The Family Man

Chapter 26

50 BC

Quentin, the fifth son of Aramide, hid behind his mother. His father had left with his sword and had not returned. The sounds of battle were nearing, and he was struggling to hold back the flood in his eyes. His brothers, his uncles, and his father had always laughed at his fear. Now it crawled across his skin like a frozen flame, cutting deep into his gut and rendering his circulating thoughts useless.

"Stand, my son," Quentin's mother instructed, pointing next to her. She had a blade in her hand, shorter than his father's, but sharp nonetheless. She was not shaking. Quentin rose slowly, wishing he could remain hidden under the furs that warmed their nights. He clenched his teeth and moved to her side.

"The end nears," Quentin's mother told him. "When they come, you will be brave." He nodded, though it was a lie. He wrapped his arm around her leg. "There will be a moment, a brief one. You will run when I tell you." Quentin nodded again, struggling to remain standing under the din of the death wails outside. "You will run to our Great Mother. You will not stop till you get there. Do you understand." He nodded again and gripped her leg tighter. He could hear them approaching. He felt her soft hand on the back of his neck and looked up at the only person he fully trusted.

"You will not forget me?" Quentin's mother asked. Fear was replaced by shame. How could she not know his mind? She's the only one who he thought understood.

"Never, mamma," Quentin said. "You will run with me."

"No, my son. I cannot." Quentin's mother smiled down at her son. "You are my light so you must shine. Always remember my love." She peeled his hands away from her leg. Quentin sensed the world was about to change.

Two men burst through the door wearing shirts built from sheets a metal and holding swords twice the length of his mother's blade. She pushed him away and pointed her blade at the intruders. They were large men, shaven of face, and wore their confidence well. Quentin reached for his mother, but she was sidestepping away. The men followed the blade, crouching as they walked.

"Be ready, my love," Quentin's mother called. She thrust the blade forward in warning. The men inched carefully toward her. He was frozen, fear sapping every muscle. "Be brave," his mother yelled. She stopped and turned her blade around.

The soldiers slowed in confusion. Quentin's mother smiled at her boy, her eyes screaming her pride. Quentin reached out again, his fingers flared as if the distance between them was non-existent. She plunged the blade into her belly.

"Run," Quentin's mother screamed. The soldiers stood agape as the woman before them disemboweled herself. Quentin's mind shattered, the world he had known tumbled into the unknown. His connection to it was falling to her knees. "Run," she groaned again. He ran blindly, never knowing of the smile that crossed her lips when she saw him pass the stunned soldiers.

*****

Present Day

"Sir!" the voice said. A gentle hand on Quentin's shoulder woke him from his deep sleep. The first he had in centuries. He opened his eyes to a flight attendant wearing a functional smile. "We're on final approach. I need you to bring your seat to the upright position."

"Yes, of course," Quentin replied as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. It took only a moment to adjust the seat. The attendant nodded and continued down the aisle checking the other passengers. Quentin smiled to himself when he realized he couldn't remember his dream. Nothing of the nightmares he was used to.

"Heading home?" the man sitting near the window asked.

"Pardon," Quentin replied, his mind shifting to the environment.

"It's your accent. I assumed you were heading home," the man said. He was a casually dressed American, most likely vacationing.

"Yes." Quentin smiled. He was heading home. Memories of his youth, before the Romans came, filled his mind. He could almost see his mother, his staunchest champion through the trials of a difficult time. "I am going home."

"Been away for awhile?"

"For too long," Quentin replied. "I fear I'll barely remember the place."

"Home is always home," the man said. Quentin liked his demeanor. It was open ended as if the problems of the world were only trivial thoughts one could shove aside. The man knew nothing of never-ending vengeance.

"I was thinking of my mother," Quentin said, wondering why he trusted the man with his personal thoughts. He smiled so the man would know it was a good memory.

"Been awhile since you've seen her?"

"A very long time. She passed on many years ago," Quentin said. Strangely, it wasn't an awful thought anymore. He could still feel her love and chose to remember it, ignoring the less tasteful memories.

"I guess, Mother's Day is a good time to remember," the man said solemnly.

"What?"

"Today's Mother's Day," the man continued, "Or it was before we crossed the dateline. Is it celebrated in Germany?"

"Yes," Quentin answered. His smile grew larger. A really good day to remember her. "I met a woman in your country who reminded me of her. It made me rethink things. I decided to come home and start fresh."

"Never too late for that," the man said, inheriting Quentin's smile. "My mother can be a bit trying at times, but I gotta love her faith in me. So, you changing jobs and everything?"

"Changing everything," Quentin said, nodding his head emphatically, "I don't want to hate anything anymore. It's too tiring."

"I envy you," the man said. "I have to wait till my youngest is out of college before I could even think of a change like that."

"You have kids?" Quentin asked. It was a simple question that brought forth a litany of good memories from the man. It was a short conversation, but one of the best Quentin had in a very long time. It was simple, useless information. He felt silly enjoying it. The monster Marcius Thracius no longer held sway over his thoughts. Quentin wondered if that young girl, Maria knew how precious her mother was. Almost as precious as his.