Demon Day (21 page)

The Cleric with the crooked nose
pulled something out from behind him. A silver blade. Nimah and
Amelia recoiled then both growled, seeming to fill the dungeon with
the noise of an entire shifter Pack.

Runt wailed in the corner. It sounded
different than his usual sounds. A warning?

The Cleric brandishing the silver
knife stepped forward and the shifter twins recoiled again, both
taking hold of my shoulders to keep me with them. The touch was
like a full body hiccup and I shrugged them off. I hated strangers
touching me. The moment their hands left me the two other Clerics
grabbed hold of my feet and dragged me toward the door. Amelia made
a high, strangled sound, enraged.

Still, they dragged me, and I dug my
hands into the earth around me, snarling. I kicked my legs, and had
I not been iron drained and bound they would have flown with such a
force they would be dead. As it was, I was like a child struggling
under the hands of her stronger parents.

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 save 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.