Cloyingly metallic. The air was tinny with the underlying scent of dried and fresh blood. It was thick with the silence of proud agony. Defiance. The darkness of the night concealed any visible blood, any light which could guide them to peace, and the hope of day interrupting a nightmare.
Blood.
Cloth murmured in the corner. Kaylin was attracted to the familiar sound of Ian's baggy trousers rustling as he shifted. Her head turned towards him, but she was removed from him farther than the few feet which separated them. She knew his long black hair was matted with his own blood- where it hadn't been scalped in strips from his forehead to jutting ear. His claws were ripped off his hands and feet, taking strings of flesh with them. He was impaled to the wooden wall with his own sword, had been for days, the metal making it impossible for his wound to heal around it. Scratches in a pale mockery of his claw-marks marred his flawless skin. Whip blisters on his abdomen and back stung with poisons to hamper his healing. His blood pooled as far as her cramped, crossed legs, and splattered artfully on the walls. She remembered from before it went dark. The image of tortured Ian would stay burned on her eyelids for the rest of her life, however short that may be.
Flesh.
"Don't look at me!" Ian rasped, his rough voice almost unrecognizable through the pain. He strained futilely against the thick manacles holding him in place. They both knew he hadn't the strength to break them. The metal clanked. His clothing whispered dark secrets of suffering. An animalistic growl emerged from his swollen and cracked lips, then broke into a cough wet with blood. "I can't stand to see you…"
Anguish.
"I understand." She turned away and tucked herself into a tiny ball. She wished she had the luxury of tears. She wished she could comfort him, had comfort for herself. There was nothing that could be said. It was so dark and cold. She could almost hear crickets beyond the wooden cabin wall. The nightly nocturnal animals were out. A wolf howled in the distance and she entertained the brief hope that their mutual friend Morgan would miraculously save them. Even from beyond the grave. Kaylin stretched the limits on her mortal hearing so far she almost missed the soft shuffling of feet nearing the door. Ian tensing, ready for this newest battle, alerted her.
Fear.
The walking stopped outside the doorway. Beads tinkled as they were parted and they fell mutely against the soft flesh of the limping person entering the room. Their torturer was female, but had become sexless in Kaylin's mind eons ago. It wasn't particularly strong, just flawlessly evil, taking enjoyment in horrific acts of torture. And the killing. No person could do the things Kaylin had been forced to watch.
Intimidation.
"So Ian, what will you let me do today?" It had such a mundane voice. Kaylin hadn't noticed when she could see the maniac smile. "I was thinking…" It continued on conversationally.
"Yeah, you're looking more strained than usual." Kaylin winced in sympathy at the slap of leather against flesh. Ian had a snarky comment to the end, and it was shaping up to be his end.
"Never interrupt me again." Whip. "It's rude." The whip once again scored against raw flesh. "I was thinking of breaking the bones in your hand." The snap and crunch of munching on pretzels. Ian didn't utter a sound. "And then I'd take these little tweezers and haul ever bone out of your hand." For minutes- maybe hours- there were only strange squelching sounds, and the click of metal against solid bone. Kaylin strained towards Ian, wishing she could do something.
The piercing laugh of the insane reverberated through the room.
"Let's see your bones grow back now! Did you see what I did to your little doggy-boy, Kaylin?" Laughter. The sound of many small things bouncing to the floor, like skittles or toothpicks, almost drowned out the dying hilarity. Ian's bones.
Humility.
She wanted to cry. She wanted to see Ian's insolent and brave face. She needed to see the sun and know she had made it through another day. She knew she would never see any of these things again.
She had her eyes gouged out yesterday.
The sharp points of Ian's disconnected nails sliced through her eyeballs like a spoon through ice-cream. The pressure behind them screamed through her eye socket and sparked the optic nerve, skittering pain through her skull. Fresh blood flowed warmly over her cheeks, and she choked on it. For once Ian swallowed his pride and screamed with her.
Pain.
"I was wondering, Dog." It spat out. "Who would you rather die first?" Kaylin didn't need eyes to know they were both looking at her. The silence was prolonged and she ached to see Ian once more, knowing he had a difficult judgment to make. She heard a bird chirp in the innocent world.
Sacrifice.
"Kaylin." Ian's voice was soft, almost gentle. His voice conveyed words he couldn't in present company. She heard his anguished gasp. Then she heard nothing.
Kaylin never saw it coming.
©JerrodSmith2004