Icarius kept walking, but a finger shot out from a nearby stall. It was the young woman from whom he had bought rice only moments before, and she was pointing directly at him.
"Shit!" Icarius ran, but a rough hand yanked his cloak. A bald brute locked him in place.
Icarius unsconsciously twisted, slipping free, but by the time he turned to run, he was already surrounded on all sides.
"Where do you think you're going, rat?" Catu stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. His gold teeth glinted when he grinned, blond hair slicked flat like a cow had licked it. His coat was far too fine for a border thug. "You dare to shoot one of my men!" He pointed toward the wagon, where a thug whimpered, clutching an arrow still lodged in his hand.
"Kill him, Boss! Kill him!" the man screamed, clutching his injured hand, afraid to pull out the arrow.
The open market square became chaotic. Stallkeepers hurriedly packed their goods, knowing what was coming.
Catu smirked. "Thought you could play hero? You don't know who you're messing with." He flicked his hand, and the circle tightened.
Icarius's heart pounded. No space for a bowshot. No space to run away. He was surrounded. Icarius carefully put the grains on the ground, ready to fight.
"Grab him!" Catu barked.
The previous brute lunged, arms wide like a bear hug.
But Icarius was faster. He dropped his weight, boots sliding on mud, and slipped trough an opening. The thug stumbled into empty air. Icarius spun and swung his bow like a staff, cracking it across the man's skull. The man dropped unconscious, blood trickling down his temple.
Adrenaline surged hot through Icarius's veins, his breath and heartbeat speeding up as he saw one of the thugs taking out a knife. Catu only stood back, smiling like it was some sort of sport or simple dice game.
"Three left." Icarius muttered, tightening his grip on the bow's stave, analyzing the situation. From the corner of his eye, he saw villagers coming out of the tavern. The old merchant was among them, staring desperately at his half-emptied wagon.
"What are you waiting for? Bring him to me!" Catu shouted, seeing his minions paralyzed while looking at their fallen comrade.
At Catu's command, the three thugs rushed in.
The first slashed with the filthy and rusted knife. Icarius caught it on the stave of his bow, twisting hard making the metal slid against wood. With precision and timing, he stepped in and drove his elbow into the thug's chin. Teeth cracked. The man dropped like a sack of grain.
The second came low, tackling Icarius into the mud. Icarius' hood flew back as his skull hit the ground. The attack was followed by a barrage of punches to his face, breaking his nose and probably a couple of other bones. The other thug's boots hammered into his ribs.
However, Icarius knew that he couldn't stop. In the wild, animals that stopped fighting died.
"Ahh!" Icarius roared, arching his back, causing his attacker to lose balance. Icarius snapped forward, skull smashing into the thug's forehead. Bone against bone, with Icarius coming out victoriously. He shoved the man aside, snatched up his bow, and cracked it across the thug's temple. It was a simple but effective chain of attacks.
Whilst on the ground, the third charged, fists closed. Icarius rolled through the mud. The man's punch slammed into the ground with a sickening crack. Icarius didn't hesitate. Already on his feet, he swung the bow like a club, hitting it into the thug's gut again and again, until a final blow to the groin ended the attack, leaving him unconscious.
"Hhhuff—" Icarius panted, wiping the blood on his eyes, noticing that his hood was gone.
"Oh, look at that." Catu grinned, his gold teeth showing "The brother of the Cursed Child." He didn't even care about the wellbeing of his minions. Well, he could always recruit others.
The words cut deeper than a wolf's teeth craving itself into Icarius' heart. Those eyes, that sneer, he'd seen them every time someone spat at his little brother.
"Shut your mouth…unless you want your head rotting on a stake in the forest." Icarius's jaw clenched, tightening his grip on the bow.
"What?" Catu shrugged, mocking. "You two look so alike. Maybe you're cursed too. Got those black marks under your skin?"
Without thinking, Icarius snatched the rusty fallen dagger. The first thug was already regaining conscious, staggering to his feet, but Icarius didn't spare him a glance. He threw the blade straight at Catu.
"Shit!" Catu ducked, the dagger cutting a few strands of his hair. Seeing that, his gold teeth flashed in fury, like a grunting dog. "I'll burn that cursed hut of yours, along with your little brother's screams inside it."
The words sent a shiver through the square. Vendors pressed deeper behind their stalls. Villagers who had come out of the tavern to watch shrank back, whispering. However, all of them still wanted to see how things would end, even more so if it meant freeing their village from the cursed kin.
Catu turned towards the staggering brute, who finally regained conscious, words filled with poison - "Leave him alive. I want him to hear that filthy being's last screams."
The bald man swayed as he held the gash Icarius had left on his skull. His eyes flicked to his fallen comrades, then to Catu. Every bone in him wanted to walk away. But Catu was the Chief's son. To disobey meant exile, and facing winter in the forest was a death sentence.
He gritted his teeth and charged.
Icarius knew that the man wouldn't fall twice for the same attack, so he jumped behind the nearest stall, ready to take cover. He didn't even care when he bumped into someone.
"Don't come near me, monster!" a woman's voice screamed.
The rice-seller. The snitch. She had been hiding behind the counter, eyes wide with terror. However, the moment Icarius touched her, she scrambled away, abandoning her goods while screaming, not even caring if Catu's gang marked her escape. Using her hands to clean the place where he touched.
Icarius barely glanced at her. He didn't even care. His pulse slowed as he forced his senses outward, listening. He could hear the brute's heavy boots splashing against the mud. Three seconds. To the right.
He rapidly nocked an arrow and waited, counting in his mind, every muscle trembling with focus. And, the moment the brute's shadow spilled past the edge of the stall and he counted to three, Icarius loosened the string.
The arrow streaked like lightning, punching clean through the brute's kneecap. For a heartbeat, the bald man stayed upright, face blank. Not understanding what happened. Then his leg buckled like a puppet with its strings cut.
"Ahhh!" His scream ripped through the square as he collapsed, clutching the wound but too terrified to touch the arrow shaft.
Icarius didn't pause. He rose, breath ragged, another arrow already notched. His aim locked on Guta, the dog who had cursed Giorgio and sworn to burn him alive. His fingers tightened on the string.
"Fuck! Get here, bitch!" Guta snarled. He seized a woman from the crowd, dragging her close, pressing cold steel to her back. She whimpered, too afraid to cry out.
Icarius's bow didn't waver. He exhaled slowly, sight fixed on Catu's exposed leg. He was a hunter. A good one. But before he could loose the arrow, the sound of firm and organized steps broke into the sqare.
A dozen men in plate armor marched in, their boots pounding against the mud. The crowd watching the scene formed a corridor, letting them pass. These were soldiers of Silva, men tasked with guarding not only the village, but the kingdom itself from barbarian raiders.
Their captain stepped forward. "Drop the bow!" His voice cut through the place. One hand rested on the hilt of his sword, the other cradled a helmet. Gray hair clung damp to his brow, consequence of the never-ending soft rain, but his legs rooted in place.
His cheek had a long scar, result of countless battles against the barbarians. He had been dispatched from the capital, given authority over this stretch of border. Someone who had been working at this village for more than thirty years, enough to create an invincible image in the people's heart.
At his appearance, Icarius faltered. The hesitation was brief, but enough. The captain gave a small nod.
Two soldiers lunged from behind him. Gauntlets crushed his arms, wrenching them behind his back. His bow was ripped away. A shove drove him down until his knees sank into the muck. He thrashed, but the grip only tightened, pain searing up his arms, as if his bones might snap.
"Bind him." The captain's voice was cold, dismissive, as though he were ordering the death of a rat.
Rope bit into Icarius's wrists. His skin burned as it tightened. The fire in his blood began to recede, allowing him to feel the pain throbbing from his broken nose, forcing him to breath through his mouth. However, despite the pain, his eyes never left Catu.
"So," the captain began, voice calm but edged with killing intent, "what happened here?" He did not look at Icarius. His gaze had already settled on Catu.
Catu stepped from behind the woman, dropping the knife as if it had never been in his hand. He brushed flecks of mud from his fine coat, then turned a winner's sneer at Icarius. "You see, Captain? The cursed bastard aimed at me. Shot my men. Attacked us in broad daylight. Even robbed a poor merchant's wagon. Just look, ask anyone."
His glare swept the crowd. Merchants and villagers shrank from it, their silence thick as rain.
"Lies!" Icarius roared, blood streaking his face. "He robbed the merchant, not me!"
The captain ignored him. Of course he didn't buy Catu's story, he knew the kid since forever. And, he didn't want to clash with the Village Chief. It could make his job here harder than it should be. He came from the capital, so the captain had delved into the politic world. He understood how to proceed.
"There has never been disorder in this market square. Not since I took this post thirty years ago." His gaze circled the onlookers, then pinned Icarius like a nail. "My soldiers belong on the border, fighting barbarians, not here, keeping peace among villagers. And yet here you are. The brother of the Cursed, bringing chaos to my streets."
"Captain—!" Icarius tried to speak.
"Silence." The word cracked like steel. The captain looked past him. "Where is the owner of the wagon?"
A soldier dragged forward the old merchant. The man didn't resist. Sixty winters had taught him how the wheels of the world turned.
"Do you recognize this young man?" the captain asked.
The merchant's eyes flicked to Icarius. He nodded. "Yes. I met him on the road and offered him a ride. He purchased a coat, and gave me this dagger in exchange." He lifted the blade.
The captain didn't touch it. His lip curled. To him, even steel seemed tainted if it had been smithed in the furnace of the cursed.
"There are witnesses who claim he was stealing from your wagon," the captain said, each word deliberate. His gaze bore into the old man. "Do you confirm this?"
The merchant's eyes darted between the captain and the bloodied youth. His lips moved, but no words came.
"Merchant, do you confirm?" the captain repeated, hand clenching his sword's handle.
"Y-yes." The old man's nod was quick. "I saw him from the tavern window, stealing from my wagon. I would have shouted, but I am too frail and he was armed." He lied, averting looking at the young man.
Icarius stared at him, disbelief burning his face. He opened his mouth to shout that it was a lie, but a guard's pommel slammed into his jaw. Hot blood flooded his mouth. The world tilted. He was about to slump, but iron arms held him upright.
"As you all know," the captain said, voice carrying across the square, rain softly caressing his gray hair, "the Founding King set laws to keep order, to protect us from the barbarians beyond the border." He paused, eyes cold on the struggling youth. "You, Cursed Child's kin, have disturbed that order. You forced my men away from the gates at a time when danger could fall on us any moment. You have also been caught stealing."
He drew his sword with a long, cruel hiss. "Your crime is punishable by death, here and now. You will be made an example."
The captain's boots ate the muddy ground as he walked toward Icarius. The world narrowed; everything swam in a haze of blood and pain. His jaw wouldn't move right. He couldn't breath through his nose. Words stuck in his throat.
"P-plea-" he tried, but the sound died uselessly. His brother's face bloomed inside his head. Giorgios. Evening meant dinner, the first he wouldn't attend. Giorgios couldn't survive alone through winter.
I can't die here, Icarius thought, every cell of his body being forced to move. His muscles tightened. He didn't care about pain anymore. If his bones snapped, so be it.
The ropes creaked as the men holding him strained. Icarius's muscles tightened, the ropes bitting red into his skin as he fought viciously like a trapped animal. Using an opening he managed to stand up, despite the two men pressing him down. The rope snapped.
"What the fuck are you doing? Hold him down, knees to the dirt! Cut his legs if you must!" the captain barked. The other soldiers holding their position behind him, not moving.
The two guards lunged, swords flashing. They slashed behind his knees. Icarius should have folded. Instead his hand moved like lightninig. He closed on one soldier's throat, wrenching the sword free and squeezing until the man choked.
"L-let me - I can't breathe," the guard gasped, fingers clawing at Icarius's grip. But Icarius didn't hear. Nothing existed but the need to live, for Giorgios. Pain faded; an odd, feral strength took over.
With a fierce cry, he threw the soldier into the other guard, knocking them both down. Then Icarius turned and ran. He couldn't fight them all. He needed to escape. His eyes locked on the huge tree in the center of the square. Maybe he could reach it, maybe use it to get away. It was also in the opposite direction of the captain and the other soldiers.
Seeing him running towards them, the people watching it from the surroundings stepped aside, forming a path out of fear. The captain chased, but his heavy armor slowed him down.
"Whoever brings that bastard in gets a hundred copper coins!" Catu cried, venom in his voice. He wanted a spectacle, a warning to those who dared to defy him.
At the promise of a hundred copper coins, hands trembled and eyes brightened with greed, no more fear. This many coins meant that their entire family could get through the harsh winter.
The first to move was a thin woman who was holding a little girl's hand moments before. She lunged, fists hammering Icarius's face. Others surged, closing the corridor into a tempest of attacks. Icarius stumbled, shielded his head, shoved forward as fists and boots rained down. Blood painted his face; vision blurred, but he pushed on like a wounded wolf.
Amidst the craziness, a toothless old man burst through the press, crazed, and plunged a blade into Icarius's gut, then into his shoulder. Icarius sank to his knees in a spreading pool of warmth. But the blows did not stop, knives, clubs, kicks. Icarius couldn't even move.
"We killed the kin of the Cursed!" they shouted, voices full of relief and madness.
Madness to live. Madness against the cursed kin, who terrified their minds.
Still, Icarius moved. Broken, bleeding, he began crawling through the mud, leaving a dark trail behind him. The people fell silent. Fear. Disgust. Anger. Mixed emotions appeared in their hearts. Even the captain and his men stopped as they reached the front, watching him drag himself toward the tree.
His elbows slipped in the wet dirt, the knives in his back seeming to sink deeper with every inch. But he didn't stop. He thought only of Giorgios. He needed to reach him.
"Captain, shouldn't we finish him?" one soldier whispered, pity in his voice.
The captain watched the crawling figure and shook his head, voice low and hard. Not a single sense of pity. He had seen way more in the front lines. "No. Let the filth die. I don't want a vengeful spirit on my land."
Silence reigned over the square. They only watched as Icarius reached the trunk. He pressed his face to the rough bark, breath ragged. For a moment the rain on his skin felt like blessing. Then his hands relaxed. His chest stilled. He breathed his last and lay against the tree, the market around him suddenly very still.