The Three Kings

by Slawomir Rapala

Chapter IV: Empty Heaven

part 3 of 5

Did he, though? The truth was that since his desperate ploy did not succeed and the death he had spent so much time preparing for was rendered impossible, Iskald had little choice but to accept his fate.

As days went by he regained most of his composure and he no longer raged or despaired outright as he had before. He succeeded in a difficult trial that fate forced him to take, a trial that a weaker individual would have failed miserably by either dying or going mad. It did not take long for Iskald to appreciate that fact and as a result he promised never again to make himself willingly go through anything even remotely similar.

On the contrary, he decided to meet his destiny head on, regardless of what the future held in store for him. With this complete although unexpected change of heart, the young Duke vowed to fight for his life from now on instead of simply letting fate determine what was to happen to him. Having been so close to a terrible death, he realized just how dear life was to him, and he soon abandoned all thoughts of suicide, knowing that life, no matter how difficult and even wretched, was worth fighting for.

Having come to these conclusions, Iskald quickly and surprisingly became one of the most quiet and composed of the Tha-kian captives. Shira could not help being amazed at this sudden and unexpected reversal that Iskald had undergone, a change which the cruel guard attributed to his means of dealing with the young slave.

He boasted to the other guards about how it was his whip that had broken the boy’s spirit and saved them a bundle of gold at the same time. “This one,” he said to them, “is strong and healthy, and now he’s tamed. He’ll bring us plenty of gold,” he promised them. By saying so he saved Iskald from further beatings that the angry guards surely would not have spared him

Meanwhile Iskald also began conversing with Xunnax once again. Joint suffering brought the two boys closer together and the final few days of the nightmarish journey they spent getting to know one another, talking about their dreams that would never come true and sharing their fears about the coming future. It did not matter that one was a Duke and the other, the son of a simple fisherman. In the foul, filthy hull they were forced to share, bound by chains and misery, they were all the same.

Then one day Xunnax asked the question that was present on everyone’s mind: “When will this nightmare finally end?”

Indeed, their journey had lasted for at least a month now. Such a short time, but it seemed an eternity. It seemed that none of them had ever known anything else but the darkness surrounding them, the foul smell, the filth, the rodents and insects, the disease, the revolting food, the beatings, the humiliation, the insults, the pain, the suffering, the hate, and death. They longed for a change even if it was a change for the worse. The idle waiting they had to endure was inexplicably worse than anything they could expect from the future.

It had been nearly a month since they saw the sun, since they were stuffed into the pit, since they were torn away from their families and loved ones, locked in chains and stripped of the last bit of pride and dignity they had ever had. Uncertain about their future, beaten and maimed by the barbaric guards, they died one after another.

At the end of the voyage the pit was much less crowded than it had been a month before. The weak ones, especially younger boys, could not take the hardships and the torment, and they died under the Tha-kian whips.

Even some of the stronger ones had gone mad, having lost all hope for ever living through the nightmare. These were tortured until they could take no more, until the guards took them out one by one and threw them into the ocean. The victims screamed frantically and cried bloody tears; they were quickly preyed on by the bands of killer sharks that had followed the ship from the very shores of Lyons.

The captives that lived through the journey, those that cheated death and survived the horrible conditions, resembled the living dead, if there was ever such a thing. Their eyes were filled with dread and pain and they were all going mad, just like the ones before them. Only the lingering hope that their future would be less grim, only that vain hope kept them alive until now.

Xunnax and Iskald had endured the same anguish and agony of this seemingly unending journey as the rest of the captives. Iskald, however, suffered twice as much because of his pride, crushed and trampled by his primitive captors. Having been born and raised in great palaces and lavish comfort, having been promised the throne of Lyons ever since he could remember, having grown up under the guidance of a proud and valiant warlord, he found difficult to accept all that had happened to him.

How was he, Iskald of Lyons, transformed into this starving creature, covered with rags and sleeping in filth? His once soaring pride suffered greatly. And yet, he did not die like others did, he refused to go mad like so many others. On the contrary, it seemed as if anguish had strengthened his spirit.

His spirit, so weak at the time when he decided to die, was being strengthened now day after day, as he battled each evening to cling to the last bit of life and the last shred of dignity that still kindled in his maimed body. With each passing day and each battle won, his spirit grew stronger. He no longer thought of death; no, he only thought of life, life, and life!

And vengeance.

Everything in this world has its end, then, and it was destined that this dreadful voyage was to end as well. They were approaching their destination: the infamous capital of the Kingdom of Tha-ka, the very centre of hell, where human life was only worth as much as someone was willing to pay for it. The dangerously beautiful and exotic city of Dilli was slowly emerging from behind the horizon.

At last a day came when the ship halted. With a grinding sound the Tha-kians lowered the anchors and heaved them overboard into the shallow bay. A sudden and ghastly silence came over the entire vessel. The wretched creatures in the pit, not one of whom resembled a human being anymore, spent the long time that followed in terrible uncertainty as to what their future held.

Though the end of the nightmarish journey filled them with great joy, at the same time a horrible fear gripped their hearts as they fixed their eyes on the locked entrance to the hull. Their patience was put through another difficult test as they waited for a long time.

Finally, though, it opened and Shira came inside, holding a torch in one hand and his long whip in the other. He looked around keenly as if judging the contents of the hull and then shouted as he lashed the weapon out at the nearest boy: “Hah! Up, you filthy little maggots! Out you go!”

Having said that, the brutish Tha-kian began unchaining the boys, starting with the ones nearest the trap door. He cursed awfully at the same time, shoved and pushed the boys, kicked them and did not spare them his whip. Other guards soon joined him and the task was done much more swiftly. After they were unshackled, the slaves were pushed towards the door, up the short ladder and then outside, onto the sun-bathed deck of the ship.

When it was Iskald’s turn, he stopped for a moment trying to gain some composure and steady his feeble legs which he had not used in nearly a month. He stood swaying from side to side, blinded by the burning sun, gasping for air, fresh, fresh air!

His eyes were so used to the darkness that it hurt to open them. They filled with tears; he did not know if it was because of the blinding sun or the joy at finally leaving the foul pit. The warm light caressed his face softly and the young Duke would have stood still much longer, was it not for an angry shout: “What are you standing there for, you little maggot? Move it!”

At the same time someone gave him a hard push and sent him falling down to the deck of the ship. The same brutal hands then picked him up by the hair and hoisted him up. Another violent shake followed, but then the guard moved on to hassle another.

Left alone, Iskald tried to open his eyes again, but it took him some time before he finally succeeded. When his eyes finally got used to the brightness, Iskald looked and drank in the sight. He stood by the broadside of the ship, in a long line of boys, all of who were terribly weary and swayed from side to side on wobbly legs. They were a wretched sight against the beauty of the world surrounding them.

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