All Quiet and Cold (PG-17)

Writers: Miriah
Date Posted: 24th August 2020

Characters: J'ackt
Description: Jenackt becomes more than just a holdless boy (What If)
Location: Emerald Falls Hold, Elsewhere on Pern
Date: month 4, day 17 of Turn 10
Notes: What-If J'ackt had never been taken to the Weyr and Impressed? What would Jenackt have become? PG-17 for Violence
Rating: PG-17

J'ackt

Jenackt hunkered down, hand tightened on the hilt of his blade and
stared with narrow eyes over the ridge down at the quiet cothold. He
hated them. He hated all of them with a fierce burning in his chest
that seemed to never be banked. Fecking holders, so sure about what
they did was right, so sure of themselves and their so-called
protection from the Hold. He felt his lip curl into a snarl before
slipping back down and away.

"All quiet?" The rough voice of one of the men whispered, then looked
with a grin at the other four men as Jenackt nodded. "What next?"

"We'll wait for dark." he replied, "No real guards. Easy pickings.
Bodge has them convinced he's a guard." He strode past the men,
ignoring their chuckling as they crept back into the woods on silent
feet. While they waited there was no fire, no sign of where they were
or what they planned. Jenackt sat silently, sliding a whet stone over
his blade in long, sure strokes.

They were used to his silence and didn't question it. If anything, it
made them more confident in him. He was the thinker of the group, the
leader. He looked young, but the young man known as Jen could fight
and could be downright savage if challenged. They'd seen it and it had
been bloody business. But he kept them alive and fed, nursing their
own grudges as he did. And the men had several that they eagerly fed,
both with stolen goods and with the slaughter of unwary guards.

For the past turn after his escape from his sentence to the mines,
Jenackt had been able to avoid recapture. The escape had been chaotic
and a group of ten men had escaped along with him. He'd taken a sword
from one of the corpses, similar to what his had been and had made it
his own. The men he'd escaped with had challenged his skills at first,
but the slowly simmering rage within him had erupted into a cold fire.
He'd killed those who had challenged him. The scars he bore over his
body from his times in the mines and the subsequent fights were enough
to remind him that he would never be subservient to anyone ever
again. Ever.

The rage spilled over into wanting more vengeance. Vengeance for his
treatment, vengeance against his whole life. Though Jenackt never
showed it in his expression to anyone, the hatred he bore for the
entirety of humanity simmered just under the surface. His mother, his
father, the constant rejection he had felt from others, it all
culminated into an intense need to punish everyone. He didn't
emotionally care if his men died, but he recognized his need for
vengeance against the Hold was served better within a small, focused
group who held as much hate as he. Their mutual hatred bound them
together with a single purpose.

Night fell and the moons rose in the sky towards midnight. In the
quiet of the dark, the band of men approached the small holding. No
fires, no noise. They'd observed this holding for at least a sevenday,
mapping out the buildings, where people slept, where people stored
their belongings. Bodge, their man in a stolen guard's uniform was
"patrolling". Jenackt watched quietly as their compatriot walked by
the stores, then flicked his torch in the appointed signal. Jenackt
nodded to the small group. "Quick, quiet. Take what you can, have your
fun, but leave no witnesses." He ignored the muted chuckles as they
slipped down into the holding and moved silently into the buildings.

This cothold...what was it called? Nadop? Nidol? Something like that.
He didn't care. There were a few quickly muffled screams, gurgling,
the sounds of blows. They were practiced at this; they had only struck
at the far outlying holdings. They'd never left any witnesses. At
first, it had disturbed Jenackt, but after the second raid, he'd
buried his misgivings. They supported the Hold, so they deserved what
they got. His men swept through the buildings, supported by Bodge.
They'd cart out their loot when they were finished clearing the
buildings.

A young boy, perhaps thirteen turns burst out of one of the buildings
right in front of Jenackt, teary eyes wide with panic and wildly
swinging a small knife. Jenackt stared coldly at the young boy and
easily deflected a clumsy blow. "You killed my mam!" Before he could
alert anyone else or scream, Jenackt thrust his blade and watched the
boy crumple at his feet. Without expression, he freed his sword and
walked past the bleeding boy. Not his problem.

It was quick. They didn't set fires to alert any far away watch. After
gathering what valuables they could and the food they could carry,
they departed. No witnesses, no major injuries to his men. There were
a few bruises, a few broken bones, but nothing major. They melted back
into the forests of Pern, intent on moving as far away as necessary.
What they'd gathered would last them until the next cothold.

Last updated on the September 29th 2020

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All Quiet and Cold (PG-17)