A Vow of Vengeance

"Enunciate your words."

I hefted a book above my head, threatening to throttle him with it.

"See father," Elrin squeaked. "This is why the highborns believe us to be savages. Always resorting to violence."

Frustration flared in me, but father's calming smile tempered my anger. Every evening, after the day's work was done and the golden sun dipped below the horizon, father would gather Elrin and I in the cozy, candle-lit kitchen. The wooden table, worn smooth by years of use, became our classroom. The warm glow of the fire cast dancing shadows on the walls. The room was filled with the comforting smells of freshly baked bread and simmering stew. The fire crackled warmly in the hearth, casting a soft glow on the rough-hewn beams above.

History lessons were Elrin's favorite, stories of the sanctum, the Pavelia wars. Father spoke of the Emirkrol Empire, with its grand aqueducts and bustling markets, and of the legendary heroes of old, whose deeds shaped the world we lived in. Language lessons were where I excelled. Father, who had learned different dialects from an old monk in the village abbey and Arkian from a traveling minstrel, shared his knowledge with us. By the flickering candlelight, we practiced writing Arkian phrases on parchment scraps and reciting simple poems. Father encouraged us to see language as a key to unlocking the mysteries of other cultures and peoples. Elrin delighted in learning new words whilst I enjoyed the rhythmic flow of the foreign languages.

Mathematics and calculation were integrated into our daily lives. Father would often take us out to the fields, where we would count rows of crops, measure the land, and calculate the yield. He taught us to use simple tools like abacuses made from string and beads to perform basic arithmetic. Back in the kitchen, we explored the principles of geometry by drawing shapes in the dirt floor or with charcoal on slate. Father explained how numbers were essential in everything we did, from planting crops to trading goods at the market.

With even a keen mind even then, I loved solving riddles and puzzles that father would create. Elrin, quick with numbers, enjoyed the challenge of more complex calculations. Father's lessons were always practical, connected to our everyday tasks, and filled with a sense of discovery.

Despite our impartation of academic knowledge almost everyday. Elrin would still want to read more, he reveled in reading. So much so I was forced to share this love. It became my nighttime routine to listen to him regale me the story of the season. It began as something I tolerated to something I expected. There were some days I was even eager for the night to come. Because I had to know what happened next from where we left off. I would listen with rapt attention, my eyes wide with wonder as I imagined the grandeur of distant lands and times. Elrin's storytelling painted vivid pictures in my mind, making history a living, breathing tapestry.

Elrin tried to close the book, but I inserted my hand between the pages to prevent that.

"No, I need to know if he survives," I said with urgency. "Did he survive the plunge off the cliff?"

"You'll find out tomorrow night."

"Enunciate your words," I chided.

"You shall still only find out tomorrow night," he said with emphasis over each word.

"Elrin, please. Just one more chap—"

Elrin jolted upright in the bed, coughing violently, and he turned his face away from and a speckle of blood sprayed on the corner of a page. I took the book from his grasp and closed it. I didn't want him to see that I feared for him, so I tried a smile, but I knew that I was radiating terror as palpable and fierce as the warmth from a fire.

"I'm going to call mother."

I tried to scramble out of his bed, but he stopped me.

"Don't," he warns. "She will give me those remedies meant for father. There isn't enough for us both."

"And I'm supposed to what?" A burst of outrage. "Choose between the two of ya? Not happening. We'll find a way to get more."

***

The medieval village market was a bustling swirl of sights, sounds, and smells, nestled at the heart of the quaint settlement. Stalls of every kind lined the flatstone square, covered with colorful awnings that fluttered gently in the morning breeze. Vendors called out their wares in loud, jovial voices, while the clinking of coins and the murmur of haggling filled the air. The earthy aroma of herbs and the tang of freshly caught fish, creating an intoxicating blend that spoke of abundance and life.

Father's fields had yielded a bountiful harvest this season, and he stood proudly beside his cart laden with vibrant vegetables and plump grains. He arranged his produce neatly, the sun glinting off the fresh, dewy surfaces. This cycle, the earth had been kind, and his hard work had paid off. His eyes sparkled as he welcomed customers, exchanging friendly banter and fair prices.

While father was busy selling his goods. Elrin and I darted around the market with boundless energy. We had decided to play a game of hide and seek, weaving through the crowd with giggles and gleeful shouts. I being, quick and clever, found the perfect hiding spot behind a large stack of hay bales, only peeking out to watch my brother search for me. I caught a glimpse of a stout shopkeeper with a volcanic temper, violently wresting a man who had slipped one of his trinkets in his pocket.

Elrin, though smaller and less agile than I was determined. His small frame moved swiftly through the throng of people, his eyes scanning every nook and cranny. As he wandered further from father's stall, the crowd thickened, and the noise grew louder. Lost in the excitement of the game, Elrin must've not noticed that he had strayed too far.

Not long after, I had found him in a narrow alley. And Elrin suddenly found himself face-to-face with a group of older boys. They were rough-looking, with mischievous grins and dirt-smudged faces. One of them, a tall boy with a mean glint in his eye, sneered at Elrin.

"Look at this, lads. A little runt lost in the big market," the tall boy mocked, stepping closer.

Elrin tried to back away but the boys formed a circle around him. They shoved him roughly, their laughter harsh and mocking. Elrin stumbled, struggling to keep his balance, his small frame no match for their strength.

"Please, leave me alone," Elrin pleaded, his voice small and scared.

But the boys only laughed louder, their taunts growing crueler. One boy grabbed Elrin by the scruff, pulling him closer. "What's the matter, runt? Can't take a little fun?"

Tears welled up in Elrin's eyes, but he fought them back, trying to stay brave. 

Anger and conviction poured through me, charging every cell in my body and making my blood roar.

"Leave my brother alone."

The boys boomed a condescending cheer.

"Seems the fun is just gettin started."

"Touch me and they'll be scraping you off the floor." I cocked my head to the side. "Or do you like touching little boys instead?"

His face warped and his sneer soured into a snarl."

"Quite a dirty mouth you got on ya," another boy said.

"I can think of better uses," agreed the leader.

He came for me and I threw an ambitious swing. I missed. He didn't. An explosive moment later, I found myself on the floor, followed by several kicks coming from every different angle, battering my bundled form. Red flooded my vision. I heard Elrin scream; he tried to get to me then they unbridled a beating on him up, too and all I could think about was saving him. Even though I had four or five boys kicking viciously at my body. And with brain-jarring force, one of them stomped on my head and my consciousness flashed, then faded until a stern voice cut through the commotion, yanking me back to life.

A random stallkeeper whose voice sent the boys racing away.

The man tried to pick me up, and the pain lacerated through my entire being, wringing out a sound-slurring cry from me. He must've obviously found my father, because what happened after was a memory blotted from my mind. I passed out and for a while, too. The only thing I remember was waking up to the crushing pressure on my chest, feeling like a hole had been punctured in my lungs. My breaths came in ragged gasps, each one a sharp knife that deepened the hole. The pain from my broken ribs radiated outward, a relentless throbbing that made my vision blur.

I turned my head stiffly, and that was when I saw Elrin. The agony I felt was nothing compared to the soul-cleaving torment that seized me when I saw him. He occupied his single bed that was opposite from mine. The sight of him made dead bones rise and suddenly my body was an unbearable weight as I moved upright to spill out of my bed. Every movement sent waves of agony crashing through me and when I stood to my feet a sharp pain slashed through my stomach and a cry escaped.

I made it all of two steps before my mother barged in, urging me to lie back down, but I had to get closer. I needed to hear his breaths, but mother stopped me. My skin was tender to the touch. Each billowing bruise was a silent scream, a story written in shades of suffering.

"I need to see him," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "Please."

"He'll be fine. He just needs his rest, as do you."

I glimpsed him as mother put me to bed. His face was pale, almost ghostly, his eyes closed as if in an impenetrable sleep. Tears leaked from my eyes and I turned my face to the wall so mother couldn't see. In a garbled gush, I made my vow.

"What?"

Louder and steadier, I said, "I will kill them all."

Even then I had begun taking more physically laborious duties to cover the shortfall of father's absence. Elrin fell prey to the plague that afflicted father, far more progressive in him since his symptoms manifested at such an early age. I knew I had to be strong enough to provide, but now I also had to be strong enough to protect.

***

It took some time, but as soon as I was able. I was working.

I stood in the early morning light; my calloused hands gripping the handle of a worn hoe. The sun had barely begun its ascent, casting a golden hue over the rolling fields. Already my skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat. Stray tendrils of dark hair, tied back in a practical braid, fled to frame my face.

Each movement flexed a muscle that was defined by countless hours spent tilling the soil, lifting heavy sacks of grain, and hauling water from the distant well. I moved with practiced rhythm, breaking the earth with precise, efficient strokes.

Despite the demands of the farm, I carved out time each day to train myself further. I had routes that I would run before dawn would come. When the chores were done and the sun began to set, I would be found at the edge of the forest, training with a wooden shaft bo staff.

When the great market came once again, I tried locating the boys that made my brother and I bedbound for days. I didn't find them, but I did spot the ill-tempered shopkeeper. So I came by his display and made it absurdly obvious that I swiped a gilded compass. His frightening bark made me flinch, but I faced him with an arrogant smile.

"Problem?"

"I spied ye pilferin' somethin' that belongs to me!"

"Ye? And what proof do you have?"

"Show me yer pockets."

"I'll show you nothing."

I turned away, but he snatched my arm, and I relinquished his hold. He grabbed at me again, but I dodged and landed a kick at his shin. He doubled over but recovered so fast I didn't see it coming. His beefy fist connected with my face and blood burst from my nose. The second impact—a jet of blood surged in my mouth. It tasted coppery, almost salty. For a big man, he moved fast. I figured the best way to learn how to fight was to fight. I was my own mentor, pain my teacher, vengeance and vindication was the tinder on which I burned. One day I would be good at giving punches as I was at taking them, but today was not that day.

That was the first of inestimable encounters that led me to be battered and thrown inside a cell with heavy wooden doors reinforced with iron. I've spent many nights on those piss-smelling, feces flecked straw-covered floors. Each time stronger, lasting longer, better to the point where I was almost never getting caught or my target or targets were either too afraid or too mortified to inform the authorities. I didn't find the boys who hurt my brother, but I knew the day I did I would be ready.