Dark Humanity

by Gwynn White

  “Who? Who is coming?” Liam replied, unable to keep the urgency from his voice. Hyndrid fell silent, eyes clouded over once more, rocking back and forth while muttering nonsense. Liam sighed then turned to leave. “Know that I will plead for your life. Perhaps Lord Alaric will listen to reason for a change.”

  Hoarse, raspy laughter filled the room. “Your pleas will fall on deaf ears, I assure you. Lord Alaric is not his father,” yelled Hyndrid, each work spit out between mad cackling.

  “On this much we agree,” Liam grumbled to himself. “Lord Alaric is certainly not his father.”

  Nearing the steps, he heard the clattering of armored men coming from above. Angry shouts came next, followed by the sounds of a minor struggle between soldiers and a new prisoner being brought down. Distracted by his unsettling conversation, Liam paid little attention to the ruckus. He stepped aside so as not to block their way.

  Down they came, pushing along a large man with dark, greasy hair. An ugly man indeed, he grumbled in protest, resisting futilely before taking another of several forearms to the back of the head. That calmed him. No longer struggling, he leaned forward and spit on the floor. One of the soldiers fumbled around with a set of keys on his side, unlocking an empty cell before pushing him in. The big man stumbled through, turning back immediately only to have the barred door slammed in his face.

  Liam shrugged, his mind on more important things. A horse thief no doubt. I’ll question him later. He didn’t care one way or the other. This man’s end would likely be the same all the rest. Petty theft, murder—nearly all offenses ended in execution.

  Liam began his ascent once more, but was waved back by another soldier suddenly appearing on the top step. From the cell behind him, the new prisoner burst into a crazy rant.

  “She’s a damn witch I tell you,” he roared, rattling the bars of his cell. “She-She held me captive against my will. I was a prisoner in my own home. You-You brave men saved me from her darkness! I’ll see you all rewarded. I’ll make sure you all—”

  “Silence!” Liam boomed, his enhanced voice vibrating the floor as he glared back. The prisoner let go of the bars, backing into the cell with his hands up. Liam was not normally this short tempered, especially with those poor souls already sentenced to death whether they realized it or not. But this had already been a trying day, and his patience was at an end. Forced to reason with a madman he once called his friend, now some new prisoner off the streets was babbling about witches and being held captive. It was all he could take for one day.

  “And you’re sentenced for harboring that witch,” one soldier added, flashing a glare of his own towards the cell.

  “Enough of this witch talk,” Liam grumbled under his breath.

  The rattling of chains descending drew Liam’s attention back to the steps. Two soldiers came into view, each holding one end of a chain attached to a moving pillory. This must be a dangerous one indeed to take such extreme precautions. Head and hands trapped between two thick slabs of wood, Viola looked up just as her feet reached the bottom step. Dried tracks from tears streaked her cheeks, her lip quivering in fear.

  Liam froze, staring into the eyes of what looked to be a walking corpse. Her irises were blood red, skin pasty white, and her lips were nearly black. But other than the death-like lack of color in her skin, she looked quite normal. Pretty, even.

  “That’s her! That’s the witch who—” Liam took a step towards Ethan, his piercing gaze cutting him off. Ethan was not a small man, but this towering fellow was at least a head taller than him. Shriveling under those intense eyes, he closed his mouth and backed away.

  Two chains in front, two behind, four men total walked the dead-looking girl over to a massive wooden door. Multiple deadbolts were undone, followed by two more heavy locks opened with a black key ring. The door was so heavy, it took the thick-armed soldier considerable effort to swing in open.

  A second soldier lifted his smaller set of keys to each side of her neck. Two locks fell to the floor, followed by their chains and both halves of wood. Free of the substantial burden, Viola dropped to her knees, gulping air as if she had been underwater. Only a second or two passed before she was hoisted back to her feet, then slung into the dark room. Clearly fearing the dead-looking girl, two of the soldiers quickly slammed the heavy door as fast as they could. Breathing sighs of relief, the four of them headed back towards the steps.

  Staring at the door, Liam grabbed one of the men’s arms as he passed. “Is she the one I keep hearing about?” he asked.

  “Yes sir,” he replied. “Dangerous, that one is.”

  “The chains, pillory, and now that reinforced cell—do you think all that was necessary for some young girl?”

  The soldier stared blankly for a moment, unsure as to how to respond. “S-She’s a demon, sir. Just look at her. Who knows what the witch is capable of?”

  Disgusted, Liam released his arm with a less-than-gentle push. “I strongly doubt she’s a demon,” he grumbled, advancing towards her cell.

  He opened the sliding eye slit with a snap, and peeked into the pitch-blackness. Through the eye slit, he could smell the musty stench of a damp cell that was rarely used. Through the darkness, he heard her sobs coming from the far corner where she must have crawled. “What is your name?” he demanded, peering into the dark with only a minimal indication of where she might be. Her sobs only intensified, confirming at least one of his suspicions. Demons don’t cry because they’re left alone in the dark.

  “Very well. I will leave you be for now,” he continued. “But when I return, you will be questioned. Do you understand what will happen if you do not cooperate?” He waited patiently for her to respond. No longer hearing her sobs, he pressed his eyes all the way up to the slit, searching through the darkness.

  A pale face with red eyes flashed across his vision, causing him to stumble back. “I don’t want to be in here,” came the soft voice, pleading. “Please, let me out. I just want to go home.”

  “You are here for a reason,” he said harshly, trying to filter any hint of sympathy from his voice. “You shall spend the night in there and I will return in the morning.” He snapped the eye slit shut and turned to leave. He winced at the sound of her renewed sobs. Most prisoners made threats while kicking the walls. They didn’t cry. It was clear to him she was genuinely frightened.

  In the morning, he reassured himself, picking up his pace so he wouldn’t have to hear her crying. In the morning I’ll get to the bottom of her story. But first things first...

  He hurried back up the steps, rounding the corner at the top. Ignoring the salutes of soldiers as they passed by, his mind spun as he replayed the conversations in his mind over and over, looking for clues he might have missed. He would have to make his report, and it was imperative that he got the facts in order before he did.

  No matter how many years he had been doing this, he never grew complacent in his duties. As always, lives were at stake, and he refused to take that lightly. Everyone’s side must be heard. All facts must be considered.

  He went up two more separate flights of steps, stopping in a large hallway. Servant girls dusted the paintings on the walls, each bordered with thick gold and silver frames. Many designs were abstract, swirls of random color with a moderately discernible figure at the center, anything from a screaming face to a dead tree. Lord Alaric seemed to have unusual tastes when it came to art.

  Striding across the thick white carpet, Liam stopped before a set of white doors with green trim. He gave each of his eyebrows a final twist, peaking up each point before pushing back the doors. Heads turned when he entered, high-class folk raising their wineglasses in silent salute. Women in fancy dresses smiled, wagging their ring-covered fingers in his direction. Men tipped their large hats, giving nods of acknowledgment to the city mystic.

  It disgusted him...

  After a few handshakes and formal greetings, he made his way towards the long table covered with meats, boiled potatoes, imported oli
ves from leagues away, and other fancy dishes most common folk would never sample in this life or the next. Watching as a stout woman licked the sauce from her fingers, dribbles of red spotting between her breasts, it was all Liam could do not to push her round face down into her soup bowl. Entitled pigs...the lot of you!

  To think, while these privileged narcissists stuffed their faces and drank more than their fill, only a few floors down, prisoners were being kept in filth, sleeping in rooms with their own feces. He watched as empty goblets waved in the air, many of the rich folk snapping their fingers at serving girls who were taking too long.

  “Liam! Come sit, my good man,” came a familiar call from the head of the table. Lord Alaric waved him over with one hand, the other resting on the leg of the young lady to his right. Visibly uncomfortable, she tugged at her climbing skirt while gently attempting to remove his roaming hand.

  Liam rounded the side of the table, taking the empty seat to Alaric’s left. He sank down into the comfortable chair and immediately focused his attention on the fidgeting women. “My dear,” he said, voice deep and reassuring. “A thousand apologies, but I fear I must steal a moment of Lord Alaric’s time from you.” He flashed her a knowing wink. Relieved, she returned a subtle nod of thanks. “Do not waste your beauty here as two old fools speak of politics and business.”

  Accepting her offered hand, he kissed it gently, making her swoon. Old perhaps, but Liam possessed a rare charm he often used to his advantage. She rose from her chair and backed away, all the while seeming to have great difficulty tearing her gaze away from him.

  Clearly frustrated, Alaric watched her go. “I called you over to have a drink with me, not to chase away my women,” he slurred, fumbling around the table for his goblet. With short, curly brown hair and large hazel eyes, Lord Alaric was a handsome man. Slight of build with a long, thin nose, his bed was rarely empty at night. “Well, let’s at least have that drink.”

  When he raised the goblet to his lips, Liam pressed his wrist, lowering it back to the table. “I spoke no lie when I said we have business to discuss,” he said. “I would prefer it if you could do that sober.”

  “Bah,” Alaric barked, his sleepy-eyed gaze taking in the scenery. “Why must you bother me with such things? Look around you,” he mumbled, swaying in his chair as his pointing finger swept around the room. “This is time for drink...and dance...and food.”

  When he moved for his goblet a second time, Liam pinned his hand to the table with a hard thud. “If I were to wait before speaking on important matters until you weren’t drinking or celebrating your own existence, nothing would ever get done!” he growled, sitting up straight in his chair. “We must discuss the fate of General Coleth, a loyal man who has served you many years. Do you actually believe he’s betrayed the city?” Alaric glared silently, his eyelids heavy with drink. “It seems I do not take the fate of innocent lives as lightly as you,” Liam finished, suddenly wishing he had accepted a bit of wine. It would certainly help calm him.

  “Come with me,” said Alaric calmly. Rising up on unsteady legs, he headed for the double doors. Liam looked around to see several gazes fixed on him. It was only at that moment he realized he must have been speaking rather loudly. Suspecting that he may have overstepped his authority, Liam got up to follow. Nosy guests whispered, some even pointing as he went.

  When he met Alaric in the hall, he started to apologize but never got a word out. Alaric turned on the tall man, one hand on Liam’s chest, the other tucked inside his own coat. Liam knew he always kept a dagger hidden inside that inner lining. He watched as the drunken man fingered something, the fabric of his coat moving in small waves.

  “Don’t you ever...challenge my authority...in front of others,” Alaric hissed, each word soft and dangerous.

  Unblinking, Liam met his glare. “If you would govern the city once in a while instead of throwing these ridiculous parties every night, maybe I wouldn’t have to,” Liam replied, his voice deep yet non-threatening. “Forgive me, sir, but you left me no choice.”

  With a nod, Alaric backed away. “Very well then,” he said, stumbling ever so slightly. “You have my ear. Now, what about the general?” He turned away and the two began walking down the hall.

  “As I was trying to say, you cannot execute this man as a traitor,” Liam began. “For years, he has served this city with unwavering loyalty. Those men were attacked. By what exactly, I cannot be sure at this time. He watched his soldiers die right before his eyes. The fact that he was spared is nothing more than a message; a warning to us.” Liam shook his head. “Whatever horrors he witnessed that day have clearly broken his mind. He is but a shell of the man we once knew.”

  Liam rounded on Alaric, stopping them both in their tracks. “But none of that proves he is part of some conspiracy to overthrow the city, as you seem to believe,” he stated. “If so, why would he return here? Do you believe his fragile mental state is but an act? Do not mistake me, you do have enemies that we must be leery of,” he added, trying to pass some credit back to Alaric. It was imperative that he stay neutral and present only the facts. “Your suspicions of an enemy alliance working to weaken us from within are not without merit, but in this case, I’m afraid it is implausible at best. I say to you now, the general is innocent of any wrongdoing, and I beg you to reconsider your position on the matter.”

  Alaric tapped his chin, considering. “I want you to do something for me,” he said at length. “I need you to test the white powder we found on his clothing. Finding its origin might go a long way in helping to piece together this puzzle.”

  Relieved, Liam nodded. It seemed as if Alaric was at least willing to listen to other options. “Very well,” he replied, eager to go get started. The sooner he could bring Alaric some answers, the sooner he could pardon his old friend.

  “Oh, and one more thing,” Alaric added just as they were parting ways. “I want you to question the girl as well.”

  “The girl?” Liam replied innocently.

  “Yes, the thief the whole city’s been buzzing about. I know you’ve already spoken to her,” Alaric added slyly. He prided himself on knowing everything that went on inside his keep. What’s more, he loved reminding his subordinates that they were always being watched. “She may be tied to this. Figure out what that ‘creature’ is and where it came from.” Satisfied, Alaric stalked away.

  Beakers bubbled just above controlled flames. Many were connected to each other through clear tubes that sipped liquids from one beaker to the next. Others sat in wire holders, a constant stream of smoky mist sifting up from their tops. Liam’s lab was nothing fancy, but it contained everything he needed to conduct his experiments. He relished working here alone. It provided him with some much-needed relief from his day-to-day duties.

  Using a scalpel, Liam scraped a small portion of the white powder into a glass tube, then added a small amount of blue liquid. It fizzed briefly before settling, the liquid changing into a dirty green color. He rubbed his chin, considering the possibilities of his first attempt. There was no doubt the powder was indeed some kind of ash. But it was not pure. Tiny, sand-like granules collected at the bottom of the tube.

  He strained the contents into a second glass container, filtering out the gritty particles through a tiny screen. He set up several more containers, each with liquids of different properties and colors. It was going to be a long night, but he was determined to get some answers before daybreak.

  After working feverishly through the night, Liam had managed to break down all the components found in the foreign substance. The majority consisted of regular ash from burned wood, but he also found traces of volcanic glass. More importantly, the volcanic grains showed trace amounts of microlite, a rare mineral found only in the far-west regions of Ayrith.

  Well, that’s it, then. Someone or something transported that ash over a long distance, and it most certainly wasn’t Hyndrid. It seems I’ve cleared him of any involvement.

  There were no wind
ows here, but a sickly looking candle burned down to its base gave him some indication of the time. No doubt it was morning, and probably high time he reported his findings before getting some rest. On second thought, his report could wait until later. Better to go speak with that peculiar girl while it was on his mind.

  Stifling a yawn as he snatched his bag, he set out from his lab and hurried towards the prisoner-detainment area below. After passing the first two guards at the bottom of the steps, he approached the giant cell door where she was being held. The second pair of guards sidestepped the door, allowing him access.

  He knocked as a courtesy, then slid open the eye slit. There she was, lying on a coarse bed of dry straw, her shoulders rising and falling with the peaceful rhythm of deep sleep. He cleared his throat. She rolled slightly, lips smacking with dryness. Her eyes fluttered a bit before jetting open with alarm. She sat up with a jerk, the memories of where she was and what had happened all flooding back in a rush.

  “Good morning to you,” said Liam, watching curiously. “Did you sleep well, dear?” Her eyes flickered towards him briefly, before looking away. She backed all the way into the corner, then hugged her knees to her chest, face hidden behind them.

  Liam cleared his throat a second time. “Let me explain to you how this works,” he said. “You have been charged with a crime. Yes? It is my job to decide whether or not you are guilty of that crime. I personally have the ear of Lord Alaric Bournfred. Sooner or later he will seek my counsel on the matter, and your fate shall be decided.”

  She said nothing, her emotionless gaze peeking over the top of her knees. “I have been doing this a long time,” he added when she didn’t reply. “And in that time I have known one thing to always be true: Those who refuse to speak to me are deemed guilty by silent admission, then executed.” This time her eyes rose to meet his. “No exception,” he added, realizing he now had her full attention. “Do you believe you are special, and that somehow your fate will be different?” Slowly, she shook her head back and forth. “Then let us begin where we left off yesterday. What is your name, dear?”