CHAPTER 12 -CHANGE

Garent had told them the full story. They talked to me with tears in their eyes and wavering voices. Both mother and father. Crying. So soon after Aryel’s funeral. Crying. Again. And it was because of me.

I must stop here for a moment to talk about Garent. My younger brother who in many ways I considered to be my superior. For so many years I had hated the level of perfection that he had reached. Constantly on top of whatever he had to do. Going above and beyond other people’s expectations for him. Taking care of everyone and acting older than his age. When he would help serve meals or drinks in the tavern, the other men would call him to join them in their work. Other mothers would turn to mine and ask when she was ready to give him off for marriage. Girls were impressed by not only his work ethic, but his handsome looks. All the while, he never lorded it over me like some sort of selfish bastard. And that made it worse. If a person were so perfect, they would know, they would act differently. But he never did. That self-righteous bastard never walked around with his nose in the air. He never blew off anyone else when they were trying to talk to him. I often wondered how he managed it all. To be around so many other people and listen to them all.

In many ways we were complete opposites. Where I was selfish, he was self-less. Where I was rude, he was polite. Where I was dismissive, he was attentive. Yet despite cleaning after my fights and getting me out of trouble, despite my harsh words towards him and telling him to mind his own business, despite all the crap I put him through. He was always there.

I had not told my parents the truth, but I had told him. He knew to tell my parents, and they forgave me. They were only afraid of losing me. My family had seen me for those weeks, staying next to Aryel and out of trouble. Helping them as much as I could both before and after her death. They remembered what I had been like before I turned into the troublemaker of Orid-narr. So, the morning I was scheduled to leave, they gathered at the gate to the town. My brother had spoken with the city watch as well, and given my behavior after my arrest, they allowed us to meet on the way out.

So, it was all thanks to that perfect pretty boy, my brother who I had hated in my jealousy. It was thanks to him that I got to hear my parents telling me how much they forgave me and that they loved me. Even if they did not say anything, just seeing them there from behind the bars of my cage. Seeing them cry, for my sake. It felt like an aged scab over festering wound was opened and washed. Relief, Pain, Sorrow, Joy. I cried and broke down, apologizing, reaching through the bars to hold their hands and they grabbed mine in return. They promised they would come to see me someday and I nodded fervently, latching on to the hope that it would not be our last goodbye.

The watch interrupted us then, whipping the horses and getting the cart to move. My family watched as I was carried away. They stood there at the gate to the city, and I looked back until the morning fog hid them from view. I curled up then, covering myself with a thin blanket they gave, trying to ignore the bouncing of the cart.

Thus began my journey north to Chereba.

The first day passed with no happenings of note, but on the second day, the city watch addressed me. It was only two of them, and they were taking me to another large town where a second pair of individuals would then take me to a third town, and so on. I would be passed from one set of hands to the next until I found myself in Chereba, the second largest city in the Queendom of Tell. It was in that city I would fight. They offered me some of their own food and let me out of the cage in the cold nights where they stopped and lit a fire. Their names were Ertin and Meora. Despite being the ones to witness my crime, they still saw me as a young boy. Perhaps it had to do with the goodbye with my family, or my hesitance to visit them from before. But they were the first two, and the only two people that had treated me well on the way north. The two had also been relatively new to Orid-narr, so I had not seen them before and they had not known me as the trouble maker. If they had they might not have let me out. But that night around the campfire, Meora had addressed me as he stared into the flames. “Why did you do it” he asked. I told him I did not know, but he asked again, phrased differently, “Why did you avoid your parents” To that I had only one answer, but I had not been willing to tell this man I barely knew, that I had been afraid they would shun me. All my life I worried that one day they would realize they did not love me or did not leave me, and that even if I told them the truth, they would reject me. So, I had avoided them. But I was not about to tell this all to Meora so I only said, “I was afraid.”

To my surprise, he did not ask any more questions -until the next day. We were on the road, and again he spoke to me without looking at me, but this time he asked me what had happened that day. I explained it to him, from Aryel’s death, to when the city watch had pulled me off the other boys. The two that were driving the cart remained silent until I had fallen asleep to the monotony of the journey. I woke up some time later, hearing them speaking to each other. Ertin pitied me, while Meora reminded him it took three grown men to remove me from the top of the boy I had been on the verge of ripping apart.

But that night they still let me out to warm myself near the flames, and I felt Meora’s eyes on me. He was not watching me to make sure I did not run, because my hands and feet were still tied. He was studying me, trying to piece me apart, as though I reminded him of someone he used to know. I wonder who it could have been. Who did he see when he looked at my crumbling self, tall for my age with hair that covered my dark eyes, callouses on my feet, and the sparse beginnings of a mustache?

Still, they were kind to me. It was not the case with the next person I was handed off to. The man lacked the professionalism of the other Ertin and Meora. His uniform was filthy and he constantly smelled of beer. He went considerably faster than the other two, making me recognize that they had slowed the horses down to spare me from being bumped around. But it was not the case with this watchman. He did not speak if it was not complaining or insults, blaming me for having to leave town and travel to the next one. No matter how cold the nights got, he kept me in the cage away from any fire that would have kept me warm, leaving me to huddle as tightly as I could.

It made me wonder why I was given the three days to prepare and gather my belongings if I was going to be carted around in a cage. I suppose it made me easier to transport if there was no constant threat of me escaping. But why bother letting me take my own stuff if it was going to be kept out of reach the entire time? I remember being confused as I shivered during those dark nights. I realized I knew nothing of how the world worked, and I would pull the thin blanket closer, trying to still my shaking body. The bastard ate the rations set out for me and did not bother stopping when I needed to relieve myself either, telling me stand up and piss over the edge of the cart. Now that I think about it, I should be grateful he had taken my food, because if he did not stop for me to piss, I doubt he would have stopped when I needed to shit.

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He was not the first city watch scum that tended to me. The other one was almost a copy of the first, all a person needed to do was stretch out the previous one and give him a hooked nose. This second guard was taller and thinner, and stiff as a board. He did not say anything or complain, he was too busy picking the cave he called a nose. I did not want to eat a thing that came from his hands, and I found myself losing even more weight. But that journey did give me plenty time to think.

I had nothing else to do as I was hauled around like merchandise from one city to the next. Now, as I write, I find I remember a pleasantly large amount of what I had pondered during that journey.

To remain true to you, to myself, I will include it in the pages before you. Perhaps remembering these little things can prevent memory from decaying, and I will try my best to write as accurately as possible.

The first of the thoughts that came to me, had literally done so -in the form of the third guardsman from Usrekh, the third city after Orid-narr. It was a relatively large city compared to the past two, almost on par with Orid-narr back then, so the watch was well funded. Yet I still managed to get a guardsman that resembled the previous two in his mannerisms and rude conduct. Once could have been random, two times a coincidence, but three times made me suspect a pattern.

I began to wonder if the rest of the guardsman delegated the job of escorting me to the least liked individual among them. It would make sense. No one likes working with someone that cares nothing for the work that they are doing, and that was the impression I had gotten from most of the later guardsmen. Untidy, unkempt, and needlessly vocal about being miserable with their own lives. (which need I say, they were complaining to the wrong person) But then why had Orid-narr been different? At first, I attributed it to the size of the cities and level of funding, but after passing through Usrekh I had to rule out that theory. What I eventually landed on, was favoritism. For whatever reason, someone decided to have pity on me. Later I learned that I was correct, but only partially so.

I remember sitting one day, crumpled up into an inglorious pile of thinning limbs, and wondering where the damn cage came from. Which unlucky village made cages for a living? Was it a family known for their skill at smithing perfect cylindrical bars? For that matter, how did they get it to be cylindrical anyway? And what was the point of having it be cylindrical instead of squared? Did every town just have a cage waiting for criminals? What if someone else in Orid-narr committed a crime like mine? Do they have a back-up? Does that person get transported without a cage and only shackles? Or do they just get executed?

There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I had not answer to, apart from my own speculation. The cylindrical bars were probably achieved by hammering it as smooth as possible on every end while the metal was hot. Perhaps the reasoning for not using edged bars was because the edges would be more likely to get damaged, or maybe it would be sharp and I’d be able to use it to cut the rope around my wrists. The towns might have a backup cage, and they might be on rotation. So when this cage is brought to Chereba, it might be sent back to the first closest town, or it might just be carried back. It may also be that every other criminal is just executed, but it might be more likely that, if they are in a situation like mine, they are brought to the next town with hands tied. Then from that town they are taken in a cage. The system is stupid though, if we are being taken from one town to the next, and we need to be taken in cages, then why not shift us from one cage to the next. That way every town would keep their own. For that matter, we should have just been taken through the rivers. It would have been faster and easier. There would have been no need to feed horses either. Whoever was in charge of this, possessed below average reasoning. Unless there was another purpose to taking us over land…

Ertin and Meora had spoiled me with their calm demeanor and maturity, as well as their respect. While I was with them I had a chance to move and stretch my legs, but after that I found myself forced to become intimately acquainted with my cage. It was comfortable for a time, but the hard surfaces were too plentiful for my taste. The cage itself was not particularly small. I could stand if need be, and I could lay flat. I had thought it was quite generous with its space allocation until another two criminals had joined. Both were men. At that point I realized why I had so much space before. The damn thing was meant for multiple people. Although I had tried to keep myself as clean as possible, I quickly found that it was impossible. Extra blankets were not given either. We were not permitted to talk amongst ourselves, and any time one of the guardsman heard so much as a syllable they would poke through the cold iron bars.

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Gregor continued to read the rest of the man’s journey to Chereba, amused by Gelas’s complaints about the complaints of the city watchmen who escorted him from one city to the next. The irony seemed to be lost on Gelas, and he kept to complaining about those how complained. In some ways, he had a right to. He had only been a young man at the time, around Gregor’s age but significantly less… knowledgeable. Yes, that’s how Gregor would describe it. Evidently Gelas was intelligent to a degree, he simply lacked Gregor’s education. Gregor chewed his thumb then, as he recalled Gelas’s comments on the prisoner transport system. That type of thinking reminded him of his father. If anything, it proved how dangerous the man was. More than that, what Gelas lacked in education, he made up for in critical thinking and experience. Already there were more eventful moments in Gelas’s journal than Gregor would be able to write in his own, if he were to write anything that is. What did Gregor achieve, what happened in his life? Comparatively little he felt. He had traveled around the empire, but here Gelas was, also traveling albeit in a rougher fashion.

Why am I comparing myself to him? He is the tyrant. Not any other boy my age.

The many mundane descriptions of the man’s life when he was younger began to make it seem as though he was just a normal person. Even if he had spent several pages complaining about guards and the way they smelled or talked or wondering about the make of the cage which contained him, there was still that moment.

I reached into his mouth and began to pull down on his lower teeth. I pushed with my foot and pulled with my hands, determined to rip his jaw away.

That was the true Tyrant of Tell. That was the person that became the demon. The other day he had begun to question it, but now there was no doubt. Gregor himself could see the man’s beginnings.

He repeated that to himself several times, trying to convince himself of it as he hid the book away -struggling to sleep as he envisioned his dead relative.