Fifteen Moons since the Day of Akkavan

ሾ

Jere ran his hands over the meshing of iron bars that blocked his escape. Each bar had a deep cut that ran near the base. Most were filed through, but two bars near the top still remained attached to the meshing. At first, this was concerning, as Jere had used up the last of his strands earlier trying to file through the last two. However, even with his diminished strength, he found that he could pull back the bars with relative ease.

He had done enough. His plan had worked.

Still, there was the matter of timing. He had no idea what lay ahead of him. No guards ever came in to check on him, not even to throw in more prisoners. The Day of Akkavan was over by now. Would Boah be paranoid enough to keep guards posted outside the cells even after all this time?

"How long have I been in here?" Jere pondered. He had long stopped keeping track of the time.

Regardless, Jere would wait until nightfall. He had his means of escape, but he had no advantage to leave now. He would soon be free. He could tolerate the pain in his stomach just a little longer.

Jere knew he had lost some strength. He noticed the gradual changes his food deprivation had cost him. He could grip around his forearms now. His tunic slid off his shoulders. He was sleep deprived. He was far from fighting condition. His best course of action would be to have as much darkness as possible.

All this meditation had told Jere one thing with certainty: he fucking hated waiting.

Jere had little to prepare. He had finished the last of his water earlier that morning as a celebration, which meant he could finally chew on some more leather. His tongue begged for nourishment and Jere was unable to satisfy. He would need something to eat. Going to the Corps wasn’t an option, and even if he escaped north or south he would be dead by exposure the moment the sun rose. He could hide in West Shell, but there was no guarantee of food.

As much as he hated to admit it, Jere’s only option was to find Eevi. She would help him. If what the healer said was true, and Eevi was willing to risk her life for some blind stranger, then she would be ecstatic to help a loyal customer. Her tavern was on the other side of Ash, and as far as he was concerned the entire city was hostile territory.

But it was his only option. Eevi would be feeding Jere her largest yak steak by the end of the night. That, or he would die trying.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

It was impossible to know what awaited him. Jere wanted revenge, but the wise thing to do would be to leave. The healer hadn’t listened when he suggested it before. If he had, then Jere wouldn’t have been dragged into all this.

Over the many moons of solitude, Jere drifted between missing the healer intensely to hating his entire being. It was the healer who convinced him to sneak into the sacred temple, after all. It was the healer who desecrated the corpse of Mendalla’s daughter-in-law. It was the healer who defied Boah’s desires from the onset. Before he arrived, Jere was in good graces. He could get an ale if he wanted. He could go wherever he desired as long as he was in the city. He had influence, what little could be obtained.

Eventually though, through the hunger and the delirium, Jere would come back to the same conclusion: the healer was right, and Boah was a cunt.

Before he left though, Jere had to check on Penzer one last time.

Jere clapped into the darkness. The screamers were riled up once more and began their usual routine of thrashing at the cell walls that would continue for another hour or so. Penzer hadn't responded since that first night. It wasn’t surprising; Penzer also had no food, and who knows how much water he happened to have in his cell. But Jere was stronger than most, whereas Penzer was an old man. The fact that Jere was still alive amazed even himself; it would be impossible for Penzer to have made it this far. Jere reluctantly concluded that he must’ve died some time ago.

"Wishful thinking," Jere grumbled in his mind. The last thing Jere wanted to do was return to this godsforsaken place. Penzer was the reason he was alive, but no one said Jere had to return the favor. Penzer would understand, of all people.

Perhaps it was for the best, after all. Dying of starvation was awful, but it was certainly better than becoming one of them.

Jere rose from his sitting position and looked past the iron bars of his window. The light that shone through the wooden panel edges faded some time ago. He had his cover of darkness. He could barely contain his eagerness. Strength would come, if by will alone.

Jere squatted under the iron meshing, grabbed the loose bars and strained upward. It took more strength than he expected, but the bars gave like before. Bit by bit, the iron meshing bent towards the ceiling. He paused momentarily to catch his breath, feeling his current progress. He repeated this motion a few times, pushing the iron meshing farther and farther. The iron was strong but malleable, at least to him. Finally, the pressure was too much and the iron meshing snapped near the top. Jere dropped the tangled metal to the ground with a clank. The screamers began another round of shrieking, still not quite rested from their earlier yellings.

The action had made quite a bit of noise that certainly would have been heard from outside. But Jere wasn’t concerned. There were no guards outside, he was sure of it.

Jere lifted his hands past the wall against the wooden panel. It was nailed into the mudbrick, but far less secure than the bars, especially from this angle. As expected, with enough pressure it began to push out. He was careful to push from the bottom and not the top. If he did it right, he would be able to slide out through the bottom without making too obvious of a scene.

Jere had no desire to spend another second in the cells. The moment the bottom of the wooden panel became loose, he climbed up the wall. With a cumbersome step up the side, Jere slid under the panel and towards freedom.