Demon Day

by Penelope Fletcher

  I heard the clink of chains, the twist of a key in the lock, and I felt my irons give. I was no longer tethered to the floor. The Clerics let go of my feet and I flipped round, planning to attack the lone Cleric first then face these two with Nimah and Amelia at my side, but I moved a hell of a lot slower than I’d thought I would. By the gods, I was tired. I had no speed, no strength, but I refused to believe I had no hope.

  Two pairs of heavy hands landed on my shoulders and dragged me back.

  Runt hurled himself onto the lone Clerics back and buried his teeth into his ear. The Cleric howled and spun, trying to shake him off but the goblin-child attached himself like a barnacle to the Clerics back and would not let go. Blood splashed against the walls as the Cleric yelled and shook, trying to slash him with the knife.

  Free from the fear of being cut with silver, Nimah and Amelia flew at me, clinging onto my arms. The Clerics well-aimed kicks hit their backs and arms, but they held on to me. I caught the fear in Amelia’s eyes. Not for herself, but for me.

  Runt flew through the air, and smashed into a wall. He twitched on the floor, his arm and leg bent at funny angles. His orb like eyes filled with tears as he watched me. He opened his mouth and a lump of bloody flesh fell out. An ear. Moving quicker than I thought possible he was back in his corner, cradling his arm and leg.

  The knife-wielding Cleric staggered forward, swinging the silver at the shifter twins. Their instinct took over and they let go. The Cleric with a crooked nose backhanded Nimah in the face and sent her sprawling across the floor. She smacked her head and was still. Amelia went crazy, eyes wild she lunged at him but he unhooked the tazer baton from his belt and rammed into her chest. The girl convulsed and fell to the floor. Spasaming. The Cleric kept at it, prodding her with the tazer until her body was contorted and twisted almost beyond recognition. The Cleric kicked her in the gut then he drew back his booted foot and brought it crashing into her face. She too was still.

  Runt keened loudly, rocking back and forth in his corner, arms around his legs and eyes staring at me glassily.

  The shifter twins were motionless, but I could see they were breathing by the dust that stirred by their mouths.

  I was dragged up, but I fought. I twisted and turned. Bit with my teeth and yelled as they wrapped the chain around my neck and yanked. I resisted, knowing if I was dragged out that door something terrible would happen to me. They heaved on the chain and my feet slid forward. Again they pulled, and I stumbled forward out the door.

  I was half carried and half dragged down a narrow passageway, which was no more than a dirt tunnel. It smelt musky, and the oppression of it had me feeling claustrophobic. My Cleric guard said nothing directly to me, though the crooked nose Cleric behind me grumbled about his lost ear.

  I stopped fighting, realizing I was getting nowhere. My strength waned the more I fought, and I was not affecting them at all. I needed to be calm and plan my next move. I was weaker and slower than I had first thought. I had no magic in the iron-drenched hell, just my wits, which were thin and frayed from stress.

  After a moments deep breathing, I tried to feel through the bond for Breandan. Almost nothing, a faint sense of despair and anger. He’d moved no closer since I last checked. Why was he not coming for me? Fear gripped me. What if he was in trouble? What if he needed me, my power, and here I was chained and manacled, held by the Sect.

  I concentrated on the bond again, trying to feel for fear and pain. No, he was not wounded I would feel that.

  As I tried to seek answers through a bond I did not understand across a vast expanse of land, I noticed a darkness wobbling on the edge of my consciousness. It was familiar to me and the boy it connected me too was trying to reach me through it, calling, searching.

  “Tomas,” I whispered.

  A heavy boot landed between my shoulder blades and I pitched over into the passageway. Dirt rammed into my mouth and my head spun.

  “Quiet,” barked the crooked nose Cleric.

  He pulled me up to set me on my feet then pushed me on.

  Soon, I saw a soft light up ahead. My senses were dulled, but I knew we were no closer to the earth surface. From what I could tell, we headed deeper underground. Soon it was clear that the glow ahead was candlelight.

  Blank, white walls, a bare concrete floor.

  The room before me was empty apart from a single metal chair with a small table beside it. When my eyes landed on what was on the table I froze. Then my gaze drifted across the floor.

  Blood.

  I stepped back, shaking my head, trembling from head to toe. The Clerics grabbed my upper arms when I tried to plant my feet. I screamed. A wad of stinking cloth was stuffed into my mouth, forcing my jaw open then another tied over to keep it put when I tried to spit it out. Within moments, my jaw was dry and aching from my muffled shrieks.

  I was thrown into the chair and the iron shackles hooked into iron rings on the floor. The metallic smell of blood wafted off the instruments beside me and I consciously leaned away, pressing my head into my shoulder. I was strapped in with leather belts across my waist, chest, and legs. The iron chains were arranged in a way that kept my hands lashed down to the chair arms, palm up.

  Oh, gods this was bad. I’d fallen into ghastly situations before, but this was really bad.

  I tried to look brave. Tried to look unaffected and bold, but the rise and fall of my chest was too pronounced to name me anything but completely terrified.

  A figure, stepped into the low doorway. His face was shadowed, but I could see he had big arms and calves. Wisps of curly hair had drifted out from beneath his crimson cloak, which flapped with each step against the back of his thighs. His black boots were buckled up to his knees, and his funnel-like sleeves fell over his hands. He stepped forward and I met the cold stare trained on me, flinching when anger sparked in their depths.

  “You may not fear us now,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion. “But you will. You may think you will not give up the rest of … your kind but you will. You may think because you heal that our cuts,” he hissed the word, “won’t hurt so badly.”

  My eyes drifted closed. He would not see me cry. I had once thought this man to be the best of humanity, thought him kind, honorable, and good. Now as I looked into his face, I saw nothing but death. So I closed my eyes and thought of Breandan. I would focus on the good, clean things.

  A sharp slap to my face had my lids slamming open.

  “Pay attention, demon,” Cleric Tu spat.

  I flushed in anger, feeling welts stinging my cheek where he had slapped me. I fought the reaction to burst into tears; so derogatory was such a strike. Instead, I glared at him and let loathing twist my expression into something inhuman.

  “Yes. That’s right.” He leaned down and placed his hands on my forearms, squeezing me painfully. “Show us the creature beneath the magic. It makes my job a whole lot easier. Do you know our slashes, our stabs, never used to do much good? They never did hurt you fairies for long.” He picked up a pair of pincers. Blood and bits of flesh crusted the tips. “Yes, I know what you are. The wings make it a bit obvious,” he finished dryly. He brought the instrument inches from my face until it was all I could see. So strong was the smell I could almost taste the rotting skin stuck to the clamping end and beneath it the sharp scent of iron that had my stomach crunching painfully. “Well let me tell you that in the last century of survival we’ve gotten extremely gifted at making our cuts hurt like hell.”

  A Cleric out of my line of sight slammed the door closed.

  I wish I could say it was dark from then. In honesty I had hoped I would black out from panic then repress any memories that may be too painful to recall.

  But I was conscious, aware throughout the entire ordeal.

  Surely I screamed for days, down, in that box of white?

  No matter how hard I screamed his name, no matter how hard I tried to call him to me, he never came.

  Then I screamed for somebody, anybody, to sa
ve me.

  Each time I thought my pain had reached its peak they would do something that would have my heart stuttering, and my mind buckling under the strain. They knew how to cause maximum damage whilst keeping me conscious.

  When I almost passed out they shot me with adrenaline. I had thought it was the end, was convinced the needle was full of poison that would burn me from the inside out. They jammed the thin tube of metal into my chest and my body convulsed.

  When it was no longer safe to keep jump starting my heart they would make me pop slammers until I was high, laughing as they stripped the flesh from my knuckles then brought me crashing back down with blows from fists and tazers.

  My body healed, but soon it chose its wounds more carefully.

  At one point they tried to remove the circlet from my brow, but when a Cleric was zapped with magic until he collapsed they stopped trying.

  The first time they sliced me open – a shallow cut to the forearm – it had healed instantly, the skin fresh and new, pinker than the rest of my skin with a faint scar where the wound had been. It was like my body mocked them. The Clerics merely grunted and started hacking, slicing, and ripping away at me until my body gave up, and my blood ran over my wrists and the seat like a waterfall to pool on the floor about my bare feet.

  I had broken bones in my body before, as a Disciple, it came with the territory of training. But it had always been accidental and a broken wrist healed fast, even if you were human. Legs, fingers, and toes broken in such a way to cause excruciating pain were a different matter.

  Always I healed, a fresh canvass for them to mutilate over and over again.

  I remember thinking with a kind of horror that this would be my fate. They would keep me in that room for an eternity and beat me senseless. Then when my body could no longer heal, its reserves used, and unable to draw power from the Source they would kill me. The thought had brought with it a great sense of relief. I would die. They could not torment me indefinitely without giving my body sustenance. I would die, and right then I was thankful for it.

  But they stopped, bringing the torture session to an end, and I was thrown back into the dungeon.

  I did not even realize it was over when iron door was slammed back into place. I noticed the absence of new pain first. Then suffered the searing agony of the wounds inflicted upon me as my weakened body tried to fully repair the damage.

  Whimpering into the floor I tried to feel through the bond. I was tied to Breandan in a way that defied the laws of nature. He would be able to feel my distress and he would follow me here – wherever here was – and rescue me.

  I whimpered and it hurt my chest. Still he was so far.

  The energy I’d gathered dissipated and I stifled a sob. Why so far? Why was he not much closer? Surely he would have realized I was gone and would feel the absence of me. Already I felt more than a niggle, telling me to go find him. It felt like an insatiable itch beneath my skin, a habit I needed feed to feel better. He would feel it too so why was he not on his way?

  “Damn the gods,” a tearful voice said. I heard the shifter twin’s feet pad over to where I lay. I could not open my eyes. They were swollen shut. “Help me get her up. Bring me that water there. Oh! Ta, Runt.”

  I felt my head being propped up and stale water trickled into my mouth. Swallowing was painful and after a while, I stopped and let it run down the back of my throat until my gag reflex choked me.

  Amelia touched a hand to my neck, checking the strength of my pulse. “Can you move?” she asked and brushed the hair back from my face. “We don’t even have a blanket to wrap you in or spare water to wipe the blood away. Your beautiful face–” her voice cut off and her breath hitched. “Your wings,” she whispered.

  I scrunched my eyes closed at the mention. The burning centered between my shoulder blades was reminder enough of what had been done to my wings.

  There was a scratching noise and a faint shuffling, as if feet were reluctantly dragging. Then it morphed into the slap of footsteps as the person drew nearer.

  I felt light pressure on my back as if someone had poked me. I felt the mildest of irritation overwhelmed by fear. My eyelids jerked open and I found a last surge of energy to recoil from the figure hovering over me. The shadow squeaked and scuttled back. Runt watched me with a fear in his expression that mirrored my own.

  After a moment his trembling stopped. I groped behind me until my hand connected with the curved wall. I dragged my aching body back and leaned against it. I lay my head in my knees, wrapped my arms around my shins, and bit my lip in pain as my wings curled over to cocoon me. Pockets of light seeped in through the ragged holes in the thin membrane, damage from the Clerics knives. Rather than shining gold they looked dull brown, torn and tattered like crumpled paper.

  There were no tears, my eyes were dry, but they were so itchy they burned, and my breath was raspy. A sob choked from my throat and echoed through the dungeon. I felt so pitiful and broken I didn’t think I had enough strength to care that there was a strong chance the end was dreadfully near for me.

  I would not have moved had he not stroked me so gently. It was as if a light breeze had disturbed my hair. I looked up and saw Runt’s huge orb-like eyes blinking at me. When I saw his long lashes were spiked, wet with tears in an instant I held out my arms and he crawled into them to cry on my shoulder. This boney thing in my arms was more comfort that I could have imagined possible. He was like chicken wire, digging into me, and I shifted a few times before I found a position that was comfortable enough to hold him.

  I cleared my throat and announced to the darkness, “I know he’s coming for me. Whatever’s holding Breandan up is only temporary, but I can’t wait. We need to think up a plan to get out of here.”

  “You don’t think we’ve tried,” Nimah scoffed.

  “Obviously you weren’t trying hard enough,” I shot back, tearfully. “We can’t stay here. I can’t go through … that again.”

  Amelia whispered, “I don’t think any of us can.”

  We were all quiet for a long time after that. Hours passed, and we half-heartedly bounced ideas off each other, but never did our plans get us further than calling the Clerics in and fighting them. Each time we got excited one of us would remember how easily they had subdued us before they had taken me. We couldn’t get the manacles off our necks because of the iron and silver draining our strength, and picking the locks was out of the question. What were we picking them with? We would have to fight hindered by chains, and with less strength than we were used to. It wouldn’t work, we all knew it.

  It was … strange to go from knowing I had the potential to be an unbeatable demon, to being unable to hold a one on one fight with a human because of some metal.

  I knew in the core of me that Breandan would come for me. I simply had to survive until then.

  Most of the day passed in silence.

  My body healed, fixed the damage to the point of where I only ached a little, but soon I stopped checking the places they had cut me. My fingers kept finding lumps and bumps of new flesh. Scars. Lots of scars riddled my skin. Feeling tears well in my eyes, my breath hitching, I stopped thinking about it.

  I was alive wasn’t I?

  I suppose I should have been grateful for the rest, but my mind was in turmoil. Was this where they had kept Maeve when they had taken her? I would ask the twins when they woke, for now Amelia and Nimah slept, curled together, comforting each other.

  Runt stayed by my side, snuffling occasionally, but was otherwise quiet. I tried to coax him into a conversation several times, and whilst it was clear he understood me he did not talk back.

  If the Clerics had tortured him like me, I could understand that he might be mentally damaged. As far as I was aware, goblins did not heal fast, but were exceptionally strong and beast like. Most were horribly disfigured, but Runt looked human, for the most part. His ears were a little too pointy, and his features a little too spacious, but passable. His lack of speech became frus
trating, as I knew nothing about him, but had many questions. I remembered vaguely that Ro, a fellow Disciple and Lex’s steady, had said he caught a goblin-child hiding out near a church in the slums the day before I had met Breandan. Was this the goblin he had caught? Amelia had said Runt was a half-breed. Half-human? What was half-human goblin doing in the middle of the slum dwells? Did he get lost? Even then how on earth would he have gotten past the Wall? Was he left there by his demon family? How did they go undetected by the Sect?

  All of these questions went unanswered since Runt would not speak to me.

  Again the door to our prison was shoved open, and three Clerics filed in. Three of them … could we manage it?

  The shifter-twins shot up, instantly wide awake, alert. Runt scooted closer to me, his hand slipping into mine. My heart hammered in my chest, wondering who they had come for.

  They did not attack us this time, but the Cleric I had thought handsome did speak. “We are going outside,” he said firmly then unshackled my manacle and tugged on the chain until I stood. “We’re just going outside,” he repeated when he did the same to the shifters.

  They left Runt chained, and I opened my mouth to ask why, but closed it again. We were being taken outside, but why? Intuition told me that for whatever reason the goblin would be safer here. I swallowed hard. If staying in here was safer, what did that mean for Amelia, Nimah, and I?

  When we left the dungeon, we turned and walked in the opposite direction of the white room. I consciously relaxed a tad. We were moving upward, closer to the earth’s surface, I could tell. In my excitement I sped up, ignoring when the chain about my neck tugged.

  Reaching the end of the passageway, the Clerics unbolted the heavy steel door and swung it open.

  I hurriedly stepped through it, and a cool breeze blew into my face, and through the strands of my hair. I sighed in pleasure. The sun was hidden behind the clouds, and I was disappointed. Somehow, the sunlight had become stronger than the dark in my mind. I needed it to chase away the fear and pain, but I could not reach it.