Elcolight

Prologue

Prologue 

   The first thing that struck him as wrong was the laughter. It scraped the walls and echoed in his cell as his brain attempted to calculate its meaning. It was cold. Cold laughter. Not humorous in any way.

   He shifted uncomfortably in his manacles. They chafed his skin on his wrists. His back rubbed against the rough stone walls, pinching the thin layer of skin between the rock and his spine. Blood welled out of the open wound.

   How long had he been here? He didn't know. The days leaked together until it all combined into a meaningless blur. How many days had he heard the tortured screams following that same cold laughter that didn't even sound human? He didn't care. It all sounded the same now. These things were keeping him alive for a reason. They came in every once in a great while, to stare at him and talk in some strange tongue or just to toss food at him and laugh when he couldn't reach it.

   Either way, he wanted to die. He wanted to die so bad. He could barely remember why he went through all of this. Barely, but he still did. He never forgot.

   They had his parents. They want something for him and if they don't get it, Mom and Dad are as good as dead.

   He shut his eyes, expecting the cries of pain to begin, but nothing but that cold laughter filled his ears. The laughter of his nightmares. That haunted this place of torment every waking moment.

   The grinding of stone against stone pulled him from his fear filled mind. Two of the creatures stalked into the room, both male. The familiar stench oozed out of them, like rotten chicken in a boys gym sock that hadn't been cleaned in five years.

   A piercing pain struck behind his eyes. Acting on instinct, his wrists strained against his chains. He didn't feel the pain there, only in his mind. Hot blood trickled down the taunt muscles of his arm.

   The cold filled the room. It was like frost decided to come to this single cave, to visit the dying boy who was just skin and bones. To give him peace. Then it turn hostile. The cold attacked his flesh, raising goose bumps and sending his body into a racking fit of shivers. His knees folded underneath him and his head and arms hung limp. "What do you want from me!?" he shout with frigid determination.

   The pain smothered his face causing him to gasp, like his lungs collapsed. A harsh, rough voice invaded his mind. We need fear. This much you have gathered. It sustains us, keeps us alive. You have no fear. Neither does another. She gives hope to others, to not have fear. Do as we say and your parents live. Disobey and, well, they will not. The boy shook his head as if to dislodge the horrors.

   An image flashed behind his eyes, in front of them, everywhere. A non-girlish girl stood there in the illusion. Her hazel brown eyes gleamed golden from underneath amber-like bangs. A tan covered her skin as proof of being an outside person. Her hair, about shoulder blade length, was as straight a wheat and had one tiny braid on the right side of her head. She held her head high and had a mighty look in those golden eyes. Her clothes obviously were made by hand; leather blouse and slacks with a matching pair of moccasins. And a hatch hanging on her worn belt.

   No, not this girl, he thought. But it was too late. He had no choice in the matter. He couldn't change anything. And when the searing pain building behind his eyes burst, filling his vision with aquamarine blue, he never saw it coming.

~                                                                                                                                                                                                                              

   I sat straight up, my heart hammering the inside of my chest. I ran my hand through my hair as I tried to catch my breath. Leaning back on my hands, I tilted my head so I could see the splatter of stars against the darkness of the sky. I couldn’t remember what I dreamed, my forehead wrinkled in frustration, but it was a nightmare.

   The cool night air felt refreshing against my flushed face and I finally shook off the lingering cobwebs of my dream. Resting my head on a pillow of my arms, I calculated where we were using the stars. I closed my eyes, relaxing for a moment, before the panic of the nightmare hit me and I knew we needed to move. Yes, we. I rolled over, my skin burned from the rough wood of the dock scraping where my deer hide clothes had holes worn in them. I bumped into a warm lump of a body and it moaned.

   “Kalma, wake up. It’s time to move,” my hoarse voice was attempting a strained whisper. I shook her shoulder and her eyes flicked open, their brown color blended in well with her dark skin and hair.

   “Okay,” her jaws gaped in a large yawn.  

   Kalma wasn’t her real name. A few weeks ago we resorted to using nicknames so they wouldn’t find us. Her real name is Malaak. Mine is Nicole, but she calls me Elco.