(THOB) Chapter 104: Oldest Memory (Patreon)

Olufemi moved with the grace of a predator in the wild. His descent down the wall was immediate, and oddly faster than their ascent had been.

“You should’ve sent me,” Ezril muttered when Olufemi hit the ground. His eyes never left him. “This is a task most suited to me.”

The orders had been made, and carried out. His argument was futile. And yet, he felt determined to speak his mind. A part of him felt he deserved an explanation from his brother.

Darvi’s gaze, like his, remained fixed on Olufemi who seemed so small beneath them as he raced towards the wall. When he spoke his voice was calm. “I didn’t choose Olufemi because he was the best at moving around unnoticed. I chose him because should anything go wrong, he has the highest chance of survival of us all.”

“If I were the one, nothing would go wrong. And even if something does, I’d simply have to hold them off.”

“Your skill with the bow is extraordinary brother. But you are the worst swordsman of us all.”

“What?”

Darvi turned to regard him. “You forget I trained you for at least three winters, brother. I have watched your skills with the blade grow for longer. You can’t win a duel against Takan even if it was to save your life.”

“Hey!” Takan frowned. “I reckon there’s a reason I’m the example?”

“Your form is accurate,” Darvi continued, ignoring their brother. “However, your executions are sluggish. You wield your Sunders as if they weigh more than mountains, and your grip wanes quickly. Your form takes a toll on itself when the battle begins, and your movements are too easy to read. Dare I say, if you fought half as well with your Sunders as you do with your bows I wouldn’t hesitate to send you into a horde of Broken…” He paused. “So, no. Nothing you say would’ve made me send you to a pointless death.”

Ezril’s mind scavenged aimlessly for a retort. For petty reasons he wasn’t willing to lose this argument so easily despite the bitter truth in Darvi’s words. A possible retort surfaced in his mind. Before he could utter it something caught his attention.

He squinted, eyes focusing in the dark. “Something’s wrong.”

All eyes snapped to the ground below them. Olufemi who had long been sprinting in a straight line suddenly used the step, covering a great distance to the left.

“He’s simply being cautious,” Darvi offered.

“Cautious?” Salem repeated in disagreement. “Since when has our brother ever been one for caution.”

As he spoke Ezril’s head bobbed slowly in agreement, his eyes casting within the walls and noting nothing discernable.

“Olufemi is instinctual,” Salem continued, “never cautious, and never smart. Something is wrong.”

“I don’t like this,” Ezril found himself stating.

Darvi’s face grew stern. “We wait, and we watch.” It was a clear command.

“That said,” Takan chimed in, “ever wonder how these people get out? I reckon there should be a gate around here somewhere.”

Salem tilted his head to the west. “I believe there’s one that way.” He paused in calculation, adding when he gave up, “At least thirty miles away.”

“Is it made of rubbles too? ‘Cos I reckon that would defeat the purpose.”

Salem shook his head. “Not at all. It’s half the height of the wall, and seems to be fashioned from gold, with silver engravings. Most like something from the king’s palace.”

Takan jaw dropped, like a child who had just been told the underbelly was actually the capital of the realm. “Honest words?” he blurted.

Salem regarded him dazed. “Of course not. You and I have been in the same position since we came here.” He palmed his forehead in exasperation. “How in Truth’s name would I have been able to see it without you, and from this distance at that.” Now he seemed mildly annoyed. “By Vayla, not even Ezril could’ve seen it from here.” He cast an uncertain glance at Ezril only after a moment’s reconsideration.

“Yes, brother,” Ezril confirmed. “Even I cannot see that far.”

Shame and humiliation marred Takan's features for a moment. Within it Ezril felt the rage. But all slowly subsided, leaving their brother with a passive expression.

Ezril reminisced of a time when Takan would’ve threatened fire and brimstone at simply being challenged, simply for having been born before them. Now he takes the insults with sealed lips.

Ezril wasn’t certain whether time had calmed his brother or simply toughened the rest of them. Or perhaps they had been through the same ordeals for age not to mean anything anymore. We are now equals. He sighed. Still, it justifies nothing about the way we often treat him.

“Salem,” he said, continuing when he had his attention. “You of all people should know there’s a limit to how much fun one should have at the expense of another. It would be best to speak to your brother with the respect deserving of a brother.”

The words were barely done when he found himself wondering if they had been made out of pity or basic sincerity.

Darvi stiffened beside him, and he cast his gaze towards the wall immediately.

The way Olufemi climbed the wall was cause for alarm; ascending in no precise manner, moving towards the left with every climb.

Darvi frowned. “Something’s wrong.”

They watched their brother reach the summit. Almost immediately, he covered a massive distance to the side in one step, gave no time for reconnaissance, and dropped to the other side.

“That’s insanity!” Takan pointed out in disbelief. “That brat could’ve fallen.”

Ezril cracked an impressed smile. “Instincts don’t always act on the laws of sanity.”

Olufemi was gone from sight.

Ezril turned his attention skyward. The moon, almost full, stared back at him from the vastness of the world above. A world he felt should have been dark. The countless stars that naturally flocked the night sky had, for reasons unknown to him, been swallowed by the darkness, or perhaps their light were simply swallowed by that of the moon.

He shrugged, knowing it was not the case. His mind merely sought pointless philosophical aesthetics from what he saw. He blamed it on his time with Salem.

He could still remember the first time he had found solace in the darkness. Aunt Teneri had all but whipped him for the effects it had had on keeping him away from home through the night.

He still remembered the worry on her face when he had returned to home. He had just been a boy, barely past his sixth year.

Ezril smiled.

Now that he thought of it, it had been the earliest memory of Teneri’s face in anger he had. Worry. And a horrifying transformation to an excruciating rage.

It had been a simple night. For those in the Underbelly, a simple night had been one spent in the attic after a good meal of whatever Olnic put in front of them. But for Ezril that night had been a night of watchful eyes.

The older boys—those not old enough to leave the confines of the bar—would take it upon themselves whenever they saw him wandering the Underbelly and had the chance to trouble him with vivid and brutal displays of the superiority of their strength to his during times when Tolin wasn't beside him. In a time when Tolin had still been alive.

That night, Ezril had fled from it all. A young boy walking the streets of the underbelly in the blinding darkness of the night when he was meant to be on his way home. Anyone who had seen him would have thought him an abandoned child seeking an end to a pitiful life, for even the abandoned children of the underbelly knew better than to wonder the slum’s night streets.

Despite it all, he was not so naïve that he wandered too far from the main town. He’d made certain each street or alleyway he found himself in had a path that circled back to town, and was in close enough proximity. Even now, he wondered how he had known to remain within reach at so young an age. Perhaps it had been instinct that directed him. Then again, Aunt Teneri had no excuse letting a child his age out and about in such terrible places at such questionable times.

In time, his legs had succumbed to fatigue and he’d taken rest against one of the walls of the alleyways, ignorant of the presence and stench of the detritus that had made a home of the place.

“Psst! Hey, you!”

He had turned at the sound, surprised at the realization that he was not alone. His eyes wandered in the darkness, unseeing of anything. Yet, he was certain he was the ‘you’ being referred to.

“Yes, you, new kid,” the voice confirmed. “What are you doing over here? This is our spot.”

There was a hostility in the voice. It was something he had since learned to recognize, gratitude of the older kids. Or maybe it was something he had always recognized even before the older kids. However, his attention focused more on the word ‘our’ although he could only hear one voice.

He considered with a child’s naivety that it was no more than one boy telling a lie to gain the advantage. He had, after all, done it before. Claiming the presence of the main town nearby, he would often dissuade the hunger for violence in the older children. The trick was to sound convincing enough, and the voice that spoke then sounded more than convincing. Still, he doubted.

Multiple footsteps riddled the night soon after. Realization dawned on him. It was too late. Naivety had cost him more than he’d thought.

They had reminded him of the cruelty of children that night, pummeling him for minutes on, four pairs of legs kicking with a ferocity amidst words like, “This is our place…” “the older boys gave us…” “foolish city boy…”.

He’d always felt at least one of the boys had been at least ten summers old. He’d never figured it out.

When they were done with him, his face having escaped most of the harm, one of them took him by the shirt and dragged him deeper into the alley. The others followed. It was then everything happened.

Where he had seen nothing, silhouettes stood, following after him and the one who pulled. As they moved, the things he past began to take shape. The trash can from which he was fairly certain one of the boys had hidden behind. The day old piece of meat no doubt thrown from one of the windows of the buildings that flanked them on both sides. The animal excrement seated atop the cardboard box well positioned at the corner of the alley. A large crack in the wall on his side big enough to house a big rat.

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong with his eyes?” one of the boy’s had questioned, alarmed. It had been the one farthest to his right. He would’ve turned his attention to the voice had his gaze not been fixated on something else.

“W…wait. Why is he looking at you like that?” stammered another.

The addressed boy stopped in his track and staggered back for reasons Ezril hadn’t known then but knew now to have been fear. The boy braved himself, taking a step forward, unaware of the sword in his chest.

“Truth’s fingers, his eyes are shining,” The boy swore, reclaiming his backward step.

The sword didn’t leave his chest. It didn’t seem to cause him harm either.

“C’mon Te’am, something don’t feel right. Let’s leave him and go. He can have the alley,” he stammered, fear evident in his voice.

Te’am had come around to see what had his companions so scared. Ezril’s eyes fixated on him. From his chest protruded a second sword buried to the hilt, as the first, beckoning. All Ezril had to do was get up and reach for it. For both of them. And everything would be over. He was certain of it. But the pain around his torso proved to be in command. Disagreeing with every movement he wished to take, it sent pain through him. So instead, he willed one of the boys bend close enough to fall within his reach.

Te’am stepped back, looking about in confusion. “Did it just get darker,” he sputtered.

“I don’t like this Te’am.” This from one of the other boys. “You can do what you want. I’m leaving. Maybe Criniiva will allow us spend just this night in one of her boxes.” And with that, he turned and left. His walk turned into a run after one final backward glance. Ezril saw the excrement before the boy stepped in it, continuing on his retreat without pause.

The other boy had complained about feeling something on his leg. Deciding to join his exited companion, he turned after tugging on Te’am’s arm, and made his retreat, stepping in the same disheveled mound of excrement as the other boy had. He paused just briefly enough to let out a cuss.

In time, even Te’am and the last boy had left him to himself lying in the dirt. They had taken his hilts with them. From the moment he had seen the hilts he had deemed them his, regardless of whose chest had served as their sheaths. While the boys had complained of the night growing darker, Ezril’s surroundings had done nothing but grow clearer.

Abandoned as he laid in the alley, the peace of being alone returned, and with it, a comfort in the absence of light. In as much details as he could discern in the darkness he knew with a child’s certainty that no one could see him. And like the darkness which hid everything, and yet saw everything, he remained in the dirt, hidden from the world, watching.

He didn’t know how long he’d remained where he had been left, but eventually he rose, pain free, and began his return in dirtied cloths.

When he’d walked into the house at the crack of dawn he had been met by a worried Teneri who had crooned over him, fussing about the state of his cloths and his disappearance. After being assured of his safety, Aunt Teneri punished him. It was the first beating Ezril’s mind dared to remember. However, he had always wonder what happened to the bruises he had been all but certain marred his torso.

They hadn’t been there when he had returned to home.