Fire and Lightning

This Is It

Ryn woke to the sound of screaming.

It took him a moment to realise the screams were real. He had been dreaming, but the dream evaporated when he registered he was in his bed and those horrible cries were coming from outside, somewhere in the town.

He flew out of bed and opened his curtains. No sign of trouble that he could see—just the timbers and thatch of the house next door.

But he could hear more screams outside now, getting nearer.

He pulled on his overshirt and trousers as quickly as he could.

Downstairs his mother had frozen in place at the dining table, eyes staring at nothing, one hand holding a knife in midair from which jam dripped slowly downwards.

"What's happening?" Ryn asked her.

Her eyes found him. "I don't know." Her voice trembled slightly.

"Where's Dad?"

"He left early to help set up for the Fair... I told him to let you sleep in..."

A horrible crunching noise came from next door, the sound of wood snapping.

More screams, very close now.

"Ryn, go—" his mother started.

Their front door burst open—it hadn't been locked, why would it be?—making a tremendous bang as it hit the wall.

In through the doorway walked a hulking man in a black suit of armour. He carried a long, black-hilted sword that glinted at the tip. He wore no helmet and his thick hair was flame-red.

Now Ryn's mother screamed, high and desperate.

Ryn's breath caught in his throat. He wanted to scream too, to shout, to protest, but he had gone utterly dumb.

Ryn just watched the man walk in, finding himself rooted to the spot in shock.

The man strode up to Ryn's mother and, as the boy looked on paralysed, as she continued screaming, placed the sword in her chest. It slipped past her raised hands and slid in straight through her heart.

An instant of agony.

The man withdrew his blade and a gush of blood spilled out of the wound with it, spattering his mother's clothes and the floor. She fell face forwards onto the ground, landing with a slap.

The image of Mum lying face-down on the floor, long brown hair splayed around her head in a growing pool of blood, etched itself into Ryn's heart.

The man turned to him. There was something animal about the twitch that pulled up the corner of his upper lip in his round face.

"Where's your father, boy?" he said in a deep snarl.

No words, just horror.

"Stage fright, eh?" said the man. "Let me drop the curtain for you."

The man stepped towards Ryn, raising his sword high, but when he brought it down Ryn threw himself out of the way, able to move at last. His hip bashed into the kitchen table and he stumbled, putting out his hands to break his fall.

A shadow fell over him. Ryn rolled just in time to avoid another swing of the sword, which thunked into the floorboards where he had just been.

He scuttled backwards and banged his head on the wall, barely noticing the pain.

"Help!" he cried, voice suddenly returning to him. "Help! Attack! Murder! Someone, help!"

The man in black armour yanked his sword out of the floor then shoved the kitchen table over. "No one will come for you, boy," he said, snarling. His voice was terribly, horribly close. "They are all dead or dying. Now stay still and let me gut you."