Jack Walsh: Refuge & Struggle

Refuge & Struggle

Jack. A Walsh

The rain would not stop, and the daylight would weaken with every step. He had travelled for days with the girl, eager to get her beyond the border of the very Empire he had been loyal to for his entire life. In one move Damascus had managed to sever all ties to the most powerful civilisation the world had seen. All for a slave girl that he himself had no real knowledge of, aside from a name and her incredible resilience.

Red lightning violently and forcefully struck the earth with incredible speed, and the silver clouds shook with great turbulence. The icy winds were fierce and unwavering, as they did not distinguish between flesh or stone. He could hear the unsettling sound of trees being torn apart, creaking, and splintering into many pieces. The wind had managed to pull stones from the mud and throw them at great speed. Damascus had covered the girl in a cloak to protect her from the elements and then covered his face with a bandana.

Maevia, a girl of a distant land, did not speak his native language and had no means of defending herself. But he had witnessed her fortitude, the pain and hardship she had endured at the hands of her master, Aereus. Damascus had always despised the man, a gluttonous fool incapable of mustering the strength to lift a single finger. Cruel by nature and incredibly shallow, Aereus had a violent reputation within the Patrician courts as a barbaric egotist with great wealth, but he was far from the worst. Damascus could not understand how the sight of this girl, the property of an imperial citizen, had made him make such a decision. To abandon his life as a loyal, law-abiding man with no criminal history for a life of crime and punishment.

He had seen slaves beheaded, beaten, and fed to bloodthirsty cave lions in the Gladiatorial Games, but somehow this girl had made him abandon his fealty. He had been branded a criminal for saving Maevia from a monster and fled from the capital with as much haste as possible. While his thoughts where indeed conflicted, he found himself pondering his decision to forfeit his life as a citizen and rescue a single slave.

Even as he moved through the dense storm, he couldn’t understand the reasoning behind his decisions, it simply made no sense. Dense rainfall continued to fall, and he found himself struggling to manoeuvre through the darkness with Maevia on his back as the relentless rainwater fell from the skies above. He had come back to the present, and the muddy earth beneath him appeared to have become even more treacherous. His footing had been greatly hindered by the terrain and it seemed to be getting more difficult with each step. Maevia

started to shiver, the cold winds were clearly having an effect on her. Little could be done however, and he pressed onward with the intention of finding refuge in a secluded location. Perhaps a cave? Maybe an abandoned house?

At this point anything would do. He scanned his surroundings in desperation for something, anything …

A sudden explosion of red light caught him off guard as a stray bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree, staggering him with a powerful blast of stray electricity and cold wind. Maevia let out a shriek of terror as Damascus struggled to keep his footing and fell to his knees, where he paused for a moment. Lesser men would have undoubtedly died from such a blast, and he reminded himself to never insult the Red Magician, lord of lightning and master of wrath.

If a stray bolt of lightning could be this devastating, he dreaded to imagine the full power of such a dangerous deity. Damascus could feel a burning pain spreading within his body, and the scent of burning leather filled the air as a plume of steam rose from his body. If it were not for his faith in Black Magic, he would have died many years ago.

The magical lightning passed straight though him and travelled deep within the ground beneath him.

‘Girl … are you … alive?’ he said in a strained voice as he slowly regained his strength and pulling himself up from the ground.

Maevia spoke softly and in an unknown language. She quickly climbed down from Damascus, who could only faintly see her in the darkness; walking, kneeling and then standing before him. He was not sure what she was doing, but the shimmering light from a distant lightning strike briefly revealed her expression. Damascus caught a glimpse of an exhausted girl with tears in her eyes, and a fiery expression that he had not seen before. The light faded and the world became dark again, and Damascus suddenly felt a small, cold hand pressing directly at his forehead.

Damascus was perplexed, ‘What ... are you doing?’ he said.

Yet another lightning strike produced another blast of feint light, and he saw that the girl had lowered her arm and was already starting to gesture for him to carry her once more. He obliged, but had no idea what Maevia …

Extreme pain suddenly engulfed his whole body, originating from the centre of his forehead directly where Maevia pressed her finger. For several moments he lost his ability to see entirely and began seeing images of unknown people and places he had never been before. He witnessed an enormous stone tablet made of solid gold emerge from a sea of molten gold, and the shining text upon the tablet was written in an unrecognisable language with letters that appeared to be moving.

Damascus looked around at his surroundings, he was no longer kneeling in a muddy field somewhere beyond the borders of the Empire. He found himself levitating in a void of golden clouds, and Maevia could not be seen anywhere. What was he seeing? It was unlike anything he could comprehend; he had studied magic his entire life and nothing mentioned anything that aligned with what he was witnessing. Bright yellow light shined directly down from the sky above, he looked up and to his horror he saw the sun. An enormous, eyeless maw of razor-sharp teeth, made entirely of golden fire and driven by a ravenous hunger. The vile creature written in history books and labelled as a myth. Damascus had always assumed it had been nothing more than a story, that the tales of how the Magicians covered the world in a veil of silver clouds to protect the world from the wrath of the sun.

What could this mean? His heart began to race.

‘WHAT … WHAT IS THIS?!’ Damascus bellowed, his voice echoing through the clouds.

The sun opened its mouth and let out a terrifying roar so loud that several comets fell from the clouds above. Damascus was petrified with what he was seeing … and then suddenly, he awoke. His eyes opened. The sun had disappeared, and his surroundings had changed. Damascus found himself lying on a wooden floor, staring up at a wooden ceiling within an interior he did not recognise.

The room was well lit, with several candles on the walls and a blazing chandelier overhead. Where was he? Damascus pulled himself up from the floor, placing a hand on his head. He got to his feet and scanned his surroundings. It was unclear if he was in a single room building or a room within a larger structure, but the layout of the interior looked well-lived, with furniture and even mugs visible on the counters. He was certainly not within any building of the Empire; the architecture was very different to anything he had seen before.

He started to move around the room, and while he was evaluating his surroundings, he could see Maevia fast asleep on a nearby chair, a blanket placed upon her shoulders as she rested soundly. Damascus was about to call out to her before the door suddenly opened, and almost out of sheer instinct, he dashed towards the doorway with his knife drawn as an elderly women entered with a ceramic plate of food. She let out a gasp as Damascus placed the knife against her neck.

‘Who are you? Where are we?’ he demanded.

The elderly woman started to breath heavily, and she replied softly.

‘I found you out in the meadow, I saw that you n-needed …’

‘Stop!’ cried out an unfamiliar voice.

Damascus turned around to see Maevia standing before them. Her eyes blazing with anger, she appeared to be fine. Her slave clothes had been swapped out with a small, white

woollen cloak that would certainly draw less attention. Damascus was glad to see her fine, but he couldn’t let his guard down.

‘Whoever said that, come out now or the old woman dies!’ he called, baring his teeth, and snarling like a feral dog

‘I SAID STOP!’ screamed the voice, and to his shock, Damascus realised that the second voice had come from Maevia, who was speaking in his own language with almost perfect fluency; he was bewildered by what he was seeing and shaken by what he had seen.

The room fell quiet in a moment of solidarity, Damascus could hear the distant sounds thundering rain battering and whistling winds from outside. In silence, and with the elderly women still at knifepoint, he briefly turned his attention to the elderly woman.

She was a short woman with a long gown and a coif. Her face appeared weathered and worn. Was she a nun? Was this a temple or shrine of some kind?

Damascus homed in on her eyes, and her terrified expression and dilated pupils told him everything he needed.

Whoever this woman was, she was no killer.

‘Put down your weapon, you damned fool.’ said a deep voice from behind.

The sound of several swords being drawn from their scabbards filled the room, and with hesitation, Damascus complied.

‘ … I … Where are we?’ He asked sharply as he lowered his knife.

With heaving breathing, she looked over Maevia, and then back to Damascus. She cleared her throat and spoke softly.

‘My husband Akulov found you on our lands, he brought you in and put you here. I came to check on you, we have supper ready.’

The elderly woman looked towards Maevia, still uncertain if she had made a terrible mistake and a poor decision.

‘Maevia? Is that the name of your daughter? She was frantic. Akulov had to have our eldest bring you indoors. ’

‘Stasia! Step back, this man had a dagger to your neck! Look at his clothing, an imperial … you made a poor choice bringing them here. ’

The elderly woman clapped back at the voice.

‘Akulov, I know the difference between an imperial soldier and a struggling father!’

Damascus stood still, deciding if it were best to seize the moment and grab Maevia. The windows on the walls hung just below knee level, but he had no way to determine if they were above ground level or several stories high.

He looked back to Maevia, who had remained standing, not saying a word.

‘ … I … erm … apologies for the knife … I … it’s been a very challenging day,’ he said, still struggling to understand everything.

The woman nodded sternly, and with an agitated gesture, Akulov walked past Damascus.

He was an elderly man likely no older than his wife and carried in his hand a sharpened short sword. They moved towards the doorway before turning once more towards Maevia and Damascus.

‘The meal is hot, join us when you are ready,’ said Stasia.

Akulov locked eyes with Damascus once more, clearly suspicious of him and his intentions, and then followed his wife through the doorway into an unseen corridor leading to an unspecified part of the building.

Damascus kneeled down to Maevia; she clearly spoke.

Could she have understood him the whole time?

That couldn’t have been true, her slave notice said that she was a land on the other side of the world.

‘Maevia, did you … ’ Before he could even finish his sentence, Maevia spoke.

‘Talk? Yeah, we can finally understand each other.’

Damascus was shocked. He didn’t know what to say.

‘You know my name already, but what is yours?’ she asked.

He paused for a moment.

‘I am Damascus.’

Maevia nodded softly, he was not entirely sure what was going on. He stood up, and before he could ask any questions, he found himself being pulled by his sleeve by Maevia towards the hallway.

‘Hey’ he blurted out. Unable to finish his sentence, as Maevia replied hastily before he could get another word in.

‘No time! They are kind people, and we can talk later! They have food!’ she said.

He was forced to go along with her, and as they approached the hallway he was struck with the scent of cooked meat and wine. Several weeks living on soup and dry bread had seemingly dulled his sense of taste, as he felt an almost uncontrollable hunger.

‘It’s lovely food,’ said Maevia. ‘Come on!’ she called, pulling his sleeve even tighter. He was forced to trust Maevia’s intuition, and perhaps it was for the best.

Damascus sheathed his dagger and took Maevia by the hand, they wandered down the hall together.

Faint sounds of laughter and music grew stronger with every step. The questions would have to wait, he needed a sturdy meal.

He would enjoy this moment for as long as he could, and perhaps it was even more important for Maevia.