Revision [14922]
This is an old revision of TheRaid made by BillHamilton on 2010-05-25 17:36:58.
Location: A rural fishing village on the southern coast of Greece.
The boy had awoken with the break of day to the smell of freshly baked bread. At the sounds of his stirring his mother approached and leaned over her child, "Good morning, little one," she said with an affectionate smile. She leaned over and gave the boy a kiss on the forehead. As she did, her long, dark hair fell around them both and the boy and inhaled his mother's scent of warm honey and almonds. A breakfast of boiled eggs, grapes, still warm bread smeared with a hearty portion of homemade cheese, and fresh goats milk had already been laid out on the family's small wooden table.
After he ate, boy's mother took him by the hand and they went down to the shore to meet his father whose small boat, the boy knew, had already been bobbing on the waves for hours. The boy skipped up and down as his mother hummed an airy tune. Their path through the woods led them to a crest of dunes on top of a secluded section of beach - the father's special fishing place, away from all the other fishermen. As the boy stepped from the treeline and his bare feet hit sand, he released his mother's hand and ran full speed to the edge of the lapping waves. The boy called and waived with all his might to his father, who looked up with a broad smile and waived back.
As his father began rowing for shore, the boy played tag with the waves. His shouts of joy echoed down the beach, joined by his mother's laughter. By the time boy's father steered his boat onto the shore and dropped his rough-hewn anchor into the sand, the boy had soaked himself and his mother in warm, salty water. The fisherman leapt from the boat with a hug and a passionate kiss for his wife. The boy pulled at his father's coarse pant leg, "Papa." His father reached down and tossed the boy into the air before catching him and giving him a hug and a kiss of his own. The smell of the ocean oozed from his father's dark auburn skin. Popping his small son into the boat, the boy's father began unloading his baskets of fish onto the beach, while child scrutinized the wooden oars, hand-woven rope nets, amd other tools of his father's trade that were littered around the boat. "It's time to go. The market will be starting soon," came his mother's voice a few minutes later. And with that, the boy leapt from the boat into his father's waiting arms with a wet splat.
As the boy's mother hoisted a straw basket onto each hip, his father handed him a large fish to carry back to the family hut, laughing as the slimy thing slipped from his son's small grasp. The boy's father lifted an enormous basket overflowing with fish onto his own broad shoulders with a grunt and began walking for home. The boy quickly snatched the fish from the sand, hugged it with two hands to his chest, and ran to catch up with his parents.
For the next few hours the village bustled with energy as the villagers traded with one another. The boy and the other village children giggled as they played hide and seek, chasing each other through the crowd. But as the sun neared its peak in the sky, the energy of the village seemed to slowly evaporate, and during the hottest part of the day everyone retreated into their huts. As the midday meal simmered over a small fire, boy's parents played games with him. They would rest until dark, when the villagers came together and socialized around the evening fire.
The boy's father carried his son back into the family's hut. After a long day, followed by the evening fire, the boy's small body was exhuasted. He was asleep and mumbling even before his mother had the chance to give him a soft peck on the head. But, though his body rested, boy's mind continued to race. The stories shared around the evening fire that night, and many from nights before, began to replay themselves through the boy's dreams. Visions of ancient warriors and sensual goddesses played in his head. In each dream, the boy played a new part, and rescued a new maiden. But in the end, the life he most longed for came into his mind's eye - a image of the boy, tall and strong like his father, grown, and rowing his own boat with powerful arms back to shore with loads of fish in the bottom.
In his final dream that night he could clearly see his ageless parents at the edge of the water, waiting. His father wore his brilliant smile and his mother waived to him. The boy basked in the love and pride on their faces. He could hear his mother's gentle laugh carried to him on the wind. But then the waves stopped lapping on the sand, the sounds the wind and sea birds disappeared, and his mother's mouth began to twist. The smile faded from her lovely face and she began to scream - her whole face seemed to melt as her beautful voice contorted from a gentle laugh into a powerful cry and pierced the peacefulness of the vision.
The boy jolted awake, already covering his ears. The cries of his mother still rang in his ears as he looked about the hut. He saw a large man dressed in metal holding his mother roughly at the elbow and trying to pull her from the home. The boy tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes, unsure if he was still dreaming. Another cry came from the boy's mother and he saw her spit in her attacker's face and then kick him in the groin as he tried to clean his eyes. The man dropped in a heap and the boy's mother darted back into the hut. The boy stretched his arms towards his mother, cried out, "Mama!" but she did not rush to her son's side. Confusion and fear swelled in the boy. He watched his mother moved towards some ongoing struggle on the floor, and for the first time he saw that there were two men fighting on the ground.
The boy's father wrestled with another armored man. He struggled valiently, but the other man was much larger and it was clear, even to the small boy, that the fisherman would soon lose to the soldier. Tears welled in the boy's eyes, but the boy only stared from his sleeping mat, paralyzed - not knowing how to help, and too scared to move. As the man began to bludgeon his father with his metal-clad arm, boy's mother entered the fray. Using two hands, she brought her weaving stool crashing down squarely onto the back of the larger man's frame. Wood splintered over the invader's back and shoulders, and the fight was over.
The boy's father pushed the limp body to the side and leapt to his feet, his hand moving instinctively to staunch the flow of blood from his head, pushing hard with his palm against the wound. Both parents rushed toward their son, and the boy's mother pulled the stunned chid from his mat and took him into her arms. The boy's eyes were already overflowing, but for a moment he felt relief in his mother's arms. His father led the way to the door of the hut, pulling a metal poker from the cooking fire as they advanced.
As the family neared the door, the soldier that had attacked the boy's mother pulled himself to his feet and charged the entire family, brandishing his sword. Quicker on his feet than his armored opponent, the boy's father dodged the first blow and thrust the poker into the man's eye with a sizzle and a pop. The shrieking was so loud that the boy covered his ears once more, but the muffled cries still pierced him as the man collapsed again with an iron clang, feebly grasping at the shaft of the poker. The boy's mother lifted a hand to shield the boy's eyes from the gore, but it was too late. The boy stared, transfixed. As his father bent down and hefted the abandoned sword awkwardly in his fist another soldier crossed the threshold.
With the intruder's sword poised high to strike the boy and his mother, the boy's mother turned her back to their attacker in an effort to protect her son from the killing blow. Looking over her shoulder, the boy watched as his father jumped into the path of the falling blade, the fisherman never thinking to raise his own. With a spurt of blood, the metal sunk deep into his abdomen. The boy's mother whirled back to face their attacker and screamed at the sight of her husband dropping to his knees, his body cleaved almost in two. The boy felt his mother's arms loosen and he fell to his feet.
"RUN Alaistar, RUN!"
His mother yelled as she shoved the boy toward the door, and launched herself at the murderer who had just slayed his father, digging her fingernails deep into his eyes. The boy looked up at this new battle, his feet frozen in place, watching as blood began to course from the soldier's eye sockets and down his cheeks.
"RUN, Alaistar!"
At his mother's renewed order, Alaistar felt power flow back into his limbs and he burst from his home and into the night.
The world blurred around Alaistar as he sprinted through the village. An the acrid stench of burning filled Alaistar's nostrils and made it hurt to breath. The entire village swirled in chaos. Villagers ran in every direction - some turned to fight their attackers, but those that did were quickly cut down. With most of village huts on fire, the night was powerless to hide the carnage. Alaistar moved away from the huts and plunged into the darkness of the trees. Without thought he ran to the beach using the same path he had walked with his parents that morning. As he exited woods and crested the highest dunes, Alaistar froze once more, suprised to find himself blinking into an unexpected light. Torches peppered the coast, and when his vision cleared Alaistar could see a dozen rowboats lining the shore. In the distance, two large ships bobbed on the ocean. Alaistar stood in awe at these giant ships that dwarfed his father's own fishing boat.
With the thought of his father, Alaistar stopped turned back towards the village. A moment's thought of his father and mother and Alaistar plunged himself back into the darkness towards home. But after taking only a few steps, he felt rough hands wrap around him and jerk him into the air. Crying out, Alaistar tried to fight, but his arms were pinned hard against his own chest and his legs could find no purchase. Alaistar's captor turned him and crushed him hard again his armored chest. Alaistar pushed against his captor with his head and arms, but it was as if pushing a mountain. His frustrated efforts turned his panic into a cry of rage in his throat. Suddenly, he felt himself sink, along with his captor, as the soldier stepped into the soft sand. He knew he was being carried back onto the beach.
Struggling wildly, Alaistar kicked and yelled through his tears. He tried to bite the man who held him, but his teeth only scraped metal. The heavy armor made it difficult for his captor to move gracefully in the sand. As they plodded forth, ehe man stumbled in the sand spoke harshly in a language Alaistar did not understand, but what could only have been a curse. He crushed Alaistar even harder against his metal body, knocking the wind from the boy and quelling his fight. Alaistar cried silently for his mother and tried to summon the twin smells almond and honey. Instead, the rotting odor of his captor burned his nose.
The soldier continued forward and when Alaistar had caught his breath once more he saw that they were among the lighted torches. Finally, Alaistar's captor pulled Alaistar away from the armor with both hands and held the boy aloft. The man sneered at Alaistar with yellowed teeth. Mimicking his mother's act of defiance Alaistar spat into the soldier's craggy face with all the force he could muster. With a grunt, Alaistar's captor threw the boy hard into a rowboat. As his head bounced off the wooden gunwale, for an instant, Alaistar saw the faces of his parents in his mind's eye, and then he slipped into darkness.
For a while, Alaistar floated in nothingness. Then, he saw a vision of himself: a warrior, as strong as Heracles, storming back to the village and into the home to rescue his family.
