by Brad Carsten
And then she remembered what she'd done, and her stomach turned. He couldn't ever know the truth or he'd hate her. He wouldn't just hate her, he'd despise her. He wouldn't be able to look at her. Nobody would. Oh plight, why did she open her heart to him.
The darkness began calling to her again, and she forced it aside. “NO!” she screamed. “Get away from me!” Tears filled her eyes and her energy wavered. “Please get away from me.”
The real her was despicable that deserved nothing more than a life without love. She was a burden, as Liam had said, but she wouldn't give in to hate. She forced Gaharah aside, and slowly her vision returned. She was being dragged along the ground, with her arms bound behind her back, and a sack pulled over her head, but she hadn't used her power, and joy began to bubble up inside of her.
If she could force her power back, if she could control it, then she could be like anyone else. If she could truly force it down, then she wouldn't have to spend her life alone. Her heart swelled at the thought. Laughing in delight, she wished that there was someone she could throw her arms around and share this moment with.
Coarse hands forced her into what must have been a carriage, onto a rough wooden floor. The carriage dipped slightly, as people climbed inside. The door slammed shut, and minutes later, they were moving. Someone rested their boots on her back, she could smell the leather and soil, and the weight pressed into a shoulder that was already strained by the ropes holding her arms behind her back.
The men tried taunting her with what was waiting for her when they reached the manor, but when they didn't get a reaction they soon moved onto other things. She half listened, hoping for a clue about the Lord or his chief advisor Sorrwyn, but all they spoke about was the hunting and how much they'd won or lost in town. Their voices drifted off, drowned out by the sound of the rumbling carriage floor so close to her ear, and she began to think about Liam. She even dared to dream about having a future with him. Whether she could win him over or not, for the first time in her life, she had a way out of the tomb that her power had buried her in, and she couldn't take her eyes away from the light now or she may slide back inside.
A voice in her head taunted her, whispering that she'd need her power just one last time against the lord, but the thought of it made her nauseous. No, she would never draw it again. She wouldn't be a burden to anyone. Like a drunk who'd lost everything to drink, on this journey, she had woken up in the gutter covered in urine and vomit, so to speak. She despised it, and like that drunk throwing his jug of wine against the wall, she wanted to scream and rip Gaharah out of her heart until there was nothing left of it.
All she knew was that she'd rather die than go back to that life again, and if it cost her everything, then so be it.
She drifted in and out of sleep, and every now and again, the men would remember that she was there and nudge her or dig a boot into her back.
Summer was moving into Autumn bringing cool nights with it. Some of that air blew in through the gaps in the floor, and without her cloak, she began to shiver. With the boots weighing her down, her shoulder, pushing into the floorboards, began to ache, and her arm went dead, but she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her squirm.
Thoughts of Liam soon shifted into thoughts of how she'd find the wings once she reached the manor. She could still feel the vial of sleep draft tucked into her belt. Livius assured her it could put a bull into a coma, but how in the world was she supposed to get him to drink it? Well, that was a problem for later. Perhaps she could gain his trust?
The carriage angled up as though climbing a hill, and then the horses stopped, and the men climbed out. There were other voices outside, and she could hear more than one door slamming shut, which meant that there was more than one carriage in the group.
They dragged Kaylyn out roughly, and forced her to walk, but her legs had gone numb, and she staggered and stumbled. Navigating the stairs proved even more difficult. Once inside, they ripped the bag off of her head. A bony man held a lantern up to her face to examine her, and she squinted in the light.
He turned her head to the side roughly, and then forced a dirty, and vile tasting finger under her lips to check her teeth. He sniffed. “You found a fresh one I see. I may just have a go at her myself once the Lord is done with her.”
He was interrupted by another prisoner being brought in. She was kicking and screaming, and the man took his lantern over to examine her. He drew the bag off of her head, and Kaylyn was surprised by how young she was. She couldn't have been any older than thirteen. The man reached out for her face, and she screamed and tried to get back, but a soldier held her firmly in place. Her legs gave way, and she sagged.
Kaylyn had to take deep breaths to keep Gaharha at bay. No, she could do this on her own, she didn't need its filthy claws reaching into her.
The man jotted down a few notes in a book, as though tallying stock. “Alright, I think that's everything. Remove the restraints but keep an eye on them.” He spun without giving Kaylyn another look and headed out the door.
As soon as Kaylyn was out of her restraints, she took the young girl in her arms and hugged her and comforted her, while the guard dumped himself down on a box near the door. He drew a blade out of his belt and proceeded to pick food scraps out of his teeth.
“It's going to be okay,” Kaylyn said, to the girl. “I'll get you out of here, I promise. I'll get you back to your family.” She asked the girl her name and where she was from, but the girl was too upset to say anything, and so Kaylyn just held her, and told her of all the wonderful places that she had seen. She described Brigwell, and Highton and Luthengard, leaving out the parts about the nightspawn of course. She realised she couldn't remember much about Brigwell, and so she added in some details about Atland from the story of 'The Stranger's Benevolence.' She had read it enough times as a child to see the village clearly in her mind. That seemed to calm the girl a bit, and Kaylyn tried asking her name again.
“Cara,” the girl said, in a shaky voice. “Why am I here? Why have they taken me?”
“I don't know,” Kaylyn whispered, “but I'll get you out. I promise.”
She tried engaging the guard, but he just grunted before getting back to picking his teeth. They were showing a lot of restraint for rough men with ale in their bellies. Besides for a few off coloured remarks, no one had pushed their luck, or tried to grope her, and that was puzzling. She wondered what it was about the lord that they were so afraid of?
About an hour later, the steward returned with two more soldiers. “Bring them. The Lord will see them now.”
When the soldiers took Cara, she struggled, but she didn't have much fight left in her.
Guards led them roughly down a narrow stone corridor into what looked like a large banquet hall.
As Kaylyn entered, the evil of the place settled over her like a blanket.
Men and women packed the hall and unlike the town, everyone was dressed in fine clothes, with strange masks of birds and horses and other creatures covering their faces. They laughed and talked and drank. Topless servants, both men and women were carrying trays of roasted meats, and the guests were tearing pieces off with their fingers, getting grease all over their hands.
A large black shape slipped between the tables and Kaylyn pulled back in surprise. The thing walked on two legs but its head was that of a bull with long yellowed fangs protruding up from its lower jaw. It wandered in and out of existence, like the shimmer on a silk curtain blowing in the wind. It seemed lost, as though it didn't quite know where it was and what it was doing here, and it didn't seem to be able to see the people. A woman in a gold embroidered dress gave a squeal of delight and clapped her hands.
More shapes appeared and disappeared, as Kaylyn's eyes slid to the throne at the back of the room. That's where the evil was the strongest. Sorrwyn, Bowen's advisor was slouching on the throne with a leg hanging over the armrest. He had a corpse lying across his lap, and its skin was blue and veined. With his eyes neve
r leaving Kaylyn, he held a hand over the corpse's belly. Filth from Gaharah washed over Kaylyn, and the corpse's back arched. Its eyes snapped open, and it let out a rattling cry with a sound like chains dragging along the ground.
Sorrwyn was a sypher. He was still staring at her, and she quickly averted her eyes. She wasn't drawing, but she wondered if he could sense it in her. And what was he doing with that corpse? How could it move? How was that even possible? He must have submitted to Gaharah completely, allowing it to consume him. She gave a small shiver, and for the first time that night felt rattled.
Other guests were only just arriving and among them was a small man with malformed legs and long hair hanging in his face. He came riding in on a pig. He too was surrounded by women.
Someone else had a growth in her neck, the size of a water skin, that was pushing her head to the side. She held a leash with a small monkey on the end of it.
Lord Bowen was sitting at the main table looking just as filthy as he had in Narlsward. He hadn't bothered to change for his own ball. Between giant gulps of wine, he was ripping pieces of chicken off of a roast and pouring gravy over it, and didn't even seem to notice how much of it was ending up on his lap.
Kaylyn's eyes strayed above him, and her heart quickened. Three statues hung above the table secured by a rope each. The two on the end had wings outstretched like angels offering their protection—wings just like those in Livius' place.
Here they were, right in front of her and yet so far out of reach. She had to figure out a way to get them.
Lord Bowen noticed the group approaching, and he downed his wine and got unsteadily to his feet.
He made for Cara first, and Kaylyn planted herself between them.
“Aaah, is this the fiery little vixen from Narlsward?” He brushed her hair out of her face with those greasy hands. His fingers ran down her cheeks and neck and he leaned in to smell her. He smelled of wine and stale sweat, and his breath stank like a sewer.
Kaylyn held her breath so she didn't have to breathe it in.
His lips parted on her neck. His tongue came out, and he trailed it across her jawline to her mouth, and his hands began to stray to where they shouldn't. Kaylyn jerked away, fighting every urge to bring her knee up between his legs. And then she wondered why she was fighting it and gave in to the urge. His eyes bulged, and he crumpled back onto the table clutching his crotch. The guards rushed in, and Lord Bowen threw up his hand to stop them. Through his pain, he began to laugh. “She really is a wild thing this one. So wild. Take her up to my chambers. Her and the young one. It's time to work off some energy. And bring out my branding irons.” He slid down the table onto the floor still laughing between gulps of air.
The guards threw Kaylyn and the girl into the room, and shut the door behind them. A key clicked in the lock and there was silence.
Cara began to cry again, and Kaylyn drew her into a hug. “It's okay, it's okay, I've got you.”
The room could match any in Master Kempsdane's manor for size, with high ceilings and thick red curtains hanging in the windows.
Three cages hung from the roof, and each was large enough to hold a child. Kaylyn kept her mind from straying there.
What kind of a monster was this?
Even if she wanted to use her power, Sorrwyn would sense it, and she'd soon have a sypher as well as every guard in the manor after her, never mind the hunter and every nightspawn from here to the capital. Still, Gaharah called to her, but she pushed it away angrily. She would do this without casting, and she would prove to Liam, but most importantly to herself, that she wasn't those things that people said about her. Right now, though, she needed a weapon.
She checked the closet and found one of those branding irons that Bowen had mentioned. She tested its weight to her palm, wondering if it could knock him out with a single good hit. She was just about to look for something else when she caught the sound of footsteps approaching.
Kaylyn touched the sleep draft in her belt. The Lord was bigger than her and could probably overpower her unless she could get him to drink some of it.
“Get to the corner,” she shouted to Cara. She looked around frantically for a bottle of wine or a cup that she could put it in, but the room was empty. The lock clicked and the Lord staggered inside carrying a cudgel. His eyes were hard and he was no longer laughing. He bore down on Kaylyn. She swung the branding iron at his head, but he caught it easily and twisted it out of her hand. For someone so full of ale, he was strong.
“Do you really want to go there?” He swung his cudgel into her stomach, knocking the air from her lungs. She fell to the floor, and he dragged her over to the fire, and thrust the branding iron into the coals.
“Let me show you what that's really used for, shall I?”
He slapped her again and again across the face. “Come on, where's this fight I saw earlier?”
He grabbed her hair and dragged her onto the bed. She tried to hold his wrists to stop him, but he was too strong. Her power called to her, but she wouldn't reach out for it. He dropped his bulk on top of her and began to nuzzle her neck. She tried to kick, but her legs were pinned down. He turned her onto her side trapping her arm, and held the other in his thick hand. She tried to reach for her belt, but it might as well have been on the other side of the room. He slapped her again; her head rang with it, and her vision blurred. “I thought you liked it rough?” He hit her again, and her lip split open. He leaned over and licked the blood off of her face.
If she could just reach her belt...
The branding iron was glowing red hot in the fireplace. He reached over for it, readjusting his weight, and she wrenched her arm free and grabbed for the small vial. Using her thumb, she popped the cork and as he turned back, she rammed it into his eye. Screaming in pain, he fell back into the fire, scattering coals across the floor. With the draft in his eye it began to take effect a lot sooner than it would have through his stomach. He snatched the iron up and tried to get to his feet. His good eye rolled back, and he shook his head roughly to keep awake. “You whore. You dumb whore. I'm going to—”
He took a few unsteady steps towards Kaylyn, and then his legs gave way. The iron clattered to the floor.
Kaylyn kicked it out of his reach.
Bowen dropped to his knees. He tried to say something, but he had lost control of his tongue. She wondered what in fate's name was in that draft.
Kaylyn grabbed Cara's hand and ran to the door before remembering that there were guards outside.
She screamed again and again, just to throw them off, and instead ran to the window. There was a balcony below his, but it must have been three stories down at least. There was no way that they could jump without breaking a leg or worse.
And then she felt that evil approaching. Sorrwyn was on his way.
Panic began flooding into her, but she took a deep breath and forced her mind to calm down. She wondered what Liam would do in this situation. Her eyes trailed over to the curtains and she had an idea. Using the branding iron, she unhooked the curtain rod and it came crashing down on top of her. She needed to secure it to something but the bed was too far away. She tried to move the bed but it was too heavy.
And then she saw that lump lying on the floor looking up defiantly at her, his lips forming garbled sentences.
Sorrwyn was walking up the stairs; she could feel the taint approaching.
She was out of time. She pulled her belt off, slipped it through the curtain rod, and around Bowen's neck.
She hesitated, and then she thought of the girl and all the others like her, and she wrenched the belt as tight as she could. “This boar should be able to hold our weight easily enough.” Bowen made a choking sound and clawed clumsily at the leather cord around his neck, but his fingers had stopped working properly.
Kaylyn dropped the base of the curtain out of the window.
“Cara. There are people on their way up here, so we're going to have to hurry up, okay? I'm going to get you out of here, but
you're going to have to do exactly what I tell you.” She offered the girl a hand.
The girl swallowed, and looked at Bowen who had fallen onto his back, his face turning purple.
“Come on, let's go.”
The girl glanced out the window, but when she saw how high it was, she fell back. “I can't, I can't, I can't.” She pushed into Kaylyn's arms, and Kaylyn held her wondering what to do. “We've got one chance to get out. In a few minutes they're going to come through the door and then it's over. Do you understand what that means? You've held out this long, now you need to be strong just a little while longer, okay? You've got to trust me on this.”
She looked at the girl in the eyes, trying to seem confident and casual. “You can do this. Just hold onto the curtain, and look at me. You're going to be okay.”
Sorrwyn had reached the top of the stairs.
“They're coming. Are you ready?”
The girl nodded, and took hold of the curtains with trembling hands.
“Good. Now hook your legs around the curtain, that's it. Now ease yourself down.”
As she slid over, Bowen was pulled back, making a choking sound. His eyes bulged and foam bubbled out his mouth.
Cara switched between keeping her eyes shut or looking up at Kaylyn, and Kaylyn encouraged her. “Keep going. You can make it. You're almost there. Just a bit more.”
By the time the girl had dropped down, Bowen's eyes had rolled into the back of his head, and he was no longer breathing. Kaylyn tried to avoid looking at his swollen face as she scrambled up onto the window ledge.
The evil was close now. Sorrwyn had almost reached them.
Kaylyn threw her legs over the edge.
The door handle rattled. “Lord Bowen?” came a muffled voice from outside.
Kaylyn said a small prayer and slid over the edge. The door shook, but once outside the window, the sound was replaced by an eerie silence. Despite her own advice, she couldn't help looking down, and her stomach did flips. She clutched the curtains as tight as she could until every muscle burned in her arms and legs.
