by T. C. Edge
It wasn’t totally silent, though. In fact, people had been coming and going all afternoon, the place livelier than it had been for several days. Every fifteen minutes or so, two guards would come stamping in, pick out one of the prisoners, and heave their unconscious body up the deck above.
They returned not too long after with the same body slumped across their shoulders – a minor feat in itself given the size of the some of the men here – and tossed them back into their cells with little concern for their wellbeing.
Only, not all were returned to the cells they were taken from. Merk, given his role as caretaker here in this floating dungeon, knew just what was in store for the prisoners from here on out.
There wasn’t any official term for it, though Merk, given his proclivity for arranging his own nicknames, also liked to arrange his own terms too. In this case, he called it the ‘merge’: the day when each prisoner would be buddied up with another.
He strolled down the corridor, and looked into the cells. Already, half now lay empty, with the rest at double occupancy. A single bed remained in each room, giving Merk a new game to play. He called it ‘guess who gets the bed’, a game that had, in recent times, grown stagnant given that it was almost exclusively the smaller man who ended up on the cold, damp floor.
Still, Master Domitian had a knack for good pairings. Mostly, he did it to test his new subjects, to see if they played well with others. Occasionally that backfired, and Merk would stroll in after a good night’s rest to find blood seeping from a cell. In the end, not all pairings got along – in fact, they rarely did - and though Merk had suggested to his master that the prisoners remain shackled, Domitian had denied the request with steadfast regularity.
“Merk the Mighty,” he would say, laying a hand on the old caretaker’s shoulder, “where’s the fun in that?”
Merk, of course, added ‘the mighty’ when imagining the interaction. No one actually gave him that title except himself.
The simple truth was a little more complicated, however. Really, it was a means for Domitian to separate the wheat from the chaff, and to find out just what some of these contenders were made of. If he believed one had great potential, and another was unlikely to last long, he’d throw them together and see what happened. It was just his way.
As Merk continued his game of ‘guess who gets the bed’, the thudding of boots sounded in the distance. He set his eyes to the door up the stairs at the end of the corridor just in time to see it swing open. The two guards appeared with the blond boy named Finn draped over one of their shoulders like a fine garment of fur. By now, the old man had been fully caught up on the details of the prisoners. Only a small proportion of his guesswork had turned out right.
Merk rubbed his hands together.
“Where’s this one going then?”
He hurried down the corridor, lamp in hand, as the stairs creaked and the guards loomed. One pointed to the nearest cell to the bottom of the stairs.
“Her? Really?” asked Merk.
Neither guard responded, but merely stepped past the caretaker, opened the cell, and rolled the blond-haired boy inside. Then they turned and walked away, glancing at the old man with a bare whisker of interest.
Merk was used to it. He spent half his life lurking down here, and was well aware that he was a source of ridicule for many of the guards. He didn’t care. Master Domitian gave him the time of day, and that was plenty for him.
As the guards made their way back up the stairs, Merk quickly turned away. His eyes, the colour of dark grey cloud, worked with the firelight from his lamp and took in the shape of the cell at the end of the row.
The frame of the blond-haired boy called Finn lay slumped to the floor, one arm awkwardly hidden beneath his body and legs spread unevenly. Merk moved the light and lit up his face. It was angled in an expression he recognised. Anguish, confusion, an unmistakable fear.
He felt a little sorry for the boy. During his first guessing game, he’d imagined he didn’t quite belong among these monsters. In many ways, he still wondered why a fisherman’s boy was here, though would always defer to his master in making the right picks.
This was probably one of his projects, thought Merk. Master Domitian likes his projects.
His light lifted again. He swung it towards the right, illuminating the back of the cell. The glow met with dark wood, dull grey iron, bright red hair…and green eyes.
Merk recoiled, stumbling back.
The girl with emeralds for eyes was staring right at him.
Kira stared right at the guard with the crooked teeth, her frame as still and solid as stone.
She lay on her side on the bed, just where the guard had placed her only a little while ago. Watching through slits, she’d seen the blond boy tossed into the cell before the guards departed. Now, there was only one.
He seemed surprised to find her awake. Kira was a little surprised herself, though she wasn’t aware of how long she’d been out. Last she knew, the black-haired man was placing his hand on her head and putting her to sleep. That might have been hours ago or merely minutes. It felt like the latter to Kira.
The guard’s stumbling words confirmed it.
“Hey…you’re meant to be unconscious!”
His voice croaked with a measure of fright. Kira watched as he drew his right hand towards his chest, cradling it like an injured bird. He was missing two fingers.
Trauma, thought Kira. It was something she knew all about.
“Am I?” she asked.
She sat up, knowing that her restraints were no longer shackling her to the bed. It felt so good to be free of them. Above even death, Kira feared the chains. Her experience of slavery had set that fear in her long ago.
“Yeah…you are,” said the old guard. He moved forward a little and lifted the light. It caught Kira full in the face, igniting her features. She didn’t flinch or move. She just stared, eyes aglow. “Everyone else is…”
Kira looked at the young blond boy, then glanced left down the corridor. She stood, causing the old guard to stiffen, but merely moved gently towards the boy on the floor. She untangled his body, slipping his arm from underneath him and lifting him to his feet. She dragged him towards the bed and set him down on his back, before turning back towards the bars.
Kira inspected the guard for a few moments, maintaining her calm. He had a friendly enough demeanor, despite the craggy lines on his face and the crooked configuration of his teeth. It was in the eyes. They weren’t hard, but held the suggestion of good humour. Kira smiled to test his reaction. The old man followed.
“What’s your name?” asked Kira.
She moved towards the wall and adopted a position similar to the black-haired man: one leg crossing the other, a hand shaping through her wild red hair.
The old man hesitated. Then, pulling his full height together, he said: “Merk,” before adding, “the mighty,” with no more than a whisper.
Kira smiled again. The old man shuffled and drew a little nearer.
“Good to meet you, Merk the Mighty. My name’s Kira. I don’t have any special title I’m afraid.”
She grinned, displaying teeth quite unlike the old guard.
“It’s, erm, unofficial,” said Merk quietly. “And yes, I know your name.”
“Of course. I like your title, though,” said Kira. “Suits you.”
Merk huffed. It didn’t suit him and he knew it.
“So why aren’t you asleep,” asked Merk. His interest was piquing, mixed with concern. “Did they not give you an injection? You were unconscious when they brought you down a few moments ago…”
Kira shrugged.
“It was that black-haired man. He put me to sleep.”
“Oh, Master Domitian…”
Merk’s misshapen right hand slapped against his mouth, as if he’d said too much.
“Right, yeah, Domitian,” Kira grunted. “I’ve spent plenty of time around people like him. People who can manipulate minds, I mean. His tr
icks won’t work on me like they do others.”
Merk’s eyes turned.
“I see. Well, I should, um, be heading off. You really ought to be sleeping, you know. It won’t serve you to sit here in silence on your own. Best get as much rest as possible before we reach shore. You’ll want it…”
“Shore? And where are we going?”
Kira seized her chance. She turned to the old man with a look that demanded answers, yet her voice was controlled.
Merk stepped back.
“That’s not my place to say,” he muttered, looking to the stairs. “Sorry…best get some sleep now, girl.”
His spare hand reached behind his back, pulling up a small canister. Kira saw it and stepped quickly towards the bars. The time for tiptoeing was done. She gripped the metal and shook her head.
“No, please…tell me what’s going on!”
The old man withdrew, fixing a gas mask to his face.
“Hush now, young girl,” came a muffled voice. “Get settled on the floor. The gas works quick.”
“Please!”
“Sleep now. Sweet dreams.”
The canister went off, filling the cell with a light mist. Kira’s eyes turned to a glare, and holding her breath, she calmly settled herself to the floor, sitting against the wall. Eyes set on the guard, she opened her lips, slowly drew in the poisoned air, and fell asleep.
Merk watched as the girl called Kira drifted away once more. He was quite amazed to see that she was awake in the first place. Master Domitian could put people into inescapable comas if he wanted to. He must have only wished her to be knocked out for a little while.
Yes, thought Merk. Master Domitian knows what he’s doing.
Still, he didn’t much like how he’d behaved. Even giving away his master’s name was a potentially serious offence. It wasn’t his place to reveal information down here, and speaking with the prisoners was also something he ought to avoid. He was here to look after them, check up on them, and make sure they got their rations when they came. That was all, nothing else. No speaking, no fraternising. No bonds at all.
After all, there was no point in befriending a corpse.
And that’s all they really were.
6
It seemed to Kira that she spent half her life waking, and the other being sent to sleep. The brief periods in between were filled with confusion, questions and no answers. She had become aware that days had passed since she was snatched from Haven, and yet during that time she’d had only minutes of accumulated waking time.
The next time she woke, she did to the sound of grunting. It echoed from down the corridor, filling the darkness. There were heavy blows against wood, the clanging of metal chains, roaring and screaming that sent fierce shivers down her spine.
It didn’t take her long to realise what was happening. Only she, among the occupants of this dungeon, was aware of the new system in place. Given how she now had a cellmate, she was only too sure that others did too.
By her reckoning, one such pairing had awoken in the pitch black to find that they were no longer alone. The natural reaction in such situations would be to fight and lash out, especially with the sorts of people here. Now unshackled, there would be nothing to stop them.
Kira listened, her back still against the wall. The shrieking grew louder, a blood curdling sound spreading through the stale air. It pierced her deep, setting a grimace to her face. It wasn’t a sound she was unfamiliar with.
Eventually, several pounding blows ended the bout. Whether the loser was merely knocked out or dead she couldn’t possibly know. All that remained was a heavy gasping, then the sound of a weighty frame dropping onto a bed.
Silence fell. Kira shut her eyes and set her palm to the floor. She attempted to use a power unique to people like her, people with her combination of enhancements; a power she called the ‘sight’.
Nothing happened. Her senses remained human, regular. Her eyesight, sense of smell, sense of hearing…all were no better than a normal person. She shook her head and gritted her teeth. She knew too well that such gifts could be suppressed in all manner of ways. Whether by injection, mental manipulation, or another form of drug, anyone could have their enhancements inhibited.
She let out a sigh, and set her head back against the wall. In the quiet, another sound spread.
Breathing.
She arched her neck right and looked at where she knew the bed to be. And despite the pitch black, she saw just a tiny hint of blue.
Eyes.
“Are you awake?” she whispered.
The blue disappeared.
“Don’t be afraid,” she said. “I won’t hurt you. What’s your name? I’m Kira.”
Kira knew that introducing oneself first was a good way of starting a conversation and engendering trust. She smiled and hoped that the white of her teeth would cut through the dark, and opened her eyes wide to let them shine.
Slowly, the blue glints returned, and around them, the shape of a face began to appear. Just a featureless silhouette, a shade lighter than the darkest black surrounding it.
“Finn,” came a voice. “My name’s Finn.”
Kira shuffled, turning a little towards him.
“Hey, Finn.” She imbued a light tone to her voice. “Do you know what’s going on?”
She saw the outline of his face move, his head shaking. Then, slowly, with a huff of discomfort, he heaved his body into a sitting position.
“I don’t know,” he said. His voice was low and empty, a worry etched within every word. “We’re on a boat, that’s all I know.”
“I figured that,” said Kira. She drew a little closer, her words becoming a whisper. For some reason she didn’t want anyone hearing this conversation. She didn’t know why. It was just instinct. “Were you taken from Haven? Are you with the Nameless?”
She shook her head to herself. No, he can’t have been with her rebel group. They were a large organisation, but she’d recognise him if he were one of their soldiers or hybrids.
“The Nameless.” he said. It was posed as a question. “No…no I’m just a fisherman’s son.”
Kira frowned.
“A fisherman’s son? Where are you from?”
“A village on the coast, down south of Haven. We call it Seabreeze Landing, on account of the wind…”
“Wait, so…you know about Haven?”
Kira had never left the city and its immediate surroundings. Such was her ignorance, she wasn’t even aware of what else existed beyond. There were local tribes in the woods and mountains around the city, but beyond that, her mind was blank.
“Um, yeah,” whispered Finn. “Haven…the big city with all the lights. I always wanted to see it, actually.”
“No, you don’t,” cut in Kira. “It’s not a place you want to go.”
Talk of the town set her mind back in gear. The city had been going through dramatic changes in the last few weeks, what with the war escalating. She was snatched away with its fate on a knife-edge, the battle for supremacy between the Savants and the rebels building to a crescendo. Her allies might right now be celebrating a great victory. Or they might all be dead.
Kira gritted her teeth and turned from the thought. She knew only one thing: she needed to get back.
“Well, Seabreeze is,” said Finn wistfully. “It’s quiet, peaceful. I liked it that way. I kept it that way…”
Kira heard the edges of his voice darken. The lights of his blue eyes seemed to flare and then fade away.
She watched him for a moment, and though she could barely see him, she knew full well that he was thinking of home. Kira allowed the indulgence, though were she to voice her opinion, wouldn’t advise it. She considered that there were two major things in this world that caused weakness: a love of people, and a love of places. The fewer people and places you loved and longed for, the stronger you tended to be.
It was a constant battle for Kira to practice what she preached. She’d lost enough people in her life to loo
k at attachment differently from most. And she’d never allowed any single place to get inside her head and call itself home, not properly at least. Yet still, there were people she cared about, a habit of being human she was unable to dismiss. And while Haven wasn’t home to her as it was to her allies, she was driven by the desire to save it. That was what her rebellion was all about. And more than the places and the people, it was her war that she longed to return to.
She continued her study of the boy called Finn, drawing her conclusions from the few words he said, and the manner in which he said them. He didn’t seem like her. Not a soldier or warrior. Not a fighter. As he said, nothing more than a fisherman’s son, the sort to kill fish and not men, to hunt the waves and not the battlefield.
“How did they take you?” she asked softly.
“I don’t know. I went to sleep in my bed. I woke up here in the dark. That’s all I remember.”
His voice spilled from the black, whispering off through the bars and into the musty corridor. There was a note of defeat to it, like a man in mourning. His silhouette drifted away again, leaning back against the wall and merging into shadow.
The cell fell into silence.
The quiet didn’t last too long.
After about half an hour, another brawl seemed to break out. This one was closer, a couple of cells to the left as far as Kira could figure.
She moved quickly over to the bars, feeling along the wall to get there, and listened as intently as she could. A heaving struggle ensued that lasted about two minutes, before ending with what sounded like a crack of bone.
It snapped into the corridor, echoing left and right, and was followed by a delayed howl of pain that must surely have been heard by those on the decks above.
The howling ended abruptly as another loud blow filtered from the left. Again, Kira couldn’t tell whether the man had been killed or merely knocked out.