Brother of the Desert Rats

Pillar of Blood

The door creaked open for the third time that day, causing Zaelan to rise quickly to his feet. For a moment he stood stock still, his eyes fixed upon the entering soldier's face. Zarek stared back at him, his face expressionless, almost as if it were carved from stone. Zaelan half reached out to him, hoping Zarek would grasp his hand firmly and tell him everything had been a mistake, that he had explained everything that had happened and that now Zaelan was free to go. When Zarek did not move, even so much as to blink, Zaelan's hand fell limply to his side. And slowly all hope he had kept, drained from him.

Zarek stepped forward and it was then that Zaelan saw the heavy chain he held. "Zaelan, son of Ryon, you have been found guilty of murder and will now face your punishment. Extend your arms."

Zaelan blindly did as commanded. The hard steele voice did not seem to be Zarek's. It didn't belong to his friend of over 15 years. This person before him, could not be the friend that had come to call him brother. It was all a nightmare. But try as hard as he could, Zaelan could not wake. The cuffs snapped around his wrists, chaffing at the raw skin. For a brief moment, Zarek's fingers lingered, almost sympathetically, over the red blisters. Then he was shoving Zaelan roughly forward.

Zaelan stumbled across the threshold, raising his bound arms to block the bright sun. In his clouded mind, he cursed it for being so bright and cheerful. What right did it have? Dust flew up about him, as he crossed the yards. It stung at his eyes, creating unwanted tears. He cursed it too. He was jerked to a sudden halt. Raising his head, he saw they had reached the gathering area just beyond the men's barracks. Before him, all his comrade in arms were lining up, their faces grim and hard. It was only a brief glimpse, before he was turned about to face a wooden pillar, stained with the blood of many unfortunate men, innocent and guilty alike. His arms were raised, until they bore the brunt of his whole weight, his feet just barely touching the earth below. Someone moved behind him, and he felt their hand grasp the top of his shirt's collar. He flinched as he felt their grip tighten. Then with the sound of tearing, his back was suddenly exposed to the hot sun.

Zaelan leaned his head against the post, taking a deep shuddering breath. Like all Runens, whippings had been a normal part of his growing up. He had seen more than he could remember, even witnessing criminals dying by them. He himself, had been whipped in school and at home. But never like this. Not hanging by his wrists with his back so openly exposed. He felt so helpless and vulnerable in a way he had never experienced.

There was the sound of heavy footsteps, as two men came to stand beside him.
When one spoke, Zaelan recognised it as Lord Orin, member of the Royal Council, second only to the king. It was he who saw to such cases as this. Zaelan listened to the deep voice with dread.

"As most of you already know, Zaelan has been trialed and found guilty for the death of your commanding officer. Because of his rank and heroic deeds of the past, he has been spared from execution. However, he will be flogged before you all as an example and transferred to a further military camp. Makker, you may proceed."

It was the only warning Zaelan had to prepare himself. He has barely braced for the impact, when there was a low hiss and the whip cracked across his back.

Zaelan's lips parted in a silent cry. He pressed his forehead against his raised arms, the contact bringing a strange sense of comfort. I will not scream. I will not scream. The words echoed through his brain, numbingly. His body jerked forwards, his chest thumping into the wooden post. Biting down on his collar to keep from biting through his own tongue, distracted him for only a moment.

The next lash, laid across the last, broke his vow. The scream that escaped his chaffed lips, did not sound like his own. It came again and again, burning his throat and lungs until he could only gasp in shallow breaths. Just before the world about him began to darken, the cutting lashes stopped.

With a deep shuddering sigh, Zaelan slumped back, his arms straining painfully. His head rolled back, his eyes fixing on the sky above. Through his blurred vision, he made out the grey of storm clouds coming in from the sea. A gentle breeze ruffled his damp hair, caressing his bloodied face and cooling the burning heat that pounded through his head.

He jolted back to the painful reality as someone grasped him around the waist, lifting him up. A deep guttural cry erupted through his battered body, as they pressed onto the welts upon his back. He did not hear the whispered apology. His arms fell heavily to his side, numb from being bound up for so long. As he was lowered to the ground once more, he collapsed, too weak to stand. His head rested on his assister's shoulder and his eyes heavily closed.
As the noise began to fade and a soothing darkness fell, Zaelan felt something press against his face and a gentle voice whisper in his ear.

"I am sorry, Zae. I am so sorry."

And it sounded like they were crying.

* * * * *

That night Zaelan relived the brutal scene in his feverish dreams.

"You there, boy. Didn't I give you the documents from the palace to put in my office?" It was a tall fierce bearded man that spoke.

The young soldier to whom he addressed, saluted. "Yes sir. I placed them on your desk, sir."

He did not expect the brutal blow across his face and was almost sent to the floor. He recovered quickly, straightening himself and standing stiffly at attention. His face was already darkening, and a small drop of blood trickled from his lip. The officer rubbed his hand, his angry gaze never leaving the younger man's face.

"Do you realise how important those papers were? They bore the Royal emblem."

The soldier's face flushed. "Then you know it was your crime for giving them to me, a lowly soldier. And I put them on your desk...sir."

The officer's eyes flashed. Grabbing the short whip from his belt, he raised it and brought it down. The soldier raised his arms and turned, catching the blow across his back. He yelped, collapsing forward onto his knees, crying out as a second blow fell.

As the officer rose the whip for a third time, his wrist was grasped tightly, halting the blow. Zaelan had a grip of iron, but he let go as the stunned officer lowered his arm.

Zaelan saluted. "Sir, he is not at fault. I saw him place the papers as he says. I beg that you forgive him, sir." He bowed low. But his respectful words fell on deaf ears. The officer having recovered from his shock, was only more angered by the interruption. But his anger was now turned to Zaelan. He struck the boy, full across the face.

Zaelan stumbled back, gasping in pain. He could feel the blood trickling from his ear and down his neck. His head pounded, and a high-pitched ringing rang though the injured ear. Seeing the officer raising the whip once more, he brought up his arm to protect his face. The lash was caught across his hand, breaking his smallest finger.

Blinded by pain, Zaelan struck out at the officer, hitting him in the face.

Enraged, the officer turned the whip, striking Zaelan with the handle. Then dropping the whip to the ground, the officer drew his knife.

"How dare you raise your hand against me, you dog!"

He struck out at Zaelan, who only just managed to leap out of the way. The two clashed, wrestling against each other, the knife twisting and turning dangerously. As Zaelan managed to gain the upper hand and twist the knife's point away from himself, he tripped against the kneeling soldier. He fell upon the officer, bringing them both to the floor.

His head pounding from the multiple blows he had received, he only dimly heard the horrified scream. Struggling to his feet, he looked down, his eyes meeting a horrific scene. The officer was lying in a pool of crimson blood, his eyes open and his mouth parted in a silent cry. Zaelan slowly raised his hands. They were red, the blood staining his cuffs. Turning, his eyes met the young soldier's. They were wide with terror.

Zaelan reached out to him. "I didn't mean to," he whispered. "You know I didn't mean to."

But Zarek did not answer.