In Twain (BoyxBoy)

6 - f e a r

Okay, maybe it did involve me, but hopefully-the hope immediately died as Charzaphir donned his helm rode off leaving me in the care of his fellow guard who looked extremely irritated with me. I had no idea what was said, but given the angry expression on his face, it didn't bode well for me. Until they dumped us back in our cells, he was on my ass like an uncomfortable rash, a permanent shadow that fell on the ground while I chopped wood, close enough to smell his stink, so I wouldn't forget he was there, but not so close that he would get injured. The intention was clear. He stood there grumbling the whole time, slapping a club against his palm, watching me and trying to intimidate me. I may have sucked at mine, but he was very good at his job.

Until I saw the cell that evening, I wasn't sure that I'd actually not meet with an unfortunate injury. When I saw Charzaphir, I thought maybe I was wrong, but when he rode off, I realized I wasn't. I know it was crazy to hope that I had a protector here. If not that, at least a chance of a friend. We weren't even in the same league. Plus, I couldn't talk to him. How is one a friend if they can't exchange ideas and thoughts? It was lonely and I was stuck in a nightmare.

Each morning I opened my eyes to another day of hard labor with each day more painful than the last. The blisters peeled on their own, causing crusted-over sores to break and run immediately when the work started. Covered in dirt and sweat, there was nothing I could do. The blisters festered. Not screaming became my feat of strength because the moment I tightened my grip, my hands were on fire. This was especially true given there was a man a few feet away aching for any reason to beat on me. Eventually, with the swelling, my ability or lack of it, steamrolled my desire to avoid a beating. I just couldn't do it anymore. My hands would not close around the handle.

I wish I could say that I stood there proudly and met my fate standing tall, taunting them. I'm not a liar. Instead, I cowered on the ground while he struck me a few times across the legs and arms. I tossed my hands up to ward off more blows. My head turned away and looked at the ground. I heard someone ride up.

"Frank the Brown."

I raised my eyes to see Umecaem sitting astride his unicorn. He was in his armor, but he removed his helmet so no one would mistake him for Charzaphir. He did it so that I knew it was him. Who had told him my name? He shook his head clicking his tongue in a tsk tsk motion, mocking me. He turned to my tormentor. A moment later the guard stole a glance at me grinning maliciously, smacking his baton against his palm. He stalked over to me as I tried to avoid him, scrambling backward to avoid his blows. Another mounted soldier rode up and the guard immediately halted and dropped to a knee.

The rider shouted angrily at Umecaem. He responded by shrugging with a bored expression. The armor looked like Charzaphir's, but I couldn't be positive. The fact the guard knelt before him, also indicated that it was him. The stranger gestured at me and my hands. Did he want to see them? I slowly opened them and held them up. They saw the angry red bleeding palms. He removed his helm. It was him. He turned back to Umecaem with an accusatory glare. Charzaphir looked back at me and motioned curtly for me to follow. I glanced at the others before hurrying after the mount.

I had trouble keeping up. He slowed his pace without saying anything. Why would he? I was a lowly slave. Perhaps not a slave, but I was the next thing to it. I couldn't come and go on my own, no more than I could at home. He brought me over to a temporary canvas enclosure and jumped down from his mount. He took me by the elbow and led me inside when I stopped before the entryway and looked up at the sign over the opening.

The marks were like nothing I'd ever seen. Letters? Numbers? Was it their writing system?

Dumbfounded, my mouth hung open. How could anyone learn the language to be able to talk to one another? He glanced back at me and then followed my gaze. Smiling, he said the word aloud. I shifted my gaze to him. He said the word as though I'd automatically knew what he said. I couldn't even begin to reproduce the sound he made. I took another look at the writing on the sign and entered the dimly lit room thinking it was a tent, and it was, as in the way Aston Martins and Lamborghinis are just cars.