Chapter 6
Faramir left Teleziel sitting against the wall and turned to Mablung. “Watch him, do not let him leave his cell, but do not stop him from doing …whatever it is he does to himself.”
“Captain,” Mablung grimaced and thought of Damrod’s reaction. “Is that wise?”
“I doubt it, but what else can I do? I do not think he means to die, but the pain he inflicts has some soothing effect that I cannot fathom. In Minas Tirith, they will know what to do with him.”
“How much longer?”
“I want to watch for the fresh Haradrim forces I’m sure are coming. I want as accurate a head count as I can get. I believe Teleziel told me the truth. But the only way I can know for sure is if we watch them. When I am certain of the information, we will take it and him to my father.”
“There numbers must be great, indeed, if they can be so careless with them.”
“Whatever Teleziel did, it was a crime they considered worthy of death. I believe he may be an exception.”
“An exception to what?”
“Their way of life, maybe. I do not know for sure. I do not, however, believe they intended for him to live. His punishment should have led to his death. It would have, had we not interfered.”
“That’s of great comfort, Captain. Now we have to wonder what it is he did that warranted his punishment.”
“I doubt we’d consider it justified,” Faramir said cryptically before wishing Damrod good night.
Teleziel stared at the opposite wall for a long time without moving. He knew Damrod watched him and wondered how long he’d be there before someone else took over. He had no desire to escape because he had nowhere to go. The only escape for him was through death or his own mind. They were not likely to allow him either option at the moment. They were saving him for Minas Tirith. Absently, he scratched at the healing welts beneath his breeches. As he clawed, he felt the scabs break open and the familiar light sting. He thought of the captain with his strange red hair and calm gray eyes. Something about Faramir made Teleziel long to trust him, but he’d learned not to trust any one.
Closing his eyes, he recalled that last, frightful night among his people. He’d spent the day marching and that evening, when they’d made camp, he’d retired to the relative privacy of his own tent, one of his few luxuries. He’d stripped and run a damp sponge over his sweaty skin, as was his custom before retiring. He’d been upset and nervous and the small knife he carried in his boot proved too tempting. He’d pulled open the draw string of his breeches and let them slide down around his ankles. He did not touch himself in the manner of men, but rather applied the knife to the skin around his thighs and hips, slicing thinly and cleanly, inflicting a stinging pain and producing little beads of blood that made him feel alive. He hissed softly as the blade sliced through skin and his whole body thrummed. When he’d finally calmed down, he washed away the evidence and pulled back up his breeches. As he lay in his pallet, he’d heard a commotion outside his tent and gotten up to investigate. No sooner had he opened the tent flap than guards had seized him and dragged him by his hair and arms to his father. He’d been tossed face down on the soft loam and one of the guards placed his booted foot between Teleziel’s shoulder blades, pinning him down like an insect.
“Is it true?” His father’s voice was harsh, cold, filled with disgust.
“Sire? Is what true?” Fear slithered like a snake
through his entrails. “I do not understand.” In the torchlight,
he saw his best friend, Imiro, standing with folded arms.
And then he truly understood and the snake turned into a coiled dragon.
“Do not play the innocent with me. I have heard it from your own friend’s mouth. Do you deny it?”
In a moment of weakness during one of their infrequent rests, Teleziel had confessed his love to Imiro, fearing that in the days ahead, he might never again get the chance. The words left his mouth and Teleziel would have given anything to retract them. He could tell by the look on Imiro’s face what he thought of the confession. Teleziel had lowered his face to the ground and said nothing to his father. His silence was an admission.
“His punishment shall be no greater or lesser than any one else’s.” Teleziel’s father pronounced his judgment and went into his tent without another word.
They had started with stripping him of his pants, exposing his small cuts for all to see and jeer at. Someone produced a knife and they added to the cuts he’d already made. Theirs were deeper and longer and hurt a lot worse. They did not make him feel alive or less empty. They hurt him and humiliated him. When they grew tired of that sport, they beat him, passing him around to be slapped and punched and kicked by each in turn. Then they’d begun in earnest to inflict his punishment.
Imiro was the first, but he was not the last, of that Teleziel was certain. But it was only Imiro who’d made him cry. He’d cried for the betrayal, but not the humiliation of being spread open and plundered like a woman. At the first touch of Imiro’s cock against his opening, he’d tried to crawl away, begging his friend for mercy. But Imiro laughed and slammed his fist into the small of Teleziel’s back. Pain shot through him, took his breath, so that he collapsed with his face pressed into the dirt and leaves. His tears turned the dark earth to mud as Imiro thrust deep and hard and screamed vile names in his ears. His bladder loosened and the smell of earth and piss and semen assaulted his nostrils. The pain went on forever, but it eventually stopped and Teleziel laid spread eagle whimpering softly, praying for the gods to send him his death. The gods were deaf that night for no sooner had Imiro finished with him then the next one took his turn. And after a while Teleziel lost count. He lost feeling. Eventually, he lost consciousness, which was the best the gods would do for him.
Mablung stared through the doorway with wide eyes as Teleziel smacked his head against the wall and keened aloud with fingers twisted into claws that ripped and tore at his own flesh. What demons, what devils, tormented him so? Not able to stand idly by, Mablung committed the ultimate sin and left his post.
*~*
By the time Faramir arrived, Teleziel was barely conscious. His face was gray and his lips swollen and bloody from biting them. He lay slumped on his side with his hands inside his shirt. His dark lashes looked even darker against the paleness of his skin. Cautiously, Faramir moved toward Teleziel, careful to make as little noise as possible. He did not know what started the fit or if it was finished. Squatting down, he took Teleziel’s hand, pulling it gently from beneath the shirt. The nails were caked with blood and skin. Faramir’s face twisted with disgust and he lifted the shirt, knowing what he’d find and fearful of finding it. Teleziel’s skin was scraped raw and bleeding.
“Fetch warm water and towels,” he said as evenly as possible.
Mablung hung back a moment, staring in horror at the sight, before moving to do Faramir’s bidding. He was a veteran and had seen his share of battle wounds, but these were different. These were the marks of an animal. A man bereft of his senses. He shook his head. Faramir, he thought, should just kill the Haradrim and save them all the trouble.
Teleziel opened his eyes and saw Faramir. The look on the captain’s face made him want to crawl away into a hole. Imiro had the same look on his face that day, when he’d confessed his love.
“If I give you a knife,” Faramir began and then stopped. He cursed, something he did rarely, and flung Teleziel’s hand down. “Why?”
Closing his eyes, Teleziel felt like he should just give in and tell the captain the truth. What could it hurt? Maybe it would even end his suffering. Whatever Faramir did could be no worse than what Imiro had done, what his fellow Haradrim had done. What his father ordered done.
“Captain,” Mablung placed hot water and towels beside Faramir and backed away. The boy was much calmer now, but still Mablung did not trust him to remain that way.
“Thank you.” Faramir glanced at Teleziel and then back at Mablung. “Leave us.”
“Captain.”
“Leave. Us.” Faramir said through gritted teeth. “He’s no threat to any one but himself, Mablung. If I need you, I will call.”
Reluctantly and feeling like a traitor, Mablung left the cubicle
and ordered all those standing in the corridor back to their duties. Then he
took up position far enough away that he couldn’t eavesdrop, but close
enough that he could hear Faramir shout.