[Courtyard of Jackals] Prison Blues (Hirem)

[Colombina]

TS: Early Spring

The Jackals knew little of due process and speedy trials. Hirem was kept beneath the massive sandstone square that comprised the Courtyard of the Jackals for weeks.

His cell was lit only when a guard was on active duty. Three times a day, true sunlight slipped in, quick as a serpent, from the door in the ceiling where Jackals came and went. With their arrival came a lonely breeze of human sounds and fresh scents. It was a rare flutter of life beyond stone and metal.

Other prisoners came and went, usually Eypharian drunks or petty criminals awaiting judgment from the Scepter of Scales. They hooted at Hirem and maligned his people aiming for the thrill of his sour reaction.

Oddly, the Jackals were not especially cruel. They gestured little and spoke less austere as their helmets implied. The extent of their interaction was a demand for used dishes. Hirem lived off onions and a lukewarm corn meal. His skin reeked of the vegetable after the first week.

Liviya had been released shortly after her punishment. Often Hirem could have sworn he heard her voice beyond the walls, petitioning for entry, calling his fake name. She was stubborn as any Benshira matron.

[Hirem]

For all that the Eypharian Jackals did not do, Hirem was left to torture himself inside the small room that was his prison. His spirit was battered and broken, his will sapped and drained, he was in pain that had no release, agony that drew no outside pity or mercy. The lights of the outside world, the happy memories that came surfacing, the other prisoners jeering and laughing, they did not release him from this distant trance. It didn't matter if there was a city above him, nor did it matter if there were no large, impregnable walls around him and he was free to wander about. THere was only him, and his own mind. What have I done? That was the most common mantra for Hirem, a chant to repeat in his head over and over as he breathed, ate, slept. What horrible, monstrous acts had he been prepared to do in service of his god? Even worse, how much of that will to destroy all Eypharians had been his? After all, Yahal, guiding his path as the wise shepherd he was, had led him straight to a man marked with his own Gnosis, a man that Hirem had been determined to kill. There was no coincedence there: Hirem was meant to try to attack Osahar. The name and person attached with it had intrigued him the very day that it was mentioned, a valuable target to go after. The excitement he had felt that day, the excitement of having a chance to kill an Eypharian noble, now sickened him to his very core. The other mantras were less focused, less ordered. There was general chaos in his head, with rivalling thoughts and ideas fighting for control in his pysche. There was one definite thing to this order, though: Hirem would never attack an Eypharian again. That much was clear to him. What was not clear was what exactly Yahal was planning with his life, what divine purpose he had that made the poor shepherd leave his home and family for years to discover, a purpose that caused him to alienate himself from his very race because he had a foolish notion to destroy all Eypharians. He wished that he could just divide his thoughts into seperate sides, but he could not. As quickly as he picked up on a new strain of thought, he would abruptly drop it for another one. All of these new revelations sent his head spinning as he tried to collect them all. This was all a test by Yahal, sent to test your resolve, said one. There is no Yahal, don't you see, cried out another. You've been fooling yourself with your delusions of grandeur; there was never any divine reason for your racial hate, you were just too scared to look in the mirror and see what horrors awaited you in your own reflection. This mental breakdown hurt far worse than the hunger, the verbal abusement from the other prisoners and the glimpses of the outside that he experienced. In all these other activities, he was simply indifferent. He would stare blankly ahead as the other captives insulted his mother, glance briefly up into the outside light then stare back down into his cell. He would eat quickly and efficiently, never begging for more. If this was to be his only sustenance in the cell, then he would take it gladly. Liviya had been released after the first week of imprisonment, though it felt like an eternity to Hirem. He had not missed her look of concern that had passed his way as she left the jail, but he did not particularly care. He was terribly sorry for what had happened to her, but instead of lamenting over her loss, he used it as an excuse to be even more cruel to himself, using her as an example of what terrible sins he had commited. The truth of the matter was that this second week in imprisonment would probably be Hirem's last. Every day that passed in this cell was another day closer to his demise, either at the hands of the lepers and criminals of Hai, or by his own conflicted mind. He wondered if there was to be any salvation that would come to him, or if Yahal had simply given up on his disillusioned child. The third morning of the second week was one that contained a surpise for Hirem. As he blearily shaked his head and pushed himself into a sitting position on the small, lumpy mat that he had for a bed, one of his guards ran an armoured finger along the bars, drawing Hirem's attention immediately. The Benshiran's mood fell as he realized that it was Set, probably come to irritate him further. Set was an Eypharian Jackal that was quite unlike the others stationed in the jail. For one thing, he was about as short as an Eypharian could get, quite a diminutive prescence on the outside. His other difference was the contempt he held for all living beings, something that betrayed the usual iron faces of the Jackals. None of the Jackals even spoke a word to the prisoners, but Set greatly enjoyed harassing them in brief, vulgar comments, knowing when and where to say the right things that would cause blood to boil. His use to the Jackals was made obvious on Hirem's first day; the Benshiran had glanced down at Set to get a proper glance at the man, and Set had delivered a punishing punch to his ribs that knocked all the wind out of them and allowed Set to toss him into the cell with ease. Set, however, didn't seem too happy today. "Oy, nutball. You got a friend coming in." His face conveyed his disbelief that anyone would ever want to visit a man like Hirem in jail. Hirem furrowed his brow as he considered the statement by the trouble-maker, finally laying his back against the wall. "By who? And how did they get in to see me?" Set finally took a sadistic smile as he nudged his face up against the bars, his eyes dancing with glee. "A lady friend of yours, actually. Can't imagine why she wants to see you, but, judging by what she's offering to see you, you must be a lucrative customer."

[Colombina]

Hirem lifted his head towards the soft rustling of a woman's linen stola. Liviya, she must have finally pressed her way in. The determination of Benshira was more useful to them in the desert than any amount of arms or twice lidded eyes.

But this was not Liviya. Six tawny arms pulled rare purple fabric across an imperious face and over henna tinted hair. She dropped mizas into Set's hand without looking at him. By the clinking sound, the audience was dearly bought.

Though her features were mostly covered, the woman betrayed a sense of scorn for the guard and her surroundings. She gave everything a wide berth, afraid to touch something so mired as a jail.

When the Jackal exited, the lady looked no less at ease, but she dared to speak.

"You are a fortunate man. More than you deserve. I am a messenger who loathes her message."
She came nearer the cell. Her throat hummed before she spoke a canned message.
"A follower of Yahal would have you know the god's faithfulness even to the wanderer."

She withdrew a hard piece of bread from her pocket and dropped it on the ground before kicking it through the bars.
"Something of use within," her eyes turned upward from a cruel smile, "I'm afraid you'll have to hide it effectively. Enjoy."

[Hirem]

As the lady withdrew from the cage and Set took his place outside Hirem's cell, he shot the piece of bread that was currently on the dusty ground a questioning look, but he appeared not to care, and withdrew his gaze and resumed his patrol like the meeting had never happened. However, Hirem's mind was racing. Liviya had sent aid! She meant to help him! Hope shot through his tired form, and was instantly shot down by his dismal surroundings.

Hirem slowly leaned down to pick up the piece of bread, and sat down against the cell wall as he bent his head over. What hope was there in this little piece of bread? Nothing that small could help him escape. Only divine intervention could save him, and Yahal must have given up on him. He sighed, and brought the piece of bread to his lips. Might as well find out what was in this thing, and with the guards watching, he could only find out by chewing.

So he took a tiny bit of the piece, swallowing the hard portion of bread down his dry throat with disdain. Nothing unusual there, so he took another small bite, and again, nothing. There was still a lot of bread left, so he chewed up another piece of bread, and another and another. Was there anything in here? He doubted it.

And it was only when he reached the last bit of bread that he finally found Liviya's gift. As he took the food into his mouth, suddenly an overwhelming wave of sour taste and horrible flavor burst in him. He moaned in surprise, eyes squinting with the horrible taste of the bread. He felt like he was about to vomit right there, but he managed to hold his stomach, staring at the bread in shock.

There was something lodged in the bread, something dark and chewed up. He glanced up at the entrance to the cell door, and found no one watching him. He quickly pulled out the mysterious object out, and threw the bread against the wall, bringing the object to his eyes. It was a black little seed, with one end partially chewed off, which was what Hirem had bitten into.

He winced as another wave of revulsion passed through him, and he closed his palm around the seed, bringing it to his chest as he waited out the pain. Liviya had given him a seed, a seed that caused him to become sick instantly. She had given him poison. Did the Concubine mean to kill him? He didn't think so, which meant that he had to figure out a way to use this seed. He let his mind wander as his stomach churned in protest, wondering what possible use a poisonous seed could be to him.

[Colombina]

Hirem dreamt vividly that evening. He dreamt his breath had been whisked out of his lungs and some ghastly creature squatted on his chest, pressing down his heart. It's scaly hands smothered him, covering his mouth as guards came to his cell. His eyes felt dry and his vision was milky.

"Di-ra!" one guard shielded his mouth and nose, cringing at Hirem's prone body. After this oath, Hirem understood nothing as the guards gathered speaking rapid Arumenic. In his dream they prodded him and burnt his skin, but he could do nothing.

Hirem awoke with mingled horror and understanding. He was in darkness and a foul smell pressed all around him. A scratchy bag contained him, moist with whatever had been piled on top of him. It smelt like a meal's refuse in summer, sickly and sweet. He could only blink his eyes, all else was numb.

He was rocking back and forth moving across uneven terrain. Horse hooves clopped at a gentle pace.

"Stop, Sir, a proposition!"
The hooves stopped and the same voice continued.
"Who are these?"
A deeper voice accented with hissing answered.
"Prisoners."
There was a long pause before the other asked, "How much for one? I am a medic in need of bodies."
More hesitation, as if the hissing man was appalled by the very suggestion.
"Fifty mizas... for any but the Eypharians."
"What is there?"
"One slave and one northman."
"Which bag for the slave? And is he whole?"
"Whole enough for you. The one with the red mark near the bottom."

There was a jingling as mizas exchanged hands. Dead elbows and hands struck Hirem's bag as the bodies were rolled and tugged around him. Finally he began to slide, his head being banged about until he hit the ground with a thud that made his teeth shake. Pain radiated through his shoulders, but there was no rest. He felt jutting stones scratch his body as he was dragged on uneven ground and finally over a door's threshold.

"Here it is, Sir. Dissect it as you will."
"How much was it?" The masculine voice was familiar.
"Fifty."
"Keep the rest and keep your tongue."
"Of course."

Suddenly a knife stabbed into the bag, stopping just above Hirem's heart. With a long slice the bag was split open, revealing the ceiling of a modest house and a cloaked head.

"Falim," the man said, not quite sure what was appropriate.
Hirem quickly noted he was Eypharian by the wealth of arm radiating from his body.
"You must still be numb. It will wear off soon."
The hood was pulled back to reveal a smiling Osahar.
"I have had fun planning this, but I doubt it was fun to experience."

[Hirem]

It had been quite easy to escape the prison, actually. He just had to eat the seed whole, and watch as the guards panicked and thought he carried some disease. He assumed he would find a way out later, but when they had shoved him into the bag, his spirits fell dramatically. He had no choice but to fall asleep amidst the bodies and hope for the best. The fever came soon after. His chances of escape seemed very slim at that point.

The dream, however, was another nightmare altogether. He didn't often have dramatic, prophetic dreams like the one that had started this mad quest, and nightmares were even rarer. But this one was all too terrible in his mind, as he relived every single moment of it in the cramped bag. He could see it as if it was happening to him now, see the horrible ghoul pressed down against his heart from above, feel the prickle of heat upon his cold skin. It was unsettling to say the least.

What happened next was fuzzy, but as far as Hirem could tell, someone had stopped the caravan asking for a body. The voice asking for this seemed familiar, but in this state he could barely guess at who it was. Instead he simply let himself drift, all too eager to descend into his feverish sleep... until someone let his head fall down into the rocks below, and a searing light flashed before his eyes. He moaned in pain, squeezing his eyes shut and locking his arms to his sides, hoping for a moment's rest or peace. All else was just mindless pain.

The first sound that truly registered with him was fabric being ripped apart by a blade. He opened his eyes once more, and saw a steely blade poised above his chest. The Benshiran jumped, but the knife was soon pulled away and the bag fell apart around him. Up above him was a hooded man, peering down at him with his four arms positioned all around him. Hirem tried to speak, but before he could let a slurred word stagger from his lips, the face of Osahar was revealed to him once more.

His heart dropped from his chest down into his stomach, and he could only gape in shock at the Jibade's apperance. He held his surprise for a few moments before any semblance of coherent thought formed in his mind. The Benshiran let out a beastial cry and tried to reach for the Eypharian, only achieving a little shake in the end. "You!" He snarled, and he tried as hard as he could to attack Osahar. At this point, Jibade Osahar was akin to anger in his mind, the man that imprisoned him in the first place.

It was only after a bit of this did Hirem stop, breathing deeply and staring at Osahar with a sick look to his face. He took a few deep gusts of air, trying to summon up his patience and calm nature. It was hard, and in this hazy state, it was easier to feel anger than tolerance. But Hirem managed to settle himself down, and tried to reach for a few questions. The simplest one stuck out the most in his mind. "Where am I?" And he added, "Why?" for good measure.