Phorknere: Chapter one- Older, Stronger, Braver and Bigger

Fiction By Kassady // 5/16/2011


Chapter one


Older, Stronger, Braver and Bigger



Phorknere clutched the sword that was his only defense against his older, stronger, braver and bigger brothers.


His eldest sat, his feet propped up against a tree stump, watching the proceedings with vigilance.


His second oldest was staring at them with squinted eyes, peering at them at all angles, deciding where was their weak spots, noticing many on Phorknere.


The third oldest boy, stood, sharpening a sword, wearing a big leather apron, and leather gloves.


The middle boy, who strangely had fiery red hair- unlike the rest who had chocolate brown hair, except for Phorknere, who had jet black hair like his fathers- bounced on the balls of his feet, keeping his body warm and ready.


The third youngest was nearby doing push- ups, trying his best to keep up the thousand and five he had done so far.


The second youngest was twirling his sword in the air experimentally, also challenging Phorknere with the movement.


And of course, Phorknere, who was moving from one foot to the next, knowing that he was at a disadvantage with the other boys, all of them being older and bigger. Though he was not exactly scrawny, he was just... regular sized, with fair muscles, but nothing to help him live up to his brothers and more importantly, his father. But the thought of bringing his father down pushed him on, so he quickly took a strong stance, ready for any quick moves from his older brother.


Seeing that he was ready, he stopped twirling the sword, and took up his position as well.


Phorknere had it easy though. For all the older boys loved him very much, and were always fair to people weaker then them, which goes to say, that they were fair to everyone.


Phorknere lunged, knowing enough to stop inches away from his brothers chest.


His oldest brother got up, already seeing the danger, in using real swords for the fight, “Wood swords!” he commanded.


Phorknere slumped, he was disappointed that they couldn't use real swords, something that he had wished to do ever sense he was given one.


But his older brothers were too careful, and knew what would happen if Phorknere got hold of a real sword. Though he didn't know it, he was rather good with it, something that their brothers always praised him about in private, behind his back.


Phorknere thought the opposite, thinking that his swordsmanship was the worst in the world, but not knowing the truth. Phorknere lunged again, not waiting for his second oldest brother to call.


His older brother sighed in exasperation, dropping his weapon point to the ground, “Start-” he started to say.


But Phorknere, not caring, slammed the wooden sword into his brothers stomach.


The second oldest brother called for halt.


Phorknere reluctantly dropped what he was doing and shuffled his feet in the sand, “Sorry” he mumbled.


“Its alright!” The second youngest brother wheezed, trying to get his breath back, “In a real fight I guess you should do that.”


“Not at all!” The red headed brother complained, “That would be cruel! Cold hearted! And evil! Plan out unfair! Our father would have never killed in cold blood!”


Of all the brothers, Phorknere hated him the most, “I'll try to remember that Torks!” he growled.


“What was that?” He cupped his hand around his ear mockingly.


Phorknere gritted his teeth, balling his hands into fists.


“Boys!” The third oldest cut in between them, his voice was deep and low, just like the billows that heated the fires in the smithies.


Torks crossed his arms, with a disdainful laugh, “Do your worst!”


Phorknere bit back a nasty reply, so he gave him a hook to the chin instead.


In a few minutes all the boys were fighting, trying to get each other to stop fighting, but only getting into more fights.


Phorknere wriggled out of the mass of his brothers limbs, dusting off his hands dramatically.


But that was not the end of it.


There was a loud crack, as a rolling pin crashed down on Phorknere's head.


All the boys stopped fighting, then came to attention, as their mother stood, holding Phorknere's ear in her left hand, and swinging the rolling pin threateningly with the other.


“Now I've had enough! That's two fights in two days! I can't believe you! What a disgrace to your pour father, let is sunken heart not be the fishes food!” she cried out, then she pulled the boy away and into the large cabin they lived in, or at least where Phorknere and the Second youngest lived. The others had all grown out of the house and moved into their own, but all were built on the same piece of land, so that they could all be together. Phorknere would have preferred them to all move far away, very far away.


“What is your problem!?” asked his mother turning on him, as she flung him unto the furniture.


There was a loud crack and crash, as the force of Phorknere broke the chair, leaving him sitting on the floor, and a million different splitters in his backside.


His mother's face turned red with fury, “YOU DID THAT ON PURPOSE!”


“I did not!” He cried indignantly, but then regretted it.




Phorknere tried to stand up, but the splitters seemed to have glued him to the floor, if not the splitters, the pain.


The mother, seeing that she was being disobeyed, pulled out her rolling pin and cracked him on the head again.


Phorknere felt dizzy, but the pain in his head helped him through the pain in is bum, he slowly and painfully got up. But no faster then a streak of lightening, the rolling pin spanked him good and hard, hammering in the splitters more.


He yowled with pain, and ran to his room, well ran the best he could, though he hobbled more then ran.


In his room, he sat upon his goose-down bed. He swore under his breath, pulling large splitters of wood out, they were each an inch long, sharp tipped and covered in his own blood.


The door swung open with a light knock, and Torks stepped in, his bright red hair swinging along with his head, “I believe you owe some one an apology?”


Phorknere grimaced, pulling a very long splitter out, “I'll tell mother as soon as I'm done.”


“I wasn't talking about mother! Me!” Torks snarled.


“Why the Zitz should I apologize to you?” Phorknere growled.


“You punched me, Ufzach!” He said sitting next to his youngest brother, and gently removing some of the smaller splitters.

“Yeah... okay, I apologize,” Phorknere said, clutching the bed blankets in pain.




“Fine! I'm sorry!” Phorknere nearly yelled.


“Thank you! Now what do you need to do?” He asked, plucking a very nasty one.


“Scream like Zitz!” Phorknere said through clenched teeth.


“Would you stop that!” Torks said crossly, pulling a sharp shard, so that it would hurt him.


“OW! Stop what!”


“Saying Zitz! Talking about the after life is... is...”


“What?!- ow!”


“It's bad! Not pleasant and inappropriate!” Torks said crossly.


“I'll keep that in mind!” Phorknere said sarcastically.


“Listen here you little beast!” Torks said turning him around, “Your behavior is dastardly! You clear up, you hear?”


Phorknere sighed, “Alright, sorry.”


“You better be- alright that's the rest of them, go wash up for dinner,” Torks said, standing up and walking away.


Phorknere scowled down at the splitters and said quietly, “Zitz.”







“Good job Phorknere!” called out his oldest brother.


“Phorkellason!” called the second oldest brother for the oldest brother.


“Yes?” Phorkellason answered.


“Your needed in the Kings chamber room,” said the second oldest brother breathlessly.


“Thanks Eellason!” Phorkellason thanked the second oldest brother.


“Would you like me to take over?” Eellason asked looking at Phorknere.


“What do you say Phorknere? Would you like to go on?” he asked him.


Phorknere swelled with pride at the thought of being asked like an equal, “Yes please!”


“Great!” Eellason said with a warm smile, he picked up a bow and arrow just in case.


Phorkellason jogged away, climbing on his steed and ridding towards the large castle.


“Alright Phorknere, lets see that aim of yours!” Eellason called cheerfully.


“Might be the last thing you see,” Phorknere joked.


Eellason chuckled, “It can't be that terrible.”


“It gutty is!” Phorknere said with a smile.


“Phorknere! Please try not to use such language!” Eellason said kindly but still sternly.


“Yes sir,” Phorknere said respectfully, losing the playful smile, “ Well, it's pretty bad, even though every one says its wonderful. Really it wouldn't hurt my feeling, sense the arrow missed the whole target!”


Eellason smiled, “Okay, now that's pretty bad!”


“Thank you!” Phorknere said with a laugh.


“Alright shoot it,” Eellason said looking out at the red target.


Phorknere drew, lining up as best he could, he released and the arrow flew through the air and plunged deep into the tree above the red circled target.


They walked over to it.


Eellason whistled, craning his neck to see the arrow three times higher then he was, he turned looking into Phorknere's expectant face, “Practice, that's the key to all good fighters! Practice.”


There was a call from the house, as Torks called them in.


“The King sends for you and me, Eellason,” Torks said, panting slightly.


Both walked away, climbing unto their horses and riding away towards the castle like Phorkellason had.


Phorknere sighed, looking back at the bow and arrow he held. Throwing it aside he walked to the village, wanting to see what he could do for his third oldest brother in the smithies.


“Where do you think your going?” asked the second youngest brother, jumping out of a nearby tree.


“I'm going to Eorks, to practice on my smith skills,” Phorknere answered a bit sarcastically.


His brother looked down at him, he being a foot taller then Phorknere, “How about you practice on your shooting? Like Eellason and Phorkellason had wanted.”


Phorknere sighed and trudged back over to shoot at the target.


“Good, good... Remember to hold it like... Yes, there you go! Try shooting now,” his brother instructed, helping his little brother into the correct position.


Phorknere looked critically at his hands, knowing that it wouldn't work. He pulled back, and shot, sending the arrow gliding to the outskirts of the target. Phorknere jumped in the air with a hoot of triumph.


The second youngest slapped him on the back, “Well done! I told you.”


“Thanks Phella!” Phorknere thanked his brother.


“Keep on practicing and soon you'll be an expert woodsmen!” Phella encouraged.




Phorknere lay in the dark, enjoying the peace and quiet after a long day of sword-fighting, shooting, forging, riding and climbing.


Everyday of his life, ever sense he turned five had been filled with practicing and enduring the hardships of training in a family of legend fighters and hero's. It always was the same everyday, learning new techniques, practicing till his bones cracked, exercising and building his muscles, learning different ways to ride a horse and the most difficult for him, learning how to work a ship and fight on it.


It was a hard life, that he had wished away for years, but he was also glade, knowing that all the boys his age admired him and wanted to be like him, and he knew that if he didn't live this life, he would have wanted it badly.


There was a stir of movement, as Phella tossed in his bed, mumbling in his sleep, “Lay... Anchor... All... Hands... On... Deck.”


Phorknere chuckled softly, always enjoying the conversations that Phella had in his sleep, with mysterious pirates and tropical women.


He swung his legs around to touch the cold wood floors. Padding to the window, he looking up at the stars.


They shown brightly, casting eery light over the land, along with the bright white moon.


Shadows played across the ground, moving back and forth as the wind blew the trees.


Everything was quiet, except for the sound of the wind in the branch's and the soft snoring of Phella.


Climbing out the window he breathed in the fresh night air, smelling of dew and roses.


Out here, he could think, out here he was free of his life. He walked into the forest, looking around at all the shadows, that night, some how, made more eery and mysterious then in the day. Rustles came from every which way, from night birds or mice.


He grinned at the hoot of an owl, the sound of slithering from underfoot, and the crisp sound of leaves being crushed under his feet.


He walked on to the village, which he usually couldn't travel through in daylight, for everyone would look at him with awe and wonder, come up to him and proclaim that they were sorry that his father had died. It was annoying, and he hated it when everyone would apologize for some one that he didn't even know.


Night guards roamed the streets, always making sure that no outsider would sneak in and steal from the city citizens. The city of Den must have been the most safest place in the whole of Afinlyn. For was it not only the home of a huge castle, but also home to the King that ruled over the vast land of Afinlyn. All of it, was controlled by him. Of course, there were always smaller Kings that ruled over pieces of land and ruled over the people in those assigned pieces of property, but they always obeyed the true King of Afinlyn, Flynnof Ginak.


One of the guards walked over to him, ready to fight for the protection of his family and many others. “Hey!” he called, loud enough to sound agitated but soft enough so that people wouldn't wake up and be concerned. He lowered his spear as Phorknere stepped into a beam of moonlight, “Oh its you.”


Phorknere smiled politely and went on, wanted to get away from the guard, who would probably question him and pay his respects to Phorknere's family.


“Don't wonder long, Ickle has a patrol tonight and he's very strict,” Whispered the guard after him.


Phorknere nodded his acknowledgment, not really caring if he was caught by a cranky old man or not. Through the quiet streets he walked, right up to the end of the houses, ahead were large bronze gates, way too tall to climb over. Though even if the gate was climbable, Phorknere wouldn't dare, for he had a fear of heights. Which had been his worst problem being a sailors son, having to go up the large masts and such. The thought of climbing all the way up those large wooden masts made him shiver and already feel woozy.


Guards patrolled the gate, four in all on the outside and ten on the inside. One lowered his spear threateningly towards Phorknere, who had ventured closer, “Who are you? What do you want?”


“I'm Phorknere, here to see some one,” Phorknere announced.


“A bit early for you to be snooping around isn't it?” Asked the second, younger guard smiling from underneath his bronze helmet.


Phorknere smiled slyly, “Hungry is all, oh come on! Let a man eat!”


“Has your mother been starving you again?” asked the third guard leaning on his spear.


“You could call it that... its more like I'm starving myself! Have you ever had her food? Its the grossest thing on the whole planet!” Phorknere said, thinking back on the gray stuff she had placed before him that night, what it was exactly he was not for sure and he didn't want to find out. “How has my brothers all survived her cooking?!”


“They've come to the kitchens at night like 'yerself,” said the forth guard smiling a almost toothless smile, “All of 'em... living off the Kings food, ha! It's amazing that Ella hasn't caught any of yer' yet!”


“Your telling me, and I hope my luck continues... or I'll have to beg the King to arrest her for feeding her children poison... or whatever it is she puts on our plates!” Phorknere said, laughing along with the other guards.


“Well, you better get on eating, before it gets to late,” said the first guard.


“Thank you general!” Phorknere saluted, and walked to a secret door in the wall that led to the other side for quicker and quieter use.


“Oh and Phorknere,” called the second guard.


Phorknere turned.


“We're sorry for your loss,” he began.


“We know it must be hard to not have a fatherly figure in your life,” continued the first guard.


“We'll always be there for your family when you are in need,” added the third.


“If yah father could see ya now, he would be so proud, good luck Phorknere,” concluded the fourth.


Phorknere grimaced, hiding it behind a fake smile, “Thank you.” He ducked and had to go through the whole experience again with the inner guards, though it was a quicker chat, but at the end they all gave him their regards, wishing him well and feeling bad for him.


By the time he got to the Large Kitchens he was exhausted and very hungry. He slunk to a nearby cabinet, which he knew from countless times of searching the kitchens, was the cabinet full of left over's that had not been used.


Grabbing a loaf of bread, some roast beef, a couple of eggs, jam, cheese and a bottle of half drunken meed, he grabbed a basket and filled it with his goods, returning to the cabinet to see if there was anything for dessert. He was rewarded with cinnamon bread, smothered in sweetened goat cream.


He snuck out, feeling proud and hungry.


“Drop the sweet if you know what's best for you,” said a familiar voice behind him.


Phorknere froze and turned around.


Torks grinned at him slyly, his red hair almost glowing in the moonlight that spilled out from a large window.


Phorknere let out his pent up breath, relieved that it wasn't some one from the royal court, “Torks!” He hissed, “Don't scare me like that!”


Torks strutted toward him, “I see that you have been taught the rule of living with mum!”


“Torks, please Ork Nee! Your going to get me caught!” Phorknere said, starting to slink over to a red curtain.


“Maybe I should? But, I think you can get yourself caught, you sounded like an elephant coming in here! Everybody in the castle must know your here by now!” Torks said, not lowering his voice.


“Torks, Ork Nee! Ork Nee! I'm hungry okay!”


“Fine, I'll be quiet... if you give me your dessert,” Torks said coming closer to him.


Phorknere felt angry and a bit scared, with a pinch of stubbornness to keep his treat, “No!”


“Fine then,” he bumped up against one of the potted trees.


Phorknere gasped, and with lightning reflexes balanced the basket of goods on one arm and caught the falling plant with the both hands, catching it before it could make a sound, “Not funny Torks!”


Torks grinned, and while his younger brother fought with the tree, he grabbed the sweet prize out of the basket and skipped away down a corridor.


Phorknere growled, pushing the plant upright with much effort. He walked away, being careful to walk quietly and stealthily.


Walking out of the front gates and back into the forest, Phorknere sat on a log, looking up at the trees to make sure that none of his brothers were spying on him.


After finishing his meal, Phorknere walked back to the cottage, sore and weary.


Phella still lay, sleeping noisily, talking about something or some one in a dream.


He hopped into bed quickly, as he heard footsteps from outside his door.


Ella, Phorknere's mother, poked her head inside, looking at her last two sons asleep on their beds, “I wish they are always this way,” she whispered to herself, “Oh Phorks... why?”


Phorknere lay on his side, listening intently to his mothers quiet discussion with a ghost which wasn't there, wishing that he could do something to help her broken heart. But there was nothing...


“Goodnight,” she finally finished, and closed the door with yawn.


Phorknere stayed up a minute more, thinking about his birthday which was in a few days. I'll be sixteen! He thought to himself, wondering what he was going to do with himself. His mother would never make him something special, she had stopped celebrating birthdays when the third youngest was born- Phorkey. But Phorknere really didn't mind, sense he knew that she would only make more disgusting things for him, and it was just not worth it.


He came up with a plan, he would sneak into the castle and live one whole day of luxury, just sitting in some empty and forgotten room, eating leftover's to his hearts content. Yes, no work for a whole entire daaay......



And with that he fell fast to sleep.




Please criteque-

any miss spellings (and I think Critegue isn't even spelled that way! UGH!) please!

Kassady | Fri, 05/20/2011

"Here's looking at you, Kid"
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