Piles of huge stone pieces were growing higher and higher while the well was going deeper and deeper. But at least the digger could now hear the voice of the underground river, flowing in its catchment. It was heralding the end of his troubles. He was only days away from his liberation and he knew it. There was no nail left on his fingertips, no area of skin left unscratched on his body, and no bone not aching among his muscles; however, he was still hanging on to his goal with the miracle of his willpower. On the other side, the steward was almost ready with his wagons that would carry his small fortune. He was running around like a hound never missing his prey. He was collecting each and every debt, filling and loading the chests, and planning his journey down to its most minute detail. Both men were sure of the certainty of their own ways and were following them without interrupting each other. However, for all the preparation of man, fate has the final say, and it did speak at the end of that season. The last night, the lord was humming with fever. His blood pressure was so low that one could believe him to be dead if his body wasn't sweating all across his skin. His wife and court knew it was his last day as the sun was rising, and he would not see another night pass. Hence, all the clergy within a mile's diameter had been called upon. The steward, witnessing the end of his master, lost no more time and left his house and position to build a new life for himself once again. His wagon started its climb above the hills, leaving a trail of wheels behind. Meanwhile, his fellow was working below to fulfill his goal. It had been days since he climbed down and was working restlessly without leaving his post. The concepts of time and place were lost to him, and he was in a state of hypnosis that did not make him fall asleep but consumed him with work. The only thing giving him a clue of the time of day was the church bells, yet he was not very aware of that. To him, their rings were just an echo disturbing the silence of the ground from time to time. The digging was like a religious exercise for him now, just like the prayers of Islam, which he felt like there was nothing else but the god he was praying to and which he had stopped making a long while ago. There was nothing but the water beneath that would flow back to his home and to his freedom. He was more than overjoyed when the water started to well up under his foot. Yet suddenly, he felt a chill behind his backbone that soured his happiness. He could not comprehend the reason for his unrest that impeded his state of mindlessness. There was only the ring of the bell he had already gotten used to at that time. Then he realized the short interval of time between it and the previous ring of bells; subconsciously, he noticed an imminent danger urging him to climb the ladder with the speed of a bolt of lightning. He was gasping for breath, his chest rising high and low with the work of his lungs in pain. He did not realize how he reached the castle or passed all the guards, but he did notice the death of hope on the deathbed of his master.
The first was being dragged to the dungeon by the order of the countess. The second was being consumed by the worms eating up his face. The third was high upon the hill leading him to his future.
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