Where…

My ears are ringing… I can’t think… Can’t… stay awake…

…

Ugh… It’s really one disaster after the other, huh.

I’m being carried somewhere… My arms and legs are bound with rope, and there’s a rag stuffed in my mouth.

Even if I wanted to, I can’t move, and I can’t- no, slipping away… again…

…

I’m conscious, again.

A strange, sweet smell is the first thing I notice as I realise I’m awake once more.

My ears are still ringing, and it’s hard to ignore the ringing when the group of people carrying me off is so… quiet. They don’t talk amongst themselves, they don’t cough or grunt, they walk as silently as they can. I noticed the strange quiet that hung over this place when I got here, and a group of people moving like this only reinforces the fact that being noisy isn’t a good idea.

I can now, quite uncomfortably, feel that my legs are bound with rope around my calves and ankles, and my arms are behind my back, my wrists tied together by rope.

The rope chafes painfully against my exposed skin on my wrists and ankles. If I can just- Ow!

As I shift a little in my bonds, something sharp is jabbed into my thigh, making me yelp and my head jerk upwards, only to see a pair of blood-red eyes with bright white pupils staring at me, and the owner of those eyes holding a finger over his mouth, wordlessly telling me to keep quiet. I should probably do what he says, so I keep as still and quiet as possible.

It would seem I’m being carried over someone’s shoulder, with my head near their back. Whoever jabbed me in the thigh isn’t the person that glared at me and told me to be quiet, but…

The exertion of that movement suddenly hits me, as the strength quickly leaves my limbs.

Rather than resisting its pull, I don’t really have anything to do, so, I may as well get some more rest, as I let my consciousness slip away again.

…

Wherever I’m being taken to, it sure is far away, given I’ve passed out like four times and we’re still not there.

The shoulder I’m unceremoniously being carried on does feel less tense than earlier, though, and there’s the occasional murmur amongst the group.

“Where do you think this one’s from? Harv’s lot?” A young, male-sounding voice asks in a hushed tone.

“Doubt it. No weapons; likely an outcast.” An older one answers, with a voice that sounds like it’s gargled gravel every day of its life.

I don’t know what a “Harv’s lot” is, but, an outcast? Me? These people that captured me must be part of a larger group or settlement if they’re taking me somewhere pretty far from where they found me. It’s hard to tell how much time has passed; the thick fog and the red glow obscuring the sky doesn’t make it easy to tell what time of day it is, if… this place has days, let alone a sun.

If it truly was stars I was seeing through the fog when I got here, it was probably some time at night, then. Of course, draped across a shoulder as I am, I can’t exactly look up at the sky to check how bright it is.

I must say, though. I’m remarkably calm given the fact that I’ve just been captured and kidnapped. I could be being dragged off to be eaten or sacrificed or something, but, I’m in hell already. How much worse can it get, aha…

“Why’re we bringing this one back, anyway. Could have just left ‘em where we found ‘em.” The man carrying me suddenly speaks up, his voice flat and glum.

“We were sent out to harvest sweettree sap. Why are we bringing back a captive?” The young male voice asks again.

“Because I said we are.” The gruff, gravelly voice answers.

Sweettree sap? Do they mean the… maple syrup? Now that I think of it, that’s the smell that’s been hanging over this group the whole time I’ve been with them. If they came all this way just for maple syrup, then, they must be part of a settlement of some sorts.

A settlement of demons, presumably. Humans don’t have red eyes and glowing white pupils. Although…

They all had pointed ears, like me. Do I also have red eyes and white pupils? Does this mean I’m a demon, or are these people still human like me? The stories I was told growing up was that hell was full of all sorts of monsters and demons; horned humanoids with scaly tails and leathery wings, that could crush a boulder with their bare hands or drain your life force with a single touch. They didn’t mention anything about their eyes or ears, though, and I don’t have horns, a tail, or wings- geh?!

My train of thought is interrupted by something soft rubbing against my nape. Was that my wings touching me- Yes. Yes it is.

Hello, wings. Sorry I forgot about you for a moment, I’m still getting used to having you around.

Although…

The people that captured me… don’t seem to know about you, wings. They haven’t removed my cloak, and they didn’t, well… check me for wings.

Hmm.

We’ve been moving for quite a while now, so I hope we’re getting close to our destination, wherever it is. I try to look up, and… yep, the same guy from earlier is still staring a hole in me.

I try to avoid staring back into his eyes as best I can, but he leans closer. Right up in my face.

“You’re a long way from home, girl.”

“Yeah, no shit” is the message I try my best to convey via staring at him. I go to rest my head down, only for the group to abruptly halt, and a commotion to start.

“We’ve been moving all damn day, Rann. It’ll be another five hours’ march to get back with the vagabond in tow. We either camp, cut ‘em loose, or cut ‘em. I ain’t taking another step forward.”

For a moment I thought I was still in the depths of my concussion after hearing a pitch-perfect, new-world “Bostonian” accent, but the threat of “cut ’em” quickly snaps me back to the objective reality of my situation.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

A silence hangs in the air for a moment.

“Fine. We camp. Blindfold the prisoner first.” That gravelly voice answers.

Blindfold?! Wait—

Before I even start to struggle, a piece of cloth is wrapped around my head, covering my eyes. I’m then finally lifted off that shoulder I’ve been carried on for I don’t know how long, and dumped right on my arse on the floor. At least the dirt here is dryer than the mud I was trudging through earlier.

With no other options available, I just sit up and listen to the hustling and bustling around me as this group sets up camp. Going by how many I saw earlier and the number of footprints I could count while being held upside-down, there’s about eight of them, give or take. They sound like they’re all male and of varying age groups. Compared to earlier, they’re not trying to move so quietly, so we must be far enough away from… whatever the thing that you’re not supposed to be loud around is.

That doesn’t mean I’m safe from them, though. If I just sit quietly, hopefully, they won’t notice or do… anything… to me.

I… I’m really getting the short end of the stick again, huh? Murdered, died, ended up in hell, kidnapped in hell. Probably going to be murdered again sometime soon, after they’ve had their fun with me. Eight guys, one girl, in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of hell. You don’t need much of an imagination to figure out what comes next. I just… I just hope it’s quick. I hope it doesn’t hurt much, I… hahaha… this really, really sucks…

“Ay big guy, the hell did you do to the captive to get her cryin’ like this? She’s gonna soak through the blindfold if she keeps this up.” The new-world accented voice says, standing somewhere in front of me.

“It wasn’t me jabbing her leg when she moved.” The glum-voiced “big guy” answers.

“She was making noise! I kept her quiet!” The young voice pipes up.

“She made more noise when you poked her…” The glum voice sighs.

“Enough. She doesn’t know where she is or what’s going on.” The gravel-voice says, as I hear someone approaching me.

The gag in my mouth is yanked down, and something else is stuffed in my mouth. It’s…

Sweet, and… doughy… is this bread?

“Eat.” The gravel-gargler’s voice commands.

I follow his command to the letter, chewing and swallowing what’s in my mouth. This is… the first thing I’ve really eaten since I got here. I’ve been so swept up by everything else I didn’t notice my own hunger.

“Really? The prisoner gets the sweet rolls and we get stuck with hardtack?” That young voice whines.

“Hardtack makes for a poor last meal.” The gravel-voice answers.

“L-Last…” Is the only word I manage to choke out as my throat tightens and my heart falls into my stomach.

Gravel-voice then starts to laugh, a laugh that sounds like pebbles being rolled around in a metal tray, and some of the other group members sigh.

“Falian’s balls… Rann, are you trying to treat or torture her?” The new-world voice questions.

So, Rann is the name of the guy with the voice that sounds as rough as an earthquake in a quarry.

“We won’t be doing anything to her. Whatever she was doing out there, I feel the Chief will be interested in seeing them.” Rann answers.

The Chief? The Chief of what? A village? The Chief of Hell? Does this mean I can expect to make it there alive, at least?

“When has the Chief ever taken an interest in seein’ anythin’?” That accented voice quips. Rann doesn’t respond, and the group gets back to their jobs and leaves me be.

While they didn’t think to shove the gag back in my mouth, I’m strongly disinclined to talk. For now, at least, nothing bad will happen to me. Besides the fact that I’ve been taken prisoner, of course.

But as the terror of the danger I’m in subsides, more and more questions pop into my head. If they have hardtack and sweet rolls, that means they must have flour, right? Do they have a mill? Is the mill powered by wind or by more blood waterfalls? The guy with the accent said “Falian” - the name of the God of Metal, so clearly he knows about the Twelve Gods, so… is he a human stuck here in hell, like me? Are we all just humans trapped forever in hell?

There’s plenty of stories about hell or… the hells, as some people say there’s more than one. Some say there’s multiple hells, one for each of the six fallen Gods who were betrayed by their people who took to worshipping a dark, otherworldly power. Some say hell is ruled by an evil lord, who tried to invade our world thousands of years ago, and half the gods gave their lives in defence of our world. They all tell different stories, but they also all clearly establish that hell, or the hells, is a “place” that is nothing like our own; fire, brimstone, death and pain, a world of suffering and anguish eternal.

They all tell the same story of how someone’s soul goes to hell. If their body is left unburied or unburned for three days, or if their body is mutilated or desecrated after death. That’s the one thing that all storytellers and all religions agree on; if a body is not treated with care and respect after death, that body’s soul will be forever damned to hell. Of course, some claim that their pious service to their gods means they’re guaranteed to go on to The Lands Above, the heavenly realm of the gods, but this is obviously not the heavenly paradise of the Lands Above.

But is it really hell, though? None of the stories said anything about hell having baked goods and maple syrup.

Does hell have sweet rolls- gyah?!

“We’ll find out who you really are, girl.”

I jump as the one who keeps calling me “girl” talks suddenly, sounding like he’s right in my ear again. Does he have to be so close when he talks?

“Leave her be, Einar. They’ll be locked in the Cellars until the Chief decides what to do with them.” Rann says. “Einar” seems to follow his order and leaves me alone.

So, one is named Rann and another Einar, and they’re going to lock me in a cellar. Hooray.

“We eat, and then everyone’s in their tents. We move at dawn.” Rann orders, and the others grumble in agreement.

Dawn, hmm. I guess this place has a day-night cycle after all. Not that I could really tell, looking up at the dark, fog-smothered sky.

“You.” Rann says. Is he talking to—

“Eat.”

Another sweetened piece of bread is stuffed into my mouth before I can get a word out. I eat it as best as I can, given my hands are still tied behind my back.

I’m then picked up over someone’s shoulder again, and carried a short distance to a tent. Rather than being dropped, I’m gently laid down on a thin blanket, my blindfold partially lifted, and I blink the dry tears out of my eyes as my vision adjusts to see a face in front of mine.

The face I’m looking at is what you’d describe as “grizzled”. Grey hair, deep lines along his face and a short grey beard, but with pointed ears, white pupils, and bright red irises. He’s… really close. Uncomfortably close. Is something going to happen after all-

“Get some sleep.” Rann says bluntly, as he leaves the tent.

Well. I guess nothing else will happen to me tonight, thankfully.

Having no blindfold and gag on is nice, but I’m still tied up, and I don’t have anything to get me out of these ropes.

… Or do I?

Hey, wings. Wings.

Something soft rubs the back of my neck—yes, hi wings, I’m talking to you, good to know you can read my thoughts. You’ve got some pretty sharp-looking feathers. Is there anything you can do about this rope? Could you loosen it? Cut it?

My wings shuffle about under my cloak; a bizarre sensation, feeling the cloak rub and shift against my skin without me feeling like I’m moving it, and as I look down over my shoulder, a sharp, almost sword-like feather appears from beneath the cloak, poking at the rope wrapped tight around my wrists.

Poking it won’t do anything. Why are you poking it? Saw through it! Back and forth!

No, not back and forth with the tip. Get the edge of the sword-feather-thing against it and saw back and forth against it.

Evidently, my wings get flustered over all these requests, just resorting to poking the rope from all different angles as it rubs up against my neck restlessly—okay, okay, just calm down, we can cut the rope later. Don’t panic.

Although…

If I cut through my ropes, break free, run, and somehow get away from them…

Where do I go?

I don’t know where anything is. I don’t know a good place to find food or shelter. I don’t know anything about the dangers of this place or this world; I’d probably just get captured by someone again, probably a harsher group than this one.

This group, while they did tie me up and give me a mild concussion, they gave me food and they’re taking me to some sort of shelter. Yes, I’m their prisoner, but this isn’t the worst treatment I could be receiving as a prisoner. Maybe I should play along for now, and see where they take me. They haven’t done anything else to me, yet, and if they try to… I have a backup plan if any of them get grabby.

I guess, for now, I’ll lay my head down and try to get some sleep.

If I’m lucky, this is all just a bad dream, and I’ll wake up back in my old bed, with the same family, and none of this actually happened.

If this isn’t a bad dream, then… At least I’m finishing my first day in hell alive. I’ve been captured and tied up, sure, but I’m alive.

That’ll do for now.