The boy

The boy lay trembling on the ground shaking with fear. The rain had been falling for longer than he could remember, but still the boy had not dared to move. The skin of his hands had gone crinkly, the bits that he could see. The rest was full of mud. Mud mixed with a thick red substance that the boy had never seen before, not before last night. Last night the boy saw enough for the whole of his life. And he would never forget, the boy promised himself that.

He had been playing in the street with the rest of his friends. Ryder was throwing a lump of clay at Sandra, and she was running and screaming. Bull and Grandee were wrestling in the street. He sat on the wall, observing his friends. How strange it felt then, he was contented. He was just a small child without a care in the world. Not anymore. Now his world was full of problems. The problem had started when the village guard, Grandee's father, came running down the street. He was panting heavily, and the thick red substance was oozing out of a scrape in the skin of his forehead. He clutched it with the palm of his hand, trying to stop that flow, but it would not stop, the gash was too big. He slumped into the door well of the elder's hut. She opened the door, and saw Grandee's father lying there. She tried to lift him, but to no avail. Ryder's father, hearing the commotion, came out of his house and jumped over the wall, as they lived adjacent to each other, and picked up the bleeding man. He carried him through the door, and the door was closed behind them. The street was stunned into silence. Nobody knew how to react. The children had stopped playing and the adults had stopped talking.

The street was usually quite a busy metropolis, especially on days like today, when traders from miles around came into town to sell their wares. The boy loved those days, seeing all of the delicacies from the outside. People would come with metallic objects that shone in the sunlight. They could be worn around the neck, or around the arm, and some even could go around the finger, depending on their size. Other traders brought cloaks and furs made of the skins of animals that the boy couldn't even imagine. They were huge, and one unbroken piece of fur could have easily encompassed him many times over. Gemstones from distant corners of the land were brought in on those days, and the pretty colours danced in the street, and crowds of people would gather round, all trying to get a glimpse of the awesome treasure. People would come with brightly coloured robes and silks, telling fantastical stories, of adventure that the children used to listen to for hours. The wealthier members of the village would bring out what they had to offer, in the hope that they could barter something for one of the items that the traders brought with them. Various meats were always brought out, as well as leather cords in colours that had been dyed by the villagers. Women would bring out long strips of cloth to show, hoping to catch the eye of a merchant as he walked past. Men would come with trophies they had taken whilst hunting, and hope to barter for the many other things that the traders had to offer. For not only did they bring decorations and clothing, they also brought metallic objects that spouted fire at the end. There were long strips of extremely sharp metal that were capable of slicing right through the many robes that were put on offer. Although all of the traders carried the magical weapons of fire, they were only willing to barter the long daggers or the spears. They also sold kits of stones that were useful in sharpening the spears that the huntsmen used. The huntsmen would arrive trying to find gifts off the merchants, hoping to impress the woman that caught their particular eye. That was why the women loved the market day, and why they always came out looking their best, in robes of silks smelling of the fragrant flowers that grew in the region. They would all compete for the men's attentions, trying to gain the prize of a ring or a necklace made out of the strange shiny metals. The boy's mother had no such problems. She and his father had been together for many seasons, and she did not have to compete for anything to gain gifts of him. He always came home sporting new perfumes and silks for her. She was the most beautiful woman in the whole village, and he knew it.

The market day was loved by all and everyone was out having a good time. But Grandee's father had spoilt that.

The elder came out of the house. Many of the people had started grumbling, and a great amount of the traders were leaving the village much to the disappointment of the villagers, hoping to get a few more wares on that day, as it would be a whole week before they came again. The elder silenced the mumbling by raising her hands.

"Be calm, young ones."

Silence came immediately; the elder commanded the utmost respect in the village.

"There are many people coming, people who seek to do us harm"

A mass panic started in the street. The rest of the traders started to pack up and leave very quickly, quicker than some of their fat bodies should have done. Many of the men started to grab spears and daggers, ready to defend their homeland to the last. It was strange; however, some of the hooded visitors, obviously not from the village, were not running like the rest, the boy could see they were standing their ground.

"Do not panic children, for we must ready ourselves. Saran, lead your men onto the walls, when the aggressors come within range, launch your spears. May the God's guide your aim."

Saran, Bull's father, was the leader of the hunters in the village, he and a dozen other men started to walk towards the wall.

"The rest of you, take shelter in your homes, hide your younglings, and be ready to flee if we have to."

Hark, the boy's father, kissed his mother and then joined Saran as they made their way towards the wall.

The boy's mother grasped his hand, and they moved towards their house. They walked through the front door, and his mother started to pack a few belongings into a small leather bag their father had made for them, and then led his son into the underground part of the house. This is where the slept during the frequent thunderstorms, as the roof tended to leak, and so their father had constructed this part of the house to stay in. It was also camouflaged, and so unless you knew it was there, you would not be able to see it. His father kept all of the family's valuables there, which was not much. As his mother sat him on the one bed in the room, she lit an animal wax candle. The scent immediately assaulted the boy's nose, but it would be nothing compared to what he would smell later.

The candle cast a pale glow onto the room. Hanging from one of the walls was a large rug that had many bright coloured cloths incorporated into it. On the other wall hung the family heirloom, it was a thin golden chain that went around the neck like a necklace, with two accompanying arm bands. His father's father had found a small deposit once whilst he had been exploring in the plains as a child. He had spent many weeks fashioning it into the pieces of jewellery, and had always been unwilling to sell it, even in the hard times, when food was hard to come by. It was beautiful, and the boy had spent many hours simply sat on that very bed staring at it. On a table in the corner of the room sat various gemstones that the family had accumulated over the years, some of them were pretty colours, such as reds and violets, others dull on the one side, but sparkly on the other. The boy did not doubt that he could buy a lot of things off the traders with them. The family kept them as a sort of currency, able to barter them off when they needed to.

They sat like that for a few minutes in silence, the woman weeping to herself, the boy, not quite understanding, staring at the various treasures that the room hid. Then he started to hear it. It sounded like the flame magic that the traders brought with them. It was like a bark, although this time it was followed by a scream. This happened again, and again. The boy wondered what sort of magic could produce a bark followed by a scream. His mother started to wail, and there was a loud banging sound coming from upstairs. Suddenly, the hidden door opened, and one of the robed figures stuck his head in. The garish light from the outside momentarily blinded the boy and his mother.

"Come quick. Or you will not live to see the end of this day."

"You…you were not supposed to be able to find this room. Who are you?"

The boy's mother began to mumble to herself, whilst allowing herself to slowly be led up the stairs by the man.

"I am Alan. Alan Striker of the Order of the Phoenix, knights of the Western Isles, and it is an honour to assist you lady. Come along boy, your mother needs assistance."

He assisted her into the living room, and when the boy came up he crept back into the cellar. He came back a few minutes later and gave the boy a few of the gems he found in the basement.

"Where are the rest?" the boy asked.

"I could not find them; I am sorry boy, now come on."

Striker walked into the street, and then flung himself back into the room with such force that the boy was so startled he fell over. There had been a barking sound, but this time there had been no scream. The boy thought this was very strange.

"This could get interesting"

Alan said, and drew one of the magical items from within his robes. He flicked a switch on the side and jumped, sideways, out of the door, his gun barked many times, very quickly, and the man landed on the floor, and got into a crouching position. He held his hand up to the boy's mother and gestured for them both to follow him. The boy nonchalantly walked out into the street, still not understanding what was going on. His mother crept after him, still not stopping crying. When the boy turned his head to look down the street, he finally understood. Twenty metres away, there was a man lying on the floor, the thick red liquid coming out of many holes in his chest and stomach. The boy had the urge to vomit, and he ran to his mother. His mother squealed and buckled under the weight, falling to the floor. This startled the boy, and he jumped off her and started to run towards Striker. At that moment, another of the figures ran around the corner. Many things happened all at once. The boy collided with Alan, hoping to find some comfort in his arms, as he had done with his father many times when he felt ill, Ala lifted up his weapon and pushed it firmly into his shoulder. The other man, seeing his dead comrade, pulled up his gun and took aim at the boy's mother lying in the street. Just as the boy hit the Striker, he pulled the trigger. Again, there were many loud barks and the boy could see the flashes of the weapon. He thought he could also see something coming out of the end, but it was so fast that he wondered that he must have just imagined it. The bullets went wildly off course, missing the man by metres. The man pulled his own trigger, and it only barked once, but it was enough. The boy's mother was hurled off her feet, as he had just got to her knees. She flew 3 metres away from her original position, and landed with a crump on the floor. The same icky red substance started to flow out of her as well.

The Striker cursed to himself, took aim and fired again, this time striking the man three times in the chest.

"Fool boy!"

Alan yelled, and the boy started to cry, still not fully understanding the situation.

"Follow me."

Striker walked further on out of the centre of the village and into the adjacent farms. As they started to walk through the fields of the long grass, the man bumped into someone.

"Get down boy!"

Alan shouted as he started to open fire once again. The barks sounded very loud this time. A tall, lean man fell forward out of the grass, onto the boy, blood coming out of many wounds that the man had suffered. The boy struggled to get clear of the man, he was so heavy. It was at that point that the boy looked into the man's eyes. They were those of his father's. He stared at the robed figure. He had his father's long knife protruding out of his chest. His father had been stalking the raiders that had attacked the town and mistaken Striker for one of the bad guys, plunging his knife into his chest in an effort to free his son. Alan stared at them both in disbelief and staggered backwards, finally falling into the bushes. The boy struggled for longer, trying to get his father off him, but to no avail, he was just too small. Then it began to rain.

The boy stirred, he must have fallen asleep. For a long time he had lain there, hearing the fire of the magical weapons and explosions as the raiders set the village alight. He must have fallen asleep, however, as it was now all silent. There was a rustling in the bushes, though, as if someone was struggling to move. Then a figure fell over his father's body. It was a man, not of the village, but his hands and feet had been bound together. He had trouble moving and being made to fall over was the last straw. The man went crazy, kicking and screaming against the rope that wrapped around him. At last, he realised there was nothing he could do, and instead looked around. That was when he spotted the boy.

"Child, my name is David Skye. I am a knight of the Order of the Phoenix. I need your assistance. What is you name?"

The boy stayed silent. He couldn't find any words to speak.

"Strong silent type, hmm, fine. Can you untie these ropes?"

His father had been dislodged off of him by the fall, and now he was able to slip out. Slowly, he approached the big man. He was able to untie the ropes easily, his lithe fingers used to help his mother sew. His mother…

Within minutes, the man was free.

"Come on boy, we need to get out of here, I will look after you."

The boy, still not quite understanding, walked with the man, into the night.