Bloodfire (The Sojourns of Rebirth) (36 page)

She heard the men open two massive wooden doors, their
bottom rails scraping on the smooth stone floor, and then she was
inside a room. It was sparse, and immense inside. Sound echoed
off of the walls a number of paces away, and one side of the room
had large windows through which she could hear the distant
sounds of the city and the wind outside. She could make out a
massive bed in the center of the south wall, and just a few other
pieces of furniture.

They halted her at a spot in the middle of the room, and
she heard chains being grabbed and moved both above and below
her. She felt rough hands spread her legs apart and slap leather
restraints around her ankles. She panicked and tried to pull away,
but the men were so much stronger than her, and they simply held
her in place with barely a grunt of effort, and they spoke not a
word to her. She idly wondered if the men were mute, or if they
had simply been ordered to remain so.

Once they had her ankles secured, they grabbed her wrists
and this time she chose not to fight them as they secured her with
the restraints, as it would be futile and she would be better served
to save her strength. She imagined that she was going to need all of
it, and soon.

Once her wrists were bound, she felt the heavy weight of
the chains that were attached to her manacles, and she let her
arms droop, but this didn’t last long. The men stepped away, most
of them leaving the room, and two remaining behind. One took up
a position at the corner of the room, while the other walked to the
wall, and could be heard fiddling with more chains along the wall.
And then Catelyn’s hands were tugged, and Catelyn knew that the
soldier at the wall was threading the other end of her chains
through a pulley, and he yanked until her hands were pulled high
above her head, the manacles biting into her so tightly that they
were cutting off some of the circulation in her hands.

She cried out, but the two men ignored her pain. Once she
was cinched with her bound wrists pulled high above her, the man
at the wall looped the chain around something and both remaining
men walked away, and out of the room. She listened as their
footsteps echoed down the hall and into the stairwell, and then
finally were gone.

Catelyn was left alone. She waited for some time. Breaths
seemed like whispers, whispers seemed like prayers. As she
waited, she contemplated the choice she’d made and how it was
certainly the beginning of the end of her life. The only remaining
questions were when, and how painful her death would be. She
didn’t fool herself into thinking that she would be granted a swift,
painless death. Sure enough, she quickly began to discover the
answer to that last question.

The pain in her body built slowly, but when it began, she
knew that before the end it would become excruciating. She tried
to stand on her tiptoes, to take some of the pressure off of her
wrists and even out her weight, but she couldn’t flex her ankles
very much with the heavy leather cuffs, and within a few breaths
she felt her legs and feet begin to tremble, and then they gave in.

And every time they did, she felt the burning in her torso,
so intense that it took her breath away and she began to feel as
though she were suffocating.

Through the pain and the isolation, Catelyn had no basis
for knowing how much time had passed, so she counted how many
times she tried to take the pressure and the weight off of her upper
body. By the fourteenth try, she was alternately sobbing and
screaming in agonizing pain.

But this only worsened the pain, which in turn made it
even more difficult to breathe. She was trapped in a looping cycle
of pain and panic.

She was unable to form her bubble, and all of her other
senses were gone, obliterated by the pain of being forced into this
torturous position. Her only companions were the echoing sobs
and screams of her own torture.

Therefore she did not hear when the Emperor entered the
room. Her only indication of another presence in the room was
when she heard the chains on the wall being fiddled with, and then
she collapsed onto the ground oblivious to anything outside of the
excruciating burning feeling she felt throughout her entire body.

She curled herself into a ball, trying to control the pain,
trying to catch her breath. Even trying to make herself die, to put
an end to all of the pain.

Eventually, she could hear the Emperor’s slippered feet
moving about the room, and then she heard him scraping a metal
chair across the floor, the legs squealing so loudly that she was
forced to bring her hands to her head and cover her ears, stopping
it just a pace away from her. She felt his strong arms pick her up
like she was a child, and place her into the chair, the chains from
her restraints rattling against the legs and arms.

He put one hand under her nose and mouth, snapped
something in them, and Catelyn inhaled a strong, sharp odor
which made her instantly more awake, and even more acutely
aware of the pain her body was in.

She heard him move around her until he was standing
right in front of her.
“I’ve read that in ancient times, even from before the
Before, men used this technique to slowly torture and kill those
who defied the will of their rulers. They reportedly affixed them to
beams of wood with nails, and let their bodies hang in the sun
until they finally expired, usually from suffocation or infection.”
Catelyn was lost in her own pain, only barely
understanding or caring what he was saying.
“It’s rather amazing to me how certain things transcend
their time and place, and become ubiquitous, don’t you think?”
Catelyn raised her head toward this madman and felt
herself fill with a mixture of rage and despair. She both wished
him to suffer, and she wished him to end hers.
“Ah, but there I go being nostalgic again. Forgive me, it’s
so rare that I’m able to converse with someone worthy of my
intellect. But I can see...oh, sorry, perhaps that word offends you? I
can sense that you...are like me. That you have been given a higher
purpose here in our little slice of paradise. I believe that is why the
sickle found you.”
At the mention of the word sickle, Catelyn knew he was
talking about the weapon and she felt sickened by her choice now.
She had given it to him. She had had no choice, but listening to
him now, Catelyn was filled with shame at the notion that she had
given it to someone who was so clearly insane.
Uriel chuckled.
“Insane? No, I’m not, I assure you.”
Catelyn was taken aback and felt herself reeling. Had he
just read her thoughts?
Again, Uriel chuckled.
“And you now wonder if I have some way to look inside
your thoughts. I assure you, such powers are nothing but
superstition. No man can see the thoughts of another. Our world
doesn’t work that way. If it did, my destiny could have been
achieved far easier, I assure you.
“No, I am simply exceptionally skilled at reading people’s
faces, listening to their body language. But I do have to admit to
having some help.”
Catelyn felt him turn away and reach for something on his
belt. Catelyn stiffened, expecting a sword point in her gut, or a
razor sharp blade to slice across her throat. She no longer feared it.
Get it over with, you bastard,
she thought.
When Uriel turned back around, he was holding
something metal in his hands. She hadn’t sensed it on his belt
before, but her senses were still reeling from the pain. The worst of
that was subsiding, but she was still unable to breathe without
sharp, lancing agony shooting through her ribs and lungs.
“You can’t see it, but this is what is known as a crook, once
a tool of shepherds the world over and a symbol taken up by men
who would lead others to their destiny. It has been in my family for
three generations, since my grandfather, Uriel the First of His
Name, discovered it when they were building the Citadel.”
Uriel walked up close to her and took her arm, and placed
the object in her hand.
“Go on, tell me if you recognize it.”
Catelyn’s hands were so weak that she almost dropped it,
but she finally grabbed it with both hands, and clutched it tightly.
She could sense a familiarity, but she was still not using her
bubble, and without it her hands felt clumsy and she simply shook
her head.
“Use your senses,” Uriel ordered.
Catelyn turned her head up toward him.
Does he know
about my bubble?
She let the bubble form slowly, as it amplified her pain
levels almost to what they had been when she had been left to
hang, but as she did so, the immediate recognition of the weapon
in her hand shocked her as much as if she had been splashed with
a bucket of ice water. The handle of the crook was etched in the
exact same way that the other weapon had been. The sickle, as
Uriel had called it, bore the same naked figurines, and was made of
the same unbroken metal.
“Yes, I can see that you understand now.”
He took the crook from her hands effortlessly. Catelyn
worked her mouth until she could formulate words.
“What do you..want with...me?”
Uriel paused, and through her bubble she could smell and
hear his uncertainty.
“You can probably tell that I’m not quite sure yet. I do
know one thing for sure. I’m going to help you see that your petty
forms of defiance, such as your foolish choice to grow out that hair,
are nothing more than misguided mistakes. I will begin by
showing you the error of your ways.”
Catelyn sobbed, knowing that she would not be able to
take any more.
“Please...please no more. Just kill me. I’m sorry...just let
me die. I’m just a foolish girl, I’m not worth…”
Uriel slapped her hard across the face, and she winced as
the pain in her jaw exploded through her entire upper body and
blood seeped into her mouth, filling it with the taste of iron.
“Don’t be condescending,” the Emperor said. “You are
smarter than that. We both know you are not some foolish girl. Oh,
yes, as soon as I saw you in that marketplace, I knew that you were
the same girl who stirred up the Danes to incite their vigilante
spree in the Seat. You are the reason that Ortis abandoned me. You
are at the heart of something...divine. As am I. We have a purpose
here. We are part of a larger world. But I don’t know yet which side
you will fall on. I...I need time to think.”
Catelyn began to sob, realizing that time for him to think
would mean time for her to be hung up on her chains again.
“Please...please...no…” she cried, knowing that it was futile
to plead, knowing that Uriel did not know the meaning of mercy.
“But first...first I wish to give you a gift. You see, you’ve
been marked, as I have. Branded by history. We are unique in that
regard, but I can also see that you have had much taken from you
by being so marked, which is not how such things should be. I am
not an unreasonable man, and so I wish to offer you something for
all that you have suffered. Perhaps it will make my path...our
paths...clearer, if I do this for you.”
Uriel approached Catelyn, and she shied back, her heart
racing in fear and unsure of what he intended to do. He reached
out, tilted her head up so that her face was directly in front of his,
and raised his other hand to her nose. She sensed with her bubble
that he was holding something...some sort of glass vial.
And then, awareness began to bubble up into her
consciousness, and she began to panic as the smell of what was
inside the vial reached her nostrils, and she tried everything she
could to get away from the man, fighting with everything that she
had left, but it was no use. She was held by the chains, held by his
strength. Held by his Will.
Catelyn would never forget the rancid smell of what was
inside that vial. The smell, like the damage it had done to her face,
to her chest, to her eyes, had left permanent scars on her body and
was seared into her mind forever.
Bloodfire.
“...no...no...no...no…” was all she could utter through the
sobs and the horror that overwhelmed her in that moment.
Uriel stroked her cheek, said “shh...shh” and then
upturned the vial directly onto her face. The pain arced across her
face and head, reaching out to grab at her with razor sharp claws
from the past, taking her back to that moment six sojourns ago
when she had been blinded and her life altered forever, and
Catelyn could do nothing more than scream. Her world had
already been destroyed once by bloodfire, and now it was to be the
end of her life. Her last thoughts were of the people that she’d
hurt, whether directly or indirectly, over the past six sojourns and
also the people she had come to love again. Sera. Elexia. Silena.
And then, she sought out the two who had mattered the most.
Mother...father...please forgive me...
The blackness of the Void once again reached up and
claimed her, dragging her down into its cruel and terrible depths.

Catelyn scrambled up from unconsciousness, gasping
deeply, resurfacing into a world of pain. Instinctively, she burst
her bubble around her, and after several whispers of intense,
crushing agony, discovered that she was not dead yet, and in fact
was lying face down on a dank, wet floor, breathing shallowly.

How?
she wondered.
The cool stone floor was wet under her cheek, and she felt
like getting up, but she quickly recalled her last memories of
having been tortured and the arcing pain of the bloodfire. She
couldn’t remember what had transpired since then, and didn’t
know if she was still in the Emperor’s chambers, so she made a
point of not moving in case he or anyone else was nearby,
watching her. She didn’t detect anyone with her senses, but she
was in so much pain that she didn’t fully trust her senses yet.
Every part of her body felt as though it were on fire. The
pain was so intense that if she hadn’t been conscious during part of
her torture, she doubted whether she would have been able to
distinguish one type of pain from another. Her face was blazing
with the pain of the bloodfire, and she could only imagine what
additional damage had been done there. Her chest and arms were
still throbbing from the hanging, and her legs and hips felt as if she
had been kicked or beaten, though she couldn’t remember that
happening.
After a few more whispers of consciousness, she grew
accustomed enough to the pain so that she could tentatively reach
out with her bubble in order to examine more of her surroundings.
The first thing she became aware of was a dripping of water from
several paces away. The noise produced a slow, methodical rhythm
of drops, from ceiling to floor. Catelyn found the repetition
soothing, and latched onto the sound, counting the drops to try
and take her mind off the pain she was still experiencing.
Armed with something to distract her, she pushed lightly
at the edges of her bubble, slowly expanding it and taking in more
of her surroundings. She heard the impact of the droplets echoing
off the walls, and this simple noise allowed her to visualize the
room she was in. She could already tell from the sense of the walls
hemming her in, that it was not big, barely big enough for her to fit
inside, even curled up as she was. If she stretched out her arms
and legs, she would hit the walls before being able to fully extend
them, which enabled her to guess that it was less than two paces
per side. A cell, then. A cell so small that even she, as small as she
was, couldn’t lie down flat without curling herself up somewhat.
When she scanned each of the small walls, she discovered
that one of them was partially open near the top, with a slit
opening to a hallway outside, from which she heard the sound of
the dripping water. There was nothing at all inside the cell, except
for her and the four bare walls.
Realizing that she was alone in the cell and safe from
further torture, at least for now, Catelyn decided to test moving
her body. She moved her legs, flexing her ankles and stretching out
her toes until they touched the wall of the cell. As she moved her
leg, she quickly grasped that she had been stripped naked.
She felt like crying again, for all the pain she had endured,
for all the humiliation she had gone through, but she just couldn’t.
She decided then and there that she could either lay there as
though she were dead, or stand up and prove that she was still
alive.
And so slowly, she stretched out her arm, rolled her
shoulder under her, and pushed herself up onto her knees. The
worst of the pain was already beginning to fade from her, and she
was even getting used to the sensations still radiating throughout
her body. From her knees, she pushed her arms into the floor with
all of her strength, until finally she was upright and she reached
out and grabbed the walls with her hands to steady herself. The
surface beneath her hands was smooth and weathered stone, and
in that smoothness she could imagine the hands of other prisoners
over the sojourns who had occupied this cell before her. With her
hands pressed to the wall she stood, her entire body shaking with
the effort and screaming in protest, but she needed to stand again.
To feel the ground under her feet, to feel herself standing tall.
She knew she would not able to stand this way for long
without the support of her hands against the walls, but it felt like a
victory, and she cried with joy, bringing one hand to her mouth as
soon as she felt strong and stable enough.
After gathering herself once more, she leaned against the
wall that had the slit to the outer hall at the top, and felt along the
edges of it and, as she suspected, this was not a wall, but a door. It
was made of metal, and she could smell the rust embedded in the
hinges and plates where the door had been shut tight. She stood as
tall as she could on her toes, to sniff at the slit to the hallway
outside. She could smell nothing unusual from the hallway; just
more dank stone and the lingering odor of unwashed bodies.
She considered calling out, but with her bubble so
depleted and weak, she couldn’t sense anyone nearby, and didn’t
think it would help her situation to aggravate any of her captors by
yelling into the hall.
She had more immediate and pressing needs to attend to,
at any rate. Pressure from her bladder made her aware that her
first need was finding some place in the cell to relieve herself.
Unfortunately, there was no drain in the floor, just more of the
bare and weathered stone, same as the walls. She focused her
bubble on the floor’s surface, and could detect the hint of bodily
excretions where other prisoners had made their own choices
about such matters, and ended up picking one corner to make her
water, struggling not to think of the prisoners who had occupied
the space before her, and what she might have been lying in.
With that that pressure gone, she turned her focus to her
physical situation. She was hungry, but even more thirsty, and she
could feel the dryness of her lips with her tongue. She didn’t know
when the Imperials would bring her food or water, or whether they
simply intended to keep her locked away until she succumbed to
starvation or more likely dehydration. But this was a choice that
was out of her hands, and so she tried her best to not think about
how badly she was craving food and drink.
Next, she physically and mentally assessed her injuries
and decided that although she was still in severe pain, she hadn’t
sustained any permanent injuries to her body below the neck.
However, she was deathly afraid to reach up and touch her face,
unwilling to learn just yet what Uriel had done to further disfigure
her.
She thought back to that moment and wondered what had
possessed him to use bloodfire on her again. She also wondered
why it hadn’t killed her, as he had seemingly poured an entire vial
of the stuff directly into her face. When she had been injured and
blinded with it before, it had only been an indirect splashing of
bloodfire. She had partially seen what a full dosage had done to the
man who had attacked her and her family that day. His face had
been utterly ruined...and she now imagined that was how she must
look, only he had died of his wounds, and somehow, she was still
here, breathing.
Her legs were failing now, and so she sat down again,
bringing her legs up in front of her and hugging her knees closely.
There was nothing for her to do now, but wait.