Vengeance (Part One)

Vengeance
(Part One)

The fire blazed loud and hot as I awoke. I tried to lift my head and a surging throbbing pain forced it back down. I was face down on the floor, my nose was beginning to fill with smoke, <I must get out of here. > I thought as the fires began to inch their way toward me, and I began to inch my way toward death. My whole body ached as I pulled myself along the floor and toward the only light, the light that was a beacon of my freedom from this hell. I neared the light, a hole that the fires had eaten through the outer wall, a hole that was my saving grace.
I pulled myself out of the fiery house and onto the grass, which seemed almost heavenly, compared to the hellish furnace I had just escaped from. I pulled myself farther away from the house, with each movement I awakened the sleeping giant that was inside of my head called pain. I pulled myself to a safe distance and rested, still face down, on a grassy area under a tall oak tree. I rolled over onto my back and winced as I, once again, felt the stabbing pain inside of my head, as if the pain were a lion trying to escape and my head was the cage.
I looked to my home and watched as the flames engulfed it, the home where I grew up, the home where my mother raised me…My Mother! Was she still inside with the flames or had she escaped? Only time would tell. I prayed against fate that she had made her way safely out. After only a moment’s time, the fires ate away the last remaining support the house had and it collapsed under its own weight, a cascade of flame and smoke leaping and spitting up with an oath.
I lay there, the full effect of the situation not taking its hold upon me. I turned my attention to the branches of the big oak above me. I wanted to prop myself up against the tree trunk, but as I began to sit up my strength drained from me as if my body had sprung a leak and my head felt as though a horse had smashed it’s accursed hove upon the back of my head. I slipped back down on my back and I felt my eyelids becoming heavy and I was soon cast into the darkness that I had, only a short time ago, emerged from.
The darkness was, for a time at least, a sanctuary from the pain, I cannot know how long the darkness had me, but after that time I was awakened by a drop of rain on my cheek soon followed by another. As I opened my eyes, the heavens had erupted with a torrent of rainfall. I blinked, and pulled myself closer to the trunk of the tree, whose branches were a makeshift shelter. The throbbing pain, that held it’s fierce grasp on me and limited my movement, had began to spring to life once again and I lay very still. I looked over my nose at what was once my home. What little flames that remained were soon rendered to cinders and then ash by the downpour of rain.
As the rains began to lessen, I started to contemplate the situation in my mind. The events that had fallen upon me in the last two days were strange indeed. It started only the day before with the unexpected homecoming of my father, Timothy Alhium, who was in a state of worry. My father was a member of the Cyprus military. He began his career as a simple infantryman, but his ability with a blade and a mind sharper than the edge of his sword earned him a place in the Elite Guard. The Elite Guard was specially trained forces who were assigned to protect the major cities of Cyprus. Every city central had its own Elite Guard assigned to it. My father was assigned to the most important city of all, the capital of Cyprus, Nicosia.
Each recruit for the Elite Guard had to undergo a rigorous training process. My father told me of these, brisk jogs into the hills in full armament for days at a time, mock battles, knock out fighting, weapons and formation training. There seemed to be no limit to the training that my father went through.
He also told me that the Elite Guard wasn’t like the other soldiers, there was something about them the he didn’t like, something that “churned his stomach” he had said once to me. Needless to say it was yesterday that my father came home at an unusual hour. His mannerism was one of concern, concern for his family, concern for his life. The parts of that night that I remembered were frantic. My father was telling me to pack my things and to be ready to leave at daybreak. My mother and father started talking to each other in a hushed tone as I headed for my room. All of the suddenness was hard to handle, but I packed my belongings as I was told. I put only a few tunics, head-coverings, and my daggers into my travel-bag, and what little money I had, which was two gold coins, were stuffed into my pockets.
As I finished the task my mother came into my room, and with her came that normal, calm, loving manner she always portrayed. She told me that my father knew something that he shouldn’t and that it was something that would make powerful people mad at him. " We have to leave, for there are men that want to hurt us for what we know.” She said in a mellow tone. She always knew how to cast all the fear out of my heart, but this time, as she left the room, I sensed in my heart that she knew more than she was telling me and that all was not well.
As the night waxed on, I lay down on my cot a drifted into a realm of sleep, only to be awakened, hours later, by the sound of struggling. I was immediately alert. I crept up to my door a peered through the crack. What I saw left my mouth hanging open and my eyes wide. My father was being drug away by soldiers and my mother was being slapped and beaten. As I watched the horrific scene a rage began to well up inside of me and my blood began to boil. I couldn’t stand the sight any longer.
As my father was drug out of sight, I leapt out of my hiding spot straight at the guard that had struck my mother last. He was surprised as my fist clubbed him in the face. He staggered backward and in a flash I was on him. I began to lash out with all the fury of a whirlwind. The blind rage that pushed me to kill this man, also blinded my mind, I never saw the other soldiers close in on me. I only felt the flat side of one of their swords striking me on he back of the head with a loud crack and their feet kicking me in the side. The last thing I remembered before the darkness overtook me as a wave, was one of the soldiers saying, “He’s finished, and even if he survives the fire will take care of him.” I heard the rest of them join in with a throng a laughter.

As I thought about the events over and over again in my mind I tried to rise. As I began to push myself up onto my arms, they started to quiver and I slumped down to the ground again. I began to fear for my life. If I couldn’t rise, then I can’t walk, if I can’t walk I can’t eat. Without food or water I would soon die. What could I do? With every movement I felt as though the injuries to my body were remade, but in a worse state. I was distraught; I had no way of surviving. I could only pray for a miracle. As the day drew on into night a feeling of despair fell over me. I closed my eyes a hoped for salvation.
My mind conceived a wonderful dream. It was a dream filled with memories and nothing of the terrible day I had just experienced. Although, even through the dream, I could faintly feel the enormous pain that was my curse. Before, when I had awoke, it was because of a fire, then the rain, but this time I felt someone grasp my hand and I heard a voice.
I blinked my eyes and looked up. What I saw made me jump and that wasn’t the best of ideas because the pain reared its ugly head and I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. It was a girl. A girl that looked as though she was from the farm lands. I heard her say, “Um, are you okay? I saw the smoke and I came to see if everyone was okay.” Her voice was clear and understanding. I opened my eyes and looked up at her. Mustering some strength I said, “I was in the fire…A beam fell upon my head. I know not how bad I am hurt, but hurt I am.”
She looked to me with a look of compassion in her eyes. She turned and walked toward, what I now saw, a fine horse. It was a red bay and was not very old. I looked after the girl, my miracle, and smiled slightly. She was a woman with elegance and beauty. She had golden brown hair and crystal blue eyes. Her skin was tanned. As she stood there near her horse rummaging in her saddlebag the wind began to blow. As the wind that came from the north reached the girl, her hair was blown to the side and it shown brilliantly in the morning sun.
The beautiful mosaic picture of this girl warmed my heart and almost made me forget the pain that had become part of my being. As she turned and started to walk my direction, she held a canteen of water in her hand. Her stride was one of purpose, one that made me stare in awe. She neared me and held out the canteen, “Here drink this, and don’t worry everything is going to be okay.” Her voice was one that inspired hope in my heart. I reached out and with a groan I took the canteen. I slowly and graciously drank its contents. The water was to my stomach as gold is to a miner.
As the cool liquid flowed into me I felt a refreshing surge shoot throughout my body and I relaxed. I looked up and saw the woman looking at him. He slowly and painfully handed the canteen up to her. She took it and quickly walked back over to her bag and put the canteen inside of it. She walked back over toward me and said, “Are you all that was in the fire?” I heard the question and pondered what I was to say…I could tell her about my mother but that would induce her to ask to many questions. Questions that I did not want to answer at the moment.
I stared up at her and said, “Yes… I…Was all.” She began to squint her eyes and looked at the remains of my house. She turned back to me and asked, “I am sorry,” she said solemly, “I think you should come back to my home, where I can bring you back to health.” Her eyes were focused and her tone of voice crisp. I looked her over. This woman was one that was very fair. I wouldn’t mind being nurtured back to health by this one. I said, “Yes, I will go with you. Anything…Is better than this tree…” I flinched as the pain shot through my head once again. She nodded her head and looked back to her horse and then, as if slapped in the face, she turned to me and said, “Oh…I’m sorry I didn’t even introduce myself. My name is Catherine Lamain. Whats yours?” her voice was now one of innocence. I couldn’t help but smile. “My name is Joseph Alhium. Son of Timothy Alhium.” I said with pride.
I have always had pride in my name. I was named after my great grandfather. My mother told me that he had the same light blonde hair and blue and yellow eyes that I had. Catherine smiled and said, “Come on, let’s get you up on that horse.” She turned and whistled and, without skipping a beat, crouched down and took up my hand in hers. As I pulled myself up with her help I noticed that her horse was trotting toward us. Just as soon as I saw the horse I had to close my eyes because the pain decided to tear into my very soul and I let out a groan.
As we neared the horse I opened my eyes and saw Catherine tap the horse on the nose and say, “Get down boy.” The horse, in turn, lowered itself in the sitting position. She turned to me. “There you go, now Diablo is a good horse. Up you go.” She said in her normal calm voice. I was anything but calm. I was very scared indeed. It was not the horse that scared me, I knew my way around horses, but it was the pain. The very last thing I wanted to do was be tossed and bounced about, with the pain in my head tightening its grasp on my conscienceness with every second. The confidence in Catherine’s tone and mannerism reassured me. It might be painful now, but in the long run it would be better for my health.
I looked at her as she said, “All right, just put your foot in the stirrup and I’ll help you up.” I took in a breath and prepared my body for the shock of riding on the horse. I eased my left foot into the stirrup and Catherine supported my body as she helped me lift my right foot into the other stirrup. As I sank down into the saddle, Catherine, with movement as fluid as water, hoped up into the saddle and clicked her heels against the side of the Mustang. The horse stood and with a word from Catherine we were off.
The ride was slightly better than I had expected, and I had expected quite an anguishing ride. The distance between what was once my home and the cottage Catherine lived in, which was about 7miles, passed rather quickly. I am not sure if I lost conscienceness for a moment or not. When we arrived at the cottage I took in my surroundings. The cottage was quite simple, there was only one door and a square hole which was used for a window. As Catherine stopped the horse close to the door she, once again, reached forward and tapped the horses nose and said, “Down boy.” The obedient horse obeyed. Catherine slid out of the saddle and looked to me with that look of assurance.
She had a great deal of compassion for helping others, I liked that about her. She stretched out her hand and I took it firmly. She helped me off of the horse and as my feet hit the ground the pain erupted like a fiery volcano and I collapsed. Catherine took my arm around her shoulder and took my weight as we inched toward the door. When we were at the door Catherine, with her free hand, pushed it open and we went inside. Once inside The pain lessened and I opened my eyes and observed the room.
The cottage interior featured a single table in the middle of the first room and a furnace that supplied heat in the corner. We walked together through this room and into the only other room in the cottage. It was a small room in which only a single cot was set up in the corner. She helped me limp my way to the cot and I lay down on it. As it did I felt the pains dissipate and I closed my eyes and sighed in relief.
“You just rest here. I’m going to get you some food.” Said Catherine with a soothing tone. I looked up at her and smiled. She turned and left the room. As she was gone I looked about the small square room I was in. It had only the cot I was lying on and a small window on the wall. The floor was stone and it had a certain coldness to it. I was still looking at the floor when I saw a flicker of Catherine’s dress in the door. I looked up to see Catherine displaying a caring expression on her face. In her hands was a plate of food and a pitcher of water. She walked over to me and sat on the floor so that her eyes were level with mine. She sat the pitcher of water on the ground and said,
“Here, I brought you some food. Its only bread and fruit but it’ll do ‘till I can go to the bazaar and buy some meat.” She put the plate on my chest and I eyed it contents with pleasure.
I reached down and took up the piece of bread and ate it without delay. It was received by my stomach with much gratitude. The fruit was a sweet orange. Its slices were heaven in my eyes. I devoured them and I was, for a time, satisfied. I looked to Catherine, who was watching me eagerly, and said,
“Thank you Catherine. I feel much better.”
As the words passed through my lips I remembered the pain that was still lurking in the shadows of my mind awaiting the correct time to pounce. Catherine looked at me with sympathy and took the plate in her hand and pointed to the pitcher. “Whenever you thirst you may drink of this pitcher.” I nodded and she turned and went through the door, closing it. Then I was alone. I looked about the room once more. I thought about how lucky I was to be alive, to have a woman like Catherine to care for me…Lucky indeed I was. As the day drew on Catherine would periodically enter the room to check on me or to bring me some food when I beckoned it.
As the fiery sun sank below the horizon and the darkness of night crept its way over the cottage I slept and let my tired body rest and begin to repair the damage that had been done.