Beyond the Crimson (The Crimson Cycle) by Danielle Martin Williams

Author:Danielle Martin Williams [Williams, Danielle Martin]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-01-17T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve: Heartless

“You disobedient fiend!” the short stocky monk roared. His heart lurched. He gave the horse a hard kick ready to make his escape, but the chubby hands were already clasped tightly onto his shirt, and as the horse reared up, the monk viciously thrust his grip downward, sending him crashing to the hard ground. In the same instant, the monk snatched the horsewhip from the saddle, brown eyes engrossed in absolute fury.

“Sinful swine! You think you can skip lessons whenever pleases you?” he shouted as he flicked his wrist, sending the whip flying forward. The boy curled sideways as the tip licked the side of his pants. His heart pounded at how close it had come, and he scrambled backwards, bumping into the hard wooden wall. He had nowhere to run, and he felt a sudden pain tremor through his head. It had been a long while since he had felt the whip, but the scorching sting was something he would not forget.

“I—I was going to come,” his voice cracked.

“Lying demon-spawn! You need the devil beaten right out of you!” The monk pulled back his arm, and the boy covered his face with his hands, peeking through his fingers as the monk smiled cruelly and moved to flick the whip forward again, but suddenly a hand grasped his arm from behind. The monk snarled and whirled around coming face-to-face with Arthur, who at twelve summers was already taller than him.

“Wait!” Arthur shouted still holding the monk’s arm, giving the boy just enough time to squirm to his feet.

The monk snarled, yanking away from his grip. “I am a monk! How dare you place your hands upon me!”

“Merlin demanded that you not hit him…” he began. The boy looked around frantically, not wasting a moment to try figure out his escape. His eyes traveled up the wooden walls of the stable; it was too high, but then he saw the large trough. It could boost him high enough to get a firm hold. He could climb it, and he would. He placed his foot upon it, turning his head just long enough to see how much time he had, but at that same moment the monk grabbed the Arthur roughly and pushed him backwards.

“He never said anything about not whipping you!” he roared pulling his hand back, the long tail of the whip curling behind him. The boy’s eyes flashed the pitchfork resting against the trough and back to his friend’s terrified blue eyes behind the balding head.

CRACK!

The monk slumped to the ground, and all he saw were the wide blue eyes, this time in shock, not fear. He looked at the pitchfork in his hand, not even remembering grabbing it and dropped it suddenly as his two other friends came running to the scene, both out of breath and staring at the amorphous figure lying on the dirt.

“What have you done?” Bedivere demanded, bending down to check for life.

He blinked rapidly, as his breathing increased into heaving. “H—he was going to whip him,” he panicked, feeling the familiar acid in his stomach rise.

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