Julia
“Julia!” the man screamed, the iron bars clanking loudly. “Julia! Julia, my love! Julia!” The screaming and the clanking of iron woke the guards posted outside his cell. Both of them entered, one of them holding a shield. The emblem of the Radiant Cross shining brightly on its surface, the guard holding it bashed the prisoner straight on the face. The prisoner’s nose bled rapidly, his head fell back down and he slept, still muttering something under his breath.
“Heretic!” shouted the guard, slapping the prisoner full in the face.
“Why is he in here?” asked the other guard, being more lenient toward the prisoner and merely holding his face up to get a good look at him. The prisoner’s eyes were still closed, but he was muttering silently in his head the same word: Julia.
“He betrayed our lord and god Filaharn for-“
“Spare me your religious lectures Nestor I have enough of this at home. Tell me the proper reason,” the man said, shooting the guard known as Nestor, still holding the shield, a cold look.
“He betrayed the Brigade for romance with a woman,” said Nestor.
“Julia?” asked the man.
“Yes, Magas,” answered Nestor, bashing the man’s chest with the shield. The prisoner coughed blood on Magas’ face. The prisoner’s eyes popped open and they could all see the eyes of the Propugnator. The prisoner stared distantly at them with those cold, empty eyes. Magas stepped back as Nestor bashed the prisoner’s chest once more.
“By Filaharn, he’s a Propugnator?” asked Magas, his tone uttering intense disbelief.
“Worse, Magas,” answered Nestor as he stepped back to get another good look at the prisoner. The prisoner seems to have barely felt anything. The prisoner’s face was bloody, but other than that he seemed remarkably healthy. His body was muscular, his arms looked like they could break off the chains holding him if he tried and his legs were thickly built.
“What’s worse than a brother Propugnator betraying the Brigade, Nestor?” asked Magas, stepping forward and slapping the prisoner with the back of his gauntleted hand.
“He’s a Hand of the Pope,” answered Nestor silently. Magas again stepped back, his armour clanking with the metal bars of the cell. “He served the First Deva and Pope Saldian himself. Two of the greatest servants of Filaharn alive today had a traitor under their command.”
“Who knows of his existence?” asked Magas, his voice slightly faltering with fear.
“The First Deva found out about his affair. The Hands of the Pope under the First Deva know, along with some of the guards here,” Nestor answered. He motioned for the two of them to step out of the cell. “We should talk in private.”
Nestor led them away to a table in the dining hall of the prison; other Brigadiers were busy with their food to notice the two of them. The room was full of noise from the talks of other Brigadiers. No Propugnators ever held guard duties, even the sight of a prison handled by Brigadiers is rare, but this one was an occasion for those whose levels of heresy were ranked highest by the Devas.
“We do not know the prisoner’s name, but we know exactly where he came from,” started Nestor as they sat down and pretended to eat their rations. “The day he was brought in, he was fully dressed in the Hand of the Pope armour. He himself was being handled by Hands of the Pope as he was led in. The First Deva was at the head of his procession. When he was taken to his cell I was the Brigadier standing right there outside it. He was stripped of his armour and he was interrogated. The First Deva had a Hand of the Pope beat him and he himself interrogated him.
“It was brutal. The beatings did little effect and the cunning interrogation used by the First Deva couldn’t break through him. The First Deva accepted the fact that he’ll just rot away in that cage.”
“What about Julia?” asked Magas, who was chewing on some bread.
“Julia was a Brigadier, just like us. How they were able to contact each other without being spotted, I don’t know. When the First Deva had the prisoner arrested, it was said that the prisoner himself stopped Julia from getting to her.
“Some of the guards here are saying she’s plotting to break in to capture the prisoner. I don’t believe it.” Nestor finished his rations and stood up. “All we know is, if word of a prisoner like him broke out there’ll be chaos. A Hand of the Pope betraying the inner chambers of the hierarchy itself, people will begin to doubt the Order and the Throne itself. There’s a reason only Brigadiers are employed here, Magas.”
Magas walked out of the dining hall silently, leaving Nestor to go to the daily mass. Magas went back to the prisoner’s cell and watched him slowly. The man was strong; he had strong features in him. The prisoner looked up and showed Magas his cold, empty stare. Magas drew his sword, and the prisoner slowly nodded in acceptance. Magas screamed at the prisoner as he stabbed him. The prisoner’s mouth dripped blood on Magas’ shoulder as the prisoner attempted to draw one last breath.
“She’s pregnant, my Julia is pregnant,” the prisoner whispered silently. The heretic chained in the cell opposite the prisoner’s heard nothing of this silent engagement, merely distracted by the fact that a prisoner had just been killed in front of him filled him with fear. Magas drew back from the prisoner, his sword dripping blood. The stab wound opened a hole dead centre in the prisoner’s chest. It was dripping blood slowly to the floor.
“One more stab will do it,” said the prisoner, looking at his own wound and then looking back at Magas. “Remember that, Magas.” Magas rushed forward once more, this time his sword made an upward swing.
“She’s pregnant,” the prisoner said once more. “She’s pregnant, my Julia is pregnant.” The prisoner’s head then continued to stare at the floor as Magas drew back and dropped the sword onto the cold stone floor. “Julia, my love,” said the prisoner once more as his final breath was heard by Magas alone.