Retribution (Chapter 1/2/3)

Chapter One1

Amidst the view of a war torn sky, many sounds can be heard. Bombs explode with noise – illuminating their surroundings as they do so; gunfire can be heard, as can the people dying. Death is a commonality nowadays. More commonly heard at the moment though, due to its closeness, is the screaming. There are different types of screaming. Those that indicate the fear of children who have witnessed the murder of their parents and therefore ensuring their permanent status as orphans. Those that indicated the passionate rage of the local butcher’s daughter, as she took a meat cleaver to the man who shot dead her defenceless and surrendering father. Those that indicated the cries of a brother as he cradled the body of a much beloved sister in his arms, soaking his shirt crimson in colour. And those that indicated the separation of lovers, as by one of two ways: death or evacuation.2

The evacuation itself presented a new scene to the one previously encapsulated. The mandatory evacuation of the women and children was, essentially, pointless. However, the stressed government enforced it under the threat of execution without trial. After all, this was the only action they had taken – they had to ensure its’ success in order to achieve being pulled from the clutches of the possibility of being labelled weak. Those young women who refused to leave behind their lover or brother were shot dead. Those young children who were incapable of grasping the concept of abandoning their fathers’ were shot dead. Those who were lucky enough to be found by the Government’s ‘nicer’ mercenaries – or unwillingly naive soldiers – were dragged away, locked in irons, and thrown into the brig of the nearest ship – termed as ‘flight risks’ or ‘threats to the governmental ideals’. They were to be sold to slavers. All women and children by the dockside were, on this day, to be removed at all costs.3

Ducking and weaving through the mass hysteria by the seaside trenches, a young girl, no more than sixteen, makes her way through the crowd, searching for someone. Worry is etched in her deep blue eyes, so unique a shade that they could often be mistaken for indigo. When a young man, wearing the clothing of a soldier, appeared by her side, and took hold of her hand, leading her to the docks, her eyes almost appeared to sparkle.4

“Aiden” She whispered loud enough for only his ears to hear. Her voice was smooth, full of love, and sweetly musical. She gripped his hand tighter as he led her closer to the rolling water – determined to engulf the bodies of the dead. She realised that he was taking her, with every step, closer to the pier leading to the boats bound for today’s evacuation ships; and panic began to creep into her expression.5

“Aiden –“ She said more urgently than before, but was cut off by the ringing explosion that erupted nearby. “AIDEN!” She cried as they were very nearly at the pier. However, he led her down the shore and wheeled her under the pier itself, pulling her to him in one single motion. The top of her head could only just reach his nose, and he took in the scent of her dark wavy hair before speaking.6

“Emelia,” he began. The words choked in his mouth, and after clearing his throat and calming himself a little, he started again, this time more cautious and careful not to speak her name for fear of losing control of his emotions again. “We have to get you out of here. The town’s gone mad. The enemy has breached it, and rogues are killing anyone in their path.”7

“I know, I saw Marx Miller – my father’s stable keeper – murdered on my way here. But Aiden, I will not leave you. I cannot. What happened to our plan?”8

The timely murder of a stubborn woman, directly above Aiden and Emelia, resulted in her body falling off the pier and landing naught but two metres from them. Clutching her shoulders, Aiden pulled Emelia to face him.9

“You must.”10

“I won’t.” Her voice lost its musicality, now replaced with hard defiance. “It’s not too late, we can still run away from this place – together!” Her eyes pleaded with him, alight with hope that maybe, just maybe, she could sway him her way. Giving into his emotions, Aiden begged for this young girl, the girl who remarkably stole his heart, to save herself.11

“Emelia... Emelia please. I cannot even induce myself with the thought of what may happen to you if you do not walk down this pier above us and climb willingly into one of those boats. Go. For me. Please. You are young, you can live again. Live a new life elsewhere – the life we wanted but circumstances stole from us.” Before waiting for her response, Aiden lent in, kissing this beautiful, pale girl. Whispering in her ear the words “I love you”, Aiden gently formed a hold around Emelia, and started moving out of the shadows of the pier, the new light discovering a tear as it ran silently down his cheek. Panic once again sprang to life in her indigo eyes, now widened by fear.12

“Aiden, what ar—“, her mouth was covered by his hand, and his arms tightened in a response to her struggles to obtain freedom. There was nothing her slender build could do to evade him – this soldier with a heart. She ceased fighting him when on the pier itself. There was nowhere to run to anyway. Instead she allowed herself the indulgence of being held one last time in his arms. Of taking in his lightly tanned and sculptured face, his strong jaw, and warm, dark eyes; one last time. The wind gently created a dance with her long hair, but his – cropped short as a soldier’s should be – remained unmoving. She did not notice the appearance of mud, soot, and blood, nor the gash that ran the length of his forearm – slicing open his shirt. This was her Aiden – full and wholesome. Not the Aiden forced to bear witness to all the atrocities of war. And one last time, Emelia burned every image, sense, and memory of him into her mind. One last time – at the very end of the pier – did they kiss. Again she burned the feel of his warm lips against hers into her memory. The way her heart fluttered ardently. The way his hand moved across the small of her back as he did so – pulling her ever closer – before she was ripped away from him. Only now, as she was pulled down into a longboat, did his eyes portray regret. She could read them – as easy as reading ink on paper – she had always been able to read them. And now they were apologising. That moment of ecstasy had opened his heart to her, one last time, and now his eyes showed the realisation of her wish. ‘We should have run’, they said. Emelia could see the pain and regret of making the decision that he had.13

What value can we find in life, if we are not together?14

Chapter Two15

“Come on now, get up on here!” Bellowed the voice of a man clearly in authority. Climbing up the side of the evacuation ship proved a strenuous task in itself, however Emelia, keeping a constant check on the shore as to maintain the whereabouts of Aiden, found herself coming to the aid of a young girl – about her age and similar in appearance – as they climbed aboard together. Greeting them at the top was the owner of the voice, a gruff man of his forties, and completely uninterested in the passing people, regarding them no doubt as nothing more than livestock. He was strongly built, beginning to grey, and had an eye to know what he wanted in life. He was indeed a man not to be crossed.16

“Ahh, ladies, please come aboard.” His voice – though rough and coarse – immediately smoothed when Emelia and the girl she had aided were presented before him. After all, they were both young and very beautiful girls. “Please, make yourselves comfortable.”17

“Uh, not this one Captain”, cut in the voice of a soldier as he took hold of the silent beauty that stood beside Emelia. “This one’s only free of the irons in order to board ship, Sir.” The click of the irons being placed on her wrists echoed, as if sealing her fate. “Take her away with the rest of her lot”, he ordered to a boy lower ranked than he himself, before turning to fulfil some errand his mind created for him. Emelia smiled towards the Captain out of politeness – though it did not reach her eyes – and moved towards the front of the ship. Watching her every move as she stood by the railing looking back to the shore, the Captain smiled to himself. Just the one young girl then.18

A pair of dull, deep blue eyes looks out to sea, in the direction of where they had come from.19

“Leave someone back there, Miss?”20

Emelia turned to see a young boy. It didn’t seem as though he would be one to talk to her, he appeared to be the shy type; younger than herself, small and skinny, and yet surprisingly strong enough to lift – with the appearance of ease – a large sack of rice. Hard work to be doing early on the first morning of their journey.21

“I’m sorry, were you talking to me?” She asked him hesitantly.22

“Who else, Miss?” He smiled at her. It was a warm smile, full of laughter and joy. Before she knew it, Emelia was smiling back. In noting that she received this presence kindly, he continued to keep himself busy, and asked once again, “Leave someone behind? Family perhaps?”23

“I have no family”, she replied dimly. When given a questioning look by this young boy – she felt compelled to answer his unspoken query. “I am alone now, in regards to my family. My older brother was lost at sea three years back, my mother died when I was young, and my father was killed in a recent raid.” Surprised that she had divulged this much information to a boy whose name she did not know, she silenced herself.24

“Rough, I’m sure, Miss.” He went to continue, but realised she had become hesitant and wary of him, so instead he decided against talking about her family. “But, you still have not answered my question”, he said, casually lifting another sack and transporting it to the hatch leading below deck.25

Puzzled, Emelia wasn’t sure what he quite meant – she was still surprised at how this boy had caused her to smile AND talk about her personal life.26

“Question...?” Her eyes appeared to wake up all of a sudden. “Oh! Oh, yes. Sorry I quite forgot what you meant.” Looking back the way they had come, yet again. “Yes, I did leave someone back there, in hell.”27

“It’s not really that bad is it?” The boy said, stopping his work, suddenly interested.28

“Have you not... Oh yes, of course – your accent. You are not from my part of the world, are you?”29

“No, Miss, I am not.”30

“Where do you come from then?” Curiosity also gnawing at her. 31

“Nowhere Miss.” His voice was suddenly short and sharp, and he turned his back to Emelia, continuing his work. He had moved his next sack of food only half the distance when he stopped, dropped it onto the deck, and slumped on top of it, his back still to Emelia. “This ship is my home. Actually, any ship is my home. Whatever ship that is sailing at the time. I never stay on dry land longer than I have to.” Turning his face so that he could see Emelia out of one eye at least, he continued. “And no, Miss, before you ask, I have no family either.” He picked up the final sack he had been in the process of carrying, and finished his work, saying to Emelia without ever looking at her again, “I’d sure appreciate that you kept that to yourself though, Miss. One such as myself makes for good slave money.”32

Sensing this was to be the end of their conversation, Emelia realised she did not want this boy to leave her alone on the deck in the blue half-light of morning. Alone with her thoughts. Yet still, while her mind screamed at him to come back, he walked away. And she let him. After all, there were both on the one ship; she would talk to him again.33

Chapter 334

“Oh, what a fool I have been!” Emelia cursed to herself, kicking her foot into the railings of the ship she had come to call her prison. It had been three days – three miserable days – since she had talked to the boy who had distracted her from the pain in her heart. Three long days since she had received a warm and comforting smile, unlike the horridly disturbing ones that she seemed to attract from the eyes of longing men. And while she had seen him various times, he made it a point to avoid her at all costs. “So much for talking again”, she continued to mutter to herself. 35

A unique accent cut the silent air, leaving the trace of warm breath lingering behind her ear, startling Emelia who had thought she was alone.36

“Harbouring some resentment, Miss?” Wheeling around Emelia was presented with the boy who had been avoiding her for the past three days. He seemed taller and his face more weathered, than he had at a distance. She could see now how work on a ship would be easy for him. It was during these silent observations that Emelia forgot to talk, and the boy, taking it as a sign he was too close – for he was less than half an arms distance from her – took a step back and re-evaluated. “Why is it then that you never seem to answer my questions, yet you can make me answer the ones in your mind without uttering a single word?” Behind his sandy coloured, wind-blown hair, Emelia could see he genuinely wanted an answer to this latest question.37

“Perhaps you just have an over-indulged imagination”, she pointed out playfully, lightening the mood in the hopes that she could once again be saved from what was becoming a black hole in her void life.38

“Or maybe you just have a very easily perceived mind yourself”, he responded, equally as playful. Happy that he had been welcomed back so easily by this girl, the boy settled himself comfortably atop a barrel.39

“You’ve avoided me – turned your back purposely – for three days, and now you sit before me smiling and happy.” His smile froze slightly. Maybe not so easily then...40

“I suppose you feel you deserve an explanation then, yes? And I suppose you are correct.” His eyes were sincere. “I apologise. As I said before, you seem to make me answer things I’d rather not talk about.” Emelia went to interject, to politely explain herself, to also apologise, however this boy seemed unaware. Instead he dropped his head and focused on his hands. “Though I suppose, now that I think about it, it is not that I don’t want to talk about it. It’s that I don’t know how. I’ve always kept things to myself, for protection. You can’t be hurt if you don’t show your weaknesses. I’ve never actually TALKED to someone before, you know?” He looked up, catching Emelia’s eyes as he asked this question. “Argh”, he continued, shaking his head, “It doesn’t matter.” The liveliness and joy that he had lost came back, and he smiled sheepishly at Emelia. “There I go again, hey Miss?” 41

“Well, if it is any consolation, you caught me quite off guard the other day. I too am not used to what you term as talking. Not to just any old person. Or young in your case.” She finished, giving him a sceptical eye.42

“I’ve seen nearly fifteen summers!” He interjected, almost as though he had taken offense.43

“Okay, okay!” Emelia joked, raising her hands as a sign of peace, and allowing herself to laugh a little. Her eyes though, despite the presence of laughter from both herself and the boy, remained a deep blue colour; dull and lifeless. To a passerby on the deck, it would seem as if these two – buried deep in conversation – had known each other for many years gone by.44

“What’s it like, Miss?”45

“What is what like?” She questioned.46

“Where you come from. Is it how everyone says it is?” Looking at this boy before her, Emelia couldn’t help but see the innocence of him.47

“It’s... Well I’m not quite sure how to describe it. I have never before met someone who did not know.” She paused for a moment, and attempted to sort out all the thoughts running through her head, to detach herself from it all, to have the outside perspective needed to portray the scene to this boy. “Our Government has been at war with another for near five years now. I was so little, when it all began... I remember my brother enlisting to fight. My father and I waved him off from the pier as he boarded a ship much like this one. He wrote to me often, and then one day, three years ago, all communications suddenly ceased...” Her voice trailed off as her memories took over again. Memories of how, for months after hearing the news of the attack against his ship, she had been plagued with nightmares of her brother’s death. During the day, she had always fantasised that he had escaped, and was living some grand adventure, but it was at night, when her mind was vulnerable, that she saw him die over and over again. The boy’s strange accent cut into her thoughts. Emelia was unsure what he had said, it was simply noise in her mind, but it woke her from her trance like state all the same. Slightly flushed, Emelia didn’t ask him to repeat what he had said, and instead continued her story. “The war didn’t reach our shores for much of these five years past. It was across the sea, out of sight and out of mind for many of us. We heard romanticised stories of heroism and valour, most likely similar to the ones that you have heard yourself. We all stood and cheered the men as they left, searching for honour and glory, and we all stood and cheered to the ones that came home.” Emelia paused to catch her breath, while the boy looked on, completely encapsulated by her storytelling. He had no doubt seen the parades from one of the ships he had joined, and heard the stories of the boys eager to go, and the men who had survived. “But then, it hit us. Our Government ignored the first strike, and continued to send more young men over the seas. Our Government ignored everything, refusing to partake in any action that may have resulted in consequence. They were corrupt, and they were weak. It was brutal, how easily they cut us down. Anyone and everyone, no social status, or youth, or sexuality was distinguished against. All we had to defend ourselves with were those who had never seen war, and some who had seen too much... There is no glory in seeing a boy, younger than yourself, forced to kill in order to defend himself. And there is no glory in seeing friends act in pure vengeance. I’ve seen too many lives destroyed and lost due to this war.” The boy continued to watch her. “I’m sorry, I have suddenly been able to talk too much again.”48

“No! No, please...” he stumbled on what he was trying to say, rephrasing it in his mind. “Please don’t stop on account of fearing you’ve said too much, Miss. I’ve always been one for stories.”49

“I suppose there is not much more to say on that matter anyway though... Ouch!” The railing of the ship Emelia had slid her hand along was the cause for her cry. Of all the sleek and glossy railing, her hand had managed to find the one, sharp edge to it.50

“What is it?” Asked the suddenly concerned boy.51

“It is nothing”, replied Emelia. “Just a scratch.” She held open her hand to show him, and was shocked at how thick the line of deep crimson was, how quickly it was streaming down her palm and across her wrist, preparing to fall and stain the deck of the ship. How quickly her mind flashed to somewhere far away.52

(The glint of the knife shook along with the hand that held it. A pale, slender hand. Illuminated in the moonlight was the colour of the blade. Bright red it was. Bright red all the way along the length of it, but darker at the lower side where it pooled, ready to drip.)53

The contact of something cool against her skin brought Emelia back to reality. The boy was busy wrapping a white cloth around her still laid out palm. She could see his mouth moving, and knew that he was speaking, but she was unable to hear him. She was unable to hear anything. When he was done bandaging, he still continued to cradle her hand gently. This time he looked directly at her when speaking and Emelia could make out the single word he mouthed, as if he were a mime.54

“Miss? Miss?”55