Historical Setting: An unknown time in a cold land
Considering the chain — The chain is undoubtedly more valuable to my captors than am I. It’s simply the only proof they had that I’d been captured. Maybe the chain was a prize in a raid. Or maybe it was made by their own smiths, a valued possession, or the anchor chain for some large galley rowing an army of marauders to a foreign shore to kill its men and market its women.
I wasn’t conscious when I was wrapped in this. I’m sure if I were, it would have been dizzying. Maybe they stretched out the chain on the beach, then I was rolled up in it, like a hidden dagger rolled up in a fleece. I do have sand in my beard.
This chain isn’t fastened, it’s just wrapped. It seems if I had the power to move, I could eventually unroll myself and be free of it. At least I can see the value in my strength returning. And as I can move a little despite the chain, I must always remember only to turn in the direction opposite the winding which seems to be to the right. Maybe in that way, little-by-little, I can loosen the chain. The more uncomfortable it is to lay on the chain, the more I muster the strength to move, and the more I move, the more the chain is loosened.
This is a worthy project.
Mara says what we both know.
“The men have made their camp near-by. They keep watch on everything here.”
We can hear them, talking, arguing, gathering wood and undoubtedly eating spoiled meat also. We can hear they are also sickened from the meat. Mara is terrified now. If this one still starving man wrapped in chain is fearsome to her, how much more dangerous are two who are free and angry and have already killed her family and captured her?
We hear them moaning and groaning and puking. It is a long night with no tender sleeping for anyone – no whispers of consolation – only isolated fears. Everyone is alone in wakefulness, pretending sleep.
For me, it is lots of slow turns with chains bruising. I turn the last, to release myself from the chain. When it is a formless heap of links under me, these steel links still keep the coldness of night. But now, this chain is a limp nothing without purpose or connection. So, what will I do with my freedom?
(Continues tomorrow)
Lazarus Ink 