A Joust of Knights

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Boku hung on the crucifix that the Empire soldiers had nailed him to days ago, the last of his people alive since the great slaughter, somehow, despite his wishes, still clinging to life. He had stopped feeling the pain and agony—that had passed days ago. He no longer felt the agony searing through his palms, no longer felt the dehydration, the burning of the suns on his skin. He was beyond all that now, so close to death. All that he still felt was his intense grief for his people, all of whom had died beside him in their siege of Volusia, all massacred before his eyes. He craved to see them all again, and had cursed the gods that he had been left alive.

But Boku was too spent to even have room to curse now. There was nothing left in him but to die. He prayed to the gods with all he was to please let him die—and yet for some reason, they kept denying him. For days, the Empire had inflicted on him every kind of torture before finally nailing him to the cross, and still, no matter how much he craved it, he would not die. He drifted now in and out of consciousness, seeing his forefathers in a cloud of light, expecting any moment to be embraced by them, and wishing it to be so.

Boku opened his eyes—he did not know how much time had passed—and found himself to still be alive, caught in his harsh reality, his body numb, no longer feeling his hands or legs, and having to look down and see the piles of corpses of all the people he once knew and loved. When, he wondered, would this hell end? He would give anything for a swift, merciful death.

“Bring him down,” called out the voice of an Empire taskmaster, and for a moment, Boku’s heart leapt as he wondered if his prayers had been answered.

Boku felt his world shift, felt his cross lowered, felt his body go flat, then borne on the shoulders of several soldiers. He was set down on the ground with a bang, as they dropped him the last few feet, and a sharp pain shot up his spine, surprising him. He did not think he had any room left for pain.

Boku looked up, squinted into the glaring sun, until suddenly, a shadow passed over his face, and he opened his eyes wide to see the cruel Empire taskmaster, scowling down at him with his long fangs and horns. The taskmaster reached over with a pitcher and dumped freezing water on his face.

Boku felt like he was drowning. He felt the water go up his nose, felt himself immersed in it, and gasped as all the Empire soldiers laughed cruelly around him.

Boku felt water on his lips, and he licked them, trying to drink, desperate to be able to swallow. But there was none left to drink, adding cruelty to the torture.

Boku blinked and looked up at the taskmaster’s face, wondering again what he could possibly want, why he would bother keeping him alive. Why would he give him water? To prolong his torture, surely.

“Where are your friends?” he demanded, leaning over, his bad breath filling Boku’s face.

Boku blinked, confused.

“What friends?” he tried to ask, but his throat was too parched for the words to come out.

“Those from across the sea,” the man demanded. “Those of the white race. The ones you harbored in your village. The ones who fled. Where did they go?”

Boku blinked, his head splitting, trying to understand, his mind working slowly after so many days of silence and agony. Slowly, it came back to him. Before the massacre, that woman, what was her name….Gwendolyn. Yes. Her people….

It all slowly came back to him: they had fled before the battle. They had trekked out to the Great Waste, to try to find the Second Ring…backup for their army. Most likely, the Waste had taken them, too.

Boku looked up at the scowling face of the taskmaster, and realized now what he wanted, why he had kept him alive, had tortured him. It wasn’t enough for them to have killed him and all his people. They wanted to kill Gwendolyn and her people, too.

Boku felt a fresh resolve within him. If he had been unable to save his people, at least he could now save Gwendolyn.

Boku managed to clear his throat enough to speak:

“She went back across the sea,” he lied firmly.

The taskmaster grinned down, took a long, sharp dagger-like weapon with a curved tip, and plunged it into Boku’s ribs.

Boku shrieked screamed as he crammed it in farther, turning and twisting it; he felt as if his insides were being destroyed.

“You are not a very good liar,” the taskmaster said. “We found their ships burned. How could she have crossed the sea?”

Boku shrieked, blood coming from his mouth, determined not to speak.

“I will ask you but one more time,” he demanded. “Where did she go? Where are they hiding? Her people are not among the dead, and we have already ransacked your village—and all your caves. They are nowhere to be found. Tell me where they are, and I will kill you quickly.”

Boku’s pain was unimaginable, but he gritted his teeth and shook his head, tears coming from his eyes, determined not to give Gwendolyn up. With one great burst of energy, he managed to spit. He watched in satisfaction as blood from his mouth sprayed into the Empire taskmaster’s eyes.

The taskmaster, furious, reached down with both hands, pulled out the corkscrew, and plunged it into Boku’s chest. Boku felt an even worse agony, as the man pushed down with all his might, turning and twisting. He felt his bones breaking in every direction, an agony even he could not bear. He would do anything to make it stop. Anything in the world.

“I beg you!” Boku pleaded.

“Tell me!” the taskmaster replied.

“The…Waste,” Boku found himself screaming, involuntarily. “The Great Waste. I swear to you! I swear it!”

Boku wept, ashamed he had given them up. He had wanted more than anything to protect them, but the pain had been too intense, taking over his brain, making him unable to think straight.

Finally, the Empire soldier stopped, satisfied, and grinned down at him.

“I actually believe you,” he said. “Though I am sorry to say—it won’t save you.”

Several Empire soldiers stepped forward, daggers drawn—and Boku felt himself pierced by a million knives, in pain from every corner of his body.

Finally, he was able to let go. Finally, sweet death came for him.

Before leaving it all, embracing his ancestors, the great light, one final thought came to him:

I am sorry, Gwendolyn. I betrayed you. I betrayed you.