Eventide Scriptures I - The Shattering of an Era

Chapter 2.1 - The Measure of a Friend (Part I)

Varne and Eiran ran, dodging the fir and pine trees that towered like a cluster of pillars. Branch tips scratched at their faces, and their shoes were damp with blood after tripping over twisted roots many times. The fragmented moonlight through the forest canopy was their only source of light.

Eiran glanced back. The glint of the brigand's short blades was still there and getting closer.

"Turning at time like this!" Varne exclaimed. "Look ahead or your head will bust!"

"Varn, it seems like we're moving away from the village."

"Shut up and run!" Varne panted through clenched teeth to compensate for his dwindling endurance. Eiran was no less desperate for air, wheezing with each breath.

Eiran's toes hit a root, and he stumbled. Varne stopped to reach out his hand.

"I can't outrun them." Eiran looked back once more. "Go on without me."

"Do you think I'd leave you?"

"Look at those bushes. I'm small, I can hide there."

"They'll find you. Come on, hurry!" Varne pulled his hand, but Eiran coughed as if he were about to cough up his lungs.

"Varn, you know my illness. Go. Consider yourself a bait, heh heh."

The leading brigand was so close Varne could almost see his crooked nose. Arguing would only benefit those bastards. "Damn! Eir, hide!"

Eiran did not see which way Varne was running because his eyes were fixed on a cluster of bushes. His steps faltered carrying his body there, his breath growing shallower. Yet he endured and dived into the bushes just a breath before the leading brigand passed.

Clasping his mouth with both hands, he peered. One by one, the brigands passed by. His body convulsed each time he suppressed a cough, biting his finger in the process.

Only after the footsteps and curses of the sixth brigand had vanished could he exhale. The energy that had surged due to the dire situation now left his body all at once, and he slumped.

He hoped Varne managed to escape. But Varne was fast, the fastest in their village. He must have succeeded. He knew this forest, and-

THUD! A blunt object struck his head from behind, throwing him forward. The impact rocked his head; he did not feel like falling to the ground; he sank into it.

He groaned, hand holding the back of his head, which was damp with blood. In his sixteen years of life he had never received a blow as hard as the one just now. Then, strong hands seized his arms and threw him to the ground.

Pairs of brigand eyes stared back at him as he opened his eyes, glistening as white as their weapon blades, with grins beneath them. A bandit stepped on his stomach, tensing his entire body.

A one-eared brigand said, "That brown-haired brat got away, but this fool thought he could hide from us."

"What now, Chief?"

"That bastard must have run back to the village, yelling his head off. Finish this fool then we go!"

Kicks and punches rained down on Eiran's head, ribs, and stomach without any sense of restraint. They did not use weapons so they could savor this. He just curled up. Enduring. As he always did.

After a while, the blows subsided. Someone kicked his body, flipping him onto his back.

"Hey, is he croaked?"

Almost. The moon appeared dazzling through his bruised eyes. But before he could begin to appreciate its beauty, a bald-headed brigand eclipsed it with his ugly head. "The fucker's not dead yet!"