Oathkeeper

Chapter 80: The Magic in the East

Confined in the frigid embrace of winter, Ilizabeths suffering took on a bitterly relentless form. Something more horrid than the monsters she and her brother conjured as children and certainly more horrid than the monsters coming in and out of her cave-cell. Exactly how many days she had been there, she could not count. She attempted to track it by counting her beatings, but she'd lost count after the sixth. It seemed they'd come in every day with sticks, ice, even something that resembled a leaf, only when it was wet, it'd slice through the air and crack loudly against her skin. But after the first few she gathered that thy days could not be coming and going that fast.

The biting cold began to pierce through her fur, seeping into her bones -- a few broken, most still intact --, turning her spirit as solid as the ground she laid on. With each breath she drew sounded a muffled wheeze. As if someone held a rag over her mouth everytime she inhaled. The side of her face had swelled up like a peach. Her pale skin was beyond flushed from the rawness of her wounds, and the wide trail of blood flowing from her ear had dried to rich autumn red.

So, she remained still and curled into a ball with her face pressed to the ice. Her normally reflective bright eyes were empty and the darkness of her pupils had taken over. She stared at the dying fire, watching the light flicker within the room and herself.

For the first time in her life, she wanted to die. The images of her family, friends, lovers, they'd all been burned in her mind. They didn't exist and neither did she. It'd be a blessing. No matter how cruel her Gods had been for the last several hours. If they freed her from her pain right now, she'd walk to them with open arms. She found herself pleading each time one of the lurkers appeared, just like it did now.

It came in with an icicle spear, dropped a few logs into the fire and sat far from it. Luckily it was not the woman. If that is what you could even consider her. She figured referring to them as 'he' and 'she' made them sound less foreign, less like the enemy. Although the beating she received should have been enough to keep them painted as such, their varying nature began to blur the line.

Luckily, her clever curiosity was not yet dead.

This one wasn't like the one who hit her. It's pleas did not fall on deaf ears, but it was difficult for Ilizabeth to understand why it didn't want her harmed. Which is why, when it came in and sat with her after her first beating, and the second, and the third, she decided to try to engage more.

Ilizabeth blinked, as she stared at the silent lurker. It always sat so far from the fire that the shadow casted over its entire body, making it more of a dark figure than a lurker.

"I brought you some things," It said rummaging through her pack, "This thing is pretty useful,"

It unraveled Ilizabeths fur pelt from around its neck and slid it across the ice so it wouldn't hit the fire. Ilizabeth's shoulder popped as she reached up to grab it, and the rest of her body creaked like an old wooden structure when she threw it over herself. Next it unraveled a piece of torn cloth and revealed a raw silver fish. The fire reflected in its shimmering scales and its pupils pierced the ceiling.

Ilizabeth eyed it with a profound sense of weakness. The sound her stomach bore resembled a bear, and if she didn't eat soon it would develop arms and claws and fight for her survival all on its own. But it was hard not to languish on the hard frozen ice. She felt the weight of her isolation bear down heavily, especially upon her eyes. Her blinks had gone from milliseconds to minutes, and each time they reopened, they felt heavier.

"Eat," It stuck its arm out more. Then its voice softened a sliver, "Please?"

She forced her heavy eyes open wide while keeping her dead gaze locked on the lurker's demeanor. It was a poignant blend of sadness and hesitation. Which was not easy to read from their hard exterior, but there was something in their small seedy eyes that were surprisingly good at conveying a depth of emotion that mirrored the conflict within.