The tunnels were filled with the echoes of pickaxes chipping away at rocks, occasionally hitting ore. The chains, which each prisoner was hooked to by their foot, rattled as they moved along. Some weren’t on the chain gang; but they were the ones pushing carts along the rails as it filled up with the heavy rocks and ores. The only comfort they had was the thicker clothing they were given. They were meant to suffer, but a prisoner can’t swing a pickaxe if he freezes to death; and the mines, though out of the elements further down in the tunnels, were quite cold in the winter months. The guards paced around, whipping anyone caught slacking. Some simply inspected the carts to see what hauls they were getting.
Lucullus struggled to push his cart up the tunnels of the great mine as it gradually filled with many chunks of rock and raw iron. His grunts echoed down the various shafts; his muscles quivered the more he pushed. Finally, at the top of an incline, he breathed a sigh of relief; and he rested for a minute.
One guard looked over to see him standing by the cart, and pulled out his whip. “No one told you to take a break, miserable little wretch!”
Lucullus looked away from the guard, trying to block him out.
“I said back to work, fiend!” He wound back his arm, ready to whip him.
Lucullus sighed, and continued pushing the cart.
The guard put away his whip, and returned to his post; always keeping a watchful eye on Lucullus.
The morning hours seemed to be one long slog of this misery. The longer-standing inmates carried on at a steady pace, having learned the routines of life in the Avarus Wall. But the new blood found the work to be far too demanding. Uncontrolled panting filled the gaps between sounds of swinging pickaxes and rolling carts.
The month Lucullus had spent within the Avarus Wall felt like a century. The only thing to keep his mind off of his own sorrows was that of his ghostly encounter; as depressing as it was. The words of the ghost constantly filled his every thought. Though the manner of speech infuriated him, he was nevertheless intrigued by the riddles. He began to wonder what sort of religion this ghost belonged to. Did it even matter? Probably not. But, to him, anything was better than his current situation.
Before he knew it, he was in a large hall within the main structure; and given his plate of food. He looked down at his uninspiring slop. Stale bread; at least it doesn’t have mold. Some kind of porridge. Peas? Probably rats thrown in for good measure. And wine? He certainly thought it to be wine; though the smell made him recoil more than if he put his nose up to a week-old dead body. Perhaps that was part of the secret recipe. Still, it was a great surprise to see wine served to prisoners instead of dirty water. At least the dirty water didn’t smell worse than rotting flesh.
He looked around, realizing there truly was no way he could escape or do any harm to the guards in this mess hall. He went off to find the man who spoke with him in the cart ride. Tiberius, was it? Regardless of the name, making friends in a place like this could prove useful to him.
A man waved at Lucullus as he passed by. “Over here, lad!”
Lucullus walked over, and sat down on the floor with the man and the others gathered with him. “You were the one who spoke to me in the cart?”
He nodded. “That’s me. Good to see you’re in better shape than back in the cart. Must’ve been quite the torment before you got there.”
“O it was. Truly, injustice is what it was.”
He took a big gulp of his wine; coughing afterwards. “I know many young men who think that. But sadly, all it does is lead them further down the road of damnation. That’s how they end up here.”
Lucullus bit a hunk out of his bread. “You don’t understand. They framed me for all of it… Made up crimes that I couldn’t have done.”
The man next to Tiberius rolled his eyes, and sighed. “You have a lot to learn if you think truth and justice have any bearing on Lucium’s courts.”
“Cato. Mind your manners.” He returned his attention to Lucullus. “The best thing you can do is just avoid upsetting the guards, lad. None of us can escape from here. Some have tried, but they only bring about their own doom.”
Lucullus scoffed. “I don’t fear the guards. Nothing they do to me can be worse than what I went through in my village’s jail.”
“Don’t be so sure. The guards catch you talking like that, they’ll beat ya til you’re nearly dead.”
He shrugged. “Well, if they kill me, at least I’ll be rid of this misery. I’ve been sentenced here for life anyway. May as well speed it up a little.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
Tiberius shook his head in disappointment. “I hope someday you can change your mind on that.”
“Don’t know that I ever will. The only thing that keeps me going is the hope that I may someday return home, and settle the score.” He finished the last bits of his food, and begrudgingly took one last sip of his cheap wine.
Tiberius reached out to shake his hand. “I hope to see you have a better life someday. And I pray for you to walk a better path than so many young men here walk. You never gave me your name, though.”
He reached out and shook Tiberius’s hand. “Lucullus. And yours was… Tiberius, right?”
He nodded. “I’m surprised you were conscious enough to remember my name.”
Lucullus almost let himself smile a little. “Well, you made quite the impression. Never seen anyone so friendly and calm when they’re about to go to the Avarus Wall.”
“Take my advice, and you’ll learn how I do it.”
Later that night, Lucullus was disturbed from his sleep. By what, he knew not. Unable to return to his sleep just yet, he looked out the bars of his cell, and reminisced of the good times he had with Tullius when they were kids. A mix of nostalgia and melancholy filled him. A time when he and Tullius were friends, when Tullius hadn’t sold him out; that was a time his heart and soul yearned for, but he’d made up his mind that such a time was impossible now.
His idle reminiscing was interrupted by a gust of wind blowing through his cell. What sort of psychological weapons does this place possess? He huddled up by his straw bedding, trying to stay warm in the face of such a gust.
At once, the air around Lucullus became warm; like being wrapped in several wool blankets, or like the warmth of a lit fireplace radiating through a house. In front of the cell door, there appeared a ghostly figure. This, Lucullus guessed, must be another prophetic visit from the same spirit.
The ghost stood at the door, staring at Lucullus in silence.
He got up, and went toward it. “You again?”
The ghost put up his hand, signaling him to go no closer. “I have come to you with another warning, Lucullus.”
“I’ve yet to work out your riddles from last time. And yet, you burden me with more?”
“The things which I revealed to you in our last encounter are soon upon you. The warmth you feel now shall be unbearable to you when you shall pass through the spiritual desert. But for now, the warmth of He who sent me shall be taken away from you; for you are not ready, nor worthy, to receive His grace.”
Lucullus rubbed his temples. “Again with the riddles…”
“When your captors come in, and chain your hands and feet in the night; know that your journey in the frozen desert shall come in the following day. Gather your allies and flee into the white. Trust in He that is mighty; for He shall not let you perish in the storm.”
“Who exactly is this he that you keep speaking of? Why would he keep me safe, and do all of this when I know not of him?”
The ghost shook its head. “He does this because He has called you to do great things for Him and His people.”
Lucullus raised a brow. “What people?”
“They are His followers; the ones who have kept all of his commandments.”
“So why does He call me, and not them?”
“You have shown zeal against the spirit of darkness; and for it, you have been persecuted by the world. But you are not purified; that is why you must endure these trials. Say this prayer unceasingly, and reflect upon its words and meaning: ‘O Hikma, source of all grace, protect me from the snares of my enemies, and lead me always on the path of Thy holy light.’ Say it when you rise in the morning. Say it when you are about to face trials, great and small. Say it before you take your rest for the night.”
Lucullus had a look of pure confusion written all over his face. “Hikma? Wha—”
In an instant, the ghostly figure disappeared, just as it had the previous time. The air was cleared, and unfortunately, cold once again. It was as if nothing happened. Lucullus sat there, bewildered by his encounter, and contemplated what just happened. At some point, his adrenaline wore off, and his heavy eyes closed again.
Cato facepalmed at what he heard. “Did one of the guards smash your head against a wall last night? You sound crazy, Lucullus.”
He shook his head. “I’m telling you, I was visited by a ghost last night. And this isn’t the first time it’s happened to me.”
“Maybe someone spiked your wine…”
Tiberius shushed Cato. “So you say this ghost spoke only in riddles?”
He nodded. “Mostly. Some of his words were plain. He spoke our language, yet talked about all these strange things; things from beyond Lucium. He predicted a lot of things concerning trials I would have to face; something about ‘the spirit of darkness’.”
Tiberius stroked his bushy beard. “I was most intrigued by this godlike being that you say he mentioned a lot, but never by name. Why wouldn’t he reveal the name?”
Lucullus shrugged. “The only reason I can guess is that I must not be ‘worthy enough’ to know that either. Though, just before he disappeared again last night, he told me to ‘unceasingly’ say a prayer. The prayer he recited mentioned this ‘Hikma’. Does that word mean anything to you?”
Cato sneered. “Are you sure you weren’t just dreaming?”
Tiberius gave him a stern look, then turned back to Lucullus. “Sounds foreign. Definitely not from this continent.” He paused for a moment. “Could be from one of the nations in the far east. Then again, no one really knows too much about them. The only other possibility is one of the two nations of Maleun.”
“Maleun?”
“Sounds like a name one of them would give to something.”
“But what does the word mean?”
Tiberius shrugged. “Not sure how much that matters.”
“Well, the ghost told me to contemplate the meaning and words of the prayer. Figured I’d start with the one word I didn’t know.”
Tiberius took a bite of the last of his bread. “I don’t know how much I trust this ghost you seem to be getting visits from. This could very well be some kind of deception. But, if this ghost’s predictions are true, then I suppose we’ll find out. If we do weather some kind of snowstorm, as it seems that’s what he was getting at, within the next few days, I will trust in what this spirit has to say. And, in that case, I would advise you to do the same.”