A Cliff-top Duel
III
Lessons of Restraint
(Shard IV)
(Shard IV)
There was something ancient about the darkness that was taking control of her. This darkness was comforting and frightening in equal measure. It seemed to draw straight from her blood, from her soul, from something tethered to her that was stronger than her mere existence. It filled her with an ancestral pride like one would have for a family, yet she had never grown up with such a connection.
Some distant part of her was frightened at this unholy power coursing through her, but she hadn't any capability to fight it. She was stuck in a storm of maddening feelings and she was unable to ascertain which belonged to her and which belonged to this dark intelligence. The vindication of having such immense power inside of her made her want to surrender completely to it. The darkness was like an unhallowed, indigo flame and she was merely a moth being consumed by it.
The face of Aesothel began to contort as the tendrils of energy tore through him. His flesh grew pale and taut, his hair began to fade to a white color, and the stark brown color of his eyes began to fade to a dull gray. It was like she was draining the very life from his body, but it was something more. She was stealing away his strengths and adding them to her own.
Her eyes began to clear from the glare of the noon-day suns. The irritation on her pale skin from the heat and light gave way to a soothing feeling like parched skin being doused in cool water. More than this soared into her body from the boy she drained. Years of life were added to her own mortal existence as well as latent mental capabilities roaring to life as talents and knowledge flowed into her. The blood inside of her welled up with energy as well as the strength in her muscles regrowing to accommodate more strength and flexibility. She wasn't just stealing his life, she was stealing away everything of worth he had.
She could feel his energy ebbing now as the tendrils pulled on the last dregs of his life. Something in her wanted to stop, but just as much of her wanted to see what would happen when she finally drank him dry. She wondered what his stained and atrophied little soul might taste like. She wanted to experience his death through his own eyes and drink in the primal fear that tore through him once Olthenna embraced him.
Just as she curled her fingers, feeling them stretch out to inhuman lengths, seeing the flesh of her hands turn almost transparent, something heavy and hard struck her in the back of the head. The impact was sudden and sent her consciousness reeling into an internal void. The beast within her separated itself just before her vision went dark and she slumped down to Aesothel’s body beneath her.
* * *
Ghelta opened her eyes into darkness and the feeling of immense pain tearing through her body. Every square inch of her flesh felt like it was on fire. Through gritted teeth, she tried to stifle back a scream, but it eventually got free as a series of whimpers and howls.
Once some of her wits returned, she could feel wet earth and cold stone beneath her rump and legs. She pulled back to feel the same against her shoulders and a tug against the sore flesh of her wrists. She pulled her arms to her chest, feeling the weight of shackles around her and the drag on her movements from rattling chains.
She tried to get to her feet and hit her head on stone just a few inches above her head. She slumped back to the ground and noticed the same shackles were around her ankles as well. She pulled on the chains around her wrists and after a give of several inches, she felt the tug come from her feet. Letting go of the chains, she ran her fingers across the low roof of this room she was in. She could feel hard stone just above her head, and a square of rusted metal a few feet wide on each side in the middle of ceiling.
The room was completely dark; she couldn't see her own hand waving in front of her face, nor the full dimensions of the room she was in. She tried to slide from side to side to feel the walls of the place which were only two feet tall and no more than two yards to a side. She tried to lay down on her back but the chains on her wrists and ankles were suspended from bolts in the ceiling which tugged both sets of her limbs upward.
She felt a dry hoarseness in her throat and the taste of blood in her mouth. Despite the dryness and her cracking voice, she tried to yell out for someone beyond the confines of this prison. She shouted several times and waited, but no one responded. She shouted again and began to hit her hands on the metal in the center of the ceiling. She could feel and hear the echoes of her impacts resounding through a space above her, yet no one responded.
After several minutes of trying and her voice giving out, Ghelta slumped against the cool rock of one of the walls and sat in the dark. Her mind went over the strangeness of what had happened near the brodenskappf. She didn't know how long ago the events had happened, but the memories were still sharp in her mind. Perhaps this was the ultimate punishment for what she had done, but she did not know who had put her here or for how long.
She went over the situation several times in her head, combing through the details to try and make sense of it all. She remembered wanting to be left alone to mope on the cliff-side as she usually did. She remembered the resentment she had for the other children in the broden group and how she longed to be back home with her adopted father. She wanted to be mad at Ylethus, to blame all of this on him and his neglect for her while he was on campaign. She couldn't place the blame on him though, he had duties to perform and he couldn't leave her completely alone at home, she was too young.
She remembered the unwanted kindness that Aethel had shown to her in retrieving his ball. He wasn’t someone that she wanted to associate with, even if she knew how, but he was nice enough. The possibility that she could belong with the other children and that Aethel would champion her was a warming though. She quickly dismissed it by shaking the idea out of her head. She wasn’t one of the broden, she didn't belong with the children, and she had no place here.
The words and actions of Aesothel proved that she didn't belong here and wasn’t welcome with the other Alsiran people. She remembered his cruelty, his harsh words and the cowardly way he commanded the other two children to bully her. She remembered the vulnerability and fearful exposure she felt being revealed in front of him. She remembered that sadistic curl to his lips as she watched her being beaten and her robe pulled off. She could see sharply in her mind’s eye the look he held like he was examining an animal being put to the slaughter for his amusement.
She remembered the rage boiling up in her, which soon took her over as she sought revenge against her harassers. The hollow thud of the rock against Paulk’s skull, the satisfying crunch of Vhaydra’s neck as she stopped on it, and the inhuman strangeness of her almost ripping Aesothel’s very soul from his body. She didn't know what had possessed her in that moment; it was something dark, primal, and truly ancient. The presence felt like one of the gods had rushed into her body and used her as an instrument of wrath. The feelings and even just the mere memories were intoxicating as she mulled them over.
Perhaps the reason she was imprisoned now was because she had killed all three of those children in her rage. If that was true, then why wasn't she given a proper trial or executed for her crimes. Ylethus had always taught her that the warrior’s sense of justice was based on a life for a life; a wound for a wound. Maybe it wasn't justice that led her to this place but fear. Many in Alsira Thaenat called her ‘the Witchling’ and with the strange powers she had called upon previously, they might be right after all.
Ghelta continued to run through the thoughts in her head, going over and over the events that led her here and the fear that the others of the tribe must have for her. The more she focused on it all, the more she realized that she was a monster. The other children were right, the old women who used to spit on her and mark signs over their chests to ward off her evil were right, and the warriors who talked in hushed tones about her when Ylethus wasn't looking were right. She didn't belong here, she didn't deserve to live. She wanted to be a warrior to slay the monsters of the world, but she was the monster, and maybe it would be best if she died here in the dark.
She began to sob openly, feeling the water from her eyes flow over her cheeks and patter on the stone below her. In between bouts of crying she would thrash against her chains or pound her fists against the walls. As the emotions mounted, she even began to tear at the flesh of her face and arms with her hands, desiring to spill her own blood like it might be some paltry penance for the lives she took or the evil the lived inside of her.
It was hard to gauge time in this place of utter darkness, but her sobbing and thrashing eventually took its toll on her constitution. She tried to lay down or curl up into a ball near the center of the small room. She pulled the chains over her head to get enough slack to lay down fully. She continued to sob until the merciful peace of sleep overtook her.
She opened her eyes as the sound of grating metal erupted throughout the room she was in. She looked at the ceiling to see a small slat in the metal cover slide to the side. Beyond that opening was flickering candlelight and a hand that dropped several pieces of stale bread through the hole. Behind these bits of food, they dropped some pieces of fetid meat and a stick of tolsen weed. The motion stilled for a moment as Ghelta heard a rustling of metal on metal from above. The hand returned, lifting a silver pitcher over the hole and then pouring cool water through the hole and down upon Ghelta’s face. She was only able to grab a few droplets before the water stopped.
“You won’t get more until tomorrow.” The voice was male, gravely, and devoid of any emotion. The man beyond the prison hammered his fist twice on the metal ceiling and then pulled the sliding metal slat back into place with a rusty squeal.
Ghelta pushed the pieces of food to the corner of the small room with her hand. She didn't deserve food after what she had done. Maybe if she didn't eat and refused to drink the water poured in, she might die and save the whole tribe her continued existence. She began to cry once more, this time withholding her fits of anger, and within a few more moments she was asleep again.
Time seemed to have no purchase in this dark place. Moments seemed like hours, and days seemed like lifetimes. The only measurement she had was her bouts of consciousness between crying herself to sleep or the rusty squeal that signaled more food and water would be wasted on her.
She continued to avoid the food and water for two more visits from the man above, but eventually, she gave in and began to drink the water he poured through the grate. After the fourth visit, she began to eat the food as well. The pain of dehydration and hunger were more than the pain she felt for her deeds. She would get mad at herself for her weakness and cry herself back to sleep soon after.
It wasn't long for her to spend enough time exploring the extents of her dark confines and set up a system for herself to survive. She had found that although all the walls at first seemed the same, there was a small metal trough at one corner of the room that sloped down to a metal pipe. At first she didn't understand what this was for, that is until the first time she had to relieve herself, then she knew why it was there. Some days the man above would drop a piece of soap through the grate and pour extra water through the hole. She realized after the second time this happened that this was her chance to wash herself as best able.
She thought she had worked out all the patterns to keep herself alive for a little bit longer, but eventually, her plans all fell apart around the sixth visit from the man above. Shortly after his visit that day, she began to feel extreme pains in her lower abdomen. At first, she wondered if the man above had given her bad food or was trying to poison her. She felt it was fitting that she might be poisoned as punishment for what she had done, but surely dragging her off to have her head liberated from her neck would be more efficient.
The pain started as a dull and persistent ache, but after a few more visits from the man above, the pain was intolerable. Eventually, during one bout of sobbing and clutching her stomach, she felt something warm dribble down her inner thighs. She dabbed at it with her fingers and sniffed it to find it smelled of blood. She didn't know what was causing this pain and her constant bleeding. She didn't know if she was being poisoned or if the monster that had crawled into her earlier had left some of its evil within her and this was the cost.
The next visit from the man above, she was able to request more water from him and she used that to clean up her nether regions. At first, it seemed to go away, but as soon as the grate above was closed, the pain came back as well as the blood. She spent the rest of that day screaming and clawing at her stomach, desperately wanting whatever demon was inside of her to finally emerge and devour her. She had constant nightmares of what the beast inside of her might look like and what her doom might be when it finally came into the world using her body as a vessel.
She awoke from a particularly vicious nightmare to the sound of rusted metal squealing against itself once more. As her eyes opened, she wondered what scraps of food she might be fed this day, or whether or not it was time for her to clean herself. She lifted her tired head up and looked at the hole in the ceiling. She could see the flickering candlelight above, but this time was different. She could hear the breathing of the man above, but also hear the scuffing of two other people’s feet on the stones next to the metal ceiling.
“The Vhollen is here, it’s time for you to be released.” The familiar and gravely voice of the man above had the same unemotional tone to it as always. It took several moments for Ghelta to understand what he said, but the words struck home when she heard a lock being opened and several chains being fed through bolts on the other side of the metal ceiling.
The metal above her groaned and then lifted away into the candlelit darkness above. Ghelta tried to lift herself up and grab at one of the metal edges of the doorway, but she fell back down to the stone below. Her arms and legs felt like dead weight, robbed of the strength to lift herself. As soon as she fell back on her rump, four arms reached into the pit and snatched up her arms. Two men groaned as they lifted her from the oubliette.
“The chieftain said she was supposed to be in there for several more months.” The gravel-voiced man was covered in black, leather robes and had his back facing Ghelta. He held a hand forward in supplication to a towering shadow in the dark. “A few scant days doesn't seem justice enough for what she did, but if the chieftain said to release her now, so be it.” The man jingled a ring of iron keys with his other hand and clipped them to a leather belt around his waist. He stepped to the side as the large shadow moved closer.
Some distant part of her was frightened at this unholy power coursing through her, but she hadn't any capability to fight it. She was stuck in a storm of maddening feelings and she was unable to ascertain which belonged to her and which belonged to this dark intelligence. The vindication of having such immense power inside of her made her want to surrender completely to it. The darkness was like an unhallowed, indigo flame and she was merely a moth being consumed by it.
The face of Aesothel began to contort as the tendrils of energy tore through him. His flesh grew pale and taut, his hair began to fade to a white color, and the stark brown color of his eyes began to fade to a dull gray. It was like she was draining the very life from his body, but it was something more. She was stealing away his strengths and adding them to her own.
Her eyes began to clear from the glare of the noon-day suns. The irritation on her pale skin from the heat and light gave way to a soothing feeling like parched skin being doused in cool water. More than this soared into her body from the boy she drained. Years of life were added to her own mortal existence as well as latent mental capabilities roaring to life as talents and knowledge flowed into her. The blood inside of her welled up with energy as well as the strength in her muscles regrowing to accommodate more strength and flexibility. She wasn't just stealing his life, she was stealing away everything of worth he had.
She could feel his energy ebbing now as the tendrils pulled on the last dregs of his life. Something in her wanted to stop, but just as much of her wanted to see what would happen when she finally drank him dry. She wondered what his stained and atrophied little soul might taste like. She wanted to experience his death through his own eyes and drink in the primal fear that tore through him once Olthenna embraced him.
Just as she curled her fingers, feeling them stretch out to inhuman lengths, seeing the flesh of her hands turn almost transparent, something heavy and hard struck her in the back of the head. The impact was sudden and sent her consciousness reeling into an internal void. The beast within her separated itself just before her vision went dark and she slumped down to Aesothel’s body beneath her.
* * *
Ghelta opened her eyes into darkness and the feeling of immense pain tearing through her body. Every square inch of her flesh felt like it was on fire. Through gritted teeth, she tried to stifle back a scream, but it eventually got free as a series of whimpers and howls.
Once some of her wits returned, she could feel wet earth and cold stone beneath her rump and legs. She pulled back to feel the same against her shoulders and a tug against the sore flesh of her wrists. She pulled her arms to her chest, feeling the weight of shackles around her and the drag on her movements from rattling chains.
She tried to get to her feet and hit her head on stone just a few inches above her head. She slumped back to the ground and noticed the same shackles were around her ankles as well. She pulled on the chains around her wrists and after a give of several inches, she felt the tug come from her feet. Letting go of the chains, she ran her fingers across the low roof of this room she was in. She could feel hard stone just above her head, and a square of rusted metal a few feet wide on each side in the middle of ceiling.
The room was completely dark; she couldn't see her own hand waving in front of her face, nor the full dimensions of the room she was in. She tried to slide from side to side to feel the walls of the place which were only two feet tall and no more than two yards to a side. She tried to lay down on her back but the chains on her wrists and ankles were suspended from bolts in the ceiling which tugged both sets of her limbs upward.
She felt a dry hoarseness in her throat and the taste of blood in her mouth. Despite the dryness and her cracking voice, she tried to yell out for someone beyond the confines of this prison. She shouted several times and waited, but no one responded. She shouted again and began to hit her hands on the metal in the center of the ceiling. She could feel and hear the echoes of her impacts resounding through a space above her, yet no one responded.
After several minutes of trying and her voice giving out, Ghelta slumped against the cool rock of one of the walls and sat in the dark. Her mind went over the strangeness of what had happened near the brodenskappf. She didn't know how long ago the events had happened, but the memories were still sharp in her mind. Perhaps this was the ultimate punishment for what she had done, but she did not know who had put her here or for how long.
She went over the situation several times in her head, combing through the details to try and make sense of it all. She remembered wanting to be left alone to mope on the cliff-side as she usually did. She remembered the resentment she had for the other children in the broden group and how she longed to be back home with her adopted father. She wanted to be mad at Ylethus, to blame all of this on him and his neglect for her while he was on campaign. She couldn't place the blame on him though, he had duties to perform and he couldn't leave her completely alone at home, she was too young.
She remembered the unwanted kindness that Aethel had shown to her in retrieving his ball. He wasn’t someone that she wanted to associate with, even if she knew how, but he was nice enough. The possibility that she could belong with the other children and that Aethel would champion her was a warming though. She quickly dismissed it by shaking the idea out of her head. She wasn’t one of the broden, she didn't belong with the children, and she had no place here.
The words and actions of Aesothel proved that she didn't belong here and wasn’t welcome with the other Alsiran people. She remembered his cruelty, his harsh words and the cowardly way he commanded the other two children to bully her. She remembered the vulnerability and fearful exposure she felt being revealed in front of him. She remembered that sadistic curl to his lips as she watched her being beaten and her robe pulled off. She could see sharply in her mind’s eye the look he held like he was examining an animal being put to the slaughter for his amusement.
She remembered the rage boiling up in her, which soon took her over as she sought revenge against her harassers. The hollow thud of the rock against Paulk’s skull, the satisfying crunch of Vhaydra’s neck as she stopped on it, and the inhuman strangeness of her almost ripping Aesothel’s very soul from his body. She didn't know what had possessed her in that moment; it was something dark, primal, and truly ancient. The presence felt like one of the gods had rushed into her body and used her as an instrument of wrath. The feelings and even just the mere memories were intoxicating as she mulled them over.
Perhaps the reason she was imprisoned now was because she had killed all three of those children in her rage. If that was true, then why wasn't she given a proper trial or executed for her crimes. Ylethus had always taught her that the warrior’s sense of justice was based on a life for a life; a wound for a wound. Maybe it wasn't justice that led her to this place but fear. Many in Alsira Thaenat called her ‘the Witchling’ and with the strange powers she had called upon previously, they might be right after all.
Ghelta continued to run through the thoughts in her head, going over and over the events that led her here and the fear that the others of the tribe must have for her. The more she focused on it all, the more she realized that she was a monster. The other children were right, the old women who used to spit on her and mark signs over their chests to ward off her evil were right, and the warriors who talked in hushed tones about her when Ylethus wasn't looking were right. She didn't belong here, she didn't deserve to live. She wanted to be a warrior to slay the monsters of the world, but she was the monster, and maybe it would be best if she died here in the dark.
She began to sob openly, feeling the water from her eyes flow over her cheeks and patter on the stone below her. In between bouts of crying she would thrash against her chains or pound her fists against the walls. As the emotions mounted, she even began to tear at the flesh of her face and arms with her hands, desiring to spill her own blood like it might be some paltry penance for the lives she took or the evil the lived inside of her.
It was hard to gauge time in this place of utter darkness, but her sobbing and thrashing eventually took its toll on her constitution. She tried to lay down or curl up into a ball near the center of the small room. She pulled the chains over her head to get enough slack to lay down fully. She continued to sob until the merciful peace of sleep overtook her.
She opened her eyes as the sound of grating metal erupted throughout the room she was in. She looked at the ceiling to see a small slat in the metal cover slide to the side. Beyond that opening was flickering candlelight and a hand that dropped several pieces of stale bread through the hole. Behind these bits of food, they dropped some pieces of fetid meat and a stick of tolsen weed. The motion stilled for a moment as Ghelta heard a rustling of metal on metal from above. The hand returned, lifting a silver pitcher over the hole and then pouring cool water through the hole and down upon Ghelta’s face. She was only able to grab a few droplets before the water stopped.
“You won’t get more until tomorrow.” The voice was male, gravely, and devoid of any emotion. The man beyond the prison hammered his fist twice on the metal ceiling and then pulled the sliding metal slat back into place with a rusty squeal.
Ghelta pushed the pieces of food to the corner of the small room with her hand. She didn't deserve food after what she had done. Maybe if she didn't eat and refused to drink the water poured in, she might die and save the whole tribe her continued existence. She began to cry once more, this time withholding her fits of anger, and within a few more moments she was asleep again.
Time seemed to have no purchase in this dark place. Moments seemed like hours, and days seemed like lifetimes. The only measurement she had was her bouts of consciousness between crying herself to sleep or the rusty squeal that signaled more food and water would be wasted on her.
She continued to avoid the food and water for two more visits from the man above, but eventually, she gave in and began to drink the water he poured through the grate. After the fourth visit, she began to eat the food as well. The pain of dehydration and hunger were more than the pain she felt for her deeds. She would get mad at herself for her weakness and cry herself back to sleep soon after.
It wasn't long for her to spend enough time exploring the extents of her dark confines and set up a system for herself to survive. She had found that although all the walls at first seemed the same, there was a small metal trough at one corner of the room that sloped down to a metal pipe. At first she didn't understand what this was for, that is until the first time she had to relieve herself, then she knew why it was there. Some days the man above would drop a piece of soap through the grate and pour extra water through the hole. She realized after the second time this happened that this was her chance to wash herself as best able.
She thought she had worked out all the patterns to keep herself alive for a little bit longer, but eventually, her plans all fell apart around the sixth visit from the man above. Shortly after his visit that day, she began to feel extreme pains in her lower abdomen. At first, she wondered if the man above had given her bad food or was trying to poison her. She felt it was fitting that she might be poisoned as punishment for what she had done, but surely dragging her off to have her head liberated from her neck would be more efficient.
The pain started as a dull and persistent ache, but after a few more visits from the man above, the pain was intolerable. Eventually, during one bout of sobbing and clutching her stomach, she felt something warm dribble down her inner thighs. She dabbed at it with her fingers and sniffed it to find it smelled of blood. She didn't know what was causing this pain and her constant bleeding. She didn't know if she was being poisoned or if the monster that had crawled into her earlier had left some of its evil within her and this was the cost.
The next visit from the man above, she was able to request more water from him and she used that to clean up her nether regions. At first, it seemed to go away, but as soon as the grate above was closed, the pain came back as well as the blood. She spent the rest of that day screaming and clawing at her stomach, desperately wanting whatever demon was inside of her to finally emerge and devour her. She had constant nightmares of what the beast inside of her might look like and what her doom might be when it finally came into the world using her body as a vessel.
She awoke from a particularly vicious nightmare to the sound of rusted metal squealing against itself once more. As her eyes opened, she wondered what scraps of food she might be fed this day, or whether or not it was time for her to clean herself. She lifted her tired head up and looked at the hole in the ceiling. She could see the flickering candlelight above, but this time was different. She could hear the breathing of the man above, but also hear the scuffing of two other people’s feet on the stones next to the metal ceiling.
“The Vhollen is here, it’s time for you to be released.” The familiar and gravely voice of the man above had the same unemotional tone to it as always. It took several moments for Ghelta to understand what he said, but the words struck home when she heard a lock being opened and several chains being fed through bolts on the other side of the metal ceiling.
The metal above her groaned and then lifted away into the candlelit darkness above. Ghelta tried to lift herself up and grab at one of the metal edges of the doorway, but she fell back down to the stone below. Her arms and legs felt like dead weight, robbed of the strength to lift herself. As soon as she fell back on her rump, four arms reached into the pit and snatched up her arms. Two men groaned as they lifted her from the oubliette.
“The chieftain said she was supposed to be in there for several more months.” The gravel-voiced man was covered in black, leather robes and had his back facing Ghelta. He held a hand forward in supplication to a towering shadow in the dark. “A few scant days doesn't seem justice enough for what she did, but if the chieftain said to release her now, so be it.” The man jingled a ring of iron keys with his other hand and clipped them to a leather belt around his waist. He stepped to the side as the large shadow moved closer.
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