When they were boys, Burrin had once punched Matteus in the throat for snoring too loud in the night. He was young but Matty remembered. He remembered each punch and kick his brother had delivered him and his mother over the years. Nearly anything could set him off, yet Matty received no abuse for falling asleep during watch the night before.
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Burrin seemed different, on edge, more fright than fight. The day came long and was filled with work for Matty as Burrin paced back and forth.
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The sun had begun to set and a familiar foul odor emanated from everywhere and nowhere at once. Matteus searched the tree line but saw no dead elk watching. Night fell and blizzard winds blew yet the smell remained.
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Matteus and his family sat around their fire gorging on venison. They each tried to ignore the odor but it was becoming too strong. When the stench was at its strongest was when Matteus began to hear a scratching outside. Neither his brother nor mother seemed to notice. He listened intently as the scratching seemed to move around the house before settling in the wall right behind him. Ever so faintly he could hear a voice calling out to him.
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"Matteus," it whispered. "Matteus, Matteus, Matteus."
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Matty's held his breath and his heart thumped hard. It's not real. I am safe here, he repeated to himself.
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The unmistakable sound of metal being drawn from a sheath carved its way through the cold night air and into Matteus' ear. He shot up and looked to Burrin.
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"Did you hear that?"
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"Yeah. Fuck..."
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Moonlight cut bright through the dark of the night as the brothers once again found themselves trudging through winter's wrath at night.
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"Up there," Burrin said pointing to the hill that overlooked the farm. "We can see better from up there."
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The walk was slow and cold but the two finally made it over the hill and Matty stopped to catch his breath. Before any recuperation had begun Burrin grabbed Matteus by the shoulders and pulled him to the ground, covering his mouth. They watched in cold silence, through the haze of snow they could make out four men just passed a wagon on the edge of the property.
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"Fuckin bandits," Burrin said disgruntled.
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"We paid them already for the month I thought," Matteus said.
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Burrin clenched his jaw, "We did," he said with anger that seethed through his teeth. "Saz here, bandits there, how is a man to make a living?"
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The brothers crept closer through the dark and snow. Every crunch and shuffle stirred Matteus' heart, even he knew they were too loud. They had reached the wagon and tucked themselves behind it, they were without action or plan. Burrin peered over the top of the wagon and studied. He crouched back down with a look of confusion that consumed his face.
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Burrin's tone had shifted from angered and firm to unsettled and quivering. "Matty those are not bandits they're soldiers, soldiers that I've never seen before...with swords and bows." His eyes were wide and filled with fear. "Is that? No."
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Matteus had rarely ever seen his brother scared, he had never seen him quiver from anything but cold. Seeing his brother this way unsettled him.
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The blizzards' breath seemed to have found its way deeper inside him and immobility took hold of him. Burrin spoke but Matteus did not listen, his body was frozen from fear and his mind was trapped within itself. He almost didn't notice Burrin as he stood and sprinted away from the unknown soldiers, leaving Matteus alone behind the cart.
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Matteus continued to watch, his body unmoving and unwilling. Burrin got nearly a hundred feet before two of the men caught him and shoved him to the ground. The other two walked past the cart, jeering and hooting, Matteus held his breath.
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Burrin stood, swung the sword hard, and missed. He swung it again even harder but the soldier ducked underneath it. The soldier's silver-plated leather armor revealed them in the snow, and red cloaks advertised their movements. Still, Burrin couldn't land a strike. Every wild swing Burrin swung was met with a graceful evasion.
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Burrin began to grow tired, his attacks became slow and cumbersome. The other two caught up and the four men surrounded him drawing their swords in unison. They took turns shoving and kicking him as he stumbled about between them. They harassed him with their swords, making small cuts on his chest, arms, and back. The soldiers toyed with him and laughed at his attempts to defend himself. Burrin screamed at them with every cut they made, trying to swing his sword in defense to no avail. They pushed him to the ground Burrin kicked and screamed and struggled but they tied his hands and feet together anyway.
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The fight was over and Burrin had defeated himself.
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"No, we're missing one. he has two sons remember?" one of the soldiers said.
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"Matty help me," Burrin yelled, looking directly at Matteus.
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Matty stood and willed his legs to run but they would not budge and his eyes remained locked on Burrin.
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"Sneaky little bastard this one, we walked right past him," one of the soldiers said.
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The sound of his mother calling his name shook him from his trance. "Matteus! Run Matteus, just run!" Linnea's voice was overwhelmed by anguish and fear.
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He hadn't even seen her, only twenty or so feet away on the other side of the cart. Bound and on her stomach, she called out for him to flee. His heart told him to run to her, to save her, to fight.
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Matteus stood to fight off the men and free his family but the cold fear was not finished with him yet. He met his mother's eyes just long enough to see her forgiveness behind them and ran.
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I can hide in the house. I can hide in the house.
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Matteus ran as fast as he could. He could hear the shouts and hoots of a man on his heels. He reached his home in time to see four more men splashing pots of oil along the walls of the house and animal pens.
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"Grab him!" The soldier behind him shouted, gaining the attention of the other four.
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The nearest man lunged, arms spread wide but Matty was faster and smaller he ducked underneath and turned still running.
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"This is your home right boy? Watch it burn." the man who chased him shouted.
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Matty stopped long enough to see his home go up in a great blaze and for a moment his fear left him for something else, relief.
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He made for the treeline and off the property running hard and fast. The soldiers screamed at each other but he couldn't make out their words. The treeline rushed to meet him like it never had before, offering the safety of cover and darkness. Matteus felt a small thump in his back and a pinch on his chest as he ran.
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He quickly glanced down at his chest to greet the arrow that had found a home in his shoulder. A second arrow sailed close passed his head whispering death in his ear. Reluctant realization let loose in his mind and all thoughts of his family left, his only concern was survival.
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He darted left and right through the snow-coated oaks and pines as more arrows flew past whispering his name. The low branches reached out like fingers, grabbing at his clothes and skin as he ran past. Lashes of icy wind whipped and snaked across his hands and face as a barrage of snow obscured his panicked vision.
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He kept running until the voices of the soldiers became distant. The air burned his lungs and his skinny legs begged for pause. He caught a glimpse of a large hollow tree and moved to hide within.
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A burning pain grew outward from his shoulder. The tip of the arrow sat just outside the skin of his shoulder dripping with blood. Matteus clenched his teeth in anticipation of pain. It took him three tries but he finally snapped the head off. He winced in pain and his vision fell blurry, a new stream of warm red ran down his chest as he pulled the arrow out.
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He sat in silence and observed what little of his surroundings he could. He had never been this deep in these woods and it was impossible to tell his path in the dark. The snow-filled in his tracks quickly offering him a little relief.
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The hollow was warm in ambiance and nearly untouched by the snow. It had the clear markings of a previous tenant. A tattered blanket lie balled up next to the remains of a fireplace. A wicker doll charm hung from the entrance, strange as it seemed to him, not a single flake of snow would not pass his tiny twig guardian. He thanked the gods that they had been kind enough to leave him a stone, striker and dry wood.
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The fire kept him warm, but the night's new demons of chilly regret and prostration were hard and unforgiving on his heart and mind. His dreams were filled with the screams of his brother, the last words of his mother, the burning of his family home and a frozen Stag with pale milk-white eyes watching his cowardice from the treeline.
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