Those About To Die

Part I-The Trees Were Set Ablaze

They came in the night. They came when there would be no opposition. They came when the fire of their success would blaze the brightest. They came when he was just a boy, only aged at fourteen years old. They came and conquered his home, his people. But they did not conquer his heart. They did not not conquer his passion. Instead, they ignited it. They brought their worst enemy to life by crippling him. By trying to cripple him.

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It was a sudden and swift attack, a masterpiece of it's kind. No one saw it coming. No one could, for they attacked under the veil of night. The Romans were masters at capturing those they seemed below them. Simply put, they were masters at killing. At first, the night was silent. Owls cried out in quiet warning, but no one was awake to hear their cry. The sound of horse hooves on thawing ground was lost to everyone. Except the owls, but no one was awake to hear their cry. The crackling of fire did not yet disturb the small Gaulish village. The quiet sound of swords unsheathing did not awaken a soul in the small village.

A small village, encased by trees, peacefully awaited it's defeat. The trees were set ablaze. The orange flames licked at the cold bark tentatively before whole heartedly committing to the new surface. It wasn't long before more trees were consumed by flame and slowly and torturously exited life. The snapping of burning branches brought the dogs to life. It wasn't long before baying and howling filled the air. By then, it was too late. By then the owls' cries was gone and the trees had been set ablaze. By then, the people in the village were awRe of what was happening. Soon screams choked the air. Life took a new turn. Roman soldiers swamped the village, swords drawn as they began the task of destroying and plundering. Their cold, impassive faces reflected on the metal they held before them as the flames ate away the trees. Between the brilliant moonlight and the savage sparks, the damage was perfectly clear. That's when they started dragging people away.

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His name was Searix. His home was a small village in the massive land of Gaul; a small village that was set ablaze, just like the trees. He was awoken by the sound of his dog, Acco, howling relentlessly. The boy stumbled up from bed, dismay seeping through him as his thick fur blanket fell off his otherwise bare shoulders. Compared to the Romans, the clothes he wore for pants were equivalent to rags. The blast of heat that hit him made up for the lack of warm clothing. He couldn't even see the fire, but seeing wasn't believing now.

"Fire!" He screamed, voice joining the chorus of cries that floated up to the heavens. His father was already dashing into the chaos, a long broadsword in hand, but didn't even make it two yards down the village before a Roman gladius entered his chest cavity. A painful gurgle escaped his bloodied throat before he slowed to the ground like so many others. A rough hand on his shoulder forced Searix's eyes horror stricken gaze away from the corpse he once knew. The hand belonged to his brother Dago. His face was scarcely illuminated by the flames lapping away at the trees not too far away. There was one emotion on his face, and only one. Determination.

"Let's go." He uttered, dragging his young brother away for the edible which he was stuck to.

His eyes could barely meet Dago's face. His deep blue orbs were wet with bitter tears, but Dago's were hard and cold. They were heartless.

A noisy son escaped Searix's trembling lips, but his brother offered him no conifer. Instead he roughly led the smaller boy out of the crude bedroom and to the filthy kitchen where his mother and sister were huddling. Upon seeing his exhausted and fear filled mother, Searix tried his best to his best to appear stoic like Dago, but the effort was fruitless. How he desired to run into his mother's arms and cower into her like his sister! But cowardice wasn't something that ran in a Gaul's blood, his father had said. And now he was dead.

"Take your sister and mother and run. Run, Searix, run. Don't look back. Take this with you," Dago said abruptly as a scream burst out nearby.

He set a finely forged dagger in Searix's hand, it's bone handle proving itself slightly too large for his unaccustomed hands. All the boy could do was look up at his brother fearfully as the screams grew louder and closer. That was when he realized his mother was the one screaming. Hastily turning to face her, Searix got his last glimpse of his small home. The last thing he remembered was the sound of crackling fire a child's scream for help.

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