Heretics And Sheep

5: The Present, The Desolate

Campfire flames breathe out, the wood crackles under their strength, suffocated. Marcus scavenged away at his old room and set up camp. He faced a makeshift tent he had put together. A figure behind it began to stir. Marcus examined his thigh. Just hours ago, he had scrounged what he could and turned some rags into bandages. He had them wrapped tightly around the now cauterised wound. The risk of infection was low considering the circumstances, but the area stung without end. It didn't bother him. However, what did bother him was the fact that it limited his movement and made him walk with a limp.

Barabbas walked out of the tent. Slowly. Every step was painful. Yet the makeshift wrappings around his ribs had done their job. Marcus had crudely stitched the stab wound he gave Barabbas shut. He felt lucky he had prior knowledge of first aid. Although, till now, he never had to act on it. Barabbas sat before him. He left his chain shirt in the tent; he had put his robe and cloak back on, shielding himself from the cold desert night undoubtedly. The Bedouin breathed steadily. Marcus noticed. This wasn't so bad for his first treatment of a stab wound, not counting his own injuries. He had a feeling it wouldn't be the last.

"Not too bad at all." He thought with a smile.

Barabbas stared from across the fire, a neutral expression in his eyes. Marcus spoke first.

"You've taken it well that I dishonoured you."

"You do not know our rules, boy." Barabbas shook his head. His voice was strong even in this state.

"There is no yielding under a Blood Duel, yes. But the testament is a knife or a chain."

Marcus moved his head to the side, confused. He thought for a second, then prepared to ask what Barabbas had meant. He was interrupted.

"You're toying with me, I am to be your convict. You will give me three tasks. I will ace them. Then, I will be redeemed. Then, I will be free to kill you."

Marcus grasped their situation now. His eyes narrowed. This was not what he wanted. But, it was better than killing the man: that would assure both of their fates.

"I am an alien to this new world. I need Barabbas, I can feel it." He thought to himself. The two were no longer soul-linked. Marcus started to wonder what that gut feeling was.

"I don't just need him to survive the desert. There's more..." He wondered to himself.

He straightened up and ordered.

"You will take me to the desert nomads." Marcus glided his hand across his katana and grinned to himself.

"Then, I'll grant you your freedom."

Barabbas furrowed his thin brows and protested.

"I am your prize in battle. That is only one task 'ajnabiun."

He was confused, he continued.

"I am your convict, your slave should you wish it!"

"A slave? I've been very close to that. I will never keep one or suffer any to be kept... Eat." Marcus smiled and gestured to some lizards he had prepared earlier.

They were gutted and crispy, no doubt burned through by the fire. Barabbas, still bewildered, accepted the food. He spoke again.

"You have defeated Barabbas Al'ul'tisal, I'm a very great leader among my fellows." He looked up at Marcus, an expression of seriousness swept across his face.

Marcus responded. "You honour me."

Barabbas nodded.

"Your quality will attract... much attention from the elders, once you meet them, my friend."