Adar

Chapter 1 : The beginning

Two Weeks later.

The boy felt the cold stone wall as he leaned his back against it. His clothes were unclean with spots of dirt everywhere. He sat on the floor with his knees to his chest and his head resting on his knees. His dark hair had grown longer, nearly touching the tops of his eyebrows. His eyes were blood shot; he had not received any sleep. He had been awoken once again by the yelling of others.  

The boy was being kept prisoner in a cellar, which he later confirmed it to be a prison. It was made up of stone floors and walls. The cellar, as far as the boy knew, consisted of six rooms.  A short hallway lied in the middle, with three rooms on both sides. The rooms were ten feet by ten feet. The doors were made of three-inch thick wood and iron hinges; they also had a square opening of about two feet, width and length, near the top of the door. The opening was covered by vertical three iron bars. The handles and key holes of the doors were on the outside, leaving no chance of a prisoner picking the lock. 

  Prisoners were being held down in the cellar, many of them bunched in a room. As much as twelve were being held per room.  The boy had been fortunate. He shared his room with no other, but the ruckus of the others kept him up all night.  Many of the men had asked for Rum. The two men, stationed to keep a watchful eye on prisoners, laughed upon hearing the request.

Many a time the guardsmen had let two prisoners out, only to let them brawl.  For whomever the winner was, gained rum and a blanket for the night.    

The boy could now hear the brawling happening again. The guardsmen had offered him a chance to brawl, but he declined the offer.  It was a pointless offer for him. He never drank and he knew the blanket, given to the winner of the brawl, did little to keep the cold from reaching the bones. 

The boy heard the chanting stop. A winner was announced. "James is the victor!" Yelled one of the guardsmen. 

The boy looked up to see a light pass by the door. He saw the head of a man pass his cell. The man's face was bruised with blood dripping from his nose. A guardsman followed behind the defeated man, lighting up the hallway with his candle held high.  

Moments later another man followed. Instead of a lowered head like the man before, this man held his head high. He brandished his flask to the men in the cells, and then drank vigorously. Rum dripped down on his chin and neck as he drank. A guardsman followed behind him holding a lantern. He patted him on the back. "Keep up the entertainment, James." 

James finished drinking and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. "Will do, as long as you keep the Rum coming.” 

The boy shook his head. He could never understand how these people were blinded by alcohol. 

He laid his head back against the wall. Staring up at the ceiling, the boy thought of the recent events. He was miserable. The thought of being in this cell one more day was a thought he wished not to bare.  

Many things had happened over the course of the last two weeks. He had lost his house, his past life, and worst of all, his mother. The night his mother died, he had seen his house burn. The large fire in the woods attracted more of Langstrom's men. He hid behind the trees, waiting to attack another of Langstrom's men who were scouting the area trying to make sense of the burning house. They were identifiable by the gray uniform they wore, similar to one of the men who had killed the boy's mother, though most of the men had cleaner, raffish uniforms.

The boy had not yet quenched his thirst for revenge. The enmity in him grew more every second, and finally, despite his better choice, he attacked one of the men. He had waited near an opening of a trail, which led to his house, hidden behind bushes. He saw the man pass and then attacked, coming out from hiding and lashing out with his dagger. He slashed at the man's face, cutting the left eye. The man wailed, immediately covering his eye. The boy then plunged his dagger into the man's stomach. The man doubled over from pain. The boy followed up the assault by stabbing the man's now exposed back. He slammed his blade; tip first, on the man's back, repeatedly. His anger had subsided, and so had the man's screams. He held the dagger loosely now, letting the blood drip.  

It was not long before a horde of Langstrom's men arrived. The boy was already exhausted. He put up a fight but to no avail, other than to wear himself out. The men quickly bound him and put him in the back of a cart, blindfolding and gagging him. He had felt the bumps on the road, usually causing discomfort on the trip. He felt hours pass.  

The cart halted. He knew they had come to their destination. The boy heard the men, driving the cart, talking. Several horses could be heard alongside the cart as well. Most likely, Langstrom's men had traveled in a large group. He suddenly felt his body being lifted up out of the cart and dropped to the floor. He landed on his feet and was grabbed on the shoulder to be steadied. The grip was hard. The boy felt himself being lead somewhere. Despite the blindfold, he was able to determine it was day, with the warmth of the sun being a factor. He heard a door open, and then he was pushed forward.  

He was inside a building. It hadn't felt as warm.  He continued to be led for a short time. He heard another door open, this one making the noise of metal clanging. He felt the hand on his shoulder push down. He started to descend down a pair of steps. He felt the cold hit him like wall. It was a much colder place, with a rank smell of waste accompanied with other unpleasant odors.  

He heard yet another door open, then was pushed forward. He heard mumbling; crying and what sounded like drunkards arguing.  He came to a halt. His blindfold was taken off, revealing that he was in a hallway. The hallway contained six doors, three doors on both sides of the hallway. Six torches were evenly placed on the hallway walls.  

The boy saw a man seated at the end of the hallway. He wore a gray uniform like the rest of Langstrom's men. He arose from his stool and walked over to where the boy was. He looked at the boy, and then looked up at the soldier who had led the boy down into the cellar.

"These lads get younger every day."  

The other man nodded. “Put him in a cell by himself, he is far too dangerous to be kept with the others."

The guardsmen laughed, and then stopped, noticing the seriousness in the others face. 

He led them to one of the cells in the middle hallway.  

“This one should do,” said the guardsmen as he unlocked the door with his key.  

The soldier cut the rope, binding the boys hands, and shoved him hard. The boy stumbled forward into the room, hearing the slamming of the door behind him. He quickly took the gag off and looked around. The room was dark and damp. Only the light coming in from the torches provided light for the boy. If not for the openings in the door, the boy would have been in a pitch black room. 

It had been two weeks since then, now here he lie to rot. The guardsmen only gave him water and bread, attempting to make him more miserable.  He was used to the tough conditions for his father had taught him how to survive. They often went hunting for weeks at a time. An image of the boy's father flashed in the boy's mind, and then quickly left.  

The boy looked at the lump of hay in the corner that was supposed to be his bed, then at the bucket in the corner. Life was now bad, as it always was. Nothing changed for him. He always seemed to enjoy happiness for a season, and then he watched it all slip away. Happiness was always short-lived for him, replaced by long despair.  

He was entering into a new stage in his life, but this was just the beginning of it all.  

        

                      End Of Chapter