Hold the Light

by Ryan Sherwood

  "Thank you for your kindness ma'am." His British accent seemed shaky.

  "Indeed, you are welcome," she nervously replied, "but please, do not take this offensively, you must please leave as soon as you could sir, I need to get off to church."

  "Ah, yes, church. Have we been marching that long? My apologies, I had almost forgotten the day."

  Another officer strode up on horseback; he was about twice the age of the boy she was speaking to. The rank on his coat made him the boy's subordinate.

  "Sir, the men?" He asked as he dismounted.

  "Ah yes," the boy said and motioned his fingers. The regiment slunk down from attention.

  "Oh, my dear sir!" Mrs. Smithe said, with one dainty hand to her mouth and the other outstretched, pointing towards the older man. "You are injured. Blood there, on your arm. Let me dress that for you..."

  Her hand caught a flap of his jacket as he tore away from her help. The buttons of his uniform popped and beneath the flap, below his coat, she saw common clothes. Tattered and torn imposter clothes. She stepped back, gasped, frozen in fear. The teenaged soldier's worn eyes rose to meet hers with a vengeful glare. A shiver ran up her spine and filled her with the energy to run into the house and lock the door behind her.

  Both officers angrily bantered back and forth as they approached the door she had already begun to barricade. They pounded on the door with hard fists and polite words.

  "Ma'am, please?"

  She found her children gazing out the bay window next to the door and she hugged them to her. After their patience wore thin, the men's boots thumped along the wooden porch until they stood before the same long window. The elder man peered in; head crooked on his neck like a curious bird. He cracked a jagged smile.

  "Now ma'am, where is the man of the house?" he said. The younger imposter sneered.

  "Who are you?" her voice wavered as she pulled her children away from the window.

  "We are His Majesty's troops my dear," the young man said, his eyelids closing to slits. "Here to do what we do best. Now, where is your Loyalist scum husband?"

  She crouched down between each of her boy's ears and whispered,

  "Where are the muskets my dears? Can you get them?"

  "Yes mother," Mural and Nathaniel answered in unison and ran off to a hallway closet, quickly returning with a gun each.

  The two redcoats outside stepped back as the boys aimed the muskets at their hearts. Each of their little faces were stained with childish, nearly comical anger yet their eyes held only protective glares. Responding in kind, a man brought the two imposters a musket apiece, which they swung and aimed at the boys.

  "No God, no!" their mother shouted. Instinct possessed her hands as she balled up both of her boy's collars and yanked them away from the window. Mural, rocked by the sudden jerk, pulled the trigger. The window shattered. Mural gasped as he and his brother fell to the floor. The thin white drapes dislodged from the window frame and collapsed on top of the older imposter like a shroud.

  Time seemed to stop. The wind stilled and the heat hung silently. Shock coated everyone like the delicate cloth that had settled atop of the old man's chest. Time lurched back to normal as the old man's blood spread out like wings, imbruing the white cloth red. Wide eyed and mouth agape, the young imposter gathered up this old man in his arms.

  With protection the only idea in her mind, she dragged the boys by the collars further into the house, with Becca behind them. She heaved them upstairs so quickly that the boys dropped their muskets. Behind a locked door, she barricaded her family into the second story bedroom that overlooked the front lawn, while the young imposter aided his fallen comrade.

  The humid air and the morning sun pressed down on the young man's neck and head, matting his hair to his forehead. The wool of the redcoat he wore was soaked with his own sweat and his father's blood. Both were crying.

  "Son, you must continue on now without me."

  "No you'll be all right, just..."

  "Son, these people need to see the tyranny of the crown," he coughed up blood, "Show them. Avenge me!"

  "I'll kill those Loyalist pigs Pa, just you wait and watch. I'll kill every one of them bastards with pleasure. They'll scream so loud King George will hear them."

  Mural and Nathaniel argued as they heaved the dresser in front of the bedroom door. Their mother slowly opened the window and tried to listen to the conversations below. The boys'

  fight escalated even louder as the dresser drawers banged.

  "Hush up, boys," she barked, "and mind your mother."

  They stopped immediately and walked over to watch the young imposter storm out from under the covered porch. His coat had come off, revealing a white shirt with a loose vest over it. There was no doubt in her mind that he pillaged the uniform from a dead officer. With a quivering bark from the imposter, the small regiment lowered their weapons from their shoulders and leveled their aim on the bedroom window.

  "Listen you Loyalist bitch! If you won't listen to reason, will you listen to force?" he bellowed.

  "Why are you doing this? This is nothing but a terrible misunderstanding, please..."

  "You lie! If you come down to me now, I will spare your children."

  "Who do you think you are?" she spat.

  "Thought you knew ma'am. We're just a group that wishes to act rather than talk. This war will end in our favor and we are here to make sure of that. Now, will you come down?"

  "Never!" She screamed and ducked away from the window.

  "Fire!" The young imposter ordered.

  A hail of gunfire pierced the window and ripped it and the frame apart.

  She covered the children's heads and screamed. It was only one volley, but it was accurate. Glass and splinters littered the air and stabbed down onto their heads, then stopped as quickly as a summer rainstorm.

  "Stop, stop, stop for the love of God stop," she bellowed.

  "Only if you come to me."

  A long silence stuck to the muggy air. The branches drooped with weeping leaves. Sweat beaded on every brow. The noon heat shortened every temper drastically.

  "There is the truth," she thought, "he wants his way with me. Would he just take me and spare the children? Spare Mural after shooting his father? No, he would kill us all..."

  "Please, sir, if you would just..." She muttered.

  "Too late," he interrupted her. He turned to his troops.

  "What will he do? Storm the house? What kind of monster would do that? No, he is bluffing."

  She muttered. Her mind raced. "There's always an option, I just have to find it..."

  Glass and wood crunched beneath her shins and knees as she crawled to the demolished window and peered out. A sigh of relief overwhelmed her as the troops paraded away casually with the fake lieutenant glaring over his shoulder. She returned the look with contempt until he backed away from his troops and disappeared underneath the roof of the porch. Again, the world stood still. His boots echoed in her ears as she traced his movements.

  He stomped about the porch and stopped before the broken window and she heard no more. Silence stretched on unbearably until several thuds sounded from inside the house. Objects clunked into the family room and came to an abrupt stop. The imposter strolled out from the porch with a smile. Her curiosity was quickly replaced by fear.

  "Something's inside," she couldn't figure out what until he faced her and waved a torch in each hand.

  "I saved two for you my dear," he said and tossed one torch onto the roof, mere inches away from her. It rolled back and settled on the shingles.

  The other soared through the window and bounced into the bedroom.

  The flaming log tumbled end over end, shedding shards of fire along the way, until its momentum slowed and it rolled to a halt by Mural. His mother quickly retrieved it and launched it back out the window.

  Through the flames on the roof, she watched the man put his red coat back on and enjoy a sadistic laugh. She panicked as her children cried i
n a huddled mass at the center of the room. They watched the smoke seep into the room.

  Tears fell from their faces as the charring smell of hickory overtook the atmosphere. Shouts from her and her children's mouths overbore the last of the orders blurted from outside the house. The children were rigidly huddled together, so panic-stricken they couldn't move. Flames danced all about the room so randomly that no clear path of escape was obvious. She tugged on the dresser and vanity that blocked the doorway to escape back down the stairs, but she couldn't budge the barricade from the door without Mural and Nathaniel.

  "Damn you!" She cried at the door, fists pounding on the oak. She hit the wood until her arms grew tired and her tears stopped flowing. "Damn you," she whispered then looked over her shoulder to the children and raced to them.

  She tugged on the three of them, searching for some gap so she could pry them apart. Smoke billowed in and brought the heat and flames curling at the door. Death breathed hot on her neck.

  "Dear God, oh God, how did the fire spread so quickly? How are we going to get out? Dear God, help ... I have to think of something."

  She pounced up to the window with a last desperate idea. Looking out at the tops of the green trees, she saw the redcoats moving off into the distance and looked back at the children coughing. Turning to her knitting chair, she grabbed it by the legs and heaved it through the other window, spitting the glass shards all about and down to the long green grass two stories below. She peered out and saw no flames blocking the way. She prayed her idea would work. Darting to the bed, she ripped the mattress off the bed frame, hobbling under its awkward weight, and placed it on the windowsill. A few fires sprouted along the path down the roof but she pushed the mattress down the burning tiles anyway. It softly bounced and nestled up next to her chair on the grass. She ran back to her children.

  This was the only way. She looked at the huddled ball of siblings and yearned for some assurance that this would work. God, any sign would do. The idea of tossing her children out a window was heart wrenching, but they had a better chance of survival that way. Pulling and yanking on any arm she could get a grip on, she still couldn't pry them apart. With a frantic look about the room, she gave up and instead pushed the huddle of her children across the floor to the window. She tried to pry them apart again as they cried and bellowed, but they held onto each other even tighter.

  "Just please do this for mommy! I'll give you treats!"

  A hideous screech blew fire underneath the door and into the room, consuming the dresser barricade, spreading flames out like fingers. A rush of heat singed her face. The thought of her children being taken by this death garnered her strength. A rage burned within her, stronger than the blaze growing in the room. She ripped at their limbs, prying, poking yet managed to get a hold of two arms in both her hands and yanked as hard as she could. A pop came from both of the little arms that was louder than the pops of the burning bedroom. Nathaniel screamed and Mural winced.

  She heaved Mural up from underneath his armpits and looked down to the mattress. With little hesitation, she hurled him to the padding. Relieved with the success, she reached for Nathaniel and did the same. Finally, she stretched for the last little one when a hot blast of death blew the door open, destroyed the barricade, and sprung at her with blinding speed and colors. It blasted her backwards against the windowsill squarely with her backside. Her hands gripped tightly onto the shattered glass of the broken window.

  Her youngest screamed and cried. Shedding off disorientation, their mother leaped up for her daughter when the fire came with open hands.

  Wide and hungry it charged for them both. She pushed her hands out for Becca through the thick heat. Her skin bubbled and melted the closer she came to her child. Tears filled her blinded eyes, momentarily cooling them as she stumbled into the smoke.

  She called and called, "Becca! Beccaaaaa!" But she only heard her own coughs in response. Her fingers shook with the thought of her daughter burned alive and she responded with a more fevered push forward. Out of a puff of black smoke, Becca's white lace glove meekly emerged. Her little fingers wiggled for open air, barely piercing into sight through the black, reaching for mother. They were so close, mere inches from connecting, though neither could see the other. Fumbling through the smog, in an amazing moment of luck, their fingers grazed each other. Mother held her daughter's soft clothed hand and snatched at it. Relief surged through her body.

  She had her daughter with a firm grip around the wrist. With a gulp of ashen saliva, she summoned all her strength and turned for the window.

  Then, as if sent from the depths of hell, a second blast of fire shook the room and surged bright orange flames across the entire room. The fire enveloped Becca's pallid glove in the mostunnatural orange and red living flames and set her mother's once beautiful and pristine dress on fire. She stumbled backwards, desperate to extinguish herself and fell out the window.

  Chapter 4

  Nathaniel woke hours later and shrieked from the pain pulsating in his dislocated shoulder. Mural woke to his screams. Sitting in the twilight, Nathaniel sobbed and held his left arm as Mural strolled up to him.

  "Oh God, Mural. It's broken - it hurts!"

  "Come here, its not broken. Stand up," he ordered as he nursed his own shoulder. "Father taught me this."

  Mural held the pendant limb at the shoulder as Nathaniel winced and walked him a few feet towards a tree. Mural had him subdued and calm until he pushed his brother with both hands into the tree. Nathaniel bellowed.

  The dislocated shoulder hit the bark straight on and popped it back into place. He shook his arm and rubbed it without showing any signs of pain and hugged his brother with both quickly regretting it as they recoiled in pain.

  "Take it easy on the arm."

  "Thank you. How did Father know that?"

  "Because he usually dislocated other peoples' shoulders in fights and always ended up putting them back into socket for them. Then they'd buy him rounds," Mural said, strolling up to the same tree. Unblinking, he rammed his shoulder into the bark and grunted. He stepped back and shook his arm, satisfied.

  A few moments later, the boys turned and walked to the house. They stared at a charred skeleton of wood and brick. Fires meekly dotted the foundation of their ravaged home, greedily nibbling on the last of the food, leaving behind nothing but ash. The brick fireplace and the stove were the only recognizable objects still standing. Broken timbers that looked like ribs from picked over carrion jutted out from everywhere.

  "What about Mother?" Nathaniel asked, "We have to find her!"

  Both boys split up and called out for her. Their voices sounded through out the woods returning only as echoes with the cool breeze of the coming night. They searched until darkness set in, weaving past trees and coves, finding nothing but nature. Canon fire from the distance boomed as the sun headed for its resting place. Mural set up a fire with what was left of the house, scattering in some broken branches which, only hours ago, were used for playful fencing, not for survival. The brothers sat for most of the night, staring at the fire dancing about the dark and fighting tears. Neither boy could utter a word for hours. Nathaniel, worn by the day's fatigue, nestled against a log to sleep. Mural, forced into first watch, shook off his emotions and weariness, and vowed to stay awake. But as time passed and his listlessness got the better of him, he rose and strolled down the road.

  "What do we do now?" He thought and walked, "Mother and Becca are missing and Father is off at war. I'm the man now so I've got to come up with something."

  Nathaniel, barely twelve and Mural just two years older, came together with a meager amount of combined experience and even less experience authority.

  "We can take care of ourselves and hunt for food and shelter," Mural pondered in a whisper,

  "we won't be able manage it for long. Nathaniel isn't that strong. We have to find shelter and food before any more damned redcoats come back. And they will come back. But we can't leave. Not until mothe
r comes back home with Becca in her arms looking for us."

  Anger welled up in his head and smothered his rationality. He did not want the responsibility of having to decide. "So I have to choose between our immediate survival and seeing if my mother and sister are alive..."

  Disgusted with his options, Mural kicked at the path, hoping for an idea to strike him. One hit his toe. He leaned down, crouching before a long, cylindrical, ornamented piece of metal and ran his fingers over the raised markings. Brushing away black soot, he found the sword he had knocked off the imposter officer. Mural lifted it and bounced its weight off his palms.

  "This is a start," he thought, then paused under the weight of realization. "No, it's a sign. We are going to need protection along the road. What better protection than this? After everything had been taken from us, this is the way to take it back." Power sat heavily in his hands and fueled his anger.