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Posted on February 25, 2015 at 09:05:12 AM by
For a man who seemed to do little physical activity, Sir Percival was not lacking in grip strength as he dragged the Duchess into the main hall, where the jar had been left for those who would partake in the search for rune stones. The girl played her part as a barely-willing prisoner being forced into action well, managing to force the guard into man handling her, letting him believe this was all his idea. After all, he would only benefit from the arrangement, right. Certainly no one would face a certain death sentence in hopes of escaping when a guard offered clemency. Right?
“Go on then,” he instructed, throwing her at the jar. As little as could be said for the mockingbird, Myna had aptly described the contents: clouds colored like the dusk sky. Even the flecks seemed more reminiscent of the last rays of the sun caressing the clouds than they did particles of glitter or speckles of gold dust at the bottom of a stream. “What are you waiting for? Make it happen.” The guard shoved her in the back, causing her hips to bang against the long table on which the jar had perched, precariously close to the edge. Had perched, because it was now careening toward the, mercifully, carpeted floor. It hit with a dull thud, protecting the glass. However, the top seemed to pop off, spilling the gaseous clouds out and around the Duchess like a constrictor having caught its prey. All at once, the Duchess felt a sharp sting and subsequent shock all over her body, as though she’d been plunged through the thin ice of a half-frozen lake. Like she’d fallen into Lake Lilith as Lorraine’s Winter drew to a close. Every inch of skin, even what was covered in fabric and leather clothing, tingled with the jabs of millions of tiny pins, stabbing and stabbing. Around her, fish circled and serpentine in the water, giant tri-colored fish. The walls of this lake were alabaster with the blue-green veins of a human wrist, like marble. Except, they were cracking, crumbling and falling into decay around her. The water and fish remained, as though there were no problems in the world. A light began to gleam. First, the Duchess looked above her, toward the surface. Light always penetrated the water from above, from the sun. But there was no light above, and she began to realize it shown below her. Was she upside down? Which way was up? Her chest began to hurt, to burn, and her mind raced. Was there air? Water held no air and slowly she realized she was drowning. Perhaps this was no the jar her familiar had seen, but a poison. The light below, though it seemed to have a pattern, was dimming and blurring, but she could make out faint lines where the brilliance had originated, etched into an inky black stone which stood out against its pale neighbors. All at once, the brightness flared up, surrounding her, warming her, blinding her. The Duchess inhaled sharply, unable to fight her mind and lungs begging, screaming for any oxygen it could get. But she didn’t drown. She gasped again and again, her eyes still blinded by the flash of light. Slowly, vision and awareness returned, and her breathing slowed. First to return, however, was the realization that the foul stench she had smelled on the guard was now in her mouth. And then there was pressure on her mouth as the smell was forced into her lungs. Instinct took over then, the mastermind not yet returned, and the Duchess swiped at the guard’s face with her hand, dragging nails that had grown sharp picking at stone for two months across his cheek. She heard him yelp and the first sight she had was her hostage-taker falling away from her face with four lines just below his eye. They were pinker than the rest of his face and slowly, drops of blood began to form in small areas of the lines. He’d heal with no scars, but from his reaction, one might think he’d been stabbed in the belly (it would have been a difficult target to miss if one had wished to stab him there). “You little snake!” he roared, gathering his feet under him and hoisting himself up (with some effort) from the floor. Her once again gripped her arm and dragged the Duchess to her feet. She hadn’t realized she wasn’t on them, but rather had been lying supine on the carpet. The jar was closed beside her now – when had that happened? – and Myna, who had been standing on her stomach fluttered into the air as her “ground” was pulled vertical. “You don’t get out of this that easy.” For once, Duchess didn’t conceal her confusion, but Myna helped out by chiming in at an actual, real, appropriate moment. “That easy! You weren’t breathing and I was fading and so he kissed you a bunch with funny squirrel cheeks!” “You’re not dying on my watch, prison rat. Not before you get me the damn stone. You got where it is?” a grumbled affirmation from the Duchess caused the guard to grin greedily and pull her toward the door. She was still gathering her feet when he tossed her from the keep and onto the main grounds. “Good, then get going. And no detours,” he shouted. “I’ll meet you at the Oasis with the rock.” And with that, the heavy door was shut, and the Duchess was free to spit out the taste of the man’s mouth (and she was certain his tongue as well, as he didn’t strike her as the type to innocently save someone, especially a “prison rat” as he’d called her). A nearby water pump provided some final relief and she splashed some on her face to help gather her wits. After about five minutes, the outlaw leader was ready, and headed for the castle stables to… liberate one of the coursers to speed her journey. |
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