Unforgivable Read online

  The stableman tore the doubled bladed wood axe out of the stiff ground and stood ready, looking at the late night prowler outside of his Master’s house. “Who are you? What do you want here?” the man hissed, his grip tightening on the well-worn axe handle.

  They stood in silence for several long heartbeats before the stableman realized he wouldn’t get his answers. He came forward - axe held high for another massive killing blow - but Jamus was ready and stepped in to meet the foolish man. Before the man could bring the weapon down rapidly enough to gather a solid force of momentum, Jamus’ hands grabbed the axe handle, stopping it abruptly.

  The man’s eyes went wide with unexpected panic as he tried to free his weapon from the midnight enemy. They struggled for dominance of the axe - the stableman was strong and firm from his years of hard labor, but Jamus’ bitter rage was stronger. The double bladed axe was pointing a fierce blade toward each of their faces and the hood of Jamus’ cloak fell back, revealing his disfigured, cruel features. The man’s eyes went wide with dismay and for a moment his attention was elsewhere, this in itself enraged Jamus even more.

  A snarl twisted across Jamus’ lips, causing several of his scabs to crack and ooze. With a powerful shove, enriched with un-contained fury, the axe blade buried itself into the stableman’s skull. Blood and gore spurted across Jamus’ face and ragged clothes as he pulled the blade free of its new, fleshy sheath. The body crumpled in a heap to the cold earth.

  Jamus’ breathing intensified with the pulsing adrenaline now coursing through him. He stared down at the man’s corpse - a light vapor expelling off the warm blood that spilled onto the manicured grass. He pulled his hood back over his head, went to the bloodied axe, then to the window - the small ruckus hadn’t even caught Markel Jones’ attention, the ignorant bastard!

  Jamus walked to the back door of the grand house, dragging the double bladed wood axe behind him. With two violent swings, the axe broke through the center of the thick oak doors, half tearing them from their iron hinges.

  Jamus pushed his way through the wreckage, dragging the axe behind him, the eerie scraping of the heavy blade on the polished hardwood floors echoing through the house along with the piercing clink of his spurred boot.

  A ruckus to the side proved that Markel had heard him this time; there was nowhere to go but the exit that Jamus was walking toward. He was trapped - a vicious grin formed as he rounded the corner.

  “Who in the hell are you?” Markel Jones bellowed out, fear gripping his tone as he saw the dark hooded figure blocking the only doorway from his office. But all that came in response to his question were deep trembling breaths from the ragged blood stained figure. “Do you know who I am?” Markel screamed out.“

  You can’t just break into my house - there will be consequences, you know. You’re as good as dead! You hear me? DEAD!”

  A deep haunting laugh expelled from the poignant figure in front of him as he dragged the bloodied axe forward - slamming it in front of him with a solid thud, several pieces of gore spattering the tanned carpet. Horror flashed across Markel’s face at the sight of the bloodied axe, but he quickly tried to regain his composure. “What’s so funny, damn it! Who are you?”

  “Dead... you really think death scares me now?” The figured laughed again and his hood fell back, exposing his gruesome features, causing Markel to gasp in horror. “You’ve already tried to kill me once before - looks like I’m not wanted on the other side yet!” Jamus hissed. “But I assure you, I will see you on your way there!”

  “By the gods, Jamus, you’re alive!” Markel cried out in dismay. “But how? I saw them kill you, no one could have survived that.”

  “And you watched them butcher my family! Rape my wife! Steal my daughter! Burn my son alive!” Jamus hissed, taking several steps forward, hoisting the axe up into his hands, his grip so tight his knuckles were long past white.

  “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that Jamus! I swear it to you.” Markel stuttered , as Jamus took several more steps forward. “You have to believe me , I would never have agreed to that. They were just supposed to take your daughter, I swear it!”

  Vivid flashes erupted through Jamus’ mind - the carnage, the brutality, the blood, the screams... “Like I’m going to believe you, you piece of shit!”

  “It’s true, Jamus, I would never have bestowed that upon your family. You, yes... your family, no...” Markel replied, his voice calming slightly as his eyes shifted over Jamus’ shoulder then back. “I loved Nikki more than anything, she should have been mine! Not yours, you never deserved her - your kids, should have been from my loins! Not the loins of some poor dirt farmer! But what’s done is done, and now it’s time for you to join them!”

  Jamus followed Markel’s gaze and spotted the reason for his new found confidence. With rage-induced swiftness, he swung around - the axe blade arcing wide and slashed through the servant’s midsection, spraying blood across the wall. The man dropped his knife to the floor, his eyes wide with terror and unexpected pain. His hands franticly worked at trying to keep his entrails within him, to no avail, as they spilled out onto the once clean, carpeted floor. Jamus heaved the axe up and swept it down, catching the man in the collarbone and severing his chest cavity.

  A sharp sudden pain in his side alerted him to the danger that was still behind him. His elbow swung back, crushing Markel’s nose flat to his face and causing him to stumble back, leaving his small dagger still buried in Jamus’ side.

  Blood streamed down Markel’s broken face onto his luxurious, ill-gotten fineries. “We can talk about this! I will pay you! More gold then your whole town would make in a lifetime! Please, don’t do this, Jamus! You can start again; find a new wife with that kind of fortune. Have a whole bunch of kids, raise them right, feed them well,” he pleaded pathetically as he back stepped. The cold, bitter stare that loomed back at him assured him no amount of begging or pleading was going to save his life.

  “Make it quick!” Markel bellowed out as tears streamed down his pathetic face.

  “You wish...” Jamus replied swinging the axe blade low, chopping through the blubbering man’s right leg.

  Flashes of Nikki battered Jamus’ mind, and he brought the axe down again. What he hit, he didn’t know, but it sliced through flesh and bone and the faint screams that penetrated his hazy world assured him it was well placed. The screams of his victim soon mingled with the screams of his wife’s in his mind. Her terrified face assaulted his thoughts as it twisted in agony. Her eyes burned into his soul as she had stared across the floor to him helplessly, begging and pleading him to help her as the men ravaged her. She had called to him for help, but he couldn’t get to her. He had failed her - in the time she had needed him the most, he had failed.

  For what seemed like forever, horrifying screams could be heard from inside of Markel’s house. But no one was around or awake to hear the suffering that wallowed out into the night air.

  Finally, the blood drenched wood axe slipped from Jamus’ hands to the blood soaked floor. He sank to his knees, unable to stand any longer. His hand reached down to the small dagger in his side, thick, dark blood oozed out slowly. He gripped the handle while tears streamed down his face - not because from the pain of the steel, but because he hadn’t been able to avenge his family fully and save his poor Sofia. He had failed his family… again.

  At least I have extracted some vengeance, he mused as he stared down at the carnage that had once been Markel Jones. There was little to identify the fat man now. That pleased Jamus… a little.

  Jamus pushed the oil lamp from the nearby desk to the floor and it exploded into flames. He gripped the handle of the blade tighter and tried to pull it free, but the knife didn’t budge. Jamus tried again but still couldn’t remove the dagger, he was too weak, and his vision blurred and wavered as blackness consumed him and he hit the floor...

  Unforgivable

  Part Three

  Unwelcomed Savior

  “Come on papa
, we’re gonna be late!” Nate cried out, pulling hard on Jamus’ hand, leading him through the never-ending crowd.

  “Hold on, little man,” Jamus laughed. “If we don’t wait for your mother and sister, we’ll never hear the end of it.”

  “But they’re always so slow!” Nate whined as he slowed his young, eager pace.

  “We’re coming, we’re coming,” Nikki called to them from several feet behind.

  “Come on mama, I’m gonna be late!” Nate cried again.

  “Not on my watch, little man.” Jamus hoisted his son up onto his shoulders then turned back to Nikki and Sofia. “They are calling the names, I will see you there,” Jamus told them and took off through the crowd at a steady pace.

  They had made it just in time as Nate’s name was called for qualification in the annual children’s lawn dart competition, an event Nate had entered every year since he could stand. The entrance fee was a full copper coin for his age group, but if he could place in the top three, silver was the prize. The year before he had placed forth and had still come home with a large supply of spiced taze for the family. This year he was confident he could place in the top three and he had the family’s full support.

  The children lined up at their provided markers, and the crowed fanned out around the playing area, parents and friends pushing their way to the inner circle to get the best view of their children.

  “We didn’t miss anything did we?” Nikki asked as she found Jamus.

  “No they are just about to start,” Jamus replied, picking his daughter up and resting her on his shoulders so she could see better.

  “I won second place dad, did ya see it? I won second place!” Nate bellowed gleefully.

  “We saw!” Jamus replied, his voice full of pride as he reached down to pick up his son. When his hands touch the boy, pain erupted through his hands, as if he had dipped his hands in scolding water.

  “What is it, daddy?” The boy asked confused, his features beginning to contort as his flesh began peeling and blistering as unseen flames consumed him.

  Jamus’ eyes burst open and he rolled over, retching until all that came was painful dry heaves. Gasping for air, he tried to calm himself, his eyes finally adjusting to see the yellow and crimson vomit on the floor. His heart began racing as he rolled out of the hard cot he found himself in, then doubled over as agony laced through his entire body.

  “It’s okay, calm yourself,” a soft voice told him. “You are safe here.”

  Jamus looked up as saw a short, chubby, dark haired woman looking down at him, worry creasing her middle-aged features. “What happened?” he whispered angrily. “Where am I?”

  “Here, let me help you back onto the cot and I will explain,” the woman replied, reaching down to help him up.

  Jamus slapped her hands away. “I do not need your help, damn it!” He hissed back, trying to pull himself back to the dusty cot.

  “Well, you sure needed help getting out of Markel’s burning house after you butchered him and two of his servants,” she shot back in quick retort.

  “I didn’t need your damn help!” Jamus yelled back, collapsing to the floor, not able to pull himself back onto the cot, “…nor did I want it.”

  “I have a hard time believing you wanted to just die there on the floor with that bastard’s knife in your side,” she countered.

  “You know nothing of what I wanted!” Jamus screamed hoarsely, hiding his head in his battered arms to muffle his sobs. There was a long awkward silence, before finally the woman spoke again.

  “You are in my cottage, not far from the smoldering ruins where you killed Markel,” she began, slowly drawing Jamus from his arms. “I watched from the stairwell as you forced your way into the house, dragging with you Miller’s wood axe - you gutted poor Tomas as he snuck up behind you and then…” she stopped, horror glazing her eyes as she recalled the memory. “…Then you butchered Markel like you were possessed by demons.”

  Jamus looked up at her from the cold floor. “Why did you help me?”

  “I hated Markel,” she replied casually. “He was a filthy man, with sickening fetishes and a cruel temper… I was more of a slave than a housemaid. Not that I am one to care for murderers either, but I heard what happened the other night in Ever-Dale, and then when you were talking to him before you killed him, I heard him admit it too. That ain’t murder in my eyes, that’s justice. You had every right to your revenge, regardless of your methods.”

  “Why did you bother saving me? I would be better off dead.”

  “I truly thought you were as good as dead after you fell over and the house went ablaze. I quickly ran down into the office to retrieve that bastard’s coin purse from his desk before the whole house was afire. When I was leaving I saw you still muttering about failing your family,” she paused. “I realized the knife wound wasn’t as bad as it looked, so I dragged you out before the flames and smoke killed us both.” She offered her hand down to him again hesitantly - he accepted it and she helped him back onto the wooden cot.

  “I did fail them,” he muttered, resting his head against the wall, grimacing at the pressure on his wounds. “They are dead because of me… I should be dead too.”

  The woman eyed him, bewildered. “I may not know the full story, and it be none of my business if you don’t care to share it, but I have a hard time believing you failed anyone.”

  “They’re dead!” Jamus cried out to her. “DEAD! I couldn’t keep them safe; I couldn’t keep them alive… It was my job as a man to provide for them... to protect them, and I couldn’t.”

  “The gods have a strange plan for us all. I know you ain’t for wanting to hear it, but they didn’t die because you couldn’t protect them, it was their time as horrible as that sounds.”

  “Don’t give me that bullshit!” Jamus hissed. “There are no gods - if there is, they are as much my enemy as the men who killed my family.”

  “It might be that the gods got me to save you so you can right the wrongs done to you.”

  “Or to make me live with my damnable failures,” Jamus muttered in reply.

  The woman sighed, “Only if you choose to live it like that. You are angry and hurt, I will get you something to eat and let you rest awhile.” She stood up to leave the small room.

  “What is your name?”

  “Barbra Sibert.”

  Barbra left a small plate of dried cheese and flat bread for him, along with a pitcher of cool water. It had been more than a few days since he had last eaten and he hadn’t realized how hungry he really was until there was food in front of him. He ate greedily, hardly noticing the lacing pain in his mouth from his cracked teeth and swollen jaw.

  His hand went down to the poorly worked stitches, and was truly surprised the wound had not killed him. He wished he had died there - it would have been better that way. He balled up his fists in frustration, the scabs around his knuckles and hands cracked and oozed new blood. He ignored the pain.

  He slowly eased himself back down onto the hard cot and closed his eyes, wondering if he fell asleep, death would finally come for him. He prayed it would. Yet maybe Barbra was right - maybe he had survived so he might live long enough to push the boundaries of the status quo and right the wrongs that had befallen his family.

  Jamus woke to the cool moistness of a cloth wiping down his forehead. He opened his eyes slowly, letting them adjust to the flickering candle light. So he had awoken after all, he mused bitterly yet with a revived sense of purpose.

  “Thank you for your kindness,” Jamus said to her, pushing himself up. “But I must go now.”

  “Now?” She asked. “It is already past dark.”

  “That matters not - apparently you were right - the gods want me to right the wrongs that befell my family, or else I would not have woken up,” he explained, standing up on shaking legs, forcing them to steady with gritted determination.

  “Not entirely sure that is something I am glad I was right about or not,” she mused aloud. “
But I can hardly believe the gods want you to leave right this moment, in the stark middle of the night, when you are in no condition to do much of anything.”

  “I will do fine,” Jamus said walking through the small bedroom doorway into the main room of the small, run down cottage so much like his own had been.

  “What do you plan on doing?” Barbra asked, though she already knew the answer. “Do you even know where these men are?”

  Jamus stopped in his tracks, the truth of her words assaulting him. She was right - he had no other leads as to where these men were. He had not thought about that when he had confronted Markel. He had been so set on revenge that it had not even dawned on him that he might never find the others. Even the Lord’s name who had asked for his dear Sofia’s hand - he did not remember, he had paid little mind to it at the time for it did not seem important. There were so many Lords within Faer-Tri that it would be nearly impossible to guess which one it had been.

  He slumped to his knees, a renewed sense of defeat overwhelming him. How could he be so stupid? Who did he think he was? He wasn’t some warrior clad in armor and sword going to battle his foes. He was a simple, poor farmer who helped tend another man’s fields as he didn’t have the wealth to have his own. Did he really think he was capable of doing this?

  “I need to get to the tavern and start work soon,” Barbra said, breaking his reverie and helping him to one of the table chairs.

  “I thought you were a maid in Markel’s house?” Jamus asked confused.

  “I was, but you killed him remember?” She nearly laughed aloud. “I got a job at the The Drunken Mule just down the road yesterday while you were still asleep.” She gathered her cloak and made for the door. “I don’t expect you to be here when I return, but I truly hope you will be. Rest awhile and maybe the answers you seek will come to you. If not, then maybe on the morrow I may be able to help you in some way.” With that, she left and Jamus was left with only his vivid thoughts of defeat to keep him company.