Battle Torn: The Sixteenth Year
1st hour English
Mr. Hamilton
11/12/15 Mark: Re-edited, Post-product, Version 2.0, - 12/7/15
Finished Version 3.0
11/12/25
By Juniper Fox
“James…”
Someone called my name, faint at first. I stopped. It felt like my shoes were glued to the pavement, rubber melted into stone. I turned around. No one was there. I forced myself to start walking again, but every step dragged, like I was trudging through snow. Like I was a ghost.
“James.”
Clearer this time. I tried to sprint, but I still moved in slow motion.
“James.”
Even louder on the third call. I ran.
It came clear as crystal who the voice belonged to—except there was still no one there. Nothing at all. The hair on the back of my neck stood up, catching on the inside of my sweatshirt, prickling the nape of my neck.
“James!”
Now the voice was almost shouting in my ear. I turned—and found myself face to face with a dark figure, stretched tall and wrong, as if someone had pulled my own shadow out of shape.
No, this dark figure is not… my sister. Who…are…you?
I backed away slowly. The figure stared back, its pale eyes digging into me. Darkness crept up from my feet, inching higher, paralysis spreading. In a blink, the figure flashed forward, grabbing my arms. Its touch felt like nothing I’d ever known—cold, unfamiliar, like a place on the map no one had drawn yet. Then its eyes snapped open, pure red, no whites, no pupils. Just endless crimson.
“JAMES!”
The voice distorted, fading in and out like a broken radio.
I jolted awake, drowning in sweat, gasping for air as if I really had just been pulled from the bottom of a lake. My sister Violette was shaking my shoulders, her grip dragging me back into reality.
“James!” she panicked, voice cracking. “The house—the house is on fire!”
I looked around. My room. My curtains, my clothes, my walls—everything was burning.
I pushed myself up from the bed, legs half-numb, almost falling. Violette tugged on my sweatshirt sleeve, desperate for my attention.
“James, there’s no time! Whatever you’re looking for, forget it. We need to go!”
“No!” I shouted, louder than I meant to. “I need to find my pack. Father left us something—inside a rusty old brown box. Before he passed, he said it was important and we had to keep it close to our hearts. I need my pack!”
Her expression tightened. She turned and ran out of my room.
Sawdust rained from the ceiling as the house shuddered. Tiny particles shimmered down onto my shoulders. I bolted out the door. A floorboard groaned beneath me. When I landed hard on the next plank, it left a dent in the wood.
I saw Violette ahead of me.
“Where’s Mom?” I asked.
She stared down at the floor. A single tear fell and tapped against the wood.
I ran for my parents’ room. As I turned the knob and pushed the door open wider, heat and smoke blasted out. Dust, debris, and burning embers swarmed toward me. I flinched when I heard my name again.
“James!”
I turned. Past the swirling wood and smoke, I saw our parents’ door hanging open. The first thing I noticed was a limp arm lying across the floor, the doorframe blocking the head of the body attached to it.
Mom.
I ran into the room. Part of the ceiling had collapsed onto her.
“Mom!”
Tears blurred my vision. Behind me, Violette appeared in the doorway, frozen in place. I dropped to my knees and tried to lift the beam pinning Mom down. She grabbed my leg, fingers digging into my pant leg. She was still alive.
“James, it’s too heavy. There’s nothing you can do—”
“No!” I cut her off. “I’m not going to let you die. We’ve been through so much. I can’t lose you too!”
“The debris is crushing me,” she said, her voice strained. “Even if you could move it, I wouldn’t be able to. James… please.”
I clenched my jaw, trying to hold back tears. Violette still stood in the doorway, stunned, unable to move.
“Get you and your sister out of here,” Mom ordered. “Now. Before the house completely falls apart.”
My chest tightened. I couldn’t believe I was going to leave her here. But if I stayed, we’d all die. Maybe, somehow, she’d be with Dad again—spiritually running this house together.
I swallowed hard. My voice caught in my throat. Every time I tried to speak, nothing came out.
“I love you, Mom…”
Hot tears streamed down my face. Memories rushed me—how our parents raised us, built this life for us, laughed and yelled and loved under this roof. How every hallway smelled like them. How now, all at once, everything we knew was burning.
You think you’ll always have time. More hugs. More lectures. More chances. Then you’re standing in a doorway watching your home fall apart, your family trapped in it, and the world feels unreal. You want to cry, but sometimes the tears won’t even come.
Why is this happening to me? Why us?
I eased the plank back down onto her. I leaned in, kissed her forehead, and turned away, almost unable to move.
“J-James, wait…”
Her right hand reached out from under the beam, fingers fumbling for my leg. I knelt beside her again.
“Your father wanted me to give this to you on your sixteenth birthday.” She unclenched her fist, palm opening. “Here. Take it.” A single tear rolled down her cheek. “Your father and I love you and Violette very much. Now go.”
Her left hand, hot as metal from the heat, pressed against my cheek. I hugged her tightly, feeling her last breaths grow shallow, her presence slipping away even as I held onto her.
She pressed a small brown box into my hand—the same one Father had told us about. I opened it and found a necklace with a skull-shaped key. As I lifted it out, it slid across her fingers, tangling between them before they curled closed. I slipped the necklace into my pocket.
“Goodbye, Mom. I love you,” I whispered.
I stood and walked back toward the doorway. Violette waited there. I pulled her into a hug. She sobbed quietly, her tears pattering onto the charred floor.
When I let go, I started past her, jaw set. She grabbed my sleeve.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she asked, voice shaking. “You can’t just leave her here to die.”
“She’s gone now, Violette,” I said, the words like broken glass in my mouth. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t carry her out.”
The house groaned around us. Paintings, self-portraits, family photos—all scorched and blackening, the images burning away as the frames cracked.
I took Violette’s hand and pulled her with me down the upstairs hallway. The way to the stairs was blocked; part of the roof had collapsed. Smoke and ash clawed at our lungs. We coughed, stumbling, until we reached my bedroom.
That’s when I noticed something hanging from Violette’s shoulder.
My brown cinch sack.
“Where did you find my pack, Vi?” I asked, breathless.
“I ran to the cellar in the garage,” she said. “Found it under Dad’s old workbench.”
“You went into Dad’s cellar?” I stared at her.
“You were looking for it anyway,” she shot back. “So I searched for it and found it. You’re welcome.”
I exhaled, somewhere between relief and panic. I took the pack, unsnapped the top, pulled out the necklace from my pocket, and slipped it in. Then I yanked the blankets and sheets off my bed and started tying them together in tight knots.
“What are you doing?” she asked, confused.
“How else are we supposed to get out of here?” I said. “The only way left is through my bedroom window. Every other exit is blocked.”
She nodded and ran to the hall closet next to our parents’ room.
“Vi, what are you doing?”
“You don’t have enough sheets,” she called back. “Our closet has more. It’s practically the only place that hasn’t collapsed yet.”
I trusted her. Nervous, but trusting. She grabbed what she could and came back, tossing the extra linens to me. I knotted them all together, then unlatched the window. Heat punched in, but the air outside still felt like a blessing.
I threw the makeshift rope out the window. It dangled down the side of the house.
I lifted Violette onto the sill.
“What about you?” she asked.
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “I’ll follow. You’re my first priority.”
She gripped the knotted sheets and began to climb down. When she finally reached the ground, I swung my leg over the sill and started after her.
I’d barely descended a couple of feet when I heard a noise above me. I looked up—and froze.
Someone in a red, ninja-like suit stood at my bedroom window.
A bandit.
This wasn’t just a fire. It was sabotage.
The bandit pulled out a knife and started sawing through the rope.
No, no, no.
I climbed faster. I was maybe four feet from the bottom when the sheet snapped. I hit the ground hard.
Ow. Forgot to bend my knees.
Pain shot up my leg. I tried to stand, but my ankle buckled and I dropped again.
Really? Now?
I pushed myself up, balancing all my weight on my left leg. I turned away from the burning house, away from the shattered window.
“Violette?” I called.
She wasn’t there.
She’s supposed to be at the bottom. I told her to wait for me.
Then my stomach sank. No. I’d only said that in my head.
“Ahh!”
A scream cut through the night. Maybe two screams. I couldn’t tell if one of them was hers.
I limped forward, scanning the village through smoke and flames. Bandits were everywhere. Houses collapsed in on themselves, chimneys belching fire. Our village was hidden on the other side of the mountains—protected by a spell only Elfins could see through.
So how had bandits found us?
Glass shattered behind me. I looked up. Bandits were climbing into my room.
They must be looking for something to steal.
I didn’t have much. Not anymore. Not after this. But bandits didn’t just steal money. They ambushed entire villages. They left nothing but ashes and bodies if they could help it—unless ordered otherwise.
“Violette!” I yelled, panic rising.
“James?”
Her voice answered, strained and terrified. “James!”
Through the haze, I finally saw her—running toward me while bandits chased from behind.
I took a step forward and felt hands clamp around my arms. Two bandits held me fast. Violette’s pursuers caught up and grabbed her, too.
I struggled against their grip, but my twisted ankle made it nearly impossible to move.
A larger figure stepped out from behind four other bandits and walked toward us. Even with his mask on, I could see the grin creasing the red cloth.
He pulled the mask off. A thick scar cut across his left eye. He was tall. We had to crane our necks to look up at him.
“Which one has the key?” the leader asked.
Key… The skull key.
“I don’t know, sir,” one of the bandits said.
“Then check them,” the leader snapped.
Like a dog called to heel, a bandit stepped toward Violette, reaching for her.
“Don’t touch her!” I yelled.
The bandits glanced at their leader again.
“It appears she does not have the key,” one reported.
“Then check big mouth here,” the leader said, nodding at me.
Big mouth. Wow. Rude.
My heart hammered against my ribs as one of the bandits stepped toward me. Before he could search me, the hands holding my arms suddenly went slack. I twisted around in shock.
Both bandits stood there with blades sticking out of their chests.
That sound—metal cutting into flesh—was more awful than I’d imagined.
They collapsed forward, hitting the ground with a thud that sent up little clouds of dust. I couldn’t see who’d thrown the blades, only the dark shape lurking behind them.
Violette’s captors shoved her toward me and turned, trying to spot the attacker. I grabbed her and pulled her close, eyes scanning for any place we could hide.
The blade wielder moved with impossible speed, cutting through the bandits like they were made of smoke. They were no match.
At last, the figure stepped out of the shadows into the moonlight. Golden-brown hair, dark beard threaded with gray, black apron—
I knew him.
My dad’s blacksmith, Archy.
“Retreat for now!” the bandit leader barked. “Retrieve the three items some other time!”
Archy slid his blades back into sheaths at his sides.
But another shadow loomed over him—bigger than his own.
“Archy, look out!” I yelled.
He turned. A massive arm swept him clear off his feet, hurling him across the square into a market stall. His blades flew, sticking in the store sign. The impact knocked him out cold.
“Archy—!”
I didn’t get another word out. A huge green hand clamped around my torso, squeezing until my lungs burned. The thing lifted me upside down.
From the smoke stepped a beast—an ogre-like creature, skin a sickly green, tusks jutting from its mouth. The leader of the Gremlocks.
“Give me key!” it roared in my face, its voice thick and broken.
Why does everyone want this key?
If it was important enough for Dad to tell us to keep it close to our hearts, I couldn’t fail now. I clutched my cinch sack to my stomach.
“No!” I croaked.
The Gremlock roared again and turned me upside down. Blood rushed to my head. My arms grew heavy. My fingers loosened, and my pack slipped from my grip, hitting the ground.
The Gremlock started shaking me like a rag doll, even though the pack was already lying there. My vision blurred, dark spots pooling at the edges. The world tilted and spun. I felt like I was about to pass out.
Then, through the dizzy fog, I saw a flash of steel.
Archy—somehow back on his feet, now wielding a heavier sword—slashed across the Gremlock’s knees. The beast dropped, still clutching me, then crashed forward onto both of them. Archy circled behind and sliced the backs of its knees as well, making it nearly impossible for the creature to get up.
Its grip finally loosened. I fell to the dirt and gravel. The ground felt strangely comforting against my cheek. I almost laughed at the thought.
I tasted metal—pennies and rust. Warm liquid trickled from my scalp.
I was close, very close, to blacking out. Hands—gentler than the ones that had grabbed me before—lifted me.
Archy.
I barely caught the rhythm of his footsteps as he ran. I was surprised he could even move after being thrown through a stall, much less sprint.
Wait… where’s Vi?
He couldn’t be carrying both of us.
I forced my eyes open. Archy’s face hovered above me. His beard looked darker in the night, eyes a warm mix of gold and brown, hinting at hazel. The moonlight flickered in them as he ran, his hair blowing back with his speed.
We pounded through the forest, his black boots crunching autumn leaves. Branches whipped past in a blur. Villages were supposed to be safe, especially ours. The guards had placed a spell over it so no one could see it—no one except Elfins.
I wasn’t fully Elfin. Not yet. Not until I turned sixteen.
Maybe that’s why Father wanted to give me the skull key—some coming-of-age thing, and something more, something I hadn’t even begun to understand.
Then a thought snapped me back.
The pack.
I lifted my head, neck screaming in protest, and looked down.
No pack.
Last I’d seen it was back in the village when the Gremlock shook me.
Don’t tell me it has it…
“A-Archy,” I rasped. “Where’s the key?”
“Do not worry,” Archy said, still running. He patted his apron pocket. “I have it.”
Some of the fear unclenched in my chest. A new thought crept in immediately.
“Where’s Violette?”
“I sent her ahead to a close relative,” he said. “They should be heading to the rowboats now.”
“Boats?”
“Yes. We have to cross the river to the village where the other Elfins went—to the Koujo village.”
Through the trees, faint lights flickered.
“Koujo village?” I asked. “My dad always promised that when I turned seventeen, he’d take me to other villages. I’ve barely been outside the Elfin village.” My curiosity flared. “What’s a Koujo?”
“Koujo,” Archy explained. “Half human, half feline.”
“Oh.”
“They don’t take too kindly to Elfins,” he added. “But if I tell them and show them that we have the ke—”
“Archy, no,” I cut in. “If you haven’t noticed, we’ve been hunted by mountain bandits and a cave Gremlock. We can’t trust anyone.”
“James…” He hesitated, thinking. “The Koujo, once they know we have the key, will let us pass through the village—and hopefully get you to their hospital wing.”
He slowed to a fast walk. “Looks like we lost them. You missed quite a bit while you were blacked out.”
“How long was I out?” I asked, touching my head and immediately regretting it. “Felt like a minute.”
“A minute?” Archy chuckled. “Try three hours. We passed through several villages. Most of them were burned down too. I may have drawn some attention, but we lost them.”
“Wow.” I stared up at the sky. It was so dark I didn’t even need to close my eyes.
“Can you stand?” he asked.
“I think so. I’ll try.”
He set me down at the edge of a dock. A deep blue river stretched out in front of us, the moonlight scattering across the ripples in silver shards. I noticed the boat tied to the pole before I noticed the dock itself.
Archy unhooked the rope, coiled it once, and tossed it into the boat. He lifted me again and eased me onto a wooden bench.
Exhaustion hit me like another wave of smoke. I lay back. Stars pricked the sky overhead.
Archy picked up the oars and pushed us away from the dock. We glided into the current. After a while he rested, taking off his dirty apron and an overshirt, laying the shirt over me when he noticed how hard I was shaking. My teeth had been chattering so badly I could barely feel them.
When he started rowing again, I finally slipped under.
When I opened my eyes, the sky was a soft wash of dawn—blue, orange, red, and violet smearing together like paint. I was no longer in the boat. Instead, I lay inside a closed hut, surrounded by injured people.
Koujo hospital wing. Had to be.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” a familiar voice said.
I turned my head slowly to the left. Archy sat in a chair beside my bed.
I felt my head. Ace bandages wrapped it snugly. My right foot, too, was bundled in layers of gauze.
“Me too,” I managed. “Where’s the key?”
“No need to worry,” another voice said.
A man in a light brown cloak lifted a flap of fabric and stepped into the ward. He walked over and pulled back his hood.
“I am Drayden, a peace guard of the Koujo village,” he said. “We’ve locked the key in a containment unit, guarded by our best. You can stay here as long as you need.”
Later, Archy and I were shown to a small pile-dwelling hut—a house raised on stilts above the ground. It was small, but functional.
“Archy, are we safe here?” I asked from the sheep-fur bed inside.
“For now,” he said, turning to me.
“Since Mom died in the fire and Dad died in that accident years ago…” My throat tightened. “They wanted to give me the key for my sixteenth birthday. I want to find where it fits. I want to know what it is—and why Dad had it.”
“We’ll find out,” Archy said. “For now, we stay here and work. The Koujo are letting me buy their abandoned blacksmith shop. You and I can run it together.”
“So… like servants,” I muttered.
“Not exactly,” he said. “Think of us as patrons. They’ve promised us twenty percent off shillings, and we can get damaged weapons cheap, fix them up, and sell them. Any extras, we keep.”
“Wow,” I said. “That actually sounds… kind of good. I mean, I don’t really fight. You saw what happened back at the Elfin village. I got my rear end handed to me by both the bandits and the Gremlock. Are you going to teach me how to fight? To use a sword like you? Your moves were… impressive. Something I might be able to mimic someday. With practice.”
Archy let out a hearty laugh and looked over at me.
“I’ll teach you when you’re ready,” he said.
“Ready?” I asked. “Ready for what?”
“An adventure,” Archy replied. “To find out what this key unlocks. We can ask along the way, chart out locations from a mapmaker, maybe even buy a map. We’ll learn as much as we can about the key before we go charging in blind. You did say you wanted to see other villages and learn how to fight.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “Something like that. I’d be honored to learn.”
We looked at each other across the little hut.
“All right then,” Archy said. “Looks like we’ve got a long-awaited journey ahead. We’ll need all the sleep we can get. Your first shift starts at five a.m. sharp.”
My face did not love the idea of a five a.m. shift. But my chest buzzed with something else entirely.
Adventure.
We blew out the lanterns. The hut sank into darkness.
For the first time since the fire, I let myself breathe. Somewhere out there, a skull key waited with a lock only it could open, and a path only we could walk.
Sleep finally caught me.
The End—Or Is It?