Edit 5.5.18

Chapter 9

All animals struggle to survive, no matter how grave the chance of survival. A stuck pig will squeal, fight its fate until it has bled to death. A cow with its throat slit will attempt to stand and walk from impending danger. Even with three men towering over me, I refused to die at their hands—at least not without a fight.

My nostrils flared and my blood came to a boil as I rose from my knees to my feet and backed away. I kept my legs bent, my body low. With one fist full of sand and the other armed with a rock, I would postpone the inevitable, bide my time until they were prepared to hold me down and cut me, stab me…at the time I had no idea what else they could have done to me. I had heard of rams and bulls being castrated, their testicles tied off until the sac came loose from the animals. With the knife held out for me to see, I assumed whatever they wished to do would be much more bloody and painful.

To my surprise they stayed at a distance, the three of them standing shoulder to shoulder. They laughed, nudged one another as they stared at me, apparently appreciating the fight I had in me, the unwillingness to wait for my demise.

"Hold him down," my father said. He nodded to his companions, who grimly nodded back.

"Give him a good scare," one of them said.

"A damned good scare," the other added.

I was already frightened out of my skin. While they discussed their intentions I glanced around and searched for my mask, which proved my undoing. Once my attention was drawn away—a mistake I would learn never to make again—they came at me, a wall of drunken, unwashed bodies. My arms were grabbed and wrenched behind my back, my knees kicked out from beneath me.

The most pathetic sound escaped my lips as I fell to my knees, my rock and handful of sand discarded the moment they overpowered me. Instinctively I wrenched one arm away and drew my hand to my face and protected myself as best as I could, but outnumbered and vulnerable, I crumbled after mere seconds of being clubbed and kicked.

Stunned, I attempted to find up from down. Once I felt the sand beneath my belly I clawed at the ground, my mouth bloody and my head pounding. One of them grabbed me under the arms and threw me onto my back.

All I saw was the knife before my eyes, a dull blade with no glint to the edge.

I struggled, my feet kicking at the sand, hips twisting back and forth. My eyes bulged though I registered very little from the situation. Weeks would pass before I understood what had happened, how deeply I had been violated that night. It was a nightmare that haunted me off and on, left me thrashing violently in bed.

The knife was inches from my belly button when the three of them suddenly ceased laughing. One last wrenching pull and I freed myself and whimpered as I crawled away on my hands and knees.

"Gentlemen."

A fourth man had arrived upon the beach. I don't know why this fourth presence frightened me more than the three who already held me captive, but I saw little stars before my eyes and felt sickness churn in my gut. Each harsh breath brought me closer and closer to blacking out.

"Who in the hell are you?"

I continued to search for my mask and clothes, but when the fourth individual was questioned, I glanced over my shoulder. The man met my eye, and his remorseful expression paralyzed me as I remained on my hands and knees.

It was The Shadow.

I didn't know whether to weep in gratitude or in complete humiliation of how he found me on the beach.

One of the men approached him and received a blow to the side of the face. The Shadow moved swiftly—so swiftly that I didn't see him raise his cane and strike the man. My father instantly backed down, and the third man—the one with the knife—dropped his weapon and fell to his knees in a silent plea for mercy.

"We want no trouble here," my father stammered.

"Of course you do," The Shadow replied, his voice a deep, terrifying rumble. Even I cowered when he held out his cane, his hands gloved, his missing fingers hidden. "Why else would three drunken fools lure a young man far from the village, strip him naked, and threaten to castrate him?"He glanced at me briefly, and I was not sure if he had made up the story or if he thought that was how I had arrived in my current, degrading state.

"Is he yours?" my father accused. "A disgusting bastard you finally wish to claim?"

It was the ultimate betrayal. I shuddered at my father's words, my muscles growing weak. Just once I wanted him to acknowledge me but he never would. Never. I was ashamed for disappointing him, for my inadequacies. I was a terrible child, always escaping, always disobeying. He was not to blame for his heavy hand.

"If only Fate were kind," The Shadow replied. "This remarkable child would be my son and not yours, Bjorn."

"Take him then, Alak. There's nothing remarkable about him. You are too big of a damned fool to know what a normal, healthy child looks like. Your own son was worse than this one, wasn't he?"

The Shadow moved again, as fight as lightning. His expression changed, the jovial, kind expression no longer existed. He hit my father twice with his cane: Once in the abdomen and then across the face, which sent a spray of blood across the sand. I crouched lower, fearful of The Shadow's rage and my father's capabilities once he stood and fought back.

But he didn't fight back. I scarcely knew what had happened. At one moment my father was on his knees and the next there was a rope around his neck.

I heard my father choke, squirm for his life. His two brave companions had fled as fast as they could, neither of them giving a damn for their friend.

His death would be the end of my torment. The moment he took his last breath I was free, able to leave his domain and find my tribe, my people.

But I couldn't allow him to die. I stepped forward, still naked, still raw. "Please," I begged. "Please, don't."

The Shadow looked up and stared at me. He didn't say a word, but he questioned me nonetheless.

Over my father's impending death, I quavered, "I love him."

Tears spilled down my cheeks and I sank to the ground and wept. I did love him. Not because he was kind to me, not because he gave me the world, but because he was my father and I had no other man in my life, no other person who possessed this title. He was my father, no matter how much he denied it, how many times he struck me. I did love him. I had to love him and I didn't know why.

"Please, sir, don't kill him," I sobbed.

I sat and cried so long I expected the dawn would rise over the sea. I don't know how long he left me alone to cry or when my father gathered his wits and what was left of his life and fled.

The Shadow placed his hand on my head and I shuddered at his unexpected touch. Without a sound he dropped my filthy, tattered clothes beside me, with my mask on top. I had not realized how my clothing smelled until I had bathed in the ocean, and now that I knew how putrid I stunk, I did not want to dress again.

"Erik," he said quietly.

I drew in a sharp breath, and a sob quickly followed, which threatened to double me over. He didn't say a word for a long moment and I feared he would speak harshly, reprimand me for begging on behalf of my father's life and then sobbing like a worthless brat.

"I apologize," I said. I hyperventilated, my sobs turned to hiccups, my tears dried. Only pain existed deep inside of me, a writhing, twisting agony. I was confused by my words and actions, my desire to kill my father and my need to see him live.

"You've done nothing wrong, my child. Dress yourself. We must leave. Swiftly."

"I smell like urine and vomit," I said blankly.

"I have clothes for you, but not with me. You must do as I say, do you understand?"

I nodded and did as he requested, sobbing the entire time with renewed emotion. I felt hollow, void of the most basic ingredients that made me human. I turned from the Shadow and briefly stared at the ocean waves and the way the moonlight glinted off the water. It would have been easier if I had drowned myself, I thought, if my useless body had washed ashore. When I closed my eyes, I could still see my father's face, his twisted mouth and bearded cheeks. As always, I could not seem to picture his eyes. There was nothing more than blackened pits, empty, dead sockets staring back at me.

If there was one consolation that night it was knowing my father would never forget me. I only wondered if he would remember I loved him, that I had shown mercy when he had shown none. I hoped that before he died, he would think of me as his son and know that I was sorry for the grief I had caused him for thirteen years. That was my final thought as I trudged from the seaside behind The Shadow. Forgive me, Father, I have been a sin.