The Druid's Guise: The Complete Trilogy (The Druid's Guise Trilogy)

by Michael J Sanford

  The man untied her ankles from her wrists and lifted Athena into an elegantly carved chair at the head of the dining table. The fine china and crystal still covered the surface, but the setting in front of Athena was covered in food. Meat steamed from the center plate, and crude salad sat beside it, along with a goblet filled with dark liquid.

  Athena’s mouth watered and she lunged for the food, her survival instinct taking over. The man forced her back before she could taste any of it. He wrapped a length of rope around her chest, tucked under her arms, and fastened it tightly to the back of the chair. Athena could hardly breathe against it. He untied her wrists next and slapped her across the face when she tried to reach for the food. She stopped trying after that.

  He tied rope to each of her wrists, leaving enough slack that he could hold both ends as he climbed atop the table. Standing amid the table settings, the man’s head brushed the ceiling. He leaned over Athena, and like a puppeteer, began yanking her arms back and forth.

  Athena resisted and tried to pull her hands to her chest, but the man kicked her jaw hard enough that it popped. Athena bit back a scream and released the tension in her arms. The man jerked them erratically for a time, nearly wrenching one from its socket on more than one occasion. Athena stared past the man, focused on the small window in the front door of the cabin. Night was falling, but she kept her mind on what she knew lay beyond the portal.

  Eventually, the man seemed to tire of the charade and jumped down from the table and dragged Athena back to her prison.

  The next day brought the same, only this time, the man directed her hand toward the silverware on the side of the food-laden plate. She didn’t react at first, but when he shook her hand, she glanced down at the forks and grabbed one. The man stomped on her hand and returned her to the locked room for the night.

  Athena cradled her hand, fearing to think of the damage inflicted, and cried herself to sleep.

  It became her life in the cabin. Every evening, the man would drag her from her prison and tie her to the chair at the head of the dining table. He would dance atop it, controlling her hands and arms like she was a marionette. He never spoke, so Athena had to guess at the proper action when he would direct her hand to a utensil or piece of food. A wrong guess brought a kick or stomp and immediate expulsion to the prison room.

  Eventually, she learned the pattern he desired, and grabbed the correct fork when prompted by a yank of the rope. Once she had the fork in hand, the man pulled on the rope, swinging her hand toward the small plate of salad, long since wilted. Athena had been forced into the same pattern for weeks, but the same food looked up at her from the plate. It no longer steamed or smelled appealing, but it made little difference to Athena. She pulled away from the salad, stabbed a piece of meat, and attempted to bring it to her mouth.

  The man howled and pulled on both ropes with his full weight. Athena was dragged against the table, taking the chair with her. The edge of the table pressed painfully against her ribs. The man dropped from the table, pulling the ropes as he did to send Athena to the floor, still attached to the chair. He left her tied to it and dragged her to her prison. Once in the room, he set the chair upright, tied the excess rope to the arms of the chair so she couldn’t move at all, and pulled his pistol from his waistband.

  Athena stared at the barrel as he forced her mouth open and jammed the barrel past her teeth, breaking some. Athena gagged, but there was nothing she could do but stare into the blazing blue eyes that scowled at her. Her instinct cried out to survive, but a larger part of her mind wished for him to pull the trigger. The man stared at her for what felt like days.

  He pulled the gun from her mouth and stuffed it back into his pants. Athena coughed, spitting out pieces of broken teeth. She thought he would leave her then, but instead, he seized the arms of the chair and lifted it off the ground. He spun a half turn and hurled it against the nearest wall with strength no man should possess. The chair broke in a number of places, snapping loudly. Athena landed on the ground and didn’t move, wondering how many of her bones had broken along with the chair.

  The door slammed shut and the bar thunked into place.

  Athena closed her eyes, bit back the tears, and fought down the pain that raced along every inch of her body. If she couldn’t free her body from the man’s prison, she would free her mind. Nausea rolled deep in her empty stomach and her temples pulsed with the beat of her heart, sending shockwaves through her being. But she bore down, and piece by piece, shut down her senses. Sight and scent went first. Then went taste, fleeing from the metallic tang on her tongue. Athena brought her hands over her ears and shut out the sound of her own breathing. Last came feeling, and though every part of her screamed with fury and fire, Athena shut it out, retreating into a world of nothingness.

  Something flashed in Athena’s mind. It was just a flicker of understanding, but then it blossomed into startling awareness. The pain remained at bay, but the knowledge that it was there returned. It scratched at her mind.

  “This is enough,” she shouted. Another tickle in her mind. “Wyatt, Lucy!”

  “We’re here,” Wyatt’s voice said.

  Athena opened her eyes and spun around. Lucy was standing at Wyatt’s side, clutching at his arm and crying. Wyatt wiped at his face as well.

  Athena shook her head. “It was…like I was living it again. But not like I was remembering it. Like I was living it for the first time. I didn’t know either of you. I was…”

  Wyatt nodded. “I know. We lived it, too. It’s how Lucy’s power works at full strength, I guess.”

  “Yeah?” Athena asked.

  Wyatt nodded again. “I lived through Ms. Abagail’s darkness, too. And my own.”

  Athena shook her head and looked at the perfect absence that surrounded them. “He…”

  “Looks just like the Lord Regent,” Wyatt said. “I get why you freaked when you saw him now. And Rozen…”

  Athena fell onto her hands and knees and coughed violently.

  Wyatt knelt at her side, along with Lucy. Athena shook her head, sat down, and hugged her knees. “I wanted you to know what happened to me after you…” She grabbed at her temples. “But it hurts. It hurts too much.”

  Athena rocked back and forth, humming softly. Finally, she took a breath and looked at Wyatt and Lucy, who were still at her side.

  “I fucking hate you, Wyatt,” Athena said.

  “I know,” he replied. “You should. A lot of people should.”

  “I don’t,” Lucy said. “Well, I mean, I did, but I know it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Doesn’t bring your parents back though, does it?” Athena asked.

  Lucy’s expression melted, but she leaned even more heavily on Wyatt’s shoulder.

  “If I could take it back, I would,” Wyatt said. “All of it.”

  “Well, you can’t,” Athena snapped.

  “You’re right. But none of us can. Take back anything, that is. We just have to—”

  “Deal with it?” Athena interrupted. “Don’t you dare tell me to just fucking deal with it. You don’t think I haven’t heard that a million times before?”

  “And isn’t that why you come here?” Wyatt asked.

  “I come here because I don’t want to hurt, all right? It’s what keeps me safe. It was the only way I survived.”

  “But you did,” Lucy said quietly. “Just like us. And Ms. Abagail. It was a really bad day for all of us, but we all survived.”

  Athena eyed the smaller girl. “Good for us.”

  “I’m not sure it’s good or bad,” Wyatt said. “It just is.”

  “You don’t know what it’s like,” Athena growled.

  “I caused the death of both of my parents, lost my sister, drove my grandma to kill herself, forgot all of it, and was haunted by my own conscience for years. And that was before any of this craziness. So, no, I don’t know exactly what it was like for you, but I know what it feels like to hurt and be all messed up inside, even if
you don’t know why. But I’m glad I remembered what happened to me, and I’m glad I’m not hiding from any of it. I know the truth. And it hurts, but it’s real.”

  “I told you,” Athena said. “I never forgot. I don’t have anything to remember. Just plenty I wish I could forget.”

  “But you’re still hiding,” Wyatt said, gesturing around him. “You’re so scared of hurting, that you hide here and feel nothing.”

  “Jealous?” Athena asked.

  Wyatt shook his head and scowled. “If you don’t ever experience hurt, how do you ever know how to feel good? Everything is a balance.”

  “Like you should be giving advice,” Athena quipped.

  Wyatt didn’t respond. He simply sat down, dragging Lucy with him. Together, the three watched each other in perfect silence.

  “Do you think it will ever not hurt so much?” Athena asked after a while. “To remember.”

  “I don’t know,” Wyatt said.

  “Maybe,” Lucy added with a weak laugh.

  “Probably not,” Wyatt admitted. “But I can’t imagine it hurting any worse…”

  “This whole thing is pretty fucked up,” Athena said. “I mean, the Realms. What the hell is that place?”

  “I don’t know,” Wyatt said. “But you’re part of it, too. The last piece of the puzzle, I think.”

  “The Lord Fucking Regent.”

  “And Rozen,” Wyatt added.

  Athena stiffened and looked Wyatt in the eye. “Okay.”

  “Okay what?” Wyatt asked.

  “No more hiding.”

  Wyatt smiled. “So back to Sanctuary?”

  Athena shook her head. “You said we’re in this together, right?”

  Wyatt and Lucy nodded. “We’re a family,” Lucy said.

  Athena took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “Then we need to finish my own story first, because you’re right. I did survive.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  THE LIGHT NEVER turned on, but Athena knew days were passing since the man had left her amid a pile of broken chair. She no longer tracked the days, but she knew it had been weeks, maybe even months, since she’d been taken. Was anyone looking for her?

  Leaving her place of nothingness brought little change but the return of pain from her multitude of injuries. But it brought back her rage as well. Fight and survive. That’s what her grandmother loved to say when she spoke of her life. Athena didn’t think her grandmother had ever faced anything like she did now, but the sentiment still rang true, and she couldn’t shake it from her mind.

  Everything was a chore for Athena. Everything hurt; some things were broken, perhaps catastrophically. The first few times the man had struck her, the pain had forced Athena to wish for death and even consider doing it herself if she had the means. But now, it fueled two cruel realizations. She wanted to survive. And when their cruel game ended, it would either be her or the man left standing.

  Athena could only move the fingers on one hand. She used it to explore the wreckage around her. The chair had broken enough to free her from it, though rope still hung from her wrists and ankles. She didn’t bother trying to remove it. The man would only restrain her again. Instead, she focused every painful breath on keeping herself conscious long enough to search for a suitable weapon, for it was time to go to war.

  Most pieces of the chair were too large to be properly wielded or concealed, but eventually, her fingers wrapped around a splintered piece of a dowel, not much larger than a pencil. She ran her finger to the broken end and smiled at its sharpness. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but what it lacked in deadliness it made up for in the hope it brought Athena.

  It took much longer to move enough that she thought she was sitting upright. In the dark with a head full of cobwebs, it was difficult to maintain her orientation. She flexed her fingers around the dowel, reassuring herself that she could hold it tightly enough to use. She even took a practice jab, but the pain from the sudden movement caused her to pass out.

  When she woke, delirious, and still in the dark, she still held the crude weapon. Good, she thought. She rolled onto her side and slid it into her pocket. Then she returned to her sanctuary of exclusion and waited.

  Athena didn’t open her eyes fully until she had already been thrust into a new dining chair. She couldn’t make sense of what was happening until the man slapped her across the face and brought his nose to hers. The scent of mint and aftershave burned away the fog of exhaustion and shock, fine-tuning her senses and reactivating her mind. She stared back, tight-lipped. Fight and survive.

  He turned her head one way and then the other. Satisfied, he bent and began tying her ankles to the legs of the chair. Athena looked to her good hand, digging divots into the wood of the chair arms, and knew once he finished with her ankles her hands would be of no use. He would climb atop the table and force her to act out his perverse fantasy.

  He finished with the first ankle and started on the second. She had only moments, no different than when she had attempted escape the first time. Her fingers were shaking, but she brought them to her pocket, keeping the rest of her body as still as possible, not daring to even blink or avert her eyes. Her fingertips touched the end of the broken dowel just as the man stood up and reached for the loose end of rope trailing from her wrists.

  Athena thrust the dowel into the man’s neck just as he moved across her line of sight. Athena drove it as deep as she could and then recoiled, leaving it embedded more than half its length into the man’s flesh. He roared, backhanding her in the chin as he stood and spun away. Once again, Athena was falling, strapped to a chair. She bounced off the floor, but the chair held firm, not breaking to release her this time.

  She clawed at the rope across her chest with her only working hand, desperately pulling at the thick cord. The man continued to howl like a beast. He pulled the piece of wood from his neck and threw it to the ground. Blood pulsed from the puncture wound in spurts. He turned toward Athena.

  “Help!” she screamed, no longer able to restrain her tongue as she loosened part of the rope. She still couldn’t move, and even if she were to free her chest, her ankles were still firmly affixed to the chair.

  The man reached down and yanked Athena’s chair upright. She pulled the last strand of rope from her chest, but as she did, the man slammed her against the table, pinning her in place. Standing behind her, keeping the chair wedged in place, he reached around her, picked up a piece of rotted meat from the plate in front of Athena, and waved it in her face.

  She squirmed and grabbed at his arm, but he was too strong, and her hold did nothing to stop him from forcing the meat against her mouth. He held it against her, cutting off her air, and squeezing her head against the back of the chair.

  Athena thrashed and clawed at his hand. Her nails dug deeply, bringing blood to the surface. But he held on, pulling tighter against the chair, using it for leverage.

  Her eyes were closed, but she forced them open. A setting sun painted the room the color of an old bruise, lengthening shadows. If she didn’t do something, Athena knew the shadows would come for her, too.

  She fumbled on the table in front of her, sending plates and glasses scattering. She felt a cloth napkin and a salad plate. She swatted them aside. Her fingers closed around something else. Something with a curved wooden handle and a blade that caught the quickly vanishing light and transformed the old bruise into the beauty every sunset deserved. A wickedly serrated steak knife.

  Darkness clouded the edges of Athena’s vision. Only seconds separated life and death, balanced on the edge of a knife. With bitter fury, Athena sawed at the man’s wrist. He released her, but grabbed a fistful of her hair with his other hand. With a wet snarl, he pulled, forcing Athena to stand. The chair tipped away from her, nearly taking her down at the ankles, but the man held her upright. She still held the knife and swung upward, searching for the hand that held her hair.

  The man let go before she found more flesh. She fell backward over the chair
. Her head bounced off the floor and she knew at once that she’d lost the knife. Her head was swimming, showing her two images of the man as he stooped and retrieved her weapon. She swung wildly at the air, but he smacked away her attack and pressed a knee into her chest.

  His neck and shirt were soaked through with blood, and Athena could see he wasn’t using the arm she’d cut into. It, too, drained blood onto the floor at a nauseating pace. But her eyes were honed on the knife he pointed at her.

  Athena didn’t close her eyes. She didn’t retreat in that moment. She stared defiantly at the man, daring him to finish what she’d begun. But he didn’t. He stared at her for a long moment, then squinted, shook his head, and slumped onto his side. Athena heard the knife clatter to the floor. She remained still, listening for more, but heard nothing. The man’s head was mere inches from her ear, but she heard nothing. No grunting or snarling. No breathing. Just pure, blissful silence.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  WYATT WAS LEFT breathless, sprawled out on the stone floor of what he hoped was the Great Hall of Sanctuary. He couldn’t begin to qualify what he had experienced through Athena’s memory. Weeks and months had passed as he lived as she had. He had felt every emotion and sensation like it was his own. It left him dizzy, heartbroken, and enraged. Even now, knowing he was back with his own body, he longed to return to Athena’s magical place of solitude. The echo of her pain persisted and nauseated him.

  “Wyatt!”

  Ms. Abagail’s voice gave Wyatt the clarity he needed, jolting him back into some semblance of himself, and he jumped to his feet. Ms. Abagail was on the far side of the dining hall, darting between chairs and tables. The Lord Regent was circling toward her, keeping her penned in, but hadn’t yet reached her. Maia twirled through the air, distracting the Lord Regent as best as she could while narrowly avoiding swings of his swords.