Harken

Chapter 8

Alexiares rattled the rusted manacles, gritting his teeth in silent fury. The cracked concrete scraped his bare legs, the weeds and other plants spurting through their wounds to reach a non-existent sun. The hastily plastered walls flaked off, in dust and in large chunks, adding to the fine layer of dust on every surface in that prison. The handcuffs he wore were chained to a metal ring just opposite a broken window, a taunt leading to freedom that he couldn't reach alone. He gazed at the metal ceiling, spotted shiny sections of the corrugated metal with black greenish mould, reflecting the bright reddish hue of his unnatural skin. He blinked rapidly to banish the tears: he needed Harken, but Harken might be dead. Maybe he wasn't but maybe he was. Alexiares knew he was close, so so close, even though it might take him a while to find him and get past the defences. All Alexiares could do was struggle against the cuffs, bloodying his wrists with even more cuts and wondering when he would come and why he was even here in the first place. Betrayal.
******
Harken stumbled further forward and glimpsed the structure in front of him with strong relief. His eyes ached dully and the mere marrow of his bones felt like dead wood but he knew he had to go on. Because in front of him was the looming rebel headquarters and in front of him was Alexiares, desperate for help and having information that was invaluable. Harken was still shaken from the gravestone; why did it stand erected in the middle of nowhere and was it a future fixture or a past premonition? It didn't make sense and worried him for his rescue mission. Yet, the luxury of giving up had bled out of the tawny twilight horizon and his very being. The flimsy metal building ahead shook as gunmen patrolled the barbed perimeter, devoted followers of the imposter within. Chains rattled as tamed wolves stalked, looking for prey and a way to escape. But how would Harken escape, with Alexiares? He hadn't thought of a plan until now, scared for the future and his own life but now he felt staying in the shadows was a beneficial move. Ducking doggedly behind the nearest tree trunk, he too searched the base, searching for a whisper or a shriek or a cry. Anything was helpful to find him.
******
Alexiares stared sorrowfully at the chains, his knees beginning to leak blood like crimson tears. The window looked appetising to him, so much so that he dreamed of jumping and falling to the ground beyond. But death wasn't a relief. He might rot here for the rest of his life, an old man accompanied by monsters and plagued by good men. Only in his nightmares, that was what he knew deep down. Then he heard it; then he saw it. A long haired brunette man, the beginning of a beard settling in his chin, legs gangly and adorned with blue veins. He had silver eyes. Harken. It was Harken. Alexiares laughed, laughed until it crescendoed into a mighty roar. Then he was silent, intently gleaming out the window, subtly shaking the chains.
******
Harken stared back at him, a sly smile contorting his face. An ally had surfaced, his dyed skin overcoming Harken with a wave of intrigue and calm. The guards weren't in this part of the base, too busy talking on the sidelines and sipping steaming drinks. He crouched, feeling the patchy grass tickle his fingers, his feet thudding as he hobbled as fast as he could to the broken window, then reached out, his hand gingerly resting on the pane. "Alexiares, my friend. This is our first meeting. But I'm here to free you. The key - where is it?" he whispered to the joyous and rejuvenated prisoner. He got a shrug back: "I don't know Harken, but it's good to see you. You've been in my dreams for a while now and... well, you've helped me through all this. Sort of." His awkward laugh made the situation seem frighteningly casual. Harken nodded and rattled his belt for something sharp enough to break the manacles binding the other man. He found nothing but coarsened fabric and thread. Then the window flashed through his mind: the fingernails of his left hand skimmed the pane of the window, coming back with a prick of blood from a sharp metal inner casing. Sharp enough. Scrabbling to raise it, still weary of the surroundings, Harken managed to secure a small length of metal. His arm extended towards Alexiares, who smiled softly, just managing to take the strip. After some rummaging, he was free; a fish swimming in a sea that did not own him or his mortal self. He leaped up, and grabbed Harkens shoulder to haul himself through the small sharp gap in the glass. Only when he was through, and they were face to face, did the guards realise the breach. With armed limbs and heavy hearts, they chased after the pair, who were running in the forest heaving with laughter. Truly happy in the company they are robbed of. Alexiares turned to the angel beside him: "Harken, can you call me Alex?". The machine-born man smiled. "Only if you'll help me stop the rebellion".
"Of course. The country is at stake. My brother is corrupt and Nekrah isn't a stable leader. Harken we need to save them. Save us. We're on our knees, praying to you".