The Iron Alchemist

Chapter 9

One last time...

Jostice heard the words in his head. A faint, raspy whisper that mocked him like a crow cawing in search of departed remains. He shook his head. Is that my fate? To be a feast for crows and a buried memory to those who pray away my existence? His chains hit the ground; the snake-like links entangled while the metal cuffs clattered on top. Jostice rubbed his purplish forearms unable to revive the pale coloring in his limbs. "It is no less than what I deserve..."

"You both deserved better," a young deputy said. He was lean and muscular; a young buck who'd likely die too young and love too little. "You don't remember me, do ya?"

Jostice examined the man. There was something about his brown hair and kind eyes that made Ace curious. "Did I kill your Pap?" The deputy's face wrinkled; fear in his eyes, that or he'd soiled himself.

"I hope, for your sake, not. My pappy was a Preacher man...a good man who died at the hands of a coward." He stroked his hair uneasily. "His butcher, alive or dead, will forever desiccate in the barrens' drought...mark my words, he will."

"Sounds like where I'm headed." Jostice smirked

"Not if you repent. The good book says-"

"I don't give a damn what the good book says." The deputy kept quiet and turned away. Ace tilted forward and examined the man further. His memory wasn't what it used to be, but it jogged, and he saw something in the light. "You're that stable boy from the ranch," he said.

The deputy looked up, "Barrot."

"I recall," He said. "And I also recall you riding on the heels of the farmer's daughter." Even in the faint chamber's glow Jostice saw the man's cheeks bleed pink. "Seems to me I haven't missed much."

Barrot pivoted like a bothered pony. "I do protest. I've made my way from stableboy to deputy."

"At the word of Sheriff Turnbuckle." Jostice looked to a large, thick wooden door that blockaded the arena. "You never found your own way."

"Son of the preacher, who turned tail from his father and faith...What other choice did I have?"

The choice to love another...

Jostice didn't dare tell the man nor suggest it. There was no sense in breaking a broken man; he'd been overlooked by the woman he yearned for and left with guilt from his father's unjust passing. If there's a God he'd pity the fool, Jostice thought. I pity the fool... "We make our own choices."

Barrot nodded. "And look where it's brought us."

The holding chamber was in the deepest, darkest division of the colosseum where no natural light could penetrate; originally built to store prisoners during the War of Nation; it was converted into the holding cell for slingers though the rats used it to nest their young and reap the spoils after each tournament.