The Ranger (Book 1) (19 page)

Chapter 11: Things That Were

Vincent stood in the soft glow of the dying fire that filled the small, one room cabin. The heat of the autumn day had long since passed with the setting of the sun, and a cool breeze now drifted through the open front door.

Where was he? This room felt familiar, like he had been there before; but he was sure he had never set foot in this cabin. There was a strange aura to the room, like when he had visited Silva’s memories. This must be something like that, he thought, but whose memory was it?

As he looked around other people started to materialize. There were now two people sitting next to the fire, a man and a woman, but they seemed shrouded in mist. Then a child appeared, a little boy. He couldn’t have been older than five. Again, Vincent had a feeling that he knew these people. They didn’t seem to notice him.

The child seemed oblivious to the deepening darkness outside. His attention was occupied solely with the small, simply carved, wooden sword his father had given him. He ran around the sparsely furnished cabin. What little furniture there was - the bed in the corner which the boy shared with his parents, the chest at the foot of the bed with its large padlock, the table against the wall – didn't get in the way as the boy clumsily fought imaginary foes, happily entranced with his own little world.

In the boy’s mind monsters of every kind from his father’s engaging stories assaulted him, but with his small blade he managed to fend them off. The battle became more heated as the evening wore on. Multiple monsters were now attacking him at once, yet he still held the upper hand as he beat them back. The creatures were now retreating from him and he raised his little sword in triumph. Then one of the creatures snuck up from behind and got him, stabbing him in the back. He fell exhausted to the bearskin rug that covered the floor in the middle of the room. He lay there panting for a few minutes as his parents chuckled to each other.

“Your son is quite the warrior, Nick,” his mother said so that Vincent could hear her, trying to hold back her laughter. The boy’s parents had become much more distinct, but their faces were still shaded. Nick was tall and muscular, while the woman was slender, yet she looked like she was no stranger to work.

“I should hope so,” Nick responded in mock indignation, “he is
my
son. Besides, he will have to take my place when I'm gone.” The smile had slid from his face and he became very somber. “He will have to be strong if he hopes to become a Ranger like I was; but that probably won’t be possible, not the way things are now...” He trailed off.

“What's wrong, Nick?” his wife asked, becoming concerned at his sudden change in attitude.

“Nothing, Mary,” Nick replied, the smile returning. “I'm just thinking too much. In a few years he will go to the Knights’ Academy and he will be even stronger than I was.”

The boy had obviously grown tired of playing alone as he ran to his father and pulled at his shirt. “Pappy,” he implored staring up at his father, “come play with me.”

Nick looked down at his little son and was quite for a moment, a pensive look on his face, before getting up slowly from the stool where he was sitting. “Alright,” he said with a yawn as he grabbed a stick from the small pile of firewood next to the hearth.

The boy squealed with glee as his father moved to the middle of the room and hefted the stick as though it were some great sword.

“Let’s see what you can do,” Nick called playfully. The boy laughed heartily as he charged at his father, swinging the little sword. Nick easily parried every blow from his son, laughing along with him.

They slowly ranged around the small room in their playful battle. Nick seemed to get more and more intense as the fight went on. Nick started easily darting around his son, always allowing the boy to have the upper hand.

Finally, the boy slipped the little sword through his father’s defense. Nick took the little sword from his son, holding it next to his body as though he had been stabbed. He fell dramatically to the floor where he lay motionless.

A look of fear appeared on the boy’s face as he ran to his side. “Did I hurt you Pappy?” he asked, very worried.

“No,” Nick replied with a smile, opening his eyes. “But now seems like a good time for your first lesson in swordsmanship.” He jumped quickly to his feet, brandishing the little sword in his gloved hands.

Vincent finally got a good look at the little sword. It had a curious carving on the blade. Intricate flames seemed to dance up the wooden surface. The sword looked just like the one he had received from his father.

Excitement filled the boy’s eyes as he jumped, happily clapping his hands.

“Now, watch carefully, Vincent,” Nick instructed.

The truth finally dawned on Vincent. This was his memory. The little boy was him. These were his parent. By the grace of Sandora, these were his parents. If they would only become a little more distinct, he would be able to make out their faces. At least he had heard their voices, had seen them talking, talking about him. He finally had a memory of them. But then, if Vincent the child had received the sword, then… A foreboding started to grow in Vincent’s chest.

The child Vincent watched intently as his father slowly started moving the sword as though he was fighting someone. He made five simple movements before stopping and handing the sword to Vincent.

“These are the first motions,” Nick said, holding the child’s hands. Vincent felt his hands moving as his father guided the child’s hands through the same motions he had just done. “Now try it yourself,” Nick said reassuringly, releasing the child's hands and stepping back.

Vincent watched as the child concentrated hard and started moving the little sword as best he could to mimic his father’s movements. They were clumsy, but correct.

“Very good, Vincent!” Nick said encouragingly, clapping his hands. “Keep practicing that and someday you'll be able to do it like this.” His father took the little sword once again and sprang into action. Nick’s body moved as though it were liquid. All of his flowing motions seemed to mould into each other.

Vincent and the child stood in awe, their mouths hanging open as they watched their father glide around the room. He could almost see the imaginary figures his father fought. The longer his father fought, the more Vincent admired him. A firm determination was growing in him to one day be as good as his father.

“Nicholas!” A desperate cry from outside the cabin broke his trance. “Nicholas!” The cry repeated, closer this time.

His father dropped the little sword where he stood and rushed to the door just as several people ran through it. The boy recognized them and Vincent knew them as the families from the neighboring farms. Many of them were panting heavily, holding their children close to them. Nick slammed the door shut and barred it as if in a single movement.

Vincent knew very little about the neighbor families. He knew that the boy had seen the men often enough as they were good friends with his father. They often worked together in the fields. He had seen the women only a few times but he had played with most of the children before. However, he didn't remember most of their names, especially the girls. He had rarely played with the girls.

“Jared, what...” Nick started to ask the man that was clearly leading the others but the man cut him off.

“There is no time, Nick,” Jared stammered. “They’ve found us.”

Nick looked out the window. His eyes grew wide with horror. The boy Vincent followed him to the window, trying to peek out to see what all the excitement was about. Vincent joined them and had just enough time to see a sea of torches flowing swiftly toward the cabin through the woods before his father grabbed the child Vincent, pulling him away from the window. The image outside disappeared. He had not seen what was outside as a child, so he could not see it in a memory.

“What do we do, Nick?” His mother asked, her voice trembling slightly.

Nick looked slowly from person to person before closing his eyes and taking a calming breath.

“I’m done running,” he said calmly. “Go if you wish, take the children and get away, I will hold them here as long as I can. I can’t do it anymore.”

“I am not leaving you here alone,” his mother said confidently. “I am staying.”

“Count me in too,” Jared said, putting his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “We all knew it would come to this one day. Let’s end it together.”

The others agreed.

“Thank you,” Nick whispered; he had lowered his head, his eyes once again closed. “I have lived long enough; but the children have so much to live for. Let’s do it for them.” His eyes snapped open in an instant and he sprang into action.

“Jared, send a message to the Rangers,” he ordered, pointing at the small back door of the cabin. “Mary, get our swords, we need to be ready when they get here.” His wife ran for the little chest at the foot of the bed. The padlock seemed to spring open at her touch and she flung the chest open.

Nick was pulling away the bearskin rug that lay in the middle of the room, revealing a small, wooden trap door in the floor. Nick flung it open, revealing another door, this one made of thick metal. With some difficulty he opened this one as well.

“Ashley, put the children down here,” Nick instructed Jared’s wife.

A narrow ladder led deep into the darkness beneath the house. The children, with a great deal of coaxing from their parents, slowly made their way down.

“Vincent, you're next,” his father said hastily.

“But pappy,” Vincent started but his father cut him off.

“There is no time Vincent, GO!”

Vincent watched as his younger self quickly grabbed his little sword and climbed down the ladder. Nick heaved the heavy metal door shut. It slammed with an ominous thud, plunging the small hole into darkness.

Vincent opened his eyes; it was dark. Quickly he sat up. He was in the sanctuary again. The others had returned and seemed to be sleeping soundly. He could hear Weston snoring slightly.

“Bad dream?” A ball of light lit up Trent’s face where he sat leaning against the wall of the sanctuary staring at Vincent.

“Yeah,” Vincent replied, shaken, “it was a dream.” He lay back down, wiping the cold sweat from his forehead. “It was only a dream.”

He closed his eyes. Despite the end of the vision, Vincent couldn’t help but smile. He now had a memory of his parents, even if it was brief. That was enough. Vincent rolled over and was quickly asleep once again.

***              ***              ***

“Vincent, time to get up,” Trent called, waking Vincent. “We need to report back to camp.”

Vincent sat up. Darkness still showed through the windows of the sanctuary. Lauren sat next to him, rubbing her eyes.

“But it’s still so early,” she complained. “There’s at least two hours before dawn.”

“We need to get back to camp,” Trent said firmly. His tone left no room for argument. “We need to report back as soon as possible, preferably before night fall. Plus, the militia men went and picked up our friends off the road and sent our report to Rovina, so the traveling judges should be arriving soon with their delegation to try them. I’d rather have Vincent as far away from here as possible when they arrive. Eresian soldiers have a way causing trouble for us.”

Vincent got to his feet and started packing up his things. Some fresh bread, salted meats and a few chunks of cheese were sitting on a platter next to the door. David and Weston were eating happily next to it. Vincent joined them as they ate in silence, enjoying the warm bread.

“Oh, Vincent,” Weston said, breaking the silence, “your armour is finished.” He pointed at the last pew in the sanctuary, where Vincent’s mail was neatly folded.

“Ryan works wonders with that forge of his,” David added. “It only took him a few minutes to patch up those holes.”

Vincent got up to inspect his repaired armour. It looked new. He couldn’t even tell where the holes had been. He quickly pulled it on, followed by his tunic.

“Finish up your preparations,” Trent snapped. “The sooner we leave the better.”

Vincent scrambled to roll his bedroll and pull on his cloak. The others were already standing next to the door. Vincent tied on his mask before joining them. Lauren’s mask still had a large chunk missing from it.

“Right,” Trent said calmly, “we move quickly and silently. We don’t stop until we reach the encampment. Is that clear?” The others nodded in assent. “Very well,” Trent said as he opened the door. “Move out.”

They traveled at a light jog. The streets of the town were empty and the windows dark. They passed through the town silently. A light mist hung over the fields around the town and the forest loomed darkly in the twilight.

They plunged into the shadows of the forest, following the road. The woods were silent, not even the birds made a sound. The silence seemed to grow heavier as the day wore on.

They arrived at the encampment late in the day. Vincent and the others were thoroughly exhausted. Silva was waiting for them when they walked through the small gate. A concerned look overshadowed his usual cheery countenance.

“Thank Sandora you’re back,” he said with a relieved smile. “When I heard what had happened, I feared the worst.” Silva looked as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “Come, I’m anxious to hear your report. Did you find the pendant?”

“No,” Trent replied quickly, matching pace with Silva. The two of them started to converse quietly. Vincent couldn’t make out what they were saying.

The other Rangers fell in line behind Trent, keeping a bit of distance. Trent and Silva entered one of the cabins closest to the Hall. The others sat on the ground, waiting. The day was warm, even in the setting sun, and Vincent soon found himself very hot in his black gear.

“Why are we sitting out here?” Vincent asked, feeling most uncomfortable due to the heat.

“Trent is giving his report on the mission,” Lauren half sighed. “We have to wait here in case they need some information from us.”