Elegy of the Leaves

XXI | Prisoner of War

Darkness fell as all darkness fell on an isle—with a flame engulfed violet edge and black blanket over top. Shadows danced off the corpse of The Valkyrie as what survived of her crew huddled around their fires. The night was silent. Not a word was spoken between anyone as most mourned the reality they would die on this unknown isle. Each hour seemed to leech more moral from them.

Claire starred not into the fires, but across hers. Beside her sat Commandwing Vausse atop half a barrel. Through the flames sat their prisoner. He fumbled with a pasty dish as his hands were still bound. He'd devolved from trying to scoop up the meal with his spoon to just shoving his hands into it and heaving it into his mouth.

He avoided Claire's gaze, taking care to assure himself it was still fixated on him every so often. He took some pleasure in watching her face contort into more disgust as he ate in barbaric fashion. He even went so far as to take an extra moment to lick the backs of his fingers where the food had squished through too. "Gods, if this is the scrill they feed you Alliance bastards it's no wonder our ships make quick work of you."

Claire's brow wrinkled together. "The Abyss did you just say?" She slammed her bowl onto the ground and began to stand.

The prisoner's lips curled at her. "My people ensure we receive nothing but the finest meals for our sacrifice."

"I'll—"

"And who are your people?" Vausse interjected. He leant forward and threaded his fingers together, resting his chin on his thumbs and his elbows on his knees.

It was the most undignified position Claire had ever seen him in. Yet, he still managed to hold it with confidence, making it look heroic even, in some way.

The prisoner's eyes flicked to Vausse as he scooped the last mouthful from his bowl. He tossed the bowl beside him and shoved his fingers into his mouth. "I already told your dog; I'm not talking to you."

"Let me make this perfectly clear, boy. Your life depends on how much meaningful noise falls from those lips, so I suggest you answer our questions."

"What was it you said to me earlier?" The prisoner cocked his head to the side and rubbed his pointer finger up the center of his lips. "Oh yeah!" He snapped. "I'm useless to you dead, so I don't think you'll kill me because you'd rather I give you information."

"You're useless to me if you don't talk either."

"Well it seems we're at an impasse. Either I talk and die, or don't and die. I think I'll stay silent and call your bluff."

"I never said you'd die if you answered our questions."

"You don't have to." The man scowled. "I know how you humes are."

"Do you? How could that be if you're our first prisoner?"

"Your people slaughtered mine without reason!" he spat. "I doubt much has changed!"

"Lies, you were the ones who attacked us because of our pact with the falceit!"

"Then your leaders aren't telling you everything they know." A smile grew across his face. "Curious, why would The Alliance make it illegal to believe in magic when it's existence is all around you? Why does it disguise that very fact as science? Didn't you ever wonder where those advancements came from, the Cartographer Stones, the use of cores to power the airships? Research on cores and Cartographer Stones are forbidden, are they not?"

Claire furrowed her brow. Her stomach twisted in her gut, but she could not deny the prisoner's questions were ones she had before, ones her brother still asks. Her mind raced to try and understand how the prisoner knew so much of their culture, however.