Young Writers Society

Attila held his breath and listened. A slight breeze ruffled the wheat, and the whoosh of scythes continued. Nothing indicated he’d been seen. He took the bottle of grappa he’d stolen out from his tattered jacket and pulled the cork.

He was about to drink when he heard hoof beats. He set the bottle down and went up on his knees. Something was about to break the mindless monotony of his job. This he had to see. He raised his head up for a clear view. He chuckled slightly; lucky his hair was blond and not red, or they’d think there was a fire.

A rider reined in at the edge of the field, where his father and a few other men had congregated.

“What is it?” One of the men asked.

“A troop of bandits is headed this way,” said the rider.

Attila sighed. There were bandits headed this way several times a year, and they never amounted to anything. The other workers seemed to share this view, silently staring at the rider, as if to say, “so what?”

The rider glanced away, uncomfortable with the silence. “Everyone’s to go to the manor house until the threat’s gone.”

The men groaned, throwing down their scythes. “It’s a free afternoon off,” the rider chimed in hopefully. The men shot him dirty looks. So they should, thought Attila. A free afternoon off in a house full of stinking, crying babies, muttering women and sweaty men. No, he’d rather stay here. In fact, that’s what he’d do. He waited until the men were out of sight, then lay back and closed his eyes. Everyone else could hide from ghosts if they wanted. For him the false alarms were well beyond a joke.

He took a swig from the bottle, thinking how he’d tease his kid sister Janine when the threat was over. If anyone hated the confinement more than him, it was her. She was always outside. No doubt she’d be out in the woods today. Perhaps she would get off after all. No one would go looking for her; they all knew no bandits would come.

The breeze brought a faint, deep sound. Attila sat up and listened, only because he had nothing better to do. No doubt it was only an animal grunt.

But then he heard it again, a voice coming from the bushes. He instinctively picked up his scythe. Another voice. Maybe he should go to the manor house after all. He waded to the edge of the wheat field and ran up the path to the village.

Then he remembered his sister. If these really were bandits, she wouldn’t know. She’d still be out there. He changed course, heading for the woods behind his house. On the way he stopped and grabbed his hunting bow and quiver, just in case.

He knew where she’d be, but it took him five minutes running to get there, and a patch of thorns shredded his left forearm as he passed.

“Attila!” Janine stood up, dropping her book. “What-“

Attila grabbed her by the arm and began walking. “There’s bandits. We need to get to the manor house.”

“But daddy said there’s always bandits, but they never end up attacking.”

“I heard them,” said Attila. “Come on.” He dragged harder, crushing a new trail that would lead them up to the backdoor of the manor house.

Almost there. Attila heard voices and footfalls between theirs. The breeze turned, bringing smoke. They were burning the village. He didn’t have anything worth owning, but it still made him angry, them taking away his nothing.

Soon the manor house came into view, atop a weedy slope. He crashed on, ignoring a thorn that slashed his calf.

Janine screamed. He stopped and turned around, but she was facing forward. He turned back, and there in the bushes was a man.

Attila froze. The man wasn’t moving, merely staring, propping himself up with a spear.

Something told Attila to look behind him. When he did, a spear was flying towards him. He leapt to the side and crashed into the forest floor. A rock grazed the skin off his elbow, and he let out a groan.

Next thing he knew, there were charging footsteps coming from all directions. He sprung back to his feet and whipped out his bow and an arrow. Janine grabbed him around the waist.

Attila let the arrow fly, and it sent the spear thrower tumbling into a bramble. He turned, inadvertently flinging Janine onto the ground. Another bandit charged at him, only a few metres away. He pulled the scythe out of the ground, brought the blade up, and deflected the bandit’s spear.

The bandit stopped next to one of his comrades, a hulk of a man who also held a spear. The shorter bandit cast a lustful glance at Janine, who scrambled behind Attila.

Attila looked up at the manor house. Too far. No point calling for help or running. He’d have to fight.

He tried to get his trembling hands under control. The handle of his scythe was slippery in his hands, and his mouth dry. Both bandits wore smirks, seeing his obvious fear. The smaller one stepped forward.

“Why don’t you put that down?” he said. “We won’t hurt you. We just want a bit of fun.”

The larger bandit laughed a stupid dolt’s guffaw.

“You won’t touch her,” Attila said, his voice shaking more than his hands.

“Her? Aw. Don’t feel left out. We’ll play with both of you.” The other bandit laughed again. “We aint fussy.”

Attila backed up more, past the dead bandit in the bramble. “You’ll die if you try.”

This time the small bandit laughed, a diseased cackle. “Let’s get ‘em.”

Attila stepped to the side, putting the bramble between them. He prayed they hadn’t seen it.

The bandits kept coming, holding their spears out, eyes fixed on Attila. Attila forced himself not to look down, instead meeting their lustful gazes. They kept coming, until the smaller one leapt up, howling in pain. A second later the large one did likewise.

Attila swept the scythe in a half circle, just like cutting wheat. His shoulders tightened as the blade plunged through the tall bandit’s guts. He swung again, this time lopping off the big one’s finger.

“Come on,” he shouted, grabbing Janine by the arm. She was rooted to the spot, and he had to drag her for a few seconds before she picked up her own step. They hurtled up the hill, while the bandits screamed in agony behind them. The door opened, and Janine ran straight into her father’s waiting arms. Attila stopped next to them, panting.

“That was quite a fight you put up.”

Attila turned to see the bailiff.

“What if I were to say your wheat cutting days are over?”

“What do you mean?” Had he done something wrong? Was he going to jail?

The bailiff smiled and put a hand on his shoulder. “I guess that didn’t sound so good did it? What I mean is, I’m offering you a job.”