The Willowsbrook Chronicles - Chapter 23: Redemption begins
The vision before Gunther changed to the orphanage kitchen. Gunther felt his blood run cold. Terrel’s face went pale too, before a look of open shame crossed over it. “You both recognize this night?” Father Marshan asked.
Gunther nodded. “I remember Hedron was feeling a bit shaky, and asked me to clean up for him. Twas not a problem, I’ve always believed a clean kitchen and eating area make for happy people.”
Gunther and the other two men gazed on the scene. A younger Gunther of around thirteen to fourteen years was putting some pots away. Then Gunther opened up one of the kitchen cabinets.
“What the…?” the younger version of himself asked. From the cupboard, he pulled out a strange wooden barrel. The younger Gunther smelled it. “Cinya’s mercy,” he grimaced in disgust, his nose wrinkling. “What is this foul-smelling brew?”
The older Gunther’s face paled. “That barrel was full of flammable tar,” he pointed out.
The young kitchen aide looked around. “Why is this here? Tis not anything Hedron would ever leave, I should wake him up and…”
He never got the chance to finish. The back door to the kitchen slammed open. Into the room, walked a young man of fifteen years in black leather, an arrogant grin written on his face. The older Gunther’s face creased in anger as the younger him stared, tensing in fear. “Antonius!” younger Gunther gasped out.
“Nice of ya’ to notice dumb arse!” the younger more thuggish version of Terrel quipped, a predatory smile on his lips. “Too bad you and the other brats ere’ won’t be around much longer! Morgan’s given me orders, this place is burning down, and if you go with it that’ll be fine.”
The younger Gunther gaped. “But isn’t beating me up enough?”
“Morgan’s got bigger plans mate, and you and the orphanage are in the way. Now step aside weakling!” the young gang member snapped.
It was obvious to the older version of himself, that the younger version was afraid, very afraid. But Instead of fleeing, the boy looked around. He grabbed an oak beam from a nearby pile of wood and stepped in front of the barrel. “Whatever you’re planning, I won’t let you do it! You can beat me all you want, but leave Mother Allegra, Hedron, and the rest out of this!”
In an instant, the smaller teen ran forward and caught the kitchen aide with a vicious punch to the ribs. Younger Gunther backed away, keeping hold of the makeshift weapon. The older version of Gunther glared at the older version of his tormentor. The priest grimaced in horror. “Mallastra, please forgive me my trespasses,” he whispered.
The innkeeper returned his attention to the scene. The young thug knocked him to the ground and spat on him. “Morgan was right, you’re pathetic and weak, like all the brats ere’. Why I ever listened to that wench Allegra, I don’t know. But the way I look at it, good riddance to you lot!” he jeered.
The young bully walked over to the barrel. "Time to light this place up," he sneered, smiling in triumph. The teen got a flint and torch from his belt.
Gunther remembered this moment. He had never been quite sure what had happened, but the large but timid young man’s face exploded in a look of rage. The young man got to his feet, and rushed the bully.
The younger version of Terrel Antonius had expected many things, but not this. The young man slammed into the fifteen-year-old with surprising strength. The force of the blow carried them into a wall.
The young gang member grunted in pain before young Gunther began beating him with the beam. In his rage, Gunther’s wooden club struck the right knee of the street thug.
A noticeable pop resulted from it. The fifteen-year-old let out a scream of agony, as he grabbed the knee and fell to the ground. The older innkeeper shivered. “This is why I don’t like to fight,” he whispered.
The young man grabbed at the injury. “My knee, my knee, you bastard!” he bellowed.
“Gunther,” the distraught voice of Hedron Rourik called.
The young gang member pulled himself to his feet. The old man who was the kitchen hand and a black-haired Cinya priestess ran into the room. The older man dressed in his night shirt saw the barrel, “By the Gods, turpentine!” he yelped.
The teenage boy hovelled out. “I’ll get you for this Willowsbrook if it’s the last thing I do!” he shouted.
Younger Gunther fell to his knees as he began to sob. “Gunther, Little Giant I'm here,” Allegra called as she rushed to embrace him.
Hedron raced to the smashed door and called out, “Constables, constables!”
The vision vanished. Gunther glared at Terrel. “This is why I’ve hated you so much Antonius,” he snapped. “I swore that I would never harm anyone or anything, you made me break my promise! And now because of it, whenever I see you walk, I’m reminded of that shame!”
The big man felt the old guilt and sorrow fester as he tried to stifle the tears that threatened to overwhelm him.
“And what you did to me was a fate I deserved,” Antonius responded.
The big innkeeper had expected many things, but not this. He turned back towards his former enemy. “What?” he asked in bafflement, the tears escaping his eyes.
“I said, I deserved that.” The blonde priest repeated. “And in the process, you helped save my soul.”
The big man said nothing. The scene before them changed to one of the many alleyways in Faith Lane. Gunther watched as the teenage Terrel hovelled into it, and leaned against a wall. Then he sank to the ground, holding his knee, grimacing in pain.
“That Willowsbrook,” he snarled between gritted teeth. “I’ll slit the throat of him, that damned priestess, and all them bastards!”
The young man muttered about all the ways he would deal with everyone at the orphanage. Yet, he was unaware of the figures that entered the alleyway. Then one of the hooded men grabbed teenaged Terrel. The man pulled off his hood to reveal…a younger version of Morgan Kosarr. The black bearded man lifted Terrel up, the youth screaming in pain. Morgan gave a sneer as he looked over the leg. “Aw, poor little baby, not so tough now are you boy?!”
The teen Terrel grimaced as he struggled to overcome the pain. “Boss, it wasn’t me fault, Willowsbrook was there and…”
He never got the chance to finish. Someone kicked him in the knee, and Gunther’s face paled in horror, as he bore witness to the atrocity. The other man and Kosarr laughed. “Filthy little urchin,” the leader spat. “Did you think I would let you rise into the upper echelon of my gang, did you?”
The other man slammed a fist into Terrel’s side. The teen thug grunted in pain, before Kosarr dropped him to the street. The young man curled into a ball, as droplets of rain began to fall from the sky. “Fool,” he growled. “I knew you’d screw up burning the orphanage down. You always were a cocky brat, because you don’t think about how to take care of business. You’ve screwed up for the last time!”
The bearded man then kicked the young man in the gut. The other man then picked the teen up, and put him over a big brawny shoulder. The teen boy couldn’t struggle, as he was in pain and out of breath. “Kosarr, you bastard!” Gunther whispered, hating the more infamous former terror of Faith Lane even more.
The big Innkeeper watched as the two carried the young man to the Docks district. “Now you little worm,” Morgan Kosarr chimed, smiling. “It’s time for me to take out the garbage. Corvin, throw him into the ocean, and let him sleep with the fishes!”
The bigger man nodded. “You got it boss!”
The big man took young Terrel off his shoulder. The two men struggled with the teen. Preoccupied, they didn’t see a robed man, leaning on a shepherd staff, hovelling towards them.
Finally, the big man secured a hold, and was about to throw Terrel into the water. The robed man reached out with the hook of the Shepherd staff…and pulled Corvin’s ankles. The man yelped as his lower body got pulled backward. The brute crashed face first to the ground! In the process, Terrel fell from his captor's grip. But the man wasn’t done. Kosarr turned around, as he drew a dagger. He received the flat of the Shepherd staff hook to his face. The blow sent the gang leader flying backwards, over the dock, and downwards into the water. “Master,” Gunther heard Terrel whisper, a tone of…reverence in his voice.
Gunther watched as the man set the staff down, and hovel over to the comatose youth. “A diamond in the rough the Blessed Lady says. I do not see how this boy is somehow special lady Mallastra. But if this is what your will be, then I will see it done, in your name.”
The man looked around. “Halund, Kerric, give me a hand here lads!”
From nearby, two men dressed in the robes of Mallastra priests came forward to help the hovelling man. Gunther’s eyes widened, as he noted Terrel's savior had the very same symbol as the one on his robes.
Gunther was speechless. Could I have been wrong about Terrel’s change of heart, the innkeeper thought as he watched.
The scene then changed. Young Terrel groaned as he started to stretch. Then the young man grimaced as he felt a familiar pain. He threw off the blankets of his bed, and looked over himself.
His wounds looked well-tended, and he realized this wasn’t Faith Lane.
He examined the room he was in. The only exit was a very sturdy looking oak door. The room was lit by candlelight and a single window.
The walls of the room had carvings glorifying the Goddess of Love and Compassion. The sounds of men and women chanting Mallastra's verses confirmed the boy was in a church, or abbey.
The door unlocked, then opened. The man that hovelled into the room, looked to be in his late fifties. He had greying white hair, and a clean-shaven face.
But Gunther saw in the man’s eyes, this was someone of immense wisdom who was more formidable than he appeared. “Where…where am I?” The boy demanded.
“Take it easy son, you’ve had quite the experience, you’re lucky to be alive. You’ve been asleep the past three days, while my apprentices and I tended your wounds.”
“Who are you priest?” Terrel growled, trying to sound tough.
The older man sighed and closed his eyes before coming to a decision. “I am the Reverend Father Zachariah McKinnett of the order of the Firm Hand. I am in service to the Blessed lady Mallastra.”
Gunther’s eyes widened. “Wait, wait,” he interrupted.
Marshan halted the vision. “Yes?” the old man inquired.
“The order of the Firm Hand, I remember Naomi told me about them. They’re a military branch of Mallastra’s faith. They’re often seen serving the King’s Justiciars.”
Gunther looked at his former enemy in astonishment. “Do you mean to tell me one of the priests of that sect saved you?” he asked.
“The vision before you tells all,” was Terrel’s answer.
"By the Gods,” the big-hearted man groaned. “Have I been so caught up in my own grudges and fears that I haven’t been thinking?”
“That,” Terrel pointed out. “And Celina’s Slow Fury spell worked their dark power over you.”
Gunther’s hands moved to his head, as understanding raced through him. Along with it, came a new sense of shame and frustration. “Ugh, how could I have been so stupid?!”
Marshan cleared his throat. “If you’re quite done both of you, I will continue Terrel’s tale.”
Gunther turned back to the vision before him, very interested. He watched as the scenes went by. Terrel narrated.
“Over the several days that followed, I recovered from my wounds. Though my knee never quite recovered from what happened. Then came that fateful day.”
The vision before Gunther and the others changed. Young Terrel was in his room, packing what few things he could. He then turned and walked with the familiar gimp in his step out, and down several hallways.
Then he came to the entrance to the abbey. There, he found Zachariah McKinnett waiting for him. “Going somewhere lad?” the priest inquired in a bemused tone.
"Yeah old man,” the young teen snapped. “I appreciate the bed and healing, but I’ve gotta’ get goin’. I have scores to settle with a lot of people. Willowsbrook and Kosarr are at the top of me list!”
The older man gave him a disapproving glare. “I’m sorry boy, I cannot do that. You see Allegra is a friend to us, of the Gods’ faith. Young Gunther told Allegra, who in turn told me, about what you tried to do.
"You snuck that barrel into the orphanage, then tried burning it down for Morgan Kosarr. Yet, you continue down this path of vengeance, and for what?”
“They hurt me; they all need to pay!” Terrel snapped in challenge.
The older man shook his head. “What young Willowsbrook did was in pure self-defense, Kosarr used you. Suppose you do take your revenge, what then? Go down the same path as him, and waste your potential?"
“What d’ya mean by that old man?” the boy growled.
“I mean Mallastra teaches us that all people have potential to do great things,” he retorted.
The boy let out a joyless laugh. “Please, I know what I am. I’m gutter trash, the son of a whore and a Roccaforte aristocrat who had a fling.”
“Bah,” the Reverend Father spat out in derision. “Bloodlines are for the vanity of nobles. What matters is in our hearts.
“I was once like you, a street urchin looking for my next meal. Then I came into Mallastra’s light, and my whole life changed through faith and discipline.”
“Like all these priest blokes, I’ve heard those lines before," Teenage Terrel jeered. "If your Gods are so powerful, then how come they didn’t give me a better life?"
“Because it's forbidden for them to meddle in daily affairs unless necessary. Such was the will of Mother Universe Alleyah, and Kenvaris, Keeper of Time and her husband. Twas decreed at the beginning of time itself.
“As a follower of Mallastra, I am the hands of the Goddess, here to help those who have strayed or are in need of the light. And you, young Terrel Antonius, are one who definitely needs guidance.”
“Screw your guidance old man! I don’t need you or anyone, now I’ll be leaving!”
He tried to take a step forward, and the priest moved into the path of the young man. The teen tried again, to the same result. The man readied his staff. “You can leave boy, only when you defeat me with the Shepherd staff.”
The young thug looked nonplused. “But, but I ain’t no Shepherd staff user,” he protested.
“Terrel, you have a bad habit of not paying attention to your surroundings. You also underestimate people, a grave mistake! That almost cost you your life.
“I intend to train you, and if necessary, with Mallastra’s love, beat those flaws out of you! All in the tradition of the order of the Firm Hand.”
The priest then pointed to a wall to the young man’s right. Leaning up against a chair, was another Shepherd staff. The young man walked over and took it.
“Oh, what a fool I was then,” Gunther heard his former enemy whisper.
The young man readied the staff. The older man lifted the leg with a gimp. “Remember lad, the only way to get out those doors, is to beat me in combat! But, if you lose, you will stay here and take lessons in reading, numbers, and the Shepherd staff.
“You'll also learn Mallastra's tenants!”
“Pfft, please, beating an old cripple like you will be easy,” the teenage Terrel snorted.
“Ooh,” the older Terrel groaned. “Looking back on my arrogance of then makes me feel so embarrassed.”
“Don’t worry boy, you grew out of it.” Marshan pointed out in a comforting tone.
Gunther watched the teen rush the older man, swinging the staff like a sword. To the innkeeper’s surprise, the priest of Mallastra moved out of the way. He swung the Shepherd staff downwards, hooked the teen's legs, and pulled at them.
The move sent the unbalanced fifteen-year-old falling face first to the floor.
Gunther grimaced, having fallen like that on more than a few occasions.
The boy got to his feet, and readied his staff, the older man not even looking tired. “Ready to give up lad?” the priest asked.
“Not bloody likely,” the boy snapped, before he turned and ran for the door.
The young Terrel got a surprise. He touched the lock, and leaped away as he yelped in pain from the shock he received. “A wee little something I put on in case you tried something like that.” McKinnett commented.
Gunther found himself gaining even more respect for the priest of mallastra. The man was no fool, but one who understood the world very well.
The boy’s face took on an enraged look as he rushed the old man. Again, he dodged and tripped the boy up.
Gunther watched as this went on several more times. Finally, the boy lay on the ground panting, sweating, and shaking.
“Well lad, looks like Mallastra’s will is you’ll be stayin’ here for a while still.” The man quipped. Then his face took on a sterner instructor expression. “And, if you pay attention, you’ll learn something!”
And we end on a cliffhanger. You want to see more of Terrel’s journey, you’ll have to come back next time. The Willowsbrook Chronicles continues with Chapter 24 next time.
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Next: Chapter 24: Newfound Faith