Shackles Of The Past

Chapter 20- Red-haired

The human heart,

is the chambers to all horrors.

~Aristotle.

***

A group of burly men sat in the solace of drinks and debauchery, whores mingling thereafter the other. Girls dressed half-nakedly roamed around each corner, both the youngest and oldest, as either one way or the other, they were in the midst of ogling clients.

A woman with raven hair, dressed almost naked with a visible fabric which flaunted all part of her lean shape, straddled a stout man, her hands tangled in his beard. Nearby, two men kissed, their tongues entwined as they sat on the plush couch, with their faces hidden in the shadows. Another was trio of women laughing and caressing each other, their body swaying to the music. In this den of vice, nothing was forbidden and everything was for sale.

Amongst these men were Rheon, Ariel and Xavier, gulping their drink in the mist of laughter and shouts mingling with the raucous atmosphere surrounding them. Every part of their surroundings where either occupied with man to man pleasure, woman to woman and vice visa, but their own table was rather fully committed to rows of ale barrels.

As men drank with abandon, downing every last drop in their cups before slamming them onto the bar and demanding for more, Ariel slammed his fist on the table, dropping his cup as if he intended to break it. “Ah!” he hissed, the ale working in his head. “Fuck, I’m going drunk,” he said, his head throbbing at the effect of the little amount he had absorbed so far.

A lone musician plucked the strings of the lute, the melancholy melody weaving in and out of the raucous laughter and clinking cups. The air was filled with smoke and incense, and another mixture of pleasure and lust. The music ran through, all along with the moans and shouts and screams, resonating in the brothel.

“This might be our last night, so down away your sorrows and whine with the world of women and drink.” From the way he spoke, one could already guess who the owner of the voice was. It was no other than Xavier.

“The ale isn’t helping matters at all.”

Xavier, who filled his cup with another round, slurred as he said, “A bit of distraction would do,” then he raised his cup up. “In memory of our beloved Devin.”

The others raised theirs as well, and Ariel raised his empty cup, not wanting to drink any longer, rather letting it clank against each other.

Rheon drove down the ale to his throat, sharp and brutal and Xavier did his in a far excruciating manner. When he was done, he flung it. He hissed. “I think it’s high time we think how we’ll get more captives and pay our debts.” He said, belching next.

Xavier waved his hand off, seemingly disinterested in the conversation. “We came here to honor the memory of a poor man, and you bring the reason for his poverty so we could cheer to. How thoughtful.”

“If we don’t consider how to pay off the Dragsholm’s, we would be dead and gone,” Ariel spoke next, looking at Xavier.

“Look around you,” he said, doing the honor of looking for himself. “…does this look like a council meeting or a court room?” Xavier responded, half-heartedly. “It’s a brothel,” he emphasized. “… where one gives room for certain distractions when there are problems. When do you boys learn?”

“We have two days, dimwit, and two days to get twenty thousand gold coins. Where in the seven hells are we going to get such amount? Here, by distraction? Only if you can come up with a reasonable idea, I would’ve thought you never lacked one.” Rheon snapped.

“When we die, we pay,” Xavier spoke, his vision blurry as the result of excessive drinking. “But when we live, we owe.” He said. “Perhaps your wife could help us. She has the body and the firm-” he belched. “…I mean, who knows, she could make double the amount we owe when she fucks-”

Rheon grabbed him by the collar, anger visible in his eyes. The man whom he just grabbed seemed lost by the situation he was in, and more engaged to his drunkenness.

“Rheon, take it easy,” Ariel interrupted, fighting him off Xavier who grumbled certain incoherent words. “He’s just drunk, you know that. Let him go,”

“This fucking piglet talks about my wife and I should let him go?” he seemed very annoyed when he fends him off and more than annoyed when Ariel asked him to bypass the issue.

“He’s drunk.” Ariel said, making him see things the way they ought too.

Rheon, who heard him, gritted his teeth in anger even when he knew what he just said was the obvious truth. But his glare for the man who dared make jest about his wife didn’t seem to subside.

And with a harsh huff, he pushed the man firmly back to his seat. “Never talk about my wife like that,” he warned the half conscious man, who waved him off and arranged his clothing as if nothing ever happened.

“Only just a suggestion,” And Xavier shrugged lightly causing Rheon to fume in an attempt to stand by hijacking him again, but Ariel came in quickly. And Rheon benched on his stool very slowly.

“If you have nothing reasonable to say, Xavier, just shut up.” Ariel reprimanded, as he glared at the seemingly drunken man and the latter responded by filling his own cup with more ale.

He looked away from the man, “How are we going to get more captives and pay our debts before two days? I mean, there are no other alternative, are they?” Ariel asked, shifting the conversation in that manner.

Rheon eyes narrowed away from Xavier, and grabbed another cup. As he filled it, “I’ve got a plan.” He said, the music getting louder and so as the moans and screams of sin making it difficult for anyone except them to acknowledge what he was about to say. Then he looked at him. “We hit the merchant’s caravan on the western road, so I’ve heard riches and slaves ripe for the taking. The number seems to increase as the days pass by. Having a certain amount snuck in our custody wouldn’t be noticeable.”

A whore suddenly passed by, swinging her hips in an attempt to lure them. Her black hair was left to cascade behind her back, leaving her chest bare for view. While Rheon looked away, and Ariel seemed less interested, Xavier welcomed the lady with a lustful gaze, who straddled him in a practiced seduction.

Both Rheon and Ariel looked away, the reaction of their fellow the least of worry at the moment. What they had on deck where far more important.

Ariel seemed not to like the idea, and spoke. “How are we going to do that? We lost the sigil of the royals. We are on our own now, without power. A definite push to square one,” he took the jug, and poured the ale into his cup. Now he wanted the drink more than ever.

Rheon didn’t respond immediately but when he did, it came out exasperated. “We raid the caravan by midnight when the village is cold and quiet.”

Ariel tsked. “Have you forgotten what happened the last time we tried to use that technique?” he brought up a topic that seemed to touch the very soul of the tormented man. “You lost your thing down south, if I can recall clearly and I lost my toes,” He pointed to his feet. “Only the heavens know what we’ll lose this time.”

The atmosphere suddenly turned tensed, with no words but the minds of the people seated in piling thoughts.

Rheon made no comment and grabbed his cup, his eyes lost in dreary thought. He could remember that day clearly, the scream and the pain and the torture. But the only pain that was true in his eyes was the look on his wife’s face when they were at the verge of consummating.

“Then the only option here is to get into another debt, less dangerous than the royals and pay back their money.”

“From whom?”

“Someone else. We would think of something,” he said. But he didn’t sound sure.

Ariel slumped back on his seat, feeling defeated. His eyes wandered lazily around his cup, the thought of drinking polluting his mind. “Devin would have asked us to cut the chase. He was always the one with the better idea, the most reasonable,” Ariel spoke. “Strange how everything happened.” He said, his mind wandering. “Don’t you find it odd he… about that day…”

“About the witch,” Xavier spoke, only seemingly coming in every conversation that didn’t require his attention. He looked up from the whore seated on his lap and onto Ariel. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy when I say witches do exist,” he drank again.

“We don’t need your fantasies improvised on this matter, Xavier. We need facts,” Ariel retorted, taking Xavier to release a half-hearted laughter.

“Tell me, when last have you seen Devin make jest of drop-dead serious situation just for fun? He’s not as crazy as you think of him.” Xavier sounded serious, for the first time they had been into a conversation.

“So you’re saying there was truly a witch in our midst that might have done the things he said?” Rheon asked, scoffing later. “Which of them? I’m certain there was definitely no red-haired Aliana, or the spirit of your run-away bride amongst the slave?”

Now it was Xavier’s turn to glare at Rheon, his words making him fume. The whore, noticing a change in the atmosphere, indecisively stood up from his lap, whispering something to his ear that shifted the tension a bit. And then she left, giggling after.

Xavier returned his gaze to Rheon. “We might not have your wife to run the deal for us,” And Rheon snapped at him. “…and definitely not Aliana’s descendent with red hair amongst the slaves we raided, but what about the silver-haired one? The girl Devin claimed to be the witch before the unfortunate incident?” he reasoned aloud, causing the two men to follow suit.

“You once said she was a witch and her father sold her off to us, didn’t you?” Ariel asked Rheon, who sat quietly pondering the same thing.

“Aye, I did.” He said. “But no one saw the girl do anything. And to make clarifications broad, witches mutter spells. For all I know, that girl lacks the ability to speak. We have been with him along the journey, and nothing matches with his… esoteric description.”

“And his burnt arm?” Ariel said. “Devin never had any burnt arm,”

Rheon narrowed his eyes, the thought sounding confusing. “Maybe he had and had hidden it all those while. Who knows, Devin being Devin.”

“Hm,” Ariel responded, the words didn’t settle well with him. “I doubt.” His memory was foggy, when he tried to rack his head. He thought he had seen something, but it vanished right away liked a river used to quench a burning fire- fire?

“Are you alright?” It was Rheon, and Ariel shook his head, washing away his thoughts.

Then he grabbed the jug and filled his cup once more, hoping the drink could wash away his headaches and white memory.

As they continued their conversation, the brothel’s patrons grew rowdier. Whore flirted shamelessly, collecting coins and whispers. Xavier stood, stumbling. “I need more distraction. This ale isn’t enough,”

“We have more pressing matter pending, Xavier,”

“If you don’t have the wife, we have no money.” He said, and Rheon glared at him, shooting daggers to his entire being. “But we have the brothel. I’ll give you an advice,” he whispered. “Let go of the trouble and run along with me. That’s if you’re still single.” He said, and marched off, staggering towards the back rooms, arm around the willing whore who had whispered to him earlier.

“He’s fucking sick.” Rheon snarled, bitter by his words and how sore his throat had become.

Ariel watched him move out with the whore, his eyes seemed thoughtful. “I don’t really think so,” he muttered, which wasn’t acknowledged by the bitter man, gulping his ale with sullen expression.

Outside, where the music was less boisterous, another sounds of laughter, cries, moans and scarping furniture followed, as Xavier bit the side of the whore’s neck, filling himself with pleasure.

It was hard and rough, as their movement screamed with urgency, not minding the open arena. “Mm,” he slurred, after receiving a cry from the brutal touch he inflicted on her, which was pleasurable and expected.

The whore’s moans tightened him, as he grabbed his hands around her loose garment, playing with those swells and evoking a sharp cry from her. Then he went down, ripping her fine lace, exposing her bare skin to his fingers.

“Oh…” she moaned, filling his fingers work on her. She closed her eyes, relishing his touching, and he way her body fueled. She played with his shoulders, giving out a practiced allure. “Ah!”

He was pushed by the whore, but his mind was mess with utter pleasure. He heard her gasps, and remembered her firm push- and the next thing Xavier remembered was being hit and taken into utter darkness.

***