Integrity:
Book One of the Destine Series
Laurie D'Ghent
Copyright © 2017 Laurie D'Ghent
All Rights Reserved.
ISBN: 1448966817
ISBN-13: 978-1448966813
DEDICATION
To my parents, my husband, Amy K., and Cecilia:
For believing in me more than I did.
CONTENTS
1
Chapter One
Pg 1
2
Chapter Two
Pg 14
3
Chapter Three
Pg 28
4
Chapter Four
Pg 39
5
Chapter Five
Pg 48
6
Chapter Six
Pg 57
7
Chapter Seven
Pg 72
8
Chapter Eight
Pg 86
9
Chapter Nine
Pg 97
10
Chapter Ten
Pg 110
11
Chapter Eleven
Pg 121
12
Chapter Twelve
Pg 133
13
Chapter Thirteen
Pg 148
Chapter One
She remembered distinctly that her forehead had struck the floor when he had first shoved her into the cell. It had taken precious seconds to clear her vision, seconds that left him able to lock the door uninhibited.
He had walked away that time without making any comment. Now it seemed he always had something spiteful or malicious to say, something that would consume her waking thoughts and twist her dreams. Glegnar knew how to force himself into her very existence.
She'd only learned his name recently, on one of his all-too-frequent visits. After thrusting her pitiful meal through the narrow, rusty slot at the base of the door, he had growled his name to her, wanting her to know it, to fear it. He had called himself the slave master, so the girl assumed that she, herself, was a slave.
She had not left the small cell since she had been thrust into it. It reminded her of a cave, although it was square. Definite corners, a floor, and a ceiling made it obvious that it was designed as a room. The rusty chains and manacles attached to one wall announced it's use. All surfaces were seamless stone, the marks of tools obvious on the rough surface.
Boundless time had given her opportunity to recall details; she knew she had come down two flights of stairs, followed by a downward sloping floor. Being underground, there were no windows. The only light came from the hallway through a small barred opening near the top of the door. Her eyes had grown accustomed to the gloom as the days had passed. Flickering light, she assumed from lit torches, outlined the opening in a haze that made her wonder if her vision were failing.
The door had a large metal handle on the inside with an old fashioned keyhole underneath, one that she could look straight through. The food slot had nothing for her to grip, so she knew it would be futile to try to slide it up. The bars were set solidly in the casement of the small window in the door.
How many hours had she spent trying to open that door? How much energy had she wasted trying to pry the bars from their slots, knowing she would never fit through even if she succeeded in removing them? How often, in desperation, had she screamed for help until her voice was hoarse?
How long had it been since she'd heard any voice besides Glegnar's?
She looked down at her clothes. In the low light, all colors seemed to melt into the same shades of gray, but she knew even in bright daylight her clothes would be a uniform color. They were stiff with grime; she had grown accustomed to the smell long ago. Her hair was a matted nest that she no longer tried to untangle. The little water she received was barely enough to keep her alive—washing was a luxury, one she well knew she could not afford.
How different her life had been before. She would have been appalled at the thought of going more than 24 hours without a shower. Now she could barely remember showering at all. She couldn't remember what it felt like to actually be full, either. The gnawing hunger had become part of daily existence, something as dependable as her heart beating. Even the thought of eating a full meal was enough to make her stomach turn, from equal parts nausea and desire.
Time had little meaning here. She could have been there for years or days—it didn't really matter. All that she knew was that she would continue on there until she died, if she was even permitted to do that. It wouldn't surprise her if this place could somehow make her go on living forever, it a state of suspended reality. Her home, her friends, her family were all insubstantial. The slime on the walls, the crude drain in the floor, the immovable door, these were reality, her reality.
Đ
The young man walked down the hallway, lit by flickering torches every few feet. He passed several doors before stopping before one. He peered into the dark recesses, but could see nothing. “Hello? Anybody in there?” A faint movement in one corner convinced him he was in the right place. “I've brought your dinner.” He bent over and tugged open the food slot. He reached through and grabbed the metal bowl on the other side. When he pulled it out he could see that it was pretty hammered—the edges were bent out of shape and it was none too clean. Stymied, he finally wiped the bowl out as best he could with the tail of his shirt. Pouring the small portion of weak soup into it, he slid it carefully back under the door and closed the slot. As he stood to peer through the bars once more, he saw that the person in the corner had risen and was standing in the shadows, hesitating. After a moment, he turned to go.
“You're not Glegnar.” The voice from the cell was raspy from lack of use. Ben turned back slowly, careful not to startle the inmate.
“No, I'm Ben. Glegnar ordered me to come and feed tonight.” He paused, then asked, “What's your name?”
The person hesitated. Haltingly, the slave stepped forward. Ben could now see it was a girl, but a girl definitely the worse for wear. She stared at him, trying to discover his true intentions. Quietly, she said, “Integrity.”
“That's your name? Integrity? It's pretty. I've never heard it before.” Ben paused, not knowing what to say. “Well, enjoy your soup.” The girl stared at him oddly, making him reluctant to leave and reluctant to stay at the same time. “Do you have your spoon?” Integrity shook her head mutely. “Glegnar didn't send one. Do you want me to go get one?”
“I've never had one before now. Why should anything change?” Her voice sounded weary mostly, but there was a trace of defiance mingled with it.
“Oh.” Ben looked at the floor. “Is there anything else you need?”
“I need nothing.” The level of anger had risen, vying for its rightful place. Ben felt as though she had thrown the food back in his face.
“Okay. 'Night.” He turned and hurried down the hall. Integrity heard a hollow knocking sound, then a door closing. Only then did she pounce on the bowl of broth and devour it rapidly. After licking the bowl clean, she dropped it to the floor in front of the slot and returned to her customary corner, noting in a detached way that she hadn't had to lick it off of the floor like she normally did.
She felt a confusing array of emotions. To not have Glegnar's biting remarks was nice, but she didn't trust it; she didn't trust anything in this place. Why had Glegnar sent this Ben? Who was he? Obviously he didn't do this type of thing normally. What guard would ask if a prisoner needed anything? He must be totally clueless.
What kind of game was Glegnar playing? Was he trying to lull her into a false sense of security by send
ing a replacement? Or was something worse lurking on the horizon? Obviously she had wondered in her time there what purpose these people had with her. Torture had crossed her mind, often making every muscle in her body tighten in fear, driving sleep far away. So far only Glegnar's verbal attacks and the rough handling she'd received on arrival had occurred, but that was no guarantee that she would remain so lucky. People did sick, twisted things to each other all the time. She was helpless, with no one to defend or protect her in any way. There was no hope of help from the outside--there was no longer any “outside.” Only day after day, week after week of waiting.
Knowing it would be several hours before Glegnar was likely to show up, the girl lay down and fell into a light sleep, one from which she would easily and quickly awaken at the slightest noise. It was the only sleep she had known since arrival.
Đ
Ben brought her food the next time. Integrity knew it was him before he said a word—Glegnar's walk had a distinctive sound. The only thing she could see of Ben was a blurred shape that blocked the light.
Ben tried to keep his voice light and friendly. “Hi, Integrity.” The girl paused, not used to hearing her name. He pressed on. “I brought a spoon today. No girl I know wants to eat soup without a spoon. Not that you can call this soup.” He laughed, sounding a little awkward, or perhaps nervous. His form disappeared for a moment while he slid open the slot. After filling her bowl, he pushed it back under the door and closed the slot. She could faintly see a spoon sticking out of the soup.
Integrity forced herself to walk toward the door. “Thank you. For the spoon.” She felt like an idiot for thanking her captor, but all the training her parents had given her as a child still held a place inside her. Unnerved, she didn't pick up the bowl, but remained standing a few feet from the door.
“It's nothing,” Ben shrugged it off. Seemingly unable to help himself, he blurted out, “Is this all they feed you?”
“Sometimes I get bread.”
Encouraged that she had answered, he asked, “What about water?”
“Only if I don't get soup.” Integrity's voice sounded strange to her ears. She had to swallow frequently to keep her voice from cracking or stopping entirely.
“Why?” he said incredulously. Integrity merely shrugged. “That's stupid,” he continued. “Freak, they give me water. Why not you?”
Thoughts raced through Integrity's head. He spoke as though he weren't a guard. He had said that Glegnar had “ordered” him to feed her, and now he talked as though he had to have permission to even get a drink. “Who are you?” she croaked.
“I'm Ben, remember?” He sounded tentative, as though he wasn't sure of his footing, like he thought he wasn't important enough to remember.
“I remember. But are you a guard?” Integrity had to stop briefly to cough. She didn't remember talking ever being so difficult.
“A guard?” He laughed. “Please. I'm a lowly slave, at your service.” His head disappeared as though he had bowed.
“A slave? Why aren't you in a cell?”
“I've been here a long, long time. I guess you could say I left being a slave to be a servant. Aren't I lucky?” he finished sarcastically. “I get ordered around by everyone and yelled at for any reason or no reason at all. Everything I do, say, think is wrong. My very existence is wrong.”
“Where are we?”
Ben glanced down the hallway from the direction he had come. He lowered his voice. “We're at Westmarch.” Integrity could tell he was getting nervous, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
“Where's Westmarch?” She took a step nearer to the door to better hear his voice. She was wary, waiting for any unexpected movement.
“Not where, what. Westmarch is a castle.”
She interrupted him before he could continue. “A castle? I thought I was still in America.”
“You are, sort of. Westmarch is a place, a country, in and of itself. You're still on the North American continent, but not necessarily in the U.S.”
“I don't understand.”
Ben glanced down the hallway again. “Look, it's complicated and I've been here too long already. Someone will come looking for me.” He looked back into the gloom of the cell. “I'll try to come back, but I can't without an order. I've got to go.” With a short wave, Ben hurried up the hall.
For the first time in a long time, Integrity found herself praying. If only Ben would come back, maybe she could get some answers. Even if she couldn't, she still wanted to see him again.
Đ
Integrity was asleep when she heard Glegnar's shuffling gait coming nearer. She sat bolt upright and shrank into a corner. Her heart started beating quicker, her palms grew sweaty, and she felt cold all over.
He kicked the door with a clang. “Up, wench. I'm back.” He bent over with a grunt and wrenched the food slot open as Integrity shot to her feet—she had learned that disobeying Glegnar left an empty stomach to contend with. She watched his hairy hand reach through, extending a slice of hard, stale bread. “Come and get it.”
She hated this, and he knew it. Inching cautiously across the floor, Integrity neared the proffered food. She slowly reached for it. Glegnar moved his hand, causing her to jerk back violently. He laughed cruelly. “Hurry up, girl. Or aren't you hungry?” Integrity grabbed the bread quickly and backed a step away. Glegnar drug the bowl through the slot and poured some stagnant water into it. When he shoved it back through the door, half of the contents sloshed out. Integrity bent to block the flow with her hand before it reached the drain. “Uh-uh,” Glegnar grunted. “Lap it up like the dog you are.” Integrity bent slowly to do so, knowing that things would get increasingly worse if she rebelled. Glegnar called her a foul name before lumbering to his feet and slamming the slot.
He stood peering through the slot, breathing loudly through his mouth. “Do you dream about me, little one?” he hissed. “I dream about you. I dream about you running away from me. I dream about you begging for mercy. Does it do any good, little one?” He paused. “Does it?!?” he roared, causing her to flinch. He laughed. “Are you afraid of me?” As he walked away, he whispered, “You should be, little one. You should be.”
Integrity crouched motionless for some time, her heart beating irregularly. The man's filth seemed to wash over her every time he came. His malice hung in the room like a cloying perfume, ever so slowly dissipating. When her heart rate slowed, Integrity could feel the pain in her legs from crouching for so long and slunk back to her corner with her bread. The bowl of water would have to wait until she was more collected. It was far too near the door for comfort. Anything, anyone could be lurking on the other side, just waiting for her to draw near.
Đ
Ben was able to come again to see Integrity, but Glegnar's visits were more frequent than Ben's. Integrity was shocked to find herself actually smiling one day at the mere thought of Ben. His presence brought small splashes of sunlight into her otherwise dark world.
Each time he had come, Ben had brought her something, everything from extra food to lip balm. Integrity didn't know which she appreciated more, a full stomach or lips that weren't cracked and bleeding.
Ben had told her often that he wished he could bring larger things, like a pillow or blanket, but if Glegnar caught a glimpse of anything, he would surely take it away and punish her.
The most recent gift Ben had brought was a small brush. Untangling her solid mass of hair was a challenge, but one that she welcomed as it kept her occupied. Her hair was still dirty and prone to snarling, but at least she could tame it to some extent. It was the first thing that Ben noticed on his next visit.
“Your hair! It's so long!”
Integrity felt herself smiling self-consciously. “You couldn't tell before because it was so tangled up.” Integrity stood close to the door, better able to see Ben's face. Through the shadows, she could see that he looked her directly in the eyes.
“It's beautiful.” He held her gaze and she felt herse
lf freeze before she broke eye contact. She'd forgotten to even breathe. She shrugged noncommittally, dropping her gaze to the floor. It didn't matter that it was dark and he couldn't really see her hair; a compliment like that couldn't be brushed off, no matter how much her common sense told her there was nothing beautiful about her.
Knowing that their time was always short, Ben pressed forward as he gave her the food he had brought. “You started to tell me about yourself last time. I know you were walking home from school when someone grabbed you from behind, pushed you into a car, and covered your head with a bag. Then what?”
Integrity thanked him for the food, but didn't pick it up. Time with Ben was more important that food. “We drove for what felt like forever. If I made any noise or asked any questions, someone would punch me, so I quit talking. The car stopped, they took me out, and didn't take the bag off until Glegnar shoved me in here.”
“Do you think it was Glegnar that grabbed you in the first place?”
Integrity shook her head. “I don't think he would have kept his mouth shut during the ride. There was more than one person in the car, anyway.”
“So why did they take you? Why bring you here?”
She shrugged. “I wish I knew. Maybe they think I'm someone I'm not. I don't know.” She forced herself to make eye contact with him, afraid he would think she didn't care about his response. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she wasn't interested in what he had to say. His words were the only thing that kept her sanity at least partially intact. “Why are you here?”
“I've been here since I was really young. I don't even remember living anywhere else. I've always been a servant, always at someone's beck-and-call.”
“Why don't you leave?”
Ben looked at her sadly. “Where would I go? I don't know anything outside of Westmarch. I may as well stay as go. Besides, now I have you.” He glanced down, laughed nervously. “To talk to, I mean.” He scratched the side of his face nervously.
Integrity: Book One of the Destine Series Page 1
