The Execution by Sharon Cramer Page A

across him while he was cleaning
the roe deer in the forest. She had strong feelings about the human
and as a consequence, Ravan spent the night in a tree. He still
bore the scars on his left calf. The bear had taught him primal
fear as she lashed at him while he clung just barely out of reach
in the small tree.
    Now, as with the bear, his breathing
grew faster and his body tensed. He knew this was a very bad
situation.
    “ Come my friends,” Pierre motioned to his cohorts,
slurring only
slightly. “This pretty little boy is mine, and you can hold him
while I see that he is properly punished.” The men laughed again,
eager for an exhibition.
    The awful and sickening intent of the
man settled abruptly into the boy’s awareness, and he became
intensely alert, thinking very fast. The room seemed all of a
sudden too warm and small. He knew if he called out for help, it
would probably prove futile. Most noise would be easily drowned out
by the revelry below. He didn’t have time to consider much beyond
this thought.
    Steele suddenly and clumsily snatched
for Ravan’s arm but managed only to grasp the sleeve of his tunic.
Candle nubs scattered to the floor as the boy ducked and wriggled
free of the shirt, leaving himself half-naked and breathing hard.
Deep red scratches ran down one arm from where Pierre’s long, filed
nails clawed for him. Blood beaded in scarlet drops and dripped,
unnoticed, from the tips of his fingers to the floor.
    Shirtless, Ravan scaled the bed and
lit lightly on the other side. Without hesitation he reached into
his boot for the familiar blade—Pig-Killer.
    Standing with the limp tunic in his
hands, Pierre was aroused by the sudden nakedness of the boy, the
silver necklace and copper ring shining bright against Ravan’s
amber skin.
    “ That’s a start, you
pretty little bitch,” Pierre leered. He circled the bed slowly,
hands up, claw-like, as though to catch the boy.
    One of his comrades chuckled and
started to crawl across the bed, effectively trapping Ravan in the
far corner of the room.
    The boy glanced beyond the man to the
window, his only obvious means of escape. It seemed inaccessible,
sheltered behind the advancing Pierre. The third man blocked the
door. Ravan was entirely trapped. There was no means of escaping
what was to come.
    Pierre lunged clumsily for Ravan, his
eyes glistening with excitement and eager anticipation. The big man
was slow and awkward, but his sheer size made him acutely
dangerous. If he managed to get hold of Ravan, he could easily
overpower him and stifle the boy’s screams, consummating the
rape.
    Ravan made a calculated and desperate
decision. His thoughts were blindingly fast and he acted with
enormous resolve.
    Pierre had grossly miscalculated his
prey, and this was a strategic error on Steele’s part.
    Suddenly twisting his body, Ravan
swept the blade in a wide arc, with all the strength and commitment
he could summon. He brought the knife blindingly and viciously
across the face of Pierre. Pig-Killer obeyed effortlessly, leaving
behind a seven-inch gash. The vicious slice went from below the
man’s left ear, across the bridge of his nose and down his jaw,
glancing off bone as it finished just short of his
throat.
    For the briefest of moments, Pierre
seemed only stunned. The blade was so sharp and quick that Steele
didn’t appear to comprehend the extent of his wound.
    Seconds later, he shrieked in rage,
his hands clutching at his face as blood streamed down both arms.
His nose was nearly severed, the cartilage cut completely through,
and it flopped loosely down onto his upper lip. He was a grotesque,
horrible figure and his voice rose to a shrill pitch as he wailed,
stumbling backwards. His trousers had fallen and his erection
retreated back beneath his apron of pubic fat.
    Startled, his friends stood stock
still, unable to take their eyes from their comrade’s
mutilation.
    Ravan, his back wedged into the corner
of the room, wielded his knife in front