Shadows of the Arrow

The odor of silence wafted through the air, like the light, or a fatal disease sparking terror wherever it spread. Some say violence is the worst torture, but I disagree, I think it is the deathly silence, which waits, unable to explain or give, it's just … there, not to be trifled with or rejected. The darkness can be postponed or delayed, but it always returns. After the painful echoes of screams that rebounded against every cramped, beige-stained wall, every crook, corner, and nanny, it hit me lastly, before it stopped completely, a longer form of suspense taking it's place.

I never minded the dark, which most of the other prisoners detested, but quite honestly, I liked it. It was somewhere motherly that I could hide inside, feel the blanket of it envelope above and around me, soak me up like a puddle of water against newly laid tar. I could turn the fear from the others, into my weapon, as an old priest had once told me: 'It is foolish to fear the dark, but much less to fear what is inside it.' But this darkness that devoured and drifted towards me, that encircled around me, was not the dark I grew up to love so much, it was the darkness that hell itself had released, the kind that could swallow you up with nobody noticing, and spit you out again feeling cold and frightened.

“Save me! Save me! Oh Lord, have mercy, … have mercy!” were the cries from the clearly less fortunate souls, who were locked up on the Eastern side of the building. Most people there were too rich for the death penalty, but not rich enough for a suitable habitat while in custody. Many of them up up there were as unlucky as to have the terror himself of Redwood, who insisted that everything was a sign of God, or the devil, and claimed to witness sightings of ghost and demonic things above our nightmares. Most people turned a blind eye onto him, but nobody could block out the distant howling, and the blank mist that wavered with no explanation, or the inhumane shadows that placed themselves under the bars. The building itself was the biggest I had ever been inside before, yet all the walls were as thin as sandpaper, making every word uttered, every whimper or cry, repeat itself over and over. The thought of that alone almost summarized the insanity of most of the prisoners.

I used to wonder, in fact I still do, whether or not the same darkness I was gazing intensely at, not knowing if my eyes were open or closed, was at the that moment or later in time, being witnessed by somebody else who was thinking the same thought as I was. Licking the sweat away from my lips, I kept on staring through, pondering, and waiting for the early rays of sunlight to mark the darkness, destroy it, only so it would return as the sun continued on it's travels.

I didn't remember much after that, only the hazy greyness that assumed to take early shape of the morning, for when I next blinked open my honey eyes, the flash of silver burnt my pupils. Wincing backwards, I hit the wall, and tilted my weighted head against it, acknowledging my fetal position on the stone.

A few barked orders, and scruffy, torn bundles identified as clothes were tossed into the dry space on the floor, through the bars. Sighing, I changed into them quickly, but kept on two of my original items; my hat which often was lowered so it hid the front of my face and of course, my dagger. The dagger itself, was ebony hilted, with blends and swirls of different shades of scarlet. The blade, however, was the thinnest I had ever known, the tip sharp enough to scratch lightly against my side in a long sprint. Using my already water-logged boots, I carefully placed the dagger inside the smallest hidden alcove deep in the sole, and pressed the outer layer of the sole over it, to a brief overlook, the dagger was invisible.

Raising my eyebrows when the stockily barred door was swung open so abruptly, the wind's breath caught me off balance, and I staggered backwards a little. There were only two of them now, and after carefully patting me down for any weapons they thought I may have miraculously come to possess, they 'escorted' my bruised body down the corridor. I wasn't alone when it came to the stench of the urine and sweat that invaded my eardrums, the guard on my left was close to gagging, the guard to my right, was holding his breath.

Smirking, I just shook my head, and walked on cooperatively, I had nothing to loose. The stench soon stopped, and dozens of widened eyes stared forwards, yet none of them dared to return my challenging gaze. We soon came to a long, narrow set of double doors, in which the first guard leaned forwards to open, at the same time the other guard pulled out some chains, and strapped them down onto my wrists. I didn't bother to struggle, despite the fact that I easily could have, I wanted them to think that they had all the upper hands, that they had already won the game, when in fact the game was just beginning.

I should have been knighted from the incredible look that reflected on my face, my eyes lost their glow, and tears cracked up in my eyes, but I kept my face solemn, as if I was actually thinking about the consequences and causes of my actions. The guard on my right gave me an almost pitying look, I could not contain how much I wanted to wipe the expression off his face. Biting my lip, the new nerves that raced up my spine were at last beginning to hit. I hoped it was going to work.

The other guard grimaced as he stepped us out into the beaming heat of the daily light, which somehow never thought to visit the prisoners except in their darkest dreams. As much as my dislike for the piercing rays, light gives hope, and hope is too valuable.

“This way,” gestured the second guard when I had unintentionally stumbled across the line in the path. I could see him more clearly now, the thin line of sweat brimming above his brow showed he was more nervous then I was. I tried not to burst into laughter at the sight, but the other guard was taking no chances, and pushed us on before I had time to start any conversation. Before I knew what was going on, a large crowd of flustering, faffing civilians' conversations burst from the bubble of suspense. He would be here, I know he would, if he wasn't, well … he just was going to be here, I could almost feel his gaze settling down over the treetops.

The crowd had now resumed the silence that had followed me outside the Tower and formed instead a series of unwanted glares which seemed like magnets to attract to my guilty face. Strangely enough, I felt myself steady their looks, and divert my nervous glances towards the pebbled floor that led forwards. The yelling and jeering started up as a we ascended the small nine step staircase, then landed on a raised platform above the area. The jeering had increased to an almost inaudible bubble of shrieks, and I snapped my eyes shut to lose myself from the world. He should be here by now, he … should … be … here! Where was he? I felt myself fidgeting, as I agitatedly fiddled my fingers together with each other. No, he had never let me down before, he was just late, or caught up, or just leaving things to the very last second, but it was getting closer and closer towards the large coal-colored block, with a sole dent. The dent was where most of the crimson stains were, and I had to force myself to think they were wine spills instead of what they really were.

The rising vomit crawling in my throat lingered as the guards assumed their posts by the staircase, and the crowd was now screaming at an all time high. “Off with the head! Off with the head!” I had to blink my eyes shut again as another masked figure pressed my head down against the block, I forced myself to breath, in … out … in … out. Dots darting in my eyes, I flinched as the freezing block scratched my face. I couldn't actually face it, I was going to die. I was going to die. I was going to die … I still couldn't believe it. I was going to die, and he didn't care. He wasn't here, and he wasn't going to help me. Sighing, I breathed forwards, mist forming in my eyes, it was still early in the morning, they probably had at least a few dozens executed today. Executed … the very word sent shivers down my spine.

I couldn't help but yelp out as the harsh steel of an axe brushed gently at the back of my neck, getting into position, then all he would have to do was raise the axe, drop it down, … and I would breathe no more. I felt the hot, raspy breath of the agitated man above me, hissing something which I couldn't understand. The screaming crowd was on their toes, looking up at something on the platform, looking up at me, determined for a show of satisfying blood.

I winced as the axe was lifted from my neck, ready to plummet down in one clean blow, I heard the sharp intake from the crowd, I even think I heard the flashing jingle of jewels somewhere far off. Listening for everything, I waited, I was going to die. I may even be dying right now.

But the pain never came, neither did the applause or the 'humph' of the guards. What was taking them so long? Why couldn't they just kill me already and get done with it? It never came, quite simply because of him. Because of him, I heard the undoubted swish of an arrow slit the air in two as it found it's target, directly above my head. In fact, the tip of the arrow skidded against my scalp, casting a small trickle of blood. I had to move quickly to avoid the great weight of the executioner, his body fell limply beside mine. I had to check myself to see if I was really there, and not just hoping of that but no, my chest was still rising and falling, gasps of breath still jolted into breeze, the wind still blew against my hair and the light stinging from the blood of my new cut was still ringing.

The most memorable thing I will ever know, was the look on his face, the executioner's face. I couldn't see him fully, but under the black mask, I saw his eyes narrowed like buttons, glaring in confusion, anger, fear, then almost resentment stared out through the narrow gap. Until they stared into nothing.

It was the guards that finally took action first, stepping forwards with their faces etched in wonder, everyone was too puzzled to react, yet everyone was relying on somebody else to react first to save them the trouble, … or maybe they were just scared, I smirked at the last suggestion. He was here, and my eyes had never shined brighter then. The next arrow came merely seconds after that, and the next two after that. The first cut my chains as I moved upwards, careful to avoid tripping over the body, but that body tripled as the two previous guards came crashing to the floor, clutching their stomachs wildly. I avoided their eyes this time, but the vomit returned it's place inside my throat gnawing at me from the inside.

The crowd, to my surprise, did nothing but stare like a bleating bunch of sheep, and stayed like that until a hand yanking me upwards to my feet, and shook my till I came to my senses. It was him, of course.

“You idiot, why are you just standing there for, I just saved your but, and you just stand here doing nothing!” he hissed, pulling my arm away so tightly it fell numb. In a single sweep he jumped off the platform, with this time a sword at hand which he held in front of him like a spear.

I rolled my honey eyes until it hurt, and skated down the stairs after him, “Well, I didn't want to mess up my hair,” I retorted with a smirk, as he tossed me a crossbow. I preferred a traditional bow and arrow, but in this case, this was all I got, right? When the crowd slowly retreated a few steps, another smaller crowd appeared, this time in Armour and weaponry. We both rolled out eyes at this, thinking it an almost comical sight.

It took nearly less then thirty seconds to rid ourselves of the men, who were extremely inexperienced, and stupidly gullible. As the last man fell from an arrow pitched inside his stomach, the crowd had dispersed themselves already. He was just casually standing over a body, yanking out his sword. I ripped off the sleeve of a patched fabric, and tied it as a bandage around my head.

“You look like a carrot you know,” he yelled out, a smirk forming. Looking at my reflection through a pristine helmet, I raised my eyebrows, “Ever heard of the next fashion?” even so, the bandage looked weird on me, so I pulled it off, well … most stuff looked weird on me. I also noted most of my clothes were ripped and tattered, I looked more like a street urchin. “You owe me some new clothes,” I declared, ignoring his protests.

“Come on, let's go before more of them idiots get back here,” he commented, glancing with his pale eyes up and down the now vacant market space. I shrugged, and reluctantly followed sidewards from him, as he inspected himself. We walked in quietness, but it wasn't awkward, because he was thinking as he usually did, sometimes he would think for hours on end, then wonder why the sky had changed color.

“You know your father didn't show up right?” he informed, after a few minutes. My eyes widened, and I shook my head, “I wasn't particularly looking,” I admitted sheepishly, but that really got me thinking. Was I relieved, or sorrowful? “That man means nothing to me, he is not my father,” I spoke almost instantly afterward. I had said that countless times before, and would say it again if I had to a thousand more.

He opened his mouth to say something, then closed it and continued his thinking. Sighing once more, I wondered what he thought about all the time. “So … “ I began, to start up some conversation. I had been locked up for a while, and now I couldn't think of a single thing to say. “Anything new?” I asked a little too randomly.

“Like what?” came the reply.

My face sunk quickly, “How many times do I have to tell you not to keep answering my question, by a question?”

“How many times have I said to stop questioning my answer?” he replied, with another famous smirk.

Scowling, I glared, but he was right. “Good point … “ I murmered.

There wasn't much to say, and we kept to the backstreets to avoid being seen, until he spoke again, “I think your father still cares about you,” he stated, while I shook my head.

“I doubt it.”

He just 'humphed' and turned left into a disused alley I had never set eyes upon before.