Ramsey’s cronies rushed up and kicked the kid off from Ramsey. The violent blow sent the small kid sprawling to the floor, but the one that screamed in agony was Ramsey.

The street urchin’s grip had finally been thrown off, but what was left of Ramsey’s index finger was a mangled lump of flesh with jagged edges of bone sticking out its sides. Tears and mucus flooded down down Ramsey’s face as he craddled his finger to his chest, his face pale with agony.

Two of Ramsey’s followers knelt by his side with apprehensive looks on their faces while the other two kicked the street urchin on the ground. The mud on the alley slowly began to drip with crimson as specks of blood flew in the air.

Skyle snapped out of his horror when he saw Ramsey slowly getting up, his face twisted into a mask of pain and unreasoning fury.

This wouldn’t end well.

If the victim was a normal child, Ramsey couldn’t go too far as there was the family of the child to consider. However, this homeless street urchin would likely have no one to look after him, let alone demand justice should an unfortunate accident happen. Would anyone even ask after him if he disappeared?

Skyle’s eyes flashed with cold emotion as he recalled how incomparably easy it was so snuff out another person’s life. A mere slip of the hand, a small length of steel driven a scan few inches into yielding flesh, and that would be the terminal end of a person’s whole life and dreams for the future.

As he approached, he could see a similar glint in Ramsey’s eyes. He may just be a bully in a small town, but right now reason had fled his eyes and only a mad hunger for revenge blazed in his gaze.

“Hold him up,” Ramsey muttered, his voice rough and guttural. The naked hatred in his words was chilling, even under the heavy rain.

Ramsey’s flunkies stopped kicking the small kid, and pulled him off the ground by his hair. They held his arms to his sides while the child was gasping through bloodied teeth. Surprisingly, his eyes still held no fear, only defiance and contempt.

“Rake, give me your knife,” Ramsey rasped as he stared into the street urchin’s eyes. “Let’s see how long you can keep glaring at me like that when I gouge out your eyes, you filthy rat.”

“Ah, Ramsey, maybe we shouldn’t-”

The other boy’s hesitant protest was cut off by a vicious backhanded slap that sent him reeling.

“Shut up Rake, when I want your opinion I’ll ask. Now gimme your knife, damn it!” Ramsey screamed at the top of his lungs, his chest heaving as he glared at the little beggar boy.

At this point, Skyle didn’t even bother calling out. He knew Ramsey wouldn’t listen to reason, not now. If anything, he was liable to be beaten or worse, stabbed by the giant bully, so blind was he in his madness.

Dashing into the alley, Skyle’s hand briefly twitched towards his back. It was only then that he remembered this was not Sanctuary. Moonshadow’s comforting weight upon his back was gone. He didn’t even have a simple dagger by his waist. His arms only held the oilcloth package with the gifts he had received and his mother’s biscuits.

Tossing down the package, Skyle’s feet pattered against the mud as he rushed towards Ramsey’s back. The two toadies holding the kid up frowned as they looked over Ramsey’s shoulders.

Skyle didn’t even pause as he picked up a broken piece of wood along his mad dash forward. Hefting his make-shift club, he felt the solid grain against his skin as he gripped it tight in his hand and lifted it overhead.

By the time the two kids holding the street urchin had cried out their warnings, Skyle was already leaping in the air towards Ramsey’s back. The two flunkies by his side barely had time to turn around and gape, but Ramsey himself didn’t turn around. He didn't so much as twitch as his attention was consumed entirely by the knife in his hand and the street urchin.

Just as Skyle was bringing his club down upon the back of Ramsey’s head, Skyle realized there was a rusty nail at the end of the plank in his hand. Not only that, but the nail was facing Ramsey so that when the blow struck, it would become firmly imbedded in his skull. Then Skyle knew he could twist the club and the nail would scramble Ramsey’s brains into mush, effectively putting this threat down for good and killing him.

That same move would dislodge the club from Ramsey’s skull so that Skyle could wield it against the rest of his opponents. He would attack the one on the left, as the boy on the right was already cringing back and was less likely to be a threat. If Skyle found an opening, he would go for his head. If not, he would try for his neck or another vital area. It was important to get rid of these threats as fast and effectively as possible, but he should also break a few bones if possible so as to intimidate them. That would make it easier to kill them.

“What? Kill them? They’re just children!”

Skyle was so shocked he almost dropped the club. At the last moment, he managed to change his swing and smashed the club into the back of Ramsey’s knee. Skyle had also shifted the blow so that the nail would be facing away from his victim.

The awkward swing still carried enough power to bring Ramsey screaming off his feet and into the mud. Thanks to his own surprise Skyle also slipped and crashed into Ramsey, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a tangle of limbs.

Skyle didn’t much care. He lay panting on the ground as the full realization of the cold-blooded stream of thoughts in his head crashed upon him like an avalanche.

He had been about to kill Ramsey. For no other reason than the fact that he was a threat to himself. At first, Skyle’s intention had been to save the street beggar and hold off Ramsey from doing something he would later regret. However, when Ramsey got that knife in his hand and Skyle realized he would be faced with a deadly threat to his life, something dark and cold in his heart had risen up and swallowed his every conscious thought.

He was instantly transported back to Sanctuary, and he had slipped back into survival mode. Nothing else mattered, except ending the threat in front of him as swiftly as possible. He had to kill and kill until no enemies remained, all so that he could go back home.

“I’m already home.” It was a breathless thought, but one that brought a new reality crashing down upon him.

He had returned home, but already and before he realized it, it was a different place from what he remembered. It was darker, more dangerous, and infinitely more frightening.

Skyle did not realize that perhaps it was he who had changed, for the world cared little for a little boy’s thoughts.

Rough hands on his hair pulled him out of his thoughts as he was dragged to his feet.

“You bastard, you trying to help your beggar butt buddy?” One of Ramsey’s cronies shouted as he flung Skyle away with a vicious punch that smashed Skyle’s nose flat and sent stars flying in his vision.

Skyle groaned with the pain, but he was finally back and managed to duck under the next blow. Reflexively, he saw the next blow coming and he kicked out with his foot like he had been taught, striking solidly against the swinging boy’s solar plexus. Struck with the force of Skyle’s blow and the momentum of his own swing, all breath exploded from the assailant’s lungs as he crumpled to the ground, his face growing purple and veins sticking out of his neck.

Skyle had hardly recovered from the kick when he felt a painful blow strike the side of his own head. Instead of fighting it, he let the force of the blow drive him to the ground. There, he rolled forward and saw flashes of feet as they kicked the ground he had just vacated.

Springing to his feet and shaking his head to clear his vision, Skyle saw that Ramsey was leaning against a wall while holding on to his knee. One of the boys was holding him steady with a shoulder under his arm. Another was holding the street urchin’s arms while two more advanced upon Skyle, but not before sending a worried glance towards the boy who Skyle had just kicked. He lay on the floor, gagging as he struggled to draw a breath.

“Look, we can talk about this. Let’s not let this escalate. We don’t have to do this. It is all just a misunderstanding-”

Skyle’s words faltered as he remembered the last time he had used those words. He recalled that they had been spectacularly unsuccessful at fending off trouble. In fact, all they had earned him were a huge helping of flaming fire bolts and a flaming mad fire summoner. However, as he studied the boys standing against him, he saw hesitation in their eyes. Perhaps this time would be different.

“Yeah, that’s right. It’s all just a misunderstanding. We can talk-”

The rest of his words were lost into the scream let out by the boy who had been holding the street urchin’s arms. The vicious little fellow had sunk his teeth into the hand that had been restraining him. The screaming boy flung him away as though he had been burned. The street beggar crashed painfully against the wall, but his expression was one of satisfaction as he spat out a chunk of flesh from in between bloodied teeth.

“No, wait-” Skyle began, holding his hands up desperately, but already it was too late.

While wounded boy was still clutching at his hand and screaming in misery, the mad beggar charged him and sent them both to the ground. There, he straddled the bigger boy and began to pound him furiously with both fists, sending gushes of blood splattering against the walls.

Skyle saw one of Ramsey’s flunkies pick up the wooden plank Skyle had dropped before approaching the beggar. Ramsey himself finally pulled his weight off the wall while he squared off against Skyle.

“Come, you filthy beggar,” Ramsey growled, the knife flashing in his grip. At this point, Skyle didn’t even bother explaining it was just mud and he was just passing by and it was all a misunderstanding. “I’ll gut you good, like the rotten fish you are.”

Again, the dark tide within his chest began to rise. It was the great wave of an endless sea, and its surface rippled with an inky darkness that stained its waters with the color of obsidian. It glittered and beckoned, and Skyle’s breathing grew strained as his fists clenched at his sides.

The wave rose up before him like a great, impenetrable wall. It washed over him, and Skyle was no more.

As the dark tide receded, only a stranger remained.

This stranger slowly opened his eyes and drew a great, shuddering breath. It was as though it were the first breath he had taken in a long, long time.

The dark tide was no more, but the stranger’s eyes shone with an ominous light, and within his pupils there lay a vast ocean of pitch black.