A Fifth Daughter [Book 2: The Dragon Warrior]

Prologue ~ 0

"Heathens" by Twenty-One Pilots is my theme song for this book.

[Dedication]: for being surprised to see Esston and shocked that Damitri was crying.

~ Prologue ~

The shackles bit his skin, tearing away raw muscle that never had time to heal from before. His head was pounding; lack of water and constant blood loss making him feel swelled and empty at the same time. He kept his eyes closed; because complete darkness was better than the half-darkness that the tunnel provided. The rough cobblestone tore into his tattered clothes and he left a trail of blood everywhere they dragged him. Old blood flaked underneath from the drag around how-ever-long ago by either him or someone else. There was no time in the roaming dungeons of Grimm. No sun. No moon. No stars.

No hope.

The man groaned internally when the guards began pulling him up the only set stairs in the prison. They were going to the Crest, and he really didn't want to see who was there waiting. Because the other two times he had been brought to the Crest was to be greeted and questioned by their master.

And that master was no man; he was a monster of monsters. Something spat up from the deepest, darkness pit of Grimm.

They were getting close, his guards huffing from the exertion to pull him up and light was tainting his eyelids orange.

Soft words escaped his lips, barely hearable by his own ears, but he continued to say them, because he needed the strength, the courage, and this was a song that had kept him going for years. It was a song his wife sang to his children. It was a song that had stayed longer than any other memory.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird

And if that mockingbird won't sing,
Papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring

And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Papa's gonna buy you a looking glass

He didn't understand, or remember the rest of, the song, but in his crazed captivity it was the only thing that stayed after his wife's face disappeared from his mind's eye. The other captives held in the adjoining cells nicknamed him 'Loon' when he wouldn't give his real name. 'Loon' for the song he hummed and muttered under his breath. 'Loon' because he didn't say anything else.

He continued to hum the tune as the orange light turned brighter and a rare warmth teased his skin. It was winter, but the dungeons were colder than any harsh November could produce.

"Shut up." One of his guards boxed his jaw, but it only caused him to hum louder.

"Now you've done it." Spat the second guard. The first reared back to deliver another blow, but a shrill growl froze the action and the man was released to the ground while his humming began to echo.

"I asked for him undamaged," came a third, but familiar voice.

The humming grew louder.

"Sorry, milord." The first guard stammered. "It's just this song –"

"You are dismissed!"

The prisoner flinched, shying in on himself to escape the voice as the guards quickened to disappear from view. Their footsteps fast to match the beat of his old heart.

A callused hand came to rest on his shoulder. It was his weak shoulder, because he always turned from the whip causing the skin to become torn, destroyed, and rugged.

"Open your eyes, old man." The familiar voice was soft now and its hand was careful around the open wounds. This was not the man he had seen before. This was not the monster master.

So, the old man didn't open his eyes. He clenched them tighter; trying to dispel the yellow light and warmth on his face; trying to forget. But even as he tried, his humming was calming.

The hand on his shoulder moved. Touched his cheek, his eyelids, under his lips, around his forehead. "I never wanted this for you." Something wet dropped near his lips. His tongue shot out, but it wasn't water. It was salt. It was a tear.

The old man opened his eyes.

The younger man sobbed. His face was a mirror imagine of the old man's back. Torn, destroyed, and rugged. Green eyes matched his own. Strong, locked jaw and hard eyebrows.

Hush, little baby, don't say a word.
Papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird

The younger man's sob turned to a burst of laughter, before more tears fell.

"Yes, father." He bowed his head to the old man's chest and his hands curled in his tattered shirt.

Esston felt a memory stir. A blurry, incomplete memory, but one nonetheless.

"Damitri." He whispered. "My Damitri."

Damitri cried louder. "Yes," he lifted his dark head and brought it close to Esston's. "Yes, father, your Damitri. And I've come to take you home."

©JJHays2017

[Note]: And the prologue is up and out. Hope you enjoyed it and read the rest!!!

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Thanks,

-JJ

Published: 10.04.16

Edited: 02.14.17