Emmet let out a cry as the rat nibbled at his toe. He kicked his foot out in a panic; the creature scurried under the bars of his cell, squeaking all the way down the corridor. There was no way to tell how long they had locked away in this place. His cramped cell had nothing but a bucket in the corner and a pile of straw on the stone floor. No windows to help tell how much time had passed. The only way he could even guess at the time spent here was by the meals they brought him. How many hunks of stale bread and pitchers of murky water he choked down before leaning back against the wall. What else was there to do but wait? The only human contact he had was the guard who slid the tray under the bars of his cell, and even he said nothing.
Three days. That was the best that Emmet could tell he had been locked away. If it was evening when he last passed out, and he had six meals, that should mean about three days, give or take. Right? Assuming they fed him twice a day. But if his memories were indeed correct, he wouldn’t be surprised if he was feed once a week.
With only the dim light of the candles from the outside of his cell, Emmet looked at his hands. He still couldn’t believe it. The last thing he recalled was feeling an incredible heat within him. He had felt overheated before, but this was something new, like a bonfire had been lit in his belly and found its way out of his unscathed palms.
Right towards Duke Bennet.
Emmet thought the entire thing had been some rage-induced dream after seeing the way the duke treated his horses. But after he had fallen asleep a few times and still woke up in his stone prison, he knew it must have been real. He had not just killed the highest ranking noble in the valley, but that he had killed their senate representative. No doubt the top officials of the republic would hear about this and want answers.
It was strange; he thought he would panic. Banging at the iron bars and proclaiming his innocence for whatever got him imprisoned, but he felt exhausted. He hadn’t even the energy to call out for somebody.
He sat against the wall in a daze, his mind blank until the next time the door to the dungeon had opened. There was more than one pair of footsteps coming. He sat up from his slump, wobbling to his feet. Having to lean against the bars of his cell to support himself, he looked up to see two faces. Lord Forcetti and Aaron.
Emmet didn’t know whether to feel relieved or worried. This was his best friend and the man he trusted only second to his own father. But at the same time, Emmet knew he was not here for something like a drunken brawl, or theft, or even murdering another man. No, there was a duke that was dead, and people were going to want answers.
“Lord Forcetti, I–”
“Save it, boy.” He snapped, voice dripping with anger as he glared down at his prisoner. Emmet had always been a well-groomed young man with his constant bathing, but now looked like a street urchin. Soot covered his face, his hair a tangled mess of grease and grit.
Emmet pursed his lip and stayed silent. It didn’t feel like he was being scolded by the lord of his town; it felt more like he was being scolded by an uncle. Though if one were being scolded for regicide, it didn’t soften to blow at all.
“I will give you this one chance to explain everything to me, Emmet. And I mean everything.” Lord Forcetti said. Emmet felt his entire body shake as he thought back to that night.
“Duke Bennet wanted me to put down his horse.” He said in a raspy voice. “I wanted to help it, but he wouldn’t hear me out. The guard he was with starting showing me how to… how to do the deed. I just felt myself getting angrier and hotter, then I just…” Emmet stayed silent for a moment as he tried to think of the words to describe how he felt in that moment. “Let it out.”
Lord Forcetti shook his head, and Aaron looked off to the side, chewing on his lip while his eyes darted side to side.
“Everything is ok, right? It was just an accident?” Emmet asked, desperate to have his denials confirmed.
“No.” Lord Forcetti said, in a calm and grim voice. “Duke Bennet is dead. And right now, everyone thinks you are, too.”
That gave Emmet the jolt he needed to snap out of his stupor.
“Even my family?” He asked, his voice a whisper.
“Especially your family. You’re lucky we found you before any of the duke’s men did. Otherwise…” Lord Forcetti hesitated for the briefest of moments. “Otherwise, we wouldn’t be speaking right now.”
“Well, you have to tell them I’m alive!” Emmet croaked, his head feeling light as he attempted to shout.
“Emmet…” Aaron began, scratching the back of his head as his eyes drifted off to the corner of the cell. “We think it would be for the best if it stayed that way, at least for now. Lucile and Jason, Jason especially, are already demanding to see–” Aaron looked up at Emmet for a moment, then back down. “–a body. And if they caught wind that your family knew…” Aaron couldn’t bring himself to finish that thought, but Emmet didn’t need or want him to.
Suddenly, reality rushed to Emmet all at once. “Gods.” He croaked, tears welling in his eyes as he gripped his hair and took a deep breath.
“Gods, was anyone else hurt?” He asked, desperately needing to be told no, that nobody else had been injured or killed. Or better yet, that this was all one of Aaron’s elaborate jokes he was playing. But no, the grim faces of the father and son told him all he needed.
“The soldier that was with you didn’t make it.” Aaron said as he held his arms close to his chest. “And three of the duke’s horses were too badly burned.
Tears began to well in Emmet’s eyes as an overwhelming guilt washed over him. Two men were dead because of him, and three horses. None of them deserved to die, he knew this, but in the moment he was too angry to even think. And how could he know what would have happened if he got too angry?
Lord Forcetti let out a deep sigh before speaking again. “If you are honest with what you are telling me, and seeing how there is no feasible alternative, it appears that you, Emmet…” He said, looking at the young man with pity. “Are a weaver.”
Emmet could do nothing but laugh. A weaver. A sorcerer. A magic wielder. A menace. A freak. Something that most people would consider too dangerous to be left alive, let alone allowed to live a normal life. He couldn’t accept that. No, there had to be some other explanation, something that would prove he was not one of those monsters.
“So, what happens now?” Emmet finally asked the question he was dreading the answer to. Aaron looked up at his father, whose stone-like face gave no hints at the thoughts within his head.
“That… I need time to think on. For now, it’s best you just wait.” Lord Forcetti said. “I have not yet had a weaver manifest in my town. I am unsure of how to proceed, though I will do my best to ensure your well being in the meantime.” He turned to his so, snapping his fingers. “Aaron, come.”
Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
“Father, I wanted to–”
“Aaron. Now.” He barked, pointing away from the cell. “There is a grieving young woman you should be offering comfort to.”
Aaron looked back up to Emmet, who clasped at the iron bars of his cell. The lordling gave his best friend a weak smile, an unconvincing promise that everything was going to be ok, just before following his father out of the dungeon.
And with the heavy sound of the door closing, and the bolt locking in place, Emmet was left alone again, alone to think on what Lord Forcetti had said. Weaver… one of those freak magic users? No, that couldn’t be him. All he had to do was wait, and surely, he would be proven innocent.
Right?
----------------------------------------
Eight more meals. That was how long since Emmet had any actual contact with another person. Three more stale hunks of bread and jugs of foul tasting water to keep him from starving. It was hardly a way to live, and Emmet was slowly growing more and more desperate to find a way out of this dilemma. The guards who brought his food ignored him like he was some hog to be fed, and the only way he could get by was by speaking to himself out loud.
“It’s going to be ok. It’s going to be ok.” was a phrase he had repeated more times than he could recall. Emmet was not particularly religious. He and his family would visit the local temple on holy days or for family events, but he found himself kneeling in prayer more than any other time in his life.
Counting the stone bricks that made up the wall and how many times the water would drip in the corner before he fell asleep. These were the only things he could do to keep his mind occupied. 752. That was how many bricks he could count. And 92 was the most drops of water he could count before he drifted off into another restless sleep. Were it not for his nightmares, he might have tried to sleep more. But every time he closed his eyes, he could feel that heat burning in his belly and he heard the screams of Duke Bennet as he became engulfed in flames.
As Emmet leaned against the wall, he heard the door open. Was it time to eat again? No… no, it couldn’t have been. Meals came around every 40 drops, and it had only been 13 since he last ate. He sat up from the floor and looked on as the hall outside his cell illuminated ever so slightly. A figure stood in the darkness, and it spoke to him.
“Hello, Emmet.”
A person! Another person! One who actually spoke to him and acknowledged his existence! He was so elated just to hear another voice that it took a moment to process just what it said. A woman was speaking to him, and for the briefest of moments, he hoped it was his mother. Here to scold him and drag him home by the ear like when he was a boy. But… no. It wasn’t her. This was someone he had never met before.
Emmet approached the bars of his cell to get a better look at her. She wore a long, red traveling cloak. The hood was down behind her, and Emmet could just barely make out her graying blond hair. If he had to guess, she was likely middle aged. A priestess, maybe?
“Hello?” He groaned, cautiously stepping closer to the bars. He didn’t realize just how weak he was until he had to put in more effort than normal just to move.
The woman looked down at him. A smile that, to Emmet, seemed more sympathetic than kind. She looked down at him, then at the cramped cell behind him, then around at the dungeon all around. She clicking her tongue, as if to shame Emmet.
“You’ve really gotten yourself into a mess, haven’t you?” She asked.
“I didn’t–” Emmet stopped himself as she looked back to him, cocking her brow. It seemed as if she was daring him to say what was on his mind, to deny that he had done anything wrong. Finally, he was honest with himself. “I didn’t mean to kill him…” He croaked, hanging his head in shame.
“I know you didn’t. Trust me, I know exactly what you are going through.” She said, trying to sound sympathetic. Trying to relate to him. It just felt wrong, like she was lying to him. How could she possibly know what he was going through? To have your family think you are not only dead, but a dead murderer! To be the most hated thing in the entire republic.
To be a weaver.
“You don’t know anything about me!” Emmet shouted, finding the strength to pound on his bars like the caged animal he was. He paced around in circles, his heart racing in his chest. “What could you possibly know what it’s like to be me right now? If I ever get out of this cell, it’s just so they can kill me and forget about me. Like I’m some… some problem to be taken care of!” Emmet stepped towards the bars again, gripping them with an anger he was feeling familiar with, that same fire burning in his belly. “You know nothing about me.” He hissed.
The stranger said nothing the entire time, letting Emmet get his anger and frustration out into the world. She seemed wholly unbothered by him and his rantings. She still said nothing as he finished, only raising her hands from her side, holding onto the bars besides Emmet’s. He looked at them, and his jaw hung agape.
Her hands were burned. Horribly. The flesh warped and discolored in patches, as if someone had forced them into a white-hot fire for far longer than anyone deserved.
“Don’t I?” she asked before taking her hands away and crossing them over her chest. “You’re lucky. When I first performed magic, my little village thought I was cursed. They tried to take care of me by shoving my hands into a fire.”
Emmet didn’t know what to say, he suddenly felt like a fool for bursting out, and thinking that this woman was here to patronize him. Maybe she truly knew more about him than even he did.
“Did you– did you kill anyone?” He asked.
The woman just laughed for a moment and shook her head. Her eyes met his, a wide and hysterical grin across her face.
“Kill anyone? Oh no. No, no, no. If I killed anyone, I doubt I would be here to talk about it. Do you know what I did?” She asked, letting a tense silence hang in the air.
“I helped grow tomatoes in my family garden. My mother just couldn’t seem to keep the little things alive long enough to grow. So what did I do? I dug my little fingers into the dirt, and I put every ounce of my being into those plants, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and they began. And I nearly passed out helping them grow from little sproutlings, to fruits the size of your head!” She said, holding her burned hands out in a wide shape for emphasis. “And when I brought a basket of them in to show my mother and told her what I had done, she just screamed at me. Next thing I knew, everyone who could hear her had come, and they were calling me a witch, a demon, a weaver. And then…”
The woman waved her hands, producing small flashes of flame from her fingertips that lit up the cell. Emmet stumbled back, feeling a terrible sense of unease.
“They were hoping that crippling me might be better than putting me to death. Or, gods forbid, letting me live the way I was born.” The woman stayed silent. Meanwhile, Emmet was thinking of his own family. His family didn’t know the truth about him or what happened in the stables. Would they still feel the same if they knew what he was?
“The world is a cruel, and unfair place.” The woman spoke. “Even more so if the masses refuse to understand you for what you are. So, Emmet.” She said softly, in that comforting tone she first gave him when she arrived.
“Let me take you where you can be accepted.”
Emmet pursed his lips. This was not the solution he wanted to hear, running away from his problems instead of trying to face them, trying to prove he was innocent.
“I don’t think I should be leaving my home.” He said, boldly.
“What, you mean this cell?” She barked, starting to become annoyed with the young man. “Look around you! This is your home, now. Your lord is keeping you alive because he thinks it to be a mercy. But is it? Do you really think he has any idea what to do right now? He called me here because he knows that it would be easier to pretend you died in that fire and sending you off, instead of answering to his superiors.”
Emmet shuffled his feet and paced around the cell as this woman lectured him. Every fiber of his being wanted things to go back to normal, to return home and be proven innocent, but he was starting to turn desperate. The cell seemed to shrink by the day, and he wasn’t sure how much more of this food he could stomach down.
“And if I do go with you, where will you be taking me.”
The woman smiled again before speaking. “I already told you, somewhere you can be accepted for what you are. And where we can help you.
Emmet let out a sigh, ready to accept anything for just a moment of fresh air.
“And if I don’t?” He asked.
“Then you get to find out just how long until you are begging to be handed over to the late duke’s orphans, just to get a breath of fresh air.”