SIX - Atherton

Atherton goes through his Exiling Cermony

The larger of the two guards, the one who wasn’t Esmarine’s father, led Atherton through the halls of the castle until they reached the entry hall through the front doors.  Before they reached them, the man held Atherton firmly in place.

“Wait,” he said.  Atherton did as he was told.  I’m not very likely going to try to escape again at this point.  At least in Exile I have a chance.

“How did you get into the city?” the guard asked him.

“Like I told the King, the Guard at the front Gate let me through.”

“I know that guard personally.  He wouldn’t have let you pass without a guardian or express invitation from the King himself.”

Don’t say anything.  Just stick to your story.  If you tell him now, Esmarine is going to get in trouble too.

“Just as well, you don’t have to tell me the truth.  Just so you know, a better lie would be that you snuck in after Quintessa murdered the guard at his post early this morning.”

A guard was murdered this morning?  That explains the first Exiling Ceremony.  That also means the Xantomians are extra angry right now.  There’s no way they took out all their frustrations on Quintessa…

Apparently his face gave away his emotions.  “You didn’t know.  Of course you didn’t know, otherwise you would have come up with a better lie.  You’re not stupid, I can see that.  It’s okay.  People will say that’s what happened.  They’ll probably think you were her accomplice.  But you and Silvan’s daughter know something else about this city, don’t you?”

The hairs on the back of Atherton’s neck stood up.  His entire body tensed.  How does he know?  Does he know?  He definitely knows more than he’s letting on.  Don’t say anything.  Don’t give anything away.

“Don’t worry.  I’m not going to say anything.  I can tell you like the girl.  And I know you haven’t told anyone else, or we’d have a lot more problems to deal with right now.”

“How do you�"” Atherton began.

“That was very stupid, by the way, what you said to the king,” he continued, cutting Atherton off “…but also very brave.”

Atherton peered up at him. Why is he being kind to me? He chose his words carefully.  “It might have been my only chance to say something.”

“The truth is, there is something wrong with the way things are right now.  You were right about that.  The King�"”

The first drumbeat reverberated through the walls of the castle and out over the city.

“�"well, the King hasn’t been very interested in saving the city.  Particularly not the people in the Outskirts.”  The second drumbeat sounded.  “I don’t have time to explain anything more.  They’ll be expecting to see you through these doors any second.  Take this,” he said, handing Atherton a sheathed knife.  “Keep it safe.  When we get to the Barelands, head for the cliffs.  It’s the best advice I can give you.”

The third drumbeat.

“Why are you helping me?”

“Because more than likely, you’re about to die.  But if you don’t… I don’t know, maybe I see something in you.”

“Who are you?”

“My name is Vanderford.” The fourth drumbeat.  “It’s time to go.”

Vanderford opened the doors to the castle, revealing the steps down to the streets of Xantom.  People were already gathered at the bottom.  Somehow, they knew.  They had gathered before the fourth drumbeat finished sounding.  They must be furious.

Atherton took a deep breath, but before he could take a step forward, Vanderford whispered in his ear, “Sorry about this,” and shoved him down the stairs.  He rolled, hitting each stone with an impact that would have knocked his breath out, had he not released it on the initial push.

He came to stop in a crumpled heap at the bottom where he barely had a moment to take in another breath before the Xantomian people lifted him to his feet and began pushing him forcefully towards the front of the city.  They were shouting obscenities, screaming for justice, crying for blood.  Atherton just tried to move quickly.

Atherton flowed through the city streets like he was caught in a powerful river.  His body slammed into the sides of buildings or into groups of angry Xantomians, but he had absolutely no control over where he was going and hardly any time to see it.  His nose was bleeding, he noticed, when his face came away from a wall and there was a red stain on it that hadn’t been there before the impact.  Huh, was all he had time to think.  Before he made it down the first street, he had a pain in his arm that made him think it might be broken.

As he made it deeper into the city, the crowd grew thicker and he could no longer make out what people were saying to him, but the cries of “lawbreaker,” “trash,” and “ditchwater” were hard to miss.

It was strange, being surrounded by people he had never met, people who had never spoken to him, but being so universally hated by all of them.  That hurt worse than the beatings or the bloody nose ever would.  Most of these people probably never knew he even existed, let alone that he had likely stolen from them, and now would never get the chance.  One look into the furious eyes of a passing stranger told him that didn’t bother them.

He tried not to look at anyone’s faces.  As much as their perspective of him was going to be tainted, he didn’t want his last view of these people to be of them at their worst.  The faces he did unwittingly catch, he would never forget.

If I see Esmarine, she will be ruined for me.

And then there she was.  It was as though he had willed her into existence merely by thinking her name.  No… Please no.  You can’t see me like this… I can’t see you like this.  You’re just like one of them…  Yet he couldn’t look away.  Their eyes were locked, she became his target, a beacon in the rough seas of people.  As long as he retained focus, he could get to her.  Even if you hate me now, I want the chance to say goodbye.

A large rock hit him on the back of the head.  He collapsed forward, his ears ringing; the pain was overwhelming.  Wait… I was about to do something important.  What was it?!  His thoughts were cut off by the sudden residual throbbing of his head where the rock had hit him.  Then Vanderford lifted him to his feet and shoved him forward.  Has he been behind me this whole time?

“Don’t stop,” he said gruffly, his spear in Atherton’s back.

He reached up and pressed a hand against the side of his head, trying in vain to numb the pain.  He felt someone take hold of his wrists.  His eyes, blurry as they were, managed to follow the arms up to the body of the mystery person.  He found himself looking into Esmarine’s eyes.  He tried to speak, but he couldn’t make his mouth move.  His vision became clear for a second and he could see that she was trying to speak to him, her mouth was moving frantically but Atherton couldn’t make out any words.  And then it was like a magical force sucked him backwards, away from her, and the crowd closed in and she was gone.

So much for saying goodbye.  He felt his eyes welling up, but wasn’t sure if it was from that or from the growing pain of being manhandled by everyone in the city.

Then he was thrust through the City Gate.  He tripped and fell onto the hard ground, twisting his ankle and scraping his knees.  Dirt and rocks lodged themselves in the skin on his hands.  At this point, literally any move he made caused him unbearable pain, but somehow he managed to stand up.  He wiped off the blood and gravel from his thin clothing and limped forward.  Before him stretched two long lines of people, citizens of Xantom and of The Outskirts.

The blows hurt twice as much.  These people were supposed to be his friends.  I’m one of you! he wanted to shout, I live in the Outskirts!  But it wouldn’t have helped.  If they knew he was from the Outskirts, they didn’t let it stop them from throwing stones just as hard as the people living inside Xantom.

Finally, he was free from the crowd.  He stood alone in the darkness, nothing but silence from all directions.  Sweat dripped into his open wounds.  Like they didn’t already hurt badly enough.  There was a dull murmur coming from behind him, the citizens of Xantom calling after him, surely telling him never to return.  He was in so much pain he couldn’t make out the words, and the people were no longer following him.  He had made it to the very edge of the Outskirts; the border of the Barelands.

After all the beatings and torture he had received, it was almost a relief to be headed into the darkness of the Barelands alone.  At least he wouldn’t have to deal with any more insults or rocks being hurled at him.

Vanderford’s spear pressed into his back, reminding him that he was not completely alone.  Not yet, anyway.

“Remember what I said.  Head for the cliffs.  Walk in a straight line, and do not stop.”  And he was gone.  Atherton was alone again, facing emptiness.  He had to listen to what Vanderford had said; it was his only choice.  He put one foot in front of the other and nearly toppled over.  He bent over and caught himself, but he could no longer be sure that any step would lead him in a “straight line.”  I have to try.

He began walking.  He walked slowly, every step an ordeal, sending shockwaves of pain through his entire body.  His wounds were all still fresh and open and bleeding.

He walked for an hour.  Then another.  Every step was harder than the one before it, but at the same time, a little easier.  His wounds were closing and the cold managed to stop him from sweating.  It was hard to believe it could be colder out here than in the Outskirts, but somehow it was.

The ground was different, and full of hazards.  There were long, dagger-like objects coming up from under the ground.  He had to be careful not to trip on any of them or he might be impaled.  Every step he took was a risk, so he had to move slowly and deliberately, which probably just made him an easier target if a Bareland Beast happened by.

He heard something from ahead of him, a low, guttural sound.  It’s one of them.  They’ve found me, and I’m dead.  It was bound to happen eventually.  Honestly I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

His heart pounded in his chest harder than ever before.  He had never actually seen any Bareland Beasts and had no idea what was waiting for him in the darkness.  All he had for protection was the knife Vanderford had given him.  He took the blade out of its sheath and held it in front of him as he pressed onward.

“Hey!” he shouted, hoping the startle the creature and scare it off.  “Get out of here!”

Another growl snuck through the darkness, this one from off to Atherton’s left.  Then another sound came from his right.  Great.  I’m surrounded by them.  He leaned forward on his good leg, bracing himself for a skirmish.  If this was the end, he wasn’t going out without putting up a good fight.

“Come on!” he called out to the darkness.  He held out his knife, daring something to approach him.  “I’m right here!”

He pivoted in a slow circle, pointing his knife at any sound that he heard.  Each movement he made caused searing pain to shoot up his leg and arms, but he couldn’t give up now.

He stopped to listen.  He closed his eyes and listened carefully, hoping for some clue as to where they were or what was waiting for him.  But no sounds came.  Perhaps the creatures had moved on.  For now, at least, he was alone.

And then he realized… I have no idea which direction I came from.  He crouched down and felt the ground.  There were footprints everywhere, in every direction, spreading out in a large circle that he had made while pivoting.  He felt around with his hands, trying to determine which direction the footprints pointed, but in his panic he had destroyed anything that could have helped him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid!  Now I’m going to get eaten because I wasn’t smart enough to mark which direction I was heading.  “Come back, Beasts!  I want you to eat me!  I give up!  Do you hear me?!”

Silence.

He collapsed into the dirt.  Before he could make any more decisions, he needed to get some rest.  Even if he was going to try to continue onward, his legs couldn’t carry him at this point.  Exhaustion overtook him and he stretched out on the ground.  As soon as he lay completely flat, his hand brushed up against something hard, but also smooth.  He felt it, curious, and found a small crack along the edge.  He grabbed hold and pulled the object close to him.  It was only after he picked it up that he realized what it was.

A human skull.

He dropped it and scrambled to his feet.  This is the spot.  This is where people stop to die after they’re exiled.  I can’t let myself end up like this person, whoever it was.  I need to keep moving or I’ll waste away into nothing and nobody will ever find me.

He chose a direction.  It felt right.  If I manage to bump into the side of the Dome, I can always feel my way around until I come to the cliffs.  And if I don’t the only other place I can end up is Xantom.  Either way, it’s better than waiting here and dying for nothing.

He wished he would have had an extra minute to ask Vanderford a few questions.  Why had he sent Atherton to the cliffs?  What was he supposed to find there that was going to help him survive?  Or was the whole thing a practical joke?  Is that where Vanderford sent all the Exiled people, to give them hope before they collapsed and rotted away?

A growl emitted from directly in front of Atherton.  He stopped, terrified.  He slowly took a step backwards, hoping to get away from the creature before it could lash out at him, but he tripped over one of the sharp objects protruding from the ground.

His butt slammed onto the dirt and he winced in pain.  That wasn’t going to stop him.  He shuffled backwards until he slammed into something massive behind him.  It wasn’t a rock; it was covered in hair.  It’s one of them.  He turned around and looked up at the massive figure rising like an obelisk before him.

He opened his mouth to scream, trying to scramble away, but before he could put any distance between himself and the creature, it raised one massive arm and swung down at him, crashing into the back of his head.  His lifeless body collapsed forward into the dirt, and everything went black.