Sword of Destiny

His father stood on the other side of the room. The huge blacksmith was in front of the main window, and it was dark as a result.

“You little shit!” Bullying on the streets had seemed bad, but it turned out not. In the past, his father had sort of ignored him. Not now. Now he was in his father’s way.

“I don’t know what I’ve done!”

Wasn’t that the truth. All he strived for was anonymity, but that was getting increasingly difficult. It’d been okay when Bulge presided over the library. That was his sanctuary, a place where he could hide and immerse himself in knowledge. But that opportunity was gone. Bulge had died.

It was most unexpected – the man was not that old. But then, perhaps the name said it all. He certainly wasn’t a healthy man, and those protrusions must have hidden something unsavoury. But as bad as it was for Bulge, it was just as bad for him. Bulge had been his only friend in a world of bullies. Now he was alone.

And bored. Very bored. Because now that Bulge had gone, he could no longer legitimately access the library. He had lost his private space as-well, and he’d lost his books. He’d lost his books.

The new chief librarian was not his friend. The last time he tried sneaking into his sanctuary, he was left fleeing from the Wings. Being chased by bullies was one thing, but running from the elite Royal Constabulary was quite another. He wasn’t ready for that. And the result of all that was more time at home. A lot of time at home. And a father that hated him. His father was fuming now.

“You’ve fucked up my coal store is what you’ve done. One job I gave you, and you’ve mixed all the grades like a petulant little shit. I’ll have to bin the whole lot of it.”

One look at Brin’s face was enough. It was his brother’s doing. There was little point in arguing.

“I didn’t—”

“How dare you!”

And then his father came at him. Even his mother barely objected despite the moistness under her eyes. She had never approved of the violence, but she never stopped it either.

The injuries from the last scrap with his father still stalked his body. That middle finger on his left hand had never been the same since, and he could swear that his hearing was permanently stained by the pummelling. But last time his father had been authoritarian rather than infuriated, and this time it was very different. He almost feared for his life this time. How silly that seemed, but the look in his father’s eyes suggested otherwise. This was it.

And damn, his father was quick. One step forward, one sweep of the arm, and he was jerking out of the way, scurrying over the ground. His father stalked forward.

“Come on, l’il Jossie. You keep telling me how you punished the bullies. Punish me!”

A fist exploded towards his stomach, and he barely rolled out of the way, leaping deftly to his feet. He backed away from his father, but Brin ushered him forward. He span wildly around, and every one of his brothers had a smirk on their faces. They were all in on it. The bastards.

“Leave me alone!”

His father’s eyes narrowed and he ground his jaw. “You live in my house, then you play by my rules. You want different rules, then you leave.”

This was so unfair. Brin was actually sniggering at him – an open display of his guilt. Bastard, bastard, bastard! “Bastard!”

“You dare call me a bastard?”

Whoops. He should have held his tongue there. “Sorry father.”

His father lunged, but that wasn’t a problem. He was nothing if not quick on his feet. He skipped out of the way and left the larger man floundering. Perhaps if he kept this up, his father would just get bored?

“You little shit. You asked for it.” The vast frame of his father stood and there was something in his hand. He went cold. Not that. Anything but that.

It was the Queen’s Descent, Delfin’s journal – the priceless volume he’d been given by Bulge. There was a manic edge to his father’s grin.

“We’ll destroy this little luxury, for starters.”

He wouldn’t, would he? What could he do? What could he do? He could stop the bastard, that’s what. His purpose was back, and he stepped forward.

“Leave that alone.”

“Come and get it, li’l Jossie.” The old man sneered. Bloody sneered! If he wanted petulant, he would get petulant.

He jabbed at his father, his knuckle aimed straight for the bony flesh about the man’s eye. But the older man was wise to that feeble assault. His father grabbed his hair and yanked, doubling him over. Then a knee crashed into his stomach, and the wind was swept from him. He huddled over, straining for breath, recovering. Wheezing. His father goaded him and he looked up, which was stupid.

A fist swept to the right side of his face, and the world juddered into darkness. When his senses re-set, he was looking up at his father. Spit landed in his eye.

“In this house, you play by my rules.”

The volume was in his father’s hands, and he was fingering a clutch of pages. The ignorant bastard was about to destroy an invaluable volume, and he didn’t even know it. It was beyond tolerable. He screamed, one of utter venom, and jumped to his feet, ignoring the flourishing pain. His father actually stepped back a little at that.

“You leave her words alone! You are not worthy.”

He swung his right hand at his father’s face, and his father raised his arm in defence. Only then did he swing his left. As the right hand connected with the defence, the left impacted with the cartilage of the nose. His giant of a father tumbled to the ground, and he nicked the volume deftly away. Delfin’s words were safe, and his breathing steadied.

He went to his room where he would tend to his injuries. On his way out, he turned to Brin, eyes narrowed.

“You dare set me up! Next time, that will be you.” He pointed to his inanimate father.