Author's note: This part of the story contains a scene of child abuse and violence. Please proceed with caution.
A young boy sat at the highest point of the timber ranch, on top of a set of freshly chopped logs, smoking. He couldn't have been older than fifteen, but his piercing blue eyes told you that the torment inside him was older, much older than he looked.
In the silence of the dawn's light, he contemplated this quiet world in the woods, where birds sang. His patience was rewarded when in the distance where the path led into the woods, he saw the highlighted silhouette of a deer grazing on the dew filled grass. The boy quietly put out his smoke and gently lifted his bow. Slowly, he stood, careful not to make a sound. The deer got braver, drew in closer to the enclosure. The closer it got, the better it would be for the boy who was hunting it. The boy placed an arrow in the stern of the bow and pulled it back, carefully watching the deer as it got closer, and closer. Finally, the animal stopped not but 1500 yards for him. The boy released the arrow and in a sickening sound of skin and muscle sliced into by metal, it met its mark.
The deer let out a pitiful sound and tried to run. But with an arrow in its belly, it didn't have a chance of getting very far. The boy gave chase as the deer tried its best to run as far as it could from its attacker. He caught up to it easily, the wounded creature unable to keep up its pace. Taking another arrow out of his quiver, the boy aimed again as the animal ran. This time, the arrow hit one of its hind legs and the animal fell with a soft thud onto the ground.
The boy pulled out a knife from its sheath and quietly approached the animal. Not yet a complete savage like the rest who had lived here for so long, he sat next to the animal and said quietly, "Apologies, forest friend. I promise your sacrifice was not for sport, but for necessity."
With that he lifted the knife to the animals neck, and ended its suffering.
Covered in blood, the hunter returned to the camp, his kill in tow. The men had just started to wake up and a bunch of them bleary eyed watched as the fourteen year old struggled to bring in the deer. No one came forward to help. This was how boys built character at the ranch, and it was by Albinus' orders that no one was to help each other unless so ordered by him.
The boy delivered the deer to the cook's shed as two other hunters emerged from the woods. One carrying two birds, and the other dragging a wild boar. At least today, they would not starve as they had a week ago, when their hunter had been killed in pursuit of a deer. Some suspected it was Albinus who had done it, for the man who was hunting that day had openly disagreed with him in their last meeting.
The rules here were simple. Do not disobey Albinus the terrifying. Do not think for yourself. Keep your head down and do your work.
As the boy tied the deer up to let the blood drain from the cut in its neck, he felt a little hand pull at his torn trousers. He smiled slightly and looked down into the big brown eyes of a little boy named Red.
Why was he called Red? Because the story went that when Albinus had been on a hunt, he heard the sounds of a baby crying. On finding the sound, he had found the butchered bodies of a man and a woman by a stream and a basket covered in blood. Within it was a year old baby. Although the baby seemed mostly unharmed, its face and blankets were burgundy with dried blood. Albinus brought the child back to the ranch, saying that when he was old enough he could slave on the camp with the rest of the men, and the best part was, he didn't even have to pay a sou for the child. Always out to save money, was Albinus. But it was better than having left the boy in the woods to die.
There were a lot of holes in this story, including who had really brought the boy up as no one really had knowledge about children in the camp, had Albinus butchered his parents himself, why hadn't anyone ever really seen him until he was four years old, but everyone here knew better than to ask these questions.
The older boy kneeled to look at the little one's face. "What is it?" he asked, gently. The boy didn't say much, just swayed a little from side to side then looked at his tiny fist. "What do you have there?" He reached and pried his fingers apart. His eyes widened when he saw what the boy had in his hand. Two gold coins. Two! He took them from him and pocketed them quickly, then led the boy closer to the woods out of earshot. "Where did you get these?" he asked urgently, afraid someone was going to hear him. The little boy shrugged and then pointed in the direction of Albinus' tent.
"Red, listen to me. You cannot do things like this. You could get into a lot of shit." What he didn't say was, the boy could lose his fingers for what he had done. That was what had happened to the last thief. Albinus took a finger for every coin, and when he ran out of fingers, he started on toes. The little boy frowned, looking confused. Then he pointed at the older boy.
"You did this...for me?" he understood slowly. Red nodded. The child was often in earshot when the men discussed how gold was the way they had been sold into this mess, and gold was the only way they could get out. And the older boy, on more than one occasion had expressed a need to see what was beyond this forest, away from here. For a child that didn't speak, he was extraordinarily clever to match one and the other.
He clipped the little boy gently on the ear, and repeated, "Never again. Promise me."
Red frowned, puzzled. Wasn't this what the older boy wanted? He nodded, though, shaking the older boy's hand solemnly. He would never steal again.
The older boy felt the smooth coins in his pocket, and decided to hide them carefully in the hollow of the eleventh oak tree in the woods he had found whilst hunting.
Red was a little piece of salvation on this otherwise terrible place from which there seemed to be no way out. He was still unmarked, and his four year old wonder with the world somehow made life a little more bearable. Some days, he would go frog hunting in the marsh and come back covered in mud, proudly displaying his new frog collection in glass containers they stored nails in. Some days, the older boy would take Red fishing and teach him how to catch fish with his bare hands.
And then one day, it happened. Red was only five. And he was running, running until he reached the fifteen year old hunter whilst he worked hard, chopping timber. Two men chased after him, Albinus shouting from his hut.
The boy clung, crying to the older boy's leg, his pitiful sobs heartbreaking.
"Red? Whats wrong?" When he heard Albinus' voice boom, his eyes widened. He had known this day would come, but Red was only five! He was much too young to be scared permanently, marked like cattle as they were. He had been twelve when he had been marked and the pain was seared into his mind. It took him three days of fever to recover from the pain, and he was tough, his body strong.
Red wouldn't survive it.
He lifted the boy into his arms and let him cry into his shoulder. "I'll go talk to them. Stop crying. Stop crying, or they'll give you something worse to cry about."
This stopped Red's tears quickly. He knew the older boy was telling the truth.
The two men reached the boys and the first one who was big and fat, with a nasty scar across his face said briskly. "Hand him over. We have to mark him. Orders."
The older boy didn't move, one arm holding the boy, the other on his knife. His blue eyes flashed. "He's too young. He'll die."
The second man who had long filthy hair braided and was covered in mud shrugged. "Not our problem. Albinus' orders."
As he was saying this, a shadow fell over the group. Albinus looked at the boy with blue eyes and held out his hand. "Give him up. Now."
Red began to sob fresh tears and the older boy's resolve solidified further upon hearing them. "He's only a child. You will lose him to the fire. And how good would he be to you dead?"
Albinus bared his teeth in a slightly intimidating gesture but the boy stood his ground.
"Boy, you are testing my patience. I will not ask you again."
Piercing blue eyes grew more defiant. "No." he answered, quietly.
Albinus stood back and looked at the two men. "Take the child from him. Now." With these few words, Albinus walked away.
As the boy pulled his knife on the two men, one arm still holding Red to his chest, he hadn't realised that a third had crept up behind him. Before he knew what was happening, he was knocked to the ground, Red howling as he was wrenched from his arms. He reached out for the boy trying to go after him, but he was caught by the two men. Trying his hardest to knock them off him, he punched, bit, kicked. But in the end, it was two against one, and he found himself defeated. The men had the upper hand and kicked him until he welcomed the black abyss known as unconciousness.
When he came to, he realised that his wrists and legs were bound with thick, unforgiving ropes, cutting into his skin. The first word from his parched throat was "Red?" He tried to move, but he was too weak, one of his eyes, crusted over from the beating, his whole body aching, a screaming in his ears making his head throb. When he managed to actually open his eyes, he saw that he was around the evening campfire, sitting next to Albinus. Hundreds of men and boys looked on from all sides of the make shift wooden building that served as seats around the fire.
It was only then he realised that the screaming was not in his head.
It was Red.
The older boy's eyes widened in fear and panic as his vision cleared and he saw one man was holding the child's arms and another held his struggling legs. Albinus, who always marked the boys himself, as part of a ritual of claiming them as his cattle; stood up and walked over to the boy. He took a branding iron from the firepit. Red screamed louder as he saw the sizzling orange get closer and closer to him. The older boy struggled against his binds, desperately trying to do something, anything to stop it.
But he was too late.
A piercing shriek echoed through the forest stilling the air as every animal, every bird took flight from this dreadful forest that stole innocence.
They locked him up for three days after that, with no food, no water. He was almost dead by the time they let him out, and the first question he asked was what had happened to the little boy. The man who had released him was kinder than the ones that had put him in there. He put a hand on the injured, weakened boy's shoulder and said, "He's gone, son. Let it go."
The older boy heaved, so dehydrated he was unable to cry...but his heart, which had been held together by steel due to the hardships he had endured, fell apart in that second.
The man who had released him, gave him water, and some meat to get his strength back up. As the boy ate, not even being able to taste the food he was eating, he turned his piercing blue eyes, full of hatred in the direction of Albinus' hut.
He was going to get out of here he promised himself. Red was gone, but he had given him a head start in those two gold coins.
One day, he would return to this place. And he would kill Albinus.
For Red. For himself. For every boy who had died to feed that fat, old man's greed.
That was the day the timber slave died. And a man called Charles Vane was born.