Brodans Journey: Part3

In his head, dreams of his father’s stories of war and battles fought churned and twisted.  Within these visions her face constantly appeared, smiling at him, her eyes sparkling and as he smiled back, she would vanish, her beauty being disrupted by another sword piercing battle-scarred flesh.    
    The night became still and cold, not a sound could be heard, nor could anything be seen in the thick darkness.  The stillness woke him.  Everything was too quiet.  He tried to peer through the bush at the village but the darkness was too thick.  He listened for any sound at all but, nothing, not even the squeak of a night rodent and they were very seldom quiet.

    Suddenly, a flash, red and black spattered in his eyes, then darkness.  When he came round, Brodan was back in the main cabin, the chairs of leadership still standing at the front, but this time instead of Bragdon, the main seat was filled by another character, one Brodan had never seen, nor heard of.  Its’ long hair matted and ruffled, eyes as big as the circumference of a wooden beer mug and it’s mouth filled with teeth as pointy and sharp as any blade he had ever seen.  It had a strange build: it’s legs were slightly too short for it’s body but strong and muscular and it’s arms quite large emphasizing it’s strength.
    The only thing it said after looking carefully at him was “Take him to the holding, and don’t forget to beat him severely first!”  It’s breath was the last thing Brodan remembered before the two grunts dragged him out into the middle of the village and proceeded to beat him severely with sticks while the other villagers watched in horror closely guarded by the rest of the grunt troop.  He was too weak to fight back and eventually passed out from the pain  caused by his injuries.

    The village had been overrun during the night by a grunt scout troop sent by Crackan upon hearing that the village was joining the war.  How they penetrated the Northern forces is unclear.  The reality is that they were now in the village and the village was crumbling.  Just as soon as it had begun, the order was shouted into the air to retreat.  The grunts scattered and grabbed what they could.  The two beating Brodan had ceased their beating and quickly tied the broken and bloody body to a pole which both of them carried.  They ran from the village into the deep thick forest, leaving behind them an eerie aftermath, the air filled thick with confusion and shock and in the middle of it she lay on the ground her vision blackened slightly from a series of blows to the face, her dark hair wet and sticky with blood and Avidon beaten and bloody lay not far away from her, unconscious unable to come to her aid.

            She couldn’t help staring into the bush, trying to focus, hoping he would somehow have escaped and would come back holding the head of a grunt, but the memory of his beaten body flopping about as they ran brought her back to reality.  Tears filled her painful eyes “Brodan!” she screamed, full of panic and emotion… “BRODAN!” 

Brodans Journey: Part2

The noise was at a ridiculous level.  People shouting at each other, children screaming and a loud murmur of everyone talking at the same time made Brodan’s eardrums shake like a small child cornered by a hungry Black-Hound (and you don’t want to play with a Black-Hound, especially when it’s hungry).  Light from the fire-torches that were positioned around the cabin danced and flickered on the confused expressions of everyone in the room.  The chairs of leadership  were left standing vacant at the front of the room as the leaders who usually filled them were nowhere to be seen.  Huge hand-carved masterpieces, each with their own story carved into it about the person it belonged to, their battles, lovers lost and pets owned.  Each leader could pick the colour of the leather to be inset and thus, each chair was unique and different.  Once a leader had retired or had his leadership removed (sometimes with vicious force), the chairs were then either given to them as a retirement gift or merely burned in disgrace of what they had done, depending...  In the most severe cases of disgrace the chair was smashed to bits and it’s disgraced owner stabbed to death with the splinters, then both were burned together, away from the villagers as they were not worthy, even in death, to be watched by anyone.  This hasn’t happened for many millennia and is a rare occasion as it takes a very serious offence to be disgraced but is an absolute spectacle if you manage to catch the fiend being apprehended by the Guardians and beaten all they way to the Death-Pit of Fire to be stabbed and burned.

    Suddenly the room was filled with total silence as the leaders walked in and sat themselves before the people, each taking up his or her respective chair respectfully.   The Chief Leader Bragdon, a beast of a man wider than two horses standing side-by-side and taller than four barrels on top of each other, spoke suddenly and abruptly, he was a man of few words. His voice, deep and loud, smashed it’s way into the ears of anyone willing to listen and anyone else within two days walking distance from the village.  “Droogan!  Who is this person you spoke of?”
    Droogan, nodding off, woke with a fright, breaking wind as he did so, then proceeded to ignore it (no-one could ignore the smell) and cackled, “Brodan, Chief Leader, he stands before you.”
    Brodan, hearing his name, swung round to face Bragdon, “That’s me Sir.”
    “You’ll speak when spoken to boy!”  Bragdon said red-faced and looked intensely at Brodan.
    “I was merely announcing myself so you could see before you the person Droogan speaks of.” He stared intensely yet very respectfully back at Bragdon.
    “Good.”  Bragdon stated, “Introductions over!  Now, certain members of the village are leaving to join the Northern villages in the War of the North against Crackan and his hordes.  The elders have discussed with us who they would like to see lead our warriors forward, and that person is you Brodan...”
    “Me?!?”  Brodan looked on in astonishment and the astonished crown looked on him in confusion.
    “Yes, you.  Although your experience is minimal, you have the qualities of a leader and for your size – the heart of a lion.”  Bragdon motioned with his hands to emphasize how small Brodan was in comparison to him.  “You will leave tomorrow after you have been branded with the mark of the warrior, fitted with armour and presented with your unique sword.  You will march thirty men for forty days into the valleys of the north and lead them into battle.  I expect nothing less than for you to smash any and all who stand in your way.”  He emphasized his point by smashing his hand onto the arm of his chair, the impact of which shook the floor.  He then got up and left, followed by the other leaders.

    Brodan turned around and his eyes found hers.  The thought came into his mind now that he should tell her how he felt, should he not return, at least she would know.  Then as he allowed his gaze to break from hers, he traced his eyes around her face.  Her disappointment wasn’t  hidden very well, and he could tell the look on her face was for him because he was leaving.  He could tell by looking at her that there was more there and, as he started walking towards her, Avidon walked in and placed his hand around hers.  Brodans heart sank and if it could drown itself in the contents of his stomach, it would have.  Avidon was courting her and had been for some time.  He trained the young village boys to become warriors and trained them to survive in the wild, using nature to help win battles.  Because of this role, he was forbidden to join Brodan in the march, his skills were too valuable to be lost in battle.  Brodan suspected he had taken the role of training the boys so he could avoid battle and used his skills and valuable experience to ensure that he stayed.  Brodan changed his course and walked outside to be alone with his thoughts, for in his thoughts was her and when she was there, he was happy.  He walked to the tree he had fallen out of earlier, and sat under it.  The bonfire in the village was the only light easing it’s way through the gaps in the thick bush and the murmur of the villagers and trickle of the river were mesmerising.  Brodans eyes slowly closed and thoughts of the battle, the village and her mixed and swirled together as he slept...


To Be Continued... Soon...