THE HARVEST (part 2)

There was a lot more to escaping than just getting through the

gates. The woods surrounding the fortress were thick, and the path

through them leading north was crooked as a sorceress’ nose. He

would need food and supplies for the journey, as well as a horse he at

least felt somewhat comfortable with. He’d made sure all of this would

be at his disposal just in time for the event – which now, for some

reason – would be happening earlier than planned. All he’d been

waiting for was his seeds’ final approval to go through with it. That

wasn’t to say he hadn’t prepared that it might signal him to stay put,

but in any scenario, the message would come as it always did – from a

plant that had the certainty of nature at its core, and not a man that

was practically a stranger.

“You would’ve known this earlier had you consulted with someone.

Nearly anyone in fact – there’s been plenty of discussions in the Cave.

You’re hardly the first one to think of this.” Archilai broke the silence,

noticing the gloom look on the boy’s face. It was a handsome, angular

face, though the way he carried it gave him the impression nobody

had ever told him anything of the sort. Framed and often hidden by a

dark mane of hair, it was only now, in the early rays of sunlight, he

saw its subtle, golden touch. His almond eyes were shy, but the few

times they’d met his, he’d seen they were a rare, deep blue, reminding

him all too much of similar ones he’d once known. His strong jaw

seemed particularly tense as he said, “This isn’t something that should be

spoken of so openly here.” His voice was low even to his own ears, though

Isaiah knew well that both Lord and Lady Huxley were still asleep

and would continue to be so for some hours more. He assumed

Archilai knew this too, yet he felt desperate to make an end to their

conversation without being ruder than necessary.

“Many things shouldn’t, but you see, complete silence can just as

well lead to the death of a man.“ Now, Isaiah stood up to look at him,

discovering that the old man’s expression had turned serious in a way

that didn’t quite suit his face or character. His oval eyes, like light, blue

ponds, stared so intensely at him that he instinctively lowered his

own.

“Thank you for informing me, I will not a'empt to leave during the

event. Worry not.” Even if he didn’t know exactly how Archilai had

guessed his plan so accurately, he knew he should in fact feel grateful

about the warning. Yet, being in an unusually sour mood, he had to force

the words from his mouth, leaving an odd cling to them that sounded

anything but genuine.

“You might have saved my life...” he tried, knowing it was a li'le

overdramatized, and once again Archilai’s face turned cheerful.

“Oh, don’t fla'er me too much, lad. They wouldn’t have killed you –

you are much too good of a worker for that. But they might have sent

you to the chambers for a few days, and I wouldn’t wish that upon

you.” Just the mentioning of the place, made a cold, unease spread

down Isaiah’s spine. Like everyone else in there, he’d heard of the

chambers a few times too many – and more importantly, what

happened to the troublemakers that were sent there.

The stories were usually told by the triplets, who always made the

biggest riots, not to say, encouraged and engaged in foolish behaviors

of many variables. Isaiah didn’t quite understand why, for by now,

they should be more than well aware of the consequences. More often

than not, their rebellions sprung out of insignificant ma'ers and

minor disagreements. Nobody ever seemed bothered with asking

why, and instead listened to their stories wide-eyed and petrified.

Stories of the sort, nobody should want to hear but couldn’t resist

listening to. As for the chambers, they claimed the pain was

unbearable, and much more than any common man would endure.

Before the actual beating started, they would have no food, and

sometimes no water, for three whole days. Then, they would meet

with the torturer, which they’d explained was a terrifying, masked

man from the Zura tribe. What happened next was different each

time, but the captive would always receive a devilish beating until

finally losing consciousness. Isaiah had seen their deep scars as proof

of this, and though making their broad backs uglier each time, all

three seemed to consider them symbols of their manhood, and so, soon

after one had gone, another went.

These were stories that made it easy for him to get up early and to

consistently make sure he was among the most hard-working people

in the fields. He’d never heard of anyone being sent to the chambers for

insignificant ma'ers, but he still wanted the Patron’s grace if he –

accidentally – should end up in any trouble. This was also the reason

he needed absolute certainty he wouldn’t get caught escaping.

“Don’t look so frightened, lad. The chambers are not really as bad as

they make them sound.” Archilai said, seeing his expression bore the

same grimness he’d seen in too many young faces before, as the

roughness of reality washed away their hopes of simple solutions. It

was a rough time to be an Araktéan and it seemed he himself had

always known this. Even back when things had appeared to be simple

– and that was a very long time ago.

“I’m not afraid.” Isaiah frowned, as Archilai pulled up the sleeve of

his own gray, loose sweater. Parts of his arms (covering his hand and

halfway up his wrist) had a strange purple-like color. The rest is

marked by thick, blue veins shimmering through his skin like tiny

rivers.

“These are just a few injuries from working.” He explained, “For

now, I think it’s be'er if I don’t show you the ones from the

chambers.”

“Oh.” Isaiah said, somewhat relieved by this fact. Then he kept on

digging again, making an effort not to look at him. He’d never seen

scarring like that in his life, and he did not want to know exactly what

had caused it.

“It might be unnecessary to say, lad, but I want to encourage you to

escape soon, so that your immaculate skin can stay smooth for a li'le

longer.”

“I would have to wait for a new opportunity, but I will get out soon

enough.”

“So,” Archilai leaned on his spade again, “Your solution is to wait

even longer?”

“I’ll be patient, and eventually I’m sure I will come up with

something.” If he had looked up on his companion at this moment, he

would have seen an expression so soundlessly condescending, it’d

bring about an argument between anyone with the slightest of a

temper. Perhaps fortunately, Isaiah still pretended to focus on the

stubborn roots.

“Boy, opportunities don’t just show up out of the blue around here,

you need to make them yourself – use your creativity.”

“I amusing my creativity.”

“Wouldn’t it perhaps be be'er for you to pursue your writing

outside these walls?” With this, Isaiah couldn’t help but stand back up

again. It was no secret he had a book with him, but for someone who’d

always felt skilled in blending into the background, he was

unpleasantly startled to find he’d been watched. Facing Archilai, he

realized he couldn’t make a clear point out of the indecency – knowing

quite well it was no different from what he himself did. The art of

observation was one he’d found to be rather fascinating, allowing you

to absorb people’s mannerism and behavior, without the need of

actual interaction. As far as permission was concerned, he was no

be'er. He calmed himself as best as he could before speaking,

tightening the grip around his spade.

“For the moment this is not a bad place to be. There is food, there is

shelter. Both the Lord and the Lady treat me well...”

“Listen lad – this...” Archilai interrupted him, holding out his long,

white, veiny, arms, “This is a prison. It might look pre'y, and it might

not seem an awfully cruel one, but it is a prison nonetheless. And I

assure you, it is not as safe as the one you’ve made it out to be in your

head.” He pointed a finger towards his own, and the tense look in his

eyes made Isaiah wonder if he’d perhaps lost his mind, like he’d heard

many men did these days. Surely, the area within the fortress’ walls

was unimpressive compared to the larger, more beautiful villages in

Delta, but if there was something everyone seemed to agree on, it

would be that they felt safe there. As long as you finished your chores

(which for most of them was nothing overly complicated) and

followed the rules, you wouldn’t be bothered by anything else than

perhaps the snoring from your dorm companions and at times an

overcooked, or over salted, supper.

“We are safe here.” Isaiah affirmed.

“Safe from what? Zuras? Sorcerers and bandits? Wild animals, and

furious beasts luring around in enchanted forests? Are you afraid of

the war with these “barbarians”, from the north beyond Dabár?”

“No.” Isaiah responded, but his voice didn’t even convince himself –

and of course, he was indeed afraid of all of it. Wasn’t everyone?

“Well, then you sure need to get out.”

“From what I’ve heard, you have been here for over thirty years

yourself. Why haven’t you escaped?” He knew be'er than being rude

to his elders. In fact, he’d been raised much be'er than that, but he

couldn’t help himself – not today. Archilai didn’t seem the slightest bit

insulted. Instead, he made a long sight, as if preparing to explain

something to a very young child.

”Isaiah, I am old. I’ve lived a full and eventful life as a free man, but

this is my home now and I am planning to end my days inside this

golden cage.” There was a flare of a smile underneath his beard,

making him seem almost content with his chosen fate. Isaiah strived

to give a prompt reply, but not without a glimpse of hesitation.

“Perhaps this is my home too.” He said, and then, meeting with a

wary expression, he added, “At least for now...”

“No, lad. This is not your home, and we need to get you out of here

before you get too familiar with that thought.” Despite his richness in

facial hair, Isaiah noticed he had more expressions than almost any

other man he’d ever laid eyes on. Normally, this might have been the

sort of thing that would’ve fascinated him. If he hadn’t felt so

unusually unlike himself, he might have taken more note of it. Chosen

to interact with him and observe them further. Now, his blood was

boiling hot, rising to his cheeks, and his eyes were unable to look

beyond the blunt, and rather unjustified, anger that he noticed

creeping into his companion’s.

“What do you care what I do? You don’t even know me!” Archilai’s

lip tightened, his head turning slightly towards the main building.

Now, slowly filling up with captives from all over Araktéa, or at least

from a great many parts of it.

“Do you want to know why I went to the chambers?” He asked,

only now sounding cautious.

“People say you stole from a guest during Lord Huxley’s birthday

celebration. That it was some important noble man...” Isaiah felt a

slight satisfaction saying it, quite unable to think of anything more

foolish than stealing from a noble and thinking to get away with it.

“That’s only half the truth. But, yes – I did steal the cape of one of

our guests. Of what actual importance he was, I couldn’t even care to

guess...” he smirked, “the point is, I did it to help someone escape.” He

waited for a continuation, but Archilai just stared at him expectantly.

“By dressing him up as a noble...” he nodded.

“That is... quite a big risk to take.”

“And yet, not by far as risky as staying here and le'ing your spirits

starve. Since the first day I arrived, I knew I would spend the rest of

them within these walls.” He took a breath, glaring down at scarred

hands that had done things his mind till this day couldn’t permit itself

to remember with perfect clarity.

“I’ve done many terrible things in my life, Isaiah. When one of them finally

brought me here, I was forced to spend more time thinking than chasing my desires.

I started asking

myself one question.” He held one finger up, pleased to finally have

caught the boy’s full attention. “If there was something – anything – I

could still do, to be a be'er man. After thinking of this for longer than

I’ll admit, I decided to never try escaping from here. It was tempting, of

course. I knew about every little hole in the wall back then. Every

guard’s sluggish habit and preferable distraction. Still, what I decided

to do was to help others get out. People whose freedoms I felt would be

worthy ones.” Archilai’s eyes were as blue as his veins, and Isaiah

saw they were ones of sincerity. Right underneath it, they carried a

sort of pain that not all the tears in the world could clean out. It was a

strange sight, and though he believed whatever he’d done to end up

there, must have been a just punishment, he couldn’t help but feel

empathy crawl its way into his chest.

“Why would you do such things for strangers? Risking going to the

chambers – your life even... why not escape and help people on the

outside instead?”

“I’ve found it to be a purpose for me in this life. Being a part of a

whole that I am yet to fully understand...” The older man blinked and

looked away, staring straight at the sun again, now standing higher

over the horizon and illuminating the shade that till now had kept

people at the second floor of the dorms, in comfortable darkness.

“Since I made this decision, not a soul entering the gates has been a

stranger to me, but pieces of this whole that I’ve chosen to take part of.

A whole that all of us have a part in – whether we like it or not.”

Isaiah thought about this for a moment as Archilai once again turned

his gaze towards him.

“Like a family, you mean?”

“No, not like a family, lad. You are young, and even if you were very

old, I don’t think I could explain it to you adequately. Or even to

myself...” It’d been a long time since there’d been anyone talking about

such things in the Cave. They were often referred to as loons and the

rumors had it they were exiled Khantalins. Despite being considered

“not fully there” Archilai felt they had a strange, but intelligent air

about them. A calmness he himself yearned for, but no loon ever

stayed around for long. No loon ever told him enough.

“For now, it is not important for you to fully understand why I do the things I do.

What is important, and what you should know, is that

during all these years, some people have been in need of a bigger...

push than others. The young boy for instance. Even when he was

dressed up as a noble, he was shaking like a leaf as he passed through

the gates. Poor lad got caught and confessed to everything.”

“He betrayed you...”

“One might say that, but I never blamed him for it. I knew the risk

when I decided to help. He got sick shortly after, and until his very last

day he couldn’t dare look me in the eyes. Poor lad thought I hated him,

but I hate nobody... especially not the fragile and fearful.”

“Fear doesn’t excuse betrayal.”

“Perhaps not, but it doesn’t justify hatred either. I am not telling

you this to convince you of my bravery or generosity, but so that you

understand that I am willing to go farto get you out of here.”

“So, you think I am weak too? Like that scared, fragile li'le boy?”

Archilai laughed and shook his head.

“No, Isaiah, you are not weak. You’re simply pu'ing your focus in

the wrong places.”

“Perhaps I am and should resume my work.” For a minute Archilai

had managed to gain his attention – but once again he felt himself

stepping on nerves he hadn’t been aware Isaiah had.

“Boy...”

“Patience is a virtue. Once you have planted the seed you need to

wait for it to grow.” As these words (that he’d always considered very

wise) left his mouth, he remembered the incident of the same morning.

Surely, it had to have been nothing but an exception to the rule. This

lesson that he’d been told innumerous times, still had to be true

beyond a doubt.

“Perhaps with a plant boy, but in a place like this, action is needed

and only the solid and fierce ones grow to see the light of day. Take a

look ...” Archilai bent down and grabbed a handful of dry, powdery

dirt.

“The soil is not what it used to be around here. I should know – as

you just said, I’ve been here for over thirty years...”

“There is more than enough for everyone to eat, so I wouldn’t

worry too much if I were you.” Isaiah turned his back to him, took one

of his sacks and started pulling up roots from another row.

“For now there is, and you still look healthy and well-fed. You have

handled your surroundings be'er than any other child I’ve seen

coming in here by themselves. Your weakness is that you get lost in

thoughts, hoping they will lead you somewhere. From the li'le I know

myself, they sometimes do. But it’s been four years and it’s time to do

something, if only accepting some help from an old, mad man. Dreams

don’t come alive so easily around here you see...”

“I don’t need your help. I will get out by myself, and I will rather

continue working alone now – if you don’t mind.”

“Seems you’re more like your father than I thought. Wanting to do

everything by yourself...” Archilai chuckled.

“I’m nothing like my father.” Isaiah felt his pulse rising, for if nothing

else, this needed to be the final straw. It was not a surprise to him that

Archilai knew who Ares was – it seemed a great many of the captives

did. What he didn’t understand was how he knew he was his son.

“Perhaps not. Ares would have escaped from here long ago.”

Archilai bent down again, then approached him with yet another

hand of dirt. Even if there hadn’t been any threat in his voice, Isaiah

wondered if he would throw it at him – mad as he was. Instead, he

grabbed him by the wrist, making a flat hand out of what had become

quite a tight fist.

“A birthday gift. Now, consider if it’s be'er than nothing, or if you’d

be willing to risk losing it if you could make a jewel out of it.” Before he

could come up with a response to the absurd gesture, his recent wish

came true, and Archilai walked away from the fields. Half relieved

and half confused, Isaiah looked down on his hand for the second time

that morning. in between soil and tiny rocks, he’d gifted him a tiny,

deformed potato. “Mad man.” He muttered. Threw the unripe thing

away and again focused on his spade, sacks, the starches and that

sticky, cooling sweat on his back.