[Durelin]

Adnan

Adnan spent the rest of the night huddled up as far from anyone else in the camp that he could brave in the dark. He shuddered, even though the night was barely even cool. He found himself unable to control the shivering for several hours, until he finally fell back into some kind of rest soon after dawn. He woke with a start around mid-afternoon, his head filled with scattered images of dreams, from vivid to blurred, but all stark reminders, each in their own way, of what he had done.

He had even seen their faces. Not the enemy, not the monsters from the East, swollen from their riches, covered in gold. He had seen the children, a boy and a girl. Only having a vague idea of who they were, he could not consciously picture their faces, and yet they seemed clear as day in his dreams. They screamed and cried, but mostly screamed, and something forced Adnan’s ear to listen to them closely, so he wouldn’t miss a breath they took. He kept counting the rushing of air, the movements of their chests, and the pauses between each lasted an eternity, as he hoped and prayed that they would keep breathing.

They had been so close to freedom…they had tasted it for months. Both were most likely around his own age…he knew all of the younger members of the group were getting use to the idea of being free of chains and orders and new scars on their backs. It wasn’t exactly difficult to leave those things behind, even if it was impossible to forget them. He had heard a few others talking about all the things they planned on getting away with as soon as the traveling came to an end. They would have a home, maybe even their own bedroom. There could be secrets, mischief, play, and adventures. They may be thirteen, fourteen, fifteen years old, but they had not had the chance play hide and go seek before, or tag, or to go on a treasure hunt, to pretend a stick was a sword and a vine a crown…. They had never been allowed to venture into their own world. It had always been one world, the real world, that never went away, except perhaps in their dreams…if they had any.

They were all so close to freedom forever, and he had all but betrayed them. It felt like a cruel, selfish exchange – his freedom for theirs. But he had not agreed to it…he hadn’t…he would never…

But could he give it up, now that he had it? Even for others? How many would fit the price? Just five people, or ten, or fifty? How many would he let go before he would give up his own freedom?

Forcing himself up, Adnan listened to his stomach growl and twist around itself, looking for something to fill it. He had lived much longer without a bite to eat. Perhaps these months had softened him. It seemed so, if he could fall asleep without any thought for how dangerous closing his eyes could be…

“Like anyone else, you deserve another chance.”

Another chance…another chance? Chances were just another narrow escape from failure, from death. How many times did one barely escape with their life without even knowing it was at risk? Just another close call, another chance…

“But please, just don't mess up again. I won't be around to defend you every time you make an error.”

“Pick it up, boy. You’ll need it, and you’ll use it well…”

“You’ve got the third watch tonight.”

Just another chance for him to fail.

For the rest of the afternoon Adnan wandered from spot to spot, trying to evade any contact with anyone as best he could. He watched some of the others, and most often found his eyes drawn toward one of the younger members of the group: the one called Hadith. The strange looking one. A man from the South that did not look like any of his people that Adnan had seen. He was not from the East, was he? The fifteen-year-old felt something ignite in his stomach: hatred. It had mixed with jealousy and sent up a spark. Out of guilt, the young man pushed the feelings down.

How did he do it? Adnan had heard by now…this eighteen-year-old had taken down one of those golden monsters. He had knocked it off of a horse! Recalling the confusion when he awoke to the rumble of hooves, the sounds of battle, screams of terror, the Haradrim boy could feel himself starting to freeze up with fear again.

To think he had the third watch again. No, he couldn’t do it…

How could he?

That evening came Adnan’s chance to find out. Hadith was alone, sharpening the Easterling blade he had received from his kill with a small whetstone, most likely admiring the way it shined, how beautifully adorned its handle was… Feeling jealousy rise up again, Adnan did his best to ignore it as he approached Hadith. He tried to keep his face clear of any feelings, which resulted in a mix of them warring on his face. Mostly he appeared troubled, which indeed he was.

“How,” he started without waiting for the man to look up, and then choking on his words. He forced a swallow before continuing. “How did you…do it? How’d you…kill him, bring him down?”

The person he could not look in the eyes at the moment, who sat right before him, was only a few years older than himself. What could one learn in just three years? Could one even learn bravery?