Every one hundred years, a single opportunity comes for us all. (15 minute read)
“Jerel!” The reeve stalked through the clusters of bundled grain awaiting the reapers. “What lazy mischief are you trying to pass off as work today?”
Being only fifteen, and gangly for his age, Jerel pitched his shoulders up near his ears. The reeve was prone to anything from a ten-second verbal scourging to a full swing with a wooden rod. No tone or wording ever gave hint to Jerel for whatever punishment tickled the man’s fancy.
“Well?” The reeve called a short distance away, his voice impatient.
Jerel finally turned to steal a glance over his shoulder. The reeve wore his usual off-white tunic over brown trousers. A bright ribbon lashed around the band of his felt hat helped to distinguish him from a great distance. Today that red trimming flapped like a demonic herald signaling Jerel’s doom. The reeve stood beside a swath of grain not lashed together, his arm gesturing to the loose grouping.
“I’m sorry, sir.” Jerel drooped his head. Sweaty blond locks fell in front of his face. “Guess the twine fell loose of that patch.”
“You have a loose patch every day.” The reeve threw his hat to the ground, causing Jerel to flinch.
“S-sorry, sir. I’ll do better.”
The reeve pushed a hand through his tangled brown hair. “Don’t you want out of these fields boy?”
That tone of disappointment cut through Jerel deeper than any wound of the beatings he endured. Getting this job was equally a blessing and a curse. Jerel’s uncle worked for the lord of the manor and had put in a good word for him. The lord had even been kind enough to promise a better position after Jerel proved himself a useful hand. In the two months since his arrival, he had failed to elicit anything resembling praise.
Planting both hands on his hips, the reeve shook his head, dark eyes pinched into a scowl. “It is only by God’s mercy that I can stomach my envy of your favor with Lord Hanren. You are one of the few who has a chance to make a life for yourself outside of these blistering work hours. Don’t you want out of these earthy fields with their reek of manure? Don’t you want better for yourself?”
“Of course I do, sir.” Jerel shrugged, wishing for a few quick whips rather than the reminder of his fallen position in the hierarchy.
“Then do the work assigned to you. I’ll not risk a flogging against my own skin. One more missing sheath and you’ll answer to the lord yourself.”
Jerel swallowed hard. He’d already been dragged before Lord Hanren once before. Many stern questions came from the lord and Jerel’s uncle. No one could understand how a young man of his age struggled to perform so simple a task as tethering the wheat to assist the reapers. Both Jerel and the reeve earned a beating that day.
“I’ll not fail you again, sir.” Jerel pulled out a piece of twine from the pouch slung over his shoulder and marched to the patch of unbundled stalks.
“See that you don’t. I cannot imagine your uncle will allow such a tarnish on his name for much longer.”
With a feeble nod, Jerel went to work tying up the loose ends.
The reeve snatched his hat off the ground then turned to leave. “I have enough on my list without having to check up on you every day.”
Jerel listened to the soft crunch of footfalls among the drying wheat stalks. Their dusty scent choked him nearly as much as when the winds shifted to bring the smell of cattle dung in from the next field over. Securing the knot a little too tight resulted in several grain heads popping off.
“It’s not fair!” He kicked the base of the bundle.
This time last year he had been the eldest son of Lord Nelsorn, the pride of Brightheart Estates on the southern rim of the kingdom. Now he was lower than a stable boy on some random farm in some random corner in the northern part of the kingdom. It wasn’t his fault the spring rains failed in the south last year. And he certainly had nothing to do with that bunch of ignorant peasants who carelessly left a cooking fire unattended. The resulting firestorm wiped out all of the southern estates. If only Father hadn’t been so prone to drunken bouts of anger, they may have been able to earn the mercy of the king, as some of the other lords had received. Instead, after the raiders came to loot the remains of the fire, every surviving person under Lord Nelsorn was auctioned off and scattered to the wealthier nobles. No one knew what happened to Jerel’s father and no one really seemed to care.
Jerel trudged to another flapping section of loose stalks. Thinking about his life before coming to this estate was as depressing as thinking about life on this estate. Working through the heat of the day, he tried not to think at all as he managed to get his assigned area secured into uniform bindings.
Distant chimes of a ringing bell finally alerted him to the end of the workday. He dropped his bag of twine and started back. A few minutes later, he let out a deep growl and returned to snatch up his bag. No way was he going to be sent back to the field before he could settle in for the evening meal.
Beyond the wheat field, Jerel had to navigate the grapevines and their scattering of fox traps. For some obnoxious reason, no one had thought to carve out a path to ease passage of the workers.
“You sure are returning early,” Cray called to him from behind one of the grapevines.
“The bell chimed. We get to call it a day.” Jerel squatted to peer under the vines at the man who was tossing a pile of fox carcasses into a wagon.
“Most of us finish our tasks prior to ending the work day.”
“Bringing in the wheat takes weeks to finish.” He ducked under the bramble of drooping leaves and fruit to meet Cray on the other side. “You would have me go without food until the harvest is done?”
The man’s olive complexion, darkened by the late summer heat, held dozens of streaks from the dirt and sweat of his work. Even his salt and pepper hair seemed to have put in a full day’s employ. “I would never suggest such a thing.”
Cray gave a tip of the head, signaling Jerel to join in the task of hauling the chest-high wagon back to the barn. With a shrug, Jerel complied and Cray gave him the usual fatherly smile. “But I would have you reap the fruit of your labors.”
Jerel grunted under the weight of the stiff mechanics of the wagon wheels. These things always took a few steps before the momentum kicked in to help push them along. “What fruit? Laboring doesn’t give me any fruit.”
“It’s like these grape clusters here. What good is it to grow the fruit if you’re only going to leave it out to rot?”
“Picking grapes isn’t my job.” Jerel stumbled over a fox trap and barely escaped being snared himself.
Cray snickered. “You have missed my point entirely. I thought you were raised with tutors and did the learning stuff all wealthy offspring get to partake in.”
“Why exactly am I helping you?”
“Son, son.” Cray shook his head, smiling, pressing his shoulder to take more of the weight as they pushed the wagon. “What I’m saying is that the whole point of having the grapes is to enjoy the produce. The fruit, the raisins, the wine. Those vines are a lot of work but their benefits far outweigh the cost of the labor.”
“Yep, and Lord Nelsorn gets all the benefits.”
“You don’t get anything out of the work the vinedressers perform?” Cray glanced over, his cheeks never losing their cheery disposition as the pair strained to maneuver the bulky wagon between the long rows of vines.
“Not as much as he gets.”
“Did that reality concern you when you were the son of a lord?”
Jerel ground his shoulder into the crossbar of the wagon. “Even a birthright isn’t guaranteed anymore.”
They worked in silence the rest of the way back to the storehouses.
Cray eventually directed the wagon to stop at the rear of the barn (because apparently, it’s rude to park a bunch of dead animals near where other people have to walk). Jerel gave a half-hearted response to the man’s goodbye and headed for the source of the mealtime bell, which had already begun its second set of chimes.
A row of pegs standing a short distance away gave him a place to drop his load of twine for the night. Beyond the main barn, with its adjoining racks for the laborers’ gear, stood an overhang shading a broad area. A dense network of intertwining branches supported a thatch roof covering an area which could seat over a hundred. Several rows of rough-hewn tables ran in neat lines. A longer table stood on the far end with baskets of bread and large simmering pots of stew.
Three maidens stood behind that head table with ladle in hand as they awaited the incoming crowd. Two of the women were getting on in years and always gave Jerel a sour look when they spooned up his meals. The third, however, was two years his junior. Her auburn hair was almost as dazzling as the way she fumbled all over herself whenever he came near. Not that he liked her or anything. But who didn’t enjoy a little adoration once in a while?
“Miss Calla, seeing you is the best part of my day.” Jerel beamed his best smile for the younger girl and gave her a calculated lift of his eyebrows.
Her cheeks flushed as she flicked a glance at the two women standing on either side of her. “Me? Really?”
The woman on her right snapped a spoon near Calla’s face. “Don’t you go giving him an extra piece of bread. I saw what you did yesterday. That boy will get extra portions when he’s earned them.”
“Ah, have a heart, my dear woman.” Jerel put a hand to his chest. He was running out of time before the other workers started trailing in, so he had to make this quick. “I have endured the heat of the day out in the fields. Isn’t that worth a little compassion?”
She pointed a plump finger at him, her round face twisting into a frown. “No one needs extra looking after as much as you do. Extra portions are reserved for those who pull up your slack.”
“Can I help how much I’ve suffered?” Jerel pulled a hand against his opposite upper arm to draw the woman’s attention to his thin build. “My own mother used to give me that same look, you know.”
The woman ruffled her shoulders and shook the spoon at him with her usual grimace. “Given the work you do here, I bet she did.” She ladled up the stew to the brim and passed the bowl to him.
Noticing the extra chunks of meat lurking along the edges, he gave a timid dip of the head and grinned. “Thanks, Mum–, er, I mean ma’am.”
The red in her cheeks assured him an equally hearty portion would await him the next day as well. He slipped a second piece of bread into his pocket, thanks to the deft motions of Calla, and shuffled over to the far corner of the pavilion.
Several minutes later, the tables began to swell with animated conversations as the workers milled in for the evening meal. Jerel kept his head down. With any luck, he could finish his food before anyone tried to start a conversation with him. Unfortunately, two girls decided to plop themselves directly across from him at his table, speaking with all the ridiculous excitement of farm gossip.
“… right there in the middle of the field!” The skinnier of the two pushed loose strands of brown hair out of her face.
What was the point of girls putting their hair up in buns if the stupid things didn’t hold?
“Did you see it?” The other girl mimicked the motions with her own hair as if taking some kind of cue from the first one.
“No, there were guards everywhere, blocking it in. But I did see the lord’s daughter in line to get a peek!” The skinnier girl – Marla, was it? – let out the squeal of excitement typical of preteen farmhands.
Jerel rolled his eyes, debating whether to get up and sit somewhere else. Couldn’t these maids see that he chose to sit in the corner alone for a reason?
“My grandma told me stories about the door. Said it grants you any single wish you choose.” Marla twisted a curl of hair.
“Did she go through?” The other girl’s jaw hung open as if expecting to breath in the answer.
Neither of the pair ate a single bite of their food as they carried on.
“No, but she said her own grandma was able to go in and that’s where she met her husband.”
The other girl clutched both hands to her face. “Can you imagine? Meeting the perfect man simply by wishing him into existence?”
Jerel slapped a hand on the table. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m trying to eat.”
Marla gave him a mocking sideways glance. “Look who has finally lowered himself to talk to us common folk?”
“Oh, come on.” The other girl gave a soft pat to Marla’s arm. “He’s had a rough go. Give him a break.” She turned her attention to Jerel. “The Door of Desire has finally appeared. On this very estate!”
Blowing a snort of derision, Jerel fished a piece of meat out of his bowl with his spoon. “You two actually believe in that fairytale nonsense?”
“It’s not a fairytale.” Marla thumped her fist on the table. The rattle cased a few dribbles to slop out from her bowl. “Every one of us got a story from our own kin who went through last time it appeared. Maybe your kin was just too dumb to go in back then.”
“Watch your tongue, wench.” Jerel leaned forward as he glared at her.
“Or what? You’ll keep talking to me?”
He cocked his elbow back, emotions boiling from the day’s exhaustion.
She grinned mercilessly at him. “The hundred-year threshold has finally been crossed. Not even your sour face can ruin today for me. That door is opening tonight and I’m going to go through it.”
Additional murmurs and excited whispers were already sweeping through the groups and pairs of laborers sitting to eat. Marla actually needed to raise her voice a little to be heard over the many conversations. How was it everyone who claimed to be working all day had time to discover the latest rumor floating through the estate before him?
“Your precious little dream door is under guard.” Jerel scooped up the last of his stew. “Looks as though your fantasy will remain a hopeless dream forever.”
A shift crept into the girl’s smile that wriggled a chill along his neck. “A man can stand with his back to fame and fortune only so long. Eventually, those guards will break. And when they cave to that inner yearning, I’ll be right there to follow them in.”
The pupils of her eyes swam with an eerie darkness. As if something lurked behind that defiant gaze. Her balled fists remained pressed against the table.
He tried to force a laugh but it came out as a cough. “And just what do you think you’ll find in there?”
She eased back a fraction of an inch. “You’ll find out, won’t you?”
Another chill raked over him and pooled in his chest. He pushed away from the table, fighting to appear more annoyed than disturbed. “Stupid women and their idle talk.”
“You won’t be saying that in the morning.” Her mouth scrunched into a glowering smirk.
He stalked away. More voices rose in the pavilion as he took the path leading toward one of the man-made streams cutting north. The channel of water forked east to cut through the orchard and west to skirt the edge of the vineyard. He followed the path as it veered to the fruit trees. With a setting sun and everyone discussing the door rumors, no one would notice him picking a few apples.
The sweet waft of ripened fruit carried the promise of peaches beyond the red globes of apples dangling up ahead. He hadn’t ventured far into the trees since his arrival at the estate, so the pleasant surprise of peaches put a spring in his step. If there was one good thing about peasants, it was their predictable behavior of devouring a good fairytale. Even the reeve would be busy tonight getting everyone wrangled back to the bunkhouse and accounted for.
Another breeze drifted across his face. His stomach growled at the savory mixture of tangy and sweet lingering in the air. Possibly apricots as well as peaches. He picked up his pace, jogging between the rows of apple trees, hoping to find the source of that tantalizing smell before the last of the sun’s rays slipped below the horizon.
Then he spotted them. Golden orange fruit hung on the limbs three trees away. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from verbalizing his excitement. How long had it been since he tasted their delicate flavor? He sprinted the short distance and grabbed one. A hunger-induced thrill surged through him and he tore off half the peach in one bite. Juice burst along his tongue, bathing his taste buds with sugary nectar. These ones were definitely better than the peaches brought to him in Brightheart. Or perhaps it had been so long he could no longer remember their true flavor.
He pitched the inner stone of the fruit to the side after gulping down the other half. His pockets would not be able to contain the amount of fruit he wanted to take back. Then again, how could he do it without getting caught? Someone would surely sniff them out if he hid a few in the bunkhouse. He stopped reaching into the branches.
“It’s not fair.” He bit into another peach.
The distant rumble of arguing echoed through the grove. He stopped chewing. The voices called a little louder. Scanning right and left, he searched for the source, chomping down the last bite as quickly as he could. The distant bark of someone yelling in a commanding tone rang through the trees. He slunk low and waited several minutes. Possibly longer. The punishment for stealing a lord’s produce was a sentence he personally handed out many times in his former life. As long as those reeves, or soldiers, or whoever it was did not catch him in the act of eating, the worse he would receive was the threat of a beating.
A giggle tittered behind him a short while later and he slunk behind the nearest tree.
The voice of Marla whispered, “This is it.” She tugged at the arm of the girl who had been sitting beside her at the evening meal.
Jerel chanced a second glance around the other side of the tree to get a better look. The girls shuffled between orchard rows, oblivious to the delightful treats suspended above them. With a grimace, Jerel shook his head. Then he grinned to himself. It might be fun to follow them as the girls pursued their foolish little dream. He could hold it over Marla’s head for the rest of her pathetic little life; how her excursion caused her to receive a beating from the reeve. Sneaking through the groves to chase a peasant’s fairytale! Tossing aside any remaining fruit, he scurried against the next tree.
The voices of others in the orchard rose and fell as he slunk after the pair at a safe distance. The girls eventually huddled against one of the trees, each one peering around an opposite side. That was when the angered shouts of soldiers finally rumbled close enough to make out distinct words.
“Do you want to die, too?”
With a flinch, Jerel pressed against the nearest tree. The desperate plea of a dozen voices begged and wept in reply to the heated question. Jerel inched toward the left side of the tree. Beyond the girls hiding a stone’s throw away, dozens of forms scurried and flapped in the few glimpses he caught between the trunks blocking his view. Marla put a fist to her mouth and hunkered down, then shuffled to the side with hunched shoulders. The girls stared at each other a moment then slunk off into the dark.
As Jerel leaned forward to follow them, a hand took a fistful of his shirt and yanked him back. He spun under the force of the grip and slammed with his back against the tree. A man with far more salt than pepper in his hair pressed in close.
“Return to your lot, if you know what’s good for ya.” The haggard dress of the man matched the deep wrinkles etched on his face.
“What business do you have with me?” Jerel gasped under the arm pressed against his chest. “You’re not the reeve, nor anyone with authority under Lord Hanren.”
“I’ve seen things, boy.”
Though Jerel tried to push against the man’s grip, that stout figure held him fast. The sweet scent of peaches leeched away under the pungent breath of rot and fear.
“I’ve seen beyond that door.” The older man shot a glance left and right then leaned in closer to spit out a clenched whisper. “Some dreams are worse than nightmares!”
The man tottled back as though suddenly coming to himself out of a vision. “Hearts such as ours were never meant to receive the full of their desire.”
Wild eyes bore into Jerel. Did this crazy, old man expect Jerel to answer such an insane accusation? They stared at each other a moment, then suddenly the man dashed into the cover of night and was gone.
Standing alone in the increasing dark, Jerel listened to the huffs and grunts that continued to rattle in the distance. Worry and uncertainty crept along his skin worse than the heat of the noonday sun. Jerel thought for sure he had witnessed the peak of peasant foolishness when rumors circled at supper about the Door of Desire. So where had that madman come from? Had he truly gone through the door and regretted it?
More shouts rose, followed by a few high-pitched screams. Wails of mourning echoed through the orchard. Jerel swallowed hard, remembering the pair of girls hiding nearby. He peered around the tree to find the orchard empty. Had they seen what happened with the madman? Dozens more shouts called beyond the darkness. Morbid curiosity swelled until Jerel could no longer stand and wonder about the commotion building in the lord’s grove.
Taking a roundabout path to the right, he worked his way in the opposite direction of where he thought Marla and her friend might be hiding. He pushed through the dark for several minutes. The wails pricked back into agitated shouts of beggars pleading against their oppressors. Jerel cut through the orderly trunks of trees to get closer to the source.
Light glimmered up ahead, shrouded by flickering shadows. Black shapes danced wildly as the trees filtered out much of the details. Jerel continued forward, careful to keep an eye out for any more zealous naysayers.
The trees finally broke to reveal a scene from the myths he studied as a child. A wide meadow separated the peaches from another grove of silhouetted high trees. White streams, resembling the soft glow of starlight, winked along the edge of a door erected in the middle of the field. A ring of two dozen soldiers stood poised with sword and shield to protect every angle of the mysterious sight. Firelight danced atop a handful of torches driven into the ground along the makeshift perimeter. Several forms lay sprawled unmoving in the low grasses. A few of the motionless victims had kneeling figures rocking beside them in mournful prayer.
People at the edge of the throng gave agitated shouts. A pair of horses trotted into the gathering. The sparkle of steel and gold among their clothing hinted at the wealth of the riders. Jerel could not make out any distinguishing features other than one having their hair swooped up in a feminine style. Two of the soldiers lowered their swords. The pair of riders dismounted and approached the soldiers, passing along a rolled piece of parchment. Shouts of disapproval rose and several persons shuffled closer. Blades swept outward to prevent the trespass.
The newcomers weaved through the melee and approached the door. Light spilled across the meadow as the door pulled open. A woman’s voice cried out in ecstasy as both of the riders stumbled forward to rush in.
One of the guards stole a glance over his shoulder at the door, which remained open. He inched backward, keeping a wary eye on the near-riotous crowd. The moment his hand came in contact with that mystical slab of wood, his head snapped to gaze into the portal of light. He dropped his sword and rushed inside. More peasants pressed closer still. Another soldier glanced over his shoulder. Two armored men clashed in a barrage of metal as they succumbed to the alluring light.
The next few moments were a blur of light and shadow as chaos erupted. Soldiers turned against each other, peasants squeezed forward only to receive a crippling swipe of the sword, furious shouts from both sides nearly drown out the clangs of metal. All the while, more forms slipped in from the dark as a lucky few managed to navigate entry to the door.
Chalky grit stung Jerel’s nose. He pulled back. An orange flicker charged among the crowd through the grass. More screams rang out as people clamored to get away from the flames spreading like spilled wine. Some pulled at the lifeless forms lying beside them, only to be forced away by the heat a fraction of a second later. A few managed to press through the bottleneck of bodies to escape into the door.
For several gory seconds, Jerel begged his eyes to turn away from the building carnage. Only once the flames came within reach of the stragglers did he manage to pinch off the images by pressing a hand against his face. Memories pooled behind his eyes of the fire that ravaged his family estate. He alternated breathing through his mouth and his nose, trying to catch an easy breath amid the billowing clouds of smoke.
New screams pierced the night. The crackle of the surging flames evaporated under the painful cries of those caught in its path. As the orange glow lapped its way through the meadow, twitching figures still fought to amble their way to the door. And for what? A shred of hope based on stories from long ago?
The flames and patrons gradually receded until only Jerel and the door remained. Swaths of starlight twinkled at him from within the gaping exit. Warmth ignited in his belly, dispelling all memory of death and loss. Like the comfort of being wrapped in his mother’s adoring arms before losing her at the tender age of nine. Tingles of joy oozed into his muscles as if the very light itself were massaging away the fatigue and soreness of the past year. He took a few steps forward. Each planting of his foot added to the joyous release washing over him. His mind scarcely registered the number of fallen dead as he passed their lifeless forms.
Before he knew it, he stood inches from the mysterious door. Charred grass lay strewn along the stone threshold. The wooden slats of the portal were as ordinary as any door Jerel had walked through a thousand times over the course of his life. Curiosity turned to uncertainty as he stared into the soft glimmer. Why had so many squealed with delight right before they entered? Was it the anticipation of walking into a dream? And yet, Jerel could not shake the nagging suspicion that those people had seen something. Truly seen something. That first soldier had to have been drawn by a vision rather than a feeling. So why did Jerel only sense light and comfort?
Perhaps, this was the ultimate dream for all. To leave behind the cares of this life and walk into the oblivion of soothing release from the trials of life.
He set a foot onto the stone pavement separating the two worlds. Plunging forward, he extended his arms out to the sides. Light enveloped him. Cheery and fantastic images layered over one another. Scenes of lovers embracing after their marriage vows, great parties of smiling faces giving into the dance, mothers proudly holding aloft small children, young men standing with sword raised over a vanquished foe, sailors charging across a choppy sea. More celebrations and joyous events than could ever be lived in a single lifetime rushed over and through him as if he were passing through the dreams of a thousand souls.
Then the light and color slammed to a halt before a gnarled, leafless tree. The great estate of a powerful lord rose along the hills to Jerel’s left. To his right ran a vacant and dying land.
“Choose and enter.” A thin, wiry imp popped out from behind the gnarled tree.
He stood only waist-high to Jerel and had long, wild hair the color of goat’s milk. His suit may have been finely tailored in its former days but now bore the signs of dirt and age. The imp wore tall boots that seemed too large for his thin body.
“What is this place?” Jerel glanced back and forth between the contrasting lands.
“Your dream, your path, your destiny. Choose and enter.” White tufts of hair flapped and waved as he spoke with animated gestures.
“This is insanity. Who would choose a dying land over a thriving estate?” Jerel furrowed his brow. “And what part do you play in this world?”
“Silly boy wastes time with words rather than receiving the desire of his heart. Never have I witnessed such indecision.” The imp did an awkward hopping jig as though the notion were too amusing to remain still any longer.
The desire of his heart?
Jerel stared up at the lush fields of the flourishing estate. Was it possible for him to receive back all that life had stolen from him? He fortunes, his title, his honor? No more working to bundle grain. No more listening to the aggravating gossip of peasants who think they know better than him. A home filled with servants to wait on his every need.
Cracking a wide grin, Jerel trudged up the first hill of that lush field. At the top, the leeward side gave way to a broad valley. Row upon row of grapevines ran on either side of a shallow river. He worked his way under and around the vines, slogged through the river – why did this place not have a bridge to aid his crossing? – and hiked up the next hill.
A valley of peach and apricot trees greeted him on the other side. He grinned all the more, picking several of the delectable fruits as he navigated the orchard. Though his legs started to ache from walking, his chest swelled with pride. Father’s estate possessed nowhere near the fertility of this land.
He paused a moment at the top of the next rise. Acres of grain bobbed and ebbed like a golden sea before him. He glanced back over his shoulder then out over the waves of bobbing grain. Where were all the workers? He planted both hands on his hips. Something wasn’t right.
Jerel waded through the various fields for what felt like hours. His enthusiasm at his newfound wealth had started to wane. Where were the soldiers on horseback monitoring the safety of his land?
Another hour of marching finally brought a structure into view. A manor worthy of the effort required to come all this way. Great spires rose at each of the four corners, along with several rising from the interior. Light sparkled off the glass windows of the three-story building. A high wall surrounding the grounds assured him absolute safety in the unlikely event of an attack from raiders. If he had the strength to run, he would have struck out for all his was worth.
Tired muscles squeezed along his legs as he pushed himself to keep going. The full of his strength nearly gave out by the time he reached the wide gate.
“Open in the name of Lord Jerel!” He bellowed the words then bent over in a coughing fit.
Chains rattled as iron slats of the gate squeaked and strained upward. Jerel stumbled forward. He pushed a hand over his eyes to wipe away the grit and grime of the fields, willing himself forward with each step.
The scrape of the gate lowering behind him assured Jerel that at least one of his servants remained attentive at their post. He pulled up at the collar of his tunic and dabbed each eye to blot out the sweat still running from his brow. With a sigh, he lifted his head. Iron bars blocked his every view. Above, below, and even to the rear where the gate of his manor once stood.
“What witchcraft is this?” He spun around and lost his footing. Collapsing, he barely caught himself before slamming his cheek against a thick rod lacing through the dirt. “Who dares to betray their lord?”
The ecstatic voice of the imp called down from above. “And he lived happily ever after!”
“Let me out this instant.” Jerel gasped from the energy needed to shout.
“And why would you want such a thing?” The wiry imp hopped down from whatever perch he came from. “This is your dream, your path, your destiny.”
“Who dreams of being locked in a cage?” Coughs wracked him and Jerel lowered onto his side.
“All your life you have dreamed of being far away from others. Free of the fetters required to care for anyone or anything.”
Jerel turned a wary eye to the white-haired man. Is this what the madman in the woods tried to warn him about? Was Marla somewhere in this realm shaking in a cage of her own making as well?
“Marla?” The imp performed a little jig then pranced until he stood face-to-face with Jerel through the bars. “No, Marla does not sit in a cage.”
“You can read my mind?”
The imp pushed both hands over his mouth as he doubled over laughing. “The substance of thought and emotion speak louder than words of deceit. You never had the courage to give voice to the desires of your heart in your former life. Now your reality will speak those words for all to finally hear and see.”
“No, I don’t want this.” Jerel fought against his fatigued limbs to pull up to a seated position and brace himself against the bars. “I want out. I want out of this place.”
Squatting within arm’s reach, the imp grinned. “Then prove it.”
Jerel followed the imp’s gaze as it observed the four corners of the cage. Taking a deep breath, the youth pushed every mental image he could at the bars. Nothing happened. If anything, the weakness in his body grew until he slumped into the iron hemming him in on all sides.
“It’s not fair.” The words croaked from his parched mouth.
The heaviness of Jerel’s eyes pressed deeper until he gave in to the oblivion. When he awoke sometime later, the iron bars continued their sentinel watch over him. As did the imp.
“Not even in your dreams did you entertain the notion of freedom.” The deranged enjoyment of staring into the cage hadn’t lost any interest for the character.
“Am I going to die like this?” Jerel rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye, trying to make it look as if he were merely ridding the sleep from his lids.
“Whatever you greatly yearn for will come to you.” The imp drew closer, grasping the bars. “Every burning desire of your heart will be met.”
“Then release me!”
A cup of water appeared next to Jerel, along with a pile of fruit from the orchard.
The imp sneered a grimace more sinister than Marla’s condescending smile. “See. You don’t really want out. Deep down, you want to never work. And in here, you will never work for anything ever again.” Jerel’s eyes began to sting. This reality could not possibly be the reflection of his greatest desire, could it?
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