Chapter 31 Tobias
Tobias
Tobias lurched from his place on the floor, pain lancing his body.
He barely registered what was happening around him—Pippa’s hands reaching between the bars of her cell, the sandaled feet marching at his side, his bloodied legs dragging across the dirt.
The red crest of a helmet flashed in his narrow periphery—soldiers shackling his wrists together, then his ankles, then clamping a collar around his neck, rendering him more animal than man.
He’d become a creature, something wretched and unmentionable, and they lugged him up the stairs by the chain linked to his throat as if it were a leash.
He didn’t resist. There were too many soldiers, or so he assumed, as his senses were dulled and his vision doubled.
Where were they leading him? To his death, perhaps?
The hinges of a door creaked, and a blinding light exploded around him. Leila. She was finally here. But a soldier shoved him, sending him toppling to his hands and knees, and his eyes strained against the bright rays of the sun.
He was outside. For what purpose?
“Move, traitor.”
The soldiers hoisted him to his feet, and he cried out as his open wounds screamed.
They hauled him into something tall and wooden—a prison carriage with grated windows, its floor stinking of blood and piss.
Tobias could only lay across the wooden slats, reeling as the carriage jostled and jerked over the uneven road.
He wasn’t sure how long they traveled. He drifted in and out of a nightmarish sleep, reliving each broken bone, each lash, each blow.
But eventually blaring light awoke him, followed by two soldiers forcing him upright, sending him stumbling to his feet.
The air was hot—scorching, even, as if he stood paces away from a wildfire.
Soldiers yanked at his chain, ushering him down a pathway surrounded by people, their gazes probing and looming figures strangely haunting.
Bloodied pustules dotted their skin, and sweat gleamed against their sunken faces.
Tobias’s empty stomach caved in on itself.
The plague had returned.
A soldier tugged at his chain, forcing him forward.
Wincing, he staggered onto a dais, the usual site for a herald, except today it was he who would grace the masses.
The town was no different than his own, yet it reeked of sickness, of death just a whisper away.
He studied the people—gaunt and pox-ridden.
His mother and sister were still in Thessen, and the thought that they too could be ill sent his stomach roiling.
A soldier kicked at the back of his legs, dropping him to his knees.
He winced past the aches and pangs, then froze, eyes trained on the line of guards.
The soldier at his side had a pox on his lip, and he licked it as if he couldn’t stop himself.
Nervousness flickered in the man’s eyes. Even Brontes’s troops were sick.
“The Artist has been taken prisoner by our one true sovereign, His Majesty.” A guard came forward, addressing the masses.
“Despite His Majesty’s attempts to persuade him, this traitor refuses to speak on the whereabouts of The Savior.
” He glared down at Tobias, taking his chain in his hand.
“He is determined to keep Her hidden and lay waste to Thessen for his own twisted pleasure.”
Tobias blinked, scanning past the ill to the town around them.
Soldiers were mounted at every corner, scouring each shop and pacing the walkways.
Brontes’s rule had turned Thessen into a military state.
The tree line beyond the town was bare and wilted, the plants languishing beneath the unbearable heat of the sun.
It wasn’t just the people who were affected by Leila’s absence. Everything was dying.
“Dear citizens, compel this blasphemer to speak,” the soldier said. “Make him show us where The Savior is!”
Silence stretched across the town square. Drawn faces watched him, children clung to their parents’ legs, and lovers embraced one another, but no one uttered a word.
The soldier cleared his throat. “Fury often reveals itself in silence. Artist, have you nothing to say of yourself?”
Tobias cringed as the collar dug into the raw flesh of his neck. “Y—” He choked, hacking up crimson. “You need to leave. All of you.”
A fist plowed into his eye, obliterating the world around him. There were only sporadic circles of light and immense pain deep in his skull. A hand wound itself in his hair, holding him upright.
“Worthless prattle. How effortlessly lies spill from his tongue.” The soldier raised his arm in the air, displaying something Tobias couldn’t see. “If we can’t compel him with our words, we shall compel him with our might.”
Tobias’s vision slowly cleared, and the burn of the sun turned stiflingly cold. Soldiers were passing out gifts to the crowd—rocks of various shapes and sizes. Tobias’s knees weakened. They weren’t there to find answers.
They were there to stone him.
“Beneath the power of your throw, the Artist will bend.” The soldier leading the task grinned. “Begin.”
Tobias closed his eyes, bracing himself for the onslaught. He’d been right about one thing—this was his day to die.
A thud echoed in his ears, and Tobias waited for pain that never came. Instead, a weight dropped at his side, followed by an “Oof.” A part of him was scared to look, but he forced his eyes open. A soldier was crouched just paces away from him, cradling his head in his hands.
Another stone shot through the air, and a soldier guarding the pathway whipped to the side, his spear clattering against the ground. Another stone went flying, then another, but none of them were aimed at Tobias.
They were aimed at Brontes’s men.
Stones hurtled across the town square, pelting legs, faces, and armor.
A few grazed Tobias, but he was numb to the sensation, stunned as soldiers dropped one by one.
“Free Thessen!” the people chanted in unison, a battle cry washing over Tobias like calming waters.
“Free Thessen!” And somehow Tobias felt spoken for, as if they were calling for his freedom as well.
A pox-ridden soldier yanked at Tobias’s collar, his eye swelling and mouth bloodied. “Retreat!” he yelled. “Retreat!”
Guards wrested Tobias, dragging him from the dais and shoving him into the prison carriage.
Screams cut through the noise—civilians no doubt punished, maybe even killed for their defiance.
Before Tobias could look through the grated window, a whip cracked, and the carriage jolted ahead.
All the while, stones clattered against its wooden walls, and the people’s war cry faded behind him.
“Free Thessen!”