“Whumph!”
Jasper Walker
landed on the hard ground with a thud and groaned from shock. Winded, he gasped
for breath, wincing at the stabbing pain knifing through his chest. He forced
himself to breath more slowly, easing air between his clenched teeth.
Gradually, the pain subsided and he breathed normally again.
He struggled to
his feet, grateful to discover he hadn’t done any serious damage to his body
during the fall. Apart from sore muscles, he didn’t feel any different than
before. And then he looked about himself
in growing confusion. There was one big difference – his surroundings.
Where am I?
He stood near
the edge of a thick forest. Tall trees stretched upwards, blocking a portion of
the sky. The sun hung low to the horizon, painting the ground with violet
shadows. The night would soon be upon him.
He drew in
another breath. The air was hot and humid and felt heavy in his lungs. The snow
that gathered earlier on his clothes had already melted, leaving him
uncomfortably damp. He took a few steps forward and then turned around, not knowing
which way to go. If he turned right, he’d end up deeper in the forest. To the
left, was an open plain.
Which way?
And then came a
haunting cry, the same anguished plea he’d heard through the storm. Shivers
coursed up and down his spine. He couldn’t tell if the cry was human or not,
but it was definitely from something in a great deal of distress. His instincts
kicked in, and he headed away from the forest in the direction of the sound.
Across the plain, through a stand of trees, hurrying now. The cries grew louder
and with them other sounds joined in. Laughter reached his ears, sounding
incongruous alongside the painful pleas. He crept closer, his heart thumping.
Taking cover
behind a large baobab tree, he discovered a natural clearing among another thin
clump of trees. Shadows stretched long, dark fingers across the ground. Peering
into the dimness, he swallowed a gasp. A group of people, made up of men and
women, boys and girls surrounded an old man who lay in the dirt. The man was
curled up in a fetal position with his hands covering his face.
Jasper watched
one of the male spectators lash out with his foot and connect with the old man
on the ground. A howl of pain went through the victim. He curled up even
tighter, whimpering.
The crowd
laughed even louder. “Ye call yerself a healer! Ye say ye’ve saved so many of
us over the years. Why don’t ye get up and save yerself!” another man in the
crowd jeered.
“Yer a has-been.
No good to anyone, or anything. Yer time is over, old man,” another tormentor
mocked and aimed another vicious kick at the victim.
Rage surged
through Jasper at the injustice of the scene unfolding before him. A
defenseless old man was being persecuted for no good reason. It was something
he couldn’t tolerate. It reminded him of some of the younger students at the
Gray Cliffs Academy who found themselves the brunt of jokes from older kids.
Jasper had a reputation as someone who stood up for the underdog. Now he burned
with the need to do something to assist the old man who lay helpless on the
ground at the mercy of the cruel crowd.
He took another
moment to look around him and did a rough head count of the spectators gathered
around. He was outnumbered by far, and a sizeable portion of the mob were
full-grown men. Jasper was tall for his age and physically fit, yet he was no
match for the men who made up the crowd.
Still, he
couldn’t sit there and do nothing. The man on the ground was crying in pain.
Then he saw three of the boys pick up large rocks and aim them toward their
victim. Before he could fully process what was happening, the boys hurled their
missiles. They landed with remarkable accuracy, thudding against the man’s head
and shoulder and back. Each time, the man cried out.
Unable to hold
back another moment, Jasper burst out from his hiding place, his fists
clenched.
“Stop!”
The spectators
gasped collectively in surprise. The ones with their backs to him turned
around. All of them took a step back. He glared at the gathered crowd, his
breath coming fast. Adrenaline surged through his veins. They stared at Jasper
in shock. He understood their reaction.
Every member of
the crowd, including the man on the ground, was dressed in funny garments, like
something he’d see on an old-fashioned movie based in ancient times. The coarse
homespun fabric looked something like burlap. The men wore tunics that hung
loosely from their frames and fell past their knees. The women wore long
dresses made from the same material.
He looked down
at his school uniform – the navy-blue blazer, white shirt, blue-and-maroon
school tie and gray pants. His lace-up school shoes were still shiny. He’d
polished them only that morning. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“W-who are ye?”
one of the male adults of the crowd demanded.
The man was
broad across the chest, with arms as thick as tree trunks. Jasper trembled
inside, but forced himself to maintain eye contact.
“My name is
Jasper Walker. Who are you?” he stated clearly.
The man gathered
himself together, and when he spoke again, his voice was loud and firm. “I’m
Baron Drakor. What is yer business here?”
Jasper took a
few more steps forward. Most of the crowd drew back. Baron Drakor remained
where he was. Jasper narrowed his gaze at the man, and then pointed to the
figure on the ground. “That man is a friend of mine. I demand you release him.”
Drakor’s face
split into a wide grin. Huge guffaws filled the air. His whole body shook with
mirth. Many in his crowd of supporters began to laugh. He crossed his arms over
his powerful chest and stared hard at Jasper.
“A friend of yers,
you say? How could that be? This man has lived in my village since I was born.
I know every inch of this land and everyone in it, and I’ve never set eyes on
ye.”
Jasper thought
fast. He had no idea where he was, but it was obvious he’d been thrust somewhere
far back in time. He could hardly admit he was a school boy snatched from the
twenty-first century. They’d think he was crazy and might turn on him next.
No, he had to
continue with his bluff and pray they set the old man free. It was his only
hope. He glanced down at the victim and saw blood running from a wound on his
face. Jasper’s anger surged inside him. Once again, his hands clenched into
fists.
Refusing to be
intimidated by Drakor’s glare, Jasper shrugged. “Perhaps you’re not as widely
traveled as you have people believe.”
The crowd
sniggered. Drakor’s face turned red. He turned angry eyes on Jasper. “How dare
ye!” he spat. “I am the King’s representative. No one, and I mean no one, speaks to me like that!”
Without warning,
the man lunged at Jasper and knocked him off his feet. Caught unawares, Jasper
fell hard. Once again, the air was knocked out of him and he wheezed and gasped
for breath. The crowd erupted into laughter. Anger and embarrassment burned on
Jasper’s face. Anger won out. He surged to his feet, his fists at the ready.
Drakor laughed
even harder. “Oh look, the young pup wants to fight me! How about that?”
The laughter of
the crowd grew louder and Jasper understood why. Drakor was a mountain of a
man. His heavy black beard and narrowed black eyes made him look even more
menacing. Jasper glared at his opponent and at the same time tried hard to stem
the trembling that had started in his body.
“Come on, then!
Let’s do it,” Jasper urged before his courage gave out.
Drakor shook his
head in surprise. He chuckled. “Don’t be stupid, boy. I’d knock yer head off.
Now, go home to yer mother and leave us to finish our business. If ye turn and
leave right now, I’ll forget yer impudence.”
Jasper turned
his gaze on the old man who still lay curled up on the ground. One of his eyes
was swollen shut, but he looked at Jasper out of the other one. Hope and
desperation warred in the old man’s eyes. Tears leaked down his cheek. Jasper
saw he was the man’s only hope. If he turned his back on him, the old man would
surely be stoned and beaten to death.
“Come on, boy.
It’s none of yer business. Go back home to yer momma, where ye belong.”
The
guffaws and jeers of the crowd filled Jasper’s ears. For a fleeting moment, he
thought about turning away and leaving them to it, but then he saw the poor man
who cowered on the ground, and he couldn’t do it. With a surge of
determination, he tightened his fists and charged.
Wrecker lives for the Fallen Lords MC. The club is the only thing he cares about. Until her.
Winter Travers is a devoted wife, mother, and aunt turned author who was born and raised in Wisconsin. After a brief stint in South Carolina following her heart to chase the man who is now her hubby, they retreated back up North to the changing seasons, and the place they now call home.
