The trial was over. Amanu had heard the verdict echo through the grand hall, a dull roar of resentment filling the air as the judge concluded. Now, he was being led through the courthouse by two guards, their expressions like stone, escorting him past the angry throngs gathered outside. As soon as he emerged into the daylight, the crowd erupted. They shouted insults, their voices sharp with anger, hurling curses that cut deeper than the stones and rotten vegetables thrown at him. The guards did not flinch, but neither did they shield him. Amanu kept his head down, though each insult lodged painfully in his chest, his only solace the knowledge that he wouldn't be a prisoner much longer.
The guards finally maneuvered him into a dark, reinforced carriage, closing the door with a heavy thud. The angry noise faded as the carriage jolted into motion, whisking Amanu back toward the jail. This time, however, instead of a cold, grimy cell, he was led into a modest room furnished with a comfortable bed, a small wooden table, and a tidy bathroom. It was a world away from the bleak cells. This room was a place meant for those whose trials were over but whose paperwork had yet to clear. He could finally take a breath.
His meals here were surprisingly normal, each dish bringing a semblance of life back into his drained body. He ate with vigor, grateful for the simple flavors. Days blurred together, his mind and body unwinding from the tense nights leading up to the trial. There was little to do, but Amanu found the quiet oddly soothing. He spent hours reflecting on his recent journey, tracing each step that had brought him here and wondering where this new path would lead. The week passed in reflective solitude, his thoughts drifting to Fleora and his old life in Ziwa village. Had she heard the news yet? And what would she think of him now?
On the seventh day, the door creaked open, and Amanu looked up to see a familiar face—the same towering warden who had sneered at him when he'd first arrived. This time, the man's demeanor was altered. He didn't sneer or mock; he simply gestured for Amanu to follow.
They walked in silence through the narrow halls of the prison, Amanu feeling each step take him closer to the unknown. He was led into Judge Luzo's office, where Luzo was seated at his desk, his usual expressionless gaze fixed on a stack of papers in front of him. The warden nodded at the judge and left the room, closing the door behind him.
A silence hung between them for several moments before Luzo finally spoke, his voice low and unhurried. "Mr. Savada. I trust you found your stay here… comfortable?"
Amanu took a breath, his voice calm but guarded. "Certainly an improvement over the cell, I won't lie."
Luzo looked at him, a slight smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Well, you'll be pleased to know that as of today, you're free to leave. The formalities have been handled. You are now a free man."
The words settled over him, heavy with implications. He felt relief, but it was tempered by a lingering uncertainty. "Thank you, Judge Luzo," he replied cautiously. "But… my home is far away, in Ziwa village. I have no place to go here."
Luzo's gaze sharpened slightly, and he nodded as if he'd expected this. "As you know, we value order in this kingdom. There are no homeless among us. And given the court's decision, you are now one of our Cleavers. You'll join the ranks of those who defend the kingdom, a group that lives and trains under one roof, under the guidance of our Chief Cleaver, Aran Yason."
Amanu nodded slowly, the weight of this arrangement sinking in. "So, I'll be living with the other Cleavers?"
"Precisely," Luzo said, setting his pen down and stacking his papers in neat order. "But do not misunderstand, Amanu Savada. This position is no act of mercy. The Cleaving you're accustomed to is nothing compared to the threats you will face here. And rest assured, your every action will be reported directly to us by Mr. Yason."
Amanu's gaze was steady, though inwardly he was unnerved. "Thank you for clarifying, Judge Luzo."
Luzo gave a curt nod, signaling the end of their conversation. The door opened, and the warden entered, motioning for Amanu to follow him once more. They walked in silence through the corridors until they reached the carriage waiting outside the prison's gates. Amanu stepped inside, and the journey began, the two men seated in silence, the warden's gaze fixed on the path ahead.
As the cityscape blurred past, Amanu noticed a change in the scenery. Buildings became sparser, giving way to grassy fields and rolling hills. The paved streets ended, replaced by a winding dirt road flanked by towering trees. The ride was long, the silence between him and the warden thick with tension. Finally, the carriage came to a halt atop a grassy cliff, overlooking a wide stretch of forest that extended to the horizon.
The warden opened the door, gesturing for Amanu to step out. He complied, taking in the rustic landscape with a mix of trepidation and awe. Here, removed from the city, the air felt different—sharper, freer, yet somehow foreboding.
"This is where we part ways," the warden said, his voice rough and dismissive. "I wish you nothing but bad luck, kid." He spat on the ground, casting a dark look before climbing back into the carriage, which disappeared down the winding path, leaving Amanu alone on the cliff.
Turning around, he took in the stone structure before him. It was large and unadorned, its walls weathered from years of standing against the elements. A modest garden stretched beside it, the earth tilled but humble, while most of the trees nearby had been cleared, leaving a rugged, open space around the building. With a nervous gulp, Amanu walked toward the front door, each step echoing louder in his mind.
Just as he raised a hand to knock, the door swung open. A man stood before him, his broad frame casting a shadow over the threshold. He wore a brown shirt, its sleeves rolled to reveal thick arms, and his dark hair was tied back in a tight bun. His black eyes took in Amanu with a critical gaze, the large knife in his hand glinting in the dim light.
"What do you want?" the man growled, his voice a low rumble.
Amanu hesitated but managed to speak. "I was sent here by Judge Luzo. I'm the new Cleaver."
The man's stern expression softened slightly as he stepped aside. "Ah, so you're the one. Come in."
Amanu stepped into the dimly lit room, his eyes adjusting to the shadowy interior. The floor was wooden, creaking underfoot, and the air was thick with the smell of roasting meat. In the center of the room sat a table, around which were five men, eating and laughing raucously, their voices blending into a loud cacophony that echoed off the walls. They didn't seem to notice Amanu as he entered, their focus entirely on their meal and their banter.
The man who had opened the door called out, his voice cutting through the noise. "Everyone!" The chatter instantly died down, and all eyes turned toward Amanu.
"Introduce yourself," the man said, gesturing for Amanu to speak.
Amanu straightened, feeling every gaze on him. "My name is Amanu Savada. I've been sent here to work as a Cleaver. Nice to meet you all." He nodded slightly, trying to hide his nerves.
One of the men snorted. "Cleaver?" His companions exchanged glances before bursting into laughter, their laughter bouncing off the walls.
"Cleaver, eh? With those little arms and legs?" another one sneered, reaching over to give Amanu's arm a rough squeeze, letting out a mock squeak.
Amanu forced a thin smile, his face heating up, but the laughter only grew louder, filling the room. The man who'd opened the door clapped him on the shoulder, still chuckling. "Take a seat, Stickman," he said, gesturing to an empty chair. "You'll need to eat if you're going to survive here."
Amanu sat down, trying to steady himself amid the cacophony. The man returned from a side room, carrying an enormous plate piled high with roasted meat, pap, and a handful of boiled eggs.
"I appreciate it, but I'm not really that—"
"Oh, you're eating, Stickman," the man cut him off with a knowing smile, his voice carrying a subtle warning. "And you'd better finish every last bite."
Reluctantly, Amanu took the plate, the laughter of the others still ringing in his ears. He looked down at the mountain of food, uncertain how he would finish it, but began eating slowly. As the men resumed their laughter and banter, he couldn't shake the feeling of being an outsider, yet he forced himself to join in, answering their casual questions as he ate. His thoughts drifted back to Fleora, wondering if she was safe, if she'd moved on, or if she ever thought of him at all.