The Legend of Black Eyes 31 Priest Utar

I was sitting in my cell when the guards came in. I was to be escorted to Jory's quarters. He lived in the Crucible's farthest, and smallest, wing. The Hound knew of his fetishes. I heard the guards say it the other day at my door. I couldn't sleep so their conversation caught my bored ears.

They said the Hound let me become Jory's puppet as long as the smith kept me alive. On second thought, it was stupid of them to discuss such things near my cell. Perhaps they didn't think I was capable of rebelling. But I've had enough. I could deal with torture, but not this miserable life.

Three guards were taking me to Jory. The smith had even loosened his grip around me. He used to have six guards escorting me. After I became docile, he started allowing me more freedom. I was bidding my time, observing everything around me. I didn't want to leave the place no, I wanted to satiate this rage that's been gnawing at my insides.

Not tonight!

I mentally repeated, over and over, as I followed the guards toward the accursed wing. We walked through narrow corridors then up serpentine stairs. I grew quite accustomed to the road I took every day. You see, I was to be kept in the deepest dungeon of the Crucible. I was presumed dead, nobody was supposed to see me wandering the halls.

Luckily for the smith, the wing he occupied in the Crucible was near the Asylum, a sealed building. Nobody dared enter the place without permission from the Hound himself. I was kept underneath the Asylum. Every night, the smith would send his men to fetch me then lead me to his chambers.

Jory had it all, a spacious study filled with forgotten books, a private garden in which he conducted his rather secret affairs. He even had his own torture chamber. But he never thought of keeping me inside his wing.

He must have had an ulterior motive for this. His reputation as an exceptional smith and conman was what assured him a place inside the Crucible, a place forged in fire and solidified by an influential network. He wouldn't mindlessly decide to keep me beneath the Asylum.

"Jory's got a guest today," one of the guards told me as we walked through the empty corridors of the Asylum. He wore simple brown studded leather armor. He rubbed his hands against his arms, as if hugging himself then continued. "You're to show your best behavior tonight. You might even earn an early release to your cell, Jory's words."

"Master will not be disappointed," I answered.

Whenever we walked through the Asylum, I could hear wind howling through the barren walls and empty cells. Night after night, the howling of the wind intensified. Tonight, the air was exceptionally cool. The guards must have noticed it too for they quickened their pace.

"This place gives me the willies," one guard said. I looked at him. He was shivering. He quickened his pace and we all followed. His leather boots hit the cobbled floor quite furiously.

"I don't know why master doesn't keep this brat in his own cells," another guard spoke. He shot me a dark look. I looked down, gritting my teeth. I wanted to rip their throats and feast on their blood.

"I'm even surprised the kid hasn't offed himself yet," the third guard told the others. "We're better off without him. I really hate coming through this haunted crazy house every night."

"I say we off him here and now, tell Jory he tried to escape," one of them suggested.

The three of them stopped then looked at me. I could tell what they were thinking. Their eyes studied me with great interest, as if they'd seen salvation in me.

"That's actually not bad. We'll stay in the warm tower, wasting our money on whores and ale." The guard who first spoke to me laughed. He slowly walked towards me while his hand drew a hunting knife from his boots. "How do you reckon we should do it?"

"Let's rough him up a little, say he put up a fight," another guard stood to my right then cracked his fingers.

I walked back trying to buy some time. I could disarm the guard, take his hunting knife. I'd be able to kill one or two but the third would finish me. I was surrounded and backed into a corner. The three guards had forced me into an old cell in the Asylum. Its broken window allowed the icy wind inside.

The first punch emptied air from my stomach. I groaned in pain but didn't fall.

"What an ugly bastard!" one of the guards shouted before kicking me in the ribs. I couldn't breathe. I fell to my knees, struggling to find some air. It felt like all air had vanished from around me, deserted me. I inhaled but couldn't seem to feel anything fill my lungs.

Another punch to my face placated me to the ground. The icy floor brought my senses back. I could breathe again. I could feel the cold cobble stones sticking to my tongue. I even saw my frosty breath in the air.

"One eyed freak!" then another kick hit me in the stomach.

Despite the visible cold, I didn't feel any of it. They say people feel cold when they're about to die. I lay on my back, watching the guards leaning towards me. One of them grabbed me by the collar then pressed his sharp knife against my throat.

"Any last word puppet?" he asked as he got ready to finish me.

"What the?" one guard squealed.

The guards turned around to see a ghost. Well I thought it was a ghost at first, given her ethereal form.
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A woman floated above us all. We could see her naked body solidifying. Her transparent arms became solid ice. Her naked torso glistened as the yellow moonlight reflected on it. To me, she looked like the light at the end of the tunnel, my salvation.

I heard the guards scream. There was a thud beside me. I turned to see a decapitated arm, firmly clutching a sword beside me. The guard's head fell on my laps. The other two tried to escape but met with the same fate. I looked up in horror at the ghost that had just slaughtered three guards. I wasn't a superstitious person, but I've encountered this kind of powers before. I've seen it destroy lives before my very eyes once.

The woman was gone. I was sitting in a pool of blood, holding someone's head above my legs. A high, shrill scream tore me out of my daze. A sister looked at me in horror then darted towards the Asylum's exit.

A click clack sound echoed in the empty Asylum's corridors as the sister ran to inform her master. Something strange saved my life that day. But I took the blame for killing the guards. Jory was furious.

What pushed the sister to go through the Asylum that night? That was something I found out about later. For the first time in years, I considered myself lucky.

Jory ordered the sisters to take care of me. Later, I heard he threw the guards at the dungeons and at the Asylum's door to the Pit. It was punishment for letting this happen. Some weren't even on duty that night, but Jory's fury knew no bounds. He'd sent half his men to the Pits that day.

They'd become just like me, knowing that made me feel happy. I'm not denying it, I loved hearing of their defeat and agonizing deaths. The sister who chanced upon us that night told me. She became my new friend in that god forsaken place. She was sad most times, but she spoke to me.

I was thoroughly cleaned, my beard was shaved and I even wore perfume that night. Jory had a guest that requested to see me. He should've punished me that day, but his guest insisted I were present during dinner.

When I was led to the dining room, I saw Jory fervently discussing some subject with his guest. He was a tall muscular man. He wore a long silk, sleeveless white kaftan. His white hair was pomaded backwards. He had sharp cheekbones and hollow eyes. The moment he laid eyes on me, he made a disgusted face.

"I didn't remember him to be this ugly!"

The smith turned silent then shot me a vicious look. He then smiled at me and invited me to sit. His expression had instantly and drastically changed. He spoke to me as though I were an honored guest.

"Mr. Stalwart, meet Priest Utar," Jory pointed at his guest. "I trust you know him already."

How could I forget the man who threw me to this hell? I hated everything about him. From his sharp cheekbones to his hollow eyes, the man put fear in my soul. I saw him smile. His jaundiced teeth brought back awful memories.

"I paid Avalange a visit this morning. Imagine my surprise when I found out you were still alive," Utar spoke to me. He was inspecting me with his eyes. "It seems what Jory's done to you is far worse than death." He chuckled, lightly and continuously. I felt chills run down my spine.

I was scared. My feet were shaking. My bladder had suddenly decided it wanted to burst. I looked away, trying to avoid his calculating gaze. Then I saw a young man sitting beside the Priest. He wore simple black attire. I didn't know if I saw pity or mockery in his eyes. Utar saw that I'd noticed the young man.

"I trust you recognize this young man, Stalwart," the Priest said. "When I heard you still lived, a brilliant idea came to mind."

Jory was eagerly listening to the Priest. From the happy expression he wore on his face, I knew he wasn't in trouble. This could only mean that my misery was about to turn into despair.

"Look at this young man Stalwart, perhaps you'd forgotten him. Who would blame you? You haven't seen him in ages."

That face looked familiar. It felt like I've seen him somewhere before, but I couldn't really tell where or when. The young man looked down. He was nervously fidgeting with his black clothes. I dug deeper in my memories, trying to remember who he was.

"Perhaps with a little help, let me refresh your memories. What was the last place you visited before my men caught up with you?"

Although a few months had passed since I was captured by the Church, to me it felt like years. So many horrible things had happened. I couldn't recall where I was before my capture.

"Forgive him, Father." Jory gave me a little nudge under the table. "The boy seems to have forgotten how to use his tongue."

"I heard he caused quite the commotion before we arrived," the Priest commented.

"Speak boy," Jory said with clenched teeth.

"I'm sorry Father," I finally answered. "I can't seem to recall who the young man beside you is."

"Splendid," Utar cried out. "You've taught him some manners."

"I don't like insolent and rude playthings Father. I had to beat some sense into him, the old fashioned way." Jory was boasting, his chest was puffed up like a proud peacock. "They all struggle at first. But I like breaking the tough ones. The more they struggle, the better!"

Utar laughed then turned to look at the young man beside him. "Go on, tell him who you are."

"Myles," the young man spoke for the first time. "It's me, Sam."

The name echoed in my head. I felt weak in the knees. My stomach turned. Cold sweat broke down my spine. Hazed memories came back to me, of a friend I once considered a brother.

I remembered him visiting me in prison. I remembered him hiding me from the Church. I remembered him going out during curfew to fetch us some food. I remembered the Custodians' whistle and how my best friend was caught and tortured.

"Mr Kristo here, led you to us Mr Stalwart. You can blame the death of your family and your loved one on him," Utar spoke. "When I heard you were still alive, I thought it would be brilliant if I'd shown you the man behind your capture and misery. He's a member of our Church now."

The hateful Priest smiled then leaned on the table. He looked blissful, abnormally happy. "Don't you think it a brilliant idea Jory?"

The smith nodded, a bit too fervently.

"What do you think Stalwart? I personally think of myself as the genius of my age!"

"I personally think you're the strongest Priest in Hera," Sam spoke. His voice pierced through me like sharp needles. "They should make you Prince."

I felt my heart beating faster. All the anger and the rage I had tried to control surfaced back at once. I struggled to remain seated. That Priest was bad news. I swore I'd exact my revenge one day. But I just couldn't act immediately. Utar had some supernatural powers. I've seen him use them before. I was no match for him.

The Priest heartily laughed. Sam looked at me with misty eyes. I knew it was pity then. The bastard sold me off then pitied me. I wished he'd taken my place. He would know that the look he wore didn't help calm my anger.

"This man here killed three of my guards today," Jory told the Priest.

"Naughty boy," Utar replied. He picked up a bunch of grapes and started popping them in his mouth. "What do you plan on doing Jory?"

"I've been meaning to ask you a favor. It would help teach this insolent boy a lesson."

"What do you have in mind?" the Priest seemed to enjoy the conversation, as long as it revolved around my suffering.

"Could you possibly help me hire that famous herbologist?"

"I could," Utar answered. "But you'll have to tell me what you have in store for this poor soul."

"Perhaps after dinner, over a cup of tea?" the smith proposed.

Utar let out a mischievous smile then nodded. "Very well, now would you please take this eyesore away? I can't stand the look on his eye!"

Chapter end