This is an excerpt from a chapter of a book I'm writing, any thoughts? The main boy, Kieran, has gone with his Uncle Maxwell on a voyage to gather slaves from Africa.
The few African villagers who had been outside when Kieran and the rest of the crew had arrived were quickly joined by several more. Kieran stared at them, transfixed. Like the baby, they looked all quite similar to the humans he was used to seeing, but differed in several odd and, to Kieran, slightly unsettling ways. Their skin was much darker than even the baby’s had been, appearing almost black. To Kieran it looked like these people were standing in shadow even as the sun shone fiercely down. Their noses were a trifle wider than his own, as were their lips. They seemed to have no hair other than that on their head, which seemed to grow away from their scalp and up towards the sky rather than flowing down towards the earth. They were naked, save for small pieces of animal skins, and each of them possessed the ideal hunter’s physique; lithe, well muscled, and quick.
The two factions, white and black, stood facing each other, each side calculating rapidly, forming strategies of attack and defence. An image of a giant chessboard being traced in the red earth beneath their feet suddenly flashed in Kieran’s mind. Before he could shake this mental picture from his head Uncle Maxwell thundered “ ATTACK!”, and the hunt began.
Uncle Maxwell was the first to throw himself onto one of the villagers, a tall young man, and at this the rest of the Africans were galvanized. Spears appeared amongst the men, bristling and flaring out from the throng. Uncle Maxwell’s crew pushed forward ruthlessly, tackling, punching, and stabbing. Soon Maxwell’s party became disorganized and scattered out across the clearing, fighting both for captives and for their own lives as spears flew and knives flashed. Kieran, not knowing what to do, simply stood there, too afraid to fight and too afraid to run. A puff of dust rose at his feet, and when it cleared Kieran saw a small wooden dart imbedded in the earth. Looking up, he saw that darts were now raining down on the men, white and black alike. Perkins, who was wrestling with a particularly large African male, glanced up at just the wrong moment and a dart plunged into his eye, making him shriek with pain and giving his opponent the opportunity to land a hard blow on the top of his head, rendering him unconscious.
“Kieran! They’re coming from in there! Get whoever is shooting them and drag him out! Kill him if you have to!”
More to escape the thick of the fighting than to follow his uncle’s orders, Kieran ran towards the hut that Uncle Maxwell had pointed at. Indeed, darts were flying out of a small, glassless window with incredible speed. Kieran wondered how many people were in there. Flattening himself against the back of the hut, Kieran inched his way towards the door. Taking a deep breath and frantically hoping that he had loaded his rifle correctly, Kieran kicked in the door of the hut. It swung open to reveal three people inside, two of them whom Kieran recognized instantly. The child from the forest was now crying heartily in the arms of the old woman who had plucked her from the jungle. The woman’s lined face was a mask of pure dread, and Kieran was struck by the realisation that it was him that this woman was terrified of, clutching the wailing child to her breast as if she were afraid that he would try to wrench it from her feeble arms.
The other person inside the hut was a boy who looked about Kieran’s age. Instead of mirroring the old woman’s fearful expression, the boy’s scowling face was radiant with anger. In one hand he held a fistful of darts like the ones Kieran had seen being launched out of the window. In other hand, raised and ready to be thrown, flashed one of the long, deadly spears Kieran had seen the other Africans using to deter their captors. Taking one look at the boy’s eyes, poisonous with hate and fury, Kieran knew that would defend this woman and child until he was dead.
Frightened by the boy’s ferocity and not in any way wishing to incur his wrath or to increase the old woman’s panic, Kieran quickly tried to back out of the hut. The African boy’s spear remained trained on him, and Kieran prayed frantically that his retreat would be enough to save himself. In a few seconds Kieran had reached the doorway, but as he was about to turn and run a body collided with his own, forcing him back into the hut and causing him to fall heavily to the ground. As he did so his rifle, the one he had been praying that he would be able to fire, went off right next to his ear.
Deafened by the shot, Kieran found himself immersed in a world full of silent screams. He could see that the baby’s face was now purple with the strain of crying, although he could not hear her wails.
The few African villagers who had been outside when Kieran and the rest of the crew had arrived were quickly joined by several more. Kieran stared at them, transfixed. Like the baby, they looked all quite similar to the humans he was used to seeing, but differed in several odd and, to Kieran, slightly unsettling ways. Their skin was much darker than even the baby’s had been, appearing almost black. To Kieran it looked like these people were standing in shadow even as the sun shone fiercely down. Their noses were a trifle wider than his own, as were their lips. They seemed to have no hair other than that on their head, which seemed to grow away from their scalp and up towards the sky rather than flowing down towards the earth. They were naked, save for small pieces of animal skins, and each of them possessed the ideal hunter’s physique; lithe, well muscled, and quick.
The two factions, white and black, stood facing each other, each side calculating rapidly, forming strategies of attack and defence. An image of a giant chessboard being traced in the red earth beneath their feet suddenly flashed in Kieran’s mind. Before he could shake this mental picture from his head Uncle Maxwell thundered “ ATTACK!”, and the hunt began.
Uncle Maxwell was the first to throw himself onto one of the villagers, a tall young man, and at this the rest of the Africans were galvanized. Spears appeared amongst the men, bristling and flaring out from the throng. Uncle Maxwell’s crew pushed forward ruthlessly, tackling, punching, and stabbing. Soon Maxwell’s party became disorganized and scattered out across the clearing, fighting both for captives and for their own lives as spears flew and knives flashed. Kieran, not knowing what to do, simply stood there, too afraid to fight and too afraid to run. A puff of dust rose at his feet, and when it cleared Kieran saw a small wooden dart imbedded in the earth. Looking up, he saw that darts were now raining down on the men, white and black alike. Perkins, who was wrestling with a particularly large African male, glanced up at just the wrong moment and a dart plunged into his eye, making him shriek with pain and giving his opponent the opportunity to land a hard blow on the top of his head, rendering him unconscious.
“Kieran! They’re coming from in there! Get whoever is shooting them and drag him out! Kill him if you have to!”
More to escape the thick of the fighting than to follow his uncle’s orders, Kieran ran towards the hut that Uncle Maxwell had pointed at. Indeed, darts were flying out of a small, glassless window with incredible speed. Kieran wondered how many people were in there. Flattening himself against the back of the hut, Kieran inched his way towards the door. Taking a deep breath and frantically hoping that he had loaded his rifle correctly, Kieran kicked in the door of the hut. It swung open to reveal three people inside, two of them whom Kieran recognized instantly. The child from the forest was now crying heartily in the arms of the old woman who had plucked her from the jungle. The woman’s lined face was a mask of pure dread, and Kieran was struck by the realisation that it was him that this woman was terrified of, clutching the wailing child to her breast as if she were afraid that he would try to wrench it from her feeble arms.
The other person inside the hut was a boy who looked about Kieran’s age. Instead of mirroring the old woman’s fearful expression, the boy’s scowling face was radiant with anger. In one hand he held a fistful of darts like the ones Kieran had seen being launched out of the window. In other hand, raised and ready to be thrown, flashed one of the long, deadly spears Kieran had seen the other Africans using to deter their captors. Taking one look at the boy’s eyes, poisonous with hate and fury, Kieran knew that would defend this woman and child until he was dead.
Frightened by the boy’s ferocity and not in any way wishing to incur his wrath or to increase the old woman’s panic, Kieran quickly tried to back out of the hut. The African boy’s spear remained trained on him, and Kieran prayed frantically that his retreat would be enough to save himself. In a few seconds Kieran had reached the doorway, but as he was about to turn and run a body collided with his own, forcing him back into the hut and causing him to fall heavily to the ground. As he did so his rifle, the one he had been praying that he would be able to fire, went off right next to his ear.
Deafened by the shot, Kieran found himself immersed in a world full of silent screams. He could see that the baby’s face was now purple with the strain of crying, although he could not hear her wails.