Eleanor

by S. F. Burgess

  “Be careful, Perry,” she said softly as the dust settled. “I am far from defenceless; I can do to you what I just did to that statue. Is that what you want?”

  Eleanor’s arms were released, but Perry remained behind her. There was the sound of running feet and the library door burst open. Men spilled into the room, all of them coming up short at the mess before them. Jarrick stopped coughing at the dust and turned to them.

  “Are you alright, Jarrick?” asked a short man in front, confusion on his face.

  Jarrick nodded. “I am fine, leave – all of you – Perry can deal with this.”

  Bowing, the short man stepped out of the room. The others followed him, closing the doors behind them. Eleanor could tell how angry Jarrick was, even under his layers of fat. As his body tensed, he whipped around, glaring at her, rage coursing like lightning through his eyes.

  “Have you any idea how old that statue was?” he demanded loudly.

  Eleanor was impressed. He was yelling at her; fully aware of the destruction she could cause, the man was no coward. She extended an energy string out to one of the pieces at her feet and smiled smugly at him.

  “Approximately four hundred years old. Oops, I guess that one was not a fake!”

  He slapped her face, hard, and the cut beneath her eye started to bleed again. Dazed, she dropped to the floor like a bag of jelly. Her head felt like it was splitting in two, but forcing herself to focus she turned to look through Perry’s legs, out of the splintered windows and exploded the first statue she laid eyes on. The boom echoed around the courtyard, followed by the pitter-patter of falling chunks of rock, the shock wave knocking over several other statues. She turned back to Jarrick, his face a mask of indignant fury.

  “Hit me again and I will do that to you,” Eleanor said flatly. He glared at her but made no attempt to stop her as she staggered back to her feet. Eleanor could feel the exhaustion and pain pushing her towards shutdown, but her fear was shooting massive doses of adrenaline straight into her heart. She felt strong, in control. She held Jarrick’s malignant gaze, and when she spoke she was pleased to discover her voice was cold, calm and steady.

  “You have no idea what I am capable of unleashing. You have no hope of controlling it and no chance of stopping it. I have a new deal for you, and I strongly suggest you take it. You will let Conlan go, you will heal Amelia and you will let the five of us leave without harming so much as a hair on our heads. In return I will refrain from blowing up any more of your statues. I may even tell you which ones are fakes. Do we have a deal?”

  A slow, evil smile spread across Jarrick’s face. “Or I could just kill you!”

  Eleanor had anticipated this retort, knew that Perry was stood very close behind her. Turning her head a fraction, she saw the movement in her peripheral vision as he pulled a knife. He thrust it at her, aiming round and up, intent on stabbing her through the ribs. Eleanor reacted. Turning into the thrust, she blocked down with her left arm, stopping the knife’s trajectory with bruising force, and using the heel of her hand she punched up under his chin, his head flying back. Bouncing back lightly on both feet, she gave the man a solid front kick to the stomach and he staggered back, bending over and gasping as the air ejected from his lungs. Jarrick understands violence… show him some. Eleanor drew energy from the earth and released it at Perry. The man never knew what hit him – not that this gave Eleanor any comfort. With a wet snapping and ripping sound, his body went from being whole to being in pieces in a fraction of a second; bone fragments, flesh, gore and blood splattered onto the carpet and out through the broken windows into the courtyard. The shockwave took most of the remaining window frame with it. The violence of it took her breath away.

  Eleanor took a second to ensure that none of the remorse and horror she felt was showing on her face and then turned to Jarrick, who stared at her in wide-eyed shock.

  “Yes,” she answered, as if considering his suggestion. “You could kill me. However, you are going to need to call those men back. Do you think they can get from the door to me before I annihilate them? I should also warn you that I have some powerful friends, if you do somehow manage to bring about my death, you are going to have three really ticked off Avatars on your hands. I guarantee you, you would not survive that. If you do not let Conlan go, I will destroy every one of your statues. Do we have a deal?”

  Jarrick pulled himself together. Standing over her, his shock gone, a dark fury filled his face and he took a step towards her. Eleanor overrode her body’s desire to step back – it would not be a good idea to show this man weakness. She saw his expression change, as if something had just occurred to him. A look of cunning surfaced in his eyes, and he smiled a friendly, charming smile. “You are very impressive,” he purred. “Conlan must be very proud of you. I know I would be unwise to provoke you; however, I have a request of my own to make,” he said, the words a silky, smooth veneer of polite respect.

  Eleanor raised an eyebrow at him; the man had a lot of courage. “What do you want?”

  Jarrick’s smile widened. “I will promise that Conlan will leave here with no more than the slight ‘damage’ he already has, but I would ask that you allow me to keep him locked up on his own. He will have no contact with any of you until you are ready to leave. You are right – I should make some attempt to talk to him, but he is going to have to be a captive audience to listen to me. Would this be possible?”

  Eleanor frowned at him. She did not believe for one minute that Jarrick had any intention of making up with Conlan, but if all he wanted to do was talk to him, what possible damage could he do? Conlan was quite capable of withstanding a little taunting and name-calling, and if it kept Jarrick happy…

  Eleanor nodded. “Alright, but you are not to hurt so much as a hair on his head and I wish to see him. I will assess his ‘damage’ for myself, to ensure you do not go back on your word. Should I find that you have, I will give you very little time to regret it. I also give you fair warning that if you ever hurt him again I will wipe you from the face of the earth, do you understand?”

  Jarrick nodded, still smiling at her genially. “He will have to be restrained, of course, for my safety. Some of the things we have to say to each other will not be kind.”

  Eleanor blenched. What is he planning? So long as Conlan came out of it unscathed, she was not sure it mattered. How much damage can he do with words? However, Jarrick had a point. Conlan had a habit of lashing out, and if he did, his brother would have an excuse to hurt him again. She reluctantly nodded her agreement once more.

  “Good, would you like to see Conlan now?” Jarrick asked, still smiling.

  “No, I want to see Freddie first – the Avatar of Fire – where is he?” Eleanor said.

  Jarrick took her to see Freddie himself, leading her across the statue-filled courtyard as the rising sun illuminated the damage she had caused. Trying hard not to look at the bits of Perry scattered around, Eleanor carefully picked her way through the debris. On the right-hand side of the courtyard Jarrick opened a door and led her down a short, scruffy corridor with several doors on each side. Two men stood outside one door and jumped to attention when they noticed Jarrick walking towards them.

  “Open the door!” he ordered. One of the guards pulled a key from his pocket and unlocked the door. Eleanor followed Jarrick into the room. From the light emanating from the corridor she could see a small, windowless storage space. With the exception of Freddie, it was empty. He sat against the back wall, hate-filled eyes glaring at Jarrick as he entered. Eleanor was relieved when, despite the cuts and bruises she could see, a delighted grin of recognition spread across his face.

  “I take it that was you I heard?” he asked.

  Eleanor nodded. “Are you OK?”

  “I’m fine, does this mean we have a new plan?” he asked, getting stiffly to his feet.

  “Yes, Freddie, we have a new plan.”

  “I’m sorry I tried to stop you.”

  “I’m sorry I shov
ed you… still friends?” Eleanor asked.

  “Always.”

  Eleanor turned back to Jarrick, who was watching them with genuine curiosity, a look so much like Conlan’s that Eleanor felt her heart squeeze.

  “You really are from another world,” he said softly.

  “Where are Will and Amelia?” Eleanor snapped, ignoring his comment.

  Jarrick led them further down the right-hand side of the courtyard, away from the library windows. Eleanor heard Freddie gasp at the damage, but he said nothing. Jarrick opened another door which led into a wider corridor; there were fewer doors leading off, indicating larger rooms behind them. This corridor had a carpet and painted walls with lights hung at regular intervals – it felt ‘lived in’. There were guards here, too, jumping to attention at their approach. Jarrick stopped in front of the first door on the left.

  “Hannad, open this door,” Jarrick ordered. The door was unlocked and Jarrick walked in, Eleanor and Freddie following. It was a bedroom. A rich-blue carpet covered the floor, the walls were painted the dark blue of a winter twilight sky and a window on the left-hand wall showed the courtyard beyond, a generous armchair before it. In the middle of the back wall was an impressive double bed, in which Eleanor could see Amelia lying, her face blending with the white sheets drawn across her chest. She was so still that Eleanor froze in panic. She pushed a string out and was relieved when she felt the weak fluttering of her friend’s energy. The arrow was gone and a bandage covered the wound. A shocking red stain showed beneath the material, the colour exaggerated by the crisp white of the sheets and the translucent white of Amelia’s skin. Dragging her eyes away from her injured friend, Eleanor swept the rest of the room. There were small tables with lanterns burning on them at each side of the bed and a large chest of drawers just inside the door. On the right-hand side wall was another door, slightly ajar, with what appeared to be a bathroom beyond.

  “Eleanor? No...”

  Eleanor looked in the direction of the broken, horrified voice. Will was sat on the floor, behind the door they had entered through. Fear, exhaustion and misery filled his face.

  “It’s OK, Will,” she said, her voice empty. Using the wall for support, Will got to his feet.

  “That was you exploding the building?” Will asked.

  “Exploding people,” Freddie said softly. Eleanor felt shame and guilt burn through her and dropped her head.

  “I’m sorry, Eleanor, I should have listened. I heard him... heard him screaming...” he stuttered, his words catching in his throat. He stopped. Eleanor raised her head. Tears ran slowly down Will’s haggard face, his body shaking and his torment making his eyes the colour of a stormy sea. Not able to deal with Will’s guilt and remorse, and feeling her stomach flash sympathetic pain through her, Eleanor turned back to Jarrick.

  “Freddie is going to stay here. I want to see Conlan, now,” she ordered. Jarrick nodded, the wide and friendly smile still on his face. Turning back, Eleanor followed Jarrick out of the room.

  He took her further down the corridor to the last door on the right. The guard unlocked it and Eleanor entered a large, windowless bathroom with a floor of polished black stone. The bathtub, toilet bucket and washstand had been moved into the corner next to the door, leaving the main part of the room empty. Eleanor could smell blood, sweat and the nauseating reek of burnt flesh.

  Conlan knelt before her.

  He was being kept upright, his arms wrenched painfully behind his back, tied together at the elbows and attached to a rope suspended from a metal candelabra fitting in the ceiling. His shirt and velvet jacket were in a pile by the door. His head sagged forward, chin resting on the pale skin of his chest. To the side of him was a large comfortable chair, which looked like it had come from the library. On a low table beside the chair, in Conlan’s line of sight, were a lot of sharp, scary-looking metal instruments, glittering with evil promise in the flickering lantern light. A large, round brazier stood bolted to the floor a small distance from the other side of the chair. Embers glowed deep, ominous red within. Normally used to heat water for bathing, this one had been used to heat a couple of two-foot-long metal pokers. From what Eleanor could see of the injuries that ran down Conlan’s left side from under his arm to the waist of his trousers, this was where the torture had started. Eleanor rushed forward, dropping to her knees. Conlan’s face was grey, his eyes were closed and sweat dripped from his lank hair. His chest rose and fell slightly with each shallow breath, but otherwise his body was lifeless. Eleanor rested her hand gently against the clammy skin of his cheek.

  “Cut him down, now!” she snarled at Jarrick, without looking at him. She heard him walk across the room and pick up one of the metal instruments off the table. Moving behind Conlan he sliced through the ropes at his elbows. The restraints fell away and Conlan dropped forward, a dead weight into Eleanor’s waiting embrace. The movement, or perhaps the pain of feeling returning to his arms, brought Conlan back to consciousness. As gently as she was able, Eleanor lowered him to the floor. He moaned pitifully, the sound ripping at her heart. Body shuddering, he jerked weakly and struggled to wake. His eyes fluttered open, unseeing and full of terror. Eleanor noted the bruises on his face and body, but they were nothing compared to the thick lines of burnt, blistered flesh; cracked, raw skin seeped blood which ran down his side. In some places the lesions were so numerous that they merged together.

  “Conlan,” she whispered softly in English. “This is going to stop now, there’ll be no more pain”. At the sound of her voice, Conlan shook himself and fought to focus. Recognition appeared in his dazed eyes.

  “Eleanor, you shouldn’t be here...” he managed, his low voice rough and strained.

  Will’s words played through her head: ‘I heard him screaming...’

  Wanting to bring some comfort she smiled.

  “You’re here, why would I want to be anywhere else?” she asked, knowing how close she was coming to saying something she should not.

  “Your Avatar made a more ‘persuasive’ deal,” Jarrick said, interrupting. Eleanor saw hate burning in Conlan’s eyes as he looked up at his brother. Jarrick smiled at him and continued. “This, sadly, means I am unable to finish teaching you the error of your ways.”

  “What deal?” Conlan ground out.

  Ignoring him, Jarrick addressed Eleanor.

  “You have seen his injuries. I promise there will be no more damage than this when you are ready to leave. I will see to it he is fed. Put this on him.” He held out his hand, in which was a heavy metal band, hinged in the middle so it opened out into two halves. Sturdy looking rings protruded from the ends of the band where it split apart. Eleanor took it, looking at it in confusion.

  Jarrick smiled, as if it was the best joke in the world.

  “It goes around his neck, to restrain him.”

  Jarrick’s meaning punched through her numbed brain. He’s going to chain you up like a dog… Oh Conlan, I’m sorry. Nodding, Eleanor opened the collar and placed it round Conlan’s neck. It was tight, but not so tight that he could not breathe. Jarrick handed her a padlock that filled her hand and the end of a metal chain. Eleanor slipped the lock though the collar’s rings and the last link in the chain and closed it, turning the small key, the sharp click making Conlan tense. Removing the key, Eleanor placed it in Jarrick’s waiting hand; thick, meaty fingers closed over it, as if Conlan’s humiliation and imprisonment were precious gifts. Eleanor shuddered, for Jarrick they most likely were. Conlan had offered no resistance to her actions, but she could not bring herself to look him in the eye. As Jarrick took the other end of the chain and spent a few moments securing it to the base of the brazier, Conlan placed a cold hand gently over hers.

  “Look at me, Eleanor,” he whispered. With effort she did as he asked; the pain and fear she found made her want to cry. “You’re shaking,” he told her distractedly. “What deal did you make with Jarrick?”

  She stared blankly at him. Am I shaking? She glanced at her ha
nds. Yes, she was. She tried to get her cotton wool-filled, aching head to formulate a short answer that would explain everything for him. Instead, her mind kept wandering off on strange tangents. Was Jarrick going to keep his word? Was the collar she had put round Conlan’s neck going to hurt him? Had she done the right thing? Was Amelia going to live? Along with the discordant thoughts came flashes of Perry’s face, his body exploding. Eleanor flinched at the memory, feeling a dull ache in her stomach.

  “Eleanor!” he croaked, his weak, grating whisper as insistent as he could make it. “What deal did you make?”

  Before she could answer, she felt hands on her upper arms – gentle, reassuring and helping her up. Jarrick stood behind her, one hand now resting lightly on her shoulder and the other gently stroking her hair. Strange that he can care for me and yet show such violence towards his brother, Eleanor thought numbly. She did not like the feeling and cringed again, but she was too shell-shocked by recent events to pull away from him.

  “Your Avatar has shown herself to be brave, intelligent and resourceful. I shall enjoy getting to know her,” Jarrick said, sounding oddly amused – smug almost. With effort, Conlan pulled himself into a crouch, his face twisting into a mask of pain as he whimpered. Getting himself under control he looked at Jarrick with loathing and fury.

  “If you hurt her, I will destroy you,” he said, his attempt at a threatening tone making him cough.

  “It’s OK, Conlan,” Eleanor whispered, unsure why she felt it was OK.

  He dropped his gaze to her face, agony crying out from his eyes. It took her a moment to realise he was frightened for her, that he was terrified Jarrick was going to hurt her. She tried to find something to say, something to reassure him, but before she could, Jarrick was gently leading her out of the room, an arm around her shoulders. He stopped at the door, looking back.