by Cale Madison
“You three, check the market again. Check it thoroughly,” the head knight commanded from below, “four of you, head to the Ducal’s outpost by the western docks; see if he hasn’t tried to make a break for it. The rest of you take to the rooftops.”
As soon as I heard the leader say the last eight words, I realized what had to be done. I waited for the seven knights to disperse in separate directions and then, when the remaining six had started climbing the shop walls adjacent from me, I decided to run again. I bounded across the tavern shingles and jumped to the next, carefully moving as to not draw further attention and to still create as much distance between myself and my pursuers.
“There he goes!” one shouted from behind.
The head knight led his search party from the streets below as I quickly traversed from above. I counted seven rooftops ahead until I would have to make the final leap onto an overhanging crane, which should provide stable support to cross onto other buildings across the street. My pursuers burst through the crowds, knocking children to the ground and throwing merchants’ goods into the air as they followed without care for civilians’ safety.
Now I counted five rooftops remaining before the jump. I watched from my peripherals as the commanding knight dispatched two of his men to scale the buildings behind me to pursue from a higher vantage point. He sent another to the opposite side of the streets, already assuming my strategy before it came to be. I stumbled across a merchant’s tent but stayed the course and regrouped my balance, hearing the cries of concerned onlookers from below.
Two rooftops remaining until the crane.
“For fuck’s sake, he’s about to jump!” a knight said to the other from a few buildings behind me. The other denied my coming plan, claiming that I would have nowhere left to run after the next rooftop. The pounding in my head intensified as I drew closer to the end, nearing the empty space which I assumed to be a ten foot leap from the ledge. The crane beckoned for me, swinging precariously in the breeze as dock workers used it from far below, unaware of what was about to happen.
Placing all of my weight on my stronger foot, I launched myself from the final rooftop with the baffled knights approaching quickly. Time slowed for several seconds as I was airborne, sailing through the sky with the crane just within my reach but unfortunately, I had greatly miscalculated the distance. My fingers brushed against my glorious, wooden savior but could not hold a solid grip. Cries of terror from civilians and laborers below reached my ears before the rush of cold water as I landed ass-first into the sea. Strong hands pulled me onto the docks and the last I could remember from that moment was the heavy impact of a club against my skull.
* * * * * *
“Traitor. He is a traitor by all accounts, my lord. He should suffer the same fate as the sorcerer he helped escape!” a voice called out from afar.
“Is this true? Did this young man aid in the escape of a convicted sorcerer?” a much deeper voice asked.
“Yes, sire. He deliberately disobeyed your decree and questioned your law, then proceeded to escape custody by leading us on a merry chase through the city.”
“Must be a foreigner to not abide by our laws. Where are you from?” the deep voice asked. After a few moments of silence, a heavy blow to my jaw awoke me from my daze. I gazed around the chamber I was being held in. A handsome, aesthetic silver throne before me hosted the largest man I had ever seen in my life. He wore a shining, silver crown atop his flaming red hair with red jewels embedded in the lining. This had to be the great, silver-obsessed King Ramses himself.
“I asked you a question, young man. Where do you hail from?”
I raised my head, feeling my hands tied tightly behind my back.
“Tuskan.” I lied, trying to keep a trail from leading back to Aketa.
“Certainly, they’ve taught you of our ways in Tuskan? Why do you come to our glorious city and disobey our customs?” Ramses asked me.
“I was not aware of your customs but if -” I began to say before a swift blow to my stomach interrupted me.
“You will address your imperial majesty with reverence, swine!” the soldier snapped. I fought to catch my breath as the king continued to speak.
“Foreigner, you are accused of aiding the escape of a convicted criminal and attempted escape. Our laws hold no weight if we do not enforce such terms against those who deem unruly.” said the king, his voice booming through the distinguished palace halls. I took some time to notice several empty suits of armor positioned upright along the wall behind them, appearing as invisible guards awaiting the order to strike. The wolf banner hung draped across the cobblestones above them. The king wore a tunic lined in silver and rings on every finger, each with a different color gemstone.
“I sentence you to ten years imprisonment for your acts of treason and co-conspiracy in witchcraft. The condemned shall be branded as such, prior to his detainment.” Ramses declared and before I could argue for the sake of my innocence, I was being carried away. Soldiers lifted me by my arms and hauled me through the palace.
Alarmed, I called for the Djinn, hoping that he would save me as he had before at the Quinn Estate. I continued to cry out for him but he never came to my aid. The soldiers carried me through many doors before leading me outside of the castle walls. We descended a steep ravine towards a dark, unforgiving prison that rested beside the Hallobar Sea. Menacingly substantial in size, its design resembled the shape of a horseshoe. Minutes later, we arrived at the front gates and were led inside by another guard. After several flights of staircases, I was then carried into a narrow hallway with cells adjacent to each other. I glanced through the bars, spotting prisoners huddled onto the cobblestone floor or staring off, hopelessly, into the horizon.
Before I could understand what was happening, a searing pain suddenly pierced my left shoulder. A masked man holding a hot iron had burned a brand into my skin - a knife impaling a wolf’s throat. All that I could smell after that was burnt flesh. After another flight of stairs, we reached a level of the prison that appeared to be the lowest. Through iron-clad bars, I caught glimpses of tortured souls lying in their cells beside their own precarious ledge leading down to the water below.
“This is where you’ll rot.” the soldier from the town-square rasped in my ear. I was then thrown into a dimly-lit cell, adrift in a moment’s daze of trepidation. The heavy door slammed shut behind me and it was then when I could finally register my situation. I would rot in prison for the next decade, awaiting release to return home to nothing, all because of a misguided attempt at heroism. If only burning an accused witch at a stake was a custom familiar to those living in Mercia, I would have recognized it and not bothered. I contemplated my regrettable actions for the next several minutes. Every cell had a door, separating bars between each other and a precarious ledge that appeared as if the prison’s heart had entirely vanished.
“And just as quick as they go, another takes its place.” a voice said from behind me. I turned to see a man in a similar cell neighboring mine. He was a thin man, revealing that he had been imprisoned for a while. His clothes were tattered and ripped; his movements were slow and frail and he wore an identical prisoner brand on his left shoulder.
“Take it you met the great king himself, did you? Piss on his silver boots, I hope.” the man laughed, followed by painful coughing and wheezing.
“I met him. Didn’t have the chance, unfortunately. I’m Caine.”
“Landstrom. Pleasure to meet you, Caine. Wish it were under better circumstances, though.” he said.
“What does this mean?” I asked him, pointing to my new brand, the burnt flesh still sizzling as the iron’s mark embedded deeply.
“Nothing good,” Landstrom answered, “the mark of a traitor, that one there. I have one of the same. It’s a death sentence if seen around Ataman country.”
“How long have you been here?” I asked.
Landstrom motioned towards the wall behind him, revealing hundreds of scratch marks along the
stone. His cell was separated from mine by a strong, metal barrier. I was almost disappointed it wasn’t built of silver.
“A lot to look forward to, Caine. Whole lot,” said Landstrom, coughing blood onto the ground. He was in pitiful shape, asking, “how’d you piss them off?”
“Wasn’t familiar with the customs of the city,” I mocked, “interrupted a witch burning, I suppose.”
“Hah,” Landstrom laughed, “showed those whoresons.”
“What happened here?” I asked.
“You mean with the prison?”
I nodded as I peered over the ledge in my cell, looking down at the roaring waters below. “It was built as a method of torture for inmates, both physically and mentally. Can you see the beach? Just over there?” Landstrom asked me, “on the horizon?”
Across the black, shadowy water, I could barely see what my neighbor was speaking of: a large bank of golden sand and a dense forest, both welcoming and haunting at the same time. “So close, yet so far from our reach.” Landstrom continued, talking as though he had told many inmates before. Pressuring your captives to commit suicide is a truly crude form of punishment, even by their standards.
“How many neighbors have you had, my friend? I’m curious.” I asked.
Landstrom sarcastically counted on his fingers for a second before answering, bluntly, “One every few moons.”
“That quickly?”
“Not many can endure such a hardship with a tease of freedom like that,” he said, pointing towards the beach, “but those who make the jump never survive. Serves as a challenge to most. We all have families or wives awaiting our return from this wretched tomb but it’s the desire to see them again that separates the brave from the lesser. No visitors, only a longing hope.”
I began to think of Aketa. She must be counting the days obsessively, praying for my safe travels home. A lump began to swell in my throat and heat rose in the corners of my eyes, prompting me to turn away to consider all of my options.
“I have not voyaged hundreds of miles and escaped nightmarish demons only to rot in a jail cell. I’m not meant to die here, Landstrom.” I declared, searching for anything to help my escape.
“Demons?” he asked, confused.
Ignoring him, I continued searching. Scrapped chicken bones and dust were my only companions here; nothing more could be found beneath the rubble of fallen stone. For a minute, I analyzed my chances of surviving the leap of faith from the prison’s ledge. I even attempted to pick the lock to my jail cell with one of the cleaned bones.
“What were you doing in Ataman anyhow?” Landstrom asked.
“The condensed version is that I’m working off a debt that saved my wife.”
“Always leads back to a woman.” he laughed.
“That’s what they all say,” I replied, “but this one is far from ordinary.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Every husband believes his betrothed is a goddess, the same as every sea captain considers his ship the toughest. Or how all knights consider themselves conquering champions after one victory at joust. I’ve heard the comparisons, the similarities and the god-awful poetry. At the end of the day, you’re still stuck in this prison, same as me.” he said.
“You like to hear yourself talk, huh?”
“I really do.”
“Must be why your neighbors keep jumping to their deaths.” I laughed to myself as I continued searching for anything to aid my escape.
“If we’re being completely honest with each-other, Caine, I’m tired. Sunrise and sundown, I see freedom across the water - One day, I intend to jump; to feel the grass beneath my feet and the sand of that godforsaken, golden beach. If fate decides my death below is certain, so it shall be.” said an unmistakably weary Landstrom.
“Jagged rocks don’t scare you?”
“Wasting away for another year in this hell scares me. Besides, if the rocks don’t kill me, the guards on the prison wall will.” he replied.
I peered my head into the cell’s opening, glimpsing the patrolling guardsmen walking along the prison walls and noticed crossbows strung across their shoulders. Dozens of them stayed marching above, scanning the waters lazily for the rare soul brave enough to make the jump. The sun neared mid-day, showering me in its intensified light on the ledge of my cell.
“One man survived the fall once before but, unfortunately, he swam a few hundred yards before their arrows got him. Tell me something, Caine...it’s been on my mind since you told me. Why did you bother stopping the witch trial? You knew that no good would come of it so why risk your freedom?” he asked me after a few seconds of silence.
“We know of no such cruelty in Mercia. Flogging is the worst it gets.”
“Bah, flogging is childsplay in Ataman. Ever since Arrigon declared war, tensions have been uneasy,” Landstrom continued to say, “if a man speaks of magic or sorcery, he is burned at the stake. If a woman ‘accidentally’ pockets a fruit in the market, she is hanged. It’s a cruel world we live in, Caine, and war only amplifies it.”
“I couldn’t allow myself to keep walking as that man was condemned to death. It is unjustly that a man can determine whether you live or die to meet his own agenda,” I said, “I thought I knew the world beyond my gardens at home. I was sorely mistaken.”
We pondered in silence for a brief moment before, suddenly, a wisp of smoke flashed and the Djinn appeared, standing in my cell. “Stupid, stupid boy. Must you always step into situations you needn’t bother with? There’s a little voice in your head, talking and talking and you ignore him every time.” he said, shaking his head in mocking disappointment.
“What would you have done? Let the man die?” I asked.
“Undoubtedly. Then, again, I do not share the same ideals as you.”
“Who are you talking to?” Landstrom asked me, bewildered. I nearly forgot that he couldn’t see the Djinn standing before me.
“You must have realized, by now, that this is your third day. Must I remind you of what happens on the seventh?” the magical being warned.
“A small snag in your plan, Djinn. I’m sentenced ten years. Would you have me jump from the ledge to my death? And why were you not there for me?” I asked him, my voice darkening with sudden distrust.
“Miniscule lesson of bravery that you had to learn,” he answered, gesturing towards my new brand, “I told you not to stray from your path, Caine. I’ll help you escape now but heed my warnings in the future.”
“Caine,” Landstrom repeated as his attempt to snap me back into reality, “it’s too early to start losing it now.”
“I will bestow upon you a heightened ability, an...apparatus, if you will, that will enable you to breathe underwater. Once you reach the beach, the magic will dissipate.” said the Djinn as he walked towards me.
“Not unless my friend is given the same chance as me.” I argued.
He then turned to Landstrom, who had begun clamoring at the cell bars, confused as to why I was quarreling with myself.
“Him?” the Djinn asked.
“Yes. He deserves the same opportunity.”
“Caine, what are you talking about? Stop.” my neighbor demanded.
“He was accused of witchcraft, the same as the man you sacrificed yourself for. My, you must have a soft spot for the rightfully condemned.” the Djinn mocked, turning his gaze back towards me, “I cannot help him. He may try the jump with you but fate is in his own hands. He’s practically on the cusp of suicide, as it is.”
“Can you not open the door from the other side or teleport us?”
“A small historical lesson for you, Caine: this prison was built by the ancestors of King Ramses, who were quite keen to superstitions and mistrustful of anything they couldn’t fully understand. Long ago, a war of religion broke out in the western lands, sending hundreds of witches into this region, seeking sanctuary. They were all hanged, burned or executed by sword. Consequently, Ataman wrote new laws, deeming that most of what was built on Ataman soil would be bless
ed with a sorcerer’s enchantment to keep this mass immigration from progressing. Due to this obstructing magic, my assistance is limited within this place.” he answered. I had not realized until that moment that he was steadily backing me towards my cell’s ledge.
“Always a reason.” I replied, nervously.
“Indeed, but I am useful when I’m able. We shall meet again at the summit, Caine. Your time is now a loaned commodity so do not stray from the path.” said the Djinn, who then clamped his hand around my throat, spawning an awful, burning sensation.
“Deep breath now.” he whispered. I could feel slight indentations forming beneath his fingers as he held me above the ledge. Few moments passed before he then shoved me with the same hand and grinned as I fell to the water below.
CHAPTER FIVE
WINTER’S ROSE
I plummeted, no longer in control of my body; waves pushed and pulled, dragging me beneath the crashing water. Nothing but a terrifying, empty blackness lay beneath me. My feet grazed against something in the water, immediately followed by an onslaught of waves pounding into my body as if I wasn’t there. Within five minutes of churning and thrashing, my energy was all but spent.
Shouting could be heard from above me. I assumed that my panicking and thrashing had alerted the tower guards on the walls of the prison. A familiar voice broke the sounds of water breaking against the rocks behind me as I fought against the powerful current.
“Caine, swim!” shouted Landstrom. He must have made the jump at the same moment as I had. Without a minute’s hesitation, I began swimming at his side, forcing all of my strength into each stroke. The weak man that I had met in the cell above was unrecognizable, swimming with the ferocity and ambitiousness of a man thirty years younger; our lives were now at stake.
Different sounds than endless waves reached my ears from behind and around me: sharp, piercing noises slicing through the air. In shock, I realized that the guards had begun firing at us; arrows cascaded down from the prison walls in multiple barrages. This would be simple target practice for them if we did not act soon. I held my breath before descending into the darkness below, out of sight and range of the attacking guards.
