by Rob J. Hayes
A figure limped into the cell and stood between me and the door. I recognised the sharp features and glossy black hair, along with the gold on black uniform. Prena Neralis had come to visit me. She wore a new sword at her hip, a plain thing of silver steel that lacked both the grandeur and power that Neverthere had shone with. I attempted a mocking laugh, but it came out as a cough that wracked my body with new pain. Prena said nothing, only watched me through cold, harsh eyes, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword.
A second figure passed in front of the door, this one wider than Prena and a little shorter. He had a dangerous smile on his face, accentuated by the dark beard streaked with grey. He wore a fine suit of red on black and carried no visible weapon, and he walked like a man in charge of things. There is a way that people of power move, as though the whole world revolves around them. They expect things to move out of their way and so walk without concern or respect. I have known many people like this over the years and I have hated all but one.
"It's good to finally meet you, Eskara Helsene," the man said in a voice like a crackling hearth fire, all warmth and light hiding the dangerous heat of the flames. "I've heard a lot about you for quite some time now."
"Should I care who you are?" My voice was a rasping croak and I tasted blood on my lips.
"Oh yes." That smile and the way he looked at me… the memory of it still makes my skin crawl to this day. Like a beggar staring at a banquet, unable to decide which delicacy to sample first. I hated the way he looked at me as much as I hated the man himself. "We've been at odds for as long as you've been alive. You've been my enemy, my prisoner, my quarry, a thorn in my side. Prena here was quite beside herself when I gave the order to leave you be."
Prena grunted and her face contorted into a snarl.
"I know," the man continued. "But Loran is an ally and I respect his requests where I can. But then you returned to Terrelan and attacked my soldiers. Well, Loran's protection only extends so far, I'm afraid. I'm quite glad you came back, though. I've been wanting to get you down here for quite some time."
It dawned on me then, my mind working slowly, who I was talking to. Well, the talking part was over for me. I had just about enough strength left to push onto my knees and swing my stone fist at the Terrelan Emperor. I knew it wouldn't kill him. Finally, I was face to face with the man I had so long ago sworn to see dead, yet I was at his mercy. I couldn't kill him, but if I could just land a punch… if I could just hurt him, even for a moment, even if all I left him with was a stinging bruise, it would be worth it! The fucking bastard had me, but I could still teach him fear.
A boot connected with my face and I sprawled back on the floor of my cell, blood in my mouth and agony in my face to go along with the incessant pain in my chest. Prena had been waiting for me to make a move, waiting for the opportunity to put me in my place.
I'm ashamed to say I was spent. I curled into ball and moaned from the pain, unable to summon even the energy to drag myself away from two next boots Prena lashed out with. The only consolation I can drag from that kicking is that it hurt her too. Whatever damage the Iron Legion had done to Prena up on Do'shan, it left her with a limp and a weak left leg. Small victories. It's important to look favourably on even the smallest of victories when in the position I was down there. Anything you can cling to to keep you going. To keep the misery and despair from crushing you out of existence.
"That's enough," said Emperor Aras Terrelan in a voice thick with command. Prena obeyed without hesitation and took a step back, certain I would be causing no more trouble, that I was past any point of resistance. She was right. I had no resistance left in me, no strength for anything but a mewling crawl into the corner of my cell. But there was light, and where there was light there was shadow.
"Help me," I whispered the words, but I needn't have said them at all. Ssserakis didn't answer. I could barely even feel the horror inside save for the icy pit in my stomach. It had abandoned me. When I needed it most, Ssserakis abandoned me to my enemies.
"Begging already?" the Emperor scoffed. "I had hoped for a bit more resistance out of you." He rubbed his hands together, staring down at me with hungry eyes.
"I want to share something with you, Eskara." The Emperor of Terrelan took a step forward and squatted on his haunches before me. Prena tensed, the man was within striking distance, but I could not even summon the strength to lash out at him. My left arm lay out in front of me and I could just about see the stone fingers curling into an impotent fist. "You're never leaving here. Prisoners never leave my Red Cells. But you can take the easy way out any time you choose." He glanced up at the noose hanging above us. "I hope you won't go quickly, but eventually you will choose the rope. Some people don't make it to the first day, choosing to spare themselves the pain. Others get through the first day, and then realise that worse is certain to follow. The noose starts to look quite inviting, I'm told. Occasionally we get a truly rare person down here." The man bit his lip and smiled. "They are my favourites, the ones who resist. There is something… special about being the one to snuff out the fires of their resistance."
I glanced at Prena. She looked uncomfortable, fidgeting as though the Emperor's words made her uneasy. When I looked back to the Emperor, his eyes were shining in the darkness.
"I know what I am," the Emperor continued. "And I know it should be beneath me. The pressures of running an empire are… myriad. The responsibilities are crushing. I have been Emperor for thirty-four years. I have fought and won two wars. I have sacrificed for my empire, forged new alliances, brokered trade deals with creatures I should not have to deal with." He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I am under great pressure, as any ruler is, and so I have found ways to calm myself. I know these methods should be beneath me, that they are not befitting of a man of my station. But I enjoy them. I enjoy torturing people, especially those who have set themselves against me. Those strong enough to hold out against the torture. For a while, at least.
"I believe you have that fire in you. I can see it in your eyes, the way they flash like a storm in a bottle, and the darkness in between those flashes is even more striking. You'll resist. You'll fight." He reached out a hand and stroked my cheek. I tried to jerk away from him, but my head hit the wall and bright spots danced in my vision. "But one day, I will know that bittersweet pleasure of finding you swinging from your rope, purple and bloated and broken." The Emperor drew in a ragged breath and his eyelids fluttered. "Please, hold out for as long as you can. Please."
I lunged, snapping my teeth shut in an attempt to take off a finger or two, but the Emperor was swifter than I gave him credit for and pulled his hand back. He did not strike me, nor even order Prena to do it for him. Physical brutality was not the man's way. He knew it had its uses and employed it when necessary, but his tortures went far beyond the simplicity of a beating. With a smile, the Emperor stood easily and sauntered back towards the door.
"Until tomorrow, then. Oh, the anticipation of that first scream. The cadence and pitch, the hopelessness as you realise…" His voice trailed off as he moved away down the corridor.
Prena remained, looking down at me through a stare that was either pity or disgust. Maybe it was both. I could see something else as well, an indecision. It took a monumental amount of effort for me to uncurl, and even more to make it to my knees, using my stone arm as a crutch to hold myself upright. I wanted to get to my feet, to face her, but that was beyond me.
"Use the rope," Prena said once it became clear I was not anywhere close to being on my feet. With that, she turned and walked out the door, shutting it and locking me in near darkness once more.
I looked up at the rope, the thick cords of it standing out in the scant light shining in from the other side of the door. It was the only thing in my cell that was lit, a shining, temping beacon. I'd be lying if I said the call of the void didn't make itself known then. Lesray Alderson's gift from a time so long ago it seemed a different life, a far happier life that
couldn't possibly belong to me. Before the academy had turned me into a weapon, and before the war had turned me into a killer. Before the Pit had turned me into a prisoner, and Josef had made me choose between my best friend or my freedom. Before the Rand and Djinn had turned me into a pawn in a war neither side could ever win. Before Kento had turned me into a mother, and Silva had taught me how to love, and how to betray.
There was little to do down in my cell other than ruminate on my past and the decisions, and mistakes, I had made. On the friendships I made and ruined. On the people I loved, and where my leadership had led them, what it had made of them. Hardt shared my prison, I was certain of it. He was down in the Red Cells, awaiting torture, just like I was. I imagined him staring up at the rope. How much would it take before Hardt gave in? How long could he last? I wagered it would be longer than I.
My other friends soon intruded into my thoughts as well. Imiko had gotten away, I would accept no other possibility. She had run and reached the ruined city. Somehow, she'd found Tamura. They had fled to the forest and the safety of the trees. They had to have made it. They had to. Part of me hoped they'd come for me, somehow storm the gates of Juntorrow and break into the palace, before freeing me from my cell. A stupid, fanciful dream that would see my friends dead long before they reached me. A larger part of me hoped they'd stay away, embark on a life without Eskara Helsene dragging them down with her. I hoped Ishtar had made it out of Terrelan as well. She would find no hospitable welcome in the Terrelan lands, only suspicion and outright hatred. But there was no one more capable than Ishtar, and I believed she would find a way back to Polasia.
That left Josef. Taken by the Iron Legion. I didn't even know if my friend was still alive or not, what the Iron Legion might be doing to him. I must admit, even in my wildest nightmares, I did not come close to the truth. Perhaps my imagination was lacking, or perhaps I simply could not fathom the reality of his situation. I thought about Josef a lot, especially on that first night in the cells.
Spending too much time with only your own thoughts for company is dangerous. They start to swirl and circle, becoming ever more damning and heaping more and more guilt upon you. It was too much to take, too much turmoil, too much pain. My gaze slid to the rope over and over again. All I had to look forward to was torture. They wouldn't kill me, it wasn't the Terrelan way, due to laws set in place centuries ago, circumvented in the cruellest fashion possible. The Terrelans didn't kill their prisoners, just convinced them to kill themselves. I was in their clutches, well and truly caught with no way out, and it would be a kindness, both to myself and to the whole world, to just stop it there and then. No more pain. No more torture. No more mistakes causing the world and its people harm. The others would be free of me, of the things I put them through, and I would free of everything. It would be over.
"Ssserakis?" I asked of the darkness, my voice quiet, timid like I had never been. I received no reply. The horror was inside me still, coiled tight around my heart and soul, but it ignored me, a different sort of torture. Punishment for the promise I had broken.
For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt alone. Truly alone. No friends, no horror. Nothing but empty darkness. That scared me more than I can explain. More than the threat of torture or the lingering stare of the Emperor. I was terrified of being alone. Tears welled and I started to cry, at first, they were great, wracking sobs, but my broken rib soon put an end to that, and instead I cried in silence. It seemed fitting somehow.
A deep, dark, desperate misery settled upon me. The type of despair that makes the call of the void even stronger. Again, I found myself staring up at the noose and imagining how easy it would be to just stop. It was with no small amount of surprise that I realised I was no longer alone. Horralain stood nearby, his image pale and soft around the edges. A silent ghost to keep me company, a friend I had pressed into service beyond death, summoned now to chase away the fear of being so utterly alone.
Horralain's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Ghosts had no voice. My friend had rarely spoken in life, and when he did, his words were measured and brooked listening to. There was meaning to his words now, but I could not hear it.
"I'm sorry," I whispered into the gloom, unable to take my eyes from Horralain's ghost. "I did this to you. You don't deserve to be here." It should have seemed funny. Of all my friends, Horralain was perhaps the only one who did deserve to be in a cell. I had no idea what he had done to earn his way into the Pit, it was impolite to ask after another inmate's crimes, and back then Horralain had seemed the type of man who would strangle a person rather than talk to them. But there were plenty of rumours and none of them were kind to the big man. Even so, he didn't deserve what I had done to him.
I reached out with my good arm and clasped a hand around Horralain's own. The surprise on his face was obvious. Ghosts have no real form, they cannot interact with the world, nor even with other ghosts. They are nothing but thought and memory trapped at the point of death and given pitiable form, slowly eroding from existence. A terrible fate to inflict upon anyone, especially a friend. So, I did what I should have done long ago, right from the start. I unravelled Horralain's ghost and freed his spirit from the damnation of existence. He stared down at me the entire time, an unreadable expression on his face. Gratitude maybe? Pity? Hate? I couldn't tell through the blurred vision of tears.
And then I was alone again.
Chapter 26
Belmorose said: There are just two reasons for torturing a person. The first is to acquire vital information that would otherwise be withheld. The second is because you're a sadistic fuck who likes to inflict pain. Nowhere was the truth of his statement more apparent.
There is no concept of time down in the Red Cells. No light, save for that which my captors provided, illuminating nothing but the noose. There is no sound but an incessant dripping of water, and the wails of the damned as they experienced what was I was certain to. How long passed between that first meeting with the Emperor and the next? I don't know. Long enough that I had to use the bucket. Long enough that I started to dread what was coming and imagine what they might do to me. It is impossible to truly imagine torture. You can never really comprehend the pain and fear of it, until it is happening to you. I slept, I know that, exhaustion getting the better of me and dragging me down into oblivion. Ssserakis did not wait for me there. No nightmares or existential trips to the Other World. Most people would think that a blessing, but I would have given almost anything to hear my horror's voice once more.
When they came for me, I had barely enough time to open my eyes before a flurry of hands grabbed me, pulling me to my feet. I fought back, of course, but there was little I could do in my weakened state, and even less I could do once my arms were twisted behind my back. I reached for the Arcstorm inside, but its power was diminished. Too long without a Source to draw strength from. Even my eyes had dimmed. Still, one of my captors got a nasty shock that sent him stumbling and I took some small pleasure in that. It was short lived as I received a backhand to the face that had me spitting blood.
I was pulled to a halt and a hand grabbed hold of my chin; an ugly face shoved up close to mine. The man was old, wrinkled skin like dusty onyx and a white beard that was so tangled it looked like a bird's nest. His uniform was clean and pressed though, black on black, the colours of the Grave Watch. Even I had heard of them. The Emperor's loyal dogs; men and women without scruples or morals. In any other profession people like that would end up down in the Pit, but as long as they were loyal to Aras Terrelan, they were more useful to him free. I was under no false impressions; my guards were killers and worse.
"Do not do that again," the old Grave Watch man said in a voice that whistled through missing teeth. "His majesty wants to tend to you himself, but that don't mean we won't play rough if you struggle."
I stared at the man, putting as much venom as I could into the dim flashing of my eyes. Silence held for a few moments, then he looked away and started on ag
ain, the others holding my arms pushing me forward. Even at my most vulnerable, people have struggled to meet my gaze. Again, small victories.
The dark corridors passed in a blur of hazy lantern light and rushed footsteps. I saw other cells, doors locked and the occupants within either silent or screaming. My guards joked as they hustled me along, something about the city being in an uproar, its people demanding to see my corpse. Again, I was struck by the oddity that the people of Juntorrow hated me so. It really shouldn't have surprised me; Terrelans have always been a people who are easily led, and the Emperor had declared me an enemy of the empire, a dissident who wanted nothing more than to throw the people into another war no one wanted. I suppose Orrans were not so different, really. The truth is, the only real difference between Terrelan and Orran, back when it still existed, were the markings on a map.
I was moved down a winding stairwell, pushed along and held by the arms behind my back and a hand on what was left of my blouse's collar, then down another blank corridor of dark stone. Finally, the old Grave Watch guard opened a door and I was shoved inside. A single chair, set into the floor, sat at the centre of the room and I was pushed toward it. The Grave Watch wasted no time in forcing me down into the chair and then securing the iron manacles in place over my wrists. They had a little trouble with my stone arm and had to adjust the size of the manacle, all the while exclaiming at how odd such a thing was. I offered no explanation.
There was nothing else in the room. It was large for all it contained, easily five times bigger than my cell, and a single hook was embedded into each wall, a lantern held on each, bathing the room in dancing light. The Grave Watch gathered near the door and continued to talk amongst themselves. They spoke of people they didn't like, people they'd like to know better, of many other inconsequential things. The wait frayed my nerves. I have never liked being tied down or constricted, and the chair I was strapped to left me little room to move.
