Chapter XXVI

Everyone was in their positions. Nobody made contact with the gaze of the other man's eyes. Nobody spoke. Nobody moved. The time was near…

If one of the guards looked into the cell and beheld this scene, he would have thought nothing of it. The prisoners seemed to be dark, bitter, and angry, as they were everyday.

Many of them sat alone like stone gargoyles, just as cold, just as hard, just as lifeless, in the corners, against the walls, in the parts of the cell that were clocked by shadow. Most of there men had their eyes closed, either sleep or too miserable to even raise their eyelids, but some of them peered out at the prison around them, watching with cold dark eyes, as the guards passed by their cell, as the other prisoners stirred, as a beetled scampered across the stone floor and slipped out under the gate of the cell. Then the man would look with envy at the beetle as it vanished from view, and gaze after it for several minutes, as if jealous at the fact that a beetle was free to go as he pleased, but he, a human being, was forced to stay locked up in this prison, bound by chains, for the rest of his days.

There were also those ominous groups of the prisoners, which, amongst the guards and prison officials, where known as the "very ghastliest of the whole wretched lot of them." These groups of men had gathered in their usual places, sometimes speaking to one another in low, terrible voices of conspiracy, but mostly they just sat there, glaring at the word around them with murderous hatred and anger in their vengeful eyes.

Aside from them, there were other scattered prisoners that were already the dead, incapable of feeling or of living. These prisoners sat or stood in random places, looking around with completely blank expressions on their lifeless faces, their eyes drained and dead, their souls, so it seemed, already departed. These prisoners looked at the word, as if they could not see, hear, nor under any of the things that happened around them. These men were dead already.

All of this was the same as it was everyday. Nothing was different. Nothing had changed. The prisoners were the same. Their hearts were still terrible, and their souls were still dead. If a guard looked into this cell, he would not have been able to sense the change.

But for the prisoners in side of this cell, today was different from all other days. Even within the hallow bodies of these emptied people, they could feel something stirring within their cold hearts. Something that they had not known in years. Hope.

Enjolras was in his place, leaning against the stone wall where he stood only a short distance away from the gate of the prison. He could feel his heart racing with excitement, and he had to make careful concentration to keep his breathing under control. But nothing that he was feeling was visible on his face. His eyes wandered glumly from place to place, watching the other prisoners, staring at the wall, watching small insects float through the air amongst the partials of dust that ventilated through the air and, then, turning his eyes to peer through the gate to watch with a bitter expression on his face as the guards passed by the cell. He was performing the same act that he put on when he was waiting for the guards to throw bread into the cell so that he could dive on it and stanch it up before the other men got to it. But now, he was not preparing to get to the bread and fight against his fellow prisoners, but to get to the open gate and then fight against the forces of justice.

Enjolras was staring blankly at a crack in the stone floor when he heard a pair of feet approaching the cell. It could have been another guard merely passing by, but instinct told him that this was it. The time was here. It was all about to being. What was now the dark, cold pits of hell were about to burst open and transform into perdition's flaming chambers, alive with terrible, lethal fire.

God, if You are we with me, help me. Help us get out safely. Help us escape. Protect us. And especially, protect Luc. Do not let him get hurt…

Enjolras waited. A moment later, he slowly raised his eyes to look at the gate of the prison. There was a young man in the black uniform of the guards was approaching the cell. He was carrying a few loaves of bread in one arm and the keys in the other. He was alone.

Enjolras recognized the young man. For a moment, he was not quite sure when he had seen him in the prison. Then, with an impact like a fist to the gut, it his him. Enjolras had been swimming in a world of strange sounds and shadows when this man had appeared, and, at the time, he had barely been aware of what was going on. But now he remembered. It was that day when Enjolras had first seen Luc. After he had saved the child and Jarreau, Bardon, and Goy had beaten Enjolras to the point of unconsciousness. Then, as he lied weak, bleeding, and dying on the stone floor, Enjolras vaguely remembered hearing the prisoners speaking to a guard. Enjolras weakly opened his eyes and he saw a blurry image of the face of a young man peering in at him through the bars of the cell. He remembered hearing Jarreau tell the guard to have Enjolras punished for starting a fight, but the guard had replied by objecting. "I think he had already been punished enough." Just after he had heard these words, Enjolras passed out again and did not wake until over an hour later. He never even thought of the guard again. Not until now.

Enjolras continued to watch the young guard, a passive expression on his face, as the young man approached the gate, fumbled with the key ring for a moment, and then jabbed one of the keys into the lock. Enjolras felt like his heart had rising from his chest and worked its way into his throat. The fire of fear burned in his stomach, but the fire of excitement and hope burned in his mind, his heart, his soul. He did not move. None of the prisoners moved. They had to wait…

The young guard turned the key to unlock the cell. Then placed a hand upon the gate to push it open. With a dull creak, like the moan of a dying man, the door slid on the rusting hedges and it opened. The young guard raised his eyes and was about to throw the bread into the cell, but when he looked up, his face turned to utter horror and he quickly tried to back away. The only thing he saw was the mass of prisoners charging at him like a stampede of cattle, closing in on him like a pack of wolves, caving in on his like a tidal wave.

The guard opened his mouth to let out a cry for help. But scarily any sound was able to escape his lips before he felt a pair of strong hands seized him by his throat, abruptly cutting off his voice and his ability to breath. Looked in horror at the face that glared back into his. He recognized the prisoner as the strong, brutal man, the ring leader of a gang of three, the man who often beat the other prisoners with his bare hands. It was Jarreau.

The young man struggled to get away, trying to cry out for help. But he could not get away because Jarreau was too strong, and he could not cry out because he could not breathe. Just when they boy's vision began to blur and he was sure that he would suffocate to death, Jarreau released him and flung him to the ground. He hit the stone, gasping for air and clutching at his throat. At once, all of the prisoners were upon him. Jarreau, Bardon, and Goy got to him first. Goy delivered the first blow, striking the guard in his face. The young man's neck whipped back and his head slammed into the stone floor. Goy hit him again. Bardon hit him. Jarreau hit him. Together, these three men hit him again and again, the way they did to Enjolras, the way they did to Luc. In less than a minute, the young guard was unconscious, but the prisoners continued to hit him.

The other prisoners stood all around these three, some of them chanting them on, some of them joining in, but most of them just standing there silently and watching. The three prisoners continued to hit this man. Bruises began to swell all over his face. Blood burst out of his nose, and began to run out of his mouth. They kept hitting him. They were going to kill him…

When Enjolras saw this, the helpless man, young, innocent, unconscious held down to the stone floor as these three prisoners mercilessly beat him, all he could think of was the way these same men did this same thing to Luc. "That is enough!" Enjolras cried, shouting to be heard over the triumphant cheers of the prisoners. He pushed through the mass of prisoners, trying to get to Jarreau and the others. But no one seemed to hear him.

Enjolras burst out at the front of the group. In one movement, he went to these three men and stepped out in front of them, standing between them and the unconscious prisoner. At once, in a rush of anger, Jarreau looked up to see who this was. When he saw Enjolras, his face darkened, and he rose to his full height, staring into Enjolras's eyes. Both of these men could feel the tension of two opposing forces slamming into each other in the war of beliefs that raged between them.

Enjolras looked directly into Jarreau's eyes. "That is enough," Enjolras repeated. His voice was softer now, but firm, strong, commanding. "We will not throw away any lives unnecessarily," Enjolras declared. "Ours or theirs."

Jarreau looked hard at Enjolras for a moment longer, not saying anything. It was hard for Enjolras to read anything on his face. Then, to Enjolras's utter surprise, the man gave a small nod and took a small step back.

This action seemed to shock Bardon and Goy even more than it surprised Enjolras, and once, they both rushed forward, moving past Jarreau, to scream in Enjolras's face. "What makes you think that you can order us about like dogs?!" Goy snarled at Enjolras. "What puts you above all of us?!"

"Besides," Bardon joined in, "what is it to you?! For what do you care about the fait of these swine?" He cast fiery eyes down at the unconscious guard, and would have kicked his limp body had Enjolras not been standing in the way. So, instead, Baron spat at the man's face.

Enjolras did not waver this entire time. He looked into Bardon's face, unmoved by his words and his threats, as if he had not heard them at all. "That is enough," he repeated a final time. Then he turned his back on the man to face the other prisoners.

Almost at once, Enjolras felt Goy seize him by his arm and yank him around. Enjolras was pulled off balance and stumbled, his left foot hit hard against stone ground and was burdened with almost his full body weight. Enjolras felt the pain cut through his leg, and a, that same moment, it gave out under the pressure. He fell.

Enjolras caught himself with his hands before he hit the ground, but his leg had already slammed into the stone floor. Overwhelming pain shot through him like a bullet. Starting in his leg, and then cutting up through his body, this his side, through his heart, up into his throat, choking him so that he could not breathe. His head began to pulse and his vision blurred. He could not hide the look of terrible pain that shown plainly on his face, as he clamped his eyes shut, wincing and gritting his teeth as he fought against the pain, as heavy breaths emitted out from his clinched jaws as he struggled to breathe.

Enjolras felt two strong hands seized him and violently yank him up off the floor. A moment later, he was thrown up against the wall and he saw Goy's gnarled faces sneering at him with mockery and scorn from less than a foot away. "So, you see?!" Goy scoffed. "You are not so much stronger than the rest of us. You are weak. And stupid! And I will not have you treat us as if we fall below you!"

"Goy!" a loud, furious voice cried out. Before Enjolras even turned his eyes to see who was speaking, he knew it was Agee. "That is quite enough, you fools!" the old man thundered. "You are the stupid one! How can you insult him now! Look at us! We have gotten out of our cell already. Under your lead, no one had ever gotten so far. You are stupid because you are selfish. Your pride blinds you. And you are also cowardly! Now, let him go. Time is short, and you are wasting it!"

At the accusation of being "cowardly," Goy's twisted face immediately snapped around to look at Agee, fury blazing in his eyes. Goy momentarily distracted, Enjolras was able to pull away from him and stepped away from the wall, so that he was no longer cornered. He raised his eyes and quickly looked at the faces around him. All the prisoners were watching. They had all seem how weak he was. If they were still to follow him, Enjolras would have somehow to prove, if it were still possible, that he was strong. Try not to show how humiliated he felt, Enjolras straightened up, composed himself, and tried to appear that he was still in control of the situation. Goy opened his mouth to speak to Agee, but before he could, Enjolras spoke, "Yes. Now is out chance. We must get moving!"

The mass of prisoners expressed their agreement, and Enjolras felt a wave of relief pass over him. They were still following him. So long as he did not blunder again, they might continue to follow him through the end.

But just as Enjolras thought this, Goy cried out in protest. "I will not take orders for you!" he hissed, stepping suddenly at Enjolras and snagging his arm. Enjolras stumbled again, but this time he did not fall.

"Goy!"

A third man suddenly stepped between Got and Enjolras, forcing Goy to release his hold on his arm. This man had his face turned to Goy and his back turned to Enjolras, so he could not see his face, and for a moment Enjolras did not know who this man was. Then, surprise and confusion hit him in his chest when he recognized the low voice emitting from this man's mouth.

"That is enough," Jarreau said. He spoke in a cold, almost threatening, voice.

Goy glared up at Jarreau with a look on his face that reflected the utter confusion that Enjolras also felt. He narrowed his eyes and shook his head slightly, as if to ask Jarreau what motive he could possibly have by doing this. When Jarreau did not reply, Goy's face took on the dark, terrible look of one who has been betrayed and is staring into the face of the traitor.

Jarreau's face became even harder and colder. "That is enough," he said one final time. Glaring at him with utter disgust as one would look at grim of the street, Goy turned his back to him and disappeared into the tide of men. Enjolras watched Goy leave. As did Jarreau. Just a moment after he was gone, Jarreau turned to Enjolras.

Enjolras looked up into this man's face and into his eyes, trying to see the human within them. But it was like looking into the night sky and searching for stars when they are all hidden by thick dark clouds, there was nothing to be seen. And like this dark void, Enjolras did not understand what really lied behind the veil of blackness. At one moment, he hated Jarreau with lethal fire that was prepared to murder if it came to it. But then, the next moment, he almost got the impression that Jarreau was on his side, and he perceived that he was looking at a completely different man. Enjolras stared into the stone hard face of Jarreau and tried to see him clearly. At last, he came to the conclusion that Jarreau was like many others in this prison, even like himself before Luc came into his life.

His soul was dark and cold, hardened and withered, fading and dying. Nearly dead. This dark, cold, hard, and hateful soul knew not the light, for it had forgotten it, and this soul was what compelled the man to act in hatred and in anger, in violence and in cruelty. But somewhere hidden deep within the depths of this darkness, was a faint, barely existing glow, the fading shadow of a warm light that had once shown clear and brilliant, still lingered. Very rarely, when something around him touched this dying soul, that faint light sprang forward, like a the sun rising on the horizon to lighten the world, and shown through just long enough so that the body could act. Then, when the moment was over, the sun would set again, and this light retreated back into the dark caverns from whence it hid.

Perhaps, this was what happened when Jarreau bowed his head to Enjolras and obeyed his orders, respected his commands. Perhaps, this was what happened when Jarreau stepped between Enjolras and Goy, his comrade, so to protect his Enjolras, his enemy. Perhaps, it was the hope of tasting freedom once more was the gentle finger that touched this man's cold soul and caused the flame to come forth.

Enjolras knew that, for a time, his own soul was on this grim decent into the darkest darkness, that of which lies not under the sea, or in a black cave, or in the blackest hour of the darkest night, but that of which is in the darkest center of a corrupted human soul. He knew that if Luc had not entered his life, he would have been the same way as Jarreau, as all the other prisoners. Without hope, without caring, and without love. Each day, Enjolras could feel his soul withering, his heart hardening, and his body turning cold. In that time when he hated the world and ever thing in it, more and more every day, ever hour, every second, it was Luc that had touched his soul and had saved him. Luc was the light that pulled him out of the darkness.

Enjolras looked onto Jarreau's face, his own face strong but not angry. "Thank you, Jarreau," Enjolras said in a low voice that seemed truly grateful, but did not in anyway suggest weakness.

Jarreau did not reply. For a moment, he just looked back at Enjolras, his stone face unchanging. He took a small step forward so that he was closer to Enjolras. Then, he spoke in a low voice. Only Enjolras could hear him. "You already know what we are willing to do for freedom," he said.

Without showing it on his face, Enjolras thought about this for a few seconds. Yes. He did know what they were willing to sacrifice. Everything—the only thing—that they still had. Their lives. They were willing to do everything in their power. They would not consider the consequences of their actions. They were willing to give it all.

"But I have to ask you," Jarreau went on. "What are you willing to give?"

Enjolras looked at him for a moment, his face unchanged. This question caught him off guard. He thought that he had already proven to them that he was willing to die for the cause, just as they all were. He did not understand why Jarreau was saying this. He had given him no reason to think otherwise. Unless…

"I am willing to give everything that the rest of us are," Enjolras said somewhat defiantly.

"No you are not," Jarreau cut him off short. "We"—Jarreau put a hand on his own chest and used his other hand to gesture to the men around him, clearly dividing Enjolras apart from the other men, singling him out, declaring that he was not one of them—"are willing to do everything!" He looked at Enjolras hard for a moment, cocking his head to the side as he studied him. "But what are you willing to do?"

Enjolras opened his lips. Now, he could sense the eyes of the other prisoners watching him. Now, they were listening. Every word he said, they would hear. And they would be judging him. Looking for strength, and looking for weakness. "I am willing to do everything that you are willing to do," Enjolras said. His voice remaining strong.

But Jarreau did not look convinced. "Are you really?" he questioned. "Because I am willing to do anything and everything. I am willing to kill. To murder. I am ready to strangle innocent boys with my bare hands. I am ready to sell my soul to the devil. I will do whatever I must to get free." His face darkened and his voice dropped even lower. "But what are you willing to do?"

"I am willing to do the same," Enjolras said at once. "Freedom is a beautiful, but the price for freedom his high. That is a price which I am willing to pay," he said boldly, in such a way that his claim sounded true. Even Jarreau almost believed it. Almost.

Jarreau stepped in closer to Enjolras and lowered his head as that he and Enjolras were staring at each other, eye to eye. Enjolras, looking into Jarreau's face, saw something that could only be understood between these two men. Jarreau said softly, "I will do anything that I must. I do not care who dies. Freedom is all I care about. I need nothing else. I love nothing else. Nothing. No one…"

As soon as Jarreau said this, Enjolras understood the words he said, and he understood what these words were really supposed to mean. Enjolras could feel his innards contracting with fear. Without even being aware of it, Enjolras turned his eyes away from the man in front of him and looked back towards the entrance of the cell, and they fell upon the little boy who was standing there, waiting for him, watching him was anxious eyes. Luc.

Enjolras understood. This was what Jarreau meant. This was why he approached Enjolras last night and asked him why he loved the child. It was true. Enjolras was not willing to give everything, like the rest of these men were. They had nothing to lose, so they would take every risk if they had to. But Enjolras… He had everything to lose. Enjolras was not willing to lose Luc. If he had to surrender, throw up his hands, and throw away any hope of escape in order to save Luc, he would do it without hesitating.

"What about you?" Jarreau questioned him. "What will you give to be free?"

Enjolras turned his eyes back to look upon this man. He opened his mouth to speak, to tell Jarreau that he was being absurd, that he was more than willing to do or give anything that would gain freedom, but when he opened his lips to say these things, no words were capable of leaving his lips. He closed his lips and swallowed down any reluctance. He could not say it. The lie was too terrible. So instead, when he opened his mouth and told the truth, but not the truth that Jarreau wanted to know.

"I have killed people before."

Enjolras had never told Luc this. He did not want Luc to know. He did not want anyone to know. He was too ashamed. He told Luc that he had led an uprising, that he fought in a war, that all of his friends were killed. But he knew that the child did not understand the truth of battle. He did not understand the true horror, the true treachery, the true darkness, on war. No one can understand these things until he have fought in a war, himself. War, itself, not the soldiers fighting in the battles, was the killer. In war, a man is fighting, with on hand, for what he believes in, and with the other hand, he is tearing apart his own philosophy. Imagine a man who was striving to hang a magnificent tapestry with one hand. Not until after he has hung it up and steps back to look at his work does he realize that, with other hand, he has ripped a large ugly tear in the fabric, leaving the tapestry to hang in shame.

Enjolras believed in freedom, and he had fought, without a moment's hesitation, to win this future. He had claimed innocent lives to do this. Shot young men. You boys, who perhaps had a family, or a mother or father, or a wife, or a child back at home, who was then praying to God that this man would come home safely and was now weeping and grieving that they would never see this man again. Even as he pulled the trigger on his musket, Enjolras did not think of what he was doing as this. He knew it was terrible, but was it not necessary? He did not think of the people at this man's home that would have to keep living without them. This thought did not strike him until after he had committed the act. Until he saw the faces of the soldiers and saw that they were young and afraid, that they were only boys no different from his own friends. Until all of his friends were dead and he was left behind to pay the punishment for his crimes. Until he felt the burn of the lash on his back. Until he tried to talk to God and he did not answer. Until he was left abandoned and alone in the darkness. Then, alone in the dark, he decided that he deserved everything that was happening to him. That God's judgment, no matter how cruel, was just. He hated Him for it.

Now that God had given him Luc, Enjolras knew that He had finally forgiven him. That he had suffered the punishment and it was done now. Enjolras rejoiced. Now, as he admitted to Jarreau that he had killed people, he thought about doing it again. He did not want to kill anyone. But if he had to in order to save Luc, would he? Yes, Enjolras knew he would. …But only if he had to.

"Is that so?" As Jarreau looked at him, Enjolras could see this man's eyes actually searching his own as they looked into them, as if searching for the truth. "And would you be willing to do this again?"

Enjolras's face did not change. "Yes."

Jarreau looked at Enjolras for a long moment, the intensity in his eyes penetrating Enjolras like a knife. Enjolras did not let any emotion, any feeling show on his face, but somehow, Jarreau still seemed to know all of this that he was trying to hide. Jarreau did not ask anymore questions. He said nothing more. He turned his back to Enjolras and stepped down to join the rest of the men. But he now knew the tragic flaw of the man who was leading him.

Enjolras felt a strange vulnerability that he had never felt before. For the first time, someone had broken through the shield that was Enjolras's defense. Enjolras, full of life and fire, and emotion and passion, had a face of stone that he had trained to be his mask. When he did not want to reveal his thoughts to the world, it could not see past this impenetrable wall that protected Enjolras's mind from the eyes of his enemies. But now, for the first time, this wall had been breached. Somehow, Jarreau had seen through him and, he had seen the truth hidden behind Enjolras's words. Now, he knew the truth. Now, he knew Enjolras's weakness.

Countless fears and worries hit Enjolras at once, but he forced them out of his mind and turned to the rest of the men, making sure that his face remained calm and unshaken and that he looked to remain in control of the situation. Even as he commanded himself not to, he found his eyes looking for Luc, anticipating to see a new emotion on the child's face now that he knew that Enjolras was a murder. Standing just beyond the other prisoners, found him.

Luc still had not taken his eyes off of Enjolras. There was nothing different in the way that he gazed at this man with admiration and with love. It was as if he never heard these words come out of Enjolras's mouth. Because of this, Enjolras concluded that the child did not hear him; he had spoken quietly, and Luc was too far away to understand what he was saying. Luc did not hear, and he did not know. Enjolras relaxed.

Enjolras's conclusion was more or less correct. Luc did, in fact, hear Enjolras utter the words, "I have killed people before." Enjolras had spoken quietly, but not soft enough that the child did not hear them. Yet, they had no affect on him. No effect on the way that he felt about Enjolras. As the old saying tells, love is blind. So, in manner of speaking, Enjolras was right. The child did not hear him.

Turning back to the men, Enjolras spoke in a loud, clear voice that rang out over them like the church bell that rang over the city on Sunday morning. "Citizens! We have gotten this far. We have broken through the first barrier that divides us and freedom. Let us go on now, and break through all others until we all are free!"

The men roared with triumph, throwing their firsts into the air and stamping their bare feet on the stone floor. Enjolras let this endure for a moment, they he waved a hand to silence them. "Now!" he cried out. "If there is a man amongst us who knows these halls better than I let him come forward and led us."

"I know the way!" a shout came from within the men and they all began to part as one of them could come forward. When he emerged at the front of the group, Enjolras recognized the man. It was the man who said, "I am no murderer." Enjolras did not know his name. "I know the way out," the man told Enjolras.

Enjolras looked at the man with a sort of respect, and he gave a strong nod. "Lead the way."

A small grin appeared at the corner of the man's lips as he nodded back to Enjolras. "This way, men!" he cried out and he started forward. With a joyful cheer, the men started forward. Enjolras slipped into the stream of men, which was now beginning to flow down the hall like a river. Enjolras made his way through them, moving as quickly as his wounded leg would allow. He came to the cell's gate, where Luc was still waiting for him. Upon reaching him, Enjolras smiled. "Come on. Let's go."

A wider smile spread across Luc's face as he hurried over to take his place beside Enjolras. Enjolras laid his hand on the child's shoulder and together they started forward, moving through the dark corridors of the prison and towards freedom.