Angusel and Gull fight for answers in RAGING SEA CH4/SC2C #amwriting #Arthurverse

Pictish stone graphic overlay
(c)2015 by Kim HeadleePhysical exertion can be excellent therapy and as such is a technique that has been known for millennia--though today's exertion is more likely to take the form of basketball, football, golf, or even boxing.

In the tribal warrior culture into which Gull and Angusel were born, however, swordplay was often the first—and most dangerous—choice for relieving tension and settling disputes.


Previous excerpts of Raging Sea  Chapter 1: Scene 1 | Scene 2 | Scene 3 | Scene 4 | Scene 5 |Chapter 2: Scene 1-A | Scene 1-B | Scene 2 |Chapter 3: Sc 1-A | Sc 1-B | Scene 2 | Sc 3-A | Sc 3-B |
Chapter 4: Sc 1-A | Sc 1-B | Sc 2-A | Sc 2-B |
Raging Sea Chapter 4, Scene 2-C©2015 by Kim HeadleeAll rights reserved.
Gull regarded him, arms folded. “How many times do we have to tell ye to ne’er take your eyes off your opponent?”

Working his sore jaw, Angusel righted his stance. “Give me a sword, and I’ll show you how well I’ve learned that lesson.”

“Will ye now? That, I should like to see.”

“Gull, wait,” said Elian as the other man disappeared into the shed. When Gull emerged, carrying two naked battle swords and no shields, Elian blanched. “No! I forbid this!”

“I told ye this is between the lad and me.” Gull tossed Angusel a sword and assumed a combat stance with the other one. He grinned. “Or I should say my wee little lassie here.”

Growling, Angusel charged. He unleashed a rapid series of slashes and thrusts, hoping—nay, praying he would catch Gull unprepared for the swiftness of the assault. No such luck. Gull dodged or parried each blow. In spite of every trick and twist and spin and lunge and kick and charge he tried, Angusel couldn’t score a single hit on anything other than his opponent’s blade. And the most maddening part of all was that Gull made it look so damned easy.

Strike that. Gull wasn’t making any offensive moves, only defensive, as if he didn’t care enough to deliver a satisfying fight. That realization enraged Angusel even more.

“That’s it, isn’t it?” he gasped out between attacks. “You don’t care! That’s why you left us.” Another low lunge . . . blocked. Recoil, slash high. Blocked again. “You don’t care about Mother or me! Why?” Midsection thrust, dodged. “Why?”

As Gull spun clear, Angusel readied another strike. And froze.

Gull had dropped to his knees, head bowed and sword on the ground. The hilt lay close enough for Gull to grab, so Angusel approached him sword first, inching toward Gull’s weapon until he could kick it away. With his sword’s point pricking Gull’s throat, he raised the man’s head. Gull cracked a smile of . . . approval?

“Ye attacked in rage but did not let it master you. And ye did not lose sight of your adversary, even at the end, though your lann-seolta yet needs a woeful lot of practice. Elian can find someone else to help with that, sure enough. Now I can die content.” He closed his eyes. “Finish your work, then.”

“Not without answers.” Angusel drew a deep breath, held it, and hissed it out. “Father.”

Gull snapped his eyes open. “Oho. ‘Father,’ now, is it?”

“That’s what you are. Or is that a lie too?” Angusel felt the tide of his anger surge again.

“Ye saw a body like unto my size and shape and coloring, dressed in my armor, holding my sword, wearing my gold torcs, his face a bloody pulp where a horse had trampled it, and most of his shield-side forearm hacked off but showing enough woad to suggest the Alban Lion. What ye didna see, lad,” he murmured, “was that the dye had been painted on the flesh’s surface only.”

“I saw Mother sob over that body for days! The entire clan did! I—” Into his mind’s eye sprang his four-year-old self, toddling toward the corpse to pet the remains of the tattoo he’d loved so well, only to shrink back at the bloody horror. His voice caught, and he sucked in a breath. “Her tears were real. The priests had to restrain her when it came time for the funeral, or she’d have thrown herself onto the pyre.”

The memory’s weight crashed upon him. He lowered his sword and sank to his knees, chin to chest as he fought for control. Gripping the hilt helped. When at last he could look at his father, compassion dominated the older man’s gaze.

A thought occurred. Angusel asked in a hoarse whisper, “How do you know what I did and didn’t see?”

*** The end of chapter 4 ***

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