Legends of Belariath
Andrew Talos
Breaking In
The middle aged couple sat in the local town watch, facing the stern faced officer, listening him read out the report. “Attempted horse thieving…disturbing the peace…vandalism…too many pickpocketings to count. Seeing he is only 12, that could have been a slap on the wrist. But this is the third time we’ve dragged him in. And this time he beat two of his friends to bloody messes for touching the Mayor’s daughter…who he keeps claiming belongs to him. Then he assaulted an officer that pulled him off. This demands at least a public flogging, do you understand?”
The mother of the boy sat pale, clutching her husband’s arm tightly, whispering, “Is there no alternative? He’s only a boy…it’s a phase…we’ll watch him closer…”
Her husband cut her off “No. He must learn, it must be done to scare him away from a life of crime and violence. You’ve seen the look in his eyes. I pointed it out 3 years ago when we adopted him. It stops now.” He nodded to the officer, holding his sobbing wife.
“I’ll leave you two alone…We’ll be keeping him here tonight, the flogging will take place at noon tomorrow. I’m sorry it came to this.” He closed the door behind him, leaving the distraught foster parents to mull this over, muttering to himself “We can only hope it’s enough, that kid as a bad look in his eyes…”
Amid the ring of onlookers, the entire small village turning up for such a spectacle, a cart was pulled up to a pole. Two guards wearing their dress uniforms hopped down from it, helping an elven male not even at puberty yet, a boy in elf terms, off the cart. They herded him toward the pole, amid a hail of tomatoes, eggs and cabbage, some thrown at them, most at the youth. He had to be restrained forcefully as they passed two older teens with bruised and swollen faces, their eggs both having hit, the youth having charged at them. He spit curses and threats that sent them both running, but the guards just dragged him to the pole, lashing his hands to it. He kicked out at them as they ripped open the back of his shirt, bareing his undeveloped, thin back.
After a few minutes, the officer in charge walked around to stand before the youth, unrolling a parchment. He began to list the charges against the boy, but they were ignored as the keen elven ears focussed on a nearby sobbing. His eyes moved up to see his adoptive mother, swiftly spitting on her, drawing a kick from a guard, his mother only crying more.
“That’s enough,” the officer shouted, quickly moving behind to the young miscreant’s back, uncoiling his whip with a crack that drew hooting applause. “Ten lashes for your crimes Andrew…I suggest you remember this well in future”
The whip was snapped forward without further delay, slicing into Andrew’s back, eliciting a cry of surprised pain. The youth went through a frightening metamorphosis throughout the entire whipping, from painful cries through the first lashes, turning to angry curses and grunts, by the end of the 10 he was laughing in a creepy hysterical way that would haunt the officer for weeks.
4 years passed in an odd peace, the whipping apparently having worked as no more run-ins with the law occurred. Andrew seemed to be a regular teenager, a lot quieter, keeping to himself most of the time, but his adoptive parents assumed he was just being a normal, brooding teen. They thought to question him on recent day long absences, but as he was no longer breaking the law, they let it go…which ultimately led to utter disaster for them.
The rain pounded on the Watch House roof, a drop from the leaking roof splunking into the officer’s coffee. He muttered and moved it, glaring at the new crack in the ceiling. “Damn place is falling apart…damn cutbacks…” he grumbled, standing up to place yet another pot down, joining many others that were catching rain. A bang sounded behind him, forcing him into action, spinning, truncheon whistling through the air to point at…nothing. He chuckled at the banging window shutters, walking over to lock them against the wind. “Calm down old man, you don’t need to have a heart failure over wind…”
He turned around to head back to his desk, freezing in mid-step, staring at the slight figure standing there with a gleaming dagger, water dripping from him. Not wasting words, the mystery figures intent obvious, the grizzled officer ran forward, swinging his truncheon at the person’s midsection. Unexpectedly the wooden weapon easily slammed home, causing the knife wielder to double over, coughing and spitting up blood, but otherwise just straighten back up, motioning for another hit. He was obliged instantly as a fiercer swing followed, connecting with his jaw with a sickening crack of a molar breaking, but the figure refused to budge, chuckling hauntingly.
The officers eyes widened at the laugh, growling “You…I should have kno…gaaahhck…” the words died in a wet gurgle as a swift knife poke punctured his windpipe. He grasped at his spurting throat as the figure spoke darkly.
“One.” The dagger pierced his belly suddenly, then twice fast in the groin. “Two, three, four.” The officer fell from the pain and air loss, choking on hot blood. The scavenger fell on him in a savage fury, stabbing fiercely, counting out to ten, even after the man had died at 7. He stood, staring at the bloodstained knife in his hand, laughing insanely. “Remember this well…”
Seeming to remember why he was here suddenly he walked over to the display case holding the officer’s trophy longbow, an elbow smashing the expensive glass without care of being cut. The bow was lifted free, carried over to the body of its former owner, leaned upon by his killer as he pulled a flask from his hip, pouring the contents over the corpse. He tore a strip from the officer uniform, wrapping it around the head of an arrow. He whistle horribly off key as he worked, then stepped back from the body to look it over. With a nod he pulled twin daggers out, scraping them together to toss off sparks, one hitting the body, catching the liquid on fire, the body quickly wreathed in flames. He dipped the arrow into the flames, alighting it, then nocking it to the bowstring as he moved to the shutters, throwing them open. He pulled the bowstring back as he aimed out into the night, loosing the flaming arrow in an arc. He grinned hearing hoofbeats in the distance.
Andrew stood in the town square, amid the ashes and skeletons of houses, leaning on the same pole he was whipped at years ago. The crowd surrounding him this time was of both corpses and of ragged, rugged looking men, ruffians and cutthroats. Two of the same people were there, kneeling and tied before him…his adopted parents. “You let them whip me…a mere youth…for what? Pranks and a bit of stealing? Beating up some bullies? Well now you see what I am truly capable of when pushed. I found these guys all on my own, struck a deal with their leader. You didn’t do much as parents, all I had to do was play nice and quiet, not one question asked. So I cleared the guardhouse, handed them the town for my revenge. On you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I do.”
His parents both looked at him, unable to respond, gagged so. Their eyes pleaded silently with him, sadness and confusion. He gave no heed to them, ranting on, then turns to his mother, pointing at her. “You are lucky. Their leader likes older women. You will be his, you stupid whore.”
They both cried out into their gags in protest, his father lunging at him. He was met with a dagger to the gut, and a whisper from Andrew. “Or hearing of his other fetishes…maybe you’re the lucky one.” As his father hit the dirt, dead, and his mother was dragged off, he turned to leave the town, whistling off key.