Long and echoing screams came from a dungeon beneath a fortress, and all because a man crossed paths with a woman unlike any other, his curiosity ensnaring him.
A woman dressed in black couldn't figure out what held this particular man up alive. It was like his body was struggling to die and give in, yet it became clear to this woman after some days that he needed to live for something, but for what, she was not sure, and clutched her dark cloak, ruminating.
The man, hidden away from the sun's light for months now, his skin was as dark as the place he survived in, this being from dirt and muck around him. The only light that he did see alerted him of the woman coming, and to pull what little voice he had left in him that day, out, though it was on one of these days that he heard something most peculiar outside his prison:
"They haven't discovered anything about it yet, queen," said a hooded man by her right side, another man there, not speaking. She stood in front of the prisoner now and looked at him in his cage.
The lack of cold air was driving this only survivor mad. He didn't even know if he was in England still, from the weather he was guessing to himself the answer was no. He tried to keep his eyes open, not fainting again from the loss of blood. "Who are you?" he asked, and as best he could.
The woman looked at him, cold, looking somewhat disgusted he talked. "Unanswered questions can lead to hauntings, so I will humour you. This time. I go by many names: Gunnara, the Dark Queen, Queen of the Night, the First Born Goddess from the Old Order. Does that answer your question . . . lowlife?"
"I'm not even sure they know we are here yet and why we are?" It was the same man that spoke before, he followed his queen as she walked down the dark, long path as she looked either side of her, seeing many empty cages.
"Why are there empty cells?" said the queen, "I expected better than this."
"Of course, queen. I will get to work on it at once," replied the hooded Priest. Gunnara, the queen, walked into one of the cages and touched the strong bars, feeling imprisoned. The two hooded men, who wore dark black cloaks followed her into the cell without hesitation.
"No," said their queen, "you're much too late for that. I need to understand these primitive beings they call Earthlings, and you've failed me." She talked as if not caring, slamming the door, the bars ringing as if they had hit off each other. Gunnara locked inside with the two Priests.
"Please. We are in the middle of the desert, there is little life of these humans around us for hundreds of miles, and how are we to know that you wanted this?" The two cloaked figures pleaded, hoping that it would spare their lives.
"You don't have second chances here." She caressed her thumb onto her index finger in a circular motion. An imminent gush of wind leapt forth from what looked like a hole in the wall; the place so dark you could barely see what it was coming from.
The hole spiralled around, giving off a deathly silence, all as a strong breeze drowned out the sound of the Priestsʼ and the prisonerʼs cries. The prisoner witnessed all that was happening from across the opposite side through the bars, looking as if he couldnʼt stand.
The priest's body swooped through the air, sucked into the hole. It looked like they flew through the wall but no one could see the other side other than this woman.
It was a place that housed something worse than sudden death: The time to dwell on the fear of it coming.
"I guess I should go get some more Priests." The queen said this as if getting rid of people was a daily and routine chore. Although she didn't kill them, they were as good as dead, but she never killed her own, not straight away.
Tom's legs were weak from the chains on the wall, forcing him to stand for long periods of time. His wrists looked scarred from him collapsing against the shackles when fainting over and over.
Dizziness and black spots struck Tom again. "No," he whispered to himself, not being able to scream it now. "Can't take much more," he breathed, falling unconscious with the rattle of metal, but not from his shackles. He noticed this noise before but wasn't sure what to make of it. It sounded like giant cogs spiralling from a machine, the kind you get from industrial productivity. The ones churning out many items.
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The Source: Observer Chronicles, Book 3
FantasyCOMPLETE: Brenda encounters a group of unusual teenagers that appear out of nowhere, right in the middle of a war they seem to know a lot about. But what is it that they are hiding?