Whispers (Book 3 of Wielder series)

Chapter 8 - The Dilema

Four days. The Wielder begged for mercy in four days.
   Roger stared at the door to her cell, listening to the sound of her pleas from the other side. Her wails started with a whimper, then escalated into hysterical weeping as the first bolt slid from the lock. He pressed the key into the second, his fingers pausing before they turned it. Unintelligible cries poured from the Wielder's lips, broken between sobs as highly pitched as a child's.
   Beside the door, half concealed in shadow, his Phantom Jea shot him a questioning glance. "Sir?" she asked tentatively.
   Roger clenched his jaw. "How long has she been like this?"
   "She woke an hour ago and seemed to be talking to herself a bit. But she wasn't this loud until you arrived."
   He stared at the key in the lock. "And last night?"
   "Ilex told me she cried herself to sleep."
   Then her strength had finally left her. He bit back a curse.
   "Congratulations, Sir," Jea smiled. Her red eyes glowed with power. "I knew it wouldn't take long for you to break her."
   Roger huffed. Congratulations were not in order. He had expected the Wielder to last longer. Now her torture would serve no purpose. True, there was much he could do that would make her suffering worse, but she wasn't just here to suffer. His goal had never been to break her, not until he tired of her.
   He thrived off her defiance. He wanted her to fight back.
   But if she was already giving up, then that defiance would be gone.
   He turned the second lock.
   The Wielder screamed louder.
   Disappointment and dread snuffed the joy right out of him. What good was the Wielder if she senselessly endured whatever he brought upon her? What pleasure was there in driving someone who was already lost to sorrow into further despair? Begrudgingly, he placed the third key in the lock.
   He could hear her chains drag across the floor as she took a breath. Then her cries turned to weeping, as if she had accepted her fate.
   The lock pulled free at a twist of his wrist, and he slowly pushed the door open.
   Complete darkness enveloped the room, as it always had. His power alone allowed him to see into the space. It was just as disgusting as he'd left it, with trails of her blood splattered on the walls and floor, the pile of her waste undisposed of in the corner, and the Wielder herself, still chained to the wall, lying prostrate on the floor before him.
   Her position surprised him. With all her screaming, he had expected her to be curled in a corner, or flattened against the wall, trying to get as far away from him as possible. Instead, she lay with her legs curled beneath her and her arms stretched above her, bowing to him with her head touching the stone.
   "Anything," she wept, her shoulders heaving from the weight of her sobs. "I'll do... anything..."
   Surrendered. She had well and truly surrendered.
   He stared at her. Maybe if she'd begged like this last night, he would have enjoyed it. He would have taken pleasure in the words; he would have made her say them again and again as he dragged his blade across her skin.
   But now, they disgusted him.
   His gaze swept over her. He knew a large bruise blossomed over her cheek from where he'd struck her. He knew her left thigh suffered a lengthy gash from where he'd dug his blade in two days prior. He knew one of her fingers swelled from when he'd broken it.
   But the real damage was to her mind, where his power had relentlessly pummeled her with feelings of despair, helplessness, and loss. He hadn't lied when he'd said he wanted her to know his pain. So he flooded his pain into her very being, until she knew nothing else.
   She was such a stupidly fragile thing without her magic.
   And he was such a fool, for thinking her torture would satisfy him.
   She'd even told him it would come to this. Hurting me won't bring her back. It won't change the past.
   Roger released a sigh. He'd fought so hard to bring the Wielder to this moment. It had been his obsession from the moment she'd taken Emperor Tokala's life. Months had gone by while he planned and schemed, and she'd slipped away again and again. He finally had what he wanted...
   And it brought him nothing.
   Now what was he to do?
   Suddenly, the Wielder curled more tightly into herself. A dry, violent cough overtook her, stealing her breath. She curled her fingers into fists as she fought for air.
   He clenched his jaw. Four days of torture, and the Wielder was giving up and sick.
   As she stilled once more, her sobs calmed. "Please," she whispered, still lying prostrate before him. "Please stop this. I'll do whatever you ask."
   For a moment, he considered what he could do with a promise like that, assuming she would remain true to her word. He knelt down before her, just far enough away to remain out of her reach. "Would you cast Tokala's spell and bring back Helene?"
   The Wielder flinched. After a long stretch of silence, she softly whispered, "No."
   "Then the torture will continue."
   "I cannot betray the realm!" she explained, her voice rising to a panicked pitch. "Its magic will not allow me to. Willy, the other Wielder, tried to bring back his own lover. The realm turned him into a butterfly in punishment and hid the Ultimate so that he could never abuse its power again."
   He frowned. That was the mysterious story of the butterfly that had given her power? What a horrific turn of events that must have been. "Then, what can you do?"
   She remained silent for a long stretch of time. "I don't know," she whispered. Immediately, she flinched, remembering the torture that normally followed those words. "But I will do whatever you ask. Just please, please leave me be."
   Under normal circumstances, begging would result in more torture. But he didn't want to hear her beg. He wanted to fight her defiance, and right now, she had none.
   There was only one way to bring it back. He needed to have her wounds and illness attended to. He could always leave her to rot, but that defeated the whole purpose of her imprisonment. He wanted her to suffer. And that meant he had to keep her alive.
   He didn't trust the prison physicians. He didn't trust anyone, really, except for one very close friend. But Evan lived far away. Even by carriage, it would take him several days to reach Fire Mountain.
   With a huff, Roger rose and turned for the door. "Consider yourself fortunate," he growled over his shoulder. "I'm not in the mood for you today." Then he shut the door behind him, and locked her securely in her cell.
– – – – –
Roger didn't bother visiting the Wielder while he waited for Evan's arrival. Instead he sparred with his Phantoms in the prison's arena, tiring himself out on their talents until even they begged for mercy. He didn't usually like to exhaust his team so thoroughly, especially when they had work to do, but he needed to fight something or he feared he would go mad.
   When Evan finally arrived nearly a week later, he twitched with anticipation. He felt like a race horse chomping at the bit, eager to run. Though it would have been kind to let Evan rest a bit from his journey, he didn't have the patience that would require. Roger met him in the courtyard, watching as the magic researcher took his time unloading his bags from the carriage Roger had sent him.
   Evan glanced at him over his shoulder as he pulled a particularly large chest from the back of the carriage. "Are you going to just stare at me, or are you going to help?"
   "Someone else can handle your luggage," he said flatly. "I have need of you elsewhere."
   "Yes, you mentioned that in your message." Rolling his soft, earthy brown eyes, Evan yanked at the chest again. "Though you failed to mention what exactly you needed me for."
   "I told you I needed a healer."
   "True. But you look fine to me." With a grunt, he pulled the chest free, and it fell to the ground with a clatter.
   "Not for myself."
   "One of your Phantoms, then? I told you, they're too slippery for my magic to work efficiently on them."
   "No. Not for my Phantoms."
   Sighing, Evan braced his hands on his hips. He glared at Roger with all the fierceness of a puppy: attempting to look menacing and annoyed, but lacking the aggressive nature required to do so effectively. A hot breeze generated from the world's lava flow drifted by, tostling the researcher's soft, brown-blond hair. "Just tell me straight, Roger. What am I doing here?"
   Roger clenched his jaw as his impatience grew. "Come with me," he growled, "and I'll show you."
   Evan's eyes narrowed. "Don't get huffy with me, Commander. I'm your friend. Try to remember that."
   He did remember that. It was the only reason Roger held back his retort as Evan opened the chest and pulled out two large bags, throwing the strap of one over his shoulder. "Alright," he sighed, gesturing to the prison looming over them. "Lead on."
   He took the second bag from Evan, throwing it over his own shoulder and turning into the prison. Multiple sets of eyes followed them as the guards monitored their movements, but he ignored them. He led Evan down the halls, taking the quickest route to the Wielder's cell.
   When he reached her door, the hall seemed darker than it usually was. Ilex guarded the area, his form completely hidden in shadow against the wall. Only his eyes appeared to watch their approach, their red color blazing bright.
   Evan noticed the eyes watching him and stopped short. "Roger...?"
   "It's just Ilex," he promised, pulling the keys to the Wielder's door free from his pocket. "Ilex, this is Evan. He's here on my business. You and the others leave him be."
   "Yes Commander," Ilex's rough voice promised, drifting around them like smoke.
   Evan scrunched his nose in response.
   Roger fit the first key into its lock. With a sharp twist, he pulled the bolt free from the door.
   Silence met him from the other side.
   A strange, sickening feeling poked at his gut. He had expected the Wielder to react. Then again, he hadn't visited her in a week. Perhaps her fear of him had subsided a bit. He could fix that easily.
   He turned the second lock with a sharp jerk. Evan jumped a little at the sound. Peering at the door, he commented, "Three locks? What do you have in there?"
   "A monster," Roger growled, as he turned the third lock free. Sliding the keys back into his pocket, he took a steadying breath, and pushed open the door.
   The smell of rotting flesh washed out over him. Evan immediately began coughing and waving his hand in front of his face. Even Ilex pulled back from the door a little, his eyes narrowing at the smell. Roger just frowned. The strange ache in his gut intensified.
   "It smells like death," Evan muttered. He reached to his neck and pulled a tied handkerchief over his mouth and nose. He squinted into the dark. "Is there a light in here?"
   "Oh. Right." How quickly he forgot that Evan didn't have the ability to see in pitch black spaces like he did. As they stepped inside and the door shut behind them, he formed a small ball of power in his palm, which bathed the room in a pale yellow glow.
   Evan sucked in a breath.
   The room looked much the same as he'd left it. There was more blood and waste than before, but he'd expected that. What he hadn't expected was the Wielder, lying limp on the floor, to be so still and pale.
   For a moment, his whole world dropped out from under him. She hadn't died... had she?
   Evan stared at her with wide eyes. He didn't even try to conceal the horror in his voice. "What is this?"
   Roger swallowed a lump that formed in his throat. His heartbeat quickened. His breathing grew shallow. Suddenly the room felt very, very small. She had to be alive. He hadn't left her for that long. The Phantoms had all reported hearing her movements and sobs. Just that morning, they'd reported that her cough was still strong. She had to be alive. It couldn't all be over.
   When he didn't respond, Evan dropped his pack to the floor. "Did you do this to her?" he asked hesitantly.
   Roger steadied himself against the wall. "Yes."
   "Why?"
   The word was harsh, especially for Evan. Fury burned in the researcher's eyes, unlike any he had ever seen blaze there before.
   Roger shook his head. He wasn't really sure why, anymore. What purpose had this served? He'd barely begun to exact his revenge, and now it was over? His hand trembled against the stone. What was he to do, now that she was dead? What purpose did his life hold, other than making her suffer?
   Evan pulled his lip back over his teeth in a feral snarl. "Is she who I think she is?"
   Unable to speak, Roger nodded.
   "Gods above." Evan pulled the bag off Roger's shoulder, dropping it to the ground beside the other. He knelt and ripped the two packs open, digging inside for tools and magical aides. "She had better be alive," he muttered under his breath.
   Roger certainly hoped she was. Because if she wasn't, he might just run himself through.
   Evan pulled out a focusing wand and a pocket watch. Tenderly, he took the Wielder's wrist in his hand, pressing two fingers to her vein to check her pulse. He stared at the pocket watch as it ticked away, letting the moments pass on in silence.
   Nearly an entire minute passed before he moved again. "Her heart still beats," he said mournfully, "but she's barely hanging on."
   A relieved sigh left Roger's chest. He felt like collapsing onto the floor. Instead he forced himself to remain rigid and appear unfeeling. He focused on steadying his breathing, to avoid giving away the turmoil of his emotions.
   "I'm going to be working on her for a while," Evan told him, lifting the focusing wand above the Wielder's head. "You can stand there if you want, but don't get in my way."
   Roger said nothing. He couldn't if he tried. He'd nearly lost the last thing tethering him to life. His head spun with the realization that everything he'd worked for had nearly come to an end. He couldn't take another devastating loss like that. He still hadn't recovered from the loss of Helene. If fifty years couldn't heal him, nothing could.
   He needed the Wielder to survive, so that he had reason to go on. He wouldn't get in Evan's way.
   Evan cursed under his breath and shook the wand. "Magic's not working," he muttered.
   Roger fought past his shock and lightheadedness to answer. "There's wards in place to keep magic out of the cell."
   Astonished, Evan gawked at him over his shoulder. "Well, then take them down! I can't work without magic, and she'll die if I don't help her."
   Roger's gut churned. If he let magic into the cell, the Wielder could use it against him. She could even escape, and if she did that, then he once again had nothing to live for, and how was that supposed to help him?!
   Evan waited a heartbeat longer for him to respond. Then, impatiently, he cried, "Do it!"
   Roger curled his hands into fists. Evan was right. If he didn't drop the wards, the Wielder would die. Better that he deal with her possible escape than face her death.
   He nudged the wards with his power. They responded to his touch, responding to the dark pull inside him. Though every gut reaction urged him to keep the wards in place, he lowered them one by one.
   Evan's wand sparked at the tip with a golden light. "Finally," he sighed, turning back to the Wielder. As the wand's tip glowed brighter, he passed it over her body.
   Roger stood perfectly still. He watched the Wielder unblinkingly, wary of any sign that she might suddenly spring up and attack him. But she lay as still and pale as when they'd found her, even as Evan passed the wand over her a second, and then a third, time.
   When the wand's light dimmed and sputtered out, Evan sat back with a sigh. "It's bad," he said, sounding suddenly weary. "There's an infection caused from the gash on her leg that's gotten into her blood. She has a respiratory infection as well, probably from breathing in the fumes of whatever that is over there." He gestured to the waste pile in the corner. "She's dehydrated and malnourished. And she's bruised in more places than I can count."
   Roger held his breath. "But she'll live?"
   Slowly, Evan rose. He pushed his hands into the pockets of his dark pants. His gaze remained lowered, focused on a dark spot on the floor. "Roger, I need to know something."
   Unease stirred in Roger's stomach. Evan rarely spoke to him with such caution. The range of emotion he'd witnessed from the researcher was so out of character, he wasn't sure how to respond to it. "Yes?" he asked warily.
   Evan lifted his gaze. Sadness, deep and burdensome, hollowed his eyes. "Are you going to do this to her again?"
   Roger stiffened. What did it matter what he decided to do with the Wielder? She was his prisoner. If he wanted to bring her to the brink of death, heal her, and bring her back again, it was his right to do so. If he wanted to drag her through the halls and make an example of her, he could do that, too.
   "Because if you are," Evan interrupted, before he had the chance to speak, "then I'm going to euthanize her."
   The blood in his veins turned cold. "Excuse me?"
   Evan spoke slowly. "If you are going to torture her again, I'm going to give her a peaceful death. She doesn't deserve this. No one does."
   A spark of anger ignited his blood back to life. "She took Helene from me."
   "No, Roger. Circumstance took Helene from you. From us."
   Roger clamped his mouth shut so tight, his teeth ached. Evan had loved Helene just as much as he had. Sometimes he forgot that Evan suffered the pain of her loss the same as he did.
   Evan turned back to the Wielder. "This girl did nothing to you. She stopped a great evil - a truly horrible evil that would have destroyed the entire realm. An evil you brought about, I might add."
   Roger flinched. When the Wielder told him of his wrongs, he knew how to respond. When anyone told him of his wrongs, he knew how to respond. But when Evan did it, he floundered. To Evan, who had been nothing but kind and understanding and supportive of him from the first day they'd met, he could not attack back the way he usually did. Because Evan always wanted what was best for him. And if he called him out on his wrongs, then Evan was right.
   But Evan couldn't be right. The Wielder had ruined his life. She had ruined his one chance at happiness. She deserved every horror the realm could provide.
   "I don't care what you think she did to you," Evan went on, stirring up his anger even further.
"If you plan to harm her again, I will end her suffering. Right here and now."
   Roger clenched his hands into fists to control his anger. "She's my prisoner."
   "And she's my patient."
   "Only because I asked you to help."
   "I'm glad you did. Because now I can stop you from doing something you'll truly regret." Crossing his arms over his chest, Evan glared at him. "I want you to promise me you won't do this again. Whatever torture you had planned for her ends now. Swear to me on your bond."
   Roger's eyes widened. "You don't know what you're asking."
   "I know exactly what I'm asking. That's why I'm asking it."
   "I swear nothing on my bond."
   "You swore to serve Helene."
   He flinched. "That was different."
   "And you swore to serve Tokala, as bad and desperate a choice as that was."
   It took every ounce of control for Roger not to punch Evan in the face. "He was my emperor, and Helene was gone. I had nothing left. What was I supposed to do?"
   "Exactly my point." Standing tall, Evan stared him down. "Swear on your bond that you won't torture her again."
   It sickened him, but he thought about it. The Evil within him squirmed, equally uneasy. Together they recoiled from the idea. Swearing an oath on a bond could not be reversed. If he swore not to torture the Wielder, he wouldn't just be bound by his word. He'd be bound by the very power within him. It would be literally impossible for him to torture her.
   But that didn't mean he couldn't cause her to suffer.
   Though he knew he probably shouldn't, he forced himself to unclench his hands. "I swear on my bond," he said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, "that I will not torture the Wielder."
   "Not now, not ever," Evan insisted forcefully.
   Roger sighed. "Not now," he added, hating the rush of power that sealed his words and his fate, "nor for as long as I am bound."
   Satisfied, Evan dropped his folded arms. "That's the first right thing you've done in a long time."
   Roger felt nauseous. Bond oaths always made him sick. They altered the connection to his power. They transformed his very DNA. As the room began to spin, he braced himself on the wall.
   "She'll live," Evan promised, turning back to the Wielder. "I'll make sure of it."
   "Good." His vision crossed. He needed to sit down, or lie down, somewhere fast. Making a split decision, he said, "I'll leave you to it, then. When you want to leave, knock and Ilex will let you out." Then, turning his back on the Wielder and his friend, he opened the door and stepped out into the hall.
   The door had barely closed behind him before a burning fever began to pulse at his skull. Of all the oaths he'd made in his life, this had to be the stupidest. But what was done was done. All he could do now was suffer the consequences.
   Was that all his life was? Promises he couldn't break and the consequences he suffered from making them?
   Something caught him by the shoulder as the ground suddenly rushed up to meet him. He blinked slowly, trying to right his vision, and found Ilex standing in the hall bracing him upright. The Phantom's expression was dark, though unreadable. "You should get some rest," he advised. "I'll take you to your room."
   Roger said nothing. He hated showing weakness to anyone, least of all his Phantoms. But as his world spun and his thoughts ran wild, he let himself be escorted to his bed. Then he sank onto the mattress and tried to piece together what remained of his future, even as he felt every last scrap of it slip from his fingers like a scattering of leaves lost to the wind.