Cursed Child: Eater With The Odd Eye

Chapter 4: Dreaded Audience

Aneus gazed above with a forlorn expression, taking in the circular covering of darkness that focused his sight to the many stars that littered the night sky.

He sat on the ground, at the very bottom of the Watering Hole while lost in thought, his mind tunnelling towards one instance where he had felt disgusted with a certain friend of his.

The hundred meter stretch of distance that he and his fellow mates had to climb to reach the surface where all activity in the Ruined Hold took place was above him, the circular opening that he gazed at brimming with a limited luminance that partly shone on him and a few of the hundreds that sat along with, their faces painted red from the earlier feed at the Feeding Rite.

This was the life of those that slaved away at the behest of the evils in the Rings.

Aneus shook from the chilling cold of the night and retreated to the patches of hay that were sprinkled in this hole that he and his mates called home, seeking warmth in the food of hooved animals.

The blocks that made up the Watering Hole bore no heat to supply his body and around the circular walling that the slaves leaned against, one could see many wrestling over the small patches of hay, for they were much too little.

The rancid odour of human waste had become part and passle of the experience, for these men and women were afforded no places to relieve themselves.

The young black-haired man rebuked himself over and over again as he sunk into the crunch of dry grass, reviewing in his head the gaze he had given to his only friend when he saw the earlier savagery.

How Trodden had devoured a man's eyeball.

How the young man had shattered a man's head with but a throw of his fist.

What was this?

Was he unjustified for looking at Trodden with a face full of terror?

For being bewildered by such atrocity.

"I never knew we allowed a devil to live amongst us!" a man's voice echoed in the Watering Hole, breaking the much silent atmosphere in the pit.

The sullen gazes of hundreds fell upon the figure of a man with a black and white beard as well as downturned brown eyes that gleamed with treachery in a dark section of the hole.

"We should have seen it. What mortal feels naught even an itch? By the Stars, I daresay that we harboured a foul crawler in our midst that could have devoured us in our sleep!"

Aneus could not believe his ears.

He recognised this man.

His name was Desmas, the old carpenter from his village.

He and Trodden knew this man well as he had always taken good care of them, his wife even spoiling them with a special delicious broth that the two boys loved each time they came over.

Aneus had always thought that Desmas and his wife were this hospitable to them only because they had failed to have a child of their own.

However, ever since that day...

The day when he, much like Trodden and Aneus, had lost everything, he had turned into a silent and depressed husk whose light only bore vain.

He and Trodden had tried to associate with the man, but each time, he drove them off as if they were annoying goblins.

As if he did not know them.

And now, he was rallying the masses against Trodden.

Aneus felt a deep set rage building up within him as he heard the old man continue to defile Trodden's name.

"Do you not agree?!" Desmas called in a loud voice.

With his question, a few murmurs were heard as some of the slaves nodded with concerned gazes while others ignored, choosing to focus on their sleep.

Of those that saw his words fit to garner their response, they eventually nodded heavily and shouted louder in agreement.

Aneus was baffled.

He wanted to hold his tongue, as was his nature but...

The guilt that ate away at his conscience from within wouldn't let him.

He had a managed to feed tonight because Trodden had assisted him.

In spite of what happened later at the Rite, he still held a piece of light in his heart that refused to abandon his friend, even in a vocal confrontation.

"Yea! Yea!" Desmas called as he shot his fist into the air, many of the slaves siding with him.

What was this man's goal?

What could he possibly hope to gain from this?

"H...have you no shame?!" Aneus suddenly rose and yelled at the top of his lungs, attracting everyone's attention.

He breathed in and out, an imaginary chill adding on to the already hellish cold of the night that blasted against his skin.

His eyes darted to and fro, avoiding malicious gazes until they settled on Desmas who wore an ugly frown as he stared at him.

"Trodden fought for his life today! He experienced pain for the first time in his life! He.. he even slaughtered one of those evil men in front of our eyes... giving us a semblance of justice...but... but.. all you think about is the ill you've harboured towards him for years!" Aneus yelled while taking in deep breaths, his eyes watering up.

"Hah! Boy, what justice do you speak?" said an old woman who lay on her side with her elbow skewed as it supported her head.

She spat from between her mostly gone rotten teeth and crusty lips before eyeing Aneus dangerously.

"I owe nothing to any candle of light in this world, and even any shadow. None of them have bore me enough to eat my entire lifetime even as I toiled! What justice can a boy who feeds on human flesh give me or any of us?"

Aneus shrunk from the hostile gazes he had received, finding that no words came from his mouth in his defence.

More murmurs sounded as the men and women discussed among themselves.

"Hypocrite," said Desmas with palpable disdain as he gazed upon the black-haired young man. "You spit words coated in sweet, yet you fail to believe them yourself. Even you did not see any light from that encounter earlier, did you?"

Aneus struggled to bring his words off his tongue, but they refused to budge.

He drooped his head and silently watched and heard as the others began chortling at his expense.

Desmas had a dark glint in his eye.

Seeing the young man fumble over his words and grow silent, he scoffed, feeling a single bit of satisfaction bloom in his heart...

***

'Find the Bringing...' Trodden heard a soft voice call in his mind as he was being carried by one of the soldiers.

He was fully conscious, his mind keeling over in shock over the actions he had committed earlier.

The taste of human eye still slid down his tongue, tainting his taste buds while the shattering of bone resounded from his fist over and over again.

The soft voice that called in his head, contrasting the irritating noise of a voice that called him its child of the Endless Hollow, somehow soothed his chaotic thoughts.

Yet, they also brought him to wonder.

What was the Bringing?

Was it a place?

Was it a time?

Was it an object?

This was the second time he was hearing this.

Nay.

That was but a lie.

Something within Trodden heavily contended with this sentiment.

This was not the first time he had heard of this.

As he was pulled along the rough ground on the streets, a parade of people standing outside of their homes, looking at him like a troublesome beast in the wild that had finally been put down after tormenting their peaceful abode, Trodden could not help but grimace.

Children looked at him while hiding behind the legs of their parents, in fright or in disgust.

Others hurled small stones at his body as it scraped the crust, leaving a trail of blood as his torn leg which was barely connected to his thigh was following behind.

It was ironic.

How for four years, he had been subjected to the barbaric cruelty of the men that hailed from this Hold, yet in one single instance, he was now labelled as a monster that exceeded these men with barks for skin over portions of their bodies.

'Mother...' Trodden called in his mind.

The voice had stopped calling to him but he could not forget that soothing tone that only his mother's voice had been able to conjure.

The bald-headed man led a few other soldiers who followed behind Trodden who was being dragged by arm as they journey briskly towards the building at the centre of the Hold.

As they neared it, the air changed as a subtle oppressive push assailed Trodden whose breathing hastened immediately.

For this was the first time he felt such a drastic change.

Nay, that was not accurate.

This was the second time.

The very first time was when Albir breathed its last.

An oppressive shift in the air had borne down on all that day when large horses galloped, surrounding the village as massacre and carnage had ensued after.

Anger rushed out of Trodden as he came to a realisation.

Even as he might not have seen who led the charge, the man he was about to meet was there that day.

The young man gnashed his teeth silently.

A well made pathway was seen ahead, stone tiles neatly arranged over a twenty meter stretch with a well-kept lawn from where different variations of flowers grew at the edges that touched upon the grand mansion ahead.

The soldiers stopped, the bald man turning to the soldier that dragged Trodden.

"We cannot stain the lord's premises," he commanded.

The soldier nodded and waited.

A few minutes passed before, from the grace of the mansion ahead, a pretty maid donning a long dark dress patterned with streaks of blue at the edges, walked in hurried steps to reach before the men.

She bowed before asking, "How may I help you today, Sir Derrecks?"

"Provide for us a bandage for this one. He needs an audience with the lord," the bald man, whose name was Derrecks, said.

The maid turned her delicate gaze to Trodden and his grievous wound ignoring his hard gaze and nodded with another bow before disappearing fro where she had come.

Soon, she returned with an old piece of cloth that she wrapped around Trodden's leg tightly, until no blood leaked.

"Many thanks," said Derrecks as he moved forward led by the maid, the soldiers following after him as they walked over to the grand doors that adorned the front of the mansion.

They walked up the short flight of stairs and Trodden finally saw up close the marvellously sculpted statues of mighty men that held sharp weapons in battle stances.

They loomed over at a height of three meters, emitting a grand pressure from their marble-like texture, befitting of where they were positioned.

The hardwood doors glistening with a sheen of polish welcomed the soldiers and captive.

Trodden's eyes widened as he saw the beauty behind these doors.

A brown-coloured floor appeared, reflecting the lights above with a spotless neat. It was a mystery, what manner of material was used to craft it.

Pale peach coloured walls could be seen hanging on all sides while above, polished steel chandeliers hung with thick cream candles providing light below.

Rusted weapons of different kinds were hung on the walls on both sides, their images screaming of age in an artistic arrangement that portrayed naught else but power.

As the group walked, their steps resounding in what looked like a hall, the maid led them down a turn, the aesthetic of the surroundings changing as instead of the regal and artistic image of the last few stretches, a thick scent of warm and delicious food tickled their nostrils.

Contrary to Trodden's expectations, his first time seeing the man who ruled what he considered a hell of grand proportions that had claimed more than just his freedom for four years, would not be within a hostile setup.

The lord of the Ruined Hold, the commander of these monsters that tormented him each day, Balgruum the Unblooded, sat upon a great table, dining with three individuals he smiled warmly towards.