Flying Through Chains

Act V

***Ari’s story***

It is the time when day evolves into night. In a small, far-off town, a wooden stage stands erected in a market-square. Behind it, in wooden cages, rest the next day’s wares. They sleep curled on the floor or upright, dreaming of what the next day will bring.

They are slaves.

Only one boy, aged seven or eight, remains awake. Tall for his age, he still remains unnoticed as he continues to work. He works furiously at the lock on his cage, hoping that he may somehow pick his way to freedom.

For a while, the clicks and scuffles are the only sound in the dead night. And then, suddenly, the cage door swings open.

Grinning brilliantly, the boy leaps out of his cell and quietly closes the door behind him. He can hardly believe he has done this, after many weeks of observing and working in vain. Now, on this final night, his last chance, he is free. But he’s not safe yet.

Silently, the boy runs through the rows of cages, making sure he does not wake the guards. His plan is simple: to find the keys to the other’s cells, free the prisoners and run. In his head, it forms a brilliant, glorious plan. Of course he could pick the locks and free them that way. But there is no cunning, no glory in that. His aim is to show everyone how great he is. For one night, he wants to be a hero.

The problem, which rapidly makes itself apparent as he sprints through the square, is that he does not quite know where the keys are kept. But this does not faze him. He dashes into a nearby street, hoping to make for the Guardsmen’s house, where he thinks these keys will be.

It is only when he reaches the end of the alley that he hears the screams.

They are so piercing and so frightening that they stop the boy in his tracks and permit him to turn around. The sight that greets him is one that will haunt his dreams forever.

In the entrance to the square is a wall of fire.

The boy, too scared to make a rational decision, turns and flees, spurred on by what he believes to be the sound of guards pursuing him. It is only when he has left the town behind, when he has reached an overlooking hill that he sees the destruction he has left behind.

*****

“There was nothing,” he said, quietly. He continued to stare out of the bars, at the rain, which had long since decreased to a steady drizzle. “Everybody I had ever known. I couldn’t see any of them, anything at all. Or maybe I just wasn’t observant enough.” It was this last, futile hope he clung to. He didn’t say how he considered it his fault, the guilt that he felt, even now. If the fire was intentional or an accident. If any of that even mattered. It didn’t need to be said.

But still a gentle voice rose out of the enveloping darkness. “Ari. It wasn’t your fault.”

A soft touch on his arm made him leap inside, before he realised what it was. A hand, luminous in moonlight. He looked up to its owner; to that elegant face.

He still needed reminding that he wasn’t alone.

“It could have been different,” he started again. “If I’d rescued the others, or if I’d stayed, maybe they’d-”

“Nothing could have changed,” Aria persevered. “You were young. And if you’d done something different, maybe things would still be the same. Maybe worse.”

He didn’t have the right to feel blameless. He knew that – yes, he knew that. This was the guilt that had plagued him for half his life – the knowing that things might have been different. But somehow, saying it to someone else was a relief. They knew the truth about him. They could choose to love him or hate him honestly.