by SL Figuhr
I had to get the immortal out of here. I knelt by his side, putting the swords away. As I turned him over onto his back, the world wavered, melted, reformed. I was still kneeling beside the man, but his clothes had changed. He wore a long-sleeved worn purple t-shirt, dark blue jeans, and boots. He lay crumpled before me, having fallen from four floors above. A man stood glaring down at me, leaning over the metal railing.
“You won’t escape me easily!” He had brown eyes, an old scar running from his hairline diagonally across his nose to the left side of his chin. His eyes widened for a moment, and he laughed, a chilling, delighted laugh. “Oh, I’ll enjoy cutting your head off.”
I could hear the lap of water from somewhere, and a creak of metal. “Don’t,” another voice spoke softly, a woman’s voice. “If you fight him, you will lose all. Remember your promise.”
A man stepped from the gloom surrounding us; he was tall, lean and muscular with long shining blond hair and green eyes. He seemed young but his eyes held ancient wisdom. His brow creased briefly as he looked from the crumpled man to me, and his voice was velvet. “Let his kind see to him. You need to help us get back.”
I could not trust myself to speak. I had seen the man almost die. I had shoved him out of the way of the explosion. I barely noted the gleaming short swords in both hands as I felt another presence come up behind me.
A world-weary voice spoke, “Now is not the time for revenge, young one. Already your kind discusses your involvement. Leave him for another day.”
I knew I should trust one who had seen more centuries than I, but he neither liked nor trusted me. The crumpled man before me gasped. I heard bones realigning themselves.
The man above me shouted down, “This isn’t over yet! I’ll find you one day!”
The men around me didn’t react, merely kept gazing at me. I could sense more people around us in the gloom, and the smooth female voice spoke, “We must go. I sense one last trick from the man above. A deadly one.”
The concrete beneath us shook, the man above laughed, turned and ran, boots ringing on the metal walkway. I caught the scent of smoke, burning things, plastic.
“Bomb!” I screamed as the shaking intensified.
The men understood now. Horror flashed across their faces.
The world melted once again, and I was back to kneeling in the valley, with Eron before me. I sucked in a harsh breath I didn’t need and stopped the attack a hair’s breadth from my head. My new scar itched and throbbed in an unfamiliar pain. I didn’t need any more flashbacks.
There was no time to be delicate; I hauled Eron up in a fireman’s lift over my shoulders, snatched up his sword and sprinted for the tree line and our horses. Why did the fuck-up fairy have to choose this night of all nights to visit? Double damn.
Chapter Six
Mica felt himself floating on a sea of blackness, images swimming behind his eyes. He was remembering every time he and his brother spent together. His brother. Where was his brother now? They were supposed to be doing something very important. What was it? Think, think!
“I can’t let the boy live, Colin, not after what he’s done to us.”
“I don’t know, bro. Eron seems to think if we forget about him, Nicky will come to us. We could waste seven years of our life searching for him. What if we can’t find him? How long do we search before we say we won’t find him and take the gem back? Are you willing to risk your life?”
“Yes! He must be destroyed! We must see that the Immortal Wolf didn’t die in vain!” Mica was insistent.
Colin, where was Colin? He heard chanting, saw him through a glass cell.
“Mica! Mica!” Colin screamed from his prison.
Mica banged on the glass, but it wouldn’t budge. The pain in his brother’s eyes! The accusation!
“What have you done to me? We’re family! How could you condemn me!? Mica!”
“Colin! I swear, I never intended for it to happen!” Mica pleaded through the glass. “This was not supposed to happen!”
Screams. Someone was screaming in terror and horror. Colin was reaching out to him, his mouth moved, but Mica couldn’t hear him. Something held him from his brother, some invisible wall.
“Colin! Help me break through!” Colin raised his arms and placed his hands flat, palms making prints on what he realized was glass. Mica mirrored him. His arms and hands were sinking through to meet those of his brother, and he grabbed hold of his brother to pull him through.
Colin looked at him, pleading with Mica. What was he saying? Mica braced himself and yanked hard. Colin toppled through and landed in a heap beside Mica on the grass.
His younger brother looked up at the sky, so blue with happy puffs of cotton clouds. A sweet wind blew across the grass, making it ripple gently and bringing the faint scent of wildflowers. He turned his head to look at his brother lying next to him with a long blade of grass between his lips.
“It’s good to be home again. Will you not stay awhile?”
“To be sure but only for a small time. I still have things to do.”
“It can’t be that important. Nothing ever is.” Colin smiled, “You haven’t been home in so long. I saw Sarah making eyes at you last night.‘”
“I wish I could, Colin, but the matter is necessary to me.” Mica knew their conversation was not right.
His brother studied him, “Don’t let it obsess you, bad things can happen when you let something consume you.”
The clouds started racing across the sky as it darkened to pitch. Lightning ripped across as thunder gave a hollow boom. Needle-like drops of rain slashed down. They were no longer in a meadow but a vast sea. The wind rose with a howl, sounding like a thousand voices chanting a death knell. A wave rolled over Mica and when he surfaced, Colin was being swept from him.
“Colin! Colin hold on! I’m coming!” Mica struggled against the heavy swells but the pull of the current sucked him down.
Mica struggled endlessly in the roiling sea, the bitterness of the waves far less than that of his own failure to save his brother. He swam toward a glow from far ahead only to realize it was the bottom of the sea. Instead of sand, it was made up of thousands of clear plastic cubes. Each one contained an image of Colin, laid out in death. Mica opened his mouth in denial, but only bubbles emerged.
Mica found himself back in the home of his childhood, staring at Colin laid out on a bier. Around him were the mourners. He looked to see who had come to pay their respects. Eron stood, gazing sadly at Colin. His eyes moved to meet Mica‘s.
“I‘m sick of your quest! It‘ll only end in death and destruction! Look what you‘ve done to your brother!” Eron reached out and took the hand of Illyria.
Mica felt a black rage, wanting to scream and smash her as she spoke, “You stubborn, foolish man. I told you to trust me. His death could have been prevented if only you had followed my orders.”
Colin regarded Mica with dead eyes. “It‘s too late now. You can‘t bring me back, move on.”
Their voices mingled, each repeating the words they had spoken.
“No! It‘s your fault, you hell-bitch! You‘ll pay for my brother‘s death with your life!” Mica roared out his denial.
He charged, ramming his blade through Illyria‘s gut. She looked down at it and then up at him; only it was Colin he saw instead.
“What have you done to me, brother?” Colin whispered painfully before sliding off the blade. His body collapsed and red bloomed.
“Nnnnnnoooooooooo!” Mica howled, backing up. He bumped into an invisible wall and looked down as the blood kept rising. His shrieks rang out, and he swept his arms out only to encounter two more walls. He was in a cube.
Mica looked up, screaming denials as his brother‘s blood rose higher, faster, and he began to choke on it.
* * *
Mica sat bolt upright, heart pounding, sweat drying on his body, chilling him. For long moments, he could only sit and breathe harshly in the darkness. When his panic subsided, he looked a
round in confusion. Mica dimly remembered his nightmare, and his thoughts flew to Colin. He tried to stand and swayed at the movement. Spots danced in front of his eyes.
As Mica’s head cleared, he felt he had healed completely from the repeated torture. He tried to count how many days it had been since his captors had done their best to get the immortal to reveal the location of Nicky’s soul gem. He just didn‘t know. Mica had drifted in and out of consciousness; they had left off drugging him and tried starving him. He knew how long it would take a man to starve to death, and he was close to the danger zone. The Guardian of the Cave should be coming for him any moment. He could swear he heard chanting, and a rushing sound, as his final death approached.
A deep terror awoke in him. He had told Eron repeatedly he was willing to die to see the boy’s life ended, yet he’d believed Nicky would precede him in death. He had failed, not only himself, but Colin, as well. Mica didn’t know if his brother were alive, or if the men who had captured him had also caught his brother.
Mica couldn’t let the little boy win, but he didn‘t trust the men with what they asked. Why was his brother not looking for him? The kingdom wasn’t large, unless he had been moved outside of it? Perhaps his captors kept moving him to prevent his friends from discovering where they held him.
He rubbed his head, which started in on a low, throbbing ache. Mica didn’t understand why it plagued him, or why it wouldn’t go away. There seemed to be something just on the edges of his consciousness, trying to break free. Voices, echoing and thundering in his head behind locks. He had to concoct a reason why he had to be taken to the spot instead of just telling them where to look. If he did, mayhap he had a better chance of trying to get free.
Mica yelled in a voice hoarse from long disuse and lack of water, “Hey! Hey! Lemme out! You piss-faced vultures!”
He yelled until he was exhausted, but no one came. He sat back down on the floor and drifted to sleep. The immortal didn’t know how long he slept, only that when he woke, he was strapped into a wooden chair. He wasn’t sure if it were an improvement.
A rough voice spoke in a strained whisper, “Ah, you are awake. I hope you are in a cooperative mood.”
Mica tested the straps, trying to see where the man was. Several paces in front of him, standing like silent sentinels, the two torturers. Since he hadn’t been asked a question yet, he decided to remain silent. The Head Questioner walked out from behind the chair to stand in front of him.
The flickering of the brazier illuminated his milk-white eye and half-burned face and he took great care not to let his right hand or arm be seen.
“I am...disturbed.” The man gazed upon him before resuming, “It seems I have been lied to, by not one but two people. This vexes me.”
Mica remained silent, trying to remain calm, even though his heart pounded fiercely inside.
“I distinctly remember torturing you, and quite a masterpiece of work it was if I do say so myself.” The man laughed at the shudder the sitting man couldn’t quite conceal.
The noise soon died into a hissing, hacking sort of cough. When he had it under control, the man strode forward and thrust his face into Mica’s. The stench of burned flesh curled between them. His voice thrummed in anger, and spittle hit the immortal. “You should be in pain. Writhing from it! Begging for release from it! And yet what do I find?”
His good eye wild with rage. “I find you acting as if nothing happened to you!”
Mica didn’t like where this was going and kept silent, waiting for the question he knew had to be coming.
“So why do you act the way you do? I want to know, and you will tell me!” He drew back, and slashed down the side of Mica’s face.
The man ignored the burning pain, his situation much worse than he had anticipated. If he told what he was, he had no illusions: his jailor would demand to be taught the ritual. He was prepared to give up the soul gem, but this was more than he was willing to concede.
Mica retreated into his head. It wasn’t until the man left off slashing and moved onto breaking bones that Mica roused out of his stupor. Eventually, screams of agony tore from him.
The immortal sat, pain lancing along every nerve end, head lolling forward, clinging to consciousness when a thunderclap of sound echoed throughout the chamber.
A guttural voice, which seemed to come from everywhere demanded, “You dare to disobey me, slave?”
The man dropped down on one knee, bowing his head. “Master. No, Master. I thought only to impress you with breaking the man and getting the information you needed from him.”
Mica was dimly aware of a long scream of pain from his torturer and couldn’t keep the smile off his face.
“The only thing which will impress me is my slave following my orders!”
Screams followed the words, then the man sobbed out, “Y...Yes Master.”
Fingers cold as ice grabbed Mica’s chin and yanked it up. He found himself staring into blazing eyes. He tried to blink the sweat and blood out of his vision; something seemed to be wrong with the person’s face. His head was left to drop back down, and the man before him turned his robed back to the immortal.
“He is of no use to me today. Because you choose to ignore my commands and overstep your bounds, I must punish you,” the guttural voice continued in pleasant enough tones, but currents of fear ran up both men’s backs.
He made a gesture which had the Head Questioner writhing on the stone floor in agony. The master stopped only when his slave screamed himself hoarse.
“I have need of one piece of knowledge this man holds, slave. He is not to be touched unless I command you. All other matters pale before mine. If you cannot obey me, I shall find one who can. Think carefully, and remember our bargain.” The master didn’t sound as if he cared what the man’s decision was—either way he would win.
Mica’s smaller cuts had healed already, and the deeper ones starting to re-knit along with his bones. He forced himself to hold off on letting his body sleep so it could repair itself.
“Yes, Master. I hear and obey.”
“Excellent. Convey him to his cell. Tomorrow we begin anew.” The master left, door shutting softly behind him in punctuation.
The burned man hauled himself painfully off the floor, walking over to stand swaying in front of his prisoner.
He spit on Mica. “You bastard. One day you will be mine to do with as I please, and there will be no one to interfere.”
Mica didn’t reply; he was hoping to be free by then. Dimly he was aware of the two hulking brutes unstrapping him and carrying him back to his cell. He let himself fall into a healing sleep.
* * *
The meadow was blooming with wildflowers, the sun shone in an azure sky. Mica squinted down at his village spread below.
“It’s time to leave, brother. Time to start a new life.” Colin spoke calmly.
“I don’t know if I can,” Mica confessed.
“You must. You agreed when you asked to be made what you are now. Please don’t force me to undo the ritual. It’ll kill you and I couldn’t bear the thought.” Colin was soothing and patient. “You have to journey still and place your soul gem in safe keeping.”
“Do you ever regret having it done?” Mica asked, still gazing to the village.
Colin looked out over the sunlight meadow to their village below. “Sometimes. But then I think of what I can do, see and learn and sorrow vanishes, regret evaporates. I can always die. I need only find someone to do the correct ritual.”
Mica turned to his brother and saw where his heart should be an empty hole. His ruined soul gem hung on a chain. Mica felt a mild horror and a profound sadness at the sight.
“I’ve failed you. I’m so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?” He gestured to the wound.
Colin’s mouth quirked in a smile, “It’s not I who needs the forgiveness, but you. It was bound to happen. Too many bad choices made. Don’t make another, please. I’d hate for you to end like me.”
&nbs
p; ‘‘But it was my pride. I betrayed you,” Mica began.
Colin shook his head. “We all made the bargain. This happened because of treachery. If we had never made it, it would be you who died. Do what you must, brother.”
“I don’t know how I can anymore. Look what the murdering bitch’s done to me.” He gestured to his ruined body as it struggled to heal.
Sorrow filled Colin’s eyes. “You cannot blame Illyria for things other people have done to you.”
A heat filled Mica and moved all through his body. “It’s because of her you’re the way you are and I’m...”
“Then I cannot help you, brother. Do what you must. For I cannot, not anymore. I’m sorry.” So saying, he started to walk off.
“Colin! No! Wait!” Mica cried out, chasing after his brother.
But his brother seemed not to hear, and the distance between them widened until Mica found himself running alone through an endless meadow. He stared up into the blinding sun and screamed his fury and pain to it.
* * *
Mica woke to the darkness once more; he was fully healed, yet still had no clue what day it was, or how much closer to expiration his opportunity to use the soul gem had moved. He wasn’t sure he could handle any more torture—his extremities twitched and jumped from all the healing they had been forced to do. He wasn’t now in pain, but he remembered it whenever he moved.
The immortal gritted his teeth and rolled over on the cold, damp stone floor, creaked up on hands and knees. He felt his way around the cell, but the stool was empty of food, and only a little water in a crock. His prison of unyielding stone. He would have to wait. Maybe when those men came to carry him to the torture area, he could slip past them and run? It was a plan, the only one he could come up with, but having even one made him feel better.