Everflame by Dylan Peters Page B

as well as stolen money from him and even embarrassed him by taking his clothing, forcing him to run home nude. Edgar's mother, Rachael, felt horrible about how her son was tormented, but with Edgar's father gone so often on long trips, she had little choice but to send Edgar on errands.
    Edgar’s black locks hung past his eyes as he walked into the village of Hammlin. Gazing down at his feet as he walked, the small, pale boy looked miserable.  He knew he had to help his mother. He didn’t blame her at all. It was his father he blamed. Edgar's father, Joe, worked for the Holy. He was a missionary and he had been gone for more of Edgar’s life than he had been present for. The boy resented him for it. He felt Joe should be at home, taking care of him and his mother, not off in other lands. Edgar didn’t even feel right calling him father.
    As Edgar started passing houses in the village, he changed his posture. He couldn’ t afford to hang his head now. He had to be on the lookout at all times. As his eyes surveyed his surroundings, he wished that his father were there. But as Pritchard Barton’s yellow teeth came sneering around the corner of the blacksmith’s shop, Edgar’s sentiment changed and he cursed his father’s name.
    “You know, I would have thought , by now, you’d just stop showing your ugly face around here, Shein.”
    Edgar reacted the same way that he always did when he saw Pritchard Barton. He kept his head straight, walked as fast as he could and prayed to the Holy that this would be the time that Barton let him go. Unfortunately, as they always did, E dgar’s prayers went unanswered.
    “I’m talkin’ to you, you little insect,” shouted Barton as he picked up a stone along the side of the road and hurled it at Edga r, hitting him on the shoulder.
    Pain shot through Edgar’s shoulder and arm but he didn’t stop walking. Please make him stop. Please make him stop , thought Edgar. However, Pritchard Barton wasn’t alone today. His crony, Joe Stockton, was with him and Pritchard loved to show off.
    “I think the little girl’s gone deaf,” laughed Stockton.
    “He ain’t deaf…yet,” sneered Barton as he picked up another stone.
    “Put that stone down, you little bastard!” Murray the Blacksmith came rumbling out of his shop and grabbed Pritchard Barton by his ear. “If I catch either of you little hooligans terrorizing people again, you’ll get the back of my hand. Got it?”
    Murray released Prichard’s ear and the boy almost tripped over himself in retreat. Scuffling in the street and kicking up dust, the two bullies ran away as fast as they could. Edgar couldn’t help but grin due to the shocked and embarrassed look on Pritchard’s pimpled face, the bully’s fat cheeks turning scarlet. The smith walked over to where Edgar stood and put his big hand on the boy’s shoulder.
    “You all right, boy?”
    “I’m fine, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”
    Edgar looked up into the big man’s bearded face. Murray was an intimidating man and although he had just helped Edgar, the boy wasn’t exactly comfortable in his presence.
    “You running errands for your mum again?”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “Well,” and Murray extended his hand down the road, “let’s get em done then, shall we?” Edgar couldn’t believe his luck. The blacksmith had stopped Pritchard Barton and now he was escorting him through the village, just like his own personal guard. “What do you need to get today, Edgar?”
    “Mum asked for salt, sugar, and bread,” answered the boy.
    “Where’s your dad gone off to this time, eh?”
    “Don’t know, Sir… He never says.”
    Murray grumbled to himself. I t was obvious to Edgar that the blacksmith felt the same way that he did about his father’s absence. Edgar had begun to feel much better, but with the topic of his father back in his mind, he was falling back into a depression.
    “How’s your mum doing up at the farm?” asked Murray.
    “She’s all right, Sir.