wore a leather vest with no shirt, revealing a massive chest soaked with sweat and crisscrossed with jagged scars. In lieu of pants he wore a rough leather kilt, held in place by a wide belt from which hung a long, straight sword and a coiled, leather whip. Legs like pier pilings ended in huge troll feet wrapped in leather.
“The sun is high,” he boomed. “Come with me.” He stepped into the hall and waited.
Aaron hesitated, frightfully perplexed. None of this made any sense, but strain as he may, he couldn’t wake himself. Knowing of no other option but to go with the man, he stood up from the bunk, pulled up the hem of his robe, and shuffled cautiously past the pit toward the door.
---
Aaron followed the towering goon down a dark, narrow, stone corridor, hewn from and polished to the same smooth finish as the stone in his cell. Wrought-iron torches mounted at intervals along the way providing what little light there was.
They passed other cells, and once again the sour stench of decay filled Aaron’s nostrils. Most of the cells appeared to be empty, but the ones that were occupied held sights that would chill a coroner’s blood — sights that Aaron would be long to forget.
In one cell Aaron saw a nude woman with long, red hair, lying on her back strapped to an evil looking instrument of torture. As he passed, she turned her head and stared at him through blood-red eyes. Then she hissed at him, causing the hair on his neck to stand. He couldn’t help but imagine what the machine was designed to do to her, but he quickly pushed the horrid image out of his mind.
In another cell Aaron saw a man sitting on the stone floor dressed in rags. He held a large knife in one hand, and it looked like he was attempting to chew his own arm off — and it appeared that he was succeeding. He looked up, and Aaron saw that his face was tattooed with a flower, but where his eyes should have been, there were only dark holes through which Aaron could see the very depths of hell.
After that Aaron kept his eyes to himself.
---
When at last they reached the end of the corridor, they climbed to the top of a long flight of steps. The turnkey shoved hard against a heavy door and the stairway flooded with sunlight. Aaron shaded his eyes from the painful glare, unable to see what awaited him outside.
---
They stepped through the door into a large courtyard of packed earth strewn with straw. The hot sun hung directly overhead.
Aaron saw a shiny new tungsten silver Aston Martin DBS parked near a stable with horses, but it meant nothing to him.
A crowd had gathered, dressed like they were attending a Renaissance festival: the men in tunics, with leather belts and feathered hats; the ladies in flowing dresses, with flowers in their hair and their bosoms mostly exposed. But it wasn’t long before Aaron saw what the crowd had come to see — and it wasn’t a festival.
Toward the back of the courtyard stood a large, wooden scaffold, erected from sturdy timbers with wooden stairs leading up one side. Standing on top of the raised platform, overlooking the crowd, was a large man wearing a black hood that covered his face.
“Keep moving,” the jailer said gruffly, giving Aaron a hefty shove toward the scaffold.
Surely that man’s not waiting for me, Aaron thought, looking around.
The crowd had grown quite large, and as he and his jailer worked their way through, Aaron was spat upon, poked with sticks, and pelted with rotten fruit. At times he thought he might faint, but the harrowing thought of being underfoot in this mob motivated him to keep moving.
When at last they reached the scaffold, the turnkey let go of Aaron’s arm, indicating the stairs with a wave of his hand.
Aaron’s robes were drenched with sweat and covered with muck. He looked around in disbelief. What am I doing here? he asked himself for the hundredth time. Why can’t I make any sense of this? Who am I, really?
He placed his foot on the first step, and
“The sun is high,” he boomed. “Come with me.” He stepped into the hall and waited.
Aaron hesitated, frightfully perplexed. None of this made any sense, but strain as he may, he couldn’t wake himself. Knowing of no other option but to go with the man, he stood up from the bunk, pulled up the hem of his robe, and shuffled cautiously past the pit toward the door.
---
Aaron followed the towering goon down a dark, narrow, stone corridor, hewn from and polished to the same smooth finish as the stone in his cell. Wrought-iron torches mounted at intervals along the way providing what little light there was.
They passed other cells, and once again the sour stench of decay filled Aaron’s nostrils. Most of the cells appeared to be empty, but the ones that were occupied held sights that would chill a coroner’s blood — sights that Aaron would be long to forget.
In one cell Aaron saw a nude woman with long, red hair, lying on her back strapped to an evil looking instrument of torture. As he passed, she turned her head and stared at him through blood-red eyes. Then she hissed at him, causing the hair on his neck to stand. He couldn’t help but imagine what the machine was designed to do to her, but he quickly pushed the horrid image out of his mind.
In another cell Aaron saw a man sitting on the stone floor dressed in rags. He held a large knife in one hand, and it looked like he was attempting to chew his own arm off — and it appeared that he was succeeding. He looked up, and Aaron saw that his face was tattooed with a flower, but where his eyes should have been, there were only dark holes through which Aaron could see the very depths of hell.
After that Aaron kept his eyes to himself.
---
When at last they reached the end of the corridor, they climbed to the top of a long flight of steps. The turnkey shoved hard against a heavy door and the stairway flooded with sunlight. Aaron shaded his eyes from the painful glare, unable to see what awaited him outside.
---
They stepped through the door into a large courtyard of packed earth strewn with straw. The hot sun hung directly overhead.
Aaron saw a shiny new tungsten silver Aston Martin DBS parked near a stable with horses, but it meant nothing to him.
A crowd had gathered, dressed like they were attending a Renaissance festival: the men in tunics, with leather belts and feathered hats; the ladies in flowing dresses, with flowers in their hair and their bosoms mostly exposed. But it wasn’t long before Aaron saw what the crowd had come to see — and it wasn’t a festival.
Toward the back of the courtyard stood a large, wooden scaffold, erected from sturdy timbers with wooden stairs leading up one side. Standing on top of the raised platform, overlooking the crowd, was a large man wearing a black hood that covered his face.
“Keep moving,” the jailer said gruffly, giving Aaron a hefty shove toward the scaffold.
Surely that man’s not waiting for me, Aaron thought, looking around.
The crowd had grown quite large, and as he and his jailer worked their way through, Aaron was spat upon, poked with sticks, and pelted with rotten fruit. At times he thought he might faint, but the harrowing thought of being underfoot in this mob motivated him to keep moving.
When at last they reached the scaffold, the turnkey let go of Aaron’s arm, indicating the stairs with a wave of his hand.
Aaron’s robes were drenched with sweat and covered with muck. He looked around in disbelief. What am I doing here? he asked himself for the hundredth time. Why can’t I make any sense of this? Who am I, really?
He placed his foot on the first step, and
Similar Books
