The Fifth Academy - Fantasy Direction / #Wattys2018

The beating (by Jason, flashback)

edited by CoughCoughing  

The long iron whip slashed at my back, blinding me with hot excruciating pain. But I didn't make a sound, I clenched my teeth together and tasted the familiar salty blood on my tongue.

One! Two! Three!

My older brother Arest, damn his heavy hand, was a merciless punisher. He managed the iron whip perfectly, almost like a skilful musician playing his favourite song. I listened to the ringing in my years and tried to calm myself, thinking that the punishment would be much harder if our crime would be discovered a few weeks later. I would be publicly beheaded without any doubts at noon on the Great Victory Square. This perfectly round place was made from the immaculate white marble and could accommodate the entire Firesteel family. The Squire was mainly used for a military parade, rewarding of heroes, and very seldom, maybe once every hundred years, public executions. It was a sacred place for every Firesteel, the Square of honour or, like it was in my case, the Square of shame.

Four! Five! Oh... hell! Six!

Each next blow of the prescribed twelve lashes was much harder and more painful than the previous one. From the high scaffold made of white stone, I hardly saw anything, just the blue unclouded sky above the thousands of men in the crowd, dressed mostly in shining silver armour and white cloaks, the dress uniform of The White Legion. Very easy to recognize. The Firesteels army was only men and boys, women could never enter a magir's army, they needed to be protected by us. But most Firesteel soldiers had a family and children, even if the soldier saw them very rarely. In ancient times there was a strict law that everyone who belonged to The White Legion must not have a wife and children. But, you know rules are meant to be broken. Shinning silver armours, bright red cloaks and military uniform are the biggest weakness of all girls. Why silver swords and arrows instead of guns and grenades? Because only silver could hurt demons and darks.

To fall in love with legionnaire is so romantic! And to tell the truth, a soldier fights much harder for his beloved and family, than for The King.

Slash! Seven! Slash! Eight!

 Today I was dressed very simply, a simple grey training form because I had run away right from my fight lesson. Why not? My only friend was going to be publicly executed.

Slash! Nine!

I would not faint! I wouldn't!

And thank goodness I didn't. The blood was pounding loudly in my ears, cold sweat ran down my face. The bright afternoon sun blinded me with its unmercifully hot smile. Suddenly, a dark shadow darted across the field. I raised my eyes, a large snow-white bird which looked more like a raven, was circling right above the scaffold of execution. This feathery spectator could easily be some warlock's pet. Sorcerers usually liked all living creatures. Sometimes they appeared much smarter than their peculiar masters.  

Ten! Eleven!

Oh, goodness, help me!

Twelve!

It's done! Arest lowered the bloody whip, faced the crowd and hit his left shoulder with his right hand, a salute to The Legion. He had just been of service and had made the will of The Commander. What a fantastic opportunity to salute! I thought sarcastically. If I wasn't too weak and in such great pain I would hit him!

Strong and tall, my older brother towered above me, like a yang oak-tree. He was handsome, big brown eyes, a straight serious look, shoulder-length chocolate hair, a true father's son, a real Firesteel general, respected by his soldiers.  

But for a few seconds, the shinning crowd in sparkling armour was deadly silent. Above our heads, the unknown white raven disappointingly croaked and turned to the Great Towers of the Fifth Academy. The first tower with a square base made of iron and silver – for the Firesteels, the second and the highest one was made of glass – for the Ironwills, the third and the most beautiful one was made of wood – for the Dragonwoods, the fourth and the largest tower was made of stone – for the Goldstones, and the fifth and the smallest one was built of pure gold – for the Highthrones, of course. But the white raven was heading to his master in the wooden one, a very popular place for the local magicians. There was a great red wooden dragon on the top of Dragonwoods' tower, it was made like a weather vane and turned to any direction with a gusting wind. But most of the time it's massive back was turned to the glass tower of the scientists. The Ironwills, during the time when the dragon faced them, made a few lightning strikes hit the hated red dragon and set him on fire in an attempt to spite the Dragonwoods. It was the hard diplomatic work of the King and all the Highthrones together to restore a somewhat fragile peace between warring parties.

When the execution was over, I could barely keep my footing on the white marble that was stained with my still warm blood. I kept silence, but all my body was crying in agony. It hurt like hell!

I was feeling dizzy, everything around me began to spin faster and faster. I didn't hear what my brother had said before he lifted the old rag soaked with scarlet blood from my sore back, five minutes ago it had been my grey training uniform. I suppose Arest was pretty surprised that I still hadn't fainted. The next moment, the tremendous roar of the whole White legion nearly made us both deaf. All solders were chanting out loud just one word – my name. "Jason! Jason! A true son of the Great Commander Alexander!"

Well, it seemed I was a hero, a beaten and broken hero.

I voluntarily took this punishment in place of my best and, well... only friend Max, he was just a common legionnaire and my constant fight-partner. But why after whipping had I become a hero in the soldier's eyes?

Max was my soldier. All Firesteel-boys were divided into squads of ten people. It was more convenient that way. We competed, fought, played sports in groups. I was the captain of the squad and, by the rules, was personally responsible for each of my soldiers. Max was my best friend, he was younger (and weaker) than me. He was semi-mortal or "half-blood-magir". His father was a Firesteel soldier from Luxard, his mother was a common woman from Earth, very beautiful, but fragile and mortal. Granted, all magirs look almost like mundane people, but nevertheless, we are tougher, stronger, more powerful and good-looking than mortals. That's why we're often mistaken for the Gods of ancient Greece. Therefore half-blooded, lanky, tall, fair-haired and blue-eyed Max was much gentler and more vulnerable than any of Firesteel boys. One good slash from the iron whip could easily cut him in half. Everyone who stood on the Victory Square today knew, that I had just saved my friend's life. But not for long...