Rain, Chapter 1

This is the first part of Rain, a story I've been writing for some time. Click below to start following our hero!

Beneath the hot savannah sun, the duelists stared each other down with grim determination. The lion leaned backward, its muscles rippling from the raw power contained within, ready to spring forward on a whim. Not even ten feet away, the sole warrior stood, his sword glinting in the sun; he squinted slightly, blinking a drop of sweat out of his eyes. It was in that thousandth of a second that the lion acted. While the man’s guard was down briefly, the great cat pounced, its form uncoiling like liquid steel. The man reacted desperately, attempting to duck beneath the lion’s charge. While he did partially avoid the attack, he felt claws scrape his back as the huge cat skimmed above him. He winced as he felt hot liquid run down his spine. He turned and spun, bringing his blade to bear, discouraging the lion’s attempt to bite his haunches. The lion, however, was not anticipating the man’s counterattack, bringing the sword back around on the opposite side, aiming directly for the soft flesh of the throat….

“Anthony!” a woman called shrilly from downstairs. The small boy sighed and tossed his wooden sword on the bed with the stuffed lion he had been battling. “Anthony, you have ten seconds to get down here before I drag you down here! I’ve told you three times that supper’s ready!”

“I’m coming, mom!” Anthony shouted back. Wishing ruefully that she could have postponed supper until after the killing blow, Anthony slinked sulkily down the stairs.

“I don’t know why I have to tell you again and again to come downstairs…”

“I didn’t hear you, okay?” His mother merely sighed. She knew better than to press the issue. She certainly didn’t hold the boy’s imagination against him. Living as they did in a remote farming village on the outskirts of the Holy Empire of Maki, there was practically nothing for a boy his age to do. None of the neighbors had children the same age as Anthony, and the few boys that were nearby bullied him. It was hardly a wonder to her that he’d taken such an interest in swordplay in the past year.

Anthony took his usual place at the end of the table. His father came in from the field, wiping his filthy hands on an equally dirty handkerchief. He ruffled Anthony’s hair affectionately as he walked by, a gesture that always made Anthony smile, no matter how dirty his father’s hands were. Anthony’s mother smiled despite herself, glancing pointedly at her husband’s soiled digits.

“What’s for dinner tonight, Elise?” he asked, giving his wife a warm kiss on the cheek. She wiped a bit of smudged earth off of her face with a smile.

“Pork from that sow we bought from the old man across town.”

“Who’s that?”

“Tenalo, the drunken one with three teeth in his head.”

“I don’t know who you mean.”

“You’re hopeless, Jarrett.”

“Is that why you married me?” Elise giggled quietly and sat down, placing a steaming platter of meat on the table. “What are you going to do with what you didn’t use tonight?”

“Smoke it for jerky, of course. What, you thought I’d let all that fine meat go to waste?”

“Well, you can never be too sure.” Jarrett put the largest chop on his own plate and gave the smallest to his eager young son. Anthony pouted at his pathetic slab of meat, but Jarrett had learned to ignore his son’s complaints, both verbal and nonverbal. Jarrett watched his son tear into the chop for a few moments. It occurred to him quite suddenly how tall his son had gotten. Soon, perhaps as soon as next summer, Anthony could begin work in the fields. He smiled at the thought of his son helping to sow the seeds, caring for the crop, harvesting in the autumn. He chuckled quietly to himself and took a bite out of his pork.

“What’s so funny, dear?” Elise asked, looking curiously at her husband.

“Nothing, love. Nothing.” She could tell what his thoughts were without him needing to explain. Nothing made him prouder than Anthony; he loved his son dearly, and his son loved him. Elise bowed her head as she sat, thanking Maki deeply for blessing her with such a family.

That evening, as dusk was setting, Elise stepped out onto the back porch to join Jarrett as he stood, watching the horizon.

“Isn’t the sunset lovely?” she asked brightly. She glanced over at her husband’s face; he was not smiling at the horizon as she was. His brow was furrowed with concern, and the crow’s feet around his eyes had become more pronounced. “Honey?”

“That’s the east,” Jarrett responded softly. “The sun sets in the west.” Elise looked up in alarm, considering the warm orange glow.

“What does that mean?” She was surprised how she was unable to control the quaver in her voice.

“A fire, most likely. Town’s that way.” Terror crept up Elise’s throat, tightening her windpipe and making her breathing strained. The town of Maelar was vital to their survival, being the best place nearby to trade the fruits of the family’s labor.

“I’m going to go see what’s going on,” Jarrett decided suddenly. He stepped off the porch and headed toward the shed, Elise bounding along at his heels.

“What? What if something happens to you? What will Anthony and I do?”

“Nothing will happen to me, I’m just going to see if I can help. I’ll take the horse and the scythe and go see what’s happening.”

“If nothing’s going to happen to you, why are you taking the scythe?”

“Just in case it’s a brush fire! Calm down, won’t you, Elise?” Jarrett smiled at his wife comfortingly, giving her hand a squeeze. Elise was not soothed, however. Even as Jarrett bridled their best horse and slung the scythe onto the saddle pack, she imagined all of the terrible things that could happen to her beloved husband; suppose it was marauders, or he did something foolish trying to rescue someone, or….

She merely watched as he disappeared toward the glowing horizon, riding as fast as the horse could carry him.

“Where’s daddy going?” Elise heard Anthony ask from behind her. She started and turned, scooping the boy into her arms.

“He just had to run into town, that’s all,” Elise replied, trying to comfort herself as much as Anthony.

“Why’s the sky all orange?”

“That’s just Maki’s way of trying to keep us warm, even during the night.” Elise put a smile on to help ease her son. “Isn’t it pretty?” Anthony nodded, though reluctantly.

“Will daddy be home soon?”

“Of course, he just had an errand to run. He should be back in time to tuck you in.”

But he wasn’t back in time to tuck Anthony in. In fact, even as the sky grew dark, the orange glow on the horizon persisted. Elise tucked Anthony in herself, promising him once again that everything would be fine. Anthony lay down to sleep, but was unable to do so for nearly an hour; his father’s absence troubled him greatly. Nonetheless, the rigors of the day had taken their toll on the boy, and despite his stubborn struggle to remain awake, he eventually drifted off to sleep.

“Anthony! Anthony, wake up!” Anthony opened his eyes slowly to see his mother above him, shaking him frantically with tears running down her face.

“Mom? What’s wrong?”

“Anthony! Oh, there’s no time. Hurry! You have to get up!” Elise dragged her son out of the bed, though he attempted to resist. Tears were streaming down her face, and her words were broken by an occasional sob.

“What is it, mom? What happened?”

“Honey, here, take this.” Elise thrust a satchel into Anthony’s hand. He glanced inside to find that it contained enough jerky to last him a week and enough coin to last for months past that. “Take this, and run. Go west, through the field, and don’t stop running until the sun comes up. Keep going that way until you reach Jolan, do you hear me?”

“Mom, what’s happening?” Anthony persisted, more anxiously now. He heard shouts coming from outside, toward the east. “Where’s dad?”

“Oh, honey, you have to hurry! Now!” Elise dragged her son down the stairs and pushed him toward the front door, facing west. “Go, and don’t look back!” The shouting was becoming louder.

“No, mom! What’s happening?”

“Sweetheart, there’s no time, go now!” The back door began to shudder as someone outside began pounding on it, as if trying to break it down.

“Not without you and daddy!”

“Anthony, we can’t… your father….” She hesitated, not wanting to finish her sentence. “Here, take this.” She pulled the blue silk ribbon from her hair and wrapped it around her son’s hand, then down and around his wrist. She tied it deftly and pushed him out the front door.

“Run now, Anthony! Don’t look back!” Anthony, confused, began to run until he reached the cornfields. He glanced back, seeing his mother watching him the whole way.

“Run!” she cried after him. Behind his mother, the back door sprang open with the terrible sound of wood splintering; men appeared behind her, wrapped in dark clothing and with red armbands tied around their upper arms. Elise screamed as one man with tousled black hair and a jagged scar on his jaw grabbed her and pulled her back into the house.

“Mom!” Anthony shrieked in terror. His mother’s screams continued from inside the house, but were suddenly cut short as blood splattered across the doorframe and nearby window. Anthony stood, paralyzed with fear and uncertainty. The men swarmed out of the house again, headed directly toward Anthony; the man with tousled hair directed them as a vanguard, barreling toward the field with fire in his eyes. Anthony bolted into the cornfield in a panic, ducking between the stalks.

“Come out, little boy!” he heard the men shouting behind him. The hacking of swords through corn seemed close at hand; panic gripped the boy as the men hooted and cackled, taunting him. For what seemed like hours, he ran through the cornfield, ducking every which way, trying to hide among the stalks and use his smaller size to his advantage. After an eternity of running, the footsteps finally ceased. He heard murmurs off to one side, and the sound of footsteps crashing through the brush, moving away from him in all directions.

Several minutes passed; Anthony held still, panting heavily, trying to see through the thick stalks. Quite suddenly, he heard a faint crackling, like fire consuming leaves. Looking behind him, he spotted a familiar orange glow. It took Anthony a few moments to realize that the glow was fire, that the cornfield was burning. Fear gripped his heart, choking the breath out of him. Desperate for escape, he barreled forward, heedless of anything in his path. In his reckless flight, he nearly stumbled into another inferno. Running a new direction now, another wall of flames greeted Anthony. His panic began to deepen as he realized that the fire had been set on all sides, trapping him in.

Anthony ran back to the center of the field; the only sounds now audible to him were the burning field and the blood pounding in his ears. Desperate and out of ideas, he threw himself to the ground and opened the satchel his mother had given him. He dug through frantically, looking for anything he could use. What he stumbled across was an old farming sickle, placed carefully so as not to puncture the bag. Anthony stopped abruptly, recalling something his father had taught him about wildfires; they needed fuel.

Without another moment’s hesitation, he set to work hacking down cornstalk after cornstalk, clearing a circle that gave him plenty of clear room. He tossed the excess plant matter out of the circle so that the fire would have no fuel in his safe zone. Once his task was complete, he put the sickle back in the satchel. There, in his small circle, he waited, curled up in a ball, gripping the blue silk ribbon his mother had tied around his palm. The temperature of the air around him rose steadily as the fire grew into a conflagrant inferno, pressing in from all sides like an ocean of phlogiston. Anthony shut his eyes as tightly as he could and sang quietly to himself, an old lullaby in some forgotten language this his mother would sometimes sing. The heat was unbearable; Anthony felt his skin tingling as the flames licked out and singed his flesh, causing his hair to curl. He curled in tighter, his breaths coming in short, quick gasps, protecting the satchel as well as he could. He sang as loudly as he could while coughing and sobbing, trying in vain to shut out the hellish world around him.

With time, the heat subsided, as did the noise. Anthony dared to open his eyes, devastated by what he saw. The field was completely incinerated; only the ashen corpses of stalks remained. His house was on fire, the roof beginning to collapse as the flame consumed the walls. Anthony stood slowly, looking around. The men were gone from sight, having apparently left him for dead. Anthony stood there for a time; how long, he could not judge for certain. The house continued to burn, slowly folding in on itself. Rain came late in the evening, heavy and constant. The flames were extinguished gradually as the large water droplets fell with increasing frequency. To Anthony, the rain seemed far thicker than water, almost as thick as blood. Slowly, he turned away from the remains of his life, trudging with weary, heavy footsteps. Even as the rain slowly died and the sun rose over the unreachable horizon, he could feel the blood on his skin, soaking his clothes, but he paid it no mind. He walked with a single mind and single purpose: only to go forward, until he collapsed.