Roots - Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen: Bound

Grass and earth passed by beneath Aldon nose, crawling by slowly like he was rising, then faster as he began to soar. He flew for nearly an hour before his eyes opened. The blades of grass were dark and the earth shone with a turgid shimmer. Black pools reflected his face in brief glimpses but never long enough for a good look. His head felt like lead and lolled from side to side, bouncing off his shoulders.
He blinked several times consciously, trying to clear the daze from his eyes. His mind slowly began to work again, like cogs breaking away from cobwebs before they can turn. He shook his hair from his face and sucked in a deep breath. The dank smell of burnt wood and what he assumed flesh hung in the air like a man in the gallows. It coated his nostrils and lined his lungs, gagging him with every breath. Aldon swallowed back his vomit as he ignored the stench that made his skin crawl.
A slow ache began to climb up Aldon back and sting his wrists. The pounding in his head matched rhythm with the heartbeat in his swollen hands. His tongue seemed permanently stuck to the roof of his mouth, which as dry as the smoldering homes around him, had no better chance of being pried loose. Aldon tried to lick his chapped lips but found it useless and gave up, leaving the stinging sensation around him to grow.
Aldon stared at the ash covered ground, glancing away from the occasional human shaped lump beneath it or scarlet stain. He pushed away the painful thoughts of who that might have been and instead wondered how he was traveling at all. He looked down at his feet and found he was completely off the ground, parallel to the earth.
People can’t fly.
Aldon twisted his head around and found himself staring at a large, broad man wearing a veil up to his eyes. His head was shaved and his skin dark as night. The man’s eyes glinted like flint and seemed endlessly deep, like he would fall into them if he stared too long. Aldon lowered his eyes and found the man wearing leather armor studded with iron clogs. A broadsword hung from his hip and a warhammer slung across his shoulder. He sneered behind the red veil and whispered to someone Aldon couldn’t see.
A hand reached around and pulled Aldon face to the opposite side.
“You-know-why-here?” The man asked with brief spaces between words. This man was smaller and wore a gray veil, but was otherwise adorned as the first. His eyes were lighter like shale but remained just as hard. His hands had very long fingers with the nails painted sheen orange. His voice had a guttural accent to it like a rough tribal sound, with clicks used in everyday words. “You-prisoner-now. Make-slave.”
“Or food.” The first man growled with an almost unintelligible drawl. Aldon swallowed hard and stared back to the ground. He closed his eyes tightly and wished himself away, imagining fields of green grass tall enough to hide him and embellished with flowers. A spring meadow washed away as he heard a cry of anguish somewhere ahead.
Slowly the voices began to accumulate until it was an ocean of sound. Some cried for mercy and others in pain, while a few cursed and spat at the bandits. Aldon heartstrings tugged at his chest miserably as children called out for their mother or father in sobbing hysterics. He pulled at his wrists behind him feebly as his strength waned. He slumped his head to his chest and hung there as they carried him further in among the crowds.
“Aldon! Aldon is that you?” A baritone called out over the noise. The scene grew quiet like something that should have gone unmentioned had been presented with a shiny red bow on top. Aldon eyes flicked up to a tall figure in the back. He couldn’t make out who it was, only that they were older and large.
One of the bandits surrounding Aldon drew his bow and dropped the man with a twang, an arrow plummeting through the man’s chest. Aldon clenched his jaw and eyes closed.
Another man gone like the snuffing of a flame. He died because of me and I don’t even know his name.
“No-talk-or-you-die!” A swift blow struck the back of Aldon head with something hard. Aldon eyes watered and his vision blurred, but for only a moment. His hate for the men was beginning to manifest and grow inside him like a weed. They sneered at the villagers they passed and threw small items in their faces with a curse. Aldon wanted to free himself and strike out like never before. He wanted to kill them.
The roaring of several fires surrounded Aldon as they dropped him in the middle of the remains of Town. He rolled out from beneath the log he was strapped to and looked around for anything to help him.
A small child sat a few feet away, completely covered in grime and ash, wearing nothing but a long shirt. His hair was missing in several patches and revealed thick scar tissue. His face was round and sagged beneath his swollen, bloodshot eyes. The boy’s mouth turned downward in an always present depression.
“Hey you over there,” Aldon whispered. The boy flinched and covered his head. “I’m not going to hurt you. I need your help.” The boy stared at the ground but turned his head toward Aldon. “I need you to untie me, so I can help. These men need to pay for what they’ve done..what’s your name?”
The boy shrugged and cursed. “That’s what they call me..but..I used to be Tobias.”
“I’m Aldon, how old are you, Tobias?”
“Seven and a half I think.”
Aldon nodded slowly and stared at the boy’s fallen face. Such a deep pity filled Aldon to the core he didn’t know what to do with it. He shivered and tried to shake the feeling off like the cold. His bones seemed to harden and his skin tightened beneath his swelled muscles. All his senses returned to full capacity and the fog seemed to lift from his eyes though he could see it clearly.
They were in the town square with the last several shoppes left standing surrounding them on all sides. Six great bonfires were erected around the town square in a circle, a few feet between each one. The buildings were ransacked and devoid of glass over the windows. Several burned among the standing including the armory and weapon shop Aldon had visited a month ago.
The villagers were all huddled around the fires and in the middle sat only him and the boy. Bandits rushed about arguing for treasures and stolen property or over captured women. The people were stained and filthy, several wounded, dying or dead. The families held each other close and Aldon felt even more alone. He longed to see Muren and feel his embrace, to see Denrir’s smiling face and hear Glenn’s booming laugh. But none were here as far as he could see.
Am I more glad about that or saddened? He wondered to himself. Tobias poked his shoulder then pointed to a tall black man near the front. He was dressed just as battle-ready as the other bandits but more lavishly as well. His armor was inscribed with various insignias and symbols surrounding embedded jewels. A small crown was inlaid around his helm and lined with silver veins. A thick curly beard hid most of his face and replaced his veil. His eyes were pure black like coal just as his hair and skin. All in all he did look like a shadow dressed in ornate armor. He approached the center with a small entourage of troops around him.
He pointed to Aldon and Tobias with a ringed finger.
“These are them?” He asked in a much cleaner pronunciation. “These are the ones you found today? A young boy and a child? Is this a joke?”
The other men faltered and backed away from the leader. Their eyes widened with fear as their arms slackened to their sides.
“Who is responsible for this atrocity?” He demanded as he held his arms out wide. “Who would do such a thing and expect to be rewarded for it? Someone, tell me who is such a fool to be responsible for this?”
“You are!” Aldon roared and with a swift swing, jumped to his feet and rammed the log his wrists were bound to into the man’s face. One sickening crunch later, the man’s skull gave way beneath him, and Aldon fell back to the ground. The surrounding men stood in shock, completely still and silent, until Aldon reached for the now dead man’s sword.
“Stop-him-you-fools!” The large man hollered as Aldon pulled the blade from the sheath. A boot met Aldon face, catching him on the nose and breaking it. Blood poured from his nostrils and a sharp pain pulsed in his face. Aldon spat blood and ignored the pulsing as he stared backed away from the enraged bandits.
“Get-him-up-on-stand!” The second in command bellowed. The men were on Aldon in an instant, lifting him up by the collar and slamming him against a pillar of lumber. They took his arms and wrapped them up over his head by the ropes leading to the log he had tethered to him.
Aldon heart raced and hammered in his chest. Fear gripped him in an icy embrace. He had killed someone, and now would be punished for it with death. He shivered on the stand, blood running down his neck now. With a snap of his fingers, the men tore Aldon tunic from him and left him bare-chested. Aldon recoiled as a fist slammed into his ribs. All the air in his lungs emptied and left behind a deep gasp for oxygen that sat in his chest like a rock. Aldon tried to shake off the beatings, biting his lips until they bled, but knew it was useless. He gave in to the pain and cried out as his ribs began to crack one by one.
The blows ended suddenly at a command Aldon had missed. He opened his eyes and found the man who had carried him on the right holding the sword of the commander Aldon had killed. It was glowing white hot, the bonfire beside it still roaring happily. The man swished it through the air with a warm current that bathed Aldon in heat. The man admired the blade for a few moments then pressed it against Aldon chest.
At first, Aldon felt nothing. He could not register what was happening. The fact that a glowing hot sword could be lying on his chest seemed impossible. Not to him, not someone who had grown up a farmer in a small nameless town. But reality came through and the cold touch grew through his torso until it became unbearable. The sizzling reached his ears and his nerves cried out and died beneath the smoldering blade. His skin charred and cracked, blackened and blistered. The pain was completely overwhelming and washed over him in waves.
Twice the man left, and twice more he returned. Aldon eyes faltered and he came in and out of consciousness. The world faded to black then blurrily reshaped itself. He saw the outline of the man in front of him and the orange glow of the sword against his flesh. He saw the prisoners huddled across the street in groups. He saw the men approaching slowly from behind with weapons drawn.
Suddenly the weight against his chest vanished and the pain subsided slightly. He tried to open his eyes but could manage only brief glimpses.
A man dropping to the ground with a spear protruding from his back,
Two soldiers battling with sword and axe,
An archer firing at a man with sword and shield futilely until he is run through,
And lastly, before the anchors on his eyelids took full toll, he saw a man with a fallen smile approach him and say something with tears running down his unfocused face. The man must have untied Aldon for he found himself in the man’s great arms, bobbing with each step, like the swaying of a boat on the ocean just before it sinks.