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Authors: Bruce Blake
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the sharp edges drawing blood. Therrador gritted his teeth and held his breath.
“Perhaps you will be less inclined to rebellion if you can no longer hold a sword.”
The tendons in her neck tensed as she closed the shears. Therrador’s scream drowned out the soft sound of his severed thumb hitting the blanket beside Graymon, then the boy’s high pitched squeal joined his shriek as he woke to his father’s blood.
Chapter Nine
The guard snarled at Graymon, hurrying him along. The boy pulled his breeches up hastily and fumbled with the tie. Normally, someone helped him fasten them; his shaking fingers proved almost useless.
“Do not worry, precious. Everything will be all right,” the woman said.
Graymon glanced at her, his eyes finding her painted nails first, as always. Colorful birds flitted back and forth across their surfaces, their beaks moving in silent chirps, but they didn’t make him smile. At any moment, those birds might molt and droop, melting away to rotted versions of themselves; he’d seen it before. Before that transformation occurred, Graymon shifted his gaze to his father’s limp form hunched in the corner.
“What will happen to my da?” His voice quivered with the effort of holding back tears.
The woman crouched at his side. “I will take him home.” She caressed his cheek with the knuckle of her index finger. Graymon flinched. “He loves you so much. He will behave himself now so I will not have to hurt him again. You know what happens when you do not behave yourself, yes?”
Graymon nodded. His father rarely punished him, but nanny yelled when he didn’t listen to her, sometimes slapped his bottom. There had never been blood like with daddy, though. The thought made him sniffle and shudder.
“Hurry and get dressed, then. My men are taking you to another place where you can have a real bed. And toys.”
Mixed emotions rolled through Graymon. Thoughts of toys and a comfortable bed pleased him, but the idea of going on a trip with those monsters made his stomach feel sick. He looked away from the woman’s pleasant face to the soldier standing over her shoulder. This one didn’t look as dead as many of the others, might even have been alive except for a patch of green mold on one cheek and spots where his hair had fallen out in chunks. The one thing he had in common with the others was his dark eyes that made him look like he’d rather eat Graymon than guard him.
“Oh, there will be a real man to go with you,” she said noticing the boy’s distress. “Some of my dead friends will be there, but you will not be alone.”
She retrieved Graymon’s shirt from the floor and handed it to him. He slipped it over his head quickly then stepped into his shoes. The woman nodded, smiled unconvincingly. Graymon smiled back knowing it was what adults expected him to do when they smiled, but he put as little effort into it as the woman did. During his time in the Kanosee camp, they’d treated him well, but seeing what they did to his da proved they weren’t his friends. The woman offered her hand; he took it hesitantly and she led him toward the tent flap. Graymon’s head pivoted as they went, his gaze on his unconscious father.
“I want to say bye to da,” he cried, tugging at the Archon’s grip.
The rotting soldier behind him growled, but the woman silenced it with a gesture. She pulled on Graymon’s hand, spinning him toward her.
“You can say good-bye to your father,” she said, her voice gentle and firm at the same time. “But quickly.” His hand slid out of hers but he didn’t move for a second, worried she might be tricking him. “Go on.”
Padding across the dirt floor, he looked sideways at the rotting guard who snarled back at him. Graymon averted his eyes and knelt at his father’s side, reached out to take his hand but thought better of it when he saw the blood soaked cloth wrapped around it.
“I sorry, Da,” he whispered glancing nervously at the
“Perhaps you will be less inclined to rebellion if you can no longer hold a sword.”
The tendons in her neck tensed as she closed the shears. Therrador’s scream drowned out the soft sound of his severed thumb hitting the blanket beside Graymon, then the boy’s high pitched squeal joined his shriek as he woke to his father’s blood.
Chapter Nine
The guard snarled at Graymon, hurrying him along. The boy pulled his breeches up hastily and fumbled with the tie. Normally, someone helped him fasten them; his shaking fingers proved almost useless.
“Do not worry, precious. Everything will be all right,” the woman said.
Graymon glanced at her, his eyes finding her painted nails first, as always. Colorful birds flitted back and forth across their surfaces, their beaks moving in silent chirps, but they didn’t make him smile. At any moment, those birds might molt and droop, melting away to rotted versions of themselves; he’d seen it before. Before that transformation occurred, Graymon shifted his gaze to his father’s limp form hunched in the corner.
“What will happen to my da?” His voice quivered with the effort of holding back tears.
The woman crouched at his side. “I will take him home.” She caressed his cheek with the knuckle of her index finger. Graymon flinched. “He loves you so much. He will behave himself now so I will not have to hurt him again. You know what happens when you do not behave yourself, yes?”
Graymon nodded. His father rarely punished him, but nanny yelled when he didn’t listen to her, sometimes slapped his bottom. There had never been blood like with daddy, though. The thought made him sniffle and shudder.
“Hurry and get dressed, then. My men are taking you to another place where you can have a real bed. And toys.”
Mixed emotions rolled through Graymon. Thoughts of toys and a comfortable bed pleased him, but the idea of going on a trip with those monsters made his stomach feel sick. He looked away from the woman’s pleasant face to the soldier standing over her shoulder. This one didn’t look as dead as many of the others, might even have been alive except for a patch of green mold on one cheek and spots where his hair had fallen out in chunks. The one thing he had in common with the others was his dark eyes that made him look like he’d rather eat Graymon than guard him.
“Oh, there will be a real man to go with you,” she said noticing the boy’s distress. “Some of my dead friends will be there, but you will not be alone.”
She retrieved Graymon’s shirt from the floor and handed it to him. He slipped it over his head quickly then stepped into his shoes. The woman nodded, smiled unconvincingly. Graymon smiled back knowing it was what adults expected him to do when they smiled, but he put as little effort into it as the woman did. During his time in the Kanosee camp, they’d treated him well, but seeing what they did to his da proved they weren’t his friends. The woman offered her hand; he took it hesitantly and she led him toward the tent flap. Graymon’s head pivoted as they went, his gaze on his unconscious father.
“I want to say bye to da,” he cried, tugging at the Archon’s grip.
The rotting soldier behind him growled, but the woman silenced it with a gesture. She pulled on Graymon’s hand, spinning him toward her.
“You can say good-bye to your father,” she said, her voice gentle and firm at the same time. “But quickly.” His hand slid out of hers but he didn’t move for a second, worried she might be tricking him. “Go on.”
Padding across the dirt floor, he looked sideways at the rotting guard who snarled back at him. Graymon averted his eyes and knelt at his father’s side, reached out to take his hand but thought better of it when he saw the blood soaked cloth wrapped around it.
“I sorry, Da,” he whispered glancing nervously at the
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