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three days of thirst
Canals beneath Lionswatch - early fall, year 1203 after Mithras
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The torch had long since burnt out, but he brought a new one. It was the scraping sound of him exchanging them, that finally woke me. How he had managed to open and close the door without making a sound, I would probably never find out. This time he wore a sleeveless, wide-cut black shirt and worn out, dark brown leather trousers that sat snugly on his muscular legs. And most important of all, he paid no attention whatsoever to me.
He would pay for that.
I silently crept closer, still intent on using my first chance to escape. I was good at sneaking up on people, having relied on that skill for months on end, but this man, creature, flesh-clad evil that he was, had me worried. I had a lot of practice judging people by their behavior and weighing their character, but my captor was of a kind I had never encountered before. He was unreadable, even to me.
I was about two feet behind him, ready to jump and go for his throat, when he suddenly stilled.
“Kneel.”
I froze, unsure if he had noticed my attempt to attack him, or if he just uttered the word, still thinking I was in my corner.
He stood there silent and unmoving for about six heartbeats, then he spun around with lightning speed. One of his arms struck out and his backhand hit me across the face, throwing me backward and to the ground in the blink of an eye.
I blinked up at him, dumbfounded and dazed. The slap had come out of nowhere, as far as I was concerned. Nobody had ever slapped me with such casual, unrestrained violence before. Punches and kicks like that I knew, but a slap was supposed to be educational and reprehensive. This one had been nearly enough to knock out a tooth or break my jaw, and certainly enough to split my lip and make it bleed.
He stared down at me as I lay there, watching me calmly and with just as much attention as before, like a snake waiting for the mouse to twitch. His gaze was enough to keep me frozen on the spot. My heart beat frantically once more and I silently cursed myself for trying so soon. Of course he had seen it coming!
He moved only when he was absolutely sure I wouldn’t try something else, and he kept his word. I caught a glimpse of a half loaf of bread sticking out from one of his pockets, then the sturdy door fell shut behind him and I was left sitting there with a bleeding lip, a spinning head and a growling, painfully empty stomach.
~*~
I didn’t know how much time passed after he left. Maybe it were only mere hours, maybe days, but down in that fifteen-by-fifteen feet sized cell, I had no way of telling. As long as the torch burned, I was reasonably calm for a man kidnapped and locked up, but the light didn’t last. Much too soon, the darkness swallowed me and left me in a mental state of near constant panic.First, there was the paranoia, and I heard movement where none could be. I knew there were thick stone walls behind my back, but the stone felt wet, cold, and rough, like a cellar wall, or a dungeon. I couldn’t suppress my mind conjuring pictures of spiders and centipedes and other bugs, crawling down in the darkness to nest in every orifice of my body, as soon as I closed my eyes. Those visions of bugs became panicked ideas of rats or worse creatures finding a way inside my cell to feast on my flesh. My mind conjured those fears in such vivid detail and color, I got sick at one point, spitting bile onto the ground when nothing else came out of my stomach.
Next came the cold, creeping silently into my clothes, flesh and bones, until I was shivering violently enough to bite my tongue. My blood tasted thick and stale, but it helped with the thirst. I sucked on the cut until my tongue pounded with pain and my stomach roiled from the taste of it. If I would have gotten up and moved around, I probably would have felt warmer, but the idea was unthinkable to me. To walk into the unknown? Never.
Later, I thought of the tons of stone and earth hovering over me, trying to squash down vivid images of how thin those pillars and walls around me really were in relation to the weight above them, and how this whole structure might come down in a thundering roar to crush me. I whimpered when I imagined surviving the collapse, only to die slowly and in horrible pain as I lay there between the rocks, forgotten by the world and totally alone. How those stones and boulders would move ever so often and squash my limbs in a slow, unending grind, and nobody would hear my screams.
The feeling of terror settled deep in my bones, deep enough to make any thought or sound impossible, and the darkness and cold did their own work on my confused and befuddled mind. My mind showed me ever tightening walls, made my cell appear smaller and smaller in my head, until I was afraid to move my arms and legs, because the idea of finding out the walls might actually be just a breath away was too horrible to test.
When the door ground open, I froze. My breathing went into overdrive, trying to compensate for the sudden roar of blood in my head and the rapid beating of my heart, until white spots danced through the blackness behind my eyelids. There was no light to help me see, just those minute, soft sounds that made me think of bugs and rats again. I whimpered in fear. I had the sudden feeling of something big and dangerous looming silently above me, but I didn’t move. Didn’t dare to move, like a goat hoping to be left alone when playing dead long enough.
Then something combed into my hair and gripped it tightly.
I screamed, high pitched and piteous, struggling like a hooked fish as I was dragged through the blackness, deeper into the cell my mind had filled with horrors for hours on end. Or had it been days? I just couldn’t remember. I didn’t even dare to try and touch whatever— or whoever— was dragging me, because I couldn’t think of anything more horrible than finding out it wasn’t human.
Just as suddenly as I had been grabbed and dragged, we stopped again, and I tried to turn onto my stomach out of instinct. The movement twisted my hair until I felt like the top of my head was being pulled off, but I didn’t care. I had to protect my soft belly against all attackers. The stench of urine filled the room— or maybe just my oversensitive senses— and I knew it came from me. Knew that, and didn’t care, because I was too afraid to move, breathe, think.
Whatever had grabbed me, suddenly let go and I cowered there, frozen.
There were a few sounds above me, muffled scratching, a sharp hissing sound, and suddenly the all-encompassing darkness was flooded with light. I was cowering in front of two nicely polished boots, attached to the legs of the one person I had tried to kill in what now felt like another lifetime, fondly remembered. I was so grateful for this single, mortal being, I nearly sobbed with relief. The thought of fleeing didn’t even enter my mind, and the idea of him leaving again made my heart race. I absolutely didn’t want to be left alone again.
Seconds ticked by once more, then his leather pants groaned as the crouched down, throwing a big, menacing shadow over my body.
“Kneel,” he said in that cultivated, unperturbed voice, and I scrambled to obey.
I still was in a kind of fetal position, but I was on my knees as he had ordered and I was trembling with fear it might not be what he had wanted, that he might leave again just because I hadn’t understood him right. If he wasn’t pleased, he’d—
“Good boy,” he murmured, and patted the back of my head once. I was exhilarated by just that one pat, out of my mind with elation I had done the right thing this time, ecstatic I wouldn’t be alone for just a bit longer.
My tormentor stayed crouching, but I could hear him ruffle through his belongings. The sound of bread being ripped in bits followed and my stomach gave an urgent growl, reminding me how hungry I was. Thirsty, too, but the hunger was more urgent.
Ever so slowly, I raised my eyes towards that sound, towards his hands and his face. The flickering light of the torch reflected off his scarred, polished head, those deep-set eyes, the cupid’s bow of his pale, full lips and the piece of bread he was breaking into small chunks. At first, I was unsure if I was allowed to look at him, but he didn’t seem to mind and after a while, I calmed down a bit.
When he was finished with whatever he was doing with the bread, he put the pieces on his lap, picked up a small chunk and held it in front of my face. I automatically reached for it, but as soon as my fingers touched it, he slapped me. It wasn’t as hard as the last time, but it still hurt like hell. I quickly pulled back my hand, but my eyes stayed focused on the food.
“Do you want this?” he finally murmured calmly.
I could almost smell the trap, but I didn’t seem to be able to identify what it was. Did I want the bread? Hell yes, I did!
“Yes,” I whispered, with a questioning uplilt in my voice, almost as if to ask, did I really want it?
Obviously he was of the opinion that I didn’t, I could see it in his face. His brows pulled together just a little and the left corner of his mouth went down, then he reached back with the hand not holding food and pulled something from his belt. It looked like a short riding crop, as thick as a thumb, as long as his forearm, engraved with symbols I didn’t know and didn’t care about.
What I did care about was the shooting, burning pain that went through my shoulder, as soon as he touched that little stick to it. Just that little touch felt like a glowing hot steel spike being thrust straight through my bone marrow, my shoulder, my neck. That pain took away my ability to breathe and to stay upright, and had I not already wet myself before, I surely would have done so as I went down twitching. What in the name of Mithras was that thing?
“A corpse does not need or want,” I heard him say as I blinked through the black spots tumbling through my vision. “The next time I have to remind you of this, I will keep the pain going for a full breath.” He seemed to think for a moment, turning his head just a bit as if to find a better angle to watch me, then he said, “kneel.”
Blood pounded through my head, making me dizzy and nauseous, but I managed to get back up onto my knees, once more cowering before him. I felt his eyes stare holes into my head, but he made no move to continue his sick game until I finally found the courage to look up into his eyes.
“Do you want this?” he asked again, in the exact same tone of voice as before. This time, I thought I was ready.
“No,” I answered, proud of my quick thinking, eager to do as he wished so I could stuff that damn bread into my mouth and be done with this game.
When he moved the rod forward, I tried to slither away, but I was too slow. The pain shot through my body, through my chest and down my spine, making me scream like I had never screamed before. Just as he had promised, he kept the agony going for what felt like an eternity, touching it to my shoulder even after I had crumbled to the ground, twitching like a dying man, unable to suck in another breath to continue screaming. The pain went on for a few heartbeats even after he took away the demonic tool, and I lay on the ground writhing and gasping for air. My hearing and my skin felt numbed, packed in gauze, my hunger was forgotten.
“The next time I have to remind you, I will keep the pain going until you black out,” he purred, and my stomach turned at the rumble of enjoyment in his voice. I had believed him before, but those words proved to me he actually wanted me to fail, wanted me to do the wrong thing just one more time, so he could watch my pain.
I finally managed to draw a good breath, and I put it to good use. “Please,” I coughed, trying to get back onto my knees and failing, “I don’t know what you want from me! Please tell me what you want and I’ll do it, I promise!”
I could see his crouched form watch me struggle to get up, and I could see glimpses of his face as I tried to compose myself. His lips were turned up into a ‘smile’, but it looked like a horrible grimace. Not happy, not crazy, not anything, just a copy of an expression he just didn’t seem to understand, but tried to do anyway.
When I finally was on my knees again— or at least in a pose that was as close to kneeling as I could get—, he turned his head to the other side, again looking like a bird who saw a tasty worm. Then he started to put the bread onto the floor, forming a perfect, beautiful line of thirteen pieces.
“You are starting to understand, good. It is important for you to know what I want, because it will be all you’ll want in the future. My will shall fill your empty shell to the brim.”
He gracefully got up from his crouch, not caring to straighten his clothes, and pointed at the line of bread. “For every piece of bread sitting right there when I come back, you will get one sip of water. If you don’t watch the bread, rats will come and take it. I won’t care who took the bread, but I will expect you to kneel where I put you today, no matter how much bread is left.”
I kept my wits about me right until I head the door fall shut behind him. Then I screamed and I wept, and I pulled my hair until I fell asleep, exhausted and shattered.
~*~
I didn’t want to wake up, not to this nightmare I was living, but my body decided for me. The torch was still burning, sputtering with its last, meager remains of fuel, and there were eight pieces of bread sitting in front of me. The view was enough to bring about another panic attack, and I quickly surrounded the remainders of what could have been a whole cup full of water so I could keep watch over them even without light.My muscles burned with thirst and exhaustion, my fingers were trembling with a mixture of deep-rooted panic and tension, but there was also a shred of calm in my heart. I felt disconnected and shell-shocked and on the verge of losing any interest in self-preservation, as long as this torment found its end. If I died, it would definitely end.
That thought brought my eyes down to the pieces of bread behind my shielding arms.
If I ate all the bread, I wouldn’t get any water. Judging by the way my tongue felt and by the way my heart beat, I wouldn’t survive another day without water. I would die, but I wouldn’t die hungry. All this would be over.
All this…
The first piece of bread disappeared in my dry mouth before I could finish my mulling. It was hard to chew and stuck to my tongue without the support of saliva. I nearly choked when I tried swallowing it and I coughed for a good five minutes afterward, as the mush of dry crumbs landed in my stomach. It felt like lead there, and it made me feel sick.
A few tears rolled over my cheek as I thought my situation through. I was too weak to effectively kill myself by eating, which meant I would get water as soon as my captor came back. But it wouldn’t be a lot of water, and I would only prolong my suffering with it. I wanted to cry, maybe scream again, but I felt too exhausted, too numb to get overly excited over my predicament.
My tormentor found me like that, crouched over the last seven pieces of bread. I heard the door squeak, heard his calm, rhythmic steps close in on me, then pass me by to exchange the torch, just like he did every time. In a last ditch effort, I struggled to kneel, swooning with delirium.
Just like last time, I heard the leather of his boots and pants groan as he crouched down in front of me, waiting for me to look at him. It took quite a lot of effort to peel open my eyes, but I did it.
There was no tenderness in his face, no empathy, just calm, collected interest. I was a bug for him to study, his bug, maybe, and he took his time. His eyes flitted over my face, watching one part after another until he was satisfied.
Then he slapped me. It was a soft slap, it barely hurt and it barely made a sound at all. I took it, licked my dry lips and rightened my head so I could look at him again. I probably looked bored, but that wasn’t what I felt. I felt nothing, neither shame nor outrage, or fear.
He blinked once, and I watched those green eyes get darker as his pupils widened. “Will you drink the water from my mouth?” he asked in a voice that would have befitted any servant in a noble’s house, cultivated but ultimately disinterested.
“Yes,” I croaked, barely intelligible. I would drink out of his shoe if it meant I could drink. His mouth seemed harmless in contrast to the things he probably could come up with if he felt the need to torment me.
His head turned vaguely, again with that bird-like quality. “Yes, what?” he purred, still staring at my face as if he could see something I hadn’t seen there in all my life.
“Yes, master,” I hissed numbly. There was no shame in me anymore. I would do as he asked, because the alternative was too gruesome to face.
“Good boy,” he said, and patted my head.
~*~
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