The Light in the Dark ✓

Chapter 2.2 This is the end

The streets of the town were less crowded. It seemed the residents of Whitshire did not care much about what happened in the esteemed merchant's property. The shop owners were slowly opening their businesses, and the carts were delivering fresh produce from nearby farms. When she passed, the usual reaction was eyes turning away. She did not seem the same fervent hate as in the estate, just disgust and contempt. Most people seemed to want nothing to do with her as if they could catch some rare disease just by staring at her.

They walked in silence until they reached an intimidating building. The dark stones stood out from surrounding houses with light facades of sandstone. It was also the most prominent monument in the whole town – it was serving both the Church and their military arm Inquisition as a local headquarters. Iris felt her legs shaking while the knights shoved her inside.

She hasn't seen much of the interior, as right after they entered the building, they took the stairs leading down. The further they descended, the colder it got. Iris shivered. She was still wearing only her nightgown and a cloak. Her bare feet in light shoes started to feel numb already. She knew it wouldn't get any better down there.

When they finally reached the end of the stairs, a wave of stench hit her nose. It was a mixture of mouldy wet stones, human excrements, and unwashed bodies. She gagged, feeling her stomach twisting painfully. The Inquisitor, who was still holding her, pushed her forward while his companion opened one of the cells. There were not many of them. Whithshire wasn't a big city, and there was no need to use the dungeons often. It seemed that all the cells were currently empty. But before she could take a good look around, the knight shoved her inside. She tripped and fell on her knees, scraping them painfully. Her hands were still shackled.

'Don't try anything,' growled the Inquisitor closing the bar doors behind her. 'We'll be shipping you to the Amberguard soon enough.' He took the torch hanging on the wall and left, leaving her in complete darkness.

Iris sat in the corner of the room, where earlier, she noticed a little padding of straw and brought her knees close to her chest. She tried to put her cloak over her whole body to keep the warmth, but her hands and feet were stone-cold already. She started shaking violently. The darkness seemed to press hard on her from all directions. Maybe it's a blessing. I don't need to look too closely at my cell, she thought. She could smell the stench of old dried blood and excrements clear enough.

That's how my life ends then—what a disaster. I wish I could turn off my brain, go to sleep and never wake up. But every time she closed her eyes, she saw the hateful faces of people she once called friends. And Milo's – that hurt most of all. It was understandable he was shocked. He was working for the Church, but they knew each other since they were children. They grew up together. How could his feelings toward me change so drastically in a matter of moments? Am I the cursed one? An abomination that should not be allowed to exist? Was it true that all the Mages ever brought were destruction and misery for the whole world?

Iris clutched her legs tighter to her chest and let her mind wander. She was getting in and out of consciousness, the exhaustion finally taking over. It was hard to tell the dreams from reality in the cold, dark dungeon. It was impossible to tell how much time had passed.

She was startled awake by the sounds of footsteps. There was also a faint light getting closer and brighter. Soon she had to shield her eyes because after spending all this time in the blackness, even a single torch was stinging painfully. Iris saw an Inquisitor who dragged a hunched figure. The older man wore some dirty rugs. His shoes were made of some scraps of leather tightened together with a rope. She also noticed he had a mane of shaggy, grey hair and a wild beard. He looked like a beggar.