Hold the Light

by Ryan Sherwood

  Veronica's merriment vanished and her nails dug into my arm.

  "To the stock-house," one man yelled and ran away. I followed, looking over my shoulder at the women gathering in fright. A firefight just outside the city raged. I ran through the blue world of the convict's past to a large shed guarded by four men.

  "Come on brother, get a musket and powder. We are off," a voice said.

  Those words originated from a very light blue, almost white body. Everyone in the party, all dressed in their best clothes for Christmas day, ran across blue grassy fields towards a patch of forest where the skirmish seethed.

  "Nathaniel," the convict's voice sang from my lips. "To me brother."

  We ran, muskets clanking until we crashed behind a small hill not more than fifty yards from the intensifying fight. Glaring at me with a face that I can only imagine resembled the convict's, Mura's, so long ago, Nathaniel raised his musket over the top of the hill, panting heavily, not listening to what was said.

  "Listen," the convict said. "Look at me."

  "What?" Nathaniel asked hastily.

  "Be careful. I am sick of losing family in this war."

  "Do not worry about me big brother," he said, packing his musket with a smirk.

  My hands loaded my musket, gaining speed as to not be beaten by my younger brother. I finished seconds before Nathaniel and he grimaced when he realized it. But the childishness was quickly traded for somber contemplation.

  "All right, you remember the chicken round-ups right?" Mural's lips blurted, "you stay low and flank them."

  "See you in the middle, brother," Nathaniel said and ran off.

  The convict grunted in displeasure as his feet carried me towards the front of the battle. His brother swooped in from behind the invaders with his small group. The convict's body swiftly scanned the battlefield and halted on one man. This man stood out like a beacon as he followed behind Nathaniel. Blonde hair, skinny frame; it was the man that was eyeing Veronica. Benjamin. The convict despised the idea of that blonde bastard backing up his brother, but there was little time to protest; time was of the essence. Our small band had to save the militia from the redcoats.

  The group behind me sat patiently for my order, itching to thicken the dwindling ranks of the dying militia. Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip. With a flick of my wrist, the convict's group charged the fight, screaming and with muskets blaring. Nathaniel's unit stormed the blue battlefield. A shot blasted from my musket as I rushed into the night, bayonet gleaming before me. I sunk the sharp point into one redcoat after another.

  Running at them crazed, my stained blade rammed into a neck, a ribcage, a shoulder, a gut, another gut, until I met Nathaniel's group. Redcoats fell all around me, baying their woeful death cries to God above. They brought a smile to my face as I knelt to pack my musket.

  The dark night and the battle flashed a bright blue. British troops struggled to regroup, but found Nathaniel's pack instead. Nathaniel slashed through them and toward me, cutting the squad to ribbons, his group closing in from all sides. He turned the tide.

  Mural hurriedly packed down the last of the powder, not about to be shown up by his little brother. He was nearly reloaded when Nathaniel came up next to him reloading his as well. Both brothers stood, taking their sights on separate targets as the remaining redcoats fled.

  "Oh no," Nathaniel taunted and gave chase. "Not going to ruin Christmas and get away with it."

  "Wait!" Mural shouted and followed.

  With the youngest Smithe brother hot on their heels and the oldest brother right behind, a group of a half dozen redcoats ran east, covering the distance to Boston in short order. Supplies and powder horns fell in their wake as they cried their surrender in concordance. They were mere boys, Mural thought, none of them over twenty by their voices. They cared less for dishonor and more for their hides, but Nathaniel didn't care for either as he ran them down, his short legs cutting up twice the distance Mural's long ones managed. Nathaniel's bayonet sunk between the slowest boys shoulder blades. His body fell forward immediately and Nathaniel barely pulled the blade free before the force wrenched the musket out of his hands.

  Mural slowed his approach and watched the crimson blur. Between the redcoats and the blood there was no other color apparent. It was everywhere. I watched as Nathaniel turned, brandished a knife and managed to pierce the chests of two more boys with each hand. Mere seconds had passed and already half of their party was slain.

  God, this whole family is packed with killers.

  The three remaining child-soldiers stumbled onto cobblestone streets, confused from the abrupt change in ground and twirling with the desperate need for any place, dear God any where in the world to hide. The wild eyed trio scattered apart, finally making it tougher for Nathaniel to carve them up. But not too tough. He fell to one knee, steadied himself on the cobblestones and leveled his musket it one swoop. The barrel exploded in orange fire and the fastest fleeing boy sprawled in the air with a cry and landed face first in the street. Blood spread out in the gathering snow. Nathaniel reared and chased after the second soldier sprinting in the opposite direction.

  Not to be outdone, Mural kneeled and squeezed the trigger on his musket. Fire burst out from the barrel and the boy in my sights, who had a ten yard lead on Nathaniel, was rocketed far off the near straight line he fled in. A brief look of pure hatred flared in the youngest brother's face and he turned it to Mural, changing his features as he did, letting it subside into a competitive smirk.

  Drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip, drip.

  "One left older brother," Nathaniel called out. "Can you drag your weary bones up to catch the tie breaker? Or can you even hear me at this great distance?"

  "Oh brother," Mural said, already finished reloading his musket and rising to his feet to cover the thirty yards between them. "You forget..."

  Feminine shouts rang out. Mural's feet gained speed. Nathaniel turned and dropped his jovial mood. The two brothers raced to the shrieks, pushing through the scattering crowd, Mural behind Nathaniel. As people frantically tried to escape, the brothers fought the tide, swimming upstream through the panicking civilians. The street hastily cleared and the brothers halted, both seeing at the same time, the final redcoat babe with just his bayonet in one trembling hand pressed against the wan throat of a beautiful lady.

  "Let me go and..." the poor redcoat lad got nothing more past his throat.

  "Veronica!" Mural roared and lowered his musket. Fear and protection curled around his finger and it yanked back on the trigger. By the time thought was allowed back into Mural's head, it was too late for everything except for one final appeal. Well, it was more like a prayer. And it made all the difference.

  Seemingly triggered into motion by his musket, so many things happened at once that Mural found it impossible to track. Yet through his eyes, I managed to see what shock blinded him from.

  Nathaniel leapt forward with a crimson edged knife in his right hand. The boy soldier recoiled from the shot blast and swept out with his bayonet and missed Nathaniel. And Veronica ducked forward, directly into the path of her husband's musket ball.

  Mural's appeal was swift and purely reactionary, "Oh God, anyone but her!"

  And with that one simple protective cry, a line that could blurt from any mouth, Veronica did fall, but into safety. Many falls began this Christmas morn.

  Mural didn't and couldn't see anything of her for the splatter of flesh and blood was too great, but I saw her fall, in more ways than one, into another's arms. I didn't see a face from the man, her hero, who pulled her from harm, but with the protrusion of a snipe nose from greasy long blonde hair, I found the needed evidence telling me how the blonde bastard Benjamin managed to steal her away.

  But there was still more to see. Still more that Mural unwittingly wrought yet never saw.

  I saw free will override fate and the price paid for it. I saw the gift's true pernicious nature working in Mural's simple covenant of, "Oh God, anyone but
her!"

  As twists of fate often call for, if a doomed soul is spared, then another must bear the burden of the death misplaced. Another light, a greater light, must suffer that vacancy left behind to remind all, especially the bargainer, that to hold the light is perdition.

  In Mural's case, as he held the light of his wife aloft, his brother's was extinguished in turn. Mural's shot was true yet its target was blocked. The musket ball ripped into the base of the back of Nathaniel's neck and exited below his Adams apple, finally hitting its original target of the redcoat's eyes, with the added explosion of Nathaniel's flesh and blood.

  Drip.

  Chapter 65

  Amber walked towards me from the bathroom as my eyes fluttered open. The gift, its presence far more terrible than before, sat heavily in my throat as if it were ready to snatch my shout, one similar to Mural's damning cry, and keep those words as a binding contract. Its other tendril sat heavily in my heart as if to confirm the truth of such words and what they will beget, ready to fulfill such prayers.

  I shot up in the bed shivering, stringently mindful not to make any such promises, trying to get a bearing on where I was. The world still looked blue as the water dripping from the faucet resonated in my ears.

  "I saw him. I was him. I was in the Revolutionary War, here, in Boston," I said carefully, unwilling to divulge anything about the gift's nature as it haunted his thoughts.

  "You saw that? Really? Did it help? Was this a good idea? Tell me it all."

  "Alright," I said dully and recounted all I could recall. Which was a surprisingly large amount.

  As Amber processed the tale, her eyes often widened with what almost looked like cunning, resembling our father far too well.

  "Did you think of something?" I asked with more timidity than I liked.

  "Shush," she demanded. "I'm thinking."

  A little peeved but mostly drained, I got up with the lingering vision of Veronica in my mind and the meaning of holding the light slung across my shoulders. I carried it like a millstone into the bathroom. I twisted the faucet to a squeaky close and leaned on the sink hoping to splash myself refreshed. I gazed into the mirror first though, to make sure I was me again. Turning the faucet on, I splashed my face with warm water and thought about the damned light inside me again. I stared into the mirror, water dripping from my face, until I met my own eyes. The brown eyes stared at each other without a blink.

  A flash came and went.

  I blinked and stared harder at the mirror. My eyes locked with their mirror images and the flash came again. I saw Veronica's face flicker over mine. Brown eyes, black hair, and her soft face settled over my features then blinked away just as quick. I gawked at the mirror until my face appeared again.

  "Are you alright, George?" Amber asked, leaning against the doorframe.

  "Yeah, I'm fine, I'm just thinking," I choked out.

  "Was I seeing Amber's reflection? No, she was too far to the side, wasn't she?" I thought. "But why the hell did I see that?"

  I turned and violently wiped my face on a fuzzy brown towel, hoping to see only my features when I looked back in the mirror.

  After toweling off my eye caught a glimpse out the window. Moonlight shone through the branches of a tree. I rubbed up my scalp to dry my sweat-soaked hair. The moonlight shifted and shone on the corner of the old window, illuminating something. Curiosity dragged me closer and I let the towel go. The faucet spoke again. Drip, drip, drip. Moving closer, I saw a dirty smudge on the window. It was a handprint that smeared off the side of the window. My heart was pounding, my breath was short and choppy, and my hands shook. More light shone down onto the window as I put my hand up to the print. The smeared print eclipsed my hand with fingers that shot up like skyscrapers. It was enormous.

  "The convict," I whispered and shot backwards, stumbling off the shower door and bouncing into the bedroom.

  "What's wrong?" Amber asked as I staggered over to her.

  "We have to go."

  My eyes were trembling worse than my hands. I was waiting for the convict to burst through the door or through the wall. She ran and got both our coats. I ran to the window and peaked out.

  "What's happening, George?"

  "The convict ...he's here. We have to leave. Now! We have to hit the ground running the second we open that door."

  Amber nodded and handed me my coat. She looked through the spy hole and saw nothing. She nodded and ripped open the door. We ran into the cold bare parking lot, scanning in every direction. I studied the horizon and all the city's skyscrapers. To where all the death lives. I ran away from them and into the night.

  Chapter 66

  We ran without direction until we collapsed panting, several miles from the motel. Clamoring to a stop with heavy breath and feet, we slowed into a walk along the cracked side of the road, onwards to anywhere away from the city. Amber attempted to help me walk as I convulsed on our trek, but I needed little assistance.

  The city's size disappeared quickly. The buildings and streets shrank replaced by more grass and shining stars. Cars became sparse as we continued down the nighttime roads. Darkness was absolute. Feeling that we had outrun him, I pointed to a bridge ahead.

  "Let's head over there, over the bridge."

  "Fine with me; let's just find somewhere to go quick," Amber said quivering. "This is creepy."

  We hustled towards the old metal support bridge. Everything around us had quickly turned from an artificial bleak gray to a perfect and natural deep green. The dense surrounding woods dipped down to a steep gravel slope that stopped at the river. The suspended iron hovered silently above the crashing dark waterway. White crests of sharp waves scuttled across the surface until they exploded against jagged rocks.

  The roar of an engine jostled out from behind, accompanied by hard headlights, screaming down on us. Stepping off to the side of the road, I slipped on some loose gravel, barely catching my balance. I looked down to the river and the plunge I nearly took. Amber safely stepped to the side as the car blazed by and over the bridge, speeding by with a honk.

  "Screw you, too, buddy," Amber barked, sliding behind me to comment. "What an asshole."

  She turned back to the road and as soon as the blur of the car passed, a noise crunched in the road. Followed by a moan. Amber slowly turned to see what my gaze fixed on. We were scared stiff.

  Emerging from the wake of the car, the convict strode towards Amber, hulking against the night sky, blocking out stars. His breath puffed heavily out into the air. His face seemed different. I glared at him intently; trying to understand the look perched on his face. He almost looked happy.

  The convict shifted his head to the side, cocked like a curious animal, as he studied my sister from over my head. Slipping on gravel, I bumped her backwards and the convict moved to within inches of my eyes. His face was still nearly stripped of skin. Red muscle fibers and hints of bone and crusted blood protruded from his yellowing skin. Greasy hair dangled over his misshapen eyes and they glared at Amber.

  "Don't even think about it!" I hollered.

  I shot an uppercut into his neck, hoping to reopen the wound I had given him at my sister's apartment.

  "Gugh, uh ...I found ...ugh... you," he coughed and swiped at me.

  "You always do, you sonvabitch," I barked.

  He reached right past me, over my shoulder, ignoring the gift and me completely.

  Amber's grip tightened on my shoulders and we shifted backwards and away from his reach, inching towards the plummeting slope to the riverbed. The gravel crunched beneath our feet. The convict tried one more attempt to grab Amber, blasting his arm past my ear. She dodged him and buried her face between my shoulder blades. I felt her nose dig into my back as she cowered behind me. We rushed backwards to avoid another assault. After a couple steps, the pressure of her grip disappeared, and was replaced by a clamor of rocks and yelps. I turned and watched her plummet down the slopes into the rushing river below.

  Side to side, his
elbow even with my shoulder, the convict and I leaned over the ledge to reach for her as she splashed into the water below.

  "Amber!" I yelled.

  "Veronica!" the Convict bellowed.

  I jerked back confused. I looked up at him with an eyebrow raised.

  "What? Veronica? How the hell?" I questioned.

  He turned to me and glared down at my bemused eyes. His hands rose to strangle me for letting her fall. I had to react, to save my sister and myself. I rammed my elbow up into his chin and chattered his teeth. I turned and stood before the river valley below. Amber bobbed in the water with a frantic hand in the air as she floated away. The convict stuttered backwards onto the road.

  Feet cutting into the loose soil, I shuffled down the slope. Blunt branches smacked my face as I reacted too late to brush them aside. Momentum carried me onto the short, jagged shoreline and I splashed into the current. Before I realized it, I was breathing water. I spun and broke into the open air and spied around for the convict. Gone. Not for long though. The current caught my feet and tripped me up, tossing me face first into the cold murky river. Water engulfed me again, but the bed was only six feet shallow so I picked myself up and looked for Amber.