The following tale is one fraught with sorrow, with anguish, pain, and suffering.... And yet in the end of it all, the outcome of my adventures was a happy one, not only for myself but for the entire kingdom of Myrtana. Still, it was with great pain and trauma that I emerged from this story, and I am in hopes that my retelling it now in all its graphic detail will invoke a healing to my soul.

The aforementioned written, there were some bright spots of joy, laughter and ... friendship.. during my time within the great barrier known as the ‘Colony’, and to ignore them would be to greatly exaggerate my plight, then and now. So I am determined to put before you with this pen and parchment the exact story as I remember it. No embellishments, no reservations. Perhaps you will come to know the Colony as I did. Perhaps in learning of my wanderings and adventures you will discover a little bit of yourself that you never knew existed. For my own life had been a voyage of discovery from the very day I entered. Some things I am proud to have become, other things I deeply wish were not in my character. And so, whether I am a hero or villain, judge for yourself. In my own mind I am neither, and at peace with that perception. For what came to pass is what has come to be....

The Journey Begins

For nearly three months I was incarcerated in a dank, stinking cell wondering what was to become of me. I had done nothing wrong, I must assure you, however I will save the information of how I got into this predicament for another time. The possibility of being sentenced to life within the Barrier had not escaped my thoughts even in the beginning, and with each passing day what was once an idea began to look more and more like a reality. As I sat there day after day, with water dripping over my head from the one small opening high above me, I remembered how mothers, including my own, Innos rest her, would threaten their children with banishment to the mines if they did not straighten up. It seemed to me as if no one really believed the Penal Colony even existed, for had they known what it really was, they would not have been so whimsical to jest about sending their children there. The place for a certainty did exist, that fact was made evident by the only written information ever provided on it, a book that was required reading during my early days of study. It was basically a journal, written down by an old man, a prisoner of the barrier, I was sure long since dead.

Apparently he sent a copy out through the barrier with one of the Ore shipments as he wanted the world to know what it was like on the inside. As it turns out, this journal became widely published, and hailed as a literary masterpiece, not so much for the man’s skill with a pen,(for in truth he had little), but for the fact that it enlightened so many people to a new dimension of contemporary history. And so it was that, try as I might to remember what was contained in that journal, all I could recollect were three grizzly details - that most prisoners of the barrier would either starve, be torn apart by ravenous animals, or be stabbed in the back for as little as a loaf of bread.

Thus far I had been kept in solitary confinement, that is, save for two rats that seemed to know the way in and out of my little cell. I actually preferred it that way, shivering at the thought of becoming an ‘object’ for another man’s perverse gratification; a practice that I was sure must occasionally happen within the colony. I am a man of average stature, being raised on a farm and so able as most men, nevertheless I was determined that, should I really be condemned to exile, I would enter that world as physically fit as my current circumstances would allow. “Perhaps,” I thought, “my appearance alone would be enough to prevent my being branded a ‘slave’.” And so I would daily practice push-ups as much as my muscles could bare, and stretched them out constantly. I would not allow myself to get used to sitting down, but rather pace that tiny space back and forth to keep my legs limber. It was difficult to maintain my usual strength, let alone gain extra, with only two bowls of stew given to me daily by means of a small trap door built into the main one. Still, I was able to make some progress, and my ragged gray woolen shirt began to fit tighter to my growing arm and chest muscles.

And so the days went by, more quickly than at first due to my rigorous activities, when finally, it happened. The iron door to my cell opened for the first time since I entered. The same armed guard who originally imprisoned me stepped in, with the impish little soup deliverer behind him (I suppose for insurance, though I don’t know what the guard needed to fear from me). He most curtly announced:
“The Magistrate has reviewed your case, and feels that as you can offer no proof of your innocence, you must be found guilty. Therefore you have been sentenced to a life of servitude within the mining colony of Khorinis.”
It was, of course, the name “Khorinis” that stabbed my heart through, for there were many mining colonies that hosted convicts, but no one could ever come back from Khorinis.

The jailer continued: “You will be taken out of here and placed on a wagon bound for north in the morn.”
And with that the ‘man and one half’ exited and the cell door was shut with a reverberating clang. My heart sank so low I almost thought I would perish from despair. A lump grew in my throat that would not clear. I wondered why they would inform me of my condemnation today, when they could easily have told me the moment I was to be moved out? After all, I had no possessions to get in order. I assumed it must have been with the purpose of psychological torture, for I had the entire night to lament my fate.

A sleepless night it indeed was. I spent most of my time in prayer to Innos. I wondered how he could allow an innocent man to suffer like this? As the night wore on my feelings of self righteousness were replaced by self doubt. Perhaps I was not the man I supposed. By the time the first glint of Sun’s light entered the cell, it seemed as if I had passed an eternity. I sat in my little bed of straw in the corner, with no sound being heard except the dull thump thumping of my heart within. Waiting... waiting... and then, I heard footsteps coming down the corridor. They drew ever closer and came to a stop at my cell door. The keys rattled as the lock was turned, and the hinges gave a old, whining creak as the door swung open. It was my acquaintance the jailer, this time without the little soup man. Instead were two additional men dressed in Royal Guard uniform.

“It is time for you to depart from our establishment,” said the jailer. I was already standing, determined to face them with as much fortitude as possible. I said nothing, and nothing else was said to me. Once my hands were secured with a cord behind my back, we slowly marched out of the holding block, into the courtyard of this fortress turned prison, and finally passed under the portcullis of the main gate. There were four wagons at rest here, each being pulled by large oxen. The one in front was a coach, the second evidently a large supply cart, with a full load covered by large canvas tarpaulins drawn taught. The one at the rear was of similar size but empty. As for the one in betwixt the others, it was apparent this was to be my mode of transport. A narrow flat bed with a tall cage of iron bars on all sides and roof. There was straw on the bed and much to my surprise, a young woman as well. I clambered up into the rolling jail. The cage door was shut and latched, at which point I was instructed to back up against the side and stick out my arms. My bounds were cut, the two guards mounted their horses, and we then departed.

Our entire company was made up of the two mounted guards, as well as a guard sitting atop in the box of each wagon along with it’s driver. One more gentleman was overlooking the whole affair seated inside the foremost coach, dressed in a golden hued robe of state with a cylindrical hat so large he appeared somewhat comical, though I was in no sense of humor at the time. Of course myself and the girl aforementioned were riding in the paddy.
We bumped and jostled along for most of the day before nary a word was spoken betwixt us. Though impossible to sleep with the harsh movement, I spent the first few hours trying, for I was exhausted. The girl had no qualms of staring at me in her silence, though it seemed as if she was looking through me, with total preoccupation of thought. Their was a mark of resoluteness in her face, which was quite becoming. A dark haired lass, probably a bit younger than I - sixteen or seventeen years old I’d wager. What struck me the most odd was that she was not in a dress, but rather, breeches like a man. (To be sure there was nothing manly looking about her figure, however).

She was the first to speak: “My name is Velaya, what is yours?”
“It doesn’t matter anymore, does it?” I cynically replied. She said nothing, just stared. Growing uncomfortable with the silence, I groped for something to say.
“What are you doing here?”
“You are in the wagon same as I, what do you mean with such nonsense?.”
I suppose a foolish question deserves a foolish answer. Had I been in different circumstances I probably would have had a similar ironic rebuttal myself. This actually relaxed me a bit.
“I mean, how did you get in this situation?.. Where do you come from?”
“I was a thief, in a city south of where we picked you up. I was a great thief”.... and then her voice trailed off as if memories were crowding out her speech.

“Were you mad?!” I asked. “How could you live in such a way, knowing the punishment it would bring?”
“I don’t know how easily food was set on your table, but I had to do what was necessary to survive!” She quickly defended. Not to be shown up, I replied in just as superior a manner.
“I grew my food, as any honest farmer should.”
“Farmer eh? So what did you do, take some bastard’s life with a field hoe per chance he stole some of your turnips?” She asked with a smirk. Her non-chalant attitude seemed rather cold and unnerving. I admit to being a little intimidated that this girl three or four years my younger could be so desensitized to treat a man’s life with no more respect.
“No. Nothing... I did nothing, I am innocent.” Was all I could reply.
“Well, I certainly am not. But I wasn’t caught! I was framed by a rival guild. We thieves have guilds, just like any other honorable trade.”

Her insistence on clarifying that she was not apprehended as the result of a blunder seemed humorous to me. The girl had such spirit and tenacity, that at that moment I forgot her sex and found myself thinking that she would probably fair better than I once in the colony. I suppose it was on that line of thought that I lamented something to the effect of us slaving over a pickaxe all the live long in a dark, dusty ore mine. Suddenly I saw her countenance fall as Velaya turned away, staring blankly out of our cage. In a flat, but mild tone she remarked; “I’ll be doing a different kind of work.” Yes, Velaya was indeed a woman, and I shuddered at the grim reality in store for her.

Continued in: 'A Malicious Welcome'