The Fickle Winds of Autumn

78. A Powerful Destiny

Kira's jaw throbbed with an ache which splintered across her face. The metallic taste of her own blood filled the back of her throat. Her tongue probed the ragged inside of her cheek - shredded by the edges of her teeth. She tried to reach up and touch the tender wound, but her arms refused to move. She forced her dull eyes to open and tried to make sense of her dark, bleary surroundings.

Her back was stretched - pressed flat against a hard, wooden surface; her limbs and forehead were secured by the weight of rough chains. She tried to wriggle free, but the thick irons burned and bit into her skin the more she fought against their abrasive oppression.

Her waking senses struggled to filter and focus properly. Through the dim gloom, a huge wall of rock towered sheer above her, then curved around to form a wide expanse of encircled space.

A wandering midnight breeze whistled gently to itself as it caressed the top edges of the outcrop; and high above, a scattering of tiny white stars scrutinized her intently from within the vast black sky.

She must be outside somewhere, but she was not cold.

A thick, choking warmth of sulphur cloaked itself around her.

Her memories stabbed and prickled at the smell - the Reevers!

And this must be the crater of their volcano.

Yes, the Reevers.

They had captured her.

The frightened pieces of her memory shocked back into place.

Ellis!

Was he safe?

Was he here too?

What had they done to him?

An acid panic burned through her stomach.

She tried to force her head up, desperate to look for signs of him, but the heavy chains clung to her and compelled her to remain flat.

She squirmed her head and eyes to the side and managed to peer down along the length of her body, past the bindings on her feet.

Her shrill anxiety jabbed, then subsided, relieved.

He was there - a little distance away, chained flat and spread-eagled on a rough wooden bench of some sort, in a similar position to her.

They were both on some sort of low stage or platform, raised at one end of the crater, surrounded by the rumbling orange glow of lava; a scattering of fires and flaring torches dispersed across the rest of the hollow expanse, piercing into the dark and the sporadic, noxious billows of hot gas.

Ellis was next to a table; a series of skulls and daggers glinted on it in the flaming light.

He wasn't moving.

Was he alive?

He didn't seem to be conscious.

Her eyes strained through the dim night for signs; her keen ears felt for sounds of a breath - but the worry of her own heart was making too much noise and disturbance to hear clearly.

But if they had let her live, then why kill him?

Perhaps they had just punched him and knocked him out, like they had with her?

And it wouldn't make sense to kill him back at the Cathedral, then bring his body all the way here.

Perhaps they wanted to torture him first, for helping to kill the King?