The Wilting Ballad

14

The abrasion on his bareback was throbbing, but he remain true. True to their liking, so they have him unbound.

For the first time since he's landed on this ghastly Island his feet touch the greasy earth. His knees weakened as it did, he fell and was hoisted up by a faceless guard. It was still not right in his mind. It scares him like one is afraid of crawling lizards or festering rats. It appears people wearing any sort of mask was his phobia.

Jlyn hates his grandfather, Gariel at the moment for not informing him that the mask people of Moss Island use for covering their faces was burlap sacks with two burned holes where they could see. And also he hoped Gariel told him how he was to be treated once they reach the shore.

Two whole nights and a day he was tortured, by a man who brings pain to people for fun. His profession was barrel making, his hobby, gradually rubbing off one's skin with the Twelve Rocks.

Different sizes of sharpened stones he used as his tools. Unwanted thoughts from his time with the Twelve Rocks lingered with him, not the pain. But the dark true thing that speaks to him. They were more realistic than anything he's heard. They were more real than the moon and sun. More real than his cursed mother. More real than him.

When one spends an entire day with a stranger, under various circumstances, you get to know the depths of their soul. What questions baffled them. What kind of lives do they lead. How they came to be here with you. What their different 'favourites' are. What features make mankind a survivor. "So... You're really interested in this weapon forging business, eh?"

"I told you... I'll learn your secrets if it meant my life." Answered Jlyn, the man nods approvingly. They stepped out, under the banners of storm onto the land of slipping. He winced as raindrops fall on his grazed back.

He grabs a stick to balance himself from plummeting foolishly. "But this... I'll never learn." He joked, trying his best to withhold strangling the man next to him right there and then. He has to make do with his imagination for now.

"Nor does anyone not born here." Said the barrel-making torturer, laughing at Jlyn's unsteadiness.

"Screw this." Said Jlyn, sitting down on the moist ground. He jerkily pulled off his boots, he winced again. At least they're considerate. He thought, not wanting to imagine how his back will feel with wet clothes plastered to it. Cradling his removed shoes close to his chest, he uses his stick to bring himself up, he walks barefooted, a bit normal than before. "That's better. Where are we going?" He asked, soundlessly cursing the raindrops agonizing him, making him dizzy.

His torturer smiles, but it wasn't a warm, friendly smile. It was an unnerving, sadistic contorted smile, "To the Masters."

"What of my stuff?"

"The things you brought with you are quite safe. They've got it with them." He replied, searching for Jlyn's reaction.

My leaves. They might learn what it is. Jlyn asked himself, eyes widen. Try not to think about the 'what if'. Think up excuses. His companions were looking at him curiously. "Oh, have no worry. We don't take what isn't ours. We have no need for it. But if it's ours..." He muted himself. To antagonized Jlyn further, who was gritting his teeth, playing diverse scenarios that's got plenty of possibilities.

Jlyn inhaled the thicken fogs. He shudders, waiting for the pale stone door to open. During his time spent with the barrel-making torturer, he learned a great many things.

One of those was that of the mysterious figures known as Masters, who can be located at conjoined three stone pillars they lived in, which was the only thing place that remain unspoiled in this Shan-forsaken land.