CHAPTER 09: CUT THROATED UNION

When the boy asked for "Lucius, the man with the silver hair" he didn't expect being captured. He should have. But he didn't. All that ran through his mind as he sat on the red tiled roof in the pitch black night, as he waited out the guards, was revenge.

Lucius was going to pay. Just like those other soldiers, and this time, he would slay that man with his own dagger and watch his blood pour through his mouth as he gargled an apology. 'If he gives me an apology… the old goat…' the boy thought. "Why can't Melpomene take a break…? Just for a little while…" he grumbled under his breath as he resisted the cold wind nipping at his unprotected shoulders. He glanced up again, checking if the grey clouds that blocked out the evening sun was still pregnant with rain. Rain that will be freezing cold, no doubt. He shuddered violently and yanked the cloak over his shoulders and neck, grateful for the warmth of the thick brown clothes. As he sighed, mist dispersed and perished before his eyes. Summer's reign had died and it was soon time for Winter's disjointed coronation. As bleak as it was getting, the hidden presence of the sun beneath the clouds gave him comfort. He hated that it did.

Octavian coughed in his hand and crawled over to a chimney, the bricks were remotely warm here, so he sat there and thawed the ice from his veins and ignored the thick stench of the black smoke that snaked up into the sky in wisps. The clang of the Iron Gate just below him stirred him from the sobering heat and he looked down; pale eyes regarded the unfolding scene below with slight curiosity. One guard—no, two— dragged some poor soul across the stone, he was screaming, digging his nails in and leaving blood trailing.

Seeing that this was a good time to practice, Octavian translated, "No! Please! Please! I have a family, a wife, kids… please!" The man was pleading, apparently, Octavian tasted the bitter gal that sat at the back of his throat; what he saw was sickening. His sobbing made the boy cringe, but he had a family too. Mustering up the reserve, the boy ignored the man's pleas and snuck in the door behind them. The black wood door was large and thick like a Cedar tree, situated in an arch, and locked with a heavy iron bar. When Octavian snuck in he pulled a hood over his head. A guard looked back.

"Ay, you!" Octavian looked up, his face shrouded in shadows. "Lock the doors. We don' want any one escapin' do we? Oh, do me a favor, kid, go up n' tell Tinian that we 'ave the man he accused of raping 'is daughter—"

"No! It's not true—I didn't… She said-she, she wanted—!" The man stuttered and then his words were brought to a halt as one of the guards slammed his elbow into the back of his head. With a crack the man's voice retreated behind a gasp and his head snapped to the side. He rubbed the sore spot gingerly. His dark eyes, sunken in the shadows of his sockets swiveled around and found the boy's, as if he was searching for sympathy. Help, maybe. Whatever he was looking for, it wasn't there in Octavian's eyes. The sudden frost in his stare made sure of that.

"Shatt-up! You will be judged be'ore the gods and council. 'N both 'ave no mercy." The unforgiving cackle from the guard gave Octavian chills. He needed to get his mother out of this place and fast.

The one that remained silent through the whole ordeal managed to wipe the disgust off his face long enough to give Octavian one more order. "And, also-" the bar fell suddenly and bounced twice as it locked into place, Octavian nearly panicked when the guard spoke to him—he chastised himself for being so careless, he could have lost a finger!

"Y-Yes sir?" The boy coughed in his hand.

"… Ensure that Tinian understands the price for this man's capture is high… but not high enough for me to kill him if my pay is not to my liking. Understand?" His gruff partner snorted in a laugh.

"Always about the denarius aren'tchya?" In comparison the soldiers were so different. The one with a harsher accent was buffer, wider in the shoulders, and was more relaxed. His brown eyes were squinting in the dim light.

"Well, that's why I do this… For the coin. Remember that Faustus. I'm not as lucky as you." The second one was sleeker, more lean than buff, but his commanding gaze and the cold calculating precision of his words and steady voice made Octavian jump. He was much scarier than his other. 'What an odd partnership…' Octavian thought.

He gave a toothy grin, "Of course I do, sir… Of course I do…" Faustus laughed, "Look at that, you scared the boy stiff, Drusus!" The guard remained un-amused.

"He should be frightened." Octavian felt his muscles become rigid and bit down the panic in his throat as Drusus came forward, his steps like thuds in the watery shadows. "You are in the house of the doomed, boy. Give our messages and leave. This is no place for you." He turned his back to him and ordered Faustus to hurry. Together they dragged the writhing screaming man away into the dimly lit darkness and to the chamber that laid deep in the bowels of the prison.

When the chains on the door rattled as it shut with a loud squeak, the boy suddenly realized that he was alone. The bare passage way was lit by torches, some of which were going out and left the red glow of embers for the darkness to eat later; the black charred stakes of wood dangled from their metal grips along the wall, carcasses of what were once glowing flames. Octavian felt pity as he walked passed them, ignoring the wailing of the criminals that rang out in the dense darkness further down the corridor. Their suffering didn't faze the boy as he continued, travelling deeper and deeper into the jail until it got so dark and damp that he almost thought that he was in a cave. Yet, the ground was still smooth with wet sand. It smelled of sea water… Were they near the sea?

Nearing a light, Octavian welcomed the burn of yellow and bleeding red and hurried his pace, when he saw the source, an open doorway down a long corridor was filled with the light, and the contrast was so deep that Octavian wondered how the bright yellow didn't pour into the corridor like syrup and color all the walls with its warmth.

"Who is this?" Octavian glanced up from his hood and his heart leapt into his throat. A large man with a spear was guarding the only door that lead into another section.

"I come to check on the man who assaulted Tinian's property—'

"Hold your tongue, nave! " The man barked at him, his helmet glinted in the light harshly but his eyes were hidden by shadow, which only made the man even more unnerving to talk to, "Do not speak of Lord Tinian's business like that, or I'll gut you like the spineless pig you are, slave."

Octavian nodded and bowed his head, 'Remember that… remember that you are a slave when you wear this cloak…' he chanted to himself as he approached the door. The guard opened it and watched him as he gagged. The stench was horrible. It was wet, warm and sat in the back of your throat no matter how much you coughed. It was probably rotting flesh and feces, the rank stink of piss was heavy in the air. Trying to ignore the memory of what Drusus said bother him, he stepped forward, stopping for nothing.

"Serves you right." The guard cackled at his expression. Though, there was some soft jeering in that laugh, as if he were only joking. The grin made the boy smile too.

"Th-thank you, Sir…" The boy choked out a response.

The screams were more like watery mumbles, the occasional gurgle resounded beneath wet coughs within the ebony. These people were not going to last long. Their death is promised to them here. They are dead men waiting for their release to the underworld. Nothing more. Walking carcasses. Octavian smiled softly, "Like you Lucius… " A loud muffled scream snapped him out of his attention. A woman was screaming, but not for help… Per say… Octavian would have walked passed that wing of the prison, but halted when he heard her. His mother. "Certa Aut Mori!"

Fight or die.

A smirk made its way across his smart face and turned into a fat grin, relief flooded his spirit, and like his tears that were building in the corners of his eyes poured over his cheeks, it overflowed. "Indeed... Mother…" He ran down the corridor, his heart racing as the sounds of clashing metal grew louder, and his stomach growing uneasy as unwanted memories forced their way to the surface. Mentally he found the door they pulsated behind and slammed it shut. He could still hear the insidious laugh of chaotic fire and screams behind the fragile metaphorical wooden door, hidden deep within the recesses of his mind.

Although using doors as an effort to lock away the memories was a neat trick, it didn't work all the time. The more he slammed the door shut, the weaker it became. The more cracks began to appear.

He panted, leaning his shaking frame on the hard cold wall of brick, dust trickled down and tickled his cheek. Another fitful cough forced its way out his chest as dust got in his eye. It felt sharp. The flesh of his eye grew warm with more tears, but he did not care. His mother was alive and well.

She had to be.

Slapping his face he focused on what was at hand—his problems would have to wait until he was done here. Spitting crimson to his side he raced off.

Swiftly turning a corner and going down the next hall, the blurred shadows and harsh light through the cracks of the brick wall, were swirling around him. Or was it jut his eyes playing tricks on him?

As he ran, dagger in hand, Octavian knew only one thing: fear and death parlay with a raging spirit.

And his spirit was raging like fire.