Asta was now being restrained in the arms of her dead brother. Tears had spilled from her eyes, made their way down her cheeks. She could not wipe at them due to her arms being gripped tightly at her sides. Although, based on the forlorn look upon her face, I don’t believe she would have cared to do so anyway. In fact, I was beginning to wonder if the blank stare signified some level of catatonia.
Kneeling, I quickly searched the guards and found the key to open Old Rufus’ cell. He was padding impatiently in a circle across from us. When I opened the cell and slid the steel door aside, Rufus looked up at me as if to say, What took you so long?
I began to head towards the prison’s exit, for the second time that day.
Praesus’s voice boomed behind me, “We are to leave now?”
I turned behind me with a look that I thought accurately conveyed What else are we supposed to do? But for good measure, I verbalized it for Praesus as well.
“Where are we going to go? The windows, the portals, they are dormant.”
“Shit,” Praesus was right, even if we got out of this dump again, we didn’t really have a destination- at least not one we could currently get to. I thought for a moment, and then whirled to meet Asta’s eyes. “What do you know about the window-like portals that enable people to travel between worlds?”
Asta only stared blankly ahead, I might as well not even been there.
Praesus stepped in, “Woman, if you can’t tell us how we can get out of here, your utility has just plummeted.”
Though he towered over her, Asta stared through Praesus’ mighty chest. Her eyes were a million miles away, I guessed somewhere dark and cold.
“Then there’s no need for your brother or you, for that matter,” Praesus stretched a threatening hand towards Asta’s neck. She didn’t even blink. With a heavy sigh Praesus turned back to me, “Useless, she won’ budge.”
I looked at Anton, his face was slack, the only energy was in those green pits in his skull he called eyes. I wondered fleetingly what the point of view might’ve from his side might’ve been like. He held his sister in a reverse bear hug. Her body was limp to the point I thought she might’ve slipped through his arms at any moment.
Anton, if it weren’t for your untimely demise, your sister might still be worth something to us.
“Well squire?” Praesus mocking emphasis on the word squire, was particularly evident this round.
I shushed him. “Quiet, listen.”
Faintly coming from the rear of the prison was a strange murmur. I began to follow its source, leading to the back of the cell. Praesus followed, while Anton and Asta stayed unmoving in what was maybe the strangest sibling embrace in history.
Carefully, I traced my hand along the perimeter of the prison hall and listened. The sound was muffled, but growing. It was low and harsh, it was the sound of desperation mated with a whisper.
Ellen? Yellow?
I could almost make it out now, as we closed in. It was low and harsh, it was the sound of desperation mated with a whisper.
Praesus and I reached the terminus of the prison. We were stymied by a large brick wall flanked by two torchlights, only the right was lit. We, well I, hunkered and waited, listening. Praesus just stood, looking at me like I was mad.
“...Hello help...”
It was coming from behind the wall. “See! Did you hear that?”
Praesus nodded, “They must have a prisoner beyond that wall they do not want anyone to know of.”
I turned, beginning to shout at Asta, “Who’s behind t--” I waved a hand dismissively at Asta, the newly mute.
Old Rufus had followed us inquisitively down the corridor, eager for a hunt.
“You think we should break it down?”
I shrugged. And then casually pulled the unlit torchlight on the left. With a rumble, almost as great as the arrogant smirk on my face, the wall receded into a space within the floor. Behind it was a man held aloft only by the taught chains that were shackled to his wrists. My eyes followed them as they ended in large metal clasps that were fastened to the wall about ten feet above him on either side. The man lay awkwardly, with his legs tucked underneath him. As if he had fallen that way, and no longer had the strength to change positions. His face was covered in aged bruises and masses of contused skin. These matched the dirty purple robe that had grown too large for him. He had either shrunk, or had been missing meals.
“He’s been tucked away in here for awhile,” Praesus pulled a handkerchief from his vest and used it to cover his nose and mouth.
Old Rufus barked. This time I took it as a warning.
The man, perhaps in is late forties, was in bad shape. And while all the dire details that made up his full set of circumstances were compelling, none drew more of my attention than the splintered crown that lay at his bare feet.
