"Ah… It feels so lonely here," Robert muttered as he laid on the mattress. His eyes gazing upward at the blank white ceiling of the tent.
The scraping sound of shovels and rotating cart wheels could be heard piercing the thin sheet of the tent.
The soldiers' commanding shouts and the slaves' exhausted and tired groans were the only entertainment he got as he enjoyed his brief respite.
He reminisced about Hubert and Ron. Unbeknownst to him, it would be a long time until they met again.
Meanwhile, Hubert and Ron sat on top of the wooden cart as its wheel rotated, making its way on the dirt road. The cart shook unsteadily everytime its wheel went over a gravel on the road.
The sound of hooves of the horses treading and its neigh flew, carried by the wind, into their ears. Their noses struck by the fresh air that breezed over them, a smell they had not experienced for a while.
As the cart carried them farther away, their gaze directed at the church of the parish. The building stood atop a hill amongst the plain, its structure solid and sturdy, its wall stony and well built.
The sunlight was merciless and unforgiving, its rays shone directly on their roofless cart, akin to burning them alive. The gentle breeze that passed through as they cart moved proved to be the only sanctuary they got.
Hubert sat face-to-face with Ron as the cart wobbled in its way. He thought, remembering all the things he experienced and went through in the parish.
He had come as a slave a mere 10 days ago.
He came in a cramped and putrid metal box with Ron, and four other people that he couldn't remember nor cared for. He was marked by the church, beaten and despised by other slaves.
He worked laboriously and arduously during the day, and worked out and trained in the evening until his muscles couldn't bear it any more and his lungs gasped for air. He fought against an ant and won.
Lastly, of all the memories, whether they were good or bad, the most important was the friend he made along the way.
Ron, someone that guided him through hardship, and Robert, someone that welcomed him with his friendliness and seemingly cared for him.
A part of him remembered the time the two abandoned him to fend for himself. But he decided not to wrath against them and buried his detested fragment of memory deep inside.
"Ron and Robert…" he muttered.
"Wait… Robert? Oh my Goddess, we haven't said goodbye to Robert," Hubert mentioned to Ron.
Ron's eyes blankly stared as a chuckle came out of him, for the first time.
Inside the carriage, Anna slid open the window between her and Henry.
"Hey, Henry," Anna called out.
"Yes, priestess?" Henry responded speedily as his hand gripped the reins to the horses that pulled the carriage.
"Ron, was it? What did you see in him?" she asked, her tone slightly annoyed.
"I can't explain it, priestess… But I know… he would become a valuable object for Sir Tristan," Henry answered, unsure and uncertain.
"Hubert's useful for 'that' mission, but Ron… I doubt he would be of any use to us," Anna continued.
"That mission…? Won't it be too hard for him?" Henry asked, slightly confused of Anna's judging capability.
"Tch!" Anna clicked her tongue.
Flick!
Then she flicked her finger.
A volt of electricity once again surged in Henry's body. The jolt came from the mark on his back that glowed purple light. Its light was so thick that it passed through the multiple fabrics of cloth and suit he wore.
His back arched forward, enduring the pain as best as he could while still keeping the horses' reins clenched in his hand.
"You are getting even more bold, Henry… Once again, don't forget who your master is," Anna said, irritated and disappointed mixed in her voice.
"I-I'm sorry, priestess," Henry responded. The pain lingered in him as his breath got unstable and rapid as his lungs gasped for air.
Ron's eyes darted to the carriage.
Then the church of Darly slowly disappeared from their views.
The time passed quickly and the journey continued.
The party entered the forest as the day gradually came to an end. The merciless and blazing sun drowned in the horizon, its last light orangey, barely piercing through the sea of leaves and trees.
The group stopped in a clearing. The four horsemen tied their horses into a nearby wood while Hubert and Ron started a fire in the middle of the clearing.
Two tents were erected as a place of respite from their trip. One for the horsemen, another for Hubert and Ron.
Two horsemen stood guard near Anna's carriage, the other two made their way into the tent. Ron entered his tent while Hubert sat on a log in front of the campfire.
In his eyes, reflection of the campfire flickered uneasily in front of him, occasionally, the wind blew into it. His eyes were blank while his mind thought.
His position was exactly the same as the night of the attack.
Slowly, the fire reminded him of reflections of his past.
"Pick up your spear!" the brawny guard's voice echoed in his mind. His name was forever unknown by Hubert.
The sound of explosions, screams, struggles and brawls, played in his memory. The first day he joined the watchman, prompted by glory and wealth, turned out to be the event that threw him in the deep and infinite abyss of drama.
Then the scene changed.
His motivation, his mother. Once young and beautiful, turned ill and sick as the torrent of rain pounded on the Village of Penfirth during the last rainy season.
"Mother…" he muttered softly.
"Father…" he muttered, in his tone, sadness and sorrow.
It has been 3 years since his father met his end. A strong and capable being that the family always leaned to, the main workforce, and the only breadwinner of the small household.
During the usual sunny day, he went to the field with his plow clenched in his hand and a round straw hat on top of his head.
There, death chose its path and fate allowed, his death was sudden and a tragedy.
Hubert immersed himself in memories and tragedies as the owls awakened and the crickets chirped in the night.
The forest was silent, lest for the leaves rubbing against each other and the howling of the night wind.
Time advanced forward, night changed into day, and the journey resumed.
The pattern and routine repeated themselves for another four days, during which, on the second day, the forest disappeared from their surroundings.
In that time, the priestess barely spoke to them. The horsemen were similar, their presence akin to statues that guarded the party.
As nature slowly diminished, the amount of travelers and caravans on the roads they passed increased. Most treated them with humility, sometimes as far as stopping in their tracks and bowing down.
Though some hardly batted an eye or cared.
Hubert observed as he sat on the caravan.
"The church of vision is well known here, huh?" his words leaked softly out of his train of thoughts. Up north, where he originated from, the Church of Visions' influence was scarce and light.
Then the party turned left, away from the main road frequented by people, onto an unmarked dirt road. A glass hour or two passed as they continued. The plain turned into a forest, and the forest turned into a narrow passageway.
Then the narrow passageway led them to a lake.
Hubert's eyes fixed and widened upon such beauty of the scenery from the lake. His gaze was welcomed by the crystal blue color of it. His nose was struck by a refreshing and relaxing scent.
Surrounded by steep cliffs on nearly all sides, the lake felt personal, private and secluded.
Leading up to the lake, beside the road, was a medium sized cottage. It was just an ordinary cottage, nothing stood differently from it with any other vacation home of that of a noble.
The party ended its journey in front of that cottage. Henry came down from his seat and opened the door of the carriage while bowing. Then he rushed to open the cottage's door for her.
While Hubert and Ron hopped off the wagon. Their hands were empty and their belongings were nothing.
The coachman of Hubert and Ron's cart, along with the horsemen, bid their farewell as their horses tramped and the cart drove and darted away from the location.
Before they knew it, Anna had disappeared from their sight after entering the cottage. Only Henry remained.
"This place serves as a temporary base before receiving your mission. Allow me to guide you two to your room," Henry said informatically and sternly.
Hubert and Ron followed him into the cottage and into a room, which they would share for a short period of time, awaiting their missions.
The room was nothing similar to that of the slaves' quarter of the parish. Instead of the hay covered ground, there were beds. Instead of glassless windows, the place was fitted with glass windows.
"Rest, tomorrow, the details of your mission will be available to you," Henry said as he calmly closed the door.
Hubert looked at Ron, his heartbeat fast as sweat trickled down his hand and forehead, but his eyes were spirited and his grin energetic, anticipating all the glory he could achieve from the opportunity.
Though he was greeted back by the usual blank and stoic stare.
"Haa…" he sighed and chuckled, expecting the unexpected, which surely had disappointed him.
—
I was a watchman turned slave, and this is my story.