The War of the Isles

18. Adrian

I remember my good old days as a young child. My family and I hailed from Synon. It was a small town situated northwest of Macabara. Having spent my entire childhood there, I had never been fortunate enough to see the sea. When I used to plough the soil in my father's potato farm and let the water from the well flow between the ploughed regions, I would dream of the sea. When I would move haystacks from one stable to another, I thought of the sea. It had been my ultimate dream to become a seaman for the king back then. 

That was until our great King sent over Eighty Dragons all over Macabara and the surrounding regions. When the Duke's uprising had taken form, the king had decided to dismiss it in one go.

That night it was my turn to work in the stables. I bid my siblings and my parents a good night after dinner in our cottage. I then walked to the stables, lifted the blankets and began covering our horses. 

And suddenly I heard a loud roar. I rushed out of the stables and looked towards the sky to see a pack of dragons spitting flames all over my field, moving towards my barn and finally, my cottage. Before I could react to anything smoke filled my lungs and I found myself choking, wondering if this was how I was going to die. I could hear the screams of my sisters from the cottage, where I stood. 

I had finally glimpsed the sea. Only that it had been a sea of flames. I fell unconscious soon after, only to regain consciousness the next morning, and find the only world I knew charred into ashes. 

That was the true beginning of the uprising.  I promised myself that I would devote the rest of my life to the downfall of the Achmans. And so I volunteered to fight for the duke.

Part of my reason for falling in love with Leslie, was also because of her vehement hatred for the King. I knew this because on one occasion I remember her spitting on the portrait of the King that hung so magnificently in the Dome of Macabara, during my initial years in the Forty Second. 

On another occasion, when we had captured an Achman, she had ordered our prisoner to be publicly flayed, disobeying General Wagner's orders after our prisoner shouted - "All Hail King Leopold." It was as if, she had a personal vendetta against him.

Today as I saw her in front of the younger Charles Arco, I could see the same fire in her eyes. Arco knelt with his hands coffee behind him, his head bleeding, and his eyes closed, whispering something in the Medinian Tongue. 

"Bhramn anant... Bhramn anant..."

Leslie enraged, snatched a large whip that young Benjy was holding and flicked it at him.

The whip cracked and hit his back. Arco winced in pain but continued his chant.

"Bhramn anant..."

"Shut up!" shouted Leslie, as her deep voice reverberated around the damp dungeon walls. I could see Benjy stiffen up in fear. He looked pale and frightened to be here. The other soldiers looked on, unsure of how to react.

"Bhramn anant..."

"Talking to your false gods will not save you, you fool."

"Bhramn anant..."

Leslie shook her head in distaste. "Weak man! Fool! To think you are the son of the same Old Bone, who once controlled the seas all the way to Kala Bay. What would he think of his son I wonder?"

"Bhramn anant..."

"The fuck does that even mean?"

Arco opened his eyes. He radiated no fear nor worry. He seemed strangely at peace. A man who looked like he had accepted his circumstances. I could not help but admire his countenance.