I am Brek

by Mark Mulle

staying?” I asked breathlessly.

  “I called in a favor that I was owed by the owner to get you that room,” he shrugged. “Normally he won’t let rooms to gutter rats like you, but I assured him that you were worth making an exception for.”

  “Gutter rat! I’m no gutter rat and I resent the implication,” I barked.

  “I know you aren’t, kid, but he wouldn’t have known you from Adam when you walked through his doors and you have to admit your appearance is a little rough and ready,” Farnsworth responded, amused by my anger. “I don’t think you know the full scope of things, so let’s get out of here alive and then I can tell you about your father.”

  We continued through the city, sticking to the narrow alleyways between buildings, hiding whenever another monster rushed past. By now, the city was ablaze from the explosions and zombies were breaking down doors to get at the people inside. At the center of town, the local militia had gathered and was in the process of pushing the monsters back, but there was no guarantee that they would be able to do it. Farnsworth led me to a rusted iron grate set against the far wall of the city and pried it open.

  “Get in Brek,” He barked.

  After what seemed like hours of crawling through the drainage tunnels, we came out the other end. I looked back at the city to see columns of smoke circle up into the air as the fires began to spread to nearby structures. They looked like dull black snakes reaching up to snap at the moon. We didn’t stop running until we reach an old ranger shack, but this one was not located in the line like the others and looked significantly older than any other shack I’d yet passed. Farnsworth and I climbed in. Only once the door to the shack was latched did we breathe a sigh of relief.

  “So what was that about my father?” I asked between sips from my canteen.

  “I knew him. We both served as rangers for the previous king.” Farnsworth said.

  “My father never mentioned being a ranger,” I replied, my curiosity piqued. “Why would he have needed to be a ranger when he was already a smith?”

  “Your father wasn’t initially trained as a smith; he learned his skills from the master smith who forged our weapons. We were ordered to remain in camp until told otherwise and, while I took the opportunity to drink and be merry, your father always needed to stay busy,” he explained. “We had been assigned to this small village by the name of Tanlin. It was our master smith’s home village and he had requested that a couple of rangers be stationed there in light of some recent bandit activity. The village had one of the best forges in the land, so the king had permitted this request, provided that the smith keeps making weapons. Your father started learning his trade then and it was also when he met your mother, Selena.”

  “Father never talked about Mother often. I knew she was the last of her kin from Tanlin, but I didn’t know much else,” I replied.

  “Selena was the master smith’s daughter,” he said, slugging from his own canteen and waving a slab of meat for emphasis. “She used the excess heat from the forge to making baking ovens and got so good that they built a second shop for her to sell her baked goods from. People from several villages started making regular trips just to have some of her baked potatoes and pumpkin pie. Your father was always the consummate gentleman though, he only spoke with her when it was allowed by her father and then, when we had been stationed in the village for a couple of years, he asked for her hand in marriage. She instantly agreed, but the master smith said he would not marry his daughter to a ranger. Rangers have to follow the king’s orders at all times and that could leave his daughter without a husband someday. Your dad agreed and vowed that, when his term of service was up, he would dedicate himself to the smithing craft and marry your mother. We were all very happy for the lovebirds, but we still had two more years on our contracts with the king.”

  “We were eventually reassigned to Wall when creepers started encroaching on our territory. Your father and I were out in the wild lands when we came across a bandit settlement. We rushed in, expecting a fight, but found the camp vacant. In the center of the small settlement was a cage and in it was the Enderman you read about. He was gaunt from malnutrition, which you can imagine would be quite the sight on an Enderman, and it appeared that the bandits had been using water to torture him. Without a moment’s hesitation, your father rushed forward and broke the lock on the cage. I called out for him to wait, but it was too late. The Enderman burst forth, letting out the most bloodcurdling cry, and fell onto your father. The Enderman was fast, but your dear old dad was a lot faster. He pulled his dagger and buried it in the creature’s ribs, while I hacked at it with my blade. The creature screamed out and then winked out of existence.”

  “What happened then?” I asked, my eyes as round as saucers.

  “We set the camp ablaze and went looking for the creature, but we were never able to find it. We assumed it died from the wounds we had already inflicted and reported our findings. Curiously, all mention of the Enderman was removed from our final report before it even reached the king,” said Farnsworth.

  “We always kept a look out for that strange creature for the rest of our contract, but we never saw him again. Once our contract was up, your father went to the capital city to study under the master smith and complete his training while I returned to Wall and began collecting any books and research on these mobs that I could find. I had always enjoyed books, so it seemed like a good way to retire. Once your father completed his training, he was given a choice of posts and he returned to Tanlin to marry your mother and make a new life for himself. I visited as often as I could for the first few years. After your mother died giving birth to you, I didn’t visit as much. Your father receded into himself when he lost her, he wasn’t the man I knew and he didn’t want much to do with anyone from the old days.”

  “I knew my mother had died, of course, but he never told me about his days as a ranger.” I said wonderingly.

  “I’m not surprised, your old man was never proud of what we had to do during those days. The rule of the king had not yet been made absolute, bandits and marauders prowled the countryside and we often covered in blood.”

  I sat in the quiet of the early morning as light began to spread across the landscape. It would seem that the Enderman had a score to settle with my father, even if that score was only in its tortured mind. I turned to ask a question on Farnsworth and found him crouched. He held a finger up to his lip, indicating for me to be silent, just as I heard the telltale creak of a skeletal archer walking beneath the lookout shack.

  It wasn’t long after that I heard the groans of some zombies and the strange noise that always happens when an Enderman teleports from point to point. My only thought was that this was a patrol looking for people who had escaped from Wall. After an agonizing few minutes, I heard some nearby men yelling loudly and the patrol surrounding us turned and gave pursuit. A few minutes later, we heard the men call out once more. And then, all was silent.

  Farnsworth let out a sigh of relief and turned to speak to me when the fist of an Enderman punched through the wall. It grabbed a handful of Farnsworth’s collar and teleported. I flattened myself to the floor of the shack, waiting any minute for the Enderman’s hand to come through again and grab me, but all was silent. The sun finally broke over the horizon, indicating that I would now be safe from most of the mobs that were set ablaze in the light of day. I climbed down from the shack, unsure what to do with myself. I could only think that most of my gear was still in the inn from the night before and I would die out here without my tools and supplies. I was also further into the wild lands than I had ever intended to go.

  I decided then to return to Wall and see how they had fared in the attack. I returned the way Farnsworth and I had come and stopped in horror when I saw the place. Hanging from the battlements were the men of the militia and above them on the ramparts patrolled creepers and more Endermen than I had ever been seen before, let alone in one place. The grate that we had used to escape was still wi
thin easy reach if I sprinted, so that is just what I did. I ran and slid into the grate before the patrolling mobs caught sight of me and began crawling through the tunnels.

  With the dim light from the day outside, I was able to see markings that gave directions to the various buildings. I found the indicator directing me to the inn and began slogging through the muck. I peeked my head out of the grate and found that it opened into the kitchen of the inn. There didn’t appear to be any mobs inside but I climbed out hesitantly anyway. I made my way into the front room where meals and drinks were served and saw a handful of zombies stood motionless just at the front door. They weren’t making any noise and I can only conclude they were in some sort of stasis until the sun went down again, much like they were sleep. I managed to sneak past them and up the stairs to my room, which was thankfully unoccupied. The top floor of the inn had many windows, which seemed to keep the zombies from coming up here. My things were just where I had left them the night before and, as I was putting them together, I glanced out the window that overlooked one of the many squares in the city.

  There, in the center square, were a handful of people penned in by a makeshift