Erosan's Tears

by Jason Scott Gleason

  “You’ll have to kill me,” Raelyn replied, fear creeping back in. He wasn’t afraid of many things, but torture was one of them.

  “I’m not going to kill you,” Perinor snarled, opening the door. “I’m going to take the woman you hold dear, make her my own. I’m going to give her the life you always wanted to be able to give her. And once my specialist is finished with you, you will be scarred for life, unable to speak, to walk, to use those precious hands of yours. Unable to do anything but see, so that you can see the worship in her eyes when she looks at me, and hear, so that you can hear her tell me that I am her salvation. I won’t kill you, Raelyn. That would end your suffering, and I want you to suffer for a very long time.” He slammed the door behind him as he strode out of the room.

  Raelyn laid on the table, still unable to accept what he had just heard. He had known Perinor would hate him, but had no idea that he had harbored so much resentment for the past six years. How do you look at a man who you hate so much? he wondered. How do you live like that for so long? So much bitterness, so much deceit. How do you give your patronage to a man you despise?

  He lay there a while longer, his mind racing, when all of a sudden his thoughts were cut short by a far off keening, echoing through the Gatehouse. Genevar, he thought suddenly, recognizing the voice. They’re torturing her, giving me a taste of what they’re going to do to me. He felt sick, listening to the sounds of Genevar’s wails. He couldn’t make out any of what she was saying, but he was sure she was telling them about Astal. He closed his eyes, tried to let go, remembering what his mother used to tell him: No sense worrying about what you can’t do nuthin’ about.

  He prayed, then. He prayed to Thelorin, God of Protection, that he would give him the strength and fortitude to endure whatever they would subject him to. He prayed to Aletharin, Lady of Supplication, that she would take mercy on him and soothe his pain. He prayed to Erosan, Lord of Health, that he would be able to recover from the torment Perinor had in store for him. And he prayed to Tuva, Lady of Miracles, that Gray would rescue them in time to ensure that everything would turn out alright in the end, even though nothing ever did. But more than anything, he prayed for Genevar, the poor, tormented soul whose cries he could hear, who was not a soldier or a warrior, whose only crime was to be a good and loyal friend.

  It was quite some time before Genevar’s pleas stopped echoing through the chamber, and longer still until the door to Raelyn’s room finally opened. Into the room walked a short, doughy Oervan with a pig’s face and small, squinting eyes. He was smiling slightly with fat, wet lips, in a way that gave him a simple minded appearance. His thinning hair was pasted to his pate with sweat, and he wore a thick leather apron and gloves with a number of unidentifiable stains. When he peered closer, Raelyn realized that the man was exceptionally nearsighted. Something about the man made Raelyn want to jump out of his skin and run screaming.

  “Lord tells his specialist this is a special meat, hmm?” the man said, peering closely at Raelyn. The man’s voice was a cross between a whine and a wheeze, and Raelyn felt a surge of panic, yanked involuntarily at his bonds. “Lord says this meat must feel pain.” The man’s wet smile didn’t waver, but he wasn’t making eye contact. He seemed to be looking Raelyn over rather than looking at him. This man is completely mad, he thought. He’s not talking to me—not talking to anyone. It’s like I’m a side of meat in a butcher shop.

  The man turned and shuffled out the door. Raelyn realized that he’d broken out in a cold sweat. His mouth was flushing like he was getting ready to vomit, and he hoped he’d be able to hold out. Come on, Gray. I was counting on being able to stall—you better get here quick. He imagined what this man would do to someone like Genevar, wondered if the screams he had heard were because of him. He wondered what state they would find her in.

  A few minutes passed before the door opened. The wet lipped man shuffled back in, pushing a cart. He was humming in no recognizable key, something that Raelyn didn’t recognize. He was still ignoring Raelyn—either that, or he didn’t notice Raelyn was in the room—and he started taking things off of the cart, starting with a brazier that Raelyn saw was already lit and glowing. “Must tend the fire, hmm?” he said, and Raelyn saw him put two or three more pieces of coal into it. A ridge surrounded the edge of the brazier, and Raelyn could make out small indentations in it.

  Next the man began arranging a number of implements on the cart. Raelyn craned his neck to see what they were, but the man’s back blocked his view. He saw a few of them when the man turned to rest them on the ridge of the brazier, their wickedly forked prongs and blades resting in the burning embers. What the fuck is he going to do to me? Raelyn wondered, the fear building within him. He tried to push the panic down, find his center. Lord Thelorin, grant me the fortitude to endure this ordeal, he prayed. But he knew his prayers would not be enough.

  After a few moments, the wet lipped man went around the room, lighting lanterns hanging from hooks on the wall. “Must have light to see,” he mumbled, shuffling from one to the next. “The specialist cannot see the meat in the dark, can he?” One by one, the lanterns came to life, until the room was full of their radiance. Raelyn continued his prayers, repeating the First Liturgy to Thelorin over and over: Lord Thelorin, grant me the fortitude to endure this ordeal; Defend my body, my mind, and my soul from these travails; Deliver me from suffering into your protective arms so that I might continue to serve you.

  “Meat speaks prayers, does it, hmm?” the specialist said reflectively, and only then did Raelyn realize that he was repeating the liturgy aloud. He stopped abruptly.

  “You know of Thelorin?” Raelyn said, desperate for a tactic that would work with the strange man. “He commands us to do no harm, except in the defense of the gods. Do you think you are doing their work?” His voice sounded brittle, fragile to his own ears.

  “Meat speaks to Lord’s specialist,” the man said, licking his lips and peering close at Raelyn’s chest. He had a very small, very sharp looking knife in his hand, and he began to cut away Raelyn’s shirt. When he found the amulet to Thelorin, he looked at it closely. “Meat speaks a strange language. Lord’s specialist does not understand meat-speak.” He took the amulet from around Raelyn’s neck and set it in the brazier with a satisfied smile. He went back to humming the same off key song he had been humming earlier.

  He peered closely at Raelyn’s shoulder when he cut the shirt away and his smile got wider. Raelyn saw he was looking at the stitches. “Lord told his specialist about these wounds. Lord says they mustn’t ever heal. Lord says they are special wounds, for special meat.” The man took his thumb and dug it into the wound, and Raelyn’s shoulder exploded in pain. Raelyn resisted the urge to cry out. “This is good. Meat is strong, healthy.” He went back to cutting away the rest of the shirt. “Meat will break, but will not die,” he added. “Meat always breaks.”

  Once he was finished with the shirt, the wet lipped man turned to his pants, cutting them away as well. He turned back to the cart and picked up a massive pair of shears. Raelyn started to panic, knowing what could be done to a naked man with those. Please, dear Thelorin, don’t let him do that! he prayed silently. But the man used it to cut through his belt, leaving him intact. He felt a surge of gratitude, oddly enough, and then realized that he may still be maimed by this man before Gray came to rescue him. If Gray even comes to rescue me. He’s going after one of the most feared men in the city. There’s a good chance he won’t come back, and there will be no rescue for me.

  In a few moments he was naked, except for the cloth trapped beneath the leather buckles on his arms and legs. His mad captor turned back to the cart, humming his little song, and turned back with a pair of pliers. He got close to Raelyn’s shoulder, peering closely, then reached down and grabbed one of the stitches. The wet lipped man was still humming as he pulled slowly, stretching skin until the stitch popped, pulling through the flesh. Raelyn stifled his reaction, pulling his pain down into his belly, re
membering worse wounds he had gotten on campaign. He did the same for the next stitch, and the next and the next and the next, until all of the stitches were pulled out of his shoulder. When he moved down to the wound on his arm it hurt worse, and pulling the stitches out made it start to bleed, but he managed not to cry out.

  The man put the pliers back on the cart and picked up a pair of wickedly barbed meat hooks. His smile didn’t waver as he delicately slid one into each side of the wound on his shoulder, and then savagely tore the flesh to the side, leaning his weight into it, trying to tear the skin and muscle of his shoulder apart. Raelyn groaned, but held back a scream, even as the man grunted with the effort. The barbs of the meat hooks were stuck in his flesh, so the man took the small blade he had used to cut his clothes away and sliced delicately through the flesh to free the hooks. He took the hooks and the blade and set them back on the cart.

  When he turned back, he had two glass bottles in his hands. He set them down on the table, and took a small glass ladle and dipped it into one of the bottles, spooning out a measure of liquid. A few drops fell, and Raelyn saw them hiss and spit when they landed on the wood, eating small, smoking pits into its surface. He poured the ladle’s contents into the wound on Raelyn’s shoulder, and Raelyn screamed.

  Raelyn screamed as he poured a second scoop of the liquid into his shoulder, then when he fished around in the smoking, spitting ruin of a wound with a glass spike, driving holes through his flesh. He didn’t stop screaming as he did the same to the wound on his arm, nor when he reached down to flush the wound with water and pat it down with towels that came away with a black and red slime, what remained of his flesh. He vomited when the man put a red-hot iron plate into the wound to cauterize it. “Good, good,” the man said then, approvingly. “Meat must be purged. It lets it all out, hmm?” Raelyn’s mouth and nose were full of vomit, and he started coughing on it. His head was swimming, his nerves overloaded.

  The man took the bottle of water and poured it into his mouth and nose, then covered his face with the soiled towels, soaking them with the bottle. Raelyn struggled for air, coughing uncontrollably as he sucked acidic vapors through the sodden towel. He had to swallow to clear enough of the fluid to breathe, then he inhaled as hard as he could, trying not to drown. He felt a sharp impact in his solar plexus as the man hit him with something hard and heavy, and for a minute he couldn’t even try to breathe in.

  The specialist pulled the towel off his face and let him breathe for a minute, then covered his face again with the towel. This time he poured a few drops of acid into the towel, and Raelyn sucked in burning vapors, coughing spastically. He tried to hold his breath, but the need for air was too great, and when he started sucking for air again he felt water being poured into the towel again. Only a few bubbles of air got through the towel, no matter how hard he sucked, and the man dribbled more acid into the towel, turning the air into acrid smoke again. He started choking and felt himself blacking out.

  A moment later the towel was off of his face, and he was gulping air greedily again, awareness returning. The wet lipped man was looking closely at his shoulder, still humming absent mindedly. He was holding a wire brush, and he started brushing the wound back and forth, in time with his humming. It was as though fire was lancing through Raelyn’s body, from his finger tips up into the left side of his face, and Raelyn couldn’t hold back the screams.

  Finally it was too much for him to bear. He heard himself begging, pleading, telling the man he’d say whatever he wanted him to say, ready to tell him everything. He realized that he was dangerously close to losing any semblance of control, but he had to make it stop. I’ll lie, he told himself, I’ll say it was all Rennard and Fethan, I won’t say anything about Gray, but I have to make it stop!

  The doughy man squinted at his mouth with pig-faced eyes, licked his lips again. There was no malice in what he said, or how he said it. If he had any capacity for empathy, Raelyn didn’t see it. “Meat speaks, but Lord’s specialist doesn’t hear. Lord tells him not to hear. Tells him he doesn’t need to listen to anything meat says.” He dug the brush in hard, making Raelyn scream again. “Lord says to make meat feel pain. Lord says to take his tongue and his nose, to separate his hands and feet. Lord says to make his wounds never heal again.” He ground his thumb into Raelyn’s shoulder, and Raelyn could feel his thumbnail scraping across exposed bone. He nearly passed out. “But Lord doesn’t want to listen to anything meat has to say, no no no.”

  Thelorin’s bones, Raelyn thought, Perinor doesn’t even care whether I know anything or not! He wants me tortured just for the sake of having me tortured!

  The fat man took a pair of tongs and lifted the amulet of Thelorin out of the fire. The steel disk was glowing a dull orange. He raised it, dangling the chain mere inches from his eyes. “Lord’s specialist sees meat praying meat-speak to its god. Meat’s god will not protect it. Meat’s god does not care.”

  Raelyn prayed to Thelorin, fervently wishing that he would be protected from this. Please, Thelorin, don’t let this madman use your symbol to hurt me! Tuva, please, send Gray to rescue me! But his prayers did nothing. When the chain touched his skin, Raelyn felt it burning, and when the man pressed the disk into the flesh on his chest he heard it sizzle, smelled charring flesh. Felt agony. The fat man leaned into the disk, pushing in hard, until the disk had finished burning. Raelyn’s screams faded to whimpers.

  The man moved to the cart and picked up a small hooked knife, its edge gleaming by the light of the lanterns. “Now Lord’s specialist separates the hands, takes the tendons out. When Lord sees meat’s hands, he will be proud.” The man squinted his eyes and smiled an almost serene smile. He walked around to Raelyn’s right side and put his hand on Raelyn’s.

  “Not my sword hand!” Raelyn screamed hoarsely. “Not yet! Wait, wait, wait!” The man leaned hard on Raelyn’s wrist, trying to stabilize Raelyn’s hand, but years of sword fighting had given Raelyn remarkable strength. Even though his wrist was bound, he was able to twist his hand away from the wickedly hooked blade.

  The fat man struggled to keep Raelyn’s hand still, sweat dripping from his forehead. After a few moments, he finally gave up. “Meat’s hand will be nailed to the table so its tendons can be removed. Lord won’t mind. Lord will be happy with his specialist.” He turned and shuffled back around the table to his cart, picking up a mallet and a handful of nails.

  Come on, Gray. Now would be a good time to show up. Raelyn watched in mounting horror as the wet lipped man shuffled back around the table, the same sick smile plastered on his face. Tuva, Thelorin, Erosan—if any god can hear me, help me! He struggled vainly against his bonds, pulling with his right hand and his legs. His left arm was useless—if it was even still attached—and every time he jerked, pain lanced through his shoulder into his head, making his left ear ring with the pain.

  The man leaned over to start nailing through his wrist when the door opened. For a moment he felt relief, expecting to see Gray step through the door. Instead, he saw Archeo, who looked at the scene with an impassive expression.

  “Lord Perinor wants you in the other room,” he said to the wet lipped man. “We think the woman is close to talking. He wants you there immediately, to make sure that she does.”

  Raelyn looked over at Archeo, and the sense of betrayal was too much for him to bear. “Son of a whore!” Raelyn screamed, but his voice was a ragged mess. It was bad enough what was being done to him, but the idea of Genevar being tortured like this was too much. He had sworn to protect her. “You fucking son of a whore! I’ll have you butchered, you fuck!”

  The fat man was staring at Archeo, with an uncomprehending look on his face. Archeo ignored Raelyn’s outburst. “Did you hear me?” he asked, disgust apparent in his tone. The man slowly bobbed his head. “Perinor needs you to work on the woman,” he repeated slowly. “Make her talk.”

  “Yes,” the man replied, still nodding slowly. “It will talk for the specialist. It is weak. It will break.�
� He turned to his cart.

  Raelyn searched Archeo’s face, tried to get him to look at him, screamed, “Archeo! Damn it, look at me!” But Archeo refused to meet his gaze, and turned and walked out of the room. Tears came as Archeo closed the door. He knew Gray wouldn’t come. It was too late to save the use of his left arm. It was certainly too late to save Genevar.

  The wet lipped man started packing up his things, ignoring Raelyn, still humming. Raelyn fought the tears, but couldn’t stop the sense of crushing despair. It’s over, he realized. Gray isn’t coming. Once my hands and tongue are taken from me, I won’t have anything. I won’t be able to even tell anyone what happened.

  When he was finished packing his things, the wet lipped man opened the door and pushed the cart out with him. Raelyn closed his eyes, mentally nursing his agony, and waited for the screams to start.

  The door opened again, and Archeo walked back in. Raelyn wanted to stab him, tear his bowels open, watch him bleed to death on the floor. He had gained Raelyn’s trust. Now he was helping torture him to death.

  “By Charnost, Raelyn,” Archeo said, walking over to him and looking down in horror at his shoulder. He started unbuckling his restraints. “We have to get you out of here.”

  For a moment Raelyn didn’t understand what was going on. Archeo? Rescuing me? Archeo continued to take the restraints off.

  “Why are you doing this?” Raelyn croaked. When he was finally free, Archeo helped him sit up.

  “I believed what you said, Raelyn.” Archeo took his shirt off, wrapping it around Raelyn’s chest to make a sling for his arm. “Perinor’s blinded by his grief, and Corlwyn’s blinded by his self righteousness. Somebody had to see.” He paused, looking at Raelyn with anguish in his eyes. “Somebody had to do something.” Archeo helped him stand.