It rained the first week of my exile; drenching freezing rain that seems to freeze your inner being, or perhaps that was my banishment talking... Anyways, it had picked up from the gentle shower earlier. The branding itself was quick, the shape of a skull branded on the back of my left hand. Then the ceremonial knife, no more than an inch, carved an x in my palm. A death certificate was signed... I was now dead. They handed me the knife, the final piece in my supplies yet, sadly, useless for any real purpose. I was lead out into the rain where I would join six members of the royal guard to the western border, a three day journey.
It was silent. None of the guards spoke to me even though three of them served under me and another was my friend in the academy. They were all stoic and silent; their only purpose to deliver me to the border. Other than that, I was dead. They didn't speak to me, didn't give me food or water, didn't help me if I stumbled. I started to worry about how I would survive in the jungle that served as our western border. My knife was useless, serving only as a reminder of my betrayal. I had no knapsack, no water skin, no protection from the elements. I was dead.
We arrived at the border around noon on the third day. The rain hadn't let up and the fear of survival was even heavier on me. I looked out at the forest; its vibrant green, its tall thin trees, its strange noises... I heard footsteps behind me and noticed a presence on my right. It was Leno, my friend from the academy. We met on our first day,we were bunk mates. He was an excellent strategist and swordsman and would have been a great general had it not been for his fear of horses. We trained and studied together and even after the academy, we were good friends. He dropped a small crate, no larger than a knapsack, beside me, though he did not look at me. I looked around at the others, the first time I had seen their faces the entire trip. They were all sad. Each one was looking at the ground, not out of humiliation or pity, but in honor. They were showing their honor for me, their appreciation for strength in the face of death. Strength? I was dying inside. I wanted to run... but I didn't, perhaps that was this strength they saw.
Without acknowledging me, Leno spoke. "Let it never be said that we punish those who do good." He looked at the crate and spoke to the others, "I believe we're all packed up and ready to go. Lets go home." And with that they left, leaving the crate behind. An unexpected, and forbidden gift no doubt with some basic supplies. Perhaps I'm not dead... certainly not to those who love me. I'm just gone to them, moved far away. I looked again at the forest. The trees made a canopy: a good shelter from the rain. I picked up my crate and crossed the border...
A weight lifted from my shoulders and I ran in the rain.
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