Mags stood in the middle of the muddy street as sheets of rain poured over, nearly blinding him. The long stick was heavy in his hand; gripped with white knuckles. The three boys chasing him and his sister, Penelo, surrounded them. Penelo crouched behind her brother.
“Don’t, Mags. They’ll hurt you.”
“If I don’t they’ll hurt both of us.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time.”
“It’ll be the last.”
There was no more running for Mags. He’d make a stand here. He couldn’t bear to see her hurt. Not again. Not ever.
“Well, well, well,” the tallest boy stepped forward. He carried a small knife, more appropriate for whittling wood on a porch than murder. Vogar liked to hurt people. He wasn’t the killing type yet, but he would be. At fifteen winters he was a full two years older and stronger than Mags who was still mostly skin and bones. The other boys were Vogar’s cousins, Ham and Lork. Lork was the scrawny mean one and Ham was the one with the lazy eye. His left eye, Mags noted. His uncle always told him to watch for the details. “Got a big stick do ya, Mags? Think that’ll help? Think I’m scared? I tell ya what.” Mags hated the way he pronounced what like ‘whoot’. “What I’m gonna do is take away your little stick and then Lork and Ham and me; we’re gonna shove it right up your arse. Then—”
Mags heard no more, his ears and face burned hot. Anger coursed through him. He knew there were more threats coming. His uncle taught him another valuable thing. ‘Always take out the biggest one first. If ya ‘luck out the rest’ll turn tail and run’ he’d said. Besides, Vogar had wandered a bit too close. He was used to fighting boys who were unarmed or who had knives of their own. The broken broomstick he held in his hands could be wielded at a much greater distance. He counted on that distance now.
Mags brought the stick up and grabbed the end one fist length below where his other hand was. ‘Two-handed weapons are big levers,’ his uncle had said.Grabbing it like a sword, he waited. Vogar squinted in the rain. He came forward quickly, slipping slightly in the mud.
Mags had chosen this ground for a reason. Last spring a stone had fallen off of Old Gamar’s cart while he was on way to fix the wall over in Charatown. That stone sank deep into the mud and not even Ol’ Mathilda, his plow horse, could pull it out. Mags stood with his foot firmly planted on the stone. He swung the stick like an axe against a tree. Only the tree was Vogar’s leg, just at the knee joint. The resounding crack echoed and Vogar screamed, falling into the mud, dropping his knife, and grabbing his knee.
Lork and Ham had been coming, but the scream stopped them. Mags wasn’t sure if they’d ever seen Vogar hurt like that.It bought Mags only a moment.
“You little bastard, I’ll—”
Mags didn’t wait. His job wasn’t finished. His rage was barely controlled, he focused it. He felt the battle lust running through him. His uncle talked about that, with some of the other men in his regiment. Mags had been spying on them while they drank. That was the last time he ever saw his uncle. His regiment hadn’t returned. ‘If ya gotta fight, choose the ground and take every advantage you can get,’ were his last words of advice.
Mags turned, making sure he was firmly planted on that stray stone. This time Vogar was faster. Mags’s blow connected on the boy’s back as he came in low, jabbing with the mud-caked knife. Vogar pushed off his good leg but lost support halfway through his charge. Still, the knife ran a jagged cut through Mags’s pants leaving a bleeding gouge down his leg.
Vogar stumbled in the mud, sliding out of reach for the moment. Penelo cried his name, but he couldn’t heed her. He couldn’t be distracted from Vogar yet. He knew Lork and Ham were coming around— maybe even going toward Penelo— but Mags knew it was Vogar he needed to beat. Though Vogar’s attack had cut him it hadn’t knocked him over and he still held his weapon. It’s reach was his best advantage he had against multiple opponents. The attack had forced him off the stone and back into the less stable mud of the road. Thunder rolled over the street as the rain increased its pounding around them, sending walls of water across the street. Mags took the position with the wind to his back. He saw Vogar’s discomfort as he faced him. Vogar was a bully, he wouldn’t go down easy. Not in front of Lork and Ham. No, he couldn’t afford that. His pecking order was all he had.
Vogar was hesitant to come close, the water stinging blinking eyes. Mags heard a scream from Penelo and he turned, his worry for his sister stripping his focus on his target. Lork slipped in the mud chasing her while Ham cheered him on. It was mistake. Vogar hit him while he wasn’t looking and the two fell sideways in the mud, sliding several feet before stopping. The stick came loose in the fall, lost in the mud. Mags panicked. He cursed himself. Vogar grabbed him, but he hadn’t felt the knife cut yet.
Vogar pulled him up with strong hands and Mags twisted, letting his elbow lead in the strike. It hit his chin and Vogar reeled back, releasing Mags. His heart pounded. He had to help Penelo. He had to find his weapon. The mud in his eyes was washing away in the rain but not fast enough. He spit up foul tasting manure mixed with mud. Tried to focus.
“Leave that bitch,” Vogar said. “Help with him.” Damn. They were all coming now. He stepped toward Penelo, but Ham got in the way, coming forward. Pounding his fat fist into his hand in a manner meant to intimidate. The lazy eye kind of ruined the effect. Vogar moved to the other side and he knew Lork was behind him. Penelo was safe by one of the houses.
“Run, Mags!” she said.
“Get out of here, Pen!” Mags said, just as Ham threw his punch. Ham was known to take wide swings. Mags waited, Ham reeled back. Mags dove for the boy’s left leg. The force of the dive knocked Ham forward as his leg slipped from under him in the mud. He must have pushed hard on the knee because Ham screamed even louder than Vogar had. They landed in a heap. The boy was squirming on top of Mags pushing him into the mud. His face entirely covered now. Something hit him hard. It was Lork. The two cousins were inseparable. Lork bony fist struck Mags’s mud streaked face and he fell back again with a wet slap. He only hoped Penelo had run.
“Get ‘em up,” Vogar said. “And one o’ you idiots find my damn knife. Ya think I can afford ‘nother?” Mags was still partially blind from the mud and driving rain but he could make out the angry visage of Vogar well enough to know he was in trouble. Thick hands grabbed him and pulled him up. Ham was crying as he did so and wobbled on his busted knee. He didn’t dare disobey Vogar. “Now. This little play soldier here. Okay, I’ll say that was one of the better fights I’ve had this week so I’ll make you a deal and only break one of the knees. Then I’ll break both arms and legs. Hold em strong, Ham.”
Mags reeled from the fight, the battle lust waning. His strength; failing. The first blow from Vogar broke his nose. A bloom of pain exploded in his face. A loud crack sounded from the force of it and he reeled, knocking him and, by momentum, Ham, over in a heap.
“Found it, Vogar,” Lork said. Mags knew he meant the knife.
“Good. Now help our sack o’ shit cousin get this little bastard up.”
Mags struggled to get up; to get away. But he only slid in place. Eventually Ham and Lork had him back up. Warm blood flowed from his nose. A dozen bruises and cuts burned, especially where the knife had sliced him. He knew it could only get worse. Still, he smiled as he Vogar limped toward him. He’d hurt him and Penelo had gotten away. That’s what was important.
“Nice limp, Vogar.” A simple three words. The anger came back into the bully’s face. It flushed red. This whole fight had been an indignity. There was rage in those black eyes.
“Time to di—” he said, as an echoing crack peeled down the street. Vogar got a funny look then and cocked his head to the side in an uncomfortable way. He fell over in the mud. Behind him stood Penelo. Her drenched hair was matted to head and in her hands she held the broom handle.
“Put. My. Brother. Down,” she said in a very even and final tone. Mags felt the hands release him and almost fell. Instead he swayed toward Penelo, who took a hand off the stick to support him. Ham and Lork looked at each other, sheepishly grabbed Vogar, and dragged him away. Mags and Penelo turned and headed the opposite direction.
“Thanks, Pen.”
“I’m sure you’d had ’em anyway.”
“I did.” Mags said. He knew that was a lie. “But thanks for saving me.” She handed the broken broomstick back to him.
“Next time try and hold on to that.”
The storm faded. One last distant roll of thunder passed over as Penelo helped Mags limp home.