by Coral Walker
The moment his hands touched him, Jack found himself swept into Teilo’s arms. The arms quickly linked into a firm embrace, and the hilt of the knife pressed hard against his stomach before he realised what was happening.
Blood gushed out and trickled onto him.
Teilo’s embrace rapidly grew weaker as the knife plunged in deeper. With a frantic cry, Jack shoved him away.
Teilo flopped backwards onto the dusty floor.
Terror-stricken, Jack scrambled over on his hands and knees. His head was screaming madly, and the strangled sound that was spluttering out of his throat echoed back to him like needles piercing through his skull.
The line of Teilo’s lips curved into a weak smile. “Prophecy, Prophecy … Bri … anna … pro … phecy …” he murmured weakly.
It sounded like “Brianna, prophecy.” But it didn’t make sense. What prophesy? How was that anything to do with Brianna?
There were scurrying footfalls behind him. Iron hands grasped his arms and shoulders, and he was dragged away by two strong men. The third one was checking on Teilo in an offhand manner, and without warning he pulled out the knife. An ear-splitting cry escaped from Teilo’s mouth, and fresh blood spurted out from the gaping wound.
Head splitting with a wild anger, Jack burst into a ferocious spasm of kicking and wriggling. Somehow he wrenched himself free from the keepers’ grasps. When a large hand almost caught him again by his shoulder, he turned, eyes burning and throat growling like a beast. In a furious rush, he set upon the keeper with punches. Another keeper hurried ahead to bar his way, long arms spreading out like he was catching a bird. Head bowed and shoulders squared, Jack dashed heedlessly towards him at full pelt. Dazed, the large man stood with legs apart and simply stared. A collision seemed inevitable. But Jack swerved in time, weaving to his right. As he skirted past him, with a flick of his outstretched hand, he drew the man’s knife out from the sheath on his belt.
With the knife in his hand, he turned abruptly and slashed it down unexpectedly. The keeper yowled with pain, put his hand to his shoulder, and retreated. Another heartless swing and strike, and the third keeper dropped the long staff he was carrying and rushed to the exit with his wrist bleeding.
Seeing the last man vanish out of sight, Jack breathed hoarsely and let his shoulders drop. He turned, and at the sight of Teilo he started shivering. The spurting blood frightened him. With a guttural groan, he hurriedly tore a long strip from the bottom of his tunic. His hands shook as he crumpled it into a thick pad and pressed it against the wound. The red blood soaked the cloth immediately. He cut another strip, long and narrow, to wind around him like a bandage.
An army of armed keepers enclosed him, yelling at him to drop the knife.
The bandage was now in place, and the heavy bleeding seemed to be stemmed. Teilo was absolutely still, as if asleep.
He will be fine. He will be fine!
The voice beat in his mind like a drum. He stood up, no longer shaking. Taking a mouthful of the dusty air, he let go the knife.
+++
He was half pulled and half shoved to the wall where the sliding rails stood, and was locked onto them. There was no more resistance. He was submissive, wilfully submissive. His breath came in short gulps, coarse and laboured, as if his chest were punctured. No matter how hard he gasped, he felt he was suffocating.
The weight band around his neck was removed, and a girl approached him like a ghost. Tender-faced with long and slender arms, she was carrying a heavy bowl of clear water. She smiled servilely at him and bent low to soak a piece of tough-looking sponge. She applied the sponge to his face while the water was still dripping. The cold water streamed down, exploring the territory like a proud conqueror — the cheeks, the jaw, the cove of his neck, and the chest.
The sponge, a fibrous skeleton of some kind of large fruit, was scratchy; the hand of the slender girl was heavy. As it rubbed away the dirt and blood, it made his skin burn. She rinsed the sponge every so often, and soon the colour of the water had turned a deep dull red.
Teilo’s blood.
Teilo’s blood.
Further away they were taking away Teilo’s lifeless body. A sharp scream rose again inside his head, countering the babbling sound from the crowd above the high wall.
She dried him with a filthy cloth, and, with the help of a green keeper, put over him a heavy yellow vest, gleaming with shining metal plates. A blue belt was fixed to his waist to hold the vest in place, and a matching golden crown pressed down onto his head.
Trembling under their weight while the edge of the shackles bit into his wrists, he recognised it with a bitter irony.
Winner’s vest and winner’s crown.
The trumpets started to blow, and the audience started getting to their feet. He was lifted up on the rails.
As his feet rose further from the ground, he felt a despairing helplessness, like a ball deflated. He searched, scanning the blue faces of the Barans, trying to grasp a sign, a spark of hope, or a sympathetic glint — something he had seen in his father. After all, they were the same sort of beings. With pain and deep disappointment, he registered his failure. Everywhere he looked, cold and unpitying eyes were staring back at him.
Prince Mapolos was leaving. But then he stopped and looked up. All of a sudden Jack found his glance was met by the Prince’s fierce look, and he shuddered. The Prince opened up his arms, bent one and extended the other as if holding a bow and arrow. “Pou”, imitating the sound, he aimed and shot. The women surrounding him erupted in shrieks of laughter.
Jack drew his gaze away. It was easy now as he was quite a bit higher than the highest tier of seats. He must have passed the position where he had been held before, as the heads of the crowd became small, and the height started to make him dizzy.
He finally stopped, high up on the rail. The fine, unbroken view took him into its bosom like a mother cuddling a child. The breeze was fresh and gentle.
Shackled and hurt, he was finally alone. At least he didn’t have to hold back his tears. He could let them fall, and he could sob aloud.
18
Prince Marcus
The blue-faced Barans started to leave. A handful of them looked discontented and querulous as if they had suffered a heavy loss, while the others, jolly as at any festival that has gone off well, merrily chattered as they strolled to the exit. A few of them, looking especially pleased, clutched large bags of coins to their chests.
The arena emptied and the wind picked up a little, lifting Jack’s hair from his ears. Further away, below him, passers-by cut short their hurrying steps and, with their heads lolling backwards, stood gawking at the winner of the game who was displayed conveniently above them.
What an obvious way of advertising the arena!
He saw a green keeper park an old cart with worn tires outside the ring. A thin, unkempt layer of golden hay spread over the surface of the cart. The keeper disappeared inside but soon reappeared with another man lugging the body of a warm-skinned youth. The two pairs of arms together hurled the body onto the cart.
The body was already covered with pieces of hay, on which it must have placed before being carried out. The hay that stuck to the hair and face made it hard to see who it was. But the sizeable bloody blot on the lower torso conveyed his name straight into Jack’s heart.
Teilo!
One of the keepers went inside, and when he came out again, he was dragging a pair of chains, one in each hand. Pulled by the chains, a girl in white staggered out. When he was close to the cart, the man yanked the chains, hauling the girl forward to position her between the pair of long handles. Both men hunched over to lock the chains to the handles of the cart. When they finished, one of the men manoeuvred the girl’s shackled hands onto the handles, while the other man spoke to her with abrupt gestures.
Hesitantly the girl grasped the handles and lifted them up. She lifted too quickly and too high. Immediately the cart lost balance and tipped forward. She was startled and uttere
d a sharp sound. While the keepers looked on with amusement, she jerked and pulled, battling to balance the cart with her weight.
One of the keepers swaggered ahead to lead the way and beckoned her to follow. She moved forward cautiously and, time and again, wobbled badly as she struggled to stay balanced. A few steps further on she halted. The keeper gestured impatiently, but she paid no heed to him.
Ahead of her stood two passers-by, gazing up at Jack. Slowly she followed their gaze and looked up.
Her eyes met his.
Although it was a long way down, Jack could see her red-rimmed eyes and her colourless face.
It was Brianna without a doubt.
The street below was quiet now that most of the crowd had dispersed. It bent and stretched like a mystical path leading to an unknown land. Was that how she was to be set free, chained to a cart with a dead boy on it?
Where was she heading?
The man bawled at her, urging her to move.
She dropped her head suddenly as if to shield her eyes from something.
Damn, he cursed and jerked his head, irritated by the first sign of his own tears. He would never let Brianna see him cry! How she would mock him in front of her friends with her sharp tongue!
Brianna gazed up again as though expecting something from him. Quickly he wrenched his face, trying for a smile. But then the wind picked up from behind and raised his tunic. Envisioning how Brianna would see him from below, he laughed.
A clown king, trapped like an animal, barelegged with only a loincloth to preserve his modesty.
His laughter, although a little hysterical, was authentic, and all the tears that he had strived to hold back rolled down. At least they were tears of laughter, he reasoned.
Brianna’s face was tight with concern. It stayed like that for a while longer before it too broke into a smile. Although a small and constrained one, it was a smile nonetheless.
Down the street, there was a sudden disturbance. A squad of riders on horses were cantering briskly towards her. In a hurry, she scrambled to get out of their way. The cart tipped up at a sharp angle and wobbled briefly before falling back down with a thump.
There were five riders, all dressed ostentatiously. The one in the middle wore a wide golden belt as well as a shining, golden circlet on his head. Reining in his horse, he trotted around Brianna. Brianna’s face followed him attentively, but at times she looked up at Jack, her eyes alight with alarm and bewilderment.
She dropped the cart and started waving her shackled arms recklessly.
Jack’s heart jolted.
The keeper that was leading the way rushed forward. He bowed deeply to the rider before grabbing hold of Brianna. Pushing and shoving, he hurried her away, no matter how she resisted. Soon they vanished behind the branches of a tree.
The riders stood still, gazing in the direction of Brianna, seeming to be absorbing the incident. The two soldiers ahead started glancing up at Jack. One of them made a remark and then they both laughed.
The solemn one with the circlet of gold on his head still looked thoughtful. Drawn by the good humour of his fellow riders, he trotted forward and joined them.
Oblivious to those who were laughing at him, Jack’s eyes were riveted on the golden-ringed man. Something about the man struck him with wonder and broke his breath into patchy gasps. He waited, as intense as an eagle eyeing its prey, for the instant he lifted his head.
DAD?
His heart lurched to a stop as the rider lifted his head. The handsome face, the deep orange eyes, the thick lips and the smiling lines around the mouth undoubtedly belonged to Dad.
He wriggled hard, twitching his hands. The rails shook and made a disturbing metallic noise.
Can’t you see me, I’m Jack, your SON!
Dad had a baffled look, as did the other riders. They all watched with widened eyes, and then two of them started laughing.
Seeming a little irritated, Dad gave the men a stern look and looked up again. This time, he looked long and hard as if seeking an answer of some kind.
Had he recognised him?
His heart started burning like a torch. He wriggled some more, and his wrists started to bleed.
Teilo was right. There was always a reason to survive.
+++
He dropped, stopped, slid up a little and then dropped again, at full speed all the way to the ground.
Dad controlled his descent after Bagi’s brief demonstration.
Jack groaned in pain. Didn’t he realise how much it hurt to drop like that?
Four big keepers encircled him, watching for any trouble. Dad strode up to him and stared at him for a solid minute.
“I’ve seen him before. I’ve seen him before,” he murmured quietly, rubbing his cheek with one hand. Thin creases appeared on his protruding forehead as he frowned. He looked much younger than the Dad Jack knew, but the puzzled expression he wore was typical of Dad.
“Can he speak?” Dad asked.
“It’s the Sino, your Highness. We don’t like slaves shouting and screaming,” Bagi answered with a bow.
Dad frowned again, looking disgusted. “When will he be able to speak again?”
“Depends, my Prince. It could be two days at the soonest, or a couple of days more if he put up a struggle.”
“Look at his wrists and ankles. Unlock him!” Dad demanded.
“But he’s mine,” came the raised voice of Lady Cici, who had walked up unnoticed. A soft smile replaced the glazed expression she had been wearing so far. She took another step forward and bowed gracefully.
“Oh, I am sorry.” Taken by surprise Dad turned, looking at her curiously. “How rude I am to act without your consent, my Lady. But I am sure you don’t mind, do you?”
Under Dad’s gaze, Lady Cici flushed, bowing her head. “Of course I don’t mind.”
“This is not the place for a lady. Fighting, bokwas, blood …” said Dad.
The smile vanished from the young woman’s face. She glanced up, eyes flaring. “You mean I should be dancing, partying, and idly chatting. I don’t see the difference.”
“Perhaps there isn’t any difference,” Dad laughed, and his amused gaze turned back to Jack. “You certainly bought a good one.”
“And a profitable one too.”
“Of course, of course. You’re Shusha’s daughter.” Dad grinned.
“It’s nothing to do with my father,” Lady Cici sharpened her voice, “Just as I don’t see you as a loser on account of your brother.”
The daring of Lady Cici had quite an effect on Bagi and his keepers who lowered their heads to hide the colours that suffused their faces. Dad frowned a little, but seemingly more on account of his brother. “You mean Mapolos was here. Did he lose? I hope he hasn’t been too upset by his misfortune.”
“It is not a misfortune but a miscalculation,” Lady Cici corrected him with a stubborn look.
Jack was shoved forwards. A chain was placed around his neck.
“No, no,” Dad interrupted, “leave him. Take that thing off.”
“Come here, lad,” he said in a stranger’s tone. He walked a few steps back to near the centre of the arena, turned and beckoned. Bagi was about to protest, but Dad stopped him with a firm gesture.
Jack trudged forward, disoriented by Dad’s flamboyant princely air. His heart sank deeper as Dad’s impassive and distant gaze fell upon him.
Why hadn’t he recognised him straight away? Why was he waiting?
“You see here,” Dad tapped the sheathed sword hanging from his belt, “Come and get it,” he said and crouched down.
Without a thought, Jack leapt, flipped, turned and unsheathed the sword all in a flash. By the time his feet touched the ground again, the sword was safely in his hand, with its tip pointing at Dad’s shoulder.
There were gasps from Dad’s companions, and the keepers tensed, hands on their staffs.
Dad, his brows arched with a stunned expression, looked at the sword and then Jack. “You’re rea
lly good,” he said.
Looking around him, he said again, “He’s really good.”
He looked now rather excited, his face widening and his eyes gleaming like a child’s.
“What’s his name?” he asked, but without waiting for an answer he continued with a chuckle, “Don’t tell me … he’s called … Jack.” The name spluttered out, and at the sound of it, his face turned pale.
“How uncanny!” he exclaimed, looking troubled all of a sudden, “that I should know his name.”
His eyes again fixed on Jack’s face.
“Jack, is that right?” he asked, and then he twitched his lips, drawing his own conclusion. “Of course it is. The name and the face match so well.”
He appeared a little unsteady on his feet, and his eyes fluttered wildly. He looked again at the sword that Jack had now lowered. “My heart is here, Jack,” he muttered as he clenched the tip of the sword between his fingers and placed it slowly over his heart.
Jack’s hands trembled. The crazed look in Dad’s eyes terrified him. He was there, so near, but so far beyond his reach. Professor Nandalff was right —without the ring, Dad had forgotten them. The realisation was like the sword he was holding, sharp and fatal. It pierced him and left him quivering with pain.
“I should take that,” Lady Cici said softly, and gently she removed the sword from Jack’s hands and slid it back into its sheath.
Dad, swaying on his feet just like Jack, looked rather ill and pale. “Perhaps I could borrow him one day,” he said in a low voice and gave Lady Cici a fleeting glance. “I have to go … my head … I’ve such a headache …” He dragged himself towards his horse like an exhausted man. With a clatter of hooves, the men were soon gone in a cloud of dust.
Lady Cici’s face glazed over, “Pack him up and take him to Cranpumply Castle,” she ordered in a ringing tone.
+++
Dilea brought new clothes for him. They were ordinary clothes with sleeves and trousers. The keepers scowled, but Dilea held firm with her inflated air of being Lady Cici’s maid.
Much debate had taken place before they unlocked Jack, with much reluctance. Dressing himself was the first luxury he had enjoyed in this mad world, and he took the time to relish it.