19. Lina
Lina
M y captor’s eyes have no life left in them. So much like a scelped human, his soul has been stripped of him.
Behind him, a scream of rage echoes from the circle of men. The fallen warrior pulls himself to his knees. I am surprised to realize he is not dead.
“I will come for her!” he yells, and his words send a shiver down my spine.
But my Dread keeps his back to the vengeful cries and stops only when he reaches me. There is a gracefulness to his movements, as he prowls toward me. He is not a bear, he is a jungle cat. His features are sharp, leaving dark shadows under his eyes.
My breath trembles as he approaches, the man— no, monster —that has claimed me as if I were a dog. Am I no better than the reptile beasts they ride into battle?
No more than cattle.
Would my life have been better or worse if I had let their magic choose me?
I’m numb when his massive hand clasps my upper arm, dragging me into a dark tunnel without a single word.
“Where are you taking me?” I manage out of my shaking lips.
“To your new home.”
“To my prison, you mean.”
He doesn’t answer for a long moment. There is only the sounds of our feet pattering against the cool stone. He stomps while I scurry to keep up with his long stride, to keep the sting of his tight grip from growing too strong.
“They are one in the same, yes,” he finally mutters.
Part of me is relieved to hear him admit it. Another is petrified that he is so willing to state the horror of this reality so plainly.
The tunnel is long and winding, sloping down farther below ground.
I am being swallowed whole by the mountain.
I will never be seen or heard from again, like all those other poor, captured people. The mountain of lost souls, my mother used to call it. She said anyone who enters never returns. Will I never return?
I have never been good at defiance, but I will have to sharpen that sword now because it is all I have left.
With a grit I didn’t know I was capable of, I plant my feet onto the cold stone and rip my arm from my Dread’s rough grip.
He pauses, blinking down at his now empty hand, as if he could not fathom me fighting back. Slowly, he turns to face me with a quiet ferocity.
I hold my wrist against my chest, the feeling of his skin on mine still throbs through me. “Don’t touch me,” I bite out. “Don’t ever touch me.”
My words are harsh but I am embarrassed to feel tears that surely expose my weakness.
His eyes narrow, examining me from head to toe.
Will he punish me for my rebellion? Will he hurt me in order to prove his power over me?
As he stalks forward slowly, I feel my soul shriveling inside my own body, my bravery is gone in an instant. If I weren’t frozen still, I might have begged forgiveness. Instead, I stare up at him with large, terrified eyes.
How will I survive this if I cannot hold on to bravery for more than a single moment?
“You will not like what happens if you run.” His voice is gravelly.
I swallow but nod quickly, like a child.
“Keep up,” he demands, then spins on his heel, continuing his march through the dark tunnel. I rush to follow him.
Torches hung on the walls line the winding tunnel, making the area dim but with a soft orange glow.
I try my best to keep track of our direction.
Every once in a while, we enter a large room with multiple doorways.
Some of them have tables and cabinets. More than once, we pass a masked man who nods silently.
We turn left, sloping down. Then to the left again. Then right. Straight for a very long time.
We cross through a large room filled with weapons—spears and swords and crossbows—on hooks. We walk so long my energy begins to wane. My Dread matches my slower pace without comment.
For a moment, I think I’m imagining the soft sound of rushing water in the distance. I frown but don’t dare ask. Could there be running water underground? A river? A lake?
The sound grows stronger and stronger until I am certain it is a powerful river nearby, but then we turn again to the left and the sound fades away.
Soon, my vague hope that I could remember the route back out of this labyrinth is washed away, far, far out of reach. I am beyond lost.
The tunnels look too much the same. Dark brown, rough, and uneven. Was this carved by hand? Some could be natural tunnels, but not this many, surely. How long did this take?
I continue following my Dread through more turns, farther underground. Soon, the intersecting tunnels are replaced with thick wooden doors with large metal knobs and lock holes.
I attempt to keep count of how many we pass but lose track after twenty. Then, we turn to a new hall with even more.
Finally, we stop in front of one of the wooden doors. I look around before my Dread pushes it open without using a lock. There is nothing special about this particular spot. I wouldn’t know how to find it if I ever needed to, let alone figure out how to get out of the mountain.
“In,” he demands.
I rush past him into the small, dark room, and my trembling knees buckle, dropping me to the ground. My breaths come in too fast. My mind is a mess of fear and sadness. My eyes lock on a smear of red blood on my forearm.
Somehow, that is what opens the door to panic, and I am quickly flooded.
My chest is crushed under the weight of my reality. I scream and slam my fist into the stone, which sends roaring pain up my arm and into my back.
I sob uncontrollably.
The door shuts with a thunk.
I don’t know how long I cry for, but it feels as if an hour must have passed before I finally notice that I am alone.
I twist awkwardly, panic still pressing down on my chest and black still peppering my vision, but I find a closed door and no one by it.
My new personal Dread left and has not come back, which is a relief but also somewhat confusing because as I finally take a good look around, I find it hard to believe this is a room made for me—a captive.
It’s not particularly large, but it looks lived in, and actually fairly cozy.
Though the walls and floor are uneven dark stone, it is furnished with a fur bed and a flickering lantern opposite it. Several wicker baskets line the other wall, filled with clothes of some kind. There are weapons stacked in the corner.
Those are most certainly not for me. I could easily end my life with them if I wanted. If I didn’t have a loved one to reunite with, I might have even considered it.
Could I catch my captor by surprise and kill him the moment he enters the room next? Certainly the cult wouldn’t want that. The chances I could succeed in that endeavor are slim. Besides, what then?
Where would I go? As soon as the cult found out I’d be fed to the draken. I shiver.
Quickly, I grab a small, ribbed knife before I can convince myself against it.
I don’t know what purpose it could possibly serve, but it feels good to have some ability to defend myself.
I tear a stretch of cloth from my leggings and wrap it around my thigh, pinning the blade uncomfortably against my flesh, then I carefully maneuver my skirt to cover it.
I look through a few more items. There is a small wooden shelf with jars of liquids. I peer into a few of the jars, but I couldn’t confidently identify a single one. They could be poisons, or they could be herbal remedies, or they could simply be recreational spirits.
The door swings open, and it’s as if I’ve been struck. I stumble back, slamming against the uneven stone wall.
The Dread, still covered in blood, stands there with wide eyes.
The moment of stillness settles between us. He doesn’t approach me. He doesn’t attack. He just watches, as if he were the one who should be afraid.
Finally, he slowly lifts an object in his right hand. A bucket.
“To wash the blood,” he says softly. Too soft. Why would a man twice my size who drinks blood and rides reptile beasts speak so softy? “And to drink.”
When I don’t move, he slowly sets the bucket on the ground.
“There—there will be opportunities to bathe, and there will be food, but for the night, this will have to do.”
His shadow looms over my crumpled body. Harsh stone, bitter cold. And him, my nightmare.
He shifts on his feet, and I squeeze my eyes closed, bracing for what will come next.
Moments pass, almost long enough for me to open my eyes, to beg him to just get it over with. Whatever happens here, just let it happen. This waiting is a torment of its own.
He squats down beside me.
“Please,” I mutter. I don’t even know what I’m begging for. To get it over with? To leave me alone? To free me? To undo the past and start it all over?
The Dread slowly drags the cloth mask down from his face, dark eyes intense with unclear emotion.
I take in a breath and hold it, unable to look away. This monster that has taken me captive is… just a man. He has sharp features, exaggerated in the flickering orange light of the fire.
His lips are slightly plump. His nose is long. His brows strong.
He is handsome, in a strange way.
He watches me closely, measuring each movement. He tilts his head, carefully considering me, until finally, he releases a breath and his shoulders relax.
“You are mine now,” he tells me gently. “Do you know what that means?”
I swallow and shake my head.
“It means no one else can touch you without my permission. It means you are precious in this community, and you will be treated as such.”
“It means you can do whatever you’d like to me.”
His eyes darken. His chin dips. My heart rattles, waiting for him to admit his corrupted intentions. Waiting for him to act.
“What do you desire, Dove?” he murmurs.
Grief rises up in my soul because—hell, I don’t even know. I want to be free of this place. I want Astella. Tears sting my eyes. “Freedom,” is the answer I finally whisper through salty tears.
He sits back, stretching the space between us. “That is unfortunate.”
Unfortunate because he intends to take it away indefinitely?
“Freedom, is the one thing this place is entirely absent of.”
He grips my chin and tugs it up toward him. My eyes obey his unspoken command, as if by some spell, but I do not feel the prickle of magic. Just him. His energy. His natural power.
The fear he holds over me.
“I am sorry for your fear. But you now belong to The Ancient,” he bites out the words, nothing gentle left in his tone or demeanor.
“The moment the shadows of this mountain touched your delicate skin, you lost. There is no escape. There is no hope left. The quicker you learn that, the easier this will be.”
My lips tremble. As my Dread releases me, leaving the place his skin touched colder than it’s ever been, I believe him.
I am no stranger to loss. Grief has been my most constant companion; I know his bitter kiss all too well. So, while this misery is a vice grip on my chest, suffocating me slowly, I also know that when the sun rises, I will again find my light.
The sun is so far away down here, I realize. But I suck in a deep breath.
Maybe here, the sun will be a tiny flicker at the end of an endless tunnel, but somewhere in the shadows, light exists.
I promised Astella I would find it, and so I will.
Finally, he huffs. “You are a little dove in a viper’s nest.”
Then, he shakes his head, eyes distant. He spins on his heel and charges from the room as if heading into battle. The door slams behind him, and I am alone yet again.
Here, in this room, there is an illusion of safety, but I know outside that door, in the shadows of this underground city, beasts are waiting to pounce.