#2 (11)

Crownsguard

“Gather.”

Gale heard the command from a distance, and his body quickly moved on its own in response. Beginning to stand up, he found something in his ear and pulled it out—A lavender flower had rested there.

Gale looked at it quizzically, not remembering having picked it up. But he was given orders and his body was commanded to move, so he put it on his ear once again and began walking.

He noticed that his brothers all began to head the same direction. So the order was given to all of us. He opened his mouth to ask them a question, but as usual no words came out. ‘What’s going on?’ He tried to ask. Only his mouth remained dutifully closed. The order hadn’t changed—He still couldn’t talk to other slaves.

Worth a shot. Gale thought, half-convinced. He looked out to his environment—It seemed like the eastern garden and other grounds had only taken minor, replaceable damage. There was always at least 4 at the western garden. He deduced that there was enough there to prevent the brunt of the flames.

Eventually they all arrived where they were first summoned. The man in the owl-shaped mask stood there again, letting out a breath of smoke as he stowed his cigar.

“The grounds are damaged.” He spoke with distain, eyes tracking the slaves as they shifted oddly.

His eyes eventually landed on Gale, the creep of anxiety spreading across his body as Gale remembered that his section was burnt the most.

The slender man turned his gaze forward, observing the slaves en masse. “And under your  watch.

The others stared down at the floor, unsure what to expect. If there was ever a mistake they’d always fix it immediately, and the royals didn’t seem to care so long as they did as they were told.

“The king is most displeased.” The man said, looking down on them. “This shall not go unanswered.”

“Look to your wrists.” Gale looked down, seeing his own toothmarks dug into his skin. They hadn’t completely healed, a deep, jagged scar running along the grooves from when they had to prove to your subservience to the king.

The owl-masked man was silent for a few moments, the early morning wind rustling his black coat as the sun slowly rose, lighting the ground beneath their feet and casting long shadows.

The owl-masked man stepped to the side, presenting a wooden box, the lid opened revealed jagged pieces of flint and steel. “Form a line.” He ordered.

They automatically moved, posture moving confidently but their heads looked around frantically, faces contorted in fear.

“You are to grab a flint and steel and light your skin on fire. You cannot stop until you have lit a single spark.”

Gale looked around frantically, but they all moved as they were ordered to. He wanted to scream, to shout, to say something, the jaw remained closed. Looking at the frightful gazes of his brothers, they all seemed to think the same.

One by one they picked up their own pairs and begun their task, and soon enough Gale was sat on the ground, the jagged stone and piece of steel coursing through the skin as his blood oozed out, as Gale grit his teeth to bite back a scream.

The blood began to dry but his hands still worked, cutting through skin, almost hitting bone as the they left mark after mark, it becoming a pool of blood on the front of his ankle rather than a natural cut.

The owl-masked began to walk across them, staring down at them as they toiled endlessly. He didn’t bother being careful, stepping on their toes or on their fingers, the sweat from their brow reflecting in his goggles as he looked at them one by one.

A spark came from the tools he carried, and gale immediately released and put his hands over the wound, covering it to prevent blood loss. He panted frantically, looking around—Some of his brothers were finished, but others still cut their skin into horrible patterns. Some of them even had pieces of flesh landing at their feet.

After a few minutes they had all finished, and the owl-masked man made his way over to Gale.

“You tend the western garden, correct?”

Gale found his voice. “Y-yes, s-sir.” He wheezed out, feeling weak and tired.

The goggles reflected his face. “Bow.” He commanded, and Gale fought himself move as a sharp pain came from his right ankle from the injury. Still, he stood straight, and lowered his face, his face masked in respect with only his eyes open.

The figure’s shadow loomed over him. “On the ground.” He added.

Gale fell to his knees and stretched out, his hands growing rugged as his palms felt the rough rocks. He waited, unsure what to do.

CRACK!

Gale felt it before it registered in his mind, his nose forced against his skin as a leather boot struck his face, over…

And over…

And over again.

Gale felt his grip on the ground growing weak, but his body stayed in position. He blinked, able to see again, blood dripping out of his nostril as his nose drooped a bit too much. Is it ov—

He wheezed as the wind got kicked out of his stomach, and he fell to the second kick, leaning on his side as his body slowly moved to return to bowing—

He felt the boot hit his stomach and it pushed on his ribcage, straining it and keeping his body facing the sky. His vision cleared for a bit, and he saw his face reflected in the goggles of the owl-faced man. His nose looked crooked and it was leaning on one side, a blood splatter above his mouth as his fiery yellow eyes let out tears mixed with the dust from the ground. The fire above his head was looked dim, not the roaring blaze from before. His grey skin had marks matching the man’s boot, some sections looking red, as if layers of skin had been nearly kicked away.

“Release.” The man said, staring down coldly. Gale’s body stopped trying to return to where he was, his body lying on the ground as the light reflected off the man’s face as he looked out to address the slaves.

The man breathed through his metal mask, the air seeping out though the slits, coming out like steam in the cold morning air. His posture relaxed, slumping down but clearly ready to move like a predator at rest.

Steam left through the slits in his mask once again as the man exhaled. “All of you have grown complacent with how your body moves against you. You may have to expend energy as your arms move, but your face can stay slackened, your eyes drifting away, and your minds thinking of other things.”

​The other slaves took a few steps away, clutching at their wounds. The man’s gaze passed over them once more.

​“You’ve taken that side effect too far. Growing so lazy that you leave fields to raze.” The man gestured outwards to the scorched plants. “Of course, I predicted this would happen. At your core, you’re all still creatures of fire and magma. You were born free, free to destroy.”

​He grabbed his cigar and lit it, putting it through a slit once again and taking a deep breath. The smoke billowed out from him and obscured his face, floating up as a black cloud.

​“And now just like your army of ancestors,you’ve razed our fields. My subjects, I thought I taught you better.” He said, blowing through the cigar and letting out a smoke ring.

​He pressed down his boot down on Gale’s ribs, leaning down to add more pressure. “Fire can do useful things. Light candles, warm others. But should fire be left unchecked, it will spread and burn everything into ash. Fire requires separation,”

​He gestured out to Gale’s mouth, his point clear. That’s the reason you cannot speak.

​“Management,” He tapped on Gale’s scar on his wrist.

​“Or it must be snuffed.” He gestured to Gale as a whole, showing his bruised and broken body. “But I’ve grown up without the primal instincts stuck in your brain, so I understand mercy.”

​He stepped off Gale and began pacing in circles, Gale rasping for air and clawing to turn himself to his knees. He faltered, laying on his stomach instead, and clutched onto his wounds.

He finally took the cigar out of his mouth. “From now on, I want your minds consciously aware on the task you are doing. Focused on what you must accomplish, lest your instincts will take over and allow ‘accidents’ to happen.”

He took another smoke and let out a plume into the air. He sighed, relaxing.

“Do I make myself clear? You may nod or shake your head.”

They nodded.

“You are dismissed to your duties.” The other slaves turned and walked away, some almost running if it wasn’t for their injuries, yearning to be out of earshot of their abuser.

Gale coughed up blood, it landing on the ground.

The owl-masked man quickly kicked the side of Gale’s head, making his cheek rest against the ground and face the others who scurried away. Looking down at Gale, he said:

“Not on the courtyard.”

With that, he walked away.

…

​Puffrel opened her eyes, a line of sunlight sleeping past the curtains. She yawned, and stretched. Her books lay next to her, organized in neat rows and prim and proper to her exact specifications. She wiped a bit of drool from the corner of her mouth, stretched her arms, and got out of bed. She decided to wear clothing with a buttoned collar, fluffy cauldrons, and boots. Clothing more in line with a traveler while still clearly displaying her royalty. Today was the day. She smiled, combed her hair a bit and stepped out.

Black, reflective ovals and a metal mask covering a scarred face greeted her as she opened the door. The Bookkeeper sat at a nearby chair, carrying a book but not actually reading it.

“Dahl.” She said, acknowledging him.

He put his book away and bowed slightly. “Your majesty.”

“I presume you have a reason to speak to me?” She asked, rubbing the grogginess out of her eyes.

“Your father wants you to join him as he gives the order for your bodyguard.” He said. “He also specified that immediately after you’d enter the caravan to visit the local town.”

She crossed her shoulders and scowled. “I haven’t even had breakfast.”

“Yes, I believe that’s what your mother said in protest.” He stated. “However, he suggested that you can eat food from a restaurant.”

“With the common peasants?” She sighed, annoyed.

“He said it would be a fitting test for your new bodyguard.” Dahl responded, his voice sounding a bit raspy.

Her eyes perked up a bit. “I guess that makes sense.” She said, yawning. “Very well, I’m on my way.”

She had made it nearly halfway across the hall before she stopped. “Dahl?” She turned around to find Dahl standing near her door, looking into her room curiously. “Don’t you have work to do?”

He turned around. “Yes, your majesty. I was just making sure everything was organized to your specifications.”

“I have dedicated servants for that, so please get back to your own work.” She said dourly.

“Yes, your majesty.” He rasped.

She shook her head and smirked. “Lay off the smokes, old man.” She turned around and left the hallway, Dahl staring past her long after the door closed.

Disclaimer:

This work is under public domain. Please read the about section for a link to that law. Read the original series! https://m.tapas.io/episode/2314947