Barbarian

Chapter VII: Hopeless [✔]

I stare through the bars of the enclosure in a daze. The forest in front of me is particularly exciting today: an ant bearing a load three times its size crossed the dirt ground.

My hands fall away from the wooden bars. Leaning my forehead against the cold wood, I refuse to turn and look at my fellow prisoners, to see the desperation of my eyes mirrored in theirs.

My lips cracked, a metallic taste meeting my tongue. My throat, tender and dry. The measly amounts of food and water given to us has done little to keep up our strength.

But we will be dead soon anyway.

Four days we have been here. Four days of painful survival. No strength to speak much. We save our energy for... what? There is nothing we can do to save ourselves.

Eight more men have died. Thankfully, Garrick, Brogan, and Tyrone are still with us. But starting tonight, we are all at risk.

Garrick and Brogan have become more silent as they have watched their friends being picked off, one by one, sacrifices to the monstrous gods of the Rogues. Not a word other than the necessary passed through their lips. Yet, they still offer themselves first whenever a new sacrifice is needed. The way Brogan stands up firmly, his arms crossed over his broad chest, and offers to take the place of a fellow comrade at the altar, burns my heart. The sadness in his eyes and the surrender in his stance tell the tale of a man who has given up. He knows that death is upon him, and yet he still fights for the chance to save his men.

Without fail, every time Brogan volunteers, tears sting my eyes. He is a good man, willing to sacrifice his life for others. Such a man is rare and does not deserve to die. Dalla agrees with every streak that races down her cheeks. She is taking it particularly hard. Brogan and her have spoken over the days and now they sit side-by-side. She cares for him, I can tell. It is not spoken but I can sense it; it is in the air around them and in her eyes it is obvious that her heart breaks a little bit more whenever he offers himself. Yet, no one even asks him to let his men die without a fight. He will not. And frankly, much of my respect for him comes from this act of honor and love for his men.

Ailis cannot or will not watch each time Brogan stands. She averts her eyes, unwilling to reveal her thoughts as he reaches out for the hand of death. If I did not know better, I’d say the glint in her eye was one of guilt. I know not why.

Talk among us has lessened the longer we are steeped in the finality of our fate. Our words are no longer quick or carry any semblance of the life that coursed through us before our capture. Even Tyrone mopes against the bars. The self-blame in his eyes is unmistakable.

And yet fear has not quenched all my emotions. Although I wish to be numb, there is a little part of my heart that has not grown cold. It warms up every time Garrick’s eyes meet mine. My face reddens and my heart beat accelerates. My mouth grows dry and I cannot hold his gaze for more than a few moments.

I do not know what his story is and I do not know why he glances at me every few moments. It is difficult to live under his stare as if I’m a puzzle he is trying to figure out.

When we are so close to death, I feel ashamed of being worried about such a petty thing. And yet, he cannot seem to leave my mind.