by Dan Cash
Russell and Sofia were dumbfounded, staring at the TV screen as if it might explode any second.
The reporter continued, “If anyone knows the whereabouts of these two sixteen year-olds please contact the number on the bottom of your screens immediately. The families are offering a reward if their children are found safe.”
Sofia was completely and utterly stunned. How could anybody think that they started the fire when she was hospitalised after the concert? How many people would have seen Freddie carry her out of the hall? Why were they only looking for them, and not any of the others? Her mind was racing. Should they run now? Or were they safer with Phine?
Loud banging filled the cottage. Someone was at the front door. Sofia looked towards the kitchen where Phine stood, telephone in hand.
“I’m so sorry.”
Prisoner 001
Who am I? That question had begun to play on Prisoner 001’s semi-conscious mind. Fragments of memory were scattered throughout his dreams, mingling with imaginary scenarios, making it impossible to distinguish memory from drug-induced fabrication. He was being chased by a fox with an entrancing silvery-grey coat.
Through field and forest he ran and ran, but there was no escaping the impossibly fast animal, bearing its fangs menacingly. He tripped over a rock. The fox would get him now… but it did not. Instead, a boy stood before him and helped him to his feet. Prisoner 001 recognised the young man but before he could get a better look, his eyes shot open and he was back in the bright white room.
Deb was by his side every morning, observing his slow deterioration. He slept for longer each day. The gashes on his back took more time to heal even with Deb’s magical healing powers.
When Prisoner 001 was taken for Round Seven, the wounds were still weeping. Blood poured from the broken skin after the first strike. Every crack of the whip tore Prisoner 001 open, physically and mentally. The pain was relentless and unbearable. A thick rope of leather crashing against skin, flesh and bone, again and again.
Round Seven was the first time Prisoner 001 arrived in Deb’s healing room aware of his surroundings. Barely. Dragged in by his two guards, he could vaguely make out his healer’s horrified face, her pitiful gasp. He had been broken.
There would be no way he would even consider resisting against this torture. Torture. He had always assumed that in order for a person to be tortured, they must have something valuable – information or answers. He was wrong.
He was being tortured because he had nothing valuable. To begin with, he simply had no magic. Now, he had no past, no present and no future. He was nobody and he was nothing. He had lost all will to live. He no longer appreciated Deb’s help.
The guards lay Prisoner 001’s broken body on the steel bed, face down. Deb rushed into action, hooking him up to an intravenous drip full of medicine that would knock him out for a good few hours.
Before he slipped into his induced coma, he felt a cool cream being gently applied to his shredded skin. He muttered “thank you,” and white turned into black.
Two people were in the healing room when Prisoner 001 awoke the following morning. Deb greeted him with a relieved smile. The heavy bags under her eyes meant that she had not slept that night.
She had been joined by a younger girl whose head was shaved. Written on her right wrist in black ink was Prisoner 002. Prisoner 001 held up his right wrist, ran his left hand over his bald head, and said “snap”. Nobody laughed.
“I have been sent here to tell you that you are moving on,” said Prisoner 002. There was no mistaking her Rysked nationality; pale skin, dull grey eyes, pale blue lips. The characteristics of a race of people that spent so much of their time invisible. But not anymore.
“Where?” asked Prisoner 001.
“Further North. I am taking your place. You will be going to a camp now.”
Prisoner 001’s heart sunk. He was terrified. At least with the public whippings he knew what was in store. Now, he had no idea what would happen. Maybe it would be better, but maybe, somehow, it would be a million times worse.
The camps had been advertised as a safer alternative to the army, designed for those with other skills that could help win a war. But Deb had told Prisoner 001 the truth: the camps were designed to break people, bit by bit. Starvation, thirst, physical pain, emotional trauma.
Once you entered a camp, there was no way out… except death.
Prisoner 001 felt sorry for his replacement, guilty that she would be taking his place as the public example. He had endured a fortnight of captivity and excruciating pain, although it felt like a lot longer, and he would not wish it upon anybody else. Except Eimaj. The reason for all of this. Being punished for not adhering to Eimaj’s specifications of a perfect person, that was what this had quickly become.
According to Prisoner 002, conscription to the army had become compulsory for all those who were able to display signs of their magic. However, Eimaj and her inner circle still had the final say.
Queues of people filled the streets, waiting to be seen by one Eimaj’s cronies. Families huddled together, their futures undecided. Would they be torn apart or kept together? It turned out it was hopeless. Even if an entire family was sentenced to life in camp, they would be separated.
Prisoner 002 did not remember if she had a family or if she queued alone. All she could recall was being unable to impress the cloaked man before her. She was dragged out of the small room and thrown viciously into the back of a truck along with fifty others.
One man had managed to make a chair invisible, but he was apparently unfit for the army – too short or too fat – she could not remember. And he was not alone. People were too old or too young, too fat or too thin, too stupid or at least stupid enough to resist. Some were denied because of the pigment of their skin, others because of their sexual preferences, and many due to beliefs that did not adhere to Eimaj’s own.
Hearing these disgraceful stories made Prisoner 001 even more curious about his own past. Would he have queued with his parents? His wife and children? Was there somebody in a camp who missed him, or somebody training for a war to save him? Or did he have nobody?
No, he was definitely not alone. He meant something to someone, once upon a time. A boy, saving him from a fox… that was who waited for him. Somewhere. Prisoner 001 sighed, maybe I would have been going to camp even if I could do magic, he thought.
If Prisoner 001 expected his own special torture sessions to come to a halt when he arrived at the camp, he was very much mistaken. Deb accompanied him, administering the cooling lotion to his back at hourly intervals during the van journey.
Prisoner 002 was assigned her own healer, but the man smelt of alcohol and stale cigarettes. He did not seem as kind, caring or considerate as Deb. Another pang of guilt towards his replacement.
The camp was empty – desolate – when he arrived. He was the sole prisoner. Prisoner Zero-Zero-One. Tall electric fences encircled the large area of field, coils of barbed wire running around the top. No escape. There was only one building. It looked like an abandoned school, but most of it had been demolished. What was left resembled an auditorium, with some corridors and classrooms still attached around the outside.
The rest of the campsite was in open air, certain areas covered with sheets of brown canvas. Sleeping outside would be the only option for most.
However, being the first ever prisoner did have some benefits. Prisoner 001 was not made to sleep on dirt and stone. Instead, he was assigned one the old classrooms, a dusty mattress cushioning him from the cold, hard ground. Deb had a mattress next to his.
There was no food or water and no windows. A heavy padlock reminded them that there was no way out.
No machines or drips lined the walls, which both comforted and worried Prisoner 001. Hopefully there would be no more whippings, but maybe they would continue and he would not be given the luxury of Deb’s healing hands.
A broken television set stared at Prisoner 001 from the corner of the room. He
walked over and caught his reflection in the screen. A gaunt, emaciated, pale remnant of a man stared back at him. Whoever he had once been, that was no longer him. The torture, the lack of food, the mental manipulation that had caused him to forget all he ever was… it had destroyed him. That night, he struggled to find sleep.
Screaming punctured Prisoner 001’s ears, pulling him from his dreams with a start.
“Deb!” he shouted instinctively, looking around the dim room for his healer and only friend. His eyes finally focussed on her lifeless corpse, a hooded figure looming over her. “No. What have you done?!” he yelled at the guard, pushing himself up from his mattress.
Deb’s murderer whipped around, her hood falling to her shoulders revealing her impossibly bright hair, her piercing eyes, her sharp nose, and her vicious smile. The personification of evil stood before him.
“Eimaj,” he whispered.
“Prisoner Zero-Zero-One,” she said. “How lovely to see you again.” Her voice was silk, but eerily so. Enjoyment ran through her tones, pleasure licking over each word. Prisoner 001 recoiled, repelled by the woman in front of him.
“Are you going to kill me?” he asked.
“Yes,” Eimaj replied simply.
The prisoner smiled, staring into Eimaj’s hate-filled eyes. “Thank you.”
Max
A gentle tapping on his bedroom door awoke Max. His head was pounding and he felt groggy, as though he had been up all night drinking cyder.
He had been dreaming, a familiar dream. His mother clutching her baby to her chest, his father screaming in anger at a tall rock, a midwife humming a tune and knocking over a small vial, a wisp of smoke rising from the liquid within… It had all seemed so real while he was sleeping, watching over the bizarre scenario.
“Enter,” he croaked, throat raspy and mouth dry.
One of the serving men opened the door carrying a tray of poached eggs on lightly toasted granary bread, a small glass of orange juice, a green apple, and a small pile of envelopes.
“Clemari, I have your breakfast and some letters from your council,” the serving man stated.
“Thank you… Sorry, what’s your name?”
“My name?” asked the smartly dressed man, startled.
“Yes, what do people call you?” asked Max, patiently.
“Hoik.”
“Thank you Hoik,” Max smiled, taking a bite from his apple. “Now what do you mean by letters?”
“Oh, well people of Naegis go to your council with requests and, how do you say, informations that they think is important. Your council give to you the letters that is, umm… most important,” explained Hoik in a thick Naegean accent.
“I see. Thank you, again.”
Hoik bowed his head and left Max alone to eat his breakfast.
Why does my head hurt so much?
After his shower, there was another knock at his door.
“Enter,” he barked.
Giorgie stepped through the door, saw Max with just a towel wrapped around his waist, and turned away.
“I’m sorry, Clem… Max! I thought…”
“No, it’s my fault; I thought it would just be Luc!” he blushed. “Why are you here?” Max asked, sounding far more abrupt than he had anticipated.
“It’s… It’s Joz.” Giorgie said, looking down.
Max did not need to ask anything else. He told Giorgie to wait for him outside, chucked on his favourite midnight blue robe, and the pair hurried to the west wing of the castle to Joz’s chamber.
“Do we have any more information on Anne-Alicia?” he asked.
“She refuses to talk to anyone, still. She said that you have put her in there unfairly and that she thought you were her friend. She doesn’t understand why she’s in the cell when she came to you desperate for help because Matthew had been killed.”
Max winced. The news of Matthew’s death was still so raw, so gut-wrenchingly painful.
“So, nothing new then,” he said. “She still won’t say who killed Matthew?”
“No.”
“She won’t say where they were?”
“No.”
“Then I guess we’ll just have to try again.”
“Indeed,” Giorgie huffed as they reached Joz’s chamber.
Joz was lying in his bed, a flannel across his forehead and various pills and medicines on his desk. Max approached the Old Clemari and looked down upon the frail old man.
“Dorot,” he began. “What happened?”
“I am not sure. I was sleeping when I had a dream – a very bad dream. When I woke up, Joz was calling me, in my head. I ran here immediately but… I cannot do anything to help. It is time,” she explained.
“Get Luc.” Max ordered.
“He is coming,” said Giorgie.
Without warning, a voice echoed around the room. Everyone leave, except Max.
Max looked at Joz, his eyes firmly shut and his slightly open mouth completely still. Dorot, Giorgie, and the nameless guard all left the room.
Max, there are some things you must know before I… go. Look at me.
It was as though Joz was whispering in his ear, but Max knew that he was speaking through his thoughts. He looked at the dying king’s closed eyes, but they suddenly shot open. The room exploded into hazy images – memories and thoughts.
You are not alone.
Keep training…
The garden…
Luc is your…
Secret weapon…
Life and death…
Saviour…
Light on the Landing…
ScribblePads…
They will know…
It’s you.
Prisoner…
Look after Luc.
Look after my wife.
Find them.
Save them.
I’m sorry…
So sorry.
Goodbye.
Max was pulled back into the room as the door was thrown open. Luc swept to his father’s side, tears swimming in his dark eyes.
“I’m here, now,” he whispered to his father.
Joz took one last look at his son, breathed one final breath and slipped away, into the deepest of sleeps. Luc’s grip on his father’s hand faltered. He walked to the window and opened it slightly, bowing his head and lifting a hand to his face.
“Luc, I’m so sorry,” said Max, placing a comforting hand on Luc’s shoulder.
“It was time,” muttered Luc.
“But -”
“It was time.”
Max paused. “He loved you.”
Luc shrugged, Max’s hand faltering from his shoulder. “He regretted me.”
Max exited, leaving Luc alone with his father.
***
Four guards carried Joz’s body from his chamber. Luc, Max and the Clemari’s council followed behind. The small funeral procession walked around the castle, stopping in front of a door that Max did not want to be opened.
The Garden was different this time; the brilliant colours still clashed against the morbid shades, but the blacks and greys shone brightest.
Joz was placed delicately on a bed of soft grass, his hands crossed over his wooden staff. The guards stood back and looked down, placing their right hand over their hearts while their left hands cradled their foreheads. Max and the others followed suit. A silent salute to their fallen Clemari.
An icy breeze swept over the Garden of the Restless, turning all flowers, bushes, trees, and blades of grass a deep black.
Grey smoke danced around Joz’s corpse, delicately enveloping him. He rose slowly into the air, carried in a cocoon of mist, and disappeared into the Garden.
Suddenly, the bright skies plunged into complete darkness, as if somebody had extinguished the sun’s flames. Everybody in Naegis would know that Joz had died.
Everybody in the East and in the West. Eimaj would know.
***
There was a knock at Max’s door.
“Enter,” called Max. �
��Oh, hi Luc.”
“Hello, Clemari.”
“How are you?” Max asked his friend.
“I am well, thank you,” replied Luc.
Max surveyed his friend of no emotion, gently lit by candlelight. He was sad, but he did not know that he was. “Good. Have you spoken to your mother?”
“Yes. She is very upset, but she and my father said their goodbyes a long time ago. This was how it was meant to be.”
“Right.” Max peered out of his window. He could not see the castle’s walls below him, nor could he see the forest nor the looming wall. He had no idea what the time was; the skies had been black for hours.
“Clemari, there are things we need to discuss,” said Luc.
“Oh, those letters I got this morning at breakfast? Yeah, I had a quick look through them. The Rysked situation is worrying. I should have been told before –“
“No, there are more urgent matters to attend to. You realise that Eimaj will know that my father has passed over?”
“I had an inkling, yes.”
Luc was unsettled, agitated. “This is bad news. Usually, the skies remain black until there is a New Clemari. When the Old Clemari, or should I say the Old Old Clemari, passed over, the skies were black for over a week. Then my father officially took the throne and daylight was restored. We did not wait for my father to die before you were inaugurated, because the people of Naegis trusted him. Therefore, they would be sure to trust you, a stranger from as foreign land, immediately. However, this means that very soon the skies will change back. Eimaj will know that we have a New Clemari.”
“But that’s good, isn’t it? Then they’ll stop hunting for Freddie,” Max said happily.
“No, Clemari. It is bad. Eimaj still believes that we have the wrong man. But she cannot be sure, especially now we have made you Clemari. She is desperate to find Freddie, she is desperate to find you, and she is desperate to find out the truth. You are in danger, and so is Freddie. Whatever happens now, she will try to kill both of you.” The fear in Luc’s eyes was haunting.
