A Violent Awakening
[41, Before]
(Even now, I can't help but think on the old world.)
(I think life 'flashing' before you wasn't the right way to describe it. After all, it wasn't something quick like a flash. It was slow. Much too slow. Probably why I didn't notice it amidst the bustle of life.)
(As I think back, I realise I struggled at the end, for a long time.)
(I don't know when the struggle started or what happened, but I guess somewhere along the way I picked up some extra weight I couldn't carry. The whole experience was painful Extremely so.. My hope fleeing, the light in my eyes dimming. God… I struggled.)
(For how long, I wonder? Years, maybe. Decades, even. Hell, maybe I was always struggling.)
(But, in the weeks leading up to my death, the struggle changed. It became palpable. Crushing. My thoughts felt like a weight attached by hooks to the front of my skull, pulling my head down.)
.
.
.
I was enveloped once more by darkness.
Did I die again?
No… No, I didn't think so. It didn't feel the same as before. The darkness held weight, and my thoughts remained concise. Tangible. In the proverbial distance, I heard voices. Unintelligible muttering. Muffled.
Their words formed barely in the corner of my unconscious mind.
"W--e u-!"
We, uh? Nonsense.
My right cheek suddenly became warm. No, hot! It began to sting. Then, my other cheek began to sting, also.
"Wake up!"
The words became clear, like mountain-spring water trickling into the abyss of my unconscious. I followed the flow of sound, traversing down the river of thought, until I was sucked back into the world, alive.
"Hey, Brat! I said: wake up!"
My eyes shot open. My cheeks stinging. Head spinning. Hanging over me stood a grizzled young man with three long scars running from his forehead to his right ear. He slapped me. Hard.
"Good," he said. "Wake up, hurry. The lord is coming!"
I rubbed my cheek and groaned, pushing myself up. Through blurred vision I checked my surroundings. Dark. Damp. The walls were cobbled and high and above me a small chandelier creaked as it swung. My eyes adjusted. In the corner, the man and woman who found me stood silent, their eyes trained to the floor.
"Stand up, brat!" The scarred man barked. I narrowed my eyes - watching him carefully - and complied. He too wore a black gi, as the man in the corner did. On his belt, a small blade sat strapped. A rich, golden crest was emblazoned on the breast of his shirt. A shield, flanked by roses.
Suddenly, outside the thick wooden door of the dungeon, shouting sounded. A shiver ran down my spine.
"Stand straight!" The scarred man kicked me in the leg and I shot upright.
Need to focus, I thought. Need to get out of this alive, somehow.
The door flung open. Flanked by two serious-looking guards in red-cuffed, black gis, a huge man stepped over the threshold. With his head slightly bowed to avoid scraping the ceiling, he towered over my fragile frame, glowering. Every crease, every wrinkle on his face told me of the rage burning within this man. Animalistic.
In contrast to his looks, the embellished, gold-threaded tunic under a thick, regal coat he wore seemed to glimmer under the meek candlelight. Clean, royal elegance.
There was no doubt: this man was the lord.
Something deep within me shrunk away under the man's presence. Some primal fear. Perhaps the body was reacting to this person?
The others in the room bowed their heads. I followed suit.
"Welcome home, bastard!" The hulking man roared and he swung a hook straight into my jaw. The impact sent me across the room, my vision fading in and out of blackness.
Shit.
I slammed against the wall, breath taken from my lungs.
"Get up!" The monster of a man growled. "Bastard."
With shaking arms, I pushed myself up. I tasted blood. My jaw burned from the impact. Reluctantly, I bowed my head once again. It seemed the right thing to do.
"I'm… I'm sorry," I squeaked out. Some second chance. How much wrong did I do in my last life?
The huge man roared with laughter. "Sorry? Little bastard is sorry!"
The others joined in, laughing along.
"Disgusting. You bastard," the big man snarled. "If you weren't my own flesh n' blood I'd have you shipped to the mainland! Still, after your little… Escapade, I'm reconsidering that kindness."
Flesh and blood, huh? I guess this asshole is my father. I thought for a bit longer. And to ship me off means it's likely slavery is legal here. Dangerous.
"So, bastard," he continued. "Care to explain yourself?"
My throat tightened and a shiver ran down my spine. My thin legs trembled as I opened my mouth to speak.
"I…" The words fell off into nothingness.
What could I say? I didn't know this world. This body.
I was a nameless juvenile in an unknown world. So close now to a second death.
Shit. There was only one thing I could think of trying. I dropped down to one knee and bowed my head low.
"I'm sorry, father. I don't know the answer to that," I said.
I kept my gaze to the floor, awaiting a painful beating.
"You don't know?" He growled.
"I've forgotten."
The hulking figure that was my apparent father knelt to my level and placed his thumb and forefinger on my chin, lifting my gaze to meet his. I went cold.
Fury. Pure, unadulterated fury swelled deep beneath his amber stare. His grip tightened.
"Do you take me for a fool?" He asked quietly.
"N-no," I stammered out. "No, sir. I'm being honest. I must have been hit too hard in the head but… I don't remember anything."
"I am not some meagre 'sir'," he snarled. "And how much have you supposedly forgotten, bastard?"
I swallowed, praying the gamble would pay off.
"Si... M'lord, I honestly remember nothing at all. My name. This place. I don't know-"
"Enough!" My father snapped. He released my chin and slapped me hard as he stood up. Despite the stinging
"You two," my father pointed at the woman and the man who found me. "Your thoughts?"
They both fell to their knees, bowing low towards the lord. The woman spoke:
"M'lord, when we found your bastard in the forest cabin, he seemed to not recognise us," she paused for a second and glanced over at me. "And he was yelling at us in some strange tongue."
"It should be noted," the man next to her added. "That the floor of the cabin was soaked in the young bastard's vomit. Scattered next to the filth was a half-empty bottle of Flow Clarifying pills."
Flow clarifying? I thought. Some kind of local or traditional medicine?
My father waved them off and turned back to me, frowning. "Doubt this bastard could stomach even a single one without collapsing, dead. Check the storeroom and do a count: half a bottle gone is troublesome. If we're missing so much I want the servants' schedules checked - even one pill is a damned fortune." His tone became harsh. "Heads will roll for this."
"Yes, m'lord," the pair on their knees said in unison.
"Good. And now," he said, turning to me. "What to do with you? It's possible with the pill you took that you truly did hit your head turning you into an idiot. I acknowledge that your attitude has changed. In fact, I've very much enjoyed your more… Courteous demeanour. But it's not right to jump to such a conclusion… No, no, no… What to do… What to do… No, this could prove quite beneficial..."
I stayed quiet. Oftentimes trouble comes when one attempts to fill the gaps in conversation with thoughtless words. My father's musings stopped.
"Stand," he ordered. I stood.
"I've decided," he started, "to leave the decision to you, bastard."
The scarred man stepped forward. "M'lord-"
My father waved him away and the scarred man bowed his head in silence.
"What are the choices, m'lord?" I asked.
"We can't have an uncultured brat in my court," he said matter-of-factly. "You'll embarrass me more than your existence already does. No, the choice is simple: you will leave this place under a new name, with three marks of gold underarm never to return. Or, you can relent and finally enlist to join the King's Royal Army."
The Royal Army, I thought. Perhaps this is why I was reborn. But, why me? I had no fighting talent, no experience leading. The body I've been given looks like a strong breeze could topple it over, too. But, still, I was called here for a reason. I must have been. I need to th-
"Boy! I asked you a question! What is your choice?" The lord barked.
I didn't have time to rack my thoughts. So, I said:
"I-I'll take the gold, m'lord. I-if that's okay."
Pathetic. Taking the path of least resistance, as usual. Chosen one? No, I don't want to die in some army.
"Lord Helmer," the scarred man piped up. "I must insist otherwise on allowing this bastard to roam free! It's clearly a ruse to-"
"Silence!" Lord Helmer roared. "I will have silence! The boy will leave tonight under a new guise. You two," he said, motioning towards the kneeling pair. "Organise a carriage and horses. Food for the journey, also."
"Yes, M'lord!" They chimed in unison before raising themselves to standing, bowing slightly, and leaving.
"Drystan," Lord Helmer said.
"Yes, m'lord?" The scarred man bowed his head.
"Retrieve the boy's whore mother. It's time she left our grounds, alongside her brat."
"As you wish," Drystan said and left the room.
Lord Helmer looked down at me, a wicked smile etched on his face. I held back a shiver.
"Goodbye, bastard."
.
.
.
Night fell.
Ushered out through splendid halls, adorned with silken tapestry and rich red carpets, I felt - for the first time since waking up in a new body - wonder. It was real. This place, these people. The world seemed ripped straight from a fantasy story.
Outside, passed two great wooden doors, a carriage awaited near the edge of a dirt road. Two horses were at the forefront, ready and waiting to get moving. A small lantern sat perched above the driver's seat. Waiting next to it was the woman that found him and Drystan. When I approached, Drystan handed me a sealed letter.
"Here, you'll find the details of your new identity inside," Drystan said. He motioned with his head towards the carriage with a smirk. "Your mother is inside."
I took the letter without saying a word. Grunting, Drystan stepped away and was soon out of sight. Asshole, I thought.
I moved to the front of the carriage next to the woman in the ragged outfit and broke the seal beneath the light of the lantern. Pulling the thick papers out, I shuffled through the documents and smiled. I didn't understand a word.
"Can you read th-" I began before a sharp pain in my head took the strength from my knees. It felt as if my head were split in two and a wetness ran down over my lip. My nose was bleeding. The woman standing next to me didn't move.
I cursed under my breath as the pain subsided. Shaking my head, I lifted the papers once more and held them out towards the woman.
"Can you read this out for me?" I asked.
She looked at me, expressionless and glanced down at the papers. "Read them yourself," she said. Annoyance built
"I can't! I told you I forg-" I started before my voice trailed off. With wide eyes fixed on the papers, I stood silent, dumbfounded. I could read them.
The language hadn't changed, but as clear as I could read a misleading news headline in the old world, I could read the papers.
Khila Yorick. Orphan. Money was from a drunken southern noble who mistakenly caused the death of my parents. Hush money. Not sure how far three marks of gold would get me, though.
I couldn't help but smirking. Khila. What a stupid name. I'll have to think of something else, I thought.
I pocketed the papers and moved to the carriage door. Then, something caught my attention. Well, my senses.
"What is that smell!?" I said, holding my nose. I faced the woman with my head cocked.
The woman looked at me, her face a blank carving of monotony. She turned away and stepped up onto the driver's platform.
"Get in," she said.
Is this world just filled with assholes or is my luck just bad?
I opened the carriage door and a foul stench flooded my senses. It took all I could to not vomit. The smell wafted out, hot and heavy. I blocked my nose and looked inside.
"I've come to see you and your mother off, boy," Lord Helmer's voice sounded behind me. It could have been the shock, it could have been anything, but the words Helmer said seemed to have drifted away in my mind to nothingness.
I suppose I hadn't thought on it much. My supposed mother, that is. In my mind it could have been the lady driving the carriage. Or anyone, really.
But there I stood, mouth agape, senses assaulted by the overwhelming sight and smell of a woman's headless, rotting corpse.
A firm hand slapped my back, startling me. I turned to face Lord Helmer, the man who was once my apparent father. He wielded now a wicked grin, his amber eyes gleaming in the dark.
"I do hope you and your whore mother do enjoy your trip. After all, the Boundary Coast is a week's journey from here," he said. "Goodbye, Khila."