Echoes - Prologue (part 1)

Wilhelm woke up to the cockcrow, with the sun just barely visible over the horizon, and began his chores as sleep slowly peeled from over him. There was no time to waste.
He started by feeding the hens and tending to the coops, cleaning and gathering the eggs. One especially big and ill tempered cock began to chase him and peck at his legs. This one hated him with passion, and Wilhelm would’ve gladly kick it to a bloody pulp a long time ago, but his old man forbade it. His father once said: “This brute gets all the chicks, so it happens it also gets us most of the eggs. Such is life lad. You’ll do well to learn from him.” Wilhelm obliged, for the time being, and besides, today the ravenous rooster was the smallest of his worries.
When he was done with coops it was still early in the morning. He decided to break his fast before turning to his other chores, and ate an egg, some carrots, a bit of hard bread and cold salted beef. In truth, the meal served him more as time to think rather than eat. After all, tonight was to be the night of the Spring Festival, and more importantly, tonight was to be the night he will finally meet with Edeline. The eagerness pecked at him with ferocity no rabid rooster could ever hope to match, and the day seemed to move at snail’s pace.
Chewing the beef felt like chewing resin, and it took a long time for it. Wilhelm’s thoughts were heap of utter mess, feeling almost enchanted by the cobbler's daughter, a pale skinned, calmly and dark haired shadow hanging over his thoughts, with sweet dimples and laughing eyes. Eagerness, Wilhelm discovered, was both joyful and horrid sensation.
Later when he turned to his work in the barn Wilhelm tried to sweep all thoughts of Edeline from his mind, as best as he could. His father was clear, he won’t allow him to leave for the festival if his chores havn’t been seen to. Wilhelm was determined to see that his work for the day is finished early, and his night gets into no obstacles.
Tending to the barn always left him a bit bitter, and that day the bitterness nugged at him as he worked. The barn was always his brother’s chore, unfortunately his brother shared too much with the angry rooster. Karl, although only three years his elder, was much taller and broader on the shoulders than Wilhelm could ever hope to be, his arms were like small tree branches, and Wilhelm’s were barely twigs in comparison. His brother was too aware of it. As the years passed Karl found more elaborate ways to peck at him, well, as elaborate as someone as him could manage. This year he decided to rid himself of his chores and instead go and woo anything in their town that has tits. He liked bringing them to the barn under the cover of night and do it like animals. The thought Karl could one day turn to Edeline made his blood boil, that day he will stand up to him, even it means getting beaten. He rubbed his right leg where the purple bruises healed not too long ago.
Bitter as he was, Wilhelm gathered all the vivaciousness he could manage to be done with the whole thing as fast as possible, and even found work to be a worthy distraction. When he was done the barn was as clean as any barn has right to be, there was fresh hay and water for the cows, and fresh milk from some. He fixed the wooden fence in some places where the wood was rotten or nails loosened with time, and treated one pregnant cow, dreading the day it will give birth. Delivering a calf was tough and messy work he's likely to do alone.
Slivers of light sneaked through the cracks in the roof. It was noon, or soon enough will be. His bib-and-brace overall was damp with sweat, and he worked with such urgency that he completely forgot to drink himself as he served water to the cows. Seeing as he was done, he decided it's time for another rest.
Wilhelm locked the barn with the iron chains, and just as he was about to turn something blunt hit him in the back of his head.
Karl stood there, his pale lips twisted into a mocking smirk and he brushed the curls of his sandy hair backwards. “Well, well.” He rubbed one broomstick over the other as if he held two butcher knives. Wilhelm could feel the moistness of blood as it throbbed slowly on his scalp.
“Leave me be Karl, I don't want to play your stupid games.” He tried to keep his voice steady and colorless, expressing his pain would do more harm than good.
His brother shoved one stick sharply towards him. Wilhelm caught it instinctively, which made his brother's mouth curved into a nasty smile. “We're gonna make a man outta you yet,” he said, and then after a pause added: “I've heard you got big plans for the Festival.”
His laughter felt like icicles piercing through his flesh, “look at you, already red from chin up. Mind you, the cobbler’s daughter is nothing to scoff at. And her father's a scholar too, as it turns out, who woulda thunk? Like a dream come true ain't it?”
Edeline's father was only a low ranking scholar, Wilhelm knew, and still the best their town had to offer. Karl must've known Wilhelm was fascinated with the academy from an early age, yet this was the first time he ever acknowledged it. Despite his usual poisonous tone, Wilhelm was almost certain he heard notes of admiration in his voice, and that made things all the more scarier.
“Yes.”
Karl put his right hand Wilhelm's shoulder, and nodded. “Let's begin.”
His brother stepped backwards and began to circle slowly from the distance, giving Wilhelm a chance to step away from the door. Slightly bent, eyes fixed, weapon raised, his brother looked like a predator just waiting to strike at it's helpless prey. Wilhelm on the other hand found it hard to concentrate, the heat was unbearable and the air stifling.
Leaping forward, striking casually, stepping backwards. His brother always took the initiative, and always toyed with Wilhelm first. His broomstick met his brother's, blocking the lazy blows, waiting in defense. It went on for a short while. His brother slashed at his thighs, he blocked vertically. Another cut, he placed his stick horizontally above his head. Their movements became quicker and more intense, and Wilhelm started delivering blows of his own, with his brother still determining the pace.
Then Karl surprised him, and quickly turned from an upper slash at his arm to a thrust to his lower belly. Wilhelm groaned and the pain in his gut gave him terrible nausea. He dropped his stick.
“Tsk tsk tsk. Sweet Edeline will be sorely disappointed. Pick it up.”
Wilhelm shook his head and held his stomach, groaning.
“Pick. It. Up.”
Reluctantly, he cast his hand in search for the broomstick.
“Good.”
Again, slow and deliberate slashes came at him, only this time Wilhelm found it almost hard to block. Running away will do no good, he knew. Karl always got what he wanted. Always. But what did he want?
“So, Edeline ah? Y’know, I'm glad for you.” Slash, thrust, and back. “If she's even remotely like her friend Mia she's like to sing as you fuck her.” Thrust, thrust, sidestep, another thrust. Wilhelm, shocked by his bluntness, missed the third one and took the blow between the ribs. “are you gonna be a scholar tonight, or a soldier?” he panted lightly, “I don't think she's wet for pens, y’know?” A chuckle, followed by lazy, decrying blows. The sound of wood on wood began to annoy Wilhelm. “No, not Edeline, that randy wench.”
His brother managed to anger him despite himself. Nothing would've given him more pleasure than thrusting the broomstick into his smile. He planted his legs in the ground, standing and blocking the attacks steadily, waiting for the right moment to follow with an attack of his own - a swift, vertical slash to the left of his opponent’s stomach.
And swift it was, yet Karl blocked it with a slight effort, and responded with a blow to his right arm, just below the shoulder. This time he did not drop the stick, at least. Fury filled him, intoxicating. He waved his broomstick madly, wildly, not with skill, just sheer force. His brother laughed as he blocked and parried more than a dozen blows, the knacks of wood on wood filled their small, isolated farm in the suburbs, until finally his weapon met flesh.
He stopped, and watched his brother spitting and clearing the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Something sparked inside him, a sense of victory drenched in awe.
Karl smiled, his teeth red. For a split second, Wilhelm thought everything was okay, and then the broomstick hit him in the nose.
One moment the world was black and he was on the floor, and the next he was sitting in front of a bucket of clear, cold water. He felt paralyzed in shock, the world was blurry around him, light dancing in strange ways, and the voices he heard were swollen and low.
“You fell on your head. A bit o’ a rest and you’re as good as new.” Karl’s voice was not unkind. He washed the blood from his nose and mouth, and left without saying another word.