A bit of prose

Still desiring, we live without hope.
[It., Senza speme vivemo in desio.]
Dante - Inferno (IV, 42)


Pain. So much pain.
His consciusness fights hard to retain control over the broken body. Every muscle, every bone aches terribly and would give up, collapsing under its own weight if it were not for the glimpse of will that – still – keeps him together.
Yet, the pain grows stronger until he knows he cannot endure it anymore. A step, another one, and the path winds endlessly towards the top of the mountain, towards the sky…
Pain is chewing at him fiercely, making him gasp and struggle for each tortured breath he takes. His wretched body staggers from one side to the other, as a drunken man would do.
Every step is an agony.
His own mind blackened from all the suffering he still understands that if he falls they’ll come for him. Thrown in the small confines of the cell, never to see the light of day, until he tells them what they want. And pain again. All those horrible things they’re doing to him, hoping he’ll break down and betray the men that put their trust in him.
Tell the truth and it stops now. A quick, merciful death. Tell us what we want to know.
Only voices. He forgot the faces, because he keeps his eyes shut all the time. Trying so hard to pretend he’s not there. Yet, no matter how many walls he puts around his mind, the voices reach in, with every stab of pain, every cut, every burn…
He’ll not survive it.
But won’t say a word either.
He cannot fall. So he steps forward onto the narrow path, the wheezing sound of his own breath filling his ears.
When he is safe, he can die.
Death it’s a promise. Silence. Absence. No more pain. It’s the only thing that keeps him walking, like the embrace of a lover at the end of a long harsh day. To die is not to feel and after all he has been through, he can wish no more.
So, reaching out with blind fingers that grope at leaves and branches and rocks, everything that can offer even the tiniest bit of support, he goes on, through the infernal pain, not knowing if there is darkness outside or only behind his closed eyelids.


1

Octavian d’Ennery woke up sweating. His hand had slid to the side and his fingers were tightly wrapped on the hilt of the dagger. Panic clenched his throat, suffocating him. Then, slowly taking in his surroundings, he fell back on the crumpled blanket and forced himself to breathe steadily.
A nightmare, he thought. Nothing more.
Except for the fact that he had had the same recurring nightmare for twenty years.
He opened his eyes again and gazed at the starlit sky, trying to shake away the last remnants of horror. Then, through the shadows of the night, he could perceive someone come closer and sit in the lush grass by himself.
Ayden de Azena, Octavian remembered. It was his guard shift.
The other man asked nothing, and Octavian knew he had probably trashed again from side to side and screamed in his dream, unable to free himself from the overwhelming pain and despair. But Ayden had seen it all before, so he did not worry…he just reached out and put a firm hand on his shoulder, sharing his reassuring strength for a moment, until Octavian found himself able to let the dagger go.
There was no danger.
Around them the mountain swirled and whispered in the night with a thousand voices…The rustling of leaves and the soft chanting of water over stones. The sounds filled his hearing…even though the forest itself was quiet. He remained alert for a while, listening intently, then closed his eyes again and sighed.
“If you wanna get some rest Ayd, I’ll take on the guard for you” he said in a low voice. “I can’t sleep anymore…”
“Nah’. The other man shrugged. Octavian could not see his face in the dark. ‘It’s only an hour or so till dawn, anyway.’ His words trailed off as he gazed over Octavian’s shoulder to a certain point in the air.
‘ You sure ‘bout bringing that man with you?’
‘ Well…everyone deserves a chance. If he’s a spy, there’ll be plenty of time to get rid of him’
It sounded so matter of factly, he discovered, as if they were not talking about the life or death of another human being. Sometimes it frightened him. But most of the time it was just plain simple: they were at war.