The day of execution drew near, and A-in's spirit grew restless with every passing hour. Sleep came to him but seldom, and when it did, it was broken by the gnawing thought of escape. Yet how could he flee, when the corridors swarmed with guards, and not a single tool lay within his reach?
The walls of his cell were made from ancient stone old, yet unyielding and strong. On the previous day, he had tried to scrape them with the jagged edge of a bowl he had purposely shattered, but the guards, upon discovering his deed, beat him without mercy. Never had he thought a broken bowl would earn so cruel a punishment.
Ma'at's balance, it seemed, no longer governed the hearts of men.
Darkness veiled the dungeon, save for the dim light of torches that flickered beyond the bars, casting wavering shadows across the floor. Cold crept through the stones, pain coursed through every inch of his bruised flesh. His body bore the colors of torment, violet and red, his eyes swollen, his sight dimmed. As he lay upon the cold earth, groans escaped him in his half-sleep.
"Are you well, lad? You sound as though pain has taken hold of you." came a voice from the neighboring cell, hoarse with thirst, weighted by years of weariness, and older than his own.
"I am indeed in pain, sir," A-in replied weakly. "These beatings have made my body burn as though with fire."
"So it was you, then, who took the lash last night," said the man. "No wonder I found no sleep."
A-in frowned. He could not tell if the man spoke in jest or pity.
"Worry not, my friend," the stranger continued, "for these guards of the temple are all alike. They call themselves keepers of order, yet treat all prisoners as beasts. I, too, tasted their cruelty on my first day."
"How long have you been confined here?" A-in asked.
"If my count of the sunrise be true," said the man after a pause, "then one hundred and fifty-three days have passed since my chains were fastened."
"That is a long sentence and yet you are still alive?"
"Of course!" the man answered, somewhat indignant. "The judges decreed imprisonment for life, not execution."
"What crime have they charged you with, to merit such fate?"
The man was silent for a time. A-in thought he had fallen asleep, but at length he spoke.
"I stole what was mine. My wife's golden necklace a gift from me to her. A noble took it from her and called her the thief. In my anger, I took it back. For that, they cast me in chains, while the nobleman sleeps soundly beneath gilded roofs."
A-in lowered his head. "Then we are brothers in misfortune. I too was accused though not of theft."
"Of what, then?"
"Murder," A-in whispered. "My mother… she…" His voice faltered, and he drew his knees close. "I do not wish to die."
No answer came from the other cell. Only the sound of breathing filled the hollow silence between them.
Then, softly, the man spoke again. "Young one, can you rise? Come closer to the wall."
A-in stirred, grimacing from pain. A faint thud struck the stones to his right once, twice, thrice. Something solid had been tossed against the wall.
He crawled closer, glancing toward the corridor. The guards were deep in idle talk, unaware.
The wall was thick, yet their voices passed through as though it were parchment.
"What is it, sir?" A-in whispered.
From the darkness beyond came a low voice steady and deliberate.
"Tell me, lad… do you wish to escape?"