A Fool's Tale

Chapter 8 - Time to Leave

It didn't take long for me to devise an escape plan. After my uncle fell asleep, I could sneak from the shack then head for the castle, using the moon's light to guide my way. The moon would be large in the sky all week. All I needed to do was wait for a night with clear skies.

The first few days were cloudy and I did my farm work in a foul mood, cursing the grey skies under my breath. My excitement to leave began to waver and a sad resignation crept into my thoughts. Perhaps I was meant to have a life of disappointment. And with each grey dawn, my despondency grew.

Another morning. I yawned and rubbed my eyes, edging them open with a sigh. A crack of light shone under the door. Light! Springing to my feet, I hurried to the door and peered outside. Not a cloud in sight. I could barely believe my good fortune. This was it. The day I became free.

I went about my chores with a hard to conceal smile and a rare spring in my step.

"Boy, yer acting weird. What's gotten into ya?" my uncle challenged when I returned from tending the vegetables.

"Sorry uncle, I'm just doing my best to meet your approval." I lowered my head and slouched in an attempt to look more like my usual forlorn self.

He eyed me suspiciously and grunted.

I tried to act more sullen for the rest of the day, but Uncle Martin kept casting mistrustful glares toward me, and I suspected my act wasn't fooling him.

After it grew dark, we retired to the hut for the evening. I did my best to keep from underfoot, but as I watched my uncle mutter to himself while he stirred our stew, a long spoon in one hand and a bottle of alcohol in the other, I knew it was going to be a rough night.

"Inconsiderate...spoiled...brat." He grouched under his breath. I'd been hearing the nasty names for years and knew they were just a precursor to the physical abuse that was sure to follow. I made myself small on my chair and wondered if I should flee from the house right then. It would be so easy. My heavy uncle would never catch me...but he would see the direction I ran, and there was no doubt in my mind he would figure out where I'd gone. It was a chance I couldn't take.

Uncle Martin turned from the fireplace and slopped a serving of stew into my bowl. Droplets of it splattered onto the table. He ladled a portion into his own bowl then thumped down onto his chair. As usual, we didn't speak. We just started eating in silence. I imagine there are people who share meals together in quiet comfort, enjoying one another's presence. This was the exact opposite. I didn't know if Uncle Martin hated me, or merely saw me as an unwanted burden, but I knew I hated him. As I looked across the table at his cold black eyes and the thick black beard that I suddenly wanted to tear from his chin, I felt an uncontrollable urge to hurt him. My hatred betrayed me.

"I'm leaving," I blurted out.

It seemed impossible, but the shack became even more silent, the moldy wooden walls swallowing my words, but they could not be erased once spoken. My uncle had heard them all too clearly. It took a moment for the message to register, and then he slammed his fist on the table. His eyes blazed and his nostrils flared.

"How dare ya speak such words ta me. I've fed ya, I've clothed ya and I've gotten nothin' but trouble from ya." He reached to his waist and loosened his belt. "We'll see if ya feel like leavin' after I'm through with ya."

I leapt back from the table and his belt buckle slammed down where my hands had been moments before.

My uncle circled around the table toward me, his eyes glittering with rage. He moved more steadily normal and I cursed my stupidity for setting him off before he was drunk. The belt slashed down at my head. I leaned away and it whistled in front of my nose. He roared, put his shoulder down and charged, trying to crush me against the wall with his bulk. I easily slipped aside from the clumsy attack and raced for the exit. My uncle crashed into his dresser, cracking one of the wooden drawers.

I reached for the door handle to escape and spied my uncle's wooden staff leaned against the wall. A sudden surge of anger welled up in me and I snatched the sturdy walking stick. I'd never been trained to use a staff as a weapon, but I had been chopping wood for the last few years, and I was quicker and stronger than most boys my age.

My uncle recovered and lumbered toward me, slicing his belt in a wide looping swing. He probably expected me to run to the other end of the cabin, or tumble away as I usually did. Not today. I stepped inside his reach and cracked the staff against his forehead with a swift, short strike.

The blow stopped him in his tracks. He staggered for a moment then put a hand to his temple. A stream of blood flowed from the spot I'd struck him.

"Yer dead. I'm goin' ta put ya in the ground right beside yer parents. How dare..."

I pulled the staff back as far as I my arms could stretch and used every ounce of my wiry strength to crack it against his temple. There was a dull thunk. Uncle Martin's eyes glazed over and he fell to the floor, unmoving. I had no idea how badly he was hurt, and I didn't care.

Running to his bed, I pulled out the sack of treasures and dumped the contents on the floor. Most of the pieces of jewelry I'd seen before were gone; probably sold to pay for more drink. The only item that looked familiar was a simple wooden comb. I took it and jammed it into the pocket with my mother's necklace. Scanning the rest of the shack, I saw little of use. My uncle's leg shifted. Uh oh. I quickly grabbed my jacket and pulled on my boots, then taking the staff in one hand I stepped around the body of my uncle and fled.

Once outside, I took a deep breath. The air seemed fresher than ever. Perhaps it was the smell of freedom. A fat white moon hung bright in the sky. I reached into my pocket and touched my mother's necklace for luck, then turned towards Castle Brimstone.