The Branded - Short Story part 1
Fenn stirred from his slumber just as the first tendrils of light crept in through the window, bringing with it the beginnings of a new day. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and squinted about his room, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door and the call to get up. He absent-mindedly scratched at the brand on the back of his left hand. After realising what he was doing, he stopped and looked down at it. The eye-shaped brand stared back. He shook his head and sighed. The eye had been itching a lot lately.
When he was very young, he asked his parents why he had been born with the brand. They simply said it was a mark that set their family apart from others and, in time, he would learn why. A couple of years passed and his parents felt it was time to share with him the family’s legacy. He listened to the tale of his ancestor’s plight to save his daughter and the bargain that he struck with the hag. It didn’t take him long to understand what the bargain meant if she chose him. Now, he had the sinking feeling that he might have drawn the short straw of the lot. Was he destined to meet her? He hoped with every fibre of his being that he was not.
A knock at the door pulled him out of his brooding.
“Fenn,” his mother said. “Are you awake? Your father is waiting for you out in the yard. He says not to dawdle or there’d be hell to pay.”
Fenn sighed and rose from his cot.
“Fenn?”
“I’m up! Tell the old man I’ll be out shortly,” he said as he struggled with his clothing.
“I’ll pass on the message… Oh, and remember that it’s market day, so you’ll have to carry out the chores while your father and I are in town.”
“I know.”
He heard his mother’s footsteps recede as he finished getting dressed. The thought of his parents being away for most of the day brought a smile to his face. If he planned it right, he could have his chores finished by noon, leaving plenty of time to go fishing at the forest lake. It was a good way to end the day, in his opinion. The thought alone banished the fears that lurked in his mind. The dreams were just dreams, and he was not the chosen one. Ready to face the day, he left his room and headed for the yard, grabbing a thick slice of freshly baked bread from the kitchen along the way.
Upon leaving the kitchen, the sight of their cart halfway loaded and already hitched to the pair of horses greeted Fenn.
“About bloody time you showed your face, Fenn,” his father said in his gruff voice as he appeared at the barn entrance off to the left. “Now, how about you stop lallygagging and help your old man finish loading the cart?”
“Right away, Da’.”
Stuffing the last of the bread in his mouth, he trotted over to his father and made himself busy. Between the pair of them, they loaded the rest of the produce, and the cart was ready to go in no time at all. Fenn and his father surveyed their wares. His father nodded in approval, pleased with the amount before them.
Fenn glanced at his father.
“Think you’ll sell it all today, Da’?”
“Most likely, Fenn. It’s a good haul and I hear the other farms haven’t been doing too well lately.”
Silence descended upon the yard. Fenn felt the urge to scratch the brand. He noticed his father rubbing his own too.
“Think nothing of it, Fenn.” He dropped his hands to his side. “Let’s just take it as it comes, eh?”
Fenn merely nodded.
“Packed and ready, I see,” his mother said from behind them.
“That we are, dear,” his father said as he climbed up onto the cart’s seat.
Fenn’s mother tousled his hair as she walked past him and took his father’s outstretched hand. She took her place beside him and the pair settled in for the journey. Fenn’s father took up the reins.
“Right, time for us to be on our way.” He looked at Fenn. “Finish your chores before we get back, you hear?”
“Yes, Da’.”
His father grunted.
“Good.”
He clicked his tongue, and the horses trotted out of the yard. Fenn watched the cart until it disappeared around a bend and then turned his attention to his chores.
Everything went according to plan, and by midday all the chores were done, leaving the rest of the afternoon free to do as he pleased. So, with rod and bucket in hand, Fenn headed for his favourite fishing spot.
The afternoon slipped by almost as fast as it had come, and Fenn soon found himself surrounded by dappled shadows and orange hues of the setting sun. With a bucket full of fish, he departed the lake and headed back home. Fenn knew the route well enough that he could make the trip blindfolded if need be, which was why he paused in his meandering. Something was amiss. He couldn’t quite place what had caused him to stop. He surveyed the surrounding trees, their enormous trunks pressed close together as if trying to conceal secrets from him.
Silence, nothing moved or made a sound, not even the leaves rustled in the breeze. Fenn suppressed a spine-chilling shiver. Something was definitely wrong.
Perhaps there’s a bear or pack of wolves prowling about? He cast the thought aside. Nothing dangerous lived in the woods to the best of his knowledge. Well, at least for as long as he could remember. A faint whisper trailed on the wind and his brand itched. Fear crawled up through his gut and before he knew it, he was running as fast as his feet would allow. With each step that he took, the itch intensified. His hand felt like it was clutching a handful of embers, yet still, he ran.
Fenn kept repeating the same thought over in his head: if you escape the forest everything will be alright.
His hopes were dashed as the path opened into a clearing. At its centre stood a ramshackle hovel surrounded by a fence lined with skulls.
“No…” He shook his head in denial. “It can’t be. It can’t be me!”
He tried to turn back, but something held him in place. He couldn’t move an inch. The door to the hovel creaked open, revealing the hag’s hunched figure standing just beyond the doorway.
“It’s time,” the hag said and, with a twitch of a finger, her magic dragged Fenn, kicking and screaming, to the entrance.
“Resistance is futile, boy.” She cackled. “This day was preordained well before your time. There is no escaping my call. You are branded!”
Fenn passed through the doorway and the door banged shut behind him. The interior of the hovel was just like the tale, and at its centre stood the hag. Her ominous presence sent shivers down his spine, and his knees trembled.
She smiled at him, exposing rotted teeth and blackened gums. A long, pale tongue snaked out of her mouth.
“Now listen carefully, child. The task set out before you is perilous.” She cocked her head. “Do you understand?”
Fenn could only manage a feeble nod.
“Good, let us begin.”
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