She didn’t look any worse off, Ditan thought. Ylane had just left with Eilic. He had noticed the tear stains on her cheeks. Their captivity with the Sentinels had been rough on them all. At least they gave me clothes before bringing her here. Blood streaked her clothing. She’d been wounded too.

Modius and Eilic coaxed what they needed from her. She had mended his wound, leaving a puckered scar under his shoulder blade. Shouldn’t surprise me, now that I’ve seen her. She has the markings too. I see why they were interested in her, even if I don’t understand it.

Ditan feared for Trynneia. If Ylane proved to be worth more, his friend might be discarded. Killed, he corrected himself. The Sentinels showed no softness in their actions, proving to be more than willing to do anything they wanted.

Ylane’s presence didn’t change his plans, merely his scope. His intent shifted from protecting Trynneia to protecting both her and Ylane. It was a fool’s hope, since the Sentinels had constrained and shackled him as a dangerous prisoner. I’ll show them.

The shimmering of the sigils provided the only light in his wagon. Grimcell, he reminded himself. Despite Eilic’s threats, Modius had ordered that he be left unbound. Even so, he didn’t trust either man.

Ditan heard the lock click, and the door opened. Sariam climbed in and shut the door, standing in a low crouch. She wore blood-red robes that once might have been sumptuous but now draped her ragged frame with frayed seams and tattered ends.

He sat against the front wall with his legs splayed out in front of him as she stood in silence. “I suppose you can come in,” Ditan offered. “Sorry for the lack of hospitality. Sit where ya wish.”

“I am not here to sssit. Let me see see see what my ssson did to you,” she said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “I do not trust the girl’s skills.”

“I trust her more than you,” he said, turning around and tugging up the long shirt to reveal the injury. Just play their games for now. It’s the only way to get through it. It’s the only way to help them.

Sariam’s cold, dry fingers felt like bone as they touched him. She pulled at the scar, stretching his skin in ways that tugged unpleasantly. Her examination didn’t hurt, and lasted moments only.

“Ssshe did better than expected, yesss. You will feel tired sssoon. Sssleep when your body asssksss.”

“I’ll sleep when I feel like it,” he said sourly. “Is that all?” The sooner she left, the sooner he could at least attempt to relax, or whatever passed for it.

“Yesss,” she said, then climbed onto one of the crates and hunched herself into the corner, watching him. “Do asss you wisssh.”

Great, she’s not leaving, he realized. Now what? The shimmering sigils dimmed, leaving the wagon mostly dark. Only the murky red splotch in the corner remained of Sariam’s presence. Ditan shrugged and pulled his shirt off the rest of the way. Some form of magic kept the temperature inside the wagon reasonably comfortable. He wadded it up and laid down as far from her as possible.

“I’m going to sleep then. No funny business,” he added. She cackled as her only reply.

Light, she’s creepy, he thought. Closing his eyes, he focused on her breathing, then matched it to drown out the sound. With every rattling, ragged breath she took, his concentration lapsed. Match the pattern. Find the harmony, he urged himself. She kept no rhythm, switching between breathlessness to effortless, heavy breathing.

He tossed and turned, her very presence leaving him uneasy. I can’t help but be vulnerable here. That’s all they want from me: Vulnerability. She could kill me in my sleep as easily as while I’m awake.

How do I show no fear? His own shuddering breaths revealed his fear.

“He trusts us,” Sariam whispered, creeping next to his ear. Ditan shifted where he lay. “He isss strong.” She clucked. “No,” she hissed. “We won’t do that. Not yet. Later. Yessss later. We will taste him.”

Gooseflesh rose at her words. Nearly naked and otherwise quite alone, he knew he was at her mercy. Her words did nothing to ease his worry as he curled tight into a ball, pulling parts of the shirt over him.

Unbothered, she plucked at it, pulling it away to leave him exposed. Her moist breath heated his neck. The woman moved with uncanny silence, unhindered by her robes. Sariam’s fingers traced the faint scars littering his body, left behind by her after Eilic had carved his flesh. Where her touch landed, his flesh crawled at the burning chill of her caress.

What is she doing to me? He wondered in silence, suffering as his fear grew. Despite his visceral need to recoil, his skin stung as her fingers wandered. Risking a glance through the slits of his eyelids, Ditan realized a subtle glow filled the wagon. Sariam shuffled around him.

Stolen story; please report.

“The Light is good. The Light is kind,” she continued, her whisper hoarse and muted. “The boy ssstraysss. Redeem him. Redeem all of them.” Ditan didn’t know what to think. Is she praying for me? For us? Her fingers touched the scar under his shoulder blade again. She hissed.

“Fix fix. My son is rude. The girl is not ready,” she said. Warm drops fell upon him, rapidly cooling as they trickled down his back. Sariam smeared the liquid, rubbing it in until it warmed between them. He felt shifting where she lingered as his injury repaired itself forcefully. “Good. Good. Much better. He mustn’t know,” she muttered. “Come to the Light, boy.”

He heard her scurry off again, then the door opened and shut followed by the lock fastening. Several seconds passed, then the sigils flared to life cycling their way through the walls, ceiling, and floor once more. Ditan was alone, the prison restored.

Rolling his shoulder, he noted that it ached less, though he feared to move too much and ruin the ruse of his sleep. He reasoned that at least one guard stood nearby to observe anything he might do, even locked away.

The Red confused him. She spoke to herself, alternately threatening him then wishing him to be better. Do they not all wish me dead? This is perhaps a fortunate change. What do ya say?

-Resist- The voices overlapped, their tone very quiet.

I hear ya. I get yer meaning loud and clear, he thought, smiling at himself for even that incidental contact. All I can do is resist.

Just like when he was in the jail cell, he began to scratch at one of the sigils on the ground near him. As before, it resisted his efforts, made more difficult due to the loss of his hand and inadequate tools. Still, he reasoned that if he could mar one of them, it might weaken their dampening effect.

Every act of defiance I can manage is one step out of here, he thought. Resistance at its finest. Ditan chose not to hum, reflecting on Eilic’s observation. His efforts to find harmony had not gone unnoticed, and moreover appeared notable to the Warden. He would wait until they moved again, so his voice could be drowned in the din of travel.

Drawing attention remained his goal, but he didn’t want it drawn to this alternate attempt to reach the elements. Instead, the girls became his sole focus. Are they kept together, or separate? I’d like to know so I can plan. Plan twice and execute it once, Father always said. Make sure the math adds up.

He worried about his parents. Ohla plainly disowned him, but he couldn’t believe his father would. Once all this is over, I’ll get back and see them, wherever they go. I’ll find them.

Ditan sighed. They won’t want to see me, no matter how much I care. I suppose I should have known how it would end up. Wishful thinking. He twisted free a nail from the side of one of the crates, somehow managing to grip it without breaking his fingernails. His chosen sigil ignored it as he scratched at it, shimmering in the dark to mock him.

“Come on, have something good happen for once,” he whispered as he worked. Each stroke slid over the sigil, rebuffed by its innate magic. He pressed hard, but as the nail marred the wood up to it, he could not damage the sigil. The nail slipped from his grip, skittering off into the darkness and clattering against a wall.

“Light,” he muttered. “That wasn’t good.” Ditan didn’t want to move. He had no idea if the noise actually was loud enough to be heard outside, or if it just seemed that way in his need for covert vandalism. Outside he heard the crunch of boots on dirt. Someone patrolled nearby, an achingly familiar sound, more anxiety inducing when he worked in silence against his captors.

As he listened, his tensions eased as the footfalls stopped. No one extra entered, the sigils continued their orderly shimmer, and quiet fell again. Ditan lay on his side for several minutes, just listening. This is what I need, he thought. Just peace and quiet. He focused on the groan of the wood, the distant voices of people chatting, and the whistle of wind passing his wagon.

There’s a bit of harmony in this too, Ditan realized. It’s not just music. Not like I thought it was. Everything had a pattern. Finding a way to recognize it in his enforced solitude became his challenge.

You found a way to communicate with me. It’s only fair if I find a way to communicate with you. The fleeting attempts they made told him that the Sentinels hadn’t blocked them completely. He craved their words of confusing wisdom now that his captors had silenced the elements.

It’s all nature, right? Just have to find a way to talk again. Then I can do something about all this. He waited for their encouragement, knowing the futility of it. They can’t keep me from ya forever. I’ll break this. I know it. Then I’ll free us all.

Someone approached. He heard the undertones as the newcomer spoke to his guard. The sigils flared once more and the door unlocked. Ditan scrunched his face, listening as someone stepped up into the wagon. He focused on the displacement as the shock absorbing springs redistributed weight, just another touch of the harmony he tried reaching.

“Hello, gobbo,” Eilic said. “Hope you weren’t resting. It’s going to be a long night for you,” the Sentinel warned. “Your girlfriend says hello. Other than that, nary a peep.”

Ditan refused to move or show that he heard. I won’t give you the satisfaction, he thought. He heard a rustling, then a rag fell next to his head reeking of blood. Please no. Ditan worried about Trynneia.

Boots stepped close, touching his bent legs. He heard Eilic grab something from the wall, clattering as he removed it. “My mother was just here. I know you’re not asleep.”

Yer not wrong, long legs. Ditan heard the slow sshk-sshk as Eilic sharpened a blade.

“Welcome to your first night of captivity,” Eilic said.