Chapter 14: Black and Blue

Having been thrown into his cell, Castain was disgusted to find that his hands were shaking as they held him from the cold ground, he wondered which of his many wounds from the past weeks torture was the cause of the crimson droplets falling to the floor. Waves of searing pain sent his stomach on a ride and what little food he had been given tried to exit, an exercise ending in failure. When the world stopped spinning, he pushed with his hands and knees until he was leaning against the cell wall, knees bent, arms resting upon them. As usual of late he was ravaged by undesirable thoughts, the unfortunate events that led him to his current abode, forefront. Unaware that he had been marked by his captors, Castain had sailed into Astrom and disembarked like it was any other day, his intent to wait for a contact at the bazaar. The lateness of his contact had left him contemplating melding into the crowd, then as if the thought invited such, he found himself surrounded by his captors. He knew more than most about the Black Cloaks, it was certainly against their creed to attack in such numbers, in broad daylight and in a crowded bazaar. The market goers quickly found elsewhere to be, leaving him surrounded, the odds twenty to one. Deciding it was best to come peacefully, as dying was not going to help his cause, nor would it help with getting to the bottom of the surprising situation. It was all pretty standard from there, he had been knocked around, blindfolded, and led to his current home. Not long after, amidst a particularly gruelling torture session he was informed that his crew had been put to the sword. The thought kindling anger anew, such a waste of life, such a senseless act. Castain would have gladly given his life for any of his men, their deaths a clear indication that he had done something very wrong, even by Black Cloak standards. Amidst his anger, burning tears met droplets of blood, the now familiar dripping sound that only his cell could provide left him in confusion, mainly because he could never figure out where the sound was coming from. It was ensnared in that same confusion that he once again lost the battle to stay conscious.

The days melded into a what Castain figured must have been longer than a month, although he wasn’t entirely sure because he had been using water drips and inconsistent food drops to count days. A similar routine now marked his existence, torture his new mistress, he was getting rather weary of her attention seeking tendencies. It was just such a new normal day, when an increase of pain gave him the gift of consciousness, he was in the usual position, on the cold harsh floor. Castain worked tired muscles in a bid to ease discomfort, his thoughts owned by all that had happened in the last month and how his life’s decisions had got him into his current predicament. It was at the end of his first week in captivity that he found the reason for his harsh treatment, weak and floor bound his cell was visited by none other than the King of the Black Cloaks, Kurja. Of course, Kurja wasn’t a King, at least not one ordained by any Country, Law, or Church. Truthfully, there was still much unknown about the elusive sect leader, what Castain did know and with certainly, was that his heart was as black as the tattooed dots that ran down his arms which signified the deaths that he had a hand in. Kurja had exuded confidence, what did he have to fear after all, he was almost untouchable in combat and his prey was beaten black and blue. The leader of the Black cloaks wasted no time, his first sentence used to outline the fact that he knew Castain was a spy and had been such for nearly thirty years. The statement was unsettling, mostly because it disclosed why he was still alive, which was of course to attain information, probably about one of the many situations that he had secretly gone against orders. What did Kurja expect, killing for a living didn’t provide any sort of meaningful life, that and he bowed to another long before he was planted in the Black Cloaks ranks. Kurja had gone on in his lifeless way to say that he was alive only for information, he then continued with the normal jibes about there being no hope and death being inevitable. Castain had heard it all before, one of his first jobs with the Black Cloaks just happened to be very similar to his torturers, he had long since hardened himself to such trivial and meaningless tactics. After Kurja had walked out of his cell that day, he decided to find out as much information as he could before he was killed. Beatings were the beginning, then the endless beatings turned into precise cuts, and when that didn’t work, they started to break things. Castain did his best to ensure that his torturers were left frustrated by their lazy efforts all the while, he gained much from their lines of questioning. What they didn’t know, gave him hope yet he still wasn’t any closer to discovering how or who uncovered that he had been working against them for over half of his life.

The cell was a part of him now, he desperately longed for those moments after a beating when he could collapse into oblivion. It was well into a month of the daily grind, Castain’s pain levels spiking, despite the fact a healer had been assigned to keep him alive for further beatings. Kurja showed up once again, unwelcome as always, “I know you secreted my daughter away,” The sect leaders words gave him hope, at the same time they told him death was near. Kurja knelt, appraising him with cold heartless eyes, “My daughter was an asset, she embodied the potential that all Black Cloaks could attain.” If Castain was able to roll his eyes, he certainly would have. Kurja turned, leaving him amidst the certainty that he only had days to live. One regret overshadowed all, a regret that pushed him to make a promise to any god, master or authority that might be listening, for he would serve them wholeheartedly if they would help him with that one regret. Castain knew the drill well, from this point on the beatings would go on in earnest, except this time they wouldn’t stop, not until he was dead, he took a small amount of pleasure in knowing that he had protected the ones he loved, even if they didn’t know of said love. All the aforementioned was colliding in his mind, when Kurja stopped at the threshold to deliver parting words, “I will soon get the pleasure of meeting the esteemed Morgan Jones. I’m sure I will be able to obtain information from her, not that it matters to you, because you will be dead.” Castain held it together until Kurja’s footsteps faded into silence, then he let the wall take him downward, all hope lost, a tear ran down his cheek as he let go, finally giving in to the despair, darkness and pain that had preyed upon him for so very long.

There was no final release for him, no darkness, instead pain free and weightless he floated in light. A presence edged upon his awareness then a figure materialised before him. This was someone he knew, although not well, she was always beautiful, but the glow surrounding Nia served to heighten her beauty further, “Now is the time to arise and fight,” She declared, her calm words paired with an ever so gentle smile. As far as Castain knew the woman before him had never spoken to anyone, yet now her simple utterance reached every corner of his being. Nia placed her hands upon his shoulders and shook him soundly, the corresponding jolt to his senses shunting him towards awareness.

Castain still felt Nia’s hands, the urgency of her message pushing him into his now awakened state. Standing, he waited for pain, it did not come. For a second nothing hit his understanding, he was alone with the familiar drip of water, then he heard the most unlikely noise, the high-pitched squawk of a bird. Aware but not caring that he might be going crazy, he shuffled towards the strange new sound. A white shape appeared before him, sound met sight, he moved closer. To his surprise the white plumage of a Hanan eagle emerged from the darkness, he wondered how such a high-flying creature had managed to get into the lower levels of a dank dungeon. Castain reached outwards trying to align sight, sound and touch, his hands experienced feathers then something clutched in the eagle’s claws. He grasped the object, its weight transferred into his hands. Sharp edges and rings, he was holding onto a set of keys. The bird squawked as if to say hurry then jumped onto his shoulder, the weight unfamiliar. Acting on instinct and apparently the bird’s instructions, Castain placed the keys through a gap in the bars and inserted as many keys as it took till a turn rewarded a click. Determination replaced surprise, he pushed the cell door open and moved into the passage. He hesitated, unsure which way to go, Castain searched desperately for any information that could help but he came up blank, his captors had always taken him on a different route to and from his cell. As if it had the ability to read his thoughts, the bird moved to his left shoulder and rubbed its beak over his ear. He didn’t need to be told twice, using the walls rough surface as a guide he walked down the long passageway.

The bird came in handy when trouble arose, warning him by gently biting his ear well before he heard footfalls. On one occasion hiding wasn’t an option, he had backtracked until he found an indent in the cave wall, then snapped the neck of the thug who was standing in the way of freedom. Castain had spent years walking the very same passages, training and working, he knew that it was impossible to try to get some sort of familiarity from his surroundings without a point of reference. After walking for what seemed like hours, the narrow passage widened into a lit grotto that resided deep within the bowls of the compound, finally much needed reference. The grotto before him, used to ferry goods in and out of the compound and of course to leave discreetly. It was a site of natural beauty, cleverly hidden by the formation of the caves, the water lit from underneath. If Castain wasn’t escaping, he would have stopped to take in the eerie glow, instead he peered into a small connecting cave. There skulking quietly was a sentry, eyes peering straight at him. Safe in the shadows, he flicked the dagger that he had stolen from his previous victim, despatching the sentry with ease. He walked into the light, stumbling into one of the small boats, then the rowing began. Hope threatened to make an appearance as he drifted out into a series of underground caverns, survival kicked in once again and he set to the task of rowing, one stroke after another.

It wasn’t long before pain crawled back to the forefront of Castain’s senses, even the bird’s weight was borne under searing agony, still he rowed. When he exited the caverns, a sheer cliff face and the lonely sea welcomed him. Weariness took over, he clasped the sides of the boat lowering himself to the bottom. The last thing he saw was the pure white of the eagle as it took flight, leaving him to let go and meet oblivion.

 

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Sha was holding the stance that Morgan had indicated, she exuded patience, even amidst his bumbling and over eagerness. A sense of fondness crept over him, “Sha, are you listening?” Morgan asked, a raised eyebrow indicating amusement.

“Sorry, I’m all yours,” Sha said, snapping to attention. Morgan was attempting to show him how to disarm an assailant with different weapons, his military training involved considerably less finesse, also his idea of defence required the use of a shield.

“What was it like training to be a King’s Guard?” Morgan asked as she appraised his stance.

 “I will answer your question if you can answer one for me,” He offered playfully.

Morgan continued to instruct, moving his legs and the angle of his ankles “Deal,” she replied, when she was happy with what she saw.

Feeling a sense of imparted trust, Sha responded to her question, “It was much like this ship, except the verbal abuse had less imagination and showing initiative was punished.”

“Is that it?” She asked.

Morgan’s tone advertised the fact that he had been unintentionally vague, so he tried harder, “To be honest it was a trying time for me. My sister had just died, and I was suddenly made to listen to a whole bunch of gruff men that enjoyed telling me what to do. All I wanted was the freedom to mourn and just be left alone.” The adornment of sadness upon her face shunted him into silence.

“What did you want to ask,” She offered, gently filling the void.

“How is Marlo 236?” He blurted, happy to be leaving the sadness behind.

“Hasn’t he told you, it’s not like it’s a secret?” Morgan replied, poorly hidden amusement shining in bright eyes.

“All he has told me is this made-up tale about how he was descended from giants and that it is normal for them to live up to and over 400 years old.”

Giggling, Morgan dropped the arm she had been holding to instruct on an elbow sweep, she attempted to compose herself before offering a reply, “That is not a story, it is the truth, he is in fact descended from giants.” Sha’s mouth dropped in shock; he had never thought that Morgan’s words were in fact a possibility.

He closed his mouth, “Wait, what, next you will be telling me all the other stories my nanny used to tell me to scare me to sleep are true as well.”

Morgan opened her mouth to respond but she was interrupted by the lookout’s call breaking over the ship, “LAND HO, PORT BOW.”

Sha sent his hope filled eyes in Morgan’s direction. “Alright you can go,” She affirmed, farewelling him with an amused smile.

Sha raced up the stars taking them two at a time, land after a month of sailing, could anything be better.

It turned out that the sighted land was the Farthing Cliffs; they were a day’s sail from their destination. Distant but there, Sha took in the wonderful sight as the mood of the ship changed around him, everyone suddenly had a job to do. He joined the constructive procession rushing below decks to find if Marlo needed help. A feeling edged upon his usually bright senses as he descended into the hold, it was trying to bring him down, although he kept it at bay working in the same exuberance, the feeling continued to make itself known throughout the day, the feelings was a foreboding of what was to come.