Chapter 2: Rough Seas and Strange Greetings- Prison

A Story by Ilerah

Dwen spends many years in prison, and though it may sound boring, is the setting for his time in the island of Hafen.

Dwen watched as they took his belongings away. He could do nothing; they had thrown him in jail for having a small knife. He decided that either these people are crazy or, they just want every trespasser in jail.

The soldiers came back, no longer holding Dwenlin’s bags. They sneered at him, and then turned up stairs. After every ten minutes a couple of guards walk by his cell. Patrolling the corridors of prisoners, many who were here for similar things as Dwen, nothing but being here.

Guards walked buy, day and night, each time different. Sneering at him, mocking him, while he tried to live with little water and food. Each time Dwenlin would only make it worse, insulting the guards back. Throwing dirt at them, each time he made it so much worse, getting beaten with spears. Many times whipped for his bad behavior.

After a few months Dwenlin calmed down, he decided it wasn’t worth it. Yet, the guards came in and whipped him. They took knifes and beat him with the flat of the blade. No matter how he behaved, he was beaten, and tortured.

Dwen had made a decision, if he was getting beaten not for his bad behavior, but for the fun of the guards, he was not going soft. He continued to insult the guards, to aggravate them. He would throw dirt at them, he would spit on them. Whenever he had the chance he would do anything to show that he was not a prisoner, but someone they just couldn’t control.

Finally the knight that put him in prison came down. Dwen was in the far corner of his cell, surrounded by, well by nothing. He had only one pair of clothes, the guards had taken his other one. He was stuck in a cell, without a table, no chair, nothing. All the privileges he had started off with, they had taken away.

Dwen looked up at the knight, his hair getting in the way with its length. The knight walked inside the cell after the guard had unlocked it, looking in disgust at him.

“You will be released in three years from this date, the offence that had you thrown in this cell, was so great that you will stay in here for that period.”

“I am not in here for that, I’m to show that your leader has power, I’m sure that I was proclaimed in the streets, if not, then I am in here for trespassing, not that stupid knife in my bag,” Dwen replied looking up at the knight, who stared back at him.

The knight took his helmet off, showing his long black hair, and his scruffy beard. He was not to young, yet not old. He was in his thirties, but yet experienced in the field. Stories written on his experienced face of battles, won, and lost.

“You are correct about that matter, the latter guess is correct. This is our island, no one else’s.”

The knight walked away without another word, putting his helmet back on, and walking back up the stairs. The guard locked the cell again, looking at Dwenlin in disgust, and then walked away, some going on their patrol, some going up stairs.

Dwen looked down, three years till he was free. I slight hope was still inside of Dwenlin’s soul, realizing that if he continued to resist the guards, then he would have to stay longer. He would wait; he would wait till he was free. When he was free he could do all he wanted, for now all he had to do was remember each and every face that hurt him. The face of the knight, of the guards, of the other prisoners if they hurt him also. Dwenlin would no longer forget a face, including Bronk’s, and Amun’s. Dwenlin would engrave each face in his head, like an artist carves rock. He had one goal in the next three years, to stay strong for the day that those faces where faces of fear. One day he would be the one with the whip, and the sword. The one with the power.

Dwenlin then curled up in the corner, with a smile on his face and went to sleep.

The guards passed by when Dwen was sleeping, and threw a rock at him, when he woke they just looked at him, and passed by going to the next cell. Dwenlin looked at them walk by, remembering their faces. Once with a beard, and a scar near his eye, the other clean shaven, and young, but a broken nose, Dwenlin could never forget faces like that.

Dwenlin turned to notice that one prisoner across the way was staring at him, when he turned to look at him the prisoner looked away. The prisoner was strange, hunched over, he did nothing, was never whipped, yet he was said.

Within the day that same prisoner was taken out of his cell, whipped, and then before Dwenlin’s eyes was stabbed, through the heart. Dwen looked at the guards in shock, disgusted at the evil that dwelled within them. He could not understand why anyone could kill someone else in cold blood.

Dwen continued to watch as the guard wiped the blood on the prisoner, and then carried him away. They came back, and continued to another cell, killing another man, then another, then another. Before Dwenlin’s eyes the guards killed half a dozen men. Dwenlin wondered if he had the same fate, or if they had been rebels or something. Dwenlin really had no idea, but he hoped he would live on.

Non the less, Dwenlin found the rocks the guards had thrown at him, and started scraping it on the rock floor. Not to dig a tunnel but instead to make a weapon. If his fate was to be killed, he would try ot survive it.

Nothing had driven Dwenlin so much, at the age of sixteen he was thinking of killing people, this place he had traveled to had turned him into a revengeful, man. Making him no better than those who imprisoned him here, he wanted to kill them in cold blood.

Dwenlin continued to sharpen the rock, cutting himself in the process. Dwenlin continued to strive, making three sharpened rocks, and collecting others to throw at guards. He was fed barely enough to strive on, but he kept his strength.

Dwen was not losing any strength but gaining hit, he continued to antagonize the guards, even when they beat him for it. Dwen paid the price, to strengthen himself in his soul, in his heart.

The three years continued the same, more prisoners were taken and killed, he was continued to be beaten, he still got little food, he still continued though through anything that was thrown at him. The knight came down a few times, and killed some prisoners himself. The prison was a death house, and Dwenlin was getting out.

Though the years came slow, and Dwenlin’s hair was long, and his face unshaved, the day had come. Dwenlin was now nineteen years, and he was going to be set free, or killed.