The Raven Girl

Chapter 12

The morning came eventually, weak beams of light drifting through the windows set up high within the old, rotting stone, if you could even call them that. They were so narrow that one could not hope to post a letter through the gap, but Asta supposed that she would not even get as far as that, for she could not reach them.

She opened her heavy eyes at once, red with the little sleep she'd had. Half of last night had been spent curled in a ball, heart pounding, lip trembling after awaking from the same nightmare. The darkness that had come had seemed a fraction of what it had been in the oubliette, yet when she had tried to tell herself this, her subconscious had ignored her, apparently preferring to torture her mind instead.

She'd thought that the oubliette would bring insanity to the victim, but she didn't realise that it still had hold of its prisoner way after they'd been let out- if they'd been let out, that was. It felt as if a dark shadow had fallen over her mind, scraping away any of the optimism she had once had, leaving in place a distrust for everything and everyone, even herself.

Relief was something she'd known often, but it had always been snatched away from her. Even now she couldn't help thinking that perhaps somebody would come and drag her back down to the pit again. She knew that she was being stupid- the King had wanted to continue his games- but it was a niggling feeling at the back of her mind that she couldn't shake.

Soon enough, she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock, and she dragged herself to a darkened corner of the room, as if cowering would make them stop and just look at what they were doing to her. That or perhaps they would not see her- she did not mind which.

Of course, though, they spotted her almost instantaneously, and a snicker erupted from King Eirik's mouth.

"Good morning," he said, no longer bored, "how did you sleep?" She watched him through a lowered gaze, but didn't say anything- he wasn't expecting an answer. Without a word to his brother, Rickard approached her, and she backed away, spine against the jagged wall.

It was as if they had planned it, for Eirik did not seem the slightest bit phased, and nor did he don a questioning look. Whether it was this, or that he trusted Rickard wholeheartedly she could not tell, but she knew that she could never trust him like this.

The King watched from his stance, amused, as Rickard cornered her, laughing at her desperate attempt to be rid of him.

"My brother has left quite the impression on you then, I see." he noted in his humour, and gave Rickard a little smile, perhaps of approval. They seemed to be very close for all their differences.

When she could move no further, back slumped against the wall, knees pressed up against her face, she lifted her hands to shield herself, fingers shaking with apprehension, face turning away, unable to watch. She felt fingers curl around her wrists, pulling her up with little effort. She must have looked a skeleton, for with only bread to sustain her and a weakness that ran through her every limb, she was sure that she had shrunk, her muscle non-excitant, her skin stretched taut over hollow bones.

If he had tugged hard enough on her hands, she could have sworn that he would have pulled her arms from their sockets. It was not his strength that made him seem so strong; it was her almost decrepit state. Though, in thinking that, she was sure that he was still a skilled fighter, able to defeat the most powerful of enemies. She must have been too easy to break, and if she had known that before, she would have grown red with embarrassment.

She was on her feet now, but just as her legs were about to crumble beneath her again, Rickard tugged on her arms roughly, keeping her upright.

"There," he said, firmly,"she's standing."

If she were not so afraid of him, she would have shook his hands from her arms, for his touch made her arms crawl. Eirik must have seen her discomfort, for he let out a hearty laugh.

"She does not like you, Rickard. That's a first. You see- she shrinks away from your touch."

Just as he had said that, the grip loosened, and she fell to the floor, holding her arms around herself protectively. She rubbed at her wrists, as if his hands had burnt her, but her frightened grey eyes never left him and they followed him round the room.

"If she will not stand," said Rickard, a harsh tone to his voice, "then she will sit." Asta was confused by this: what he had said had been simple, yet there was something darker to it, a sadistic edge. What could he have meant? A shiver went up her spine and she clawed at her brain, trying to decipher what he had said.

Eirik, however, understood immediately, and that confirmed her fears that something was not quite right, not so straightforward, with what Rickard had said. She looked about the room, seeing things she had not noticed that evening, things that made her feel sick to her stomach.

How had she not seen them all before? Some of things she had recognised, but others were completely alien to her. Her eyes fell onto something, hidden in the corner where the light from the windows did not reach, and her heart sank, drowning in her trepidation. Perhaps she had been wrong, but she doubted it- it matched Rickard's words.

The King followed her gaze, and his reaction approved her fears- this was indeed what they had meant. She attempted to crawl out of the corner she had put herself in, wishing to the gods that she had been braver before, because there had been a chance she could have slipped out the unlocked door. Maybe she would have found a way to make her legs work, fear striking them with an energy and strength that could only be achieved when faced with danger, but instead she was here, trapped.

As soon as she had began to move, she had been stopped, Rickard blocking off her way out, Eirik strolling over to the door and locking it, tucking the key into his pocket.

"You've figured it out then, I take it? That's a shame... and there I thought it was going to be a surprise." he said, gesturing to Rickard to pick her up, "Oh well,"

When Rickard moved towards her, she screamed, lurching out the way, but he was too quick for her undernourished body to cope.

"Now don't be difficult, Asta," Eirik laughed as he watched her struggle, Rickard's face quite blank, ignoring her screams.

She bit, kicked and scratched at his arms like a rabid dog, but it was no use for he was far too strong, and her attempts at freeing herself from his steely grasp seemed as feeble as that of a spider trying to escape a glass. He dragged her to the dreaded corner, her eyes locking on the thing that stood there, menacing and tall that would send the bravest of people running.

Rigid, heinous and embedded with hundreds upon hundreds of spikes, stood an iron chair that could only have been described as complete evil, a single representation of what was wrong with humanity.