Intermission III: Baptized in Salt- Part-I

“Morals are not for others to see. It is there, for us to live with ourselves. All said and done, it is us, ourselves who are the greatest judges of what we have done, and what we have left behind”

-Prince Jaisein Komatar Foisen, in his speech before declaring war on the Poligar Tribes of the Horseneck Mountains.

Flickering candles made the shadows jump from wall to wall. The light and shadows twisted, morphed and danced till Sullin could make out grotesque monsters out of those shapes. I must be going insane, he thought as he amused himself by staring at the ceiling where he fancied seeing two fearsome monsters fight to the death. Nothing to do here anyways, he sighed as he put his manacled hands up high, so the light from the candle cast shadow of the heavy chain attached to the iron cuffs. Sullin cracked a wry smile as the chain cast a barrier of light and shadows between the two warring factions of shadows on the ceiling. Really, insane, he sighed while the chain clinked softly, weighted down by the heavy iron ball at the other end.

The battle of the shadows didn’t last long. Heavy bootsteps announced the arrival of a prison guard, the sound echoing in the empty hovel-like cells on either side of the narrow hallway. The thick walls bounced the noise off of each other, till the whole hallway reverberated with tens of footsteps. No voices greeted the bootsteps as every cell in this prison floor was empty save one and it occupant, Sullin was distressed that his candle would be taken away. However, the common prisoners and smugglers in the level down below were not silent. They howled and shrieked when they heard the bootsteps overhead, for it signified the most horrific time of their miserable existence, the imminent loss of light.

“Damned sons of krumpers!” The prison-guard swore as a way of conversation. “Nah, not even krumpers raise such hell in theair muddy marshes. And it be a damned disgusting critter. Goes ta say summthin’ bout’ these crooks, eh?”.

Sullin didn’t reply. He stared at the candle with unblinking eyes while his body trembled all over. No…no don’t—he panicked in his mind as the guard enclosed his calloused fists over the thin candlestick affixed to a holder on the wall.

The prison-guard hesitated as his eyes fell over Sullin. Clothed in rags, the prisoner’s eyes were white with terror. Bent crooked from the weight of the ball and chain, Sullin sat hunched on the edge of his ragged blanket.

Tightening his lower jaw, the prison-guard tried to wrench-free the candle that had stuck itself firmly on the holder. The molten wax had hardened around the metal fixture as if reluctant to let go. The guard gnashed his teeth when he heard a low whimper. Sullin clutched at his torn-up blanket while his throat formed wordless whimpers akin to a beast.

“Fine!” The prison guard threw up his hands; the baton clinked against his metal belt. “Just for a little bit”. He walked away from Sullin’s cell while humming a tuneless little jingle. Turning back, he took a last look at his charge before the sound of his boots disappeared up the stairway.

Sullin stood frozen in his position for a little while more. The chains jangled as his whole body relaxed, the sigh that escaped his lips only served to reinforce the silence in the room. He rolled over to his side, wrapping in a fetal curl around the iron ball that weighed his chains down. The cool floor sent shivers down his spine as he stared at the flickering candle. For a long while, the dry fizz of the burning candle was the only sound on the silent floor. Sullin matched his breathing with the candle crackling lazily, another of his favourite pastimes in the Ozine undersea prison.

A small smile floated on his lips as he stared anew at the wall, where the shadows fought each other. Thankfully, it was the rookie guard today, Sullin mused while the candle awaited its end. Even he is getting tough to manipulate these days. His smile turned into a slight frown as he realised that it might not be too long before even the rookie guard stops taking pity on him. Sullin would be lucky if he doesn’t take part in the sudden violent beating the other guards subject their prisoners to. The Trident Deuxime’s strict orders on following the laws to the letter were the only thing keeping the prisoners from being beaten to violent ends.

Sullin jolted up at the sudden sensation of dampness at his feet. That time again, he wondered as he waited in vain for the water to stop spreading. By now, he knew the seas won’t listen to his unspoken pleas, yet he fought this stubborn resistance every day, again and again.

No use, he let his body relax in resignation as he prepared to move to the far corner of his cell, away from the wall that faced the open seas. Twice each day, as the high tides roll in, the water pressure caused the water to seep through the black lavastone, into the prison cells. Sullin had heard that it was much worse in the deepest levels of the Ozine undersea prison, where the cells become half submerged during the tides. More than a few prisoners had died in those salty waters, all in the confines of their isolated cells. But Sullin was lucky. Him being a Coast Guard under trial was confined to the uppermost level, where the water just formed a puddle at one end. Not nearly enough for someone to drown, but plenty to keep one on their toes.

Sullin grimaced while he dragged his broken leg over the damp lavastone floor. He grunted as the action sent painful jolts up his body. He grabbed his leg by both his hands as he dragged himself over the rough floor, the iron ball rolling in dull thuds behind him. He cursed at the senior guard who in a fit of rage had smashed his baton on Sullin’s leg over and over again. Nobody liked a traitor in their midst.

Treason, huh? Sullin wondered as he watched the water soak up the threadbare blankets he was provided with. His rags stuck to his clothes with the light sheen of sweat he had worked up dragging himself all over the cell. Over and over, Sullin had thought back t the day he had washed up on Ozin harbour, the beastmen in tow. Sullin would be lying to himself if he said that he didn’t expect a hero’s welcome, or at least a fair trial for standing up to the atrocities of his superiors.

But the news travelled faster than the boats they were in. His superior had already informed the Cafaril Duchy Sea Guard head quarters of Sullin’s insubordination when he was alive. The complainant High Grunter’s death only substantiated the claim. The confessions of the beastmen under duress didn’t help him either. In the end, Sullin was charged with wilful insubordination and cooperating with the enemy. Before he knew, Sullin found himself locked in Ozine undersea prison awaiting his judgement.

Looks like he was right, Sullin wondered aloud, his voice coiling around the room as he remembered what Rigel had told him. Sullin rested his head on the thick metal bars of the cell. “The world doesn’t reward the righteous”, He whispered Rigel’s words for the umpteenth time as he felt the hard rivets on the metal bars dig into his head. “You were right”, Sullin’s voice was a silent scream as if he agreed to someone unseen. “Talking to myself”, he muttered as an afterthought, “now, isn’t that just wonderful?”

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

The candle sizzled violently as it went out, plunging the room into sudden darkness. Sullin muffled a scream that ran up his throat. The occasional screams of the lower-level prisoners below made him grit his teeth. He couldn’t even cover his ears from the tortured howls, the ball and chain restricted his hands. Sullin shivered as he tried to find a suitable cranny to rest his weak body. Being underwater, the cells were always chilly. But when the lights went out, he could almost feel the cold grip its icy claws around him, snaking inside him as he breathed that cold air in.

Before long, the iron bars took in the chill, numbing his frail body. “Tal’hael”, he bade goodnight. There was no one to hear him unless one could count the darkness, the cold or the chilly metal manacles.

He sighed one last time before he closed his eyes. There was nothing to see after all in the pitch dark. With the screams of his fellow inmates as his accompaniment, Sullin waited for the blessed sleep to take over. Waiting, that’s what he did most of the time these days. Waiting for the sunless mornings indicated only by the change in guard shifts and slight warmth; waiting for the daily gruel; waiting for the candle to run out.

~~~

Harsh whispers greeted Sullin when he woke up from his forced slumber. Opening his eyes every morning had become a chore for him. Every joint in his body had frozen up due to the cold and damp in the cell.

The guard barked something again. Lately, Sullin could tell the time of the day by the change in guard shifts. This particular voice belonged to a scar-faced guard who treated him with cold indifference and occasional insults. It also meant that it was early morning when he would be served some cold, bitter leftover gruel made for the express reason for the inmates to wish death.

Sullin lay like the dead, waiting for the guard to bang the iron bars with his baton like he did every day. After a while Sullin grew curious when the loud banging and the usual jeers didn’t start.

Whats going on? He thought as he readied himself to pretend waking up. He ceased his effort as he heard another voice ask something of the first.

“I thought this one won’t be punished”, The voice spoke with soft whispers that melded into the prison walls. “He is a Xet, isn’t he? How can a noble be punished?”

Punished? Does that mean...Sullin’s stomach sank. My sentence has been decided? A cold chill ran down his spine as he waited for the guard’s response.

“Fool”, scar-face barked. “This bastard is a Seth. Four letters. You know what it means? Noble from the Old Empire before Emperor Jatanhel took over”.

The silence was deafening to Sullin’s ears. What’s my sentence dammit. Tell it. Fast! He raged in his heart.

“But”, the other guard stammered, “He is still a noble, right? How can—”

“Four-letters, son. Means his family was loyal to the old royal family. Means he is a goner. One little mistake and the wrong family name, and you are on the fast track to the gallows”. Scar-face coughed loudly. “Seen a few four-letters myself. Dragged off and killed or sold. Deserved, I say for what they did to the Empire during the Old Emperor’s rule, may he rot in his grave”.

There was a long silence before the other guard replied. “So this is what they mean by ‘a letter apart, a world apart’”.

“Aye, son”, Scar-face grumbled. “Makes me glad I don’t have a middle name. Nobles and their games”, he spat out. “Now, if he had three-letters...it would be a whole different story—”  He choked up as a loud shuffling ensued.

“Bring the prisoner to the East grounds. The sentence will be handed down”, a gruff voice said.

Sullin whirled around to see a blue-uniformed Naval officer pass orders while he crinkled his nose. The guards stood at attention, saluting the officer as he spoke with a stony expression.

“Aye, sir”, the guards replied in unison. The officer noticed Sullin was awake. A small sneer played on his thin lips as he looked at Sullin. “Get him cleaned some. He isn’t fit to be presented”, He dismissed the guards with a flick of his hands. His boots rang loud against the floor as he walked towards the stairs out of the prison. “Do it quick”, he turned around once to leer at Sullin before striding away.

“Looks like his time is really up”, said the other guard. Sullin recognised him. He was the rookie who would leave the candles occasionally. Sullin slumped, his chains jangling on the stone floor. His breathing was rough as tears trickled down his face. He knew what was coming. After all, the punishment for insubordination was death.

Sullin looked as the damp jail cell, the flickering candle, at the iron ball that weighed him down. “No, no no!” he muttered under his breath as salty tears kept running down his dirty cheeks. “NO!” he screamed as much as his parched throat would allow, the sound making the guards wince.

“I don’t want to die”, Sullin repeated again and again as he curled around the iron ball that had grown so familiar to him. He drew the chains around him taut as if it would save him from what was coming.

The guard didn’t jeer at him like usual as he opened the jail cell with a loud screech. “Come on, boy”, the voice was oddly soft as he nudged Sullin with his feet, “time to go”.

Time went by fast as he was forced to have a shower and scrubbed clean like a new born baby. He was presented with new clothes gleaming white. Sullin didn’t resist as he knew it was futile. He took as much time as he could on the tasks, moving on to the next only when the guards shouted at him. Finally, he slumped along with his manacles and iron ball supported by the scar-faced guard. He winced as he dragged his broken leg out of the prison. The familiar chill was replaced with gradual warmth as he headed towards the exit.

The sun blinded Sullin. He stood stock-still waiting for his eyes to adjust as he felt the sweltering heat assault his body. His eyes, used to the darkness of his cell was unable to comprehend the sun-lit compound that stretched before him. The jangle of his chains drowned in the shouts of the men outside. Familiar sounds of Serrads neighing, clash of weapons during practise and raised voices greeted him. The dusty air mixed with the salty stench of the seas, playing through his just-cut hair. He took in the smells, the sounds all in, knowing these will be the last things he will ever experience.

He blinked as his eyes got used to the light. He couldn’t comprehend what lay before him. A group of uniformed officers stood in rows in front of a hastily made wooden stage, decorated with the banners of the Empire and the Navy. He stumbled as the guards shoved him harshly towards the stage. The flags fluttered n the wind, louder than any voice. The men had grown silent upon his arrival.

What. That isn’t an execution platform.

Sullin was dumbstruck as he stared at the familiar military formation. That. That’s a commendation ceremony. He strode agape as he stared at Trident Deuxime Morath on the stage along with a few of his officers. Morath stared straight at Sullin, his uniform bathed in sunlight.

Sweat had pooled beneath his new cotton clothes as he dragged himself on the stage. The smell of old leather and oil was overwhelming as he blinked at the officers facing him. Raised a few feet high from the ground, the shoddy wooden stage creaked every time he walked, threatening to give way under the iron ball that restrained him.

“Duchy Sea Guard Sullin Seth Foyal”, Morath bellowed. “Today, we are gathered here as witness to your bravery on sea”.

Sullin’s eyes widened as he heard the speech. His mind struggled to keep pace with the sudden turn of events. His head swivelled around again and again to confirm that this wasn’t some delusion brought on by fevered dreams. He had hear of men gone insane in confinement after all. The solemn face of the officers didn’t melt away like a dream. They all stared at Sullin on the stage. The screeches of the birds, the pungent smell of Serrad-dung, the balmy sea-air was all to vivid, too real to be some phantasm.

“For standing up against his superiors even under duress, for doing what is right even under orders we commend him”, Morath’s voice brought Sullin out of his musing. “And, for that, as dictated by our laws, we shall present Sullin Seth Foyal with the Order of the Seacrest badge, as testimony to his bravery and allegiance to duty”.

Sullin gulped dry air as a hot lump lodged in his throat. His tears started anew as he mumbled incoherently. His legs gave way as he sat crying, his choking sobs punctuating the round of applause in his honour.

Morath strode forward to stand in front of Sullin. “Rise”, he rumbled.

Sullin stood up in halting motion. His chains jangled as he forgot he had them. He slumped forwards before stumbling to stand hunchbacked. Morath pinned the silver badge on his white shirt, before clapping on his back.

The sunlight glinted off the silver badge, stabbing him in the eye. Sullin looked up, his face tear stricken. His whole body relaxed as euphoria overtook him. He wondered if the guards, the Trident, the officers were playing a joke with him all this while, only to present him with such honour afterwards. He was ecstatic that he lived, and relieved that his faith on the navy wasn’t misplaced.

“And now, Sullin Seth Foyal”, Morath ordered, “I sentence you to die”.

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