The candles are all extinguished. It’s pitch black and even with transformed eyes you can’t make out more than silhouettes. The sleeping chambre is filled with the snoring of a dozen shifters. I like the darkness. It’s a blanket wrapping itself around you, hiding you, protecting you. I cherish those few hours I can spend alone with it, before, finally, having to enter the world of warped memories and unmoving gray eyes as well.
The hallway is dark, my hand traces over the sharp edges of the wall to find the way. With my right I pocket the keys hanging from the wall next to the entry.
Two eyes stair back at me form the pitch black as I open the door, its creaking sounds unnaturally loud midst all the silence. I light the candles. One by one the darkness gets pushed back. In the flickering light you can see the boy’s cradle.
“You’re awake”, I say.
“Of course I am” his voice grows shrill when he’s angry, “how could I not be, when chained to a wall?!”
I place a half-filled bowl with porridge in front of him.
“From tomorrow on they will get you your own portions. But for now, eat. You must be hungry”, I speak soft.
“Don’t look at me like that! You think you’re some beneficiary or what?”
I pull out the keys, unlock the shackles from his feet. He yanks them back, startled.
“I know you’re the master’s favorite! That spiky haired woman told me. What did you do? Grovel at his feet until he paid attention?!”
No.
I look up, unlock his hand shackles. He stares at me, all the fear, anger and uncertainty finally bursting out of him.
“How can all of you act like this?! Eating shit, falling over yourself… …KILLING ONEANOTHER to please them. How can they look at me with more fear than they do at them?!”
I pick up the food and water, put it down at the backside wall. Then I walk up to him. Did I look the same when I first arrived? No.
“Tell me: do you want to live?”, I ask.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I do.”
“Then learn how to control your ego. You want the fighters and servants to fear you, to hate you: Fine. But if any of the masters ever do, you are dead.”
“I’ll kill them.”
“You think you are that powerful?” My voice has become cold. I unchain the silver shackle for the wall. The boy stumbles forward. “Then show me.”
There’s no hesitation. Kara catches himself mid stumble, using the motion forward as he thrashes towards me. He’s eyes are fixed on my legs, trying to bring me to fall. I dodge, catch him off balance. My kick sends him flying full force against the nearest wall. His eyes grow wide as the air is pressed out of his lungs. He slides down, clenches his fists.
The room lights up as his fingers, for but a second, resemble claws. I thrash towards him, aiming for his throat. Instinctively his arms shoot up. I grab his wrist, twist it behind his back, push him towards the ground. He screams in pain.
“Have I proven my point?”
“Fuck off”
I twist more. He screams. The same hoarse scream that had filled the room hours before.
«Okay okay»
I loosen my grip and take a step back.
The boy’s panting. His eyes, for the first time since I entered this room, don’t stair at me but are fixed on the ground. He almost seems embarrassed.
«If it wasn’t for the stupid shackle I could’ve won.»
«Because Niilan won’t shackle you again the moment you disobey him»
“They take it off?”
“If you behave. Still not hungry?»
He grabs the bowl with both his hands.
The boy eats as if the food might disappear at any moment. He gulps down the last bits of food and looks up: “That tasted terrible”.
“You will have to get used to it. Not much variety in the food down here”.
“I miss the fresh meat already”
“Not sure if I know how it tastes anymore…”. He gowns. “… although I suppose we are the lucky ones”
“How can THAT be considered lucky?”
“I doubt any of the others ever tried it. But you can ask them tomorrow”
He opens his mouth, wanting to ask further, but I’m faster: “Your marks need to get cleaned. Can you do it yourself or should I?”
He goes quiet for some time: “Fine. Just be quick.”. How kind.
A long time ago, somewhere in a dimly lit room, a girl was tied down on a table. Hair falling over her neck and covering parts of her back as she laid there, stiff as a corps, a paralyzing fear having taken over every fiber of her meager, skinny body. The little girl was used to fear, she had felt it often in her short life. But this deep-rooted, existential terror that makes you lose your sanity she only ever felt once before. Now she was experiencing it a second time. Frozen in place her body moved non the less, beginning to shake and scream and cry, breaking down under the shackles that held her in place. For most of this day and the days prior she had kept quiet, just as she was expected to do. She didn’t fight as they made them walk into the big dark tunnel thru the giant walls that enclosed this city. She didn’t fight when they sold her off like cattle. She didn’t fight when she was dragged off, leaving her all alone in a foreign place with a stranger that she was expected to call master. She didn’t even fight as they dragged her into this room and tied her down. Fighting is useless if you can’t win. But once the candles where lit and the silver had begun to melt something primal took over. An instinct, half forgotten by time, filled her with an indescribable panic, commanding her body to fight or run, to make it stop. But of course, it was of no use, what could a little, half-starved, and tied down girl possibly do. There was no way she would win even without the silvern shackles that prohibited her from transforming. A cold, soft hand brushed over her neck and, with one stroke, swept away her coalblack hair leaving both her neck and back exposed. Her little, pitiful form tried to rare up once more, making her spine stand out under her skin like a trapped snake. Only then she felt the knife on her neck, puncturing first her skin and then cutting thru muscles and sinews. The pain built up with every new cut, towering over her like a giant wall. The room, almost dark before, was now drenched in a smothered red color. The light glowing, no, radiating and getting brighter with every lost drop of blood that gushed out of her wounds. The knife cut deeper and deeper, but by some magic never hitting bone. Maybe the pain had begun to numb by the time he came with the molten silver. With an almost self-satisfied joy in his eyes, the man poured the metal into her wounds, the stench of burned flesh filling the room within seconds. The last moments she could remember were filled with an unbearable, all-consuming pain, then she gave in and the world around her turned dark.
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The marks are round, no bigger than the palm of a hand. Lines of silver can be seen thru the burns and cuts. A spiderweb shimmering in the light of the candles. Burned flakes of skin and dried blood stick to the wet towel. Kara flinches every time it touches the marks.
His back and neck are swollen. Fresh blood is leaking from the cracks: the injuries must have reopened during the fight. Between all the shades of brown, the bright red seems strangely out of place.
“What the fuck do they even do?”, he asks eventually.
“They have different purposes. The upper one, where they poured the silver in, lets them control our bodies”
“Control our bodies, like that red light and then you can’t breathe?”
“Yes. And more. One command from Niilan and your body obeys. Did you try to flee?”
“No. I attacked”
“Of course you did...”
“How do I get rid of it? The mark?”
“You do not. Enough tried”
Kara goes silent, his blank eyes staring forward at the candles lining the wall. He, for the first time, reminds me of those I had to mentor before, the children of which the blood-soaked sand in the arena is all that’s left of them. The candles flicker, brighten, dim, and brighten again, toying with the shadows, never letting them rest.
“Shit… …that’s bad. How’s that even plausible?”
I shrug: “They only partially understand it themselves. Some remnants of magic connected to silver.”
“They sure love their silver, don’t they”.
“It is what keeps their empire running.”
“Why do the others only have two marks, but I got three?”
“The other two are used for identification. The first tells them you are a fighter in the arena.”
“You mean it tells them we’re murderers”
“They do not see it that way. It’s only murder if a human dies”
“Sure. How much time before they make me killer then?”
“A bit. You need to learn how to fight first”
“I can fight”
“No. You can hunt”
“…whatever”
“The last mark tells them you are a wildling”
“Wildling?”
“The name for those not born in captivity. Not a lot of us left.”
“Us?!”
Hair, long and black, falls to the side as I tilt my head, showing what I prefer to keep covered up.
They’re the same as Karas, three round marks down my spine, healed. A scar, one of the dozens that cover my body, splits the last mark in two.
“So that’s why they waited for you. The way they staired… why do they hate us so much?”
“They have their reasons”
“Which are?!”
“If a shifter is expose to a lot of silver and it stops them from transforming. A small amount simply weakens it. The same goes for the silver in our marks. It is not enough to be noticeable but for those who have been captive for generations and generations, it accumulates, muddles their control. It mostly does not matter, but for fighters, where split-second are of importance, it does make a difference. That is why they are willing to put up with the risks.”
“Risks?”
“Those born in captivity usually do not… struggle. Why fight against something when that is the only thing there is. But it is harder for those who have known freedom. They, we, are dangerous. It is a miracle Niilan only locked you up”
“They don’t chain everyone to the wall at first?”
“Not if they do not attack everything that moves. This is his torture room.”
“Fuck. You were here too then? In the beginning?”
“No. I did not fight.”
“Oh”
“My mentor Mykiel was a wildling too. He was always… easily angered, and one nigh he just snapped. Nine fighters and four servants died before Niilan got down here. I have never seen him so angry. Mykiels screams echoed thru the chambers for days before he finally died”.
“Will that happen to me too?”
“No”
“And how would you know?!”
“I do. I won’t let them”, I reach out for the metal key, “You have to put the shackle back on until tomorrow”.
He scoffs.
“Try to get some sleep”
At night the training room is nothing more than a big carved out cavity, full of darkness and the smell of stale sweat. On the left wall are rows and rows of wooden weapons, the stands barely visible even to those who know their location. I reach out for a dagger, balance it in my hand. I sometimes wonder when this room went from something loathed, a testament of all the reason why to hate them, to a place of solace. With one flowing motion I toss a dagger towards a wooden man on the other side of the room. A quiet thud echoes thru the chamber. No blood nor screams can come from a doll.
When I jolt awake the next morning I feel nauseous. Nestling my face between my arms, I turn around in the straw. It seems strangly pointy. It’s late in the morning so the room it almost empty, nothing but boxed of sections filled with straw and bits of fabrics too small to be used otherwise. The beams are old, splintered off wood with carved in symbols layered over each other, reminders of moments forgotten, and people long gone. On one of the beams, at my feet, stand two bowls of porridge, untouched. Next to them sits Enya, lost in thought, wooden spoon scraping in an empty bowl. I get up, grab both portions next to him. He flinches: “Awake?”
“Why did you wait?”
“You know, I’ve always been impressed by how you’re able to let your food just lye around”
“Monster perks. You know Niilan always says it is better to be feared than respected.”
“Don’t act like you two are the same.”
“I hope not. It would be a bit awkward if they kept humans down here.”
He sighs and grins at the same time: “For the love of the protector, stop twisting every word that comes out of my mouth”
“So tell me what it is you want.”
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about. The new kid and Aary, we could train them together. She needs someone else to look at her progress. And well, we’d have a lot more time for training ourselves too”
“Why ask me?”
“Look. I know I seem to be the only one. But what happened… it wasn’t you, nor that new boy. Mykiel killed them, and he died for it. We all heard him well enough”
I raise an eyebrow.
“…and even if you snapped, it wouldn’t matter if we trained together or not.”
“What did Aary say?”
“I haven’t asked her yet. But I can’t imagine her having a problem with it. She hasn’t been a fighter long enough to know why”
“Talk to her. I will ask to Kara. If both agree to it, I don’t mind”
He boyish smile plays around his lips as he leans back: “The boy, Kara in that case, right? He seems to be fine. I’ve checked on him earlier. Not gonna lie, I’ve prepared myself for a couple of loud sleepless nights when they first brought him in.”
“He is scared. But I think he might have a chance”
“I haven’t heard you say that for at least two years. And about a wildling too. Must be an impressive boy”