Chapter 21: 21. Better Than Death

 

 

- DILLON -

 

There isn't much entertainment in this dark, damp cell besides the screams of the tortured echoing off the stone walls. The sounds float into my chamber like a disturbing melody I have become accustomed to. But, all is quiet now. It seems that even Ghan has a schedule that he adheres to.

After some time, one could tell by the pitch of their wailing what manner of torture they had endured. It had been myself in that position after all, not too long ago. Ghan, who had a twisted affinity for cruelty has not touched me since he carved my feet. I do not remember how much time has passed. How often had I fainted from the pain? When I wake, the agony starts anew. I wish I could stay asleep forever.

I slump against the wall. The cold, damp stone numbs a throbbing ache on my back. I do not remember how I got here. They must've taken the chair and table when I fainted to keep me down here in my own filth. The bastards.

Darkness has been my companion since I woke and I welcomed it with open arms. The less I saw, the better. But, the stench of blood, piss and vomit remain. I should be used to it by now, but, I am not.

No matter what I do, I cannot sleep. The searing pain of exposed raw skin keeps me awake. Every movement agitates it, so I stare into the deep darkness and wait for my death. I wonder what will come first; death from infection, starvation or boredom. Or, I could simply bite off my tongue.

As I look into the corner of my cell, I see Ghan and his menacing smile. Sleep deprivation, starvation and the injuries I sustained have taken a toll on me. The images in my mind are a concoction of madness. Now, this blackness seems to have taken form, moulding and warping into a creature I cannot comprehend. It whispers into my ears the promises I made but could not keep, the lies I told, and the names of men I had slain.

Dread slowly builds and the darkness, I realise, could be a companion no longer.

I crane my stiff neck towards the small barred window, the only light source is a small sconce attached to a stone wall a few cells down from mine; it emanates a dim golden glow. The lights in my cell were all extinguished. A popular method they use to keep me insane and bored. I chuckle at the ridiculousness of it all.

If they wish to break my spirit, then they are wasting their time. Hopes? Dreams? Ambitions? Those things mean nothing to me. Not anymore. My spirit was crushed long ago, like fine powder blown into the wind.

Soon my vision blurs. My right eye which had been forced shut from the blood of my head injury begins to throb. The bars of that small window are made from thick beams of iron, but they have long corroded and are red with rust. Almost as if it is taunting me. If I have half the strength I used to, I would tear the beams right off and impale the next guard that walks by. The thought fills me with such an elated buzz that I choke out a laugh.

When sweet slumber almost finds me at last, I hear the alarm go off. The same damned alarm as that night. Then, I hear footsteps in the hall. They are light and fast, someone is running. My heart races. It does not sound like Ghan, however, who knows what tricks he has up his sleeve. I groan and crawl on my knees, lifting my feet as high as they can go to avoid the filth, through my own piss and blood to get to the door. I fear infection more than injury. I am glad I am alone in the darkness.

I lean against the metal door, contemplating if it is worth it to stand. The footsteps inch closer and just like that, the person speeds past me. Perhaps, I'd been paranoid over nothing. I lean back and close my eyes, willing the darkness to take me again.

Then, I hear a scream. It is not the usual howling from prisoners here. It is a high-pitched wailing from a woman somewhere down the hall. I hear a pair of boots and the ruffle of fabric. Then voices. Shouting, grunting, and screaming. There is some sort of commotion out there.

I squeeze my eyes shut from the pain as I drag myself up to my feet. My wound aches as I put my weight on my feet. A groan escapes me and tears brim my eyes. It takes all of my strength to stand, my hands clutched tight to the iron bars for support. I am gasping by the time I gaze out into the dim hallway.

The other inmates laugh and hiss and bang their fists against the metal. Something is happening; a disruption from the usual quiet despair. I press my cheek against the cool iron bars. I see her then, a small, thin figure with short black hair cradling a man. But, it is not a loving embrace. The walls and floor are splattered crimson with blood. She sobs as she brings down a dagger into his unmoving body. Her assault is ceaseless. I have seen men carved, burned and murdered; but there is perverseness to this. It somehow feels sinful.

Her silken hair has clumped together from congealed blood. Even with her back to me, she seems familiar. Shivers travel down the curve of my spine when I realise who the woman is. I grit my teeth.

"Arellia," I call, but my voice is hoarse and she does not hear me. I watch her never-ending assault against the dead man. I must be going insane as there is no possible reason Arellia could be down here, dressed as a commoner, committing heinous acts such as this.

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But, I cannot avert my gaze. Her hands shake and her sobs become desperate and sombre. She jolts suddenly and leans forward, her small back trembling. When she turns and scans the dark hall, her silver eyes glint in the light. A surprised laugh escapes me. I am both horrified and confused.

Arellia stands suddenly on shaking legs and runs further into the room and out of my field of vision but her movements are frantic. When she saunters back into the dim hallway, a bunch of keys jingle lightly in her hands. The sound is like music to my ears. My heart races. The prisoners are hysterical. They scream and shout and strike their fists furiously against the doors. It is chaos down here.

Arellia pays them no heed. She storms past them. When she reaches my cell, she stops and turns to me. The girl I met on that veranda is gone, replaced with a hollow shell of wrath and sorrow. There is a stillness in my soul as I look at her. Her hands tremble as blood dribbles off them onto the cold stone. Despite the animosity behind her eyes, I find her beautiful, still.

"Take me with you," It is all I can muster.

"Why?" She says softly, her words barely a whisper amidst the chaos. "Why did you kill him?"

But, I don't reply. There is nothing for me to say.

"You're leaving aren't you? Why else would you be dressed as a commoner? Take me with you as you won't survive a damned day out there without me." I sound desperate. I am desperate.

"I have… Yhana… She will keep me safe," She says, but her lips tremble. I watch as she reaches for her arm and winces when she touches the knife wound. 

"Can she wield a sword? Has she even left the castle?" I scoff. Perhaps, I am being callous. But, the world is cruel. By the look in her eyes and the dagger in her hands, she knows it, too.

"Get me out of here and I will fight for you."

After a long moment, she says, "Do you expect me to trust a traitor?" She isn't wrong.

"After the alarm and now the ruckus down here, how long do you think it will take your imperial guards to find you? Is there anyone you trust?" Her eyes widen in fear and I know I've got her. Guilt rises in me but I stomp it down as Arellia's eyes search mine.

"Swear to me," She says, "That you will protect me." I sensed it then; a vestigial flicker of determination in her voice, hidden behind a cloak of animosity she dons. It tugs at a vulnerable part of me, a part I had long locked away and abandoned. I nod and she squeezes her eyes shut.

Her hands fumble awkwardly as she jams a few keys into the lock of my cell. I hear my heart in my ears. When the lock clicks and the door scrapes open, I clench my jaw because I know that I am a liar and a sinner. She knows it, too. I am barely standing before her, covered in blood and piss and filth and yet she does not recoil.

"Swear to me," She says again and offers me her blood-drenched dagger with trembling hands.

"By the Angel and on my life, I swear to you." My fingers graze hers as I take the dagger, but she does not blush or look away as she did once before. Instead, she grits her teeth.

"On your life, it is then, Azshker. Protect me."

For the first time since I was thrown into this hell-hole, I feel it; the heat rising within me and adrenaline coursing through my veins. Arellia's words have ignited a flame in the endless darkness that is my wretched life; unwavering and relentless.

Hope.

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