Godbringer

Chapter 1

The bright light from the tavern bled out into the streets. Jovial songs and conversations stepped out just for a moment with every swing of the door. The worn wooden walls barely contained the warmth of the dozen or so men and women inside. The music that played radiated into the outside world.

But the streets were cold at night. The gentle flakes of snow foreshadowed what the harsh season had to offer. While people hunkered down in their cabins and cozied themselves by their fires, I wandered the streets, looking for whatever food I could scrounge up. The disgusted looks I got from people walking past left a taste in my mouth worse than the garbage I ate to survive.

I made my way to the alley behind the tavern. There, I got up on a box and looked in the tavern window, at the people laughing and drinking; not a care in the world. My shoulders relaxed a little as I bathed in the light emanating from the window.

Then, as if to rip me out of a dream, The wind blew through me as if my skin wasn't wrapped around my bones. Every muscle in my body tensed, bracing against the wind. It battered me for a moment, then I took a deep breath, and tried to override my body's urge to shiver.

"Damn that cold," A gruff voice said. I lean back from the window and peer down the alley toward the voice. An older man rounded the corner. By the tattered clothes he wore I could tell he was a Beggar. His eyes were fixated on the ground, but as he closed the distance between us he lifted his gaze to meet mine. He stopped about 10 feet away.

"Hey kid," his voice droned. "This is my spot. Get out of here!" Despite the distance, you could smell the alcohol on his breath. Geezer must have blown what he had to drink away his sorrows.

"Having trouble hearing, boy? I said move! Or else." His right hand reaches into his pocket and pulls out a knife, staggering his body into a fighting stance. The weapon itself posed a threat, but the fluttering eyelids and crooked stance of the man wielding it negated any danger.

I sighed, stepping down from the box and turned to face the man. He spins his knife around, fumbling it into a position to attack. We locked eyes, and for 10 seconds, time froze as we stared each other down. Taking care not to make any sudden moves, I dipped my hands into my pockets. He takes a half step back, probably expecting me to pull out a weapon. Then I took a step to the left. The man mimics me, not giving up any ground. Then we took another step. He slides his front foot forward, in an attempt to advance.

Idiot, I thought. Quickly, I throw my hands straight up. The drunk, caught off guard and confused, stared in bewilderment. I slowly lowered one hand; he followed it with his eyes while the rest of his body hesitated to move. I loudly knocked on the back door of the tavern and ducked behind some barrels that were near the door. Within 5 seconds a big, burly man crashed through the door

"Who's out there?" His voice bounced off the walls of the narrow alley. The drunk man just stood there, alcohol affecting his ability to grasp the situation.

"What the hell are you doing back here, filth? Get out of here!" The man waved his arm, as if swatting at a fly.

The old man didn't move. He just stared at the man in the doorway, silhouetted by the light rushing past him. The tavern keeper stepped out into the alley, closing the door. "Didn't you hear me?" He said, towering over the drunk man. "Get out. NOW!"

As if a switch flipped, the old drunk snapped back to his senses.

"Y-yes, sir." He slurred, as he quickly stumbled back the way he came. The tavern keeper watched the drunk until he turned the corner and then returned inside. I waited a minute before I came out from behind the barrels. After I checked to see if there was anyone else around, I made my way down the alley.

"Pfft. Who does he think he is? Threatening me," I muttered to myself. I tucked my arms behind my head. Before I turned the corner, the back door opened again. I froze, hugging the wall to avoid detection. The cook was dumping the leftovers into one of the barrels by the door. My stomach growled as the scent reached me. The man turned and went back inside. I immediately dashed for the food. I tore open the lid of the barrel and inside rested the remains of a roast pig, potatoes, and some half eaten rolls. I shovelled the food into my mouth, not knowing if the cook would be back out. I barely take the time to taste the food as it drops into my empty stomach. I eat all that's edible and hurry to leave the alley before I get caught.

When I got to the end of the alley, I stopped. I looked left, where the cobblestone streets flowed downward, toward the outskirts of the town. The poor and destitute, or Beggars, live there. Ramshackle houses built of uneven boards barely keep the cold out at night. The people scrape by with what little money they can muster from manual labor. The harsh incline toward the more prosperous city leaves a literal mountain for anyone to climb. The undesignated border that separates the Beggars from those above them is built into the city itself. I turn right as I exit the alley. The houses I pass are made of stone; solid. The people, able to keep their shelves stocked and their stomachs full. They don't care about Beggars like me. I ducked down alley after alley feeling the stone walls. The rich usually had their fireplaces going late into the night to combat the cold. I ran my hand along the walls until I found one that emanates heat. I sat down, leaning against the warmth of the stone behind me. I pulled my knees to my chest, trying to consolidate my heat. My body started to shiver, but I just took deep breaths, trying to keep a rhythm, just to take my mind off the frigid cold. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.