Wayte grunted in affirmation and continued to guide the horse down the deserted road. It had been so long since he had brought Marianna out under the stars he thought. Almost immediately that thought was replaced by one wondering how such a thought had entered his mind. He craned his neck to look at Birkett and Judith in the back of the cart; Birkett’s eyes were closed in what appeared to be a peaceful slumber, while Judith’s eyes were closed tightly against the pain. The odd thing, thought Wayte, was that as well as being clearly able to remember Judith’s arrest, her expressions of betrayal and fury were scarred deep in his mind; he could also clearly remember a welcoming smile, a ready laugh. Following these thoughts, he could recall visiting Judith with his wife Marianna; everyone was smiling and having a good time. Odd. He pictured Marianna’s face, again there were two memories, one where she was happy and smiling, and another where she was scared and fearful. It was odd how the two images were overlayed on top of each other.
A jolt in the carts movement and the sound of Birkett cursing brought Wayte back to reality. Shaking himself, he slowed the horse to a stop and looked off the side of the cart; something was wrong with one of the wheels. He climbed down off the cart as Birkett began demanding to know what was wrong. Inspecting the wheel, Wayte could see immediately that one of the spokes had broken and told Birkett as much.
“Can you fix it?” asked Birkett.
Wayte shook his head, “No, we don’t have the tools or the parts here.”
Birkett started swearing again, he got back into the cart and start kicking Judith, screaming that it was her fault that they were out here. Initially Wayte watched on as if this was normal, but as he watched Birkett’s face, all contorted in fury and Judith’s, clenched in pain, another memory hit him; a fight that he had had with Birkett, Birkett had been furious like he was now. It had resulted in him being knocked out, and when he had awaken, he found his wife fearful because he had abused her while he was being controlled. Control. The word triggered flashes of memories, in some he was good, others he was evil. Something in his mind snapped and he was brought back to reality; the colours were sharper, the sounds seemed more real. He saw Birkett once again, his face twisted in anger, he was in a mad frenzy, spittle running down his chin. Wayte broke off the already damaged spoke and swung it at Birkett’s knees. Birkett collapsed to the bed of the cart and sat up, his face furious!
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
“What was that Brother?” the emphasis on brother came with a sneer, strange that he hadn’t noticed it before. Birkett recognised the expression on Wayte’s face. “Ah,” he said, his eyes lighting up, “You’ve broken free. I’d wondered how long it was going to take. Now I can really enjoy my task, and then I’ll enjoy her one last time before I slit her throat in the river.” He cracked his neck and leapt down off the cart, sword drawn.
Wayte drew his own sword and stood in a defensive stance, “What is this?” he asked.
“Just a little loose end that needs to be cleaned up. Draycott wants you dead, and I’m happy to provide the service. He didn’t even have to pay me,” said Birkett with a guttural laugh. He thrust at Wayte, a clumsy stroke which was deflected easily.
Birkett recovered from his clumsy attack and focused, unleashing a steam of attacks the forced Wayte backwards. Wayte, recognising this attack as similar to the one that Birkett had used to beat him last time danced out of the way instead of trying to block. Birkett’s momentum carried him past Wayte and Wayte delivered a smack against the back with the flat of his blade, unwilling to cause injury at this point. “I’m not trying to kill you,” he said to Birkett as they circled each other once more.
Birkett laughed and spat, “I don’t see why not, I’ve got no such compunction about killing you.” He snarled and leapt forward with a massive overhead swing. Wayte easily side stepped and changing his grip on his blade, swung the pommel of his sword at Birkett’s head, trying to knock him unconscious. Birkett spun away, his sword coming around. Wayte saw it coming and tried to get out of the way, but he was too late, he gasped in pain as the blade bit deep into the flesh of his side, only to have the pain worsen as Birkett tried to draw back his sword only to find it caught in Wayte’s mailshirt. Unable to free the blade, Birkett let it go and drew a dagger from his belt and began throwing slashes at Wayte.