Dark Fall (3rd Book)

Chapter 16: Holy Interventions

"But father, please!" He had cried then as he backed against a stone wall, tears flowing down his cheeks as a dark shadow neared him, holding a leather strap, charred black with embers. "Father, don't hurt me please!"

He had held himself as tight as he could, never letting go of himself lest his sanity escape. The big black shadow above him brought down the strap, and he screamed and more tears leaked out, and pain stung his left thigh, where a red welt had already started to form, bringing color to pale legs. A mop of black hair hid a bruise from his forehead where the blood had long since stopped oozing. Blue eyes shone with innumerable tears, filled with a dull ache. All over, he was bruised and battered, weakened and weary.

"Please," He had tried to scream, but failed when this shadow brought the strap down again, as a resoundnig snap echoed round the house. He sobbed, and he thrashed against this shadow as it bent to force him up in silence. He had knelt again, clasping his hands together and praying for the gods above, the goddesses, and then begging to this shadow. "Please. Stop it..."

He had grown weak, and still, this black-clouded man continued to beat him with leather straps, and he tried to crawl away on all fours, screaming all the while as this shadow followed him with heavy steps, as if purposely taunting Fendrel.

Then suddenly, it stopped, and Fendrel stood to his height, small as it was, and then ran with weak legs, stumbling and tripping over his own actions as steps sounded behind him again, this time with the sound of metal grazing against wood. He fought to keep himself as sane as possible, as composed as he escaped to the outside, where a dark rain had fallen and tainted the once clear skies of azure.

He slipped, and fell, hitting his back. Wounds and sores flared up in a frightening intensity as he cried out, crawling again as the black shadow followed him outside, and when earlier it was a strap, this time it was a hammer, blunted as it may be, and rusted, but still formidable against damaged bones.

He shook his head fervently, whispering again and again. "No, please."

He tried moving away, shifting his legs, but it burned with the lightest movements, and he saw the torn skin, with a sliver of white poking out, and he moaned and his bellows resonated through the area, deserted and desolate.

Where are they, he thought to himself, trying to move, but to no extent. His tears were faster and stronger, and came without stopping. The shadow was taunting him;he walked slowly, swinging the hammer round. He begged and cried for mercy, and tried to move away again.

Only an inch.

He looked around desperately, but saw no one, heard no one and nothing except his own pathetic voice and the looming storm running across the muddy fields. The black man was evil, he was bad, and he had no help to stop him, for he could not himself. His bones were all damaged and broken, and he hurt all over.

Even now, he can feel his muscles straining, and the blood slowing down with each heavy step, and he turned away and closed his eyes, lying down on the grass, feeling the waters seep into his skin, into his ears, and then the rumble of the man's boots as it slammed to the ground.

The first strike came soon after, and he fought with himself to keep silent, biting his tongue as his lips quivered uncertainly. He had hit Fendrel's leg, the one where the bone poked out, and it hurt him so much. He only wanted painless sleep, or a quick end, just to finish it.

The bone had snapped with a loud crack with the second strike, and this time he permitted a loud shrill shout, shaking his head again as he felt the warm sticky blood flowing down his leg and the bone scraping against his opened skin.