My Willful flame

Chapter Eleven

The first time I killed someone I wanted to die for my sin. I had felt guilt drown me, taking away my breath. I had died then, steeped in the icy waters. Who emerged was someone else. Someone with the hands of a killer.

Murder had come again, summoned by anger and commanded by rage. This time, there was no remorse, no guilt. Just the stains of another life lost, splattered on my boots, my coat, my hands.

I was a monster killing monsters. When would someone try to rid of me?

Over the dead body, amidst the onlookers, I felt their collective fear. Their faces were etched with horror, frozen in disbelief. I must've appeared deranged, blood-soaked and armed. They thought me evil I could see it. I studied each face, none familiar, but all frozen in place.

I moved deliberately, aware of their cautious stares. With a steady hand, I placed the gun on the ground, nudging it toward the bravest among them. He was the strongest, the one who had dared to take a step toward me. 

He didn't look as starved as the others and I figured he hadn't been here for long. But his dark eyes never left me as he took another step and reached down for the gun.

He was fast, aiming the gun at me, but I didn't flinch.

"I am not a threat," I said calmly, raising myself slowly.

"You're wearing the clothes of a killer." He accused, "And your hands are stained like one."

"I am not your enemy," I replied calmly, keeping my hands raised, urging trust in my voice. Even if he looked brave, the man in front of me, his hands were shaking and any wrong move could end with him firing the gun.

"You came from the capital. We have seen your kind here before. You come here to taunt us with your freedom, to spy and report. You are not here to help." He spat. He was indeed very brave. With who he thought I was, he was standing strong against me, with the courage of a broken man.

"You're right, I'm not. I didn't come here to save anyone. I only meant to pass through. Fate wove a different story."

They had almost surrounded me, with curiosity, not ill intent. Their faces were scared, grown men starving and freezing, covered in bruises, and they were looking at me.

"Aleron's rage is a plague. I have seen his destruction in the villages from here to the capital, families murdered and thrown in ditches. I am not part of this sickness, I do not wish for any harm." I paused taking a breath, looking the man straight in his eyes. "Let me free you from your shackles, and you can go anywhere you wish. I will not stand in your way."

He hesitated, and silence fell over us all.

I could see it on his face. The same thoughts and confusion that I had had many times. To trust or to fight. Many times I had chosen wrongly and paid dearly.

At last, he nodded, still careful as he lowered the gun, not moving his finger from the trigger.

I looked down at Haakon's body, lowering myself to snatch a ring of keys from his belt.

I reached for the brave man's shackles, letting the key find the lock.

His eyes followed me and as the key turned right, the shackles fell right off his wrists, hitting the ground loudly.

A prayer broke out and the men clamped around me fast. The clinging of the shackles blended with the many mumbles of prayers as suddenly tens of hands were in front of me. I unlocked them all, the steel fell from their wrists on top of each other. The free hugged each other, and others fell to their knees. Then they started going through Haakon's pockets and removing his clothes and boots.