Days passed, and his monotony returned, without the mesmerising Tiger and her scars. One visit, and though the scathing words of the Bannerless against her seared his mind, her allure was unforgettable. She haunted his dreams whenever he couldn’t keep his eyes open. Often as a sinister presence singing her words, dragging him into her murderous embrace.
Brief dreams. He slept infrequently when his body demanded it. Anything to avoid the torturous horror of the void. There was no more comfort in that eternal blackness, only debilitating pain forcing him to his knees. They were flashes, but the pain echoed into reality and his hands rushed for his poisoned right eye.
It ruined the void. Once a comfort on his journey. Now he was alone in this dank, rat-infested dungeon. He stank as much as everything else. There was only so much cleaning he could do with the dregs of his drinking water.
Meals came and went, never better than bland, but not rotten and maggot infested like his first. It was quite the challenge to know how many days had passed, let alone the hours. He guessed it was in the morning and evening when they fed him, during their shift changes beyond the door at the end of the dungeon.
Mazin lay atop his lumpy, straw-filled mattress, now used to the horrendous discomfort. Even root infested grasslands were better for his back than this. His rags were sleeveless, keeping himself clean with the rancid fabric made them so.
Rats squeaked their frenetic music, scurrying around from cell to cell, nibbling on the remnants of the carcasses scattered within the other empty jails. They fought often, and he was sure they killed each other when they screeched. He didn’t wish to watch their violence, he suspected that once they nibbled their carcasses bare, the rats would soon cannibalise each other.
His eyelids grew heavy, his stomach filled with the tasteless broth and stale bread. He found a comfortable mould for his body on his mattress and drifted. The shrill tune of the greedy rats soothed. Sleep snatched him away.
Mazin entered the void on his knees and roaring with pain in the eternal blackness. The rumbling never left his throat, it seared as painfully as the volcanic explosions within his right eye. Frozen by the pain, limbs trembling uncontrollably and refusing to heed his orders.
There was never a need to breathe within the void, but the pain made him gasp for the non-existent air. He clawed at his chest, yearning to tear it open for all the nothingness it needed.
It wasn’t long before his hand clawed his face. At the bubbling, boiling mess that was his right eye. Pulsing with molten hot power coursing through his cheek bones. Crackling and splintering his bones, poking at his squishy eyeball with blistering needles.
His finger cupped around his eyeball, ready to claw it out. Anything for relief. It was madness; he knew it. His frantic heaving for the absent air made it difficult for hesitation to slow him.
Mazin snatched the poisonous fire with an aggressive yank and wailed with relief when the molten torture ceased. He wept and his chest calmed its desperate heaving.
His encumbered fingers itched, from tips to palms. Then they tingled with satisfying numbness. Before the fire set alight his hand, he flicked away the corruption, unfurling his fingers, feeling the sensation ooze off his flesh.
He didn’t stop shaking his hand, even as the tingling faded back to itching. The echoes of his pain kept him cautious. Though he stood on his feet, he continued to shake his hand, warding off any droplets clinging to his flesh.
For the first time, there was normalcy in the blackness. Even the surrounding whispers returned. Like an occasional breeze on a cool summer’s day, the whispers swirled around him. Mazin’s smile faltered. The whispers were wrong. Fragmented, slicing through and around the gaps of an imagined ruin.
There was a warbling screech nearby, and some flashing colour to catch his eyes. Dark magenta amongst the blackness, tendrils of oozing oil squirming within the void. It squealed as if the darkness of the void burned it, writhing its magenta pulsing tentacles on the spot.
Die, die!
Mazin wished to scream at the shrinking corruption, which wasn’t a light he wished to approach.
“Die!”
It was a strange joy when the stem of a budding rose sprouted. The flower bud bloomed and a solitary petal floated from his brow, forming the word he spoke.
Die it did, sputtering and sizzling like a weak candle, until the sparking dark magenta gave way to the eternal darkness.
“Boy!”
Mazin spun around to answer the fading call from behind. It died like a faint breeze. A whisper from provinces away, crawling into his ear to hear.
“Where are…”
“Wake up!”
“No!”
Mazin yelped as he awoke back in his rancid cell, clutching at his still darkened right eye when a pulse of pain surged through it. His rags clung to his perspiring flesh. A second hardened layer of crusty linens.
It was unusually bright before his cell, and a figure in a furred cloak stood before the bars. An aroma of lavender soap and fruit. A torch flickered by her boots before the rickety chair she dragged back to the front of his cell. As well as the torch within the rotten sconce on the wall, it too burned, revealing the gangrenous stone wall.
“Hello?” she asked, though without scent. “I’m sorry if I… are you awake?”
Her eyes dropped to the tray where his untouched food remained. It surprised him the rats didn’t make their way to it, then again it wasn’t exactly a pleasant-smelling meal. Nor did he care to study it further.
“That’s what they gave?” The woman whispered, then dragged her chair closer to his cell and adjusted her warm cloak before sitting.
Her eyes wandered around the darkness of his cell, narrowing often. Silky black hair flowed down the left of her face. Where her jagged, open scars hid behind.
“Hello?”
“You’re back?”
Mazin groaned as he rose from his bed, his right eye itching and legs like jelly. He shook off the fatigue and stretched, enjoying the crack in his back.
“I don’t blame you. I’ve surprised myself as well,” she said. Still eyeing the darkness.
He lingered in the shadows, watching her contain her anxiety within her restless gloved fingers. The woman somehow flaunted her figure, despite her hidden flesh. A plain grey cloak, with tufts of blonde fur decorating the collar and hems.
“You know, I wish you wouldn’t hide in the darkness. I don’t have your eyes.”
Mazin sniffed himself before eyeing the congealed bowl of broth. The stale loaf of bread beside it somehow looked more unappealing without outright spots of mould. The rats were silent, congregating to his right. Salivating towards his tray, yet wary of the threat he posed against them.
“We got off the wrong foot.” Her words sounded like music. Floating, while her eyes continued to search his cloaking darkness.
“Perhaps I could introduce myself to your face, damn you.”
The words after her pause were a whisper meant for herself. But it finally won him from the shadows. Mazin scratched the growing stubble on his jaw before collapsing down beside his lacklustre food.
“Is it morning or night?” Mazin asked, tearing at the loaf of bread with a grimace.
“Evening, to be exact. The sun does set earlier in the winter, and it is a cold winter night we are suffering.”
He grunted at her and tested the hardened surface of his broth with a piece of bread. It wasn’t inedible, though he wished it was warmer than the chunky mess of its current state.
“At least the dungeon is warm.”
“You were introducing yourself. I’m listening.”
Her eyes bore into the top of his scruffy head. She was scentless beyond her perfume, but her frustration came through, anyway. The woman sighed, then adjusted her cloak.
“My name is Mei, and yours?”
Mazin snorted after inhaling the last morsel of his food, abandoning the last chunk of bread for the jug of water. Her silence lingered after his first gulp, and he raised his eyes towards her.
“I thought you learned your lesson last time. I won’t play your game, nor make whatever this is easy for you.”
Mei bit her lip at him, without the red paint of last time. He caught himself from staring and sniffed down at himself, eyeing the water within the clay jug.
“I’m not playing any games,”
“Don’t lie to me!”
“I’ve been told you can tell.”
Mei didn’t back down from his glare, despite one of her eyes hiding behind a curtain of black silk. He used the excuse of the rowdy rats to his right when turning away, his pride more than wounded. Their beady eyes lingered on him before focusing on his tray and the surrounding crumbs. His right eye itched again.
“Are you a Lion?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“You could be from any of the southern clans by my eye, though there aren’t many who travel this far north, especially during winter. Nor do I blame them. The cold is far from my favourite.”
Her musical voice left a studious impression on him.
“I don’t believe I’ve experienced true heat here. I haven’t perspired since I was a child, even during the summer. Cannot remember the last time I wore something short or sleeveless without shivering, despite a sun burning above in the clear blue sky.”
“Is this how you intend to learn about me?”
“Will you tell me your name, then?”
Mazin considered it, but the screeching rats mocked him. An audience in the adjacent cell watching him suffer against her. He heard Zaki’s disappointed words at his sitting on the floor. His knees almost jerked upright, but he fought the growing shame instead.
“I’ll take your silence as a rejection, then. Was I correct about you being able to detect deceit?”
He frowned at her genuine curiosity. At least her expression suggested as much. Then he nodded in reply.
“Good, my only experience with Tamers was at first through the hateful rumours spread by these… what did you call them, Bannerless? Then they started tossing me books, usually without titles or covers torn off. I’m often sceptical of what I read anyway, but I’d like to think there is some truth within those faded pages.”
Mei’s fingers became restless once again, and her eyes wandered around the darkness. She sniffed a few times while tapping her thighs, then scrunched her nose. Mazin suddenly crossed his arms, smothering his own stench.
“How does the screeching not upset you? The smell is, well, it’s beyond any odour I can think of. You look better than when I last saw you. I’m no physician, but that is not normal healing. Another Tamer quality then?”
Mazin grunted in reply, unsure of her lack of scent. He avoided staring, not out of fear. He worried about losing his tongue. Her feigned innocence would spill more than he wished to let loose if he lingered on her shapely grey eyes.
“Are you a warrior?”
Not much of a warrior. Mazin sighed at the swiftness of his mind’s gloom.
“You could say that.”
“What do you favour, the khopesh? A palm axe, perhaps. Do Tamers even require weapons?”
“Claws and teeth,” Mazin said.
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“Really?” Her eyebrow rose at him, though he wasn’t sure if she caught his mockery. “Their rumours might hold some truth, then.”
“What are these rumours?”
“Nothing I heed seriously. You needn’t worry. Mostly empty boasts that are disputed by others. They can never decide if Tamers are easy to kill or monstrous demons that slaughter mercilessly.” Mei laughed as if she spoke to herself. Then she flinched as if expecting a hit.
“How many of you are there, hundreds, thousands perhaps?” Mazin rushed forward, clutching the thick iron bars of his cell, sensing weakness on her part.
“I told you I’m not,”
“What fortifications do you possess? Is this dungeon within a barracks or palace?”
“Stop.”
“You cannot hold me forever. They will come for me and you will all answer for it.”
“Enough!” Her panicked whispering turned into a low screech. His sudden frustration faded against her teary-eyed distress. “Nobody will find this place. You shouting about it will not make either of our lives easier. If you’re going to be difficult, fine, I wouldn’t mind a few hours of peace even if it’s within this rancid hole.”
It didn’t take long for guilt to take hold, caressing its fingers over his lips to silence him for good. There were boots on the other side. Raucous laughter drawing his eyes before the jingle of keys.
Mei’s heart raced, and her fingers returned to disturb her thighs. She jumped when the door screeched open, snatching up the torch at her ankles.
“You two having fun?” The Bannerless guard in crude lamellar laughed as she approached with another.
Mei stepped back from his cell with her head lowered and shoulders slumped. The boy clinging to the Tiger’s tail ogled her as they approached, drooling by the time he stood in front of the cell.
“Does the freak make you wet between your legs?”
The boy reeked of discomfort, avoiding Mazin’s eye while gathering the tray and jug through the cell bars.
“She is a looker, isn’t she, even with that mess on her? The mutilated couple, eh? Wouldn’t that be a sight?” The Tiger cackled even as she stomped her way out of the cells.
Her mockery lingered within the decrepit walls long after the door screeched shut behind them.
Mei was a shadow of her usual attractive aloofness. She forced a smile, failing to hide the glistening misery in her eyes. She sat back down, adjusting her cloak and dress beyond necessity. The woman trembled; winter froze its way through these desecrated walls.
Her mouth opened and closed. Words latched to her throat, refusing to escape. Eventually, she shut her lips for a last time. They quivered when her facade shattered. Mei surged to her feet with a streak of fire from the torch.
“I should go, until next time.” She sprinted before the last word left her lips.
He found his own words reluctant to leave his throat, a sympathetic plea to stay. Instead, guilt made itself comfortable in his chest, worsening after she knocked and rushed through the door. The lock clicked, and there were more stilted questions directed at her before she vanished to his ears.
Mazin sighed and rose from the floor, grumbling at the screeches of the rats from the adjacent cell before collapsing onto his rickety bed. He scratched at the itch around his eye before the prickly, straw-filled mattress dragged his nails elsewhere.
When sleep came for him, he didn’t resist. The fear of the void dissipated in his mind. Yet his poisoned eye itched.
After a ceaseless swarm of Mei’s charm ran through his mind, Mazin awoke to the calm blackness of the void. Legs crossed, hands resting on his knees as if meditating.
He kept his eyes shut as flashes of Mei continued. Out of enjoyment. It seemed an age until the colour left his eyelids. Mazin opened them and gazed upon the eternal darkness.
The whispers returned, a never-ending, ever-present breeze of noise. Swirling throughout the endless void, sometimes uttering a coherent word. Yet the void wasn’t normal. Pockets of strangeness remained. Where whispers came to him warbled, encased by a tight grip, struggling to slice through the gaps between fingers.
Mazin reached for his eye out of instinct, despite having cast out the corruption already, and touched normalcy. Nothing was out of place on him, but the void tickled him with unease.
He was on his feet, stretching his limbs and squatting, knowing full well that this would do nothing for him in reality.
“Bo… B… Bo,”
Mazin spun around towards the dying words, narrowing his eyes at the rippling blackness whence it came. The silhouetted figure of a beast withered. There were flashes of its silver lightning slashes upon its black fur, and the occasional blink of ruby redness.
“Whe… a… b… What is… th?”
It was his dark Bagha guide.
“Where are you?” Mazin asked. The words sprouted from the middle of his forehead.
They didn’t echo nor bounce off the unseen darkness. Instead, unseen hands stole them, warbled by the whispering wind.
“Hidden… allies… find… soon.”
The fragmented words pummelled into his ears before it banished the dark Bagha from the void. Its voice died the moment a slash of dark magenta struck. Lightning streaking across the blackest of nights until there was nothing but the void.
Mazin’s jaw worked, his lips parted, but the frustrated roar never sounded. He collapsed down and crossed his legs, feeling more trapped.
The void proved fruitless in subsequent visits. Unchanged from its whispering darkness, and occasional tampering. The dark Bagha didn’t return. No blink of its red gaze. Someone or something hampered the void here. That possibility instilled fear.
Mazin sighed in the blackness, snapping his fingers on his thighs. The void became a habit again, making up for days lost to the torturous poison. He dreaded every departure from the darkness. His body suffered explosions of fatigue at every awakening.
He didn't know how to manage time within the void. Hours in reality were moments within the eternal darkness. It was impossible to measure the difference, for there was no consistency.
It didn’t help that he awoke to cold food ravaged by the greedy rats. Who mustered the courage to gorge themselves. Feasts for their eyes.
Mazin sighed a non-existent breath and prepared himself for the fall. He braced with closed eyes, focused on dulling the whispers. Complete calm and silence, then he fell back and continued into the abyss.
Mazin groaned when he woke. His entire body tensed up with shock at the gaping pit in his stomach. He shivered at the chill coating his cell, and the screeching rats pounded his head as if he recovered from drowning in wine.
Dizzy spells ravaged him when he sat up too, creaking the splintered frame of his bed, and he grumbled again. His arms trembled with hunger and his stomach rumbled to concur.
“Shut up!”
He wheezed at the rats squealing about his food tray. Their tiny claws pitter pattered on the steel. A hint of stale bread trickled into his nose and salted pork.
Mazin was on his knees, crawling towards the smell, too ravenous to care about the swarming rats. They squealed their greed as well, unfazed by the crawling prince in their midst. His heart sank the moment he made out there was little more than a scattering of crumbs. The whiff of salted pork a mirage turned mockery.
“No!”
The rats scattered at his pitiful outburst, barely louder than a threatening whisper. Not before he snatched at a pair of fattened rodents, one for each hand. Their squealing tore through his skull, but he hadn’t the strength to squeeze them into silence.
They squirmed and shrieked, hoping their noisy panic would earn them their freedom. Their fur felt as rancid as they smelled, marred by callouses and puss filled lumps, hardened with protective scabs.
“Give it back, give it back, give it back.”
He wasn’t sure where this sudden ferocity came from. His rage was as feral as the poor, stinking fur balls in his hands.
Mazin repeated his demands to the unhearing rats, feeling his strength return and his grip tightened. It wasn’t until his nails dug into his palms and his darkened right eye dared to burn, did he awaken from his depravity.
The squeaking was gone. Not just from his cell, but from the entire room. There wasn’t even the pitter patter of tiny feet. Instead of crushed rats, there were only his fists, which he was too afraid to unclench. His right eye twitched with the echoes of the burning he wasn’t sure occurred. He almost thought it cleared for a flash.
There was no hunger in him, none of the weakness that ravaged him into his rabid raving. His stomach somehow forgot it was empty and remained that way beyond the time for any sort of deception to reveal itself.
Mazin gagged, then checked his lips with the back of his palms for any signs. He couldn’t bring himself to consider it. His tongue checked the inside of his mouth, digging into his molars until his fears became misplaced.
His hands blurred from the vibrating fear as he slowly revealed his palms. Blotches of stygian black marked the centre of his palms, tingling with a strange energy. Thumping like a minuscule heartbeat as he stared at them until they faded and his right eye itched.
They came for his tray and searched the darkness of his cell after spitting out their usual taunts. His nose picked up their subtle fear, but there was no enjoying it now. The Bannerless pair, with their scaled and lamellar armour, lingered before his cell, pointing their torch into all corners it before losing interest. A final taunt later, they departed, leaving behind a full jug of water.
Mazin curled in the corner opposite his bed, his back glued to the cool stone walls and his knotted curls worsening as he leant back. His corner was dark and safe, unsoiled until he dragged himself to it. He knew he was hiding, but he wasn’t sure from whom or what.
The corner was a cool solace. His mind drifted away from the tingling in his palms. His poisoned eye itched still. He shut his eyes when the screeching returned in his mind, for the rats didn’t dare to stick their noses back in his dungeon again.
It must have been hours of silence without moving from his corner, for the same Bannerless pair returned, with their flickering torch and more food. Charred meat and vegetable broth, according to his nose. Confirmed by his eyes when they placed his tray down.
The pair loitered again, wearing their lamellar and scaled armours, which were worn down. Their desertion displayed with pride, gaping holes upon their breastplates, where the carvings of a Bagha and Sinha should have been.
They whistled and kissed the air, calling him like a beaten pup until they grew bored. They feared his escape during his silence. A quick shuffle and a cough eased their foolishness, only for them to renew their taunts until his food went cold.
Mazin dragged his tray into his corner and chewed laboriously on the meat. Ripped with dirty, greedy fingers, savouring the spices they afforded him. His jaw ached when a pleasant aroma trickled into his nose.
Marred by sour scents of lust, Mei arrived with two torches again, flickering after the door screeched shut behind her. Her boots crunched the floor as she approached, smelling like rain-soaked roses in a maroon cheongsam with tufts of fur along the hems.
She replaced the dead torch in the rusty sconce and dragged her rickety chair back to the front of his cell. He laboured through his food, ignoring her. Yet his back straightened, and his feasting quietened. Suddenly, he remembered his own unbearable stink.
“Hello again,” she said like an uncertain song. Her torch flashed into his cell, barely beating back the darkness, but the brightness was enough to win a grimace. “I’m sorry for the delay, I uh… well, really, I have no excuse.”
Her face brightened with a smirk, her scarlet lips and the cascading jet-black silk waterfall over the scarred side of her face. Red pins kept her bun in place behind her head, giving her shadow horns.
Mazin squirmed while he ate, knowing she couldn’t see him, but still ashamed he was before her in such a state.
“I don’t mind if you do not wish to speak, but if it is okay with you, could you say something to make this darkness less frightening?”
“I’m here,” he said.
“Ah, okay, thank you. Why is it so quiet?”
Her question was a rhetorical whisper as her eyes frowned at the rest of the dungeon. She scrunched her nose at a stink he hoped wasn’t his own.
They sat together in silence while she drummed her thighs, humming to herself. Mazin finished his food and drank his water, then washed his hands as best as he could, drawing her attention. Before dabbing at himself with another torn shred of wet cloth to dampen his odour.
“I have more free time, you know. Perhaps I could make something for you to wear? I’m sure those rags were unfit days ago.”
“Would they allow it?”
“Well, it wouldn’t hurt to… I mean, they’ve only beaten you horribly, stolen whatever you own, stuffed you in this horrible dungeon and fed you scrap. They cannot be that cruel.”
Her nervous chuckle didn’t last long, but he smiled at her from the shadows. She shifted in her seat and adjusted her dress, then resumed her humming.
Mei’s restlessness became infectious, and it was his only clue towards her rising anxiety.
“Look I,” she caught herself, then leant in closer.
“I hope your ears are as strong as claimed, for I cannot continue like this,” she whispered, checking the closed door on the other side of the dungeon. “It’s unknown if she can hear. I’m not sure if the others will punish me. I cannot do this.”
“You are right not to trust me. I don't know why they captured you, but you must be important. For all their empty boasts, I cannot imagine any of these awful brigands giving up the glory of taking your life. She asked, demanded, I attach myself, to make you compliant. For what, it’s anyone’s guess.”
There remained no scent from her other than her sweet perfume, but her fearful, whispered ranting was enough. Despite his mind screaming at him.
“In my near two decades of suffering this place, they have not asked me to do something like this, to do anything but be an obedient prisoner. I wish I could tell you I mean you no harm, for what they’ve asked of me, I suspect, is far more insidious. I wish to feed you the hope of earning your freedom, but hope has been nothing less than foolish for me.”
“You have no obligation to me, nor will I ask you to do what they demand, despite what awaits me should I fail. I must get this off my chest before I’m driven mad. All I offer you are my sympathies. This has happened to you, and I am sorry. I’m sorry you are stuck in this hole. I wouldn’t wish this on these very bastards who keep us both here. Savour the little good that comes your way, a lesson I learned.”
Mei sighed as her eyes glistened like glass, but he appreciated her tears not overflowing onto her cheeks. She sniffed and adjusted her dress again.
“I wanted… I thought this, fuck… I am sorry.”
Don’t you dare Mazin!
Hints of Ammon’s rancid stink rushed through him, worsening his mind’s warning. He stirred from his dark corner, convinced by her confession. It was pointless wallowing in this cell, waiting for death to come. Ma would weep and Zaki would roar. At least he should fight. Cleanse himself of his shame.
He cursed under his breath, watched her sniff, and fought away whatever came over her. Rising from the shadows of his corner, he stepped out into her light.
“My name is Mazin.”
“Oh,” she jumped, then beamed.
She turned away, dabbing at her tears.
“A pleasure to meet you Mazin.” Mei whipped off her glove and offered a dainty hand with black painted nails between the cell bars.
His chest pulsed with life when their palms met. Warmth spread from her tenderness, like a forest fire within flesh. Their eyes met, and he took comfort in her smile, ignorant of his skipping heart.