-Myrac-

What does one need to survive, food, water, sleep? If so then what does one need to live, Is it not the same? I was taught to use what I can, not to waste resources, survive in order to live, but what’s the point of survival if life stays the same; you get to live yes, but what for? So you can struggle, fight, and die.

I hear a clink and a door opens, it’s my door; the door that held me prisoner for far too long, the door that was my most hated enemy as well as my only true companion in the nights spent here. Its creek used to whisper of my demise, yet now it holds promise of freedom, riches, and revenge.

Ah, how delightful it would be to pluck the fruits of my hatred, and feel the gentle and intoxicating glamour of revenge bathe my weary soul. I can picture it now, the bliss of the moment washing over me, the regrets erased away before the gleam of expectations, fulfilled.

I remember my struggles up to this point, never has my life been a steady one, I’ve always experienced more than my fair share of downs, as well as ups. Life is easy though, it’s only complicated to those who dive too deep for its meaning, its do what you want to do or die doing it, take what you want to take or die getting it, go where you want to go or die getting there. The answer dawned upon me when I was still a child, watching my father working his craft.

My pa was a fisher, he used to provide our house with fish and what we didn’t eat; he would sell at the markets the next morn. The sea was generous and the fish plentiful, so times were good. Often times I used to wake with the sun and run to the shore, from there I could see him on a nearby cliff, reeling in creatures of wonder and mystery. My pa wanted the fish, so he took them, the fish wanted the bait they were attracted to, and they died getting it, so simple yet so subtle.

The sight bore its meaning deep into my young mind, not yet realizing what it came upon. My childhood could be summarized in watching the waters after that point; I just sat on the sands and listened to the waves, felt the breeze, and wondered what’s out there, beyond the horizon, what marvels does it hold hidden far from sight?

Heh, my Ma once came up to me on the shore and said, “Our eyes only show us that which can be seen, our imagination reveals the rest, now close your eyes; what do you see?”, at the time I remember saying nothing to her, just thinking about what she said and what it meant. Now I think I finally understand, Ma was wrong, imagining what’s beyond won’t help you see it. You need to get closer, will your eyes upon it and take what’s yours for the taking, and my freedom will be mine again.

I smile as I look at my hands, the shadows dance along them as the candle from the hallway flickers with exertion, these hands have brought me much, they brought me all I had, and all that was taken from me.

When I was a lad I built myself a boat out of dead wood, it wasn’t any good, and it sunk on the first buoyage, I built one more after that, it looked more like a raft than a boat but it didn’t sink. I Learned from that and improved my design and structure, took long months but I had it, my first boat, my first real boat. I stocked it with three days’ worth of food and drink, and sailed off, the days flew by and it was time to go home, I was a lad so the realization that I have no idea where I was sunk in just then at that moment, ignorance is truly bliss.

Frightened and alone in the water; I was lost, my freedom felt like punishment instead of success. A week spent at sea alone can drive a man insane, the sea is never quiet, sometimes it sounds like its speaking its own language and you’re mad that you don’t understand it, other times it’s shouting at you to behave, if not whispering you to give up. For some time I counted myself as amongst the dead, drifting along the sea to the waterfall of new life, in a sense, I was truly dead when I was on that boat. But what it took to bring me back wasn’t the waterfall of life, no, it was a literal splash in my face, a wave hit the boat; filling it with two buckets worth of water.

I remember sitting up, coughing the water from my lungs, and staring in awe at what was in front of me; it was magnificent, she was magnificent. She was holding onto my boat, her face resting on her folded arms. She was looking at me with fascination, intrigue, was I the first human she met I asked myself then, was I that much of a sore sight if not?

“Who are you?” She asked me in a damp sounding voice, still looking at me like I was a new type of fish that got caught on her hook. I felt insulted that she asked me who I was, and not what I was, did she know I’m human then, was she real? The question bounced along the walls of my tired mind and found its way out, and into existence. “Are you real?” I asked her, my mouth still being wet with salt and my lips; which were cracked from the sun, started bleeding from the mere movement, my voice sounded hoarse, unfamiliar, even to my own ears.

“Yes.” The melody of her voice carried by the weight of her answer released something in me; life started flowing from my eyes, the same taste as the salt water. “Look,” she sung, “you have a little sea in you as well.” She finished while gently catching a falling tear from my cheek, I had so much words left to speak, so many questions to ask, yet my mind only knew of one worthy of her attention, “What’s beyond the horizon?”

“Everything” her reply came in the company of a smile, as if I was supposed to know the answer to my question.

That smile she had, I remember it being contagious; when I laid my eyes on it, it spread to me as well, causing my lips to crack once more and a yelp to escape my sore throat. She laughed then, the breeze carrying her voice far and wide, and my heart began to beat to her rhythm. “Would you like to see it?” her question tore at my mind until only one word was left to speak, “Yes.”

“Rest then,” she pressed her cold hand to my cheek,” and when you awake I will show you the way.” Her voice flowed through me, soothing my restless mind and pulling my eyes shut, I felt her touch leave me as I was drowned in the land of dreams.

When I awoke she was nowhere to be seen, her presence a memory, her touch a phantom. I laid there; on the sand, for what felt like hours, but what was probably days. The sun handed its vigil over to the moon, the waves rose in honor of their lord; threatening to take me back to their embrace.

Still I lay there, unmoving and alone. Trying to decipher the memory I had, was she real or was she just a figment of my imagination? Was she the beyond? The waves made their retreat with the coming of the sun, but I remained unmoving. Then it struck me, it was her that I see when I close my eyes, she was my beyond, my heart still beats to her rhythm.

My mind was set, I would find her again, I knew I would. So I took to my feet and started making my way to the nearest village, not that I had any hope of finding one quickly, as the beach didn’t look traveled. I don’t really know how much time has passed since my awakening, but one night I saw smoke rising as the sun made its descent. Making my way there I had hope of warmth and company, maybe even passage to a city or the sort, but when I got there… it was just so much more.

People of all kinds were dancing around a huge bonfire, its embers floating in the wind as others were cheering around it. Many more fires were spread along the clearing, with twice as many tents in between them. Meat was being cooked, wine was being spilled, sounds of laughter rose with the smoke of the fires; into the evening sky. My feet carried me over to the side of the clearing, I didn’t know how to approach these people, some species here I have never seen before. My eyes wandered back to the bonfire, the dance of fire was so enticing, so familiar, I felt at home there, so I stayed.

Yet this place, this I will leave behind after burning it to the ground. I stand to my feet, the door is open, I hear others shuffle their feet, exiting their cells, gathering, whispering of escape. They speak of the old one; no one knows his name as he does not speak. He’s a legend in these walls, I haven’t been here enough to know much about him and the others are the same, he’s always been here it seems.’A relic from times past, here to remind the others that this would be their end, no matter if it comes in form of a sword or old age.’ Is what I used to think before I bore witness to his display, he is no mortal.

I hear whispers of how he tore at the soul of the guard with his gaze alone, how else would he get the keys thrown in his cell. The people here are hardened, these are the veteran cells; they keep the newly acquired slaves in a separate hold. I quickly think of how many ways this can go, and I don’t find many that end well. “We need weapons,” I whisper to the crowd, some turn to face me, while others quiet down, “we need to be wise in dealing with this chance.” My words carry weight, as more faces turn to pay attention now, “ Take what you can from here,” I say while looking around, “break that table and chair,” I point to the left corner of this poorly lit hall, “use whatever means you can, if one has a weapon have three others follow.”

Making sure everyone’s heard me I precede with my plan, “Once we’re all divided amongst our groups and ready, we’ll go outside and spread out in the courtyard. We need this to happen quickly, so when we’re all ready, we’ll pour in quietly, in and to the sides. When every target is accounted for we’ll end them.”

Complaints start surfacing from the crowd, "What if they alert the guards?!", one of them growls. "Aye, we would best storm them in and take control of the hold!", another hisses. A dull clanking sound is heard in a steady beat, all eyes turn to find the source; locking on to the figure of the old one, the Immortal.

“We don’t have much time!” my words flow out like venom. “If they yell, or somehow sound an alarm from the kitchen; we still kill them, only then we’ll need two groups with weapons at each doorway to the other rooms.”

“Once the kitchen is cleared you have no reason to follow me, but remember, we are free now, don’t let them take you back here.” I am received with some nods of approval, a slight chance at success is still better than none at all.

The muffled sound of breaking wood echoes through the hall, some here decided to use the few heartbeats of time to pray to their gods; some offer gratitude, others beg for guidance. My mind turns elsewhere, I recall my first raid with the party, boarding a cargo vessel carrying valuable ores. The thrill it was, fighting for your life on a little piece of land in the middle of the sea. Like nations fighting over territory, so were we. Fighting for what we sought to gain and keep, protect and conquer, we were the patriots of the sea.

Back then it was simple, follow orders until you can only hear the beating of your heart and let loose what it holds inside. Each side pushed the other to the point of surrender, sometimes it was psychological warfare, following a ship from a distance, slowly closing in. Never too close, but always in sight. Other times we would turn off our lanterns and ram the sighted ship in the middle of the night. Me personally, I prefered the waiting game, even if they didn’t give up straight away it still weighed heavily on their spirit, and a weary sailor, tired from lack of sleep was much less inclined to put up a fight.

My time was mostly spent at sea, I grew closer to it than ever before, I was addicted. Land started to feel unwelcome and foreign, its surface too hard and my feet too steady. I longed to return to the waters, to the freedom that was offered only to those who chose to take to the sea, making it their home. What turns a place into a home though, Is it the door, the bed, the walls, or is it family?

For me it was where I took off my boots before climbing into the bed, the waves rocking the ship and guiding my way to slumber. It was where I unstrapped my sword and felt safe instead of anxious, where the horizon was my only view, reinforcing my mind with possibility of endless discoveries beyond it. My home lies at sea, carried by the wind and supported by the waves, and it will always remain so, my home.

Time is up, the men stand ready and the door slowly opens, and light starts pouring in through the gap. With my hand covering my eyes I step forward; my feet gently brushing against the grass. Scanning the courtyard with my eyes I spot a guard; lying on the grass, with his back pressed to a tree trunk. His eyes are open, but the ground is soaked in his life blood, his own hand still holding onto to the knife. His frame is still, unmoving, serene.

A figure emerges from behind me, moving in the direction of the resting guard with clear purpose in every stride. I recognize the figure as the Immortal one, my gaze follows him as he bends a knee before the guard, no noise is heard as he stays there for a few heartbeats. After which he reaches out to close the still open eyes of the guard; whose name escapes me, in a show of respect if i’ve ever seen one.

One more moment passes by until the Immortal stands up, and turns to face me; pointing down at the guard. I follow his finger and my eyes catch the sword, as well as the knife the guard carried, “Take his weapons.” I say, to no one in particular. I return to the task at hand, to the feeble plan i came up with. “Get in positions,” I mutter as I keep moving along the wall; drawing closer to the kitchen doors with every step. “Keep quiet and stay low.” the words ride on my breath as the doors slowly open, and we start pouring in. Keeping low and moving stealthily, we spread out, waiting for the others to get inside.

There are no guards in the kitchen before feeding time, they only patrol here once the cages are opened and we are in chains, so the people here present little danger. I signal the ones wielding weapons to move into positions, so that each and every one of the staff is dealt with in the shortest amount of time possible.

The kitchen itself is the smallest part of the room we’re in, most of it is the table hall, consisting of small tables with a low ceiling and no chairs. The staff here work behind a counter to the right of the door we entered through, where the ceiling is also higher, as to not suffocate the staff, with the heat rising and all.

We move to; and around the counter, staying low and quiet. The closer we get; the hotter the air becomes, steamed meat and vegetables fill the air as our time to act draws near. The clanking of the cauldrons muffles our steps, and the smoke from the fires hides our presence. The time has come.

I wave my hand forward and the men spring to action, the kitchen staff are six in number, two women stirring the cauldron, one man feeding the fire with wood, and two more men are chopping the ingredients, with one more woman mixing bread dough.

The very same woman was to first to go, as she was the closest to us from the right of the counter, next were the men, being dispatched swiftly with a blunt hit to the back of the head each. By this time the rest of my kill squad almost made their way to the cauldron, that's when things started to go wrong. The man stoking the fire saw their approach and got up to yell, his breath leaving his body before he could be silenced.

“Two groups to the doors, now!” I yell, the time for stealth is up, the opportunity lost. “Keep to the left of them and wait, once they open unleash hell.” I receive grunts in reply, the pressure is felt by every man here. “The rest of you, search the kitchen for whatever weapons you can find.” This was the most probable outcome, plan for the best but expect the worst, right? Shit.

I grab a knife from one if the tables and walk to the rightmost door, whenever we finished our meals we would always take the leftmost door, to the arena, safe to say that wasn't the way out. “Open the door, slowly.” I whisper, as I turn to the man to my left. “And if I take a step back, throw your club straight through.” I receive a nod and the door opens.

Beyond it appears a hallway, lit with torchlight, light footsteps can be heard from the distance, good. “Close the door,” I whisper as I take a step back, “I have an idea.” I walk back to the kitchen and beckon the rest to follow, once we’re all gathered I start going through the new plan.

“The guards were going the other way, this means we still have some time-” im interrupted by one of the men, a tall one, built for speed rather than for strength. “Than why not lay ambush to them?” he speaks, with anxiety dripping from his words. “Too risky, I would have as much of us alive as possible,” I answer, building on the momentum I continue, “What I suggest, is for one of us to wear the dead guards attire, and take another one of us with him along the hall, in loose chains. As they pass the guards in the hallway, they will end them from behind, dragging them back here.” I let the thought soak in before the questions start to flood in, and to my surprise, i'm met with silence.

“I’ll take it that you all agree,” I look each man in the eye before I go on, “Once we have their bodies as well, we’ll strip them and outfit two more of us, then we’ll repeat the process. Three guard with three prisoners, walk the hall until you see it branch out and take the turn together, any guards you see, you kill and take them back here, and if you happen to find a group of them, don't engage, come back.” The plan is not perfect, but it’s something to work with, hope is a mighty weapon if wielded right.

Once we had the first pair outfitted, one in uniform, and the other in chains, they set out. The blood was washed away with hot water, as to not provide the other guards cause for suspicion. Time slowed its pace to a crawl, the men and I stood on our toes, ready to cause havoc if the plan were to fail and we’re discovered. Sweat slowly made its way down my back, my mind racing with all the possibilities I failed to think of. What if they manage to find a way out and leave the rest of us, what if they get lost on the way, what if they’re discovered with the bodies of dead guards on the way back.

I loosen the grip on the knife I held, noticing my knuckles return to its previous color as blood resumes its travel. I feel my heart pumping blood faster to compensate its previous blunder, the body needs to be balanced if one's head is to remain on his shoulders. I look around at the men who share this position with me, how did they get to be where they are now, what do they call themselves, where shall they go. Now is not the time to be making conversation, this I know, maybe we’ll get another chance after our future is secured.

A knock is heard on the door, my eyes dart to the wooden structures, my body tense but ready, “Open it,” I whisper through gritted teeth, I need not tell the men to get ready, each and every one of them a veteran, they know what to do, without me being here to remind them. As the door opens all of our tension evaporates, the pair returns with broad smiles on their faces, eyes shining with satisfaction.

“Here’s to drinking on the job,” says the one who wore the chains as he drops a dead guard from over his right shoulder, “never thought it would be that easy, I tell ya.” he finished saying as he tugs on the chains he previously wore with his left arm, dragging two more guards that are attached to each end of the chain.

“We met the guards on their return rotation,” said the one dressed as a guard, “they offered a nod as they passed by me and my prisoner.” he smirks as he looks down at the two bodies he just dropped behind, he dragged them by the laces of their boots.

“We now have five more vacancies to fill.” laughs a man, built as a boulder, his muscles are as if wired onto his frame and strained to maintain their tension. “The ones that match their frame,” I say while looking down at the bodies, “get dressed, the rest of us will wear the chains, we leave when ready.” The moment the words leave my mind the situation changes, hope is our leader now, and I its voice. Awe was present in the eyes of every man here, never before has anyone escaped from the arena, and now; thanks to the Immortal one, we have a chance.

‘I will have what was mine’, the thought echoes from the corners of my mind, slowly increasing in volume, reminding me of what was lost, and what is to be regained. My name was taken together with my home, the former replaced with a brand, the latter with a cell. At sea I believed myself without equal, a part of nature in the flesh, wreaking havoc from shore to shore, island to island. No fort was too big, no ship was too fast. That was until my first encounter with true power, it was then that the sea itself abandoned me. The waves turned against me, the winds betrayed me, lightning rained from the sky; thundering with treachery.

I was powerless, helpless, and small. What I witnessed that day I believed to be a dream, a nightmare. I had only heard tales of such events, thinking them exaggerations of chance. But my eyes were swiftly opened, just in time to gaze at the chains being placed around my arms. A small part of me died that day, together with my men. I watched them being chained together to the mast. I watched the oil barrels being emptied overboard and into the water.

I watched the oil being set aflame. I watched my ship burn. The screams I heard pierced my soul, and tore at my mind. I heard my name being called with every dying screech, with every hollow wail. My captors told me that I should be thankful that the smoke obscured the sight of their faces, but it just left more to the imagination.

“Help me spread the oil,” I speak to no one in particular, my mind being elsewhere. “this place will burn.” Questions are asked but I hear them not, actions must be taken, this place will burn, and from the ashes I will pluck the fruits of satisfaction at worst, and at best the fire will provide a reason for so many ‘slaves’ to be herded off from the cells at the same time.

I turn to face the men once more, finally regaining some clarity of mind, “The flames shall aid in our escape, people are to be occupied by the fire, not by us.” I explain, “Oh and what a tale it would be, would it not?”, I finish with a satisfied smile. More is to be done, but the kindlings are in place, soon a feast will be had, a feast like no other.