Forgotten Liberty

by Alessio Cala

  Few people believed the fisherman, including Frank, but now he began to see things differently. The raiders were closing in from the east, slaughtering the innocent and kidnapping their young to force them into slavery. They took advantage of their fragile, impressionable minds and moulded them into soldiers, into killing machines.

  “You ran away from those men, didn’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “You were scared?”

  The boy nodded.

  “You didn’t want to do the things they wanted you to do.”

  “No.”

  “Are you scared of me?”

  The boy shook his head. The throbbing in Frank's ankle returned suddenly. His leg gave way but he managed to catch the large rock to break his fall. He leaned against the rock where the boy sat and lifted his trouser leg to take a closer look. His ankle was swollen. It had discoloured, bruised to a deep purple but he was certain that nothing was broken. He noticed the boy staring at the ankle for some time, but he couldn’t quite make out what he was thinking. Annie and Tracy returned from the river. Like a sixth sense, Annie spotted Frank immediately. He was leaning to one side, wincing in pain.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, rushing to his aid.

  “I’m fine,” he replied, stubborn as a mule. She helped him across and sat him down on the rock beside the boy.

  “He just spoke,” Frank said, and just like that Annie's face lit up in excitement.

  “Is that true?” she said to the boy. “Did you speak to Frank?”

  She knelt down beside him and was filled with a new lease of energy. The boy smiled back at her, enticed by her showering praise and light-hearted tone. She took his small hand into her own.

  “What is your name?”

  “He doesn’t have one,” Frank interrupted through the grunting and moaning.

  “You don’t?” she said. She spoke in that same voice she used with Max. In fact, Max was caught up in all the excitement, his front paws resting on the rock as he sniffed the boy beside Annie, tail wagging like a helicopter preparing to take flight.

  “Well we’ll have to do something about that now, won’t we?” Annie continued. The boy smiled and tilted his head forward bashfully. Frank saw the connection between them and he knew the boy’s innocence warmed her kind heart. She had taken to him so naturally, using extravagant gestures and a pureness in her speech that he rarely ever saw anymore.

  “What about Phil?” Tracy suggested.

  “No, he’s not a Phil, are you?” said Annie. She laughed and the boy’s smile grew wider.

  "Phil", he giggled back to her.

  “What about Sam?” she conferred with her sister.

  “Sam’s nice,” Tracy agreed.

  She went ahead and pitched the name to the boy. “What do you think?” He nodded in approval but a name meant nothing to him. The concept was alien to him. He had always been used to being nothing more than a number. As he stood over them, Frank felt conflicted, joy and concern. She was getting too attached. Now she had named him, and he feared that the more time they spent with the child, the harder it would be to part.

  FIVE

  They followed the river north that day, taking the path along the embankment in the hope that it would lead them directly to Elkford. The terrain was rough and uneven – gravel littered over smooth stones that stuck out of the muddy earth – a steep drop on either side of the river. Frank heard the rumbling of his empty stomach before he felt it.

  All they had eaten over the past day was the single tin of tomato soup. They shared it between them the night before. Frank served Annie and Tracy a fair portion, leaving the meagre leftovers for himself. He fed Max some of the jerky and saved the rest for later. He gave the majority of his own share to the boy. His thin arms and prominent cheek bones suggested severe malnourishment. He took it as an example of the kind of treatment dealt to all those under the enslavement of the raiders.

  Max followed close by. Frank treaded carefully across the rocky terrain. Annie and Tracy followed close behind. Sam walked between them, arms raised as he held onto their hands. Annie had cut the blanket in half and cut a hole big enough for the boy's head. He wore it like a poncho over his tattered rags. It wasn't much but at least it was an extra layer. The boy's feet were caked in mud and cracked leather sandals were all that covered them. They had spoken on and off with Sam. It was nothing more than small talk about minor things. Things they had seen by the riverbed along the way, the weather, but it soon trailed off to several minutes of silence.

  “Frank, do you think they made it out okay?” Annie asked.

  “Who?”

  “Henry’s family; Callum and the girls.”

  Frank hadn’t even thought about it. His mind was elsewhere. He thought about Elkford and wondered if the raiders had already travelled north to make their mark on the wooden fortress. They hadn’t seen a single soul throughout their entire time in the forest and that only agitated him further.

  “I don’t know,” he replied. “I’d like to think so but I couldn’t say.”

  They reached a natural obstacle ahead and Frank soon realised the dangers of their position. Over the years, the rise in the river’s water level had gradually worn away the riverbank, turning their path ahead into a steep downward slope towards the river. He looked up at the bold rock formation covered in moss and hanging ivy that separated them from the rest of the forest. It followed parallel to the river and had finally caught up with them, curving its way in front of them and stopping at the water’s edge. A lone, warped pine leant over the river, its roots somehow growing in the sheer face of the sloped rock. Below the tree he noticed the increasing speed of the water’s current. A simple creek had cultivated into a wider, more aggressive river.

  “Maybe we can go back and find the road?” Tracy suggested.

  He glanced back along the bank where they came from. There was no way they were going back after covering all that ground.

  “The roads aren’t safe anymore,” said Frank. “I mean we’ve come this far and we don’t know how close or far they could be.” He studied the rock formation blocking their way once more. It was steep to begin with but the top was a flatter surface that reconnected to the rest of the forest.

  “We’ll have to climb over,” said Frank.

  “How on earth are we going to scale that?” asked Annie.

  Frank carefully climbed up to the obstacle, scaling a boulder that stuck out from the damp earth between the rocks. He turned his back and leant against the rock’s jagged surface, spreading his legs and bending them at the knees.

  “I’ll boost you one at a time.”

  “Frank, your ankle,” said Annie.

  “It’s okay, come on.”

  She rolled her eyes and shook her head. Frank had always been a stubborn man. He intertwined his fingers, locking his hands together and presenting his curved palms to the others.

  “Tracy, let's go,” he persisted.

  Tracy looked to Annie, both ladies frustrated with his hustle, but together they knew he was right. There was no way of knowing if they were being followed. Going back now could resort in finding themselves face-to-face with their pursuers. Tracy lifted herself up to the boulder and placed her foot in the pocket of Frank’s palms. Annie watched nervously with the boy who buried his head into the material of her waterproof poncho.

  Frank boosted Tracy up over his shoulders and felt her weight lessen as she pulled herself up to the rock’s flat surface above.

  “Come on, boy,” Frank said, clapping his hands and gesturing inwards towards his chest. Max hopped up to the flat boulder and jumped up into Frank’s arms. He turned, passing Max up to Tracy.

  “Annie.”

  She let go of the boy’s hand and raised her own, stay put. He nodded and watched her follow suit of the others. As Frank hauled Annie up, he felt a slight movement below him but his feet were sturdy on the rock. Once she was up, the feeling had departed. He stepped forward and helped the s
mall boy up to join him on the boulder. When he took hold of the boy, the weight of the boulder dipped to one side beneath his feet.

  The boulder was moving.

  The boulder popped straight out from the face of the incline. It detached from the wet mud. The slanted edge dipped suddenly toward the river and knocked Frank and the boy along with it. He slammed down into the pebbly slope below ahead of the rock and began to roll uncontrollably towards the rapid waters below. He barely heard Annie call out to him over the sounds of his body scratching and thumping down the incline. He crashed hard, breaking the water’s bubbly white surface and plummeted deep into its depths, the boy tight in his arms. Frank opened his eyes and could see the dirt from his clothes wash away into the murky water. Tiny bubbles shot up to the surface. His eyes followed them down to the boy in his arms as he thrashed back and forth violently, his screams muffled through the water. Frank fought hard against the current, flipping in all directions as he tried to direct them up.

  He pushed for the surface, holding the boy up to catch the first breaths. Frank gasped for breath the moment his lips broke the surface, a mixture of oxygen and water drowned his lungs. He coughed on impulse, eyes popping wide in shock as he regurgitated the water back up his windpipe. He could do nothing to repel the strength of the water’s current dragging them downstream. Frank caught sight of the treacherous rapids ahead. He glanced back, glimpses of his wife and sister in-law rippled through the frothy water but there was nothing to stop him from taking this inevitable detour.

  They plummeted through the rapids, the water swallowed them whole. Frank tried to hold the boy above the surface but was tossed around like a rag doll to the sheer force of the current. A losing battle of endurance against mother nature.

  The further they travelled downstream, the narrower the distance between the rocks. Frank felt his jacket tear. His body scratched and thumped against the rocks' edges. They bobbed up and down through the water, gasping for pockets of breath at any given chance, Frank's lungs tightening in his chest. Plunging further down, he caught sight of a giant boulder that rose out of the water and split its path. He could move neither left nor right to stray its path. All he could think to do was protect the boy. Thrashing against the current, he turned his back to the boulder and closed his eyes. His body tensed. He held the boy out in front of him and the waves crashed furiously around them. The boy remained silent, too shocked to resonate the faintest of utterances. Frank waited. The anticipation killed him. He thought it to be worse than the outcome, but he was wrong. The bluntness of the boulder rattled his spine – knocking the wind out of his restless lungs – delivering the final blow as his vision faded away into complete darkness.

  Frank opened his eyes. His vision was blurred, obscure and liquefied. The sky overhead came to his foreground, it bled and intertwined the branches of the pines above. All he could hear was the vibrations of the water running its course past the pebbles and stones around him. A small figure came forward into view. He studied it just as intensely as it stared back. It was the boy. It was Sam.

  Frank shot up. He felt the water in his lungs rush up his throat and coughed impulsively. Sam jumped to one side, nearly tripping over into the shallow water of the riverbank. Frank gagged on the water and a hollow regurgitating sound emitted his throat. Tears formed in the ducts of his eyes, his throat straining from the spontaneous reflexes of his gullet. Long deep breaths followed the water's passing. He stared at the boy who stared back in fear. Frank found it almost impossible to figure out what was going on in that head of his. Looking around, he could see that the creek flowed far smoother now than it did before. Far up the valley was a final rapid where water plummeted into a shallow spring and cruised downhill in a zigzagging motion.

  Annie, Tracy and Max were nowhere to be seen. Frank felt the bruises running up his body. Although his back felt frail, there was enough movement to reassure him it wasn't broken. He shuffled back to the edge of the riverbank below a collection of hanging willow trees. The boy followed. His hands were close to his chest, insecure of what he should do.

  "How long I been out?" Frank asked.

  The boy hesitated and shrugged his shoulders. Frank used the nearby rocks to help him up to his feet. The water in his clothes weighed him down. He noticed the boy in his soaking rags and damp stringy hair that now swept across his forehead.

  "We need to get you some new clothes."

  Sam nodded. "I'm cold."

  "Me too."

  Frank removed his poncho, jacket and shirt and rested them on the nearby rocks that were lit by the sun. The temperature was still low but he couldn't tell if it was just the cold water on their bodies. He untied one of his boots, tipped it upside down and watched the water pour out into the damp earth. After untying the other, he removed his socks and ringed them out before placing them with the other clothes to dry. Frank sat down on one of the boulders. They sat together, filthy and drenched like drowned rats.

  "Take off those rags, you'll get hypothermia."

  "What's that?"

  "You'll catch a bad cold," Frank said.

  The boy shook his head, arms stiff by his sides in protest.

  "Suit yourself."

  Frank rummaged around the pocket of his jacket atop the rock, studying the boy's rags as he did so. It was only after close examination that he realised it was merely a potato sack. It had holes for arms and a head and was tied at the waist with a piece of frayed rope. The sack was ripped across the torso and made the boy look square and rigid.

  Frank pulled a small wooden box wrapped in a leather slip case from his jacket pocket. He untied the damp drawstring and opened it carefully, checking no water had gotten inside the box before pulling out a cigarillo and placing it between his cracked lips. The boy watched in amusement. Frank caught on to the boy's gaze. He took the box and pushed a small release near the bottom. A secret compartment slid out from beneath. It contained matches and a piece of flint. Frank peered up at the boy as he took a match and struck it across the flint. The match snapped in two and the boy made no effort to contain his amusement.

  "That's not funny," said Frank.

  The boy smiled and watched some more. Frank took another match — one that appeared to be the most superior — and struck again. Success. The phosphorous ignited. Frank quickly shielded it from the wind with his free hand and pulled it in to the tip of the cigarillo.

  "They should be following the river. We'll just have to wait for them to catch up."

  "Okay."

  Frank noticed the boy's face drop. "What's the matter?"

  The boy reached inside his potato sack rags and pulled out a black leather-bound book and pencil. He opened the book of wet pages and handed it to Frank. The book was filled with primitive child-like drawings of stick figures in all kinds of situations. Frank turned each damp page with care, examining the sketches the boy had created while mouthing the cigarillo into the corner of his lips. There were dozens of sketches. Stick-figures, trucks of them all armed with rifles, a burning village and several other violent sketches. There was one with a figure lying face down with a smaller figure in its arms. Behind the figure was another person aiming what could only be depicted as a gun to the back on the figure's head. The boy stopped him from looking any further. He snatched the book back and rested it to dry on the rocks. Frank wondered whether the boy had seen all of these images, and if so, he felt pity for the child. No child, or any human being for that matter should ever have to witness such incidents.

  Frank felt the dampness of his jeans chafing. He adjusted them at the ankle and as he did so, he noticed a black sluggish creature gripping to his calf. It was a leech. He couldn't even feel it and knew the local anaesthetic must have already begun making its way through his body. Sam's face dropped, shocked eyes darted back and forth between Frank and the leech. Frank took the cigarillo from his mouth and aimed the burning tip down at the leech. He lowered it and pushed it onto the leech. Sam watched it drop and squirm back do
wn into the water. Frank noticed something on the boy, his eyes squinting to catch a clearer view.

  "Lift up your arm," he said, waving the cigar in his hand.

  Sam did as he was told and spotted the large leech clinging to his elbow. He began to panic, hopping up and down, not knowing what to do.

  "Calm down," Frank said. He clutched the boy's wrist tight and held him steady. Holding out the cigar, he could feel the boy pull away. "Stop squirming. The longer you leave it there, the worse it'll get."

  Sam nodded, reluctant at first, but then he shut his eyes tight. The cigar sizzled as it made contact with the bloodsucking parasite. The leech dropped instantly. Frank took a handful of his vest and stretched it up to wipe away the blood. It continued to gradually ooze out of the sucker marks. Frank rose to his feet, scanning the surroundings as he spoke. He was looking for something. Something in particular.

  "Okay I need you to stay here. I'll be right back, understand?" he mumbled sternly past the cigarillo between his teeth. Sam nodded again and stood awkwardly beside the sprawl of damp clothes on the rock.

  Sam watched the bearded man just a little farther down by the creek's edge. He knelt in the shrubbery and picked some plants. He analysed them, stared at them, sniffed, and even tasted them before hobbling back over to the boy.

  "Okay. Listen up, this is good to know."

  "Why?" Sam asked, sitting cross-legged on the boulder's surface.

  "What do you mean, 'why?’ It's good for you to know this. It's important."

  "Okay."

  Frank held up the plant for Sam to observe. "See this plant? It's called a Melastoma. It'll help stop the bleeding on that little bite you have there. You can tell it from other plants because of its long thin leaves and red stalk, you see there?”

  Frank ran the tip of his finger along the stalk and then handed the plant to Sam. Taking another, he continued the lecture. “You'll find these along most sunlit riverbanks. What you do is, you chew the leaves there and you stick them on your wound. That’ll coagulate the blood for you.”