First Brush with Death:
My first truly wretched memory comes from the impressionable age of six. As I've said, we were a family of farmers, heavily favored by the Lord of the Land, Lord Hannington. Every autumn, the air would fill with a nervous energy as we spent weeks collecting vegetables and preparing our prized sheep. We painstakingly selected only the absolute best of everything we harvested to present to Lord Hannington's estate for their winter reserves. This was the most important time of the year for our household, a period that would either see us through the harsh winter or leave us to struggle like many other families.
No matter how young or inexperienced we were, my father expected all of us to pull our share of the work. He would often say, his voice a low gravelly warning, "If you don't pull your own weight, you won't be fed properly this coming winter." I was never sure if he meant it as a threat or simply a grim statement of fact, but the words carried a weight that made my small hands work faster. It was a known fact that if we didn't get enough pay for our goods, we would all have to go without. Winters were particularly harsh, inviting sickness and leaner times for everyone. The only way to prevent losses was to prepare thoroughly in the autumn. For us, that meant getting as much money as possible from our harvest. Being "favored" meant we were held to an impossible standard; we owed the Lord a specific number of high-quality goods, and any failure in our flock or crops was seen as a personal slight against him, punishable by high fines or additional forced labor.
We were fortunate to have such a good standing with a Lord, but it came with immense pressure. This stress was etched into the worried, strained faces of my mother and father. It was on the harvest of my sixth year, a day I would never forget, that this pressure would reach its breaking point.
My mother, Beatrice, insisted that we all go as a family to the big city where the lord's castle resided. The city was a day's walk from our sleepy countryside village, and as I had never been there before, I was filled with an excitement that made my heart pound against my ribs. Father, of course, was against the idea, insisting that he and Edmund could do the delivery alone, as they always had. But Mother would have none of that. She needed things to prepare for the long, cold winter: cloth, flour, oils. More importantly, she needed salt to preserve our remaining meat and specific metal tools we could not forge on our own land. She also wanted to sell the excess vegetables at the market for a little extra coin.
Father eventually relented, a heavy sigh escaping his lips as he muttered his displeasure. But even his grumbling couldn't dampen my spirits. The thought of seeing the grand castle, the bustling streets, and the sheer volume of people was a thrill I had never known. For the first time, the heavy burden of the harvest was replaced by a sense of adventure, a feeling that would be short-lived but forever etched into my memory.
We woke up long before dawn, a rare morning full of energy and anticipation. My mother bustled about, getting Ellis and me ready for the trip. Ellis, having been to the city once before, was a whirlwind of excited chatter. "There's a big market in the center, Cassian! It's full of stuff you've never seen before!" His grin was wide, and his eyes were alight with a wonder that was contagious. I listened intently, my own heart thrumming with nervous excitement at his tales. "We'll get to see the big castle walls, too, and the knights guarding it! They're the strongest and most respected, Cassian!" Ellis's deep admiration for the knights in our mother's fairytales was clear. He had always wanted to see the knights that came with Lord Hannington up close, but Father's threats had made the city the only place he could admire them without fear.
Once Father and Edmund were finished loading the heavy cart pulled by our trusty ox, Mother gathered us, and away we went, headed north on the well worn dirt trail. The sun was just a sliver of gold peaking over the rolling green hills, and the breeze was crisp, filled with the scent of dying leaves and damp earth. We passed by a few houses, with people just starting to stir from their warm beds as the roosters began to crow.
I sat atop my mother's shoulders, a proud spectator of it all, my small legs still too weak to make the long journey on my own. Father led our ox, a silent, imposing figure. Edmund walked beside him, trying his best to appear as indifferent to the beauty around us as Father did. Ellis walked behind them, with Mother and I following closely. And there we were: a simple family enjoying a simple moment together.
The journey took the entire day, but by the time the sun began to wane and the sky filled with a tapestry of orange, pink, and purple, we finally reached the edge of the great city. As we approached, the first thing I noticed was the stench. It was a vile mixture of urine and feces, with an underlying aroma of unwashed bodies and something even more foul that I couldn't quite place.
The buildings were packed side-by-side, leaving little room for anything else. Their upper stories jutted out, leaning precariously over the narrow, darkened streets in a tangle of heavy timber. People lived beside and on top of each other in these large, cramped structures, with faces peering from every balcony and a sea of people in the streets below. On the side of the road were open ditches, filled with a dark, murky brown liquid that smelled worse than the air. People were throwing buckets of waste into the ditch, while a few drunken men stumbled along, doing their best to dodge the open sewer. One man wasn't so lucky, his unconscious body sprawled face-down in the trench. I watched, horrified, as a few rats scurried over him. My childlike wonder at the world around me was quickly replaced by a profound sense of disgust.
We hurried along the hardened dirt road, pushing through the bustling, chaotic heart of the city. Tents and makeshift stalls were crammed together, and vendors shouted, advertising their wares. Mother guided us through the throng, her hand a firm grip on Ellis's as he, in turn, held my own. "Don't you dare stray too far, boys," she warned, her voice stern but laced with urgency. "We must make haste to keep up with your father and brother."
We moved swiftly towards the bridge that led to the castle, its massive stone walls looming over the city like an ancient, slumbering beast. As we drew closer, Mother and Ellis bid Father and Edmund farewell as they took the cart towards the castle gate. Mother then led us through the various market booths she needed to visit. We stopped at a tent full of beautiful clothes and fabrics, where she bought some plain white linens. Next, a stall filled with clay pots and various tools, and finally, one that sold flour and spices.
While Mother was busy bartering for flour, Ellis and I spotted a trinket booth filled with splendid things I had never seen. Wooden figurines, leather-bound books, quills, tiny toy knives and bows, and beautiful, glittering jewelry were scattered across the booth. My eyes widened at the wonder of it all, but Ellis, he only had eyes for one specific item: a small golden knight figurine. It stood proudly on a small pedestal, a great sword held in its hands, pointed down. It was shiny and elegant, the perfect symbol of a knight from the tales Mother told us. Ellis couldn't take his eyes off it, and I, too, found myself captivated by the figurine.
Just as I was about to ask Ellis if we could get it, Mother's voice rang out from the flour tent. Ellis snapped out of his trance and began walking toward her, but I, alas, could not leave without getting that knight for him. In a moment of utter foolishness and desperate need to show my love for my brother, I reached out, took the figurine from its shelf, and ran after Ellis without looking back. The small knight sat silently in my tunic belt as we walked with Mother to the bridge leading to the castle.
Father and Edmund were just coming out of the gates, the cart empty and the ox far too happy for the lightened load. Father, too, seemed very pleased. He told Mother they had gotten far more than they had expected from Lord Hannington, who was feeling rather generous that day. All seemed well; the oppressive tension that had plagued our family all month had lifted, replaced by a feeling of relief. In a moment of pure, unadulterated happiness, Father even tousled my hair, a rare and unexpected gesture that he had never done before and would never do again.
But our moment of happiness was short-lived. In the midst of our celebration, shouts began to erupt around us. It was a cacophony of sound, a sudden explosion of fear that would forever change the course of our lives.
A large, swarthy man approached us, a knight in tow. He pointed a thick gnarled finger at our family and bellowed, "Those are the thieves! They stole from my booth!" My heart sank to my stomach, a cold, heavy stone, as I felt the undeniable weight of the knight figurine in my tunic belt. My mother, with a fierce, protective instinct, quickly hid us behind her skirt. I shook terribly, my small hands gripping her rough spun fabric, terrified of what would happen if they found the stolen item.
Ellis, standing beside me, was confused at first. But when he heard the knight's stern voice, "This shopkeeper told us that one of your children stole a golden figurine," his face went pale. He slowly looked down at me, his eyes wide with a dawning horror. He reached his hand into my tunic, his fingers finding the small knight hidden in my belt. Without a word, he snatched the figurine and hid it in his own tunic. I looked at him, struggling to understand why he would do such a thing. He placed a finger to his lips, and I instantly understood: he was taking the blame for me.
"Please, allow us to search the children, ma'ma," the knight demanded, his voice a block of ice. But Mother stood her ground, an unmovable shield.
Things took a worse turn when Lord Hannington himself emerged from the castle, flanked by his wife and a host of elegantly dressed vassals. "What is the meaning of this ruckus?" His voice sounded amused, a tone that struck a chord of annoyance in my six-year-old mind. He was dressed in a lavish velvet tunic with glimmering jewels scattered across his chest. His wife and vassals were just as lavishly dressed, also looking amused at the sight of peasants causing a scene in the streets. Lord Hannington strolled closer, a smirk playing on his lips. His silks and polished leather made our rough spun, dirt-stained clothes feel like rags. "Well?"
The knight knelt before the Lord and reported the event. "These children are accused of stealing a golden knight figurine, sire. We were trying to check them, but this woman won't allow us to do our job." The knight remained kneeling as the Lord walked over to my father.
"Aldous, do I not treat you right?" Lord Hannington's voice was laced with a chilling threat. Without a moment's hesitation, my father grabbed my mother's arm, throwing her to the ground at Lord Hannington's feet.
"Yes, sire," he answered, his voice trembling with frantic desperation. "You have treated my family well and cared for us deeply. We are most humble for your generosity." Lord Hannington seemed pleased with my father's dog-like behavior, while scoffing at my mother, who had dared to defy him.
"Search the boys," the Lord's order was decisive and clear, leaving no room for a second thought. The knights grabbed Ellis and me. They stripped me first, my small body exposed to the cold, judging eyes of the crowd. They found nothing and, with a rough shove, kicked me out of the way. My mother caught me as I fell, pulling my naked body against hers. Tears burned her eyes, but in their dark depths, I saw a look of pure anger and defiance.
Then, they turned on Ellis. He fought them the whole time, a whirlwind of flailing limbs and furious cries, but his resistance was futile. In the struggle, the small golden knight fell from his tunic. The entire city center fell silent as the figurine slinked to the hardened dirt road. My mother's face went white, and she let out a cry so heartbreaking, so filled with a profound despair, that it still echoes in my dreams.
Father, his face contorted in a mask of shame, fell to his knees, begging Lord Hannington to be merciful. "The boy knew no better," he pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. Ellis's face was pale and uncertain, his eyes locked on mine. Despite his struggles against the knights holding him, he managed to give me a grimace that tried to be a smile, a small, desperate nod, as if to tell me it would all be okay.
Lord Hannington, however, remained unmoved. He took a single, deliberate step closer, the smugness falling away to reveal a cold, clinical anger. "Aldous, you failed to teach your child the ways of godly behavior." He waved for the knights to bring Ellis before him. "For that, as your Lord, I feel I should take some responsibility for it as well. So let me be the one to rectify this by teaching your son a valuable lesson."
My mother pleaded and wept alongside Father, but it was in vain. Edmund, his own face ashen with terror, held me in my mother's place, his body trembling slightly as he tried to shield me from what was about to happen.
The knight pulled out Ellis's arm, holding it out for Lord Hannington. The Lord drew his jewel-encrusted sword, letting the polished steel glint in the failing light—a moment of sick finality. With a swift terrible arc, the blade came down on Ellis's wrist. He let out a piercing, curdling scream that silenced the entire crowd. The world tilted. The screaming stopped, replaced by a roaring silence in my ears. The golden knight I stole, the trinket that cost him his limb, glinted mockingly on the dirt. The knight dropped Ellis's limp body as if it were nothing and returned the figurine to the shopkeeper, who was visibly shaken by the brutal punishment.
Mother and Father rushed to Ellis, wrapping his stump in the new linen cloth Mother had just bought. Lord Hannington, seemingly pleased with his display of power, strode back to the safety of his castle walls. Leaving us to tend to our broken family.
I was in shock for some time. I don't remember the walk home, only the blur of sorrow and the constant thrum of my own fear. I do, however, remember my mother's silent sobs as she held Ellis in the wooden cart. I remember the heavy, somber silence that settled over us, and Edmund carrying me, his face a portrait of sadness as he looked at Ellis's small, wounded body. Father led the ox, his steps heavy, his silence heavier still.
It was well into the night when we finally arrived home. Father carried Ellis into their room, with Mother fussing close behind him. While Mother ran back and forth, Father left to put the ox and cart away. I sat in Edmund's lap as he tried to soothe me, for I still trembled with the horrific images floating in my mind. I couldn't keep it in anymore. I cried desperately, my voice a small, trembling whisper. "Edmund…I stole the knight."
Edmund froze. His hands, which had held me so tenderly, began to shake as he picked me up and set me down. He grabbed my shoulders with a frightening grip, his eyes looking wild and threatening. "Did you tell anyone else?" His words were sharp, and when I didn't answer, he shook me hard. "Did you tell anyone else!?"
"N-No!" I stammered, terrified. I had never seen this side of Edmund before; I was more afraid of him than I had ever been of Father.
"Good," his voice dropping to a low growl. His grip loosened, and his hands dropped. "Don't EVER tell anyone this, Cassian. Never. Do you understand what they'd do to all of us?" He then stood and went to his room, leaving me alone. I stood there, my nerves shot and my mind numb. Edmund's reaction shocked me even more than the day's event, and in that moment, I felt a rift open between us that would never truly be repaired. I was responsible for Ellis losing his hand, for Father being humiliated, and now Edmund knew it, too.
A few days passed with Mother rarely leaving Ellis's side. Father tended to his duties and didn't say a word to anyone. Edmund avoided me at all costs, never making eye contact when we were in the same room and leaving as soon as I arrived.
Then, one morning, I woke up to the smell of fresh soup cooking and the comforting clinking of pots. With a spark of joy, I jumped out of bed and ran to my mother's side. Eagerly, I asked if I could finally see Ellis. My heart swelled with hope when she gently smiled and said yes. She took me by the hand and led me out to the great oak tree in the pasture. I assumed Ellis had wanted to come here first after feeling better; it was our favorite spot.
However, as we approached the oak, a small stone stood where I thought Ellis would be. Mother leaned down and smiled at me, a broken, frail smile, before saying, "You can visit your brother whenever you'd like, Cassian. I'm sure he'd like that very much." She stood, leaving me beneath the great tree. The ground beneath the stone was freshly tilled, the scent of damp earth filling my nose like a wave of sorrow.
I didn't fully understand what my mother meant, but I knew instinctively that I would never see my brother's face again. He had finally received the freedom he so desperately desired, and for that, I was always, profoundly envious.