Nicholas – The Beginning by John Stevenson
would deepen until the coming night allowed no one to see more.
The pink had given way to a plum shade and the colour for some reason brought back a memory. He smiled thinking of the time, when he had been only a boy. He and Simeon had been caught taking the fruit from the Alderman's orchard. The smile slowly passed, but the warm feeling of friendship remained. Simeon was the only other person who knew, or had known of this place. It was him who had needed to name the colours instead of just enjoying them.
It was still beyond Nicholas’s understanding why Simeon had murdered his own father and then fled to those distant mountains to be forever separated from his loved ones.
That was two years ago, ‘Simeon would have only been…’ Nicholas realized he was on the verge of the same age.
The golden orb had long sunk behind the mountain, now too had almost all of its rays. The peaks were now becoming the colour for which they were known: a deep red, the colour of blood.
Somewhere amongst those mountains was Simeon. Nicholas wondered if he too was sitting up on one of those hillsides, looking back towards the place where he had once lived.
The feeling of warm that the memories brought, ebbed into sadness. Nicholas had not thought of his friend for some time, and it pained him to remember the lost, but happy times of their childhood.
The red had deepened to purple and on to the blackness of night. Now the mountains changed from background to foreground as the stars took that place. The first moon had risen; he saw a flash from it and counted to ten. They were common enough these flashes, and always to a count of ten, before a second appeared. 'What wonders we do not understand, are but, normal to the g...’
His ears caught a noise. He froze, his heart pumping wildly. His mind had been more at one with the dream than he had realized, for he had sensed, rather than heard a movement over to his left. Visions of a bear, or worse, a panther creeping up on him flashed through his mind. He wanted to run, but deep down knew that he was lost if he moved. Barely breathing he slowly turned towards the sound
The first moon was too small to light the woodland, and it was only the snapping of another dried twig that took his gaze down into the trees below him.
What seemed like several minutes passed, but he could still discern no movement. He was above; at least that was in his favor. Suddenly his eye snatched a glimpse of a shadow silently approaching, and though this relieved him of thoughts of a wild creature, it made them worse for an unknown demon. Unexpectedly he was suddenly bathed in light as a cloud moved from in front of the rising larger moon and lit the forest in its pale glow. Now he dared not move a muscle, but at last he could see that the shapes were horses. Four, five mounted men were almost directly below, but still they made no sound as if they were indeed spirits. Though Nicholas knew this could not be, it was something he did not want to test until the thought struck his mind that he had fallen asleep and was watching himself dream. But if it was a dream then he felt wide-awake, and he could feel a slight breeze on his bare arm, that was not his usual dream pattern.
His mind now was keen; these were as mortal as he, but ones who did not wish to be heard. Nicholas decided that he would not disappoint them, he would watch, and wait his time to trounce these rascals, for whatever their intention, to come in such a way they were surely up to no good.
They dismounted, and then he heard it, there was a sharp noise, it was faint but he knew it was metal upon metal. Instinctively he knew a weapon made the noise. It was the sound that a sword made as it came slightly out of its sheath; then dropped back in again. Whoever they were, these men were armed.
While his mind raced, they had tied their horses and melted into the sweet smelling pines in the direction of the village.
The mists were starting to form again, it would be hard to follow, but the challenge to catch them about their mischievous; or even criminal activity was too great.
Hold back and then when they did not expect it he would spring a trap, alert the village, and become a hero. He smiled; they would toast him for a week at the tavern.
He waited a few moments, as much to increase the challenge as to ensure he was not discovered. After all he carried no weapon of his own, and even if he had, possibly five armed men were far too much of a match; even though he remembered smugly that he had been told a knife was placed in his hand at birth.
Nicholas started moving down and over to the tied animals: slowly but not too secretively to startle them. As he approached he heard them shuffle their feet as they caught his sent, now no longer blown away on the wind. The animals were untroubled by him, and once they had glanced his way they went back grazing on the long grass. He became bolder and stepped closer seeing now the reason for their silent approach, the hooves had been wrapped in cloth to deaden any sound. Another thought came to him as a shock. These were not the horses of common men; dull work animals, with the sparkle taken out of their eye through too many years with the sun in front, and a plough behind. The thought troubled him, as it could mean these men were part of the guard, but the nearest garrison was hours away and he could see that their coats showed no sign of sweat and their breathing was easy. They had not been ridden hard, or far
He became even more cautious as doubt plagued his mind. He was almost able to touch the nearest and moved round to its side, careful not to frighten the beasts. As if it knew his thought it stopped eating and lifted its head towards him; looking not in fear, but curiosity.
The Large moon had by this time risen high enough so that he could see the saddles, and that they had markings and ornaments hanging from them. Nicholas hand reached out to touch them as he whispered to the animal. “Easy…easy.” His words trailed away as he discovered that the shiny brass had been covered with a thin coating of axle grease and soil. His interest growing he brushed a little of the grime away.
The emblem fell from his fingers as if it burnt. He knew now that this was none of his business. These were the saddles of men of the guard of Quone-Loc-Sie. Whatever their mission, it was definitely none of his concern.
Backing away he saw one last thing
The horse was still staring at him; its eyes sharp and penetrating, as if it was waiting for him to do something. Nicholas smiled and lifted his hand. “Do not tell your master I was here,” he whispered his fingers touching its brow. As if in reply the horse flicked its ears and Nicholas saw it displayed a perfect white star on the back of its right fore. By some strange quirk of nature this animal carried the symbol of the sky, and its mystery. “Shah…” he breathed. “I shall go as I came.” He backed away thinking how apt it was, black as night with the brightest star, and the fire of the sun in his eyes. This was a prince of horses.
Nicholas made his way back to Boramulla by the longest route. He did not wish to meet anyone more this evening, especially five of the guard.
The mists were now down, and as thick as they would be for the rest of the night. He could see for perhaps twenty meters, and maybe another ten past that as vague shadows.
Within his reduced world, his footsteps were all that could be heard, all sounds from deeper out in the mist had been smothered as if one had placed a thick blanket over them. But he had no real need for sight, this had been a route taken many times, in daylight and dark since he had been a young boy.
He guessed the time would be past nine when he approached his home. It was the first building he would come to, as the village itself was further down the road. Though at this time he would be unlikely to see anyone. All working folk would be asleep, and any others would be in the tavern, even further down towards the river.
As the shape of the building formed in the mist there was a flash of light from the front of the house, as if someone had opened and shut the stout oak door.
His parents would be in bed, as he should too, likely it was Philip, but it may be that there was a sickness. His pace quickened.
His feet crunched on the loose gravel path that led up from the gate, and he pushed open the door.
/>
A lantern was still lit at the far end of the room next to the kitchen. But the room was empty. His mind relaxed, they were in bed but had left a light for him. Nicholas walked to the lantern and glanced into the kitchen.
It was as if some great vacuum sucked the breath from his body. He stood riveted to the spot and stared, unable to accept what he saw.
Face down; half sprawled on the table, lay both his mother and brother. The great slab of thick timber worn smooth over generations in labour of love was now stained with their blood
That they were dead; there could be no doubt. Long cooking knifes still penetrated their bodies to the hilts.
Nicholas felt nausea well up in him and spun away; retching in the corner: leaning against the wall lest his legs should give way and he crumple into a heap of despair.
He needed help. Turning back toward the front door he now saw his father laid face down on the floor, half hidden by the old couch.
His father seemed to be asleep, or drunk, though Nicholas had never known him to take excess ale other than on special occasions. Anguish overwhelmed him as he ran to the man and gently turned him over. In his bloodstained chest close to his heart was Nicholas's own knife, a small but deadly weapon that he used to throw at tree trunks for pleasure.
His father barely
The pink had given way to a plum shade and the colour for some reason brought back a memory. He smiled thinking of the time, when he had been only a boy. He and Simeon had been caught taking the fruit from the Alderman's orchard. The smile slowly passed, but the warm feeling of friendship remained. Simeon was the only other person who knew, or had known of this place. It was him who had needed to name the colours instead of just enjoying them.
It was still beyond Nicholas’s understanding why Simeon had murdered his own father and then fled to those distant mountains to be forever separated from his loved ones.
That was two years ago, ‘Simeon would have only been…’ Nicholas realized he was on the verge of the same age.
The golden orb had long sunk behind the mountain, now too had almost all of its rays. The peaks were now becoming the colour for which they were known: a deep red, the colour of blood.
Somewhere amongst those mountains was Simeon. Nicholas wondered if he too was sitting up on one of those hillsides, looking back towards the place where he had once lived.
The feeling of warm that the memories brought, ebbed into sadness. Nicholas had not thought of his friend for some time, and it pained him to remember the lost, but happy times of their childhood.
The red had deepened to purple and on to the blackness of night. Now the mountains changed from background to foreground as the stars took that place. The first moon had risen; he saw a flash from it and counted to ten. They were common enough these flashes, and always to a count of ten, before a second appeared. 'What wonders we do not understand, are but, normal to the g...’
His ears caught a noise. He froze, his heart pumping wildly. His mind had been more at one with the dream than he had realized, for he had sensed, rather than heard a movement over to his left. Visions of a bear, or worse, a panther creeping up on him flashed through his mind. He wanted to run, but deep down knew that he was lost if he moved. Barely breathing he slowly turned towards the sound
The first moon was too small to light the woodland, and it was only the snapping of another dried twig that took his gaze down into the trees below him.
What seemed like several minutes passed, but he could still discern no movement. He was above; at least that was in his favor. Suddenly his eye snatched a glimpse of a shadow silently approaching, and though this relieved him of thoughts of a wild creature, it made them worse for an unknown demon. Unexpectedly he was suddenly bathed in light as a cloud moved from in front of the rising larger moon and lit the forest in its pale glow. Now he dared not move a muscle, but at last he could see that the shapes were horses. Four, five mounted men were almost directly below, but still they made no sound as if they were indeed spirits. Though Nicholas knew this could not be, it was something he did not want to test until the thought struck his mind that he had fallen asleep and was watching himself dream. But if it was a dream then he felt wide-awake, and he could feel a slight breeze on his bare arm, that was not his usual dream pattern.
His mind now was keen; these were as mortal as he, but ones who did not wish to be heard. Nicholas decided that he would not disappoint them, he would watch, and wait his time to trounce these rascals, for whatever their intention, to come in such a way they were surely up to no good.
They dismounted, and then he heard it, there was a sharp noise, it was faint but he knew it was metal upon metal. Instinctively he knew a weapon made the noise. It was the sound that a sword made as it came slightly out of its sheath; then dropped back in again. Whoever they were, these men were armed.
While his mind raced, they had tied their horses and melted into the sweet smelling pines in the direction of the village.
The mists were starting to form again, it would be hard to follow, but the challenge to catch them about their mischievous; or even criminal activity was too great.
Hold back and then when they did not expect it he would spring a trap, alert the village, and become a hero. He smiled; they would toast him for a week at the tavern.
He waited a few moments, as much to increase the challenge as to ensure he was not discovered. After all he carried no weapon of his own, and even if he had, possibly five armed men were far too much of a match; even though he remembered smugly that he had been told a knife was placed in his hand at birth.
Nicholas started moving down and over to the tied animals: slowly but not too secretively to startle them. As he approached he heard them shuffle their feet as they caught his sent, now no longer blown away on the wind. The animals were untroubled by him, and once they had glanced his way they went back grazing on the long grass. He became bolder and stepped closer seeing now the reason for their silent approach, the hooves had been wrapped in cloth to deaden any sound. Another thought came to him as a shock. These were not the horses of common men; dull work animals, with the sparkle taken out of their eye through too many years with the sun in front, and a plough behind. The thought troubled him, as it could mean these men were part of the guard, but the nearest garrison was hours away and he could see that their coats showed no sign of sweat and their breathing was easy. They had not been ridden hard, or far
He became even more cautious as doubt plagued his mind. He was almost able to touch the nearest and moved round to its side, careful not to frighten the beasts. As if it knew his thought it stopped eating and lifted its head towards him; looking not in fear, but curiosity.
The Large moon had by this time risen high enough so that he could see the saddles, and that they had markings and ornaments hanging from them. Nicholas hand reached out to touch them as he whispered to the animal. “Easy…easy.” His words trailed away as he discovered that the shiny brass had been covered with a thin coating of axle grease and soil. His interest growing he brushed a little of the grime away.
The emblem fell from his fingers as if it burnt. He knew now that this was none of his business. These were the saddles of men of the guard of Quone-Loc-Sie. Whatever their mission, it was definitely none of his concern.
Backing away he saw one last thing
The horse was still staring at him; its eyes sharp and penetrating, as if it was waiting for him to do something. Nicholas smiled and lifted his hand. “Do not tell your master I was here,” he whispered his fingers touching its brow. As if in reply the horse flicked its ears and Nicholas saw it displayed a perfect white star on the back of its right fore. By some strange quirk of nature this animal carried the symbol of the sky, and its mystery. “Shah…” he breathed. “I shall go as I came.” He backed away thinking how apt it was, black as night with the brightest star, and the fire of the sun in his eyes. This was a prince of horses.
Nicholas made his way back to Boramulla by the longest route. He did not wish to meet anyone more this evening, especially five of the guard.
The mists were now down, and as thick as they would be for the rest of the night. He could see for perhaps twenty meters, and maybe another ten past that as vague shadows.
Within his reduced world, his footsteps were all that could be heard, all sounds from deeper out in the mist had been smothered as if one had placed a thick blanket over them. But he had no real need for sight, this had been a route taken many times, in daylight and dark since he had been a young boy.
He guessed the time would be past nine when he approached his home. It was the first building he would come to, as the village itself was further down the road. Though at this time he would be unlikely to see anyone. All working folk would be asleep, and any others would be in the tavern, even further down towards the river.
As the shape of the building formed in the mist there was a flash of light from the front of the house, as if someone had opened and shut the stout oak door.
His parents would be in bed, as he should too, likely it was Philip, but it may be that there was a sickness. His pace quickened.
His feet crunched on the loose gravel path that led up from the gate, and he pushed open the door.
A lantern was still lit at the far end of the room next to the kitchen. But the room was empty. His mind relaxed, they were in bed but had left a light for him. Nicholas walked to the lantern and glanced into the kitchen.
It was as if some great vacuum sucked the breath from his body. He stood riveted to the spot and stared, unable to accept what he saw.
Face down; half sprawled on the table, lay both his mother and brother. The great slab of thick timber worn smooth over generations in labour of love was now stained with their blood
That they were dead; there could be no doubt. Long cooking knifes still penetrated their bodies to the hilts.
Nicholas felt nausea well up in him and spun away; retching in the corner: leaning against the wall lest his legs should give way and he crumple into a heap of despair.
He needed help. Turning back toward the front door he now saw his father laid face down on the floor, half hidden by the old couch.
His father seemed to be asleep, or drunk, though Nicholas had never known him to take excess ale other than on special occasions. Anguish overwhelmed him as he ran to the man and gently turned him over. In his bloodstained chest close to his heart was Nicholas's own knife, a small but deadly weapon that he used to throw at tree trunks for pleasure.
His father barely