Vae victis
Sample chapter: 1686 words
******
"Boy!”
Victis recognized his father’s voice calling through his window, and he knew the summons was for him, even if his name wasn’t spoken. The eight year old hurried along to see what the old man wanted now.
When he arrived in the backyard, his father was standing there, glancing at a watch. Victis couldn’t help his nervousness—even though he was sure he’d arrived in less than five seconds this time, he watched his father’s hand anyway, his shaking knees only steadying when his father’s eyes left the timepiece.
His father offered no congratulations or praise for a prompt arrival. Instead, his eyes only displayed the same cold dissatisfaction. "How old are you now, Boy?” he asked, as though the detail was not important enough to remember.
"Eight, sir,” Victis responded formally and politely.
His father only nodded once and then placed his hands upon his hip. "Draw.”
Victis immediately took his practiced archery stance and gripped the cross between his fingers. In a blink, a large porcelain bow appeared from nothing. The child then concentrated on his right hand, his supple flesh twitching and pulsing until a shimmering aura appeared and manifested itself into a javelin shape, providing the ethereal ammunition for the conjured weapon.
His father only stroked his chin, his thick, gnarled fingers rustling through the strands of his beard. He watched as Victis drew the arrow on his bow and held. He left the boy in that state as he turned to the tree to the right, whereupon hung a large black sack. Unzipping the top half, out poked the head of a beaten man, bound, gagged and helpless.
His father pointed a finger, tapping right between the bound man’s eyes.
"Right there.”
The captive’s eyes fell upon the child, and Victis froze.
"W-What?”
His father frowned. "Right. There.”
Victis looked down at the weapon in his hands, and understood what his father meant.
"Don’t make me repeat myself again,” his father said threateningly, once more tapping the man’s forehead. "If I do, you will not like what happens afterward.”
Victis’s heart ran cold, immediately thinking of the things he knew his father was capable of. The scars were not visible through the child’s casual wear, but he could feel them all the same. The pain had never left—not completely—it still burned in his memory as fiercely as it had during each of his father’s lessons. The scars were teaching tools . . . reminders . . . that his father was never to be questioned. Never to be disobeyed.
Victis rose his bow and aimed, calculating the arc. He saw the bound man’s eyes grow wide.
Then the child released the arrow, and the man’s eyes fell.
******
Davey’s House on Route 104 wasn’t the most convenient place to find a meal, but men seldom complained when they’d been driving for an hour or more and found the only place for the next 200 miles that served hot breakfast twenty-four-seven. The place never saw much repeat business, which is why no one batted an eyelash when a tall man in a tank top and shades walked in with a duffle bag swung over his shoulder.
"Come on in and take a seat, hon,” said Agnes, the proprietor of the roadside diner.
Without a word edgewise, the man slumped into a stool at the bar, avoiding any sort of eye contact. Folks only paid him a moment’s worth of attention before returning to their business.
In a short while, Agnes slid the stranger a glass of ice water and walked up with a pen and paper.
Before she could even speak a word, the stranger took the water to his lips and ravenously gulped down the entire glassful.
"My lord, someone was pretty thirsty, I guess,” Agnes chuckled. She waited until the man had finished and placed the glass back upon the counter. "So what can I—"
"More please,” the man stated quickly.
Agnes only smiled and shook her head. "Sure. One sec.”
She disappeared with the glass and returned moments later with a full glass. "There you go.”
The same actions repeated themselves, as the stranger drank the whole glass, set it back upon the counter and asked for more. A third time, Agnes returned with a full cup of water. This time, when the stranger finished, she spoke up quickly, "So what else will it be, sweetie?”
"Nothing,” the man said, standing back from the counter. "I’m finished.”
Agnes cast the stranger an indignant look. "Hey, what you playing at? You can’t come into my place and drink up my water without buying something!”
Her words had no effect, and the man turned to be on his way. Her brow furrowing, Agnes turned toward her husband in the kitchen. "Bob! This asshole’s trying to skimp!”
The floorboards creaked as the seven-foot, three-hundred pound Bob revealed himself, still dressed in his hairnet and dirty apron. "You better just be going out for a smoke, friend,” the large man boomed. When the stranger failed to stop, he called out two other names. "Davey! Jonny!”
Two young men seated near the doors stood and blocked the stranger’s path.
"Now listen. We’re pretty sure you still enjoy the use of those legs,” one of them said menacingly. "So you got two choices. You can sit your ass back at that bar on your own, or we can sit your ass in a wheelchair for the rest of your stinkin’ life.”
"So what’ll it be, stranger?” added the other man.
The stranger sighed, and for the first time, his eyes rose in full contact with theirs. A set of deep, piercing browns stared up at them, lacking any hint of fear or concern.
"Listen,” said the stranger, "you don’t know me. You don’t know a single thing about me. Or what I’m capable of.”
He could see the smirks and the snickers. Again, he wasn’t concerned.
"But let me tell you: you’re making a mistake. If it so suited me, I could clear this whole place out and take every dime and odd dollar you got stashed in that safe in the basement.”
The two boys looked up at their parents, eyes floating between the four parties with a mix of confusion and fear.
"Believe me when I say that I’ve killed people for pettier reasons than a few glasses of water, and as far as I can see, you ain’t got a rule saying I can’t just drink and walk. So from the way I’m seeing it, you guys are trying to hold me—illegally—against my will.”
His eyes narrowed. "And that sounds like a pretty decent reason to kill someone over.”
Again, the eyes floated from one person to the next.
"You can take me at my word . . . . Or don’t. It really doesn’t matter to me. I could break every last person in this place without breaking a sweat, take what you got in the safe, and forget what any of you looked like in time for a good nights’ sleep. That is totally within my power to do if I so chose . . . But I’m gonna let you make the first move and decide your own fates.”
His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Who knows. Maybe I’m lying, right?”
Finally, one of the young men spoke again. "You . . . you’re crazy, man.”
"Y-Yeah,” said the other. "It was just a glass of freaking water! Fine! Go. Get the hell out of here . . . just don’t come back!”
The stranger sighed and adjusted the bag back onto his shoulder. "Vae victis,” he whispered.
As he stepped through door, he rose a hand in farewell.
"Have a nice day, folks.”
******
"Why did you do this to me?!
"Vae victis. It means ‘woe to the conquered’. It is what I named you for, boy. It’s the creed that your entire life was meant to fulfill. Expect no quarter from anyone, and offer none.”
The rain beating on his brow, Victis glanced down at his father . . . the arrow in his chest . . . the blood diluting in the puddle beneath him. His very life ebbing away each second.
Done by his own son’s hand.
"I loved her,” Victis said. "She was . . . she was my closest friend, and I loved her . . .”
"And so, you gave yourself a weakness,” his father told him. "Something I could exploit. Something I could use to get to you.” His father chuckled. "Why do you think I never loved your mother? Because love is nothing but stupidity brought about by obsolete hormones and feelings of inadequacy. I had no need for your mother outside of what she could offer me physically, and there are billions more in the world that could do the same job if not better.”
The dying man chuckled. "Heh. ‘Love’. If you really loved that girl, you should have kept her out of your life.”
Victis’s bow appeared in a flash, aimed right between his father’s eyes.
"Yes. Do it! Why are you hesitating? Even in the state I’m in now, I can think of at least a dozen ways to kill you, and I will take them if you give me half the opportunity. I’ve taught you well, but there was one thing I was never able to fully teach you: how to have the heart of a true killer. I’ve come close, but you’re not quite there, yet.” His smile widened. "You just needed one more push . . .”
Victis grit his teeth. "I’m not like you.”
"Tellourself whatever you want, but time will come and prove me right,” he leaned back, closing his eyes. "Now come on. Finish me.”
Victis’s mind flashed images of Nezarene . . . of her warm smile . . . her beautiful eyes . . .
. . . and the state he found her in only hours before. The blood. So much blood.
His bow hand twitched, his eyes narrowed.
