Chapter 2 Cries in a Rainstorm

Some people describe this story as a heart-aching tragedy, others describe it as the trials of a vengeful yet justifiable protector. This is the opposite of a fairytale. This is a legend of the boy who was both cursed and blessed with the names, "The Anonymous and The Marauder; Death's Assassin". A merciless protector beyond human comprehension. So, go ahead and find out for yourself if what I speak of is true, but even though regarded by some as a fraud, would you argue with the words of one of Bradwield's prophets?

You will find out for yourself that bravery, power, greed and evil know no boundaries.

It was the winter season in Bradwield City and all schools had been closed because of the snow storm. Most people were in their houses warming up to the warmth of their heaters or huddled by their fireplaces. In the small street of Brannon, a street situated to the north at the very edge of the city next to the railway, Howard Eriksson, a frail old man was busy shoveling snow off his doorstep. 'Darn snow,' he cursed it, 'Can't it take a break?' Howard was approaching his 70s and this kind of work was starting to get on his nerves.

The following couple of days brought more powerful snowstorms and with the snowstorms came rain and with the rain came powerful rainstorms, which was quite an unusual weather pattern but yet expected of GEM.

One night as he looked outside his window, Howard realized that the storm was growing stronger and stronger by the minute. 'Well, at least this is better than snow,' he murmured to himself as if there were someone else with him. Howard had been living alone for twenty-eight years. His wife, Patricia, fell seriously ill and died at the age of 29. Howard at that time was 38. A retired boxer for 37 years, his house was separated from all the other houses. The houses in Bradwield were grouped together except for this house in which Howard lived. His house had a small yard and porch and it was definitely humble enough for a man of his status. He had no garden or even a small rose bush to cheer up his home. It was only covered by dull grass. Instead of being a wealthy retired boxer, he had squandered most of his money soon after Patricia's death. Most people thought him to be a madman because of choosing to live in such an isolated residence because there had been many weird things that had been happening, things which people say were associated with witchcraft.

But on this stormy night it rained so heavily that he could not fall asleep. He stayed up by his window sitting in his rocking chair, his frail old hands clasped around a coffee mug. He had some kind of feeling that something was happening in this storm. And honest to his intuition, something was happening.

A pregnant young woman was running in the storm seeking shelter.

'Please! Help me!' she screamed in despair but people would turn a deaf ear to her cries. Some people could not hear her because of the noise of the storm while others would just shout back, 'We're trying to sleep here! Shut up!'

'Please!' She would insist, 'My water broke!'

Fortunately and by chance, the old man, Howard heard her and opened his door calling out to her. 'Over here, hurry! I can't keep the door open for long!

She heard him and hurried over and as soon as she got in, he slammed the door shut and locked it. The woman collapsed onto the carpet, her back against the foot of Howard's rocking chair, gasping for breath. 'Please,' she began, 'I need your help, I'm about to have a baby, my water broke.'

Howard's shriveled eyelids widened in surprise and also in regret. 'Well congratulations for you then but you cannot have it here.'

'You have to help me. I've come a long way. My husband burned down the house but I managed to escape.'

'He...?' Howard was beyond confounded. 'And you just watched him? And besides that, haven't you ever heard of a hospital?'

'I ran all the way from the border of Dasa. I didn't have time to think and he was hot on my trail...But please...' she panted even harder, 'I'll tell you everything as soon as I have my baby.'

Howard was perplexed. 'But I've never helped to deliver a baby before,' he objected, still confused by all this. He had had no children with Patricia and the request this woman was asking was an impossible task for him. The woman on the floor, his whole house, everything had become a queasy blur to him.

'Just get a big towel and some warm water, please,' she instructed him. Howard, as old as he was, jogged upstairs to his bathroom and grabbed his towel then rushed back downstairs, his hands holding a large plastic basin and he returned to the woman, kneeling in front of her. Despair was written all over her face.

'Push, Push!' He kept encouraging her but had little idea of what he was doing.

Hours later the baby was born. A beautiful boy with strings of black hair on his head and his body looked like it was shriveled, like when one keeps their fingers and toes submerged in a hot tub for too long, as his mother held him firmly but weakly in her grasp. Both the mother and Howard were exhausted.

Howard watched her, his knees still rooted to the floor, his hands on his thighs. He had clearly never been exposed to such an exhausting exercise before. 'So...' he cleared his throat, '...what are you going to call it...I mean, him?' He asked her quietly, his question though was almost drowned by the baby's deafening cries. The woman looked very weak and did not look like she had any energy left in her, but drawing the last of her breath she broadened her smile and whispered six of her last words:

"His name is Brendan", and, "Thank you", and then she breathed her last, her baby still in her arms.

Howard stared at the woman as if for the first time. She was probably in her early 30s. Her whole body was covered in mud and she looked like a badly fed person. She had long beautiful blonde hair and her dress was visibly a frock. Her feet were bare and looked like they had endured an arduous journey but she looked peaceful as she held her baby in her now lifeless hands. Howard sighed heavily in pity. He slowly stood up and he took the crying baby from the hands of its dead mother.

Brendan suddenly stopped crying. 'Its okay,' he comforted him, 'Daddy's got you, there's nothing to worry about.'