Fall From Grace — Chapter One
The lights of the city seemed so far away, even though he felt that he had been able to see them for hours now. He had stayed away from the roads out of necessity, tramping an almost straight line in the right direction, through private fields that he had no right to be in. The lateness of the hour earned him only a few odd looks from men wearing the blue bands of servitude around their necks; a few of them looked as though they would move towards him and offer him help, but when they saw that he wore no band their eyes widened and they turned away. He was grateful that it was evening; their masters would all be at table or enjoying evening entertainment rather than inspecting the fields, and disturbing them to report an unidentifiable trespasser would not be welcomed. There was little risk of him being captured or returned to his former place. He wished, though, that someone would be brave enough to lend him even the barest amount of comfort; the temperature had already fallen dramatically and, hugging his arms across his chest, all he could do was shiver and attempt to think of warmer things. It was cold in this part of the world at this time of year. The snows might even start soon, and then what would he do?
The rough stalks of cut corn bit into his feet as he walked across them, half-stumbling in the twilight that would surely soon become full night, unable to clearly see any more what he walked upon. He began to swear raggedly under his breath, words the older men sprayed around with bile and the younger, like himself, with bravado when they thought it might impress. He was no longer trying to impress, and the shaken sound of his own voice did not even reassure him that he would make it another hundred feet, but he continued all the same. It was something to think about at least, something to concentrate on rather than the cold and the pain and the fear. Unbidden, almost like a tide that was overwhelming him, the words flowed faster and faster, pouring out of his control.
It was well into twilight before he could even make out individual buildings in the city ahead. He felt utterly wretched, his feet in agony with every step and his whole frame shaking with deep shivers, until even his voice faded off into the cold air and he continued in silence. With each outwards gasp he left a cloud of white air behind him, a harsh reminder with every step of just how cold it had become. He tried to think of something, anything, to make the distance seem more bearable, but he was limping now and unsure for how much longer he would even be able to continue walking. Every fleeting thought that passed through his mind was slippery and faint, difficult to hold on to, and gone into the night air with every out breath and every white cloud. He remembered the strange feeling of a delirious fever, some years before. The heat had taken all reason from him then; he imagined that the cold would do so now.
After what seemed an age he came at last to the place where the fields gave way to the main road, and to the wide swath of barren land that surrounded the city. The earth here was blackened and sooty, full of the bones of tiny animals and fragments of broken pottery. He had heard that slaves employed by the city itself cleared the area of any plant life every week, scattering ashes and similar detritus so that nothing could grow and weaken the walls. It was inhospitable here, from the very outset. Nothing could live where there were no plants; even the rats took up dwellings inside the city rather than outside it.
His lungs were burning with a cold fire now, a pain that made breathing almost unbearable, and his heart thudded painfully with every moment that passed. The feelings of panic that had followed him all this way only intensified as it became harder and harder to keep moving. Through the darkness that was now full he squinted ahead, and what he saw made his entire being quake. The huge oaken doors that allowed entrance to and exit from the city were closed, and there were no guards there to open them for him. The curfew had fallen; they would not allow him entry now. If he had come when they were open he may have had a chance of slipping through, but it was only nobles that were allowed to move outside of the curfew, and he had no band to show them what he was.
He dragged himself towards the city gates with the last of his willpower, and then, with no hope of ever getting up, fell down upon the hard stone surface of the road. His mind turned away from the pain of it all and left his body to cope alone, taking him elsewhere. The chill of the stone may have seeped into his skin yet further, were he not already numb from it, and with a shaking nothingness inside of him — a void where all the thoughts and reasoning had been that the cold had robbed from him — he drifted silently and without protest into unconsciousness.
Perhaps an hour or more passed before another human shape shadowed the pale pile of Griffin’s body, laying on the ground with his lips blue and pathetic. Dismounting from a horse, the newcomer hesitated a moment before approaching him, leaning down to touch the inside of his neck and feel for a pulse there. The boy wore no identity band, a fact that for a moment made the man stooping over him draw back; then he moved again with a sudden fervour, having felt the feeble beat of a heart that still lived despite all appearances.
‘Help me lift him, Jack,’ the figure spoke, a tone accustomed to authority.
Behind his waiting horse another beast carried another man, who dismounted at hearing the command. He moved forward swiftly, pale skin catching the moonlight like some lesser satellite.
Between them they lifted Griffin and laid him over the back of the first man’s horse, securing him into place with a length of rope that was normally equipped in tying the horses up for the night, and then led their steeds towards the great wooden doors of the city. At their knock, a small slit opened in one side of the door, and the suspicious face of a watchman peeped out. The sight of the golden identity band around the first man’s neck was enough to open the doors for them, and they passed into the safety of the walls, carrying the prone and unaware Griffin with them.
