The Patchman (Fantasy)

This is the first part of a fantasy novel I have been working on. I am hoping to eventually publish it as an e-book. Thank you and I hope you enjoy it. Any and all advice is appreciated.

 

Fight

1

         The sun set and lamps were lit inside the barn. Men walked in and talked to one another. The smell of straw and animals was strong. The talking continued for some time until a large man stepped through the barn door. He was met with a few cheers and some boos. The large man scratched his beard and smiled revealing a few empty spaces where his teeth had once been.

“Where is he?” asked the large man.

“He will be here. Then the bets are on. Good luck.” said an older man in the crowd.

The large bearded man nodded and walked to the center of the barn floor. He removed his boots and took off his tunic, leaving only his pants. Then he bent to the floor and rubbed dirt on his hands.

           Another large man walked into the barn. He was met with a few cheers and boos as well. The man did not smile. Instead, he began to take off his boots and tunic. Then he tied his long hair above his head. The talking between men in the crowd became louder. Handshakes were exchanged.

The two large men now stood and faced one another in the center of the floor.

“No fishhooks. No headbutts. Agreed?” said the long haired man.

“Agreed.” said his bearded opponent.

They shook hands and stepped back crouching. The spectators hand formed a tight ring around the fighters and now cheers and yells filled the barn.

 

2

           The two men circled and the bearded fighter struck first. He stepped and swung a right hand. His opponent leaned back and the strike missed. The long haired fighter countered and drove his left hand into the man’s side. The blow was met by a loud grunt and the bearded fighter staggered. Cheers erupted in the barn.

           The long haired fighter recognized the opportunity and rushed in. Now, the bearded man countered and his fist drove upward into the other’s chin. A sharp crack cut through the air and long haired fighter fell to the ground. He rolled and regained his feet. The punch had drove his mouth shut and he had bit through his tongue. The metallic taste of blood was familiar to him and he spat on the ground.

           More blows were exchanged. Each man had a strong jaw and remained steady on their feet. The bearded fighter’s nose was broken and blood had stained his face and whiskers. Each man was panting from the exertion. The match was even and bets were high.

           The long haired fighter struck out with his leg in an attempt to surprise the other. The kick was too slow and his opponent caught the strike and drove him into the dirt floor. The fall forced the air from his lungs and the bearded fighter wrapped an arm around his neck and locked in the hold. The hold put the man into frenzy and he struggled. The opponent relied on experience only using the necessary muscles to hold the submission, leaving the rest of his body relaxed. The long haired man tired and the lack of blood to his head was weakening him. The screams of men who had placed their bets in his favor grew distant and darkness spread on the outside of his vision. He tapped his opponent on the shoulder admitting defeat.

           The crowd was roaring now as the two fighters sat on the dirt floor, the loser gasping and the winner smiling with remaining teeth. Bets were then settled and no other fights broke out. The bearded man helped his opponent to his feet and the two shook hands again. Each was handed a small purse of gold by the host for their efforts. A young man wearing a gray tunic walked up and placed coins in both men’s hands.

“I can’t accept this. I lost and deserve only a loser’s cut.” said the long haired man.

The younger man shook his head, “No, I owe you both more than you know.” He nodded and headed out the barn door into the night.

 

3

           The man in the gray tunic walked back towards town. He caught up with a fellow gambler and gave him a pat on the back.

“What a fight aye, Jeff?”

“Real mean. Bloody too. I hope we don’t get robbed because of that nice purse you won, Aric.”

Aric laughed and tossed the sack in his hand. The coins inside clinked against one another.

“I’m not too worried about bandits with a big son of a bitch like you walking around.”

“Well, I know who’s buying my wine and women the next time we go out.”

Aric laughed even harder this time. Then the two men walked down the road without talking. The moon lighted the path and crickets chirped in the tall grass fields.

“Jeff, thanks again for bringing me in. This was a one-time deal. Nobody is going to know.”

“Yep.”

The men walked for awhile and then parted ways. Aric felt the heavy reassuring weight of coins in his pocket.

This is enough. A horse, some supplies, and I am gone.

 

Flight

1

           The crescent moon illuminated the plains. A west wind rustled the switchgrass. Rain had not fallen for days and the stalks brushed against one another, whispering. The crickets’ song found rhythm and murmured across the fields.

           The calm was broken by the thunder of hooves in the distance. A chestnut mare headed north. She ran strong, but her perspiration reflected a silver sheen. Aric sat atop the horse gripping the reigns with calloused hands.

           Time passed as the moon followed its path in the sky. Aric could feel fatigue setting in and knew the mare was nearing her limit. A fine horse. No quit in this one. He slowed her and swung off the saddle. The man went to making camp. His eyes wandered south as he unpacked. A knot tightened in his stomach and he cursed under his breath. He drove a stake into the ground with a small hammer and tied the mare

           The idea of a fire crossed his mind, but he dismissed it. Not worth the risk. His fingers searched through his saddle bag and found cured meat near the bottom. He bit into the jerky. The salt stung his lips and his thirst was awful, but the man did not reach for his canteen. If the drought continued, water needed to be conserved. Aric’s mind turned inward as he ate. His eyes moved south again.  A lantern? No, too soon.

           A soft sigh came from the mare as she lay down in the tall grass. Aric followed in suit and looked at the stars. The weight of the past days pressed down on him. It reminded him of when he dove deep in the lake as a boy, searching the sandy bottom. He rolled over and fell asleep.

2

           A sharp gust of wind woke the man and his eyes opened to sunlight streaming through the switchgrass. He stretched the stiffness from his muscles and began to pack. The sky was cloudless and he knew the heat would come. “Here, old girl,” he said and offered a handful of water from his canteen to the horse. The mare lapped it up and he stroked her neck. “Sorry Emery, we’re in for a long ride today.”

           They set out at a steady pace heading north. The sun climbed in the sky and beat down. He had fashioned a makeshift hat from a blanket and wore it to block the sun. Sweat had ceased to form on his skin and his mind wavered. Emery’s legs brushed the dry grass and the rustling formed words. “Lie down with us,” the grass hissed from beneath. “The birds will take care of your remains.”

           Emery began to tremble. A thought cut through his delirium. The horse dies, I die. Sliding from the saddle, the man grabbed his canteen and allowed Emery to drink. Her rough tongue dragged its way across his hands until every drop of moisture was gone. He took the last drink from the canteen. Then Aric set to work. I will lie with the grass. He drew a knife and began to cut swaths of the grain. After building a pile he stacked it to create a makeshift lean-to. He laid flat in the temporary shade avoiding the sun’s rays.

 

3

           Oranges and reds illuminated the sky as the sun sank in the west. Aric had waited out the day’s heat and now he and Emery headed north again. She felt more stable under the saddle and they trudged on. The landscape stretched out before him, but the hills in the distance indicated they were almost through the plain. He began to mutter a tune from home; more of a drinking song at the tavern than anything.

 

Pines, rivers, lakes, and streams

Bright clear days where sunlight beams;

Home with the woman is where I should to be

But I’m here with a pint

And my friends you see?

 

Work in the fields, work in the mills

Just to pay my goodtime bills

No money left; nothing to spare

So I will keep clear of the woman and keep my chair

 

           The riding had taken a toll on him. His body ached and he needed water. The heat had been unexpected and he regretted not stealing another canteen. There was a stream that meandered ahead in the hills. A day’s ride would take him there. The sun was slipping beneath the horizon and a lone bird circled high overhead. We just need to reach the stream. Water, a bit of rest, and head for Dames. I hope father is still alive.

 

4

           Aric and Emery traveled through the night and next day until they reached the stream. He was unsure who was more weary, the horse or himself. The drought had reduced the stream to a mere trickle, but the water was good. He drank until his stomach hurt. Emery lapped water for a long time and then lay down on the spot. He thought the horse would smile if she could. The idea made him grin as well.

           Clouds had protected them on the day’s journey, but the trip had been a long one. He reeked of sweat and the dirt on his face felt like a mask. As the day ended, he made camp and took stock of his possessions. A bedroll, wool blanket, cooking pot, wooden spoon, flint, saddle, stake, small hammer, knife, full canteen, 6 days worth of cured meat, and a small loaf of bread. All of the contents were kept in various saddlebags.

           The small town of Damea was another day’s ride north. The water and rest would make the last stretch bearable. Shepherds worked in the hills ahead and would be wary of a traveler like himself. The herdsmen in the fields were known to be territorial and sometimes aggressive. Their flocks were the lifeblood of the area for commerce and trade. The man intended to keep his distance.

           The sun began to set behind a distant tree line. He had made camp on the north side of a large hill and could see the old forest. No trees were in his immediate area, only small bushes and the endless switchgrass. The tall pines were a peninsula of the dense forests farther north. The region wasn’t easily traversed with a horse.

           Aric sat by thythe stream’s edge and ate jerky. He considered his situation. Lawmen were surely pursuing him by now. They knew to head north. The man’s home was documented in his records. A piece of gristle was caught in his teeth. He dug it loose with his dirty fingernail and spat on the ground.

 

5

           Aric’s mind wandered back to the recent events that had led him to this point. He had received a letter from his father. A messenger dropped it off at his work station in Creight. His father wrote how he was ill and dying. He requested that Aric return home to meet with him and discuss his will.

           The next day, Aric requested to meet with his superior, Officer Crane. As he approached the Crane’s quarters, a familiar face stepped out the door.

The man looked up and said, “Patchman Aric, I haven’t seen you since training. I’ve heard good things about your workmanship. How have you been?”

“I’ve been better, Officer Arturo. My father has fallen ill.”

“Hmm, regrettable. I should have guessed bad news considering you’re at Crane’s door. I wish you the best, son.”

“Thank you, sir.” said Aric.

           The two men passed each other and Aric stepped through the door of Officer Crane’s quarters. The man sat behind his desk nodding while Aric explained his father’s letter.

Crane said, “Aric, you are too valuable here. I can’t afford to have you leave. Especially in the middle of these blacksmith strikes.”

Aric stared at the man. Crane continued.

“Besides, sometimes old age can make a man feeble-minded. I remember my own father complaining every time he caught a cough saying, ‘This will be the death of me.’”

Aric was silent and Crane said, “I’m sorry, but I have to deny your leave request. Let’s wait until you receive another letter and then make a decision.”

Aric clenched his fists. “Sir, this is my father. What gives you the-,”

Crane held up a hand and interjected, “Patchman Aric, do not say anything rash that you might regret. No need to tarnish your record. All I am asking for is patience. You will reply to your father and wait until further notice is given of his condition. That is an order. Understood?

“Yes sir.” said Aric. Then he stood up from his chair and left.

He met with Jeff at the tavern later that night and requested to place some bets on the upcoming fight.

Aric’s mind came back to the present. The stream trickled by and he chewed another piece of jerky. The salt dried his mouth and he wished for a drink of beer. Then he made camp for the night. 

6

           A shrieking whinny erupted and Aric scrambled out of sleep. It was deep into the night and the clouds had covered the moon. Aric fumbled in the dark searching for his knife and boots. He threw the wool blanket aside and crouched barefoot in his undergarments, knife in hand. Aric could hear Emery stamping the grass and straining against the rope staked to the dirt.

           The horse knew something was out in the dark. Lawmen. Probably 3 on horseback. If they’re close, I’m done. How did they cover that much ground? Aric waited, ears attuned for the any sound. His eyes stung and he realized he was sweating. He heard nothing besides the Emery’s panicked movements. She’s going to pull that stake and run. I need light.

           Aric knelt and wrapped his knife handle with a corner of the wool blanket. Then he gripped the handle and wrapped his fist and lower arm with the remaining blanket. With his right hand protected, Aric’s mind focused on the knife’s blade in the dark.

            He found his breath and rhythm. The sounds of Emery’s struggle became muffled. The touch of coolness that met his face was reassuring. Aric could see the faint outline of the blade as it began to cast a dull red glow. Emery snorted and he could hear the stake shift in the dirt. Faster or she’s gone.

           Aric placed his unprotected hand above the blade and began to work again. The warmth crept from his palm and into the blade. The cold pain pierced his fingers, but he ignored it as the knife began to glow brighter. Another few heartbeats and I have enough. His unprotected hand was numb now, but the blade was red-hot. I need my hand and I can’t weaken the metal. It’s done.

           He broke his concentration and stood with the metal casting a glow in his wrapped hand. Something was laughing out in the darkness and he tightened his grip.