by Kai Widdeson
“It’s not looking good is it,” I admit. I had always expected it to take some convincing to get Damion to hear us out, but I hadn’t anticipated that he wouldn’t even allow himself to hear any of my attempts at all. I sure hope that at the very least he hasn’t gone running to the warden to inform him of our efforts.
“Today and tomorrow, after that I’m going to have to go to Breyden,” says Orrian, confirming my deadline.
Click.
The sound has the care of someone trying to go unnoticed but in my constant half-awake state it well as may be an explosion.
Orrian ordered everyone to settle down a couple of hours ago. Trying to estimate nightfall is still a mixture of a little guesswork but using the incoming meals and our internal instincts I’m certain that we keep to a roughly correct schedule. Knowing the time is of course crucial to my ultimate plan should it ever come to fruition, but for as long as we’re out of reach from the outside we’ll never really know how right or wrong we’ve been this whole time.
The softest patter makes its way towards us, had it not been for the click I would have instantly disregarded the newcomer as a rodent and tried to get back to resting. A slow creak of wood against wood, the gentle sweeping of many somethings against the floor, the slight sway of fabric in the still air.
I lay curled up on a relatively clear section of floor off to one side. Around me, my companions continue their snores or light breathing as they remain undisturbed in their slumber. I raise my head from my palm slightly as a dark figure comes into view, a black blur dancing and warping through my half-closed eyes.
“AAAAHH!” a young voice cries out, as the bars rattle.
I awaken fully now, jumping to my feet to find Orrian rising to his with a fistful of cloth in one hand. He pulls his arm backwards, yanking Damion forwards so that he pressed into the barrier between us. Damion’s cheek collides with the metal with a startling slap and he cries out in pain. With his target closer, Orrian briefly let’s go of the boy to get a firmer grip, holding him in position as I near the front of the cell.
“Get off me!” Damion yells, around us people are beginning to wake at the commotion.
“Not until you agree to help us,” Orrian growls.
“I can’t!” cries Damion.
“Yes, you can,” I say, stepping forwards so that he may get a better view. Again, I know that he recognises me, his eyes scan the marks on my face before settling on my own.
“Let me go,” he pleads.
“You heard what he said,” I answer. “We’re not letting you go until you help us.”
“I can’t help you!” he yells, his voice cracking under the strain.
“Yes, you can, we just need you to unlock the doors,” I say. Damion squirms in Orrian’s grip.
“They wouldn’t give me the keys! I can’t unlock the doors!” he reveals. Of course, they wouldn’t give him the keys, I should have realised it would be foolish to expect the colony to entrust their prisoners with a mere slave.
“Well, who can?” I ask, trying to keep my voice calm and monotonous. It works, already Damion’s breathing is getting steadier and he has begun to reign in his panic.
“Halden. Halden can open them,” Damion answers quickly.
“Can’t you steal the keys off him?” Orrian interjects.
“No! He always keeps them right next to him,” Damion says, immediately shrugging off the suggestion. “Besides, why would I?”
“Why would you?!” Orrian repeats heatedly. His intensity leads to Damion struggling backwards, his efforts are useless however because, much like the rods between us, Orrian’s unyielding grip is like iron.
“We could help you,” I answer, before Orrian’s ferocity can lead us into trouble. Even still, Damion nervously looks over at the young king, squirming once more.
“How?” Damion scoffs.
“If we get out of here, we could take you with us. We could take you home,” I offer. I feel bad for using the burnt remains of Avlym in my promise, but I’ll have time to feel guilty if we get out of here.
“You won’t make it out of here!” Damion cries exasperated.
“We could if you help us,” I say.
“No. You couldn’t,” Damion argues, “there are too many of them. They’ll catch us! They’ll kill me! It won’t work!”
“Damion, if anyone can escape this place it’s these people. Isn’t it worth the risk? You could have your life back, your freedom!” I say, hoping that the tribespeople still look impressive enough to enforce my assurances.
Damion remains silent, his eyes flicking between my calm, and hopefully friendly, face, and Orrian’s. The forest king is glaring at him with such intense focus that I almost expect him to spontaneously combust and add to the pile of ash getting smeared across the floor.
“Is this really how you want to live? Serving them for the rest of your life? What do you think will happen when they don’t need you anymore, think they’ll care for you and make you one of them?” I say.
“What if we die?” he croaks, his low voice emitting a curiously childish tone.
“Then we die free. No more slavery, no more prisoners. We die out there as ourselves,” I answer, hoping that I’m not misreading the hopeful signals emanating from him.
Damion is quiet for a long time. Nobody is asleep anymore and I get the feeling that they’re all watching, or at least listening, as our last chance rests on the hopes of the boy before their king.
“Ok,” Damion answers with finality. He whispers the word as if speaking his betrayal aloud may bring immediate damnation upon him.
As soon as the words escape his lips, Orrian releases Damion from his grasp. Damion takes a step back from the bars, wearily staying out of arm’s reach.
Try as I may, I cannot restrain myself as my mouth widens, curling upwards. Damion’s on board, we’re really doing it, we’re going to get out of here. But we’re not free yet, which I’m reminded as soon as I look around the bare walls for an outlet for my joy.
Those around us that chased Damion out of this dungeon with their anger only a few hours ago now hail him from within their cells. The praise seems to make him more nervous as he struggles to be caught up in their attitude, I doubt he’s ever been held with such high regard since being brought behind the colony’s defences.
“Thank you,” I begin, ready to update him on the plan that is slowly introducing itself to reality. “Here’s what we’re going to do.”
Today’s the day we make our move.
Orrian had sent everyone back to sleep last night following the encounter with Damion, everyone needs to be alert and ready for when the time comes. I had tried pitifully to regain my semi-unconscious state but to no prevail thanks to the thoughts of this evening running rampant in my mind.
We had let Damion clear up the fallen torch after summarising the plan. When the warden comes by with the food this evening, it would be up to Damion to take the keys off him and unlock our cell. From there we’ll get everyone out and organised before we rush the stairs and the courtyard. By the time we reach the main city we’ll make a beeline straight for the outer gates, splitting up into two groups and disappearing into the houses as soon as the soldiers notice us and begin pursuing. One group will be led by Orrian and Tharrin, the other by myself and the twins. If we get the jump on any guards at the inner gates, we might be armed by the time we reach the outer limits, if it comes to it, we’ll have to fight. If that happens then we’ll need to be quick about it so that we can disappear into the woodland before reinforcements get to us. The plan is risky, very risky, but it’s the only chance we’ve got.
We spend the day preparing ourselves, mentally and physically. We drain the last of our water and consume any morsels of food that have been saved in case the warden left us alone down here. This is the time to go all out, if this fails then we lose everything, so we may as well give ourselves as much of a fighting chance as possible. Every now and then I spot a barely concealed yawn,
a sign that everyone else had as much difficulty falling asleep again as I did.
The hours pass without anything noteworthy happening. The pessimistic side of me is still slightly worried at the possibility of Damion betraying us, even though I know he has almost as much riding on this as the rest of us. The warden enters the tunnel for the morning slop, dishing out the last food we can expect down here. At his side the thick ring of keys rests temptingly. Tantalisingly close but just out of reach. Not that we should strike now even if we had the opportunity, we need nightfall on our side if we are to succeed.
Time stretches on until it feels as if days may have passed. A brief thought flashes through my mind as I wonder if the warden has chosen the worst possible time to leave us by ourselves down here. I spend the next few minutes fretting, unable to shake the feeling that more time has passed than it should have and that something is wrong.
My worries are put at ease as the creaking of a gate opening above finally makes its way down to our ears. Some of us stop our conversations, some stop their pacing, some stop their rocking or whatever else they have taken to pass the time. We all strain against the silence as footfalls repeat distantly, at first descending unseen steps, finally growing louder as they move through the narrow tunnel.
Warden Halden steps into view. Behind him, with his broom and crate, is Damion. Before leaving us last night we had made him light the replacement torch before purposefully extinguishing it. It would make his necessity to be here more plausible and help fend off unwanted questions.
Halden goes about distributing the food to the first of the cells, he will reach us last. The warden is oblivious to the eerie silence, blind to the tribespeople’s pointed looks at Damion and unaware of their subtle gestures. He goes about his regular routine undisturbed. Meanwhile, Damion makes his way over to the unlit torch and busies himself with lighting the fire, his fingers unsteady with anxiety.
Warden Halden has just reached our cell when Damion finally makes a move. As Halden turns to face us, the young man steps backwards away from the torch, moving towards the broom he’s left leaning against the opposite wall.
The warden looks up at myself and Orrian, we both wait for him and stand at least a head above. His eyes raise to mine a split second before the wooden broom handle smashes into his temple.
My skin crawls as the warden lets loose a shrill scream, clutching at his bleeding forehead whilst Damion raises the broom to deal another blow. The screaming continues, even from this far away it must be audible to those on the surface. Damion brings the handle down again and again, with each impact the scream raises briefly before lowering, until the warden can do nothing but whimper.
Another strike. More Blood. Raise the handle once again. The sickening thwack of wood against skull. The broom handle breaks as Damion overswings and it collides with the solid stone below. He tosses the broom to one side and drops to his knees, hands already around the old man’s throat.
“Damion-” I start. If anyone had asked, I would have said that we need to get moving before the commotion draws others down here. In truth, the warden is no longer a threat to us and, despite the horrible things he has done, I am unwilling to watch such brutality.
“Don’t,” Orrian says stopping me.
Mother looks down at the scene in horror, visibly paling as Damion tightens his grip. Still, she does not utter a single word.
Together we watch on as the life drains from the vile man’s eyes. His frame seems so much smaller now as Damion grabs him by the arm and slides him into the wall to the side of the entrance tunnel. He is positioned in such a way that if anyone looks down without coming in then the body shouldn’t be visible. The warden lay broken and poorly hidden, he has been discarded not unlike those who died under his cruelty and are now condemned to eternity inside these cells.
Damion rushes over to the cells closest to him, which are therefore the ones closest to the entrance, and begins unlocking the gates. Tribespeople and other prisoners alike come tumbling out. They emerge silently, as instructed by Orrian, to not risk attracting any more attention.
They needn’t have bothered. A pit opens in my stomach as the unmistakable sliding of a bolt somewhere above sounds once more.
“Damion!” Orrian hisses daringly loudly.
Damion sprints the length of the hallway to begin fumbling at our lock, meanwhile Orrian stands almost nose-to-nose on the other side, kicking his feet impatiently.
“I told you to unlock this one first,” Orrian complains half-heartedly, his attention fixed on the entrance beyond his people.
Damion doesn’t even bother to answer, allowing the soft click to do his talking for him. Orrian immediately yanks open the door and steps out of the cell with me hot on his heels.
“OI! GET BACK IN YOUR CELL!” a shout cries from the far end. Becker.
Over the heads of the tribespeople, I catch glimpses of armour in the shadow of the tunnel. I can only see three or four of them from here, but they are forced into single-file and so there is no telling if more are hidden behind them. They have their swords drawn and are slowly advancing towards us. Orrian’s people, weak and unarmed, back away from Becker and his soldiers as they rush in.
The inhabitants of the first cells are forced to retreat all the way down the tunnel, even if they had wanted to obey Becker’s orders, they would be unable to as he and his men stand between them and their abandoned cages. The bodies press into us as they are herded to our side of the dungeon, the furthest possible point from the exit. A sea of bodies now stands before myself and my mother.
“We need to go!” Orrian yells at me before charging to aid his people. I watch as he uses one of his men to catapult himself over their heads, diving through the air to tackle a soldier to the ground. The first strike, his tribal army follows his lead.
An iron gauntlet shoots its way out from the masses and pulls its owner through using the iron bars. The soldier swings and I avoid the blow only by throwing myself at his unarmed side. I hear a yelp behind me as I tackle the man around the waist. My weight alone wouldn’t be enough to topple him but thankfully Damion joins in the move, wiping a now bloody forearm across my face as he lunges. The soldier collapses and I pull Damion to his feet moments before the guard disappears. Horas has managed to reach through the bars and grab his arm, wrestling the sword from his grip as the soldier is swept away beneath the sea of trampling feet.
“Here!” Horas shouts, chucking the sword to me which I miraculously catch by the handle. My breath catches as memories swarm me, imaginary redness slides up my fingertips. A distant groan resonates between my ears for only me to hear.
“The keys! I dropped the keys!” Damion screams over the carnage.
I curse, Mother is still yet to be released from her cell. In fact, only three of the cells have been freed so far, the majority of the tribespeople are forced to remain in their own enclosures. They shout support and encouragement, occasionally managing to disrupt a soldier as they claw out from between their bars, but for the most part they are useless. I can’t panic, these people would have my back, so I need to have theirs.
An opening forms across the path and I throw myself into the barrier that separates my mother from the brawling. I drag Damion after me with my free hand.
“We’ve lost the keys,” I say, panicking.
My mother’s arm shoots out from between the bars and keeps me on my feet as I am knocked hard from behind. She squeezes my hand and the aching to free her grows stronger than I ever.
“Go! Find Alice!” she commands.
“No. I can’t leave you,” tears sting my eyes as I realise I might have to.
“I’ll be fine, get out of here. Find Alice. NO!” she screams moments before another force smashes into my side. Unlike the other, this blow was too heavy and targeted to not be purposeful.
I go tumbling past Damion and my head collides with the cold floor. I need to get up before I am buried, I claw at the bars and Damion grabs my sword arm,
hauling me to my feet.
Becker stands before me.
I ready my blade, but before either of us can strike the crowd collides with him from behind. Avlym’s tormentor comes flying towards me, attempting to seize the opportunity and jab at my chest as he does. I parry the strike aside and kick his legs out from beneath him, sending him sprawling to the ground.
In mere seconds our positions have been reversed, it is I who now stands over him. He tries to raise his blade but his hand is immediately crushed beneath a boot, his fingers are protected but the force is still enough to send his weapon out of his grip.
My sword tip hovers over Becker’s throat. He has tortured us for too long, caused too much pain, so much suffering, and here he is in the heat of battle at my mercy. The fight raging around me blurs into the background, I am knocked and bumped into but in this world, there is just me and the monster at my feet. One thrust and his tyranny will cease to exist.
“Dale,” above all the chaos around me, I still catch my mother whisper my name.
I know I can’t do it now. As much as I want to, as much as that revenged-fuelled demon inside me urges me too, I cannot kill the defenceless man before me. Not in front of my mother. I slash instead of jab, Becker may not die today but he will certainly remember it as he lives. I draw a long red line through his cheek and he rolls away clutching at his face.
I rise to my mother’s eyes. She must surely see me for what I have become now. Her expression is grim, but I am not met with the horror or disappointment I was expecting.
“We need to go!” Orrian yells. I look over the heads to find that he has emerged on the other side and has a clear exit to the tunnel. He too has managed to arm himself, a colony sword in each hand. Around us the conflict continues but the soldiers are clearly being slowly overwhelmed. Despite the weapons and armour, they are still no match for the numbers and the sheer manpower facing them.
My mother nods once.
“Go,” she says.
“I’ll be back,” I promise, before fumbling my way over a couple clawing at each other on the ground. Damion follows closely behind, desperately trying to avoid being separated.