The Sanctuary

CHAPTER TWELVE

Before I knew it, the room was filled with Riders. Someone pulled me away, others filled in. They fell upon the Farsay, throwing blows upon blows. The Farsay instantly went in on himself, crouching as fists and kicks rained down on him.

“What are you doing?!” I bellowed. I struggled to find out who was holding me back and saw Jonrick’s pinched face. My chest constricted with something excruciating.

“Renee heard you two fighting.” Michael had come to stand next to Jonrick, surveying the chaos with a grimace. “We came.”

I turned back to the scene, suddenly feeling frantic. I could barely see the prisoner’s body anymore.

“You’re beating him to death!” I cried, fighting against Jonrick’s hold. Panic was filling me quickly, and I didn’t understand, didn’t care. I couldn’t watch this, I could not see this.

“Why are you concerned?” Jonrick asked me, flashing me a look of anger and suspicion. “He was hurting you!”

The room was filled with sounds of the prisoner’s grunts of pain, the smack of flesh against flesh. I turned my eyes away so I didn’t see them. I couldn’t watch this.

The prisoner must’ve gone unconscious since the sounds of his pain stopped coming.

“Enough,” Jonrick commanded quietly. The Riders paused, and Jonrick shook his head. “We cannot have him die at our hands.”

“Farsay filth,” Edward said, disgustedly. He spit at the mangled, unconscious body. “He should already be dead.”

A grumble of agreement went through the small group of Riders.  I could do nothing but stare at the mangled body on the floor, willing the Farsay to still be alive.

I could hardly understand my own thoughts.

“What in the name of the merciful gods happened here?” A Rider called Chara barked at me. I jerked and stared at the woman, who was glowering at me with distrust. She was a slight woman, with olive skin and curly dark black hair.

“We just-we argued- he wanted to be let out-“ I stuttered and then looked down, hiding my face. The guilt that was flooding me was overwhelmingly confusing.

“So you reminded him of his place,” Chara nodded, approvingly. She clapped a hand on my shoulder and grinned at me, curly hair bouncing around her face. “You could be a Rider just yet.”

I stared at her. Those words would have made me dance with giddiness a few weeks ago, bloom with pride and joy. But now I stared at the Riders, whose fists were stained with the Farsay’s blood, a strange bitterness apparent in their eyes.

What had become of us?

They began to shuffle out of the room, but I stood rooted, staring at the prisoner’s unconscious body. Jonrick stayed back with me, staring at him as well.

“Being a Rider,” Jonrick started and then paused. “It isn’t what I thought it would be.” He chuckled, lightly and went over to the Farsay’s unconscious body. He pressed two fingers against his throat. “He’s alive.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I could barely look at his bruised body. The last time I had seen a body this messed up was when my Father lay on the ground, beaten nearly to death as I rode away in the Forbidden carriage.

“What’s different about it?” I asked, feebly.

Jonrick rose to his feet, staring down at the prisoner.

“I don’t feel like the good guy,” he whispered, the ridges around his eyes more pronounced than usual.

I could do nothing but stay silent. He turned to face me with bright eyes. “Dinner?” he asked, weakly.

I slowly nodded and followed Jonrick out of the door, forcing myself not to look back at the unconscious body of the Farsay prisoner.