Chapter Eleven - Shame

The wind rustled through the bough of a large oak tree. It stood firm and stalwart in the midsummer morning. All around life had sprung forth and it too was relishing in the momentary bliss, before the inevitable decay of autumn would come.

A small red bird dove down and perched in the branches of the oak. It pecked at it's wings and relished in the feeling of a full stomach from the morning grub. It looked into a strange thing nearby, a window in human terms. It wasn't sure what it was, and didn't have the capacity to care to know.

Instead, it began to sing, a cheerful chirping that was echoed by the other birds and creatures in the yard. Something rustled in the trees then and it flew off, instinct telling it to get away...

...

"What do you mean? You aren't her son?" The Master of the House had said. Alder sat stunned. It was clear he was furious, and what he said had been wrong in some way.

He began to speak but he was interrupted by the Earl calling out loudly, "Erik! Come!" His wife and son had gotten up and moved away from the table, both avoiding the questioning gaze of Alder.

A moment later an armored guard burst into the room, his hand on his sword as he stood at attention, waiting to hear what the Earl had called him for.

"Take this child away at once! This vile street vermin dated to lie to me, and invade my home. Besmirching my sister's name! I'll be out in a moment, we will see to his punishment."

Alder yelled out, "no wait! What?! I know Helda she saved me!" But no one listened, and as he opened his mouth to protest further Erik gave him a swift punch to his solar plexus, knocking the air out of his lungs. He keeled over and felt himself being picked up and moved away.

The guard's armor jangled as he moved, and Alder's mind was filled with worry and fear. He kept wondering over and over what he did wrong. What was so wrong about what he said.

Those nice people turned on him in an instant. He heard the Master say mutedly in the background say, "Come David... You must learn how to deal with such matters."

A moment later the light of the sun blinded him and he found himself thrown in the courtyard. Two other guards he didn't know had approached at that point, asking Erik some questions about what was going on, to which he replied with, "This lad's a trespasser it seems... the Lord is furious."

"Aah poor chap.." they said, giving him glances full of pity. Alder wanted to say something but he didn't know what. He felt mute, constricted, as if the world was crushing him... again...

The footsteps of the Earl resounded on the stone steps of the mansion. David stood just behind him, avoiding the look of Alder.

"Right boy... we will make an example of you here. I would have taken both your hands for the most serious offense of cheating a noble. However, you are young..." He paused, Alder sweating as he realized he got to keep his hands,

"I'll only take one... restrain him! And make it quick!" Erik grabbed Alder amidst his thrashes and screams. He squirmed to get away, knowing full well they were going to go through with it.

The guard was firm with him and said at one point, "Calm down boy unless you want it to be two... a man can live with one hand, but you keep this up you will be a cripple for life. Dead in the gutter in weeks you will be I reckon."

Something about the nonchalant way the Guard said it, as if it was no big deal he was going to get his hand cut off, was sickening. One of the other guards came back amidst the struggling with a large chopping block and an axe. Erik asked Alder quietly as he was moving him towards it, "you right or left handed sonny? I can at least let you keep your good one..."

Alder was hyperventilating and sobbing hard but he managed to say, "r..r...right handed".

"Good..." Erik nodded, holding down the screaming 8 year old's left hand on the wooden stump. The other guard stood over them with the axe and waited for the signal.

Alder's back was to the Earl and all he could see through tear stained eyes was the statue ahead and the flowers beneath. He gave up on wiggling out of the grasp of Erik, his body shaking with adrenaline and fear.

"Do it.." he heard clearly, and he saw the guard bring down the axe swiftly. "CRUNCH!" It resounded, followed by a "Thunk!" As it stuck into the chopping block.

Alder sat stunned for the first few seconds, wondering if he had missed, but then.. then it crept up on him like a thief in the night. Or rather, like a bandit running down a hapless villager on horseback. The pain. It surged through his body igniting every vein, every nerve. He screamed and screamed, and nearly passed out. But he didn't. Instead he fought the agony, rolling around on the cobbled courtyard.

He couldn't see what had happened to him. Couldn't even feel if they had been successful in severing his hand. It was just raw agony that overshadowed everything in his life then.

Minutes passed... Every second hell... Every slight movement igniting new waves of Pain. He couldn't not move though. His body squirmed under the intensity. As if it had no other way to cope with the extreme pain.

Eventually the world started to darken and he went limp. The black nothingness of passing out crept up on him amidst the chaos and he almost welcomed it...

...

"Alder... Come sit with me and help me peel these potatoes." A voice called. The young boy had been playing with a stick, hitting the trunk of a tree. He turned and said, "alright dad!" Before dashing up to sit down on a barrel next to his old man.

The grizzled man smiled down at him, a warm smile that made him feel safe and happy. He handed Alder a small knife and the boy began to slowly peel a small potato from the pile in between the pair.

His dad was far more skilled than he at the task, and he often looked over to try and copy his hand movements.

"Did I ever tell you about my grandfather?" He said, breaking the afternoon silence. His aged eyes were staring up and off into the sky, not focusing on any particular thing. Alder noted it was like he was seeing something that wasn't there.

"No Dad... tell me about him!" He replied excitedly, nearly nicking his thumb with the sharp blade in the process.

"Well... he was an adventurer... a Grand one..." his dad started, dropping his peeled potato in small bucket as he continued, "Gerald the Unbroken they called him.. and he was known for his Mastery with the Sword and for taking on a mountain troll by himself.."

"No way! Someone like that is your grand dad?!" Alder responded.

"That's right.." his dad smiled, "your little sword there." He pointed at the wooden stick Alder had been swinging, "reminded me of the tale my father told me... Yes, he was a great adventurer but he ended up dying on an expedition... leaving my grandmother alone and poor. And here we are, on this farm that she managed to buy with my grandfather's leftover savings from being an adventurer..."

Alder was enthralled. His father had never talked about his grandfather before and he was happy he did. "Maybe I can be an adventurer like that someday!" Alder said, staring off into the woods as if he imagined some monster he could face heroically.

"Haha.." his dad laughed, "Maybe... but let's finish these potatoes first huh little Adventurer..."

...

All at once Alder woke up. The warm haziness of the dream filled him with a bleak nostalgia as he realized he wasn't in his village.

"What..." he thought, realizing he was staring at the mid day sky overhead. He looked around left them right and saw he was lying on a familiar dirt path. "Aah!" He yelled, looking down at his left hand. "No!" He screamed, seeing that it was gone... a bloody stump in it's place.

His heart started to beat fast and the pain slowly returned. It was a dull, throbbing pain that turn to a sharp stabbing one when he moved his left arm. He winced and sat up, using his right hand to reach over and touch the spot where his hand used to be.

Rage filled him. He looked to his right and saw the mansion in the distance, "Sons of whores!" He yelled in it's general direction. He didn't feel like crying anymore, instead, he felt like killing. He wanted to kill the Earl and the stupid little David.

Then he stopped himself, wondering, "kill someone? Me?.." he was half sick that he would even have the thought to murder someone. Whilst the other half wanted nothing more than to make them pay.

Fear started to take over. Fear of where he would go next. How he would get on and survive through the pain, through being a cripple. Where would he sleep? What would he eat? He didn't have any money... Any belongings...

He sat there just feeling his stumpy appendage and for a moment he really felt like his left hand was still there, like he could move it, but then it wasn't... A strange grief crept in at knowing he would never get it back. Ever. That he would never get to used two hands and had to live his life with only one.

He vowed revenge then. Vowed to go back to that estate and make them atone for it... "I did nothing wrong... nothing..." he thought, pounding his remaining fist in the dirt to a sharp pain a moment later.

His body was tired, the adrenaline having stopped. It left his mind foggy and the agony in his left arm superb. He stood slowly, and steeled his resolve as best as he could.

Something about him changed. Not then, but days before. He could actively sense it in himself. As if he was able to just deal with the loss so much quicker... But it still left him fractured, ruined. His psyche on the verge of collapse even as he limped down the

dirt path towards the main road.

The guards had been so kind to cauterize the wound. Otherwise, he would have bled to death... He kind of wished he would have. Then he wouldn't have to deal with surviving. Deal with the burning sensation in the stump

From the third degree burns. The sharp pains when he so much as moved a muscle.

At one point he tripped in a small hole and slammed his feet hard into the ground. The pain nearly made him pass out again. Step after step he pressed on. He kept his eyes on the dirt below, looking out for anything that might trip him again.

All the while the peaceful day pressed on. The small river to his right babbled softly, in a beautiful chorus with the birds in the trees. At one point a hare farted across his path, nearly knocking him off his feet.

Eventually though he made it to the road, and plopped down on the side of it. He was breathing heavily and was very weak. Looking down the road he spotted the city far in the distance, a long walk. Longer than he was sure he would be able to make.

Even if he made it there what could he do? He didn't have any money. "Damnit..." he thought to himself. He spotted a familiar tree on his left, whose trunk had been cut over and over. In the middle of all the slashes was a familiar blade sticking out.

He willed himself to stand and made his way towards it, remembering the rage he felt at Helda then. Truly, he would have been better off without that wretched woman. He would still have a hand, wouldn't have gotten nearly killed by a goblin. Maybe he would be burying his friends now instead of being stranded in the middle of nowhere with no money, no food, and with one less hand.

He pulled on the handle of the blade and it barely budged. Wiggling it back and forth he managed to free it after some time, wiping the tree sap off on the grass nearby before putting it in his knapsack. He felt the book there and realized he had forgotten all about it.

"Maybe I can sell it..." he thought to himself, noting that books were expensive, and Helda herself had said it was given to him by a mage. That it was valuable. He wondered though, remembering the look in the old man's eye as he handed it to him.

A wave of pain swept through him and the book left his mind. Instead, he longed for water and food. He looked over at the river and noted that there were definitely fish in it.

"How difficult would it be to catch one...?" He wondered, a ping of sadness resounding in his mind as he remembered Harold and how he would always fish at the waterfall.

"Right... I can do this..." he resolved, looking about for a large stick. He found one readily enough and set about trying to sharpen it with his knife.

It was difficult, and took quite a while. The agony from his left arm along with only having one hand to work with made the task a lot more difficult than it should have been.

Once he finished he packed his knife away and picked up the crude spear and crossed the road. The pain was starting to get bearable, and he could fight through it enough to focus on getting himself something to eat.

He didn't want to be on the Earl's path to his house. Afraid of what they might do to him if they saw him again. Instead, he worked his way down the other side of the bridge and found a spot near a large bush and a willow tree, noting the dry moss that would make good kindling for fire.

His father had taught him a lot about surviving in the wild, especially camping. They had done it several times together in the past in the off season for farming. They would go off into the woods and make their own fires, hunt their own food. He had used a spear for fishing a couple times before. It was difficult, but not impossible. Certainly quicker and more effective than a rod and hook.

The sweat poured down his face after an hour of wading in the shallow river, missing strike after strike with his wonky spear. He wasn't getting anywhere, and the exhaustion was setting in.

He still needed shelter, and a fire for the night. All with one hand. All while experiencing pulsating pain. All while only being 8 years old.

He settled to try again later, shifting his focus to the shelter and the fire. The willow tree had excellent flexible branches for making a crude shelter and mossy leaves that could block out the rain. Furthermore, it being summer there was a lot of good kindling and dry wood about.

By nightfall he had a crude shelter and an empty stomach. The fire was a failure, Alder finding it very difficult to do with one hand. He made a note to think about how to make one for the future, if he ever wanted to eat cooked fish that is.

Somehow the tiny shelter was cozy. A reminder of simpler times with his dad. The stacked branches and mossy leaves of the willow encased him a cocoon of sorts. He had elevated it off the ground so snakes and other creatures would be less inclined to mess with him.

The chill of nightfall struck his wound and made him shiver in agony. He quickly stuck it in his shirt and made sure to keep the stump warm and out of the elements.

Eventually he felt okay enough to sleep. Finding some odd comfort in being alone in the wilderness. The fear was still there, as well as the hunger, and of course the pain. But, he was alive. He had a place to sleep at least. More than anything the rage and anger seeped into his heart and spurred him on, putting him into a dreamless sleep a while later...