Fyen jutted out her chest and clenched her fists at her sides. "Yeah? Well maybe you shouldn't be so fat!"
Desiderius was standing further away from them, writing on his notebook with a feverish look on his face.
"How dare you say that to my face?" the girl, almost twice the size of Fyen, shrieked.
Alright, you fat cunt, you wanna go? We'll fucking go then! Shifting weight from one foot to another, the raven girl snorted. "I'd say it behind your back but my horse would get tired before I got that far!"
Just as the bigger girl raised her hand to strike Fyen, Reynaer appeared seemingly out of nowhere and dragged both, Fyen and Desiderius out before they had time to protest.
"What's going on, Reyn?" Fyen asked, sensing that something was up.
"Some men kidnapped Mirlín and probably took her to the caves up north. We should ride out immediately," he replied while striding towards their inn.
Trying to keep up, Fyen jogged beside him. "What the hell? Why? How? Who are they?" Then her expression grew darker. "If they hurt her, I'll cut their fucking plonkers off!"
Reynaer glanced at her over his shoulder and grinned. "That's the spirit. As for your questions, I only know that they were from the north, like Mirlín. Maybe a jealous ex-husband, maybe the law after her for past crimes, maybe something else, I don't know and I don't really care."
Fyen started feeling worried, her hands growing cold. "You're right. The only thing that matters is that we get her back before they hurt her."
"Maybe she's really a royal princess who had been imprisoned by her father destined to be married to an ugly and cruel husband and—"
"Shut up," Reynaer grunted at Desiderius. As they arrived to the inn, the man said: "Go pack your things, we'll meet at the stables."
Desiderius and Fyen dashed upstairs while Reynaer went to pay for the rooms.
"Now you didn't stay too long!" the innkeeper said when receiving the money.
"Something's come up," Reynaer muttered and went to fetch his things as well.
Desiderius was in their room, trying to find a lost pair of socks. "They were my favorite!" he cried when Reynaer told him to focus and hurry up. They met Fyen in the hall and together strode to the stables.
"What are we going to do with Midwin?" Fyen asked.
"We'll take him with us. Desiderius, you better ditch Snappy now, we need to move fast."
"You mean I'm gonna ride Midwin?" the boy asked, amazed.
"No, you'll ride Brownie. I'm taking Midwin," the man replied bluntly.
Desiderius looked disappointed but then cheered up again, remembering that he finally got to ride a full-sized horse.
As Reynaer tried to pay Midwin's fees to the stable master, the bearded man looked puzzled. "He's already been paid for."
"Paid by who?" Fyen asked, alarmed.
"Well, this one gentleman came, told me he owned the blue roan and paid for it... he's probably right there taking him out," the man shrugged.
Reynaer, Desiderius, and Fyen approached the stall cautiously. Its door was open. Reynaer took the lead and put his hand on the hilt of his dagger. There was silence in the stall so he feared for a moment that whoever it was, had taken Midwin already. He peered into the stall. The blue roan stood there, calm and quiet, an unconscious man at his feet. The gelding greeted Reynaer with a gentle nicker.
"Good boy! Now who do we have here..." Reynaer muttered and kneeled beside the unconscious man. In addition to his gray tunic and gray pants, he also wore a cheap-looking black brigandine with half of the steel plates missing.
"If I didn't know better, I'd say this one is a cheap mercenary," Reynaer said and kicked the man between his legs. The unconscious soldier twitched and then lay still again. "Saddle up, we're heading out."
A few minutes later the three horses stood on the yard ready to gallop into the night. Desiderius had told the stable master to send a message to the young man's auntie Beatrice about Snappy so that she could come and pick her up now that Desiderius was to ride Brownie. Reynaer tied the still slumbering man on Midwin's back and immediately the horse became restless. However, he too seemed to understand the graveness of the situation and didn't mind the extra weight nor a new rider.
They moved north, following a wagon road. To Fyen's horror, she noticed there were cages hanging from trees along the road with people inside, most of them starved to death. There were birds pecking at the bodies. Someone was moaning, another weeping quietly. The gruesome scene didn't seem to even catch Reynaer's attention but it certainly unnerved Fyen and Desiderius, both of whom were trying their utmost to avert their eyes from the tortured bodies. Glad that Reynaer insisted on moving quickly, Fyen bit her lower lip, wondering how the world had become such a hostile place.
Ask too many questions and you'll find yourself hanging in a cage or tortured in a dungeon. Seems like rulers don't like their methods being questioned by their people. And here I thought rulers were put to their posts to serve the people but instead it's the other way around. It's the common folk who are suffering and the few rich who get wealthier and wealthier but is that enough? No! They're sadists and perverts too, getting off on competing who will come up with the sickest, most grotesque, most inhuman methods and devices to use on anyone they choose and for what? For their sick fucking pleasures. Someone should just... kill them all!
The gloomy group headed straight into the woods and stopped at the first clearing.
"Is that guy still out of it?" Fyen asked.
"He pretends to be."
Reynaer shoved the man off Midwin's back. The moment the mercenary's body met the ground, he let out a pained grunt. Reynaer pulled him up and slapped him in the face.
"You awake, yet?" he asked in a sarcastic tone. The man stood on his own feet, eyes open, an expressionless look on his face. "Where did you take her?"
The soldier remained silent.
A malevolent grin flitted across Reynaer's face. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Her mouth was dry, her ears were filled with the hum of rushing blood, and a dull ache pounded on her temples. She felt something damp and soft press against her cheek. She caught the intrusive though slightly sweet smell of moist earth and deduced she was lying on damp ground somewhere.
She couldn’t remember where or how she had gotten there. Her eyelids weighed a ton as she slowly opened them but she was met only with darkness. She blinked, the smell of earth, now nauseating and far too obscene, filled her nostrils. She couldn’t breathe. Something coarse had been stuffed into her mouth and wrapped around her head, drying up her throat and lips. She coughed and retched and even though it hurt her head, she turned it towards the darkness above her but the air she breathed in smelled musty and moldy.
Little by little her eyesight sharpened and the room didn’t look quite so dark anymore. She seemed to be laying in the darkest corner of it and at the other end of the space, which she now perceived to be a cavern of sorts, glowed a few torches. They cast only a dim light but they proved her guess right. She was surrounded by stone walls, she lay on a dirt floor, and she seemed to be alone.
There were tight ropes biting into her wrists and ankles as she tried to move. Her arms had also been tied tightly against her body. After a short, futile struggle, her body fell limp. It was no use. She knew he had finally found her and considering that he had been chasing her for five years now, it was understandable that her restraints wouldn’t yield, her tongue was trapped against the bottom of her mouth, and she had been imprisoned in a cave into which no one would accidentally wander.
Her heart was pounding wildly against the ropes around her chest. She wondered if the others had sold her out. However, the only person she could imagine to do such a thing was Reynaer. For all she knew, the man was a bounty hunter and he had been offered a generous price for delivering the woman to her rightful owner.
She felt a gush of fear as she heard someone’s footsteps smack against the moist ground. I knew I couldn’t run away forever.
"So you thought you could run away forever?" a cold voice asked.
The woman kept her eyes fixed on the dark ceiling that she couldn’t quite make out but she knew he was right there with her. She thought that if she averted her gaze and looked at the speaker, she would burst in tears and eventually choke on her gag while her gorge and nostrils filled with mucus. From the corner of her eye she could see a polished blade catch a glint from the faint glow of the torches. She wondered how he would do it. Slash her throat, stab her in the heart, maybe pry her eyes out; there were so many ways to suffer and die.
There was a ripping sound as the cloth around her mouth was cut. Surprised, she drew a rattling breath and gathered spit in her mouth, moistening her tongue and lips. She risked a look and saw a silhouette of a man against the wan glow of the torches. He was most certainly looking down at her, the tips of his boots touching her side. Then he hunkered down, the glinting blade in his hand, his features still shrouded in shadows. For once Mirlín was thankful of the dark.
“This isn’t good. I want to see your face,” an insipid male voice, neither deep or light, said.
Then two hands grabbed Mirlín by her long hair and started pulling her towards the glow of the torches. Mirlín bit back a whimper as she was being dragged over the floor. It felt like her scalp would get torn off. At last the grip loosened and she slumped back against the dirt. Now she was doused in the soft glow and so was he.
He squatted again, clutched her by the chin, and turned her face towards him. Their eyes finally met and the woman was filled with an emotion that she couldn’t quite describe but it wasn’t just fear that she felt. There was also despair and madness.
“Just look at that, just look at that face,” he muttered.
Is there someone else here? She felt a wave of relief. If there was someone else, he would have to control himself. It had always been just the two of them, no intruders, no audience, no one to hear the voices of their violence.
Without a warning and with surprising strength the man wrenched the woman up on her knees, then raised his hand, and hit her hard across the face. The diamonds of his rings cut Mirlín’s lip and she had accidentally clenched her tongue between her teeth. Her mouth filled with blood which she spit out as her body fell back on the ground.
“Look at that,” he repeated. “Don’t you just want to pick them between your teeth like ripe berries and bite and chew and swallow?”
He towered over her, grabbed her by the chin again, and forced her bleeding lips between his. She let out a guttural whimper as his teeth clenched around the raw skin of her lips and then sucked on it like on bone marrows. No kiss before him or after had made her feel that way: violated, shivery, but also perversely flattered by the fact that she was an object of such desire.
This time she wasn’t shoved down against the dirt. He just let go, indifferently and carelessly, like just moments ago he hadn’t clasped her with his fine, noble teeth and nails biting into her skin. Like she was a piece of dirty clothing he dropped on the floor.
“Can you believe that this whore was responsible of my humiliation, of all that pillory and slander? ‘Should have known that wench would leave after she’d had her fun’, ‘probably eloped with some peasant, took a hefty purse of gold with her and left the sovereign’s son hang high and dry’, ‘a witch who killed her babies so that dunce Lord Cemhoer would have to stay with her, keep trying for an heir but all the while she was there laughing and enjoying her lavish life’,” he mimicked.
The man kicked her hard in the stomach, causing the woman to gasp for breath. Then he talked with his normal voice again. "I was devastated when they told me you had drowned. Luckily, you just made us believe so but they discovered that great blue roan was missing and then they knew you had run away. But I am delighted to find that you are alive and well Mirlín.” He sighed. “At least for the time being.”
Something told her that despite the horrors she had experienced in the past in the hands of the man, whatever he had in store for her now would be much worse. She knew she couldn’t ask. There were rules to the game. When wholly restrained, do not talk. When partially or completely free, your tongue is likewise free. He had taught her the meaning of complete silence, he could make her believe she was mute. He could also make her believe that she was dead or far too much alive or that she was despised, hated, wanted, loved, sullen, pure — she would become everything he wanted.
Suddenly Mirlín heard a rustling of cloth and heavy footsteps approaching. Through blurred eyes, she saw a stout man step out from the shadows, dressed in a long, dark cloak. He looked down at the woman with the gaze full of disdain and loathing.
"Ah, Father Albericus! Shall we?" Cemhoer asked, giving a comradely slap on his back. The priest hadn't lifted his moist eyes off Mirlín.
He smacked his fat lips, wiped sweat off his bald head, and nodded. "I brought the instruments, my Lord," the priest crooned with a silent, soft voice that sounded all the more perverse to Mirlín.
The woman looked on as the robed man placed a metal funnel and a metal pipe, almost as thick as her wrist, on the ground beside her. Then he left, apparently to get something else.
"Seeing as you never drowned, only had us think you did, I thought it courteous to let you actually experience what you have missed," Cemhoer smiled. "I have heard that it is quite... ecstatic for some. Perhaps you have gone through something similar with my hands around your throat though I reckon this will be even more intense. I would be most pleased if you told me afterwards how it was for you... if you still can."
The priest plodded back, carrying what looked like two large buckets of water. There were more beads of sweat on his wide, bald head. It wasn't until now that Mirlín noticed the priest had no eyebrows. The sweat trickled right into his small, beady eyes, causing him to blink a lot. He's a priest but... why do I get the feeling that he's even worse than Cemhoer?
“Right... shall we begin?" The blond man put aside his sword and stepped closer to Mirlín.
"Everything is ready, my Lord," the priest purred in his breathy voice.
Mirlín had had a dawning suspicion of what she was about to be subjected to but she didn't want to believe it.
Cemhoer sat on her chest, placing his knees on both sides of her head. Not only was she wearing a bodice which already restricted her breathing, but the man's weight allowed her to take in only short gasps. It felt like her lungs were collapsing. Cemhoer's knees kept her head from moving and her tied hands pressed uncomfortably against the small of her back. She could taste her own blood and despair. As Mirlín tried to wriggle and move underneath the man, panic engulfing her, she received a punch to her nose.
"Settle down, bitch!" Cemhoer barked.
She felt blood welling up in her nostrils and dripping down the back of her throat. Unable to breathe through her nose, Mirlín had to open her mouth but she kept her teeth clenched tightly, anticipating what was to come.
"Now, be a good girl and open your mouth properly. This will hurt you less if you co-operate, dear wife," the man said.
Mirlín kept her teeth together, looking defiant despite the growing panic and the suffocating feeling of being so completely immobilized and unable to breathe properly. She yearned for a deep breath.
"Open your mouth or I will have Father Albericus force it open. You know, he isn't as nice as I am," the man chuckled.
"Oh, my Lord," the priest crooned, blushing slightly.
"Well, have it your way then," Cemhoer sighed. "Let's start."
The priest took the funnel and placed its stem against Mirlín's front teeth. She felt the metal scraping against her tender gums but forced herself to keep her mouth shut. Without prior warning, the priest suddenly pressed so hard on the funnel that it slid across the woman's teeth, scraping off a piece of her gums. She let out a shriek but it was quiet and short due to her lack of breath. Immediately the funnel was shoved straight into her mouth, the stem scraping her tongue and the inside of her mouth as it slid into her throat. She felt like gagging and the widening edges of the funnel pressed painfully against her teeth, forcing her jaws open, inflicting even more pain and discomfort on her.
Cemhoer grabbed the funnel and told the priest to bring the first bucket.
"Cincin, darling," he chuckled as the priest started pouring cold water into the funnel.
Mirlín's eyes widened with terror. They're not going to force me to drink all that? They can't! It's... the human body can't take in that much! They can't— Her thoughts were interrupted as she had to swallow large quantities quickly to avoid choking as the blood in her nose severely restricted her breathing.
With every swallow, Mirlín's despair grew. Is there no one else here? Is this how I'm going to die? After draining the funnel twice, the woman already felt a strong pressure on her breastbone, made worse by Cemhoer's full weight resting on her chest. She wondered how long the seams of her bodice would keep her body from bursting. If my stomach can't expand, where will the water go? The water reingorged itself in her throat with a struggling force and it strangled and swallowed up her breath from yowling and crying.
Mirlín wanted to vomit, scream, and take a deep breath but the funnel, the water, and Cemhoer's weight held her captive to the immense discomfort now bestowed on her. How am I gonna die? Drown or burst? Why is he doing it like this? Why me? Tears ran down her face and there was a mix of intense pain and pressure right below her ears where her jaw connected to the skull. She was afraid the funnel would dislocate her jaw. Stars started appearing in her field of vision as breathing through her nose became almost impossible due to all the clotted blood and mucus blocking her nostrils. She was on the verge of losing her consciousness, gasping desperately between life and death.
"You hear that, my Lord? The voices she makes? She cannot scream because the water is taking up too much space in her body. Water doesn't compress like food, it always forces its surroundings to conform to its quantity. Right now its expanding her bowels but since her stomach cannot expand outward..."
The priest's soft voice sounded more sinister to Mirlín than anything she had heard before. He was smiling. Cemhoer did not reply but his eyes were gleaming and a sickly grin had spread on his face.
Mirlín's throat was burning and aching from having to swallow against the metal stem of the funnel. She tried to speak but, in addition to the funnel preventing speech, she couldn't produce a sound. I can't breathe, I can't breathe...
She woke up to a sharp pain on her jaw as it hit against a large rock over which she was bent, face down. The impact would have been forceful enough to make her lose consciousness again but the water flowing out of her mouth and nostrils kept her awake and aware of all the damage they had done to her. This was the fourth time she came to, having passed out three times during the water cure. Mirlín had no idea how many gallons of water had been forced down her throat but the priest had left once to refill the buckets. It felt like having swallowed a lake.
The gastric pain was unbearable. It was as if her intestines were being stretched beyond their capacity—they probably were. She wished someone would rip off her corset and release her constricted breath. She hoped she could fall unconscious again and escape the pain inside her guts and lungs.
More water flowed out, causing her to choke. Suddenly she was aware of the hem of her skirt being torn. Mirlín heard the sound of metal scraping against the ground and an image of the metal pipe flashed through her mind.
"Go ahead, Father Albericus," Cemhoer's bleak voice sounded behind her. "She's a whore, she'll enjoy it."
"Yes, my Lord, thank you, my lord," the priest purred.
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