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Chapter 1: Constant Turmoil
Ayden straightened his shoulders the best he could given the weight of the heavy sack of rocks that hung low on his back and made his way towards the growing rock pile forty feet away that served as the only tangible product of his toil. Day in and day out, he was forced to move the rocks from one place to another and then back again. The monotonous action in itself was bad enough, but coupled with the physical strain, sometimes the work left Ayden feeling like curling up on the hot sands of the barren yard and just giving up. The problem was his heart wouldn’t let him resort to such drastic measures just yet; apparently it still needed a little more torturous persuasion before it decided that fighting or even existing was futile. He groaned at the thought of suffering through more pain just because he was too stubborn to give in and proceeded with the mind-numbing work before him to block out any more unwanted thoughts.
Once he reached the mound of rocks, he bent his knees slightly and let the heavy pack fall to the ground with a dull thud that sent up a wisp of dust into the still air. Ayden coughed but took advantage of the brief respite from labor and ran a dusty hand across his forehead in an attempt to dispel the sweat that had gathered there. The sun beat down hard on his bare torso, burning him with its intensity, but he no longer paid it any mind; it wasn’t like he could do anything about it anyway. He sighed and rolled his shoulders in hopes of relieving some of the tension that had settled there, but like usual, no such relief came. He pushed aside thoughts of his discomfort and fixed his green eyes on the brilliant blue sky, seeking some kind of peace. However, he was careful to avoid resting his gaze on the high, dark walls that surrounded him; there was no point having a visual reminder of his imprisonment. Besides, he always felt so claustrophobic when he saw those damn walls even though the main yard of the Badu prison camp was nothing short of massive. It was just that the walls themselves were so oppressive; seeing them was enough to destroy what little hope of escape he still harbored within himself. But he’d reached the point now where he didn’t even have to see the walls to entertain such dismal notions. It was the reality of his situation and there was no point in denying it.
There were guards everywhere, and their very presence served to greatly limit his already limited options. There had been times in the recent past that calling his magic to attempt escape and likewise resist his captors in any way possible had been worth the inevitable beatings, but those times were gone. It took all his will just to survive the day to day turmoil that was the prison camp, and he just didn’t have the strength to summon his magic anymore. Ayden was sure that pleased the guards and the prison leaders to no end, but for him it only added to the emotional strain that permeated his entire existence. Not being able to use his magic left him feeling like he was losing himself a little more every day which of course was the intention of his captors. They wanted to slowly destroy him.
Ayden hissed under his breath and tore his gaze away from the cloudless sky, angry with himself for continuously letting his thoughts drift. He didn’t want to think about his situation; things were easier when he didn’t have to remember what life had been like when he’d been free and had magic. He pulled his shoulder length red hair out of his face and tied it with a spare piece of cloth from the pocket of his tattered pants. Both the cloth and pants had been a deep blue when he’d first gotten tossed into the camp but their colors had faded to a dirty shade of gray with the passage of time. Ayden assumed that was a result of both the constant sun and grime but brushed that wandering thought away just as fast as it had popped into his head. It didn’t pay to consider anything; it just wasted precious time and energy, neither of which he had much of these days. Well, he had plenty of time, but none to waste on thoughts that led him nowhere. Ayden let his eyes fall shut for a moment so he could regain his wits and focus his thoughts on the nothingness that had become the core of his existence. Thinking of nothing was preferable to thinking about the hopelessness of his life.
A few still minutes passed with Ayden standing in silence against the backdrop of the radiant sinking sun. The eight guards around the thin, sunburned man began to get anxious at his immobility. In the past, such stillness from this particular prisoner had always led to unwelcomed displays of magic and they had been told to keep those to a minimum. No on wanted the prisoner to think he could act freely. They cautiously made their way closer to the prisoner, creating a circle around him should he think to even attempt escape again. The captain currently in charge of the others gathered his failing courage and poked the red-headed man’s shoulder with the tip of his sword, pushing just hard enough to draw some blood but not too much. He was under strict orders not to intentionally provoke the unpredictable man. “Snap out of it!” he growled and pulled the blade back. He lowered it into an attack position should such action become necessary and waited for a response from the prisoner.
The silence hung heavy over the circle of guards, interrupted only by their quick breathing as they waited to see what the unstable man before them would do. They had been told that he had killed other guards during some of his numerous escape attempts and that left them anxious and hoping that he wouldn’t snap and attack them in the same way. After all, living was as dear to them as to any other human no matter what horrible things they’d chosen to do with their lives.
Ayden’s heart tightened painfully in his chest when he felt their apprehension in the air around him; somehow without even accessing his magic he was able to sense things others couldn’t. However sometimes such abilities hurt more than they helped him, serving only as a reminder of what he was no longer capable of. He stifled another sigh and opened his bright green eyes to the fading light of evening. And it was in the faintly golden glow of twilight that it became clear that Ayden wasn’t the stooped, middle-aged man that he appeared to be but a downtrodden nineteen year old boy, barely old enough to even be out on his own, much less a prisoner behind the brutal walls of Badu. He shifted his gaze to the captain of the guard but said nothing.
The guard smiled at the youth’s passive actions. “Your work ain’t done, boy,” he said and jabbed the sack of rocks with the point of his sword for emphasis, “so you get to pull double duty and work the night now too. No dinner and no breakfast.”
Ayden’s eyes darkened in anger, and the captain took a rough step back, fearing that outburst that all of his guards half expected. For a moment that fear was warranted, Ayden felt like he use to and words that he knew he would come to regret poured out of his mouth before he had a chance to halt their flow. “You can’t do that! I haven’t done anything wrong!” he yelled. “I just stopped to catch my breath and now you’re going to punish me for it?! What the hell is wrong with you?!”
The captain quickly reigned in his fear and hefted his sword. He held the point of the blade against the boy’s throat to silence him. “Move and die, kid. I’m tired of all your crap!” he bellowed and motioned towards one of the burlier guards standing behind the prisoner.
The guard grinned at his captain and lifted the short club he held. “Where, sir?”
“Legs and arms; we don’t want to kill him. Well, not yet at least. You may begin when ready, Cale,” the captain ordered, and with that, the sandy-haired guard took a step closer to the young prisoner.
Ayden’s green eyes widened, and the righteous anger that had filled him moments earlier dissipated, leaving him feeling alone and terrified. “Please, don’t,” he murmured and rolled his eyes to the side in an attempt to see what was about to happen to him. He’d come to learn over the past year or so that there was little worse than the anxiety that preceded an attack.
The captain gave a rough laugh and adjusted the blade of his sword so that it rested against the small wound on Ayden’s right shoulder instead of his throat; he didn’t want to accidentally kill the boy if one of the blows pushed him forward and onto the blade. That certainly wouldn’t have gone over well with his supervisor. He nodded at Cale, giving the final go ahead.
Cale pulled the stout club back and then let it fly. The first blow landed solidly on Ayden’s left bicep, eliciting a groan from the prisoner. “No,” Ayden moaned in helplessness as he sensed Cale’s anger rise for the fear he had caused in them; then the stick swung again, this time landing on the side of his right thigh. Ayden’s teeth clenched with the pain but somehow he managed to remain standing. His damn heart wasn’t going to let him show his fear or pain, and his mind was beginning to adopt his heart’s rebellious stance; he wasn’t going to look weak in front of these guards. He hadn’t done anything wrong.
The club’s blows continued their barrage, but Ayden’s mind had fled his body, seeking a place without pain. He distantly felt himself fall to the dusty ground as his body gave out under the attack; then the darkness swallowed him, and he knew no more.
All-in-all Ayden wasn’t able to learn much about his surroundings aside from the fact that he is inside some kind of building with some other people. Hell, it wouldn’t take a genius to figure that much out. He started to lift his right arm to run an anxious hand through his deep red hair, a gesture he picked up somewhere along the way, but pain flared from his shoulder, nearly paralyzing him with its intensity. Ayden let his arm drop back to the hard bed and groaned. There was no way he was going to be able to work in his state, and that left him with far too much time on his hands to think about things he’d much rather have forgotten. The thought was in no way comforting so Ayden began to count backwards, allowing the monotony of the numbers to lull him back to sleep despite the pain that engulfed him.
There was a sudden bustle on the other side of the room and seconds later a cool hand rested on Ayden’s forehead. “I know you’re awake, sonny, so you might as well open those eyes of yours,” a woman’s voice scolded mildly. The hand pulled away after a moment and the old lady turned away mumbling to herself as she ground some herbs into a cup, “Still got that fever, gotta get that down soon.”
Ayden ignored her comments and opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling. He didn’t dare turn his head for fear of the pain that had accompanied the movement in the night. “When do I go back?” he asked despite the dry tightness of his throat.
The lady lifted her head and tucked some stray gray hairs behind her ears so she could better study the boy where he laid. Each time he came to her for care he seemed older than the last and far more bitter than before. Since she’d first seen him a little over a year ago, he had progressed from a bright young man to what seemed like an old crone awaiting the worst from life. She held back her sigh, knowing he’d take it wrong and poured some sweet juice into the cup of herbs before heading back over the boy’s bedside. “You aren’t going anywhere for awhile; even the prison keeper knows when someone gets a pounding like that there’s no rushing the healing. Boy, I almost didn’t expect you to make it for awhile; you’ve been out for two days now,” she explained and slid a practiced hand under his head as she held the cup to his lips. “Drink this; it will help with the fever and the pain.”
Ayden didn’t bother arguing so he dutifully drank the liquid, thankful for the woman’s steadying arm. Without it, there was no way he could’ve sat up enough to drink. Once he finished, she eased his head back to the bed and exchanged the cup for a damp rag which she placed on Ayden’s forehead. Then she settled into a chair beside his bed and tried to think of a decent way to bring up what must be addressed. Finally she gave up on finesse and just started talking. “Why the hell didn’t you fight back?”
Ayden blinked at the sudden harshness of her words after such gentle tending and didn’t answer; he really didn’t see a reason to when the answer was so glaringly obvious. The old woman just didn’t want to see it that’s all.
The lady sucked a breath of air in through her teeth and narrowed her eyes at the boy. She had no idea what had happened to the hopeful youth that had first been sent to her hall after receiving a horrible beating shortly after his arrival. He hadn’t given up then; in fact, the violence against him had seemed to solidify his belief that what he was doing to help others as well as his opposition to the powers that be was right, but now he was a shell of himself. Apparently, it was only a matter of time before the prison broke even the brightest of souls. “Ayden,” she whispered, using his name for the first time since she’d known him despite the fact that it was a forbidden action, “you can’t let them do this to you. You must at least try to stop it or you’ll die.”
“There’s no point to it. If I fight them, they make it worse. Don’t you remember? I was stupid to even try it before; it’s so much better this way even if it does still hurt,” Ayden countered halfheartedly and closed his eyes. He wanted to go back to sleep; the old lady’s questions hurt too much. “Please just stop; I’m tired,” he lied.
The lady puckered her lips, snatched the rag off Ayden’s head, and tossed it into the water bucket with a splash. She got to her feet and looked down on Ayden’s battered face. He was far too young to have been brought to the camp; it was going to destroy him soon unless somebody stopped it. “Better that way? You’re implying its better to die aren’t you?”
Ayden didn’t open his eyes; he could sense her looming over him, and he didn’t want to face her concern. “So what if I am; it is by far better than staying here. Life really is pointless when you get down to it. Besides, if I’m dead I don’t have to think about anything or deal with this hell called reality,” he sneered.
She resisted the urge to slap him, knowing that such an action would only serve to push him farther within himself and reinforce his growing belief that the world was all bad. Instead she sighed and laid a soft hand against his reddened right cheek. “Ayden, you must not think like that. Do not lose yourself to them for you are giving them what they want. Do you honestly want to help them achieve their wicked aims?” she asked gently.
Ayden’s throat tightened, and he opened his eyes. His green eyes locked on to the lady’s gray ones, silently pleading. “No, but it’s too hard to do anything else. I’ve tried. Have you forgotten how hard I tried?” he asked desperately, hoping his earlier attempts at rebellion had not gone completely unnoticed.
The lady brushed his dark red hair off his face, smiling gently. “I haven’t forgotten the times you were sent here for fighting them and neither should you. That resistance on your part reflected who you are, and now that you’ve essentially given up, you’ve lost yourself. And in all honesty, from where I’m sitting the pain to you seems no different. Actually, what you’re going through now appears to be worse due to the simple fact that you have lost the hope that drove you in the early days,” she tried to encourage him to do something; hell, anything would do at this point. He just needed to be himself again.
“It’s not that simple,” Ayden hissed despite the sudden heaviness of his eyes. “I was only like that before because of my magic; I can’t connect with it anymore. I’m nothing without it!”
“If that’s what you believe, then that’s what is so,” the lady whispered ominously and reached over the bed to close the drapes over the window. “Rest now, Ayden. The drink will help you sleep without pain,” she said and turned away as his eyes drooped and fell closed; the medicine in the juice had just kicked in. She only hoped that her last words would give him something to think about when he came around again.
He must have made some kind of noise that indicated he was awake because moments after Ayden had woken, the old healer was by his side with a cool rag and another cup of juice. She laid the rag on his fevered forehead and smiled down on him. “Feeling any better, boy?” she asked, setting the cup down on a nearby table for later; she wanted his head clear for now so she could talk to him.
Ayden studied her face in silence for a moment, drawing relief from the coolness of the rag against his hot skin. Then he answered her, “My headache isn’t quite as bad, but that’s not saying much. It still hurts.”
“Yes, that’s to be expected when someone takes a solid club to your head,” she replied with a tight smile and gently used another damp cloth to cool the rest of Ayden’s face as well as neck and torso. “Though I am worried about this fever of yours; it shouldn’t be hanging on like this. Having such a high fever too long can be just as dangerous as that head wound of yours,” she had decided just to tell him the truth as it was. There was no sense adding any glamour to it when it was clear that was the last thing he wanted to hear. The boy was more likely to believe the straight truth if indeed he would allow himself to believe anything at all.
“What am I that you should worry about me living or dying? I’m just another one of the prisoners here that you’re set to care for, nothing more,” Ayden sneered and closed his eyes after seeing a brief flash of pain in her strangely comforting gray eyes. He didn’t necessarily want to hurt her; hell, he didn’t know what he wanted other than the fact that he wanted all this just to be over with. And whether that meant living and escaping or just simply dying he was beginning to no longer care.
The old lady jerked the cloth she had been using to cool Ayden away from the boy and let it fall to the ground beside her feet as she stared at him. After a moment she found words to counter Ayden’s harshness, “I am Moira, a woman, who despite her late age would rather not see a young boy such as yourself die needlessly. My employment was none of my choosing. Did you ever stop to consider why I would be here in the first place? Did it ever cross your stubborn mind that I too am a prisoner here? For once, young Ayden, you should consider others before acting; you would get so much further in life if you did,” she finished coldly and picked up the cup off the table. So much for talking to him. All she wanted to do was help, and he thanked her with a ruthless attack on her motives. Moira lifted his shoulders slightly and put the cup to his lips. “Drink,” she ordered.
Ayden kept his lips firmly closed against one another; he didn’t want to drink or sleep right now. He opened his fascinating green eyes and silently tried to get the lady, Moira, to change her mind about giving him the drink, but she refused to look down at him so his silent entreaty was pointless. Still he didn’t open his mouth; let this be a battle of wills between them, he didn’t care.
Moira had had enough of his obstinate attitude. She jabbed an elbow into his bruised gut, taking care to avoid his broken ribs, and Ayden opened his mouth with a hiss of pain. Moira took advantage of the slip in his hard demeanor and poured the juice into his mouth. Now he either had to swallow or choke, and like she’d expected, Ayden swallowed the medicine like a good boy. “There, that wasn’t so hard was it?” Moira asked coldly and eased Ayden’s shoulders back onto the bed before setting the cup down again. Then she turned to the boy and met his gaze.
Ayden glared at Moira in anger. “You’re just like them; you’ll win any way you can even if it means causing others pain,” he spat.
“What is wrong with you? Did they hit your head harder than I thought or something because now you’re just being damned unreasonable. You’re fighting the wrong battles, Ayden. I’m not your enemy and if you keep fighting yourself, your real enemies will win without even having to lift a finger; you’ll have done all the dirty work for them by destroying yourself. I see a grave injustice in that because what the hell would a boy know about preserving himself and resisting outside pressures, and no matter what you may think or how you act, you are just a boy, Ayden. A lost and confused boy who has wandered into a mess that is far beyond his capabilities to comprehend. Now, I don’t know the real reasons they want you here because there are others out there who are just as strong as you magically, but just the fact that they want you here should be enough to tell you that you cannot let them have you. So if you would just cut the crap and listen to what I have to say, you may find that I can offer you more than just life in a prison. I can offer you a freedom that isn’t in death,” Moira explained. She now knew there was no other way to get him to listen; he was too stubborn even now. Maybe the prison hadn’t destroyed him as much as she’d initially thought.
Ayden didn’t have a response to Moira’s words. He just stared at her in disbelief, trying to gauge her trustworthiness, and what he found in her sense confused him even more; she was genuinely sincere about her offer. She wanted to save him. Ayden shook his head lightly and realized his mistake a second too late as the pain there flared and overwhelmed all his senses. He clamped his eyes shut and groaned until the darkness the medicine provided saved him from the pain a few minutes later.
Moira sighed, wishing there was more she could’ve done for him; she hated seeing him in such pain. No matter how stubborn he was, it wasn’t his fault he was here, and she had to understand that he felt used and betrayed. Young Ayden was fighting the only way he knew how; she just wished the brunt of it wouldn’t come against her. Either way she was determined to get him out of here. She didn’t like pushing him so hard, but she didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter. This was the first time he had been wounded badly enough where she could fool the prison keeper with a plausible death, and Ayden was right about one thing, his death was the only thing that was going to get him out of here. It just wasn’t going to be in the manner he had initially wanted; he would actually get to live to reap the benefits of his freedom this way.
“Mmmm…” Ayden moaned as he slowly came back to consciousness.
“I need you to wake up, boy. I’ve gotten things ready; I just need to fill you in on some last minute details so you aren’t in the dark on this,” Moira said, trying to draw Ayden’s mind back from sleep.
“What are you talking about?” Ayden mumbled and opened his eyes not that that helped any since the room was pitch black. “It is dark,” he finished, his mind still groggy.
Moira sighed. “That’s not what I’m talking about. I’ve spent the evening fine tuning my plan to get you out of here, and I felt it would be better to let you know about it instead of just throwing you into it. I know you don’t take kindly to surprises like that,” she explained, hoping to get through to Ayden despite his apparent confusion. It probably would have been better if she hadn’t given him the medicine so late in the afternoon, but it had been necessary; he was still hurt.
“You were actually serious?” he asked; he had sensed sincerity from her earlier but it was always hard to be sure. His senses had failed him far too often in the past for him to rely on them any longer.
“You know I really don’t understand how you enjoy being so stubborn all the time, Ayden? Can you just hear me out for once before you start with your cynicism?” Moira hissed and glanced out the window by his bed to make sure no one was coming to check on her. She needed to get things set up before the nightly checks started.
Ayden focused his green eyes on the old lady and glared. “What was that?” he demanded.
“I’m getting you out of here, and this will help me accomplish that,” she half explained.
“What?” Ayden didn’t like the sound of her explanation.
“You’ll sleep well, and when you wake you’ll be free. Just be sure to check your right pocket before you do anything. There will be a note there for your to read; it’s of the utmost importance,” she continued.
Ayden tried to sit up, but a heaviness had invaded his limbs, preventing him from moving. “What have you done!?” he cried, his tongue thick.
“Don’t worry; you’re only going to sleep,” she tried to soothe him and placed a caring hand on his shoulder. “You will do well once you’re free,” she whispered.
Ayden’s eyes fell closed as he dropped into the darkness of unconsciousness.
Moira sighed and studied Ayden with her healer’s eyes. She knew it had been risky giving him such a strong drug while he was still so severely injured, but it had been the only way to be sure he would stay unconscious when she summoned the prison guard to inspect his supposedly dead body. She watched as his chest minutely rose and fell and hoped that no one else would notice that one sign of life. She wanted him to be free.