Voices of Humanity

Chapter Twenty-Nine

I don't know how long I remained in that bed exactly, my form stretched in discomfort on that pillow, my consciousness only returning enough to sip at water. It might have been weeks or days, or perhaps mere hours, but when I did truly wake enough to take notice, the first thing I found was the incessant pounding pressure in my head. Blinking my eyes into focus I tried to take stock of my body.

Every part of me was stiff, the wounds scabbing beneath my bandages. I tried to raise the arms laying by my side and found them unwilling to answer my command. Memories of being stretched around the post of punishment filled me, the dragging by the tired limbs when my feet failed, the abrasions over the whole of my skin. Exhaustion seemed to echo in my very bones. My mouth tasted of cotton laced with the tinge of blood from cracked lips and my throat was red hot, dry like the deserts I'd read about in my youth within the pages of Lexia's books. Vast wastelands without any moister.

My eyes scanned the room with the limited scope of vision allowed by my immovable body and I saw the pitcher. Someone had set it on a table next to my bed, all metallic and shining, rivulets of condensation along its sides. A filled tin cup rested beside it and my thirst cried out impatiently, dry throat all the more painful with relief so close.

In spite of the stiff agony, I forced my elbows to prop myself up and inched towards the edge of the bed. With a deep breath, I reached out one shaky arm and locked my fingers around the cup, managing to bring it to my mouth and pour the liquid down my throat. Cold relief that rushed through me but it was gone all too quickly, the cup empty, my body too weak to sit up and attempt to pour a second glass. I allowed myself to drop the glass, listening to the metallic echoing clang as it hit the floor and I collapsed back onto my stomach.

Lying there, already exhausted by the few motions I'd managed, I tried to take stock of my injuries. The headache was bad, but no doubt more water would provide remedy. My mind felt relatively clear, enough to rule out the possibility of serious damage.

I opened and closed both hands and wiggled my toes. The actions hurt, but it was clear I had still had use of them. That was lucky. If Dulane was intent on keeping me in life I would prefer to live with no debilitating injuries and knew I would have to regain my strength as quickly as possible. I wondered how long he might wish to play this horrific game. Surely it was only a matter of time before I would be put to death.

It was not long before a slave girl I did not know appeared at the door. She brought me a bowl of plain gruel that I ate without complaint as she put one spoonful after another into my mouth. It was almost comical. A child caring for me as if I myself were an infant. And that's what I was. Entirely helpless. Fully at the mercy of whatever came next.

"Miss Dreda will come later to check on you," the girl said quietly when I'd finished my food.

I nodded. But though I expected the child to leave now that her task was complete I was surprised to see her hesitating, standing awkwardly beside my bed.

"Was there something else?" I asked, somewhat afraid of the potential answer. What the girl might have overheard. I assumed if Dulane wished me to live he would give me at least a few days rest before inflicting his next round of torture but I also knew there was no guarantee I would have that long recover. The child only shook her head in response to my question.

I looked at her more closely now, my attention heightened by her strange behavior. She was at least six years old, only just a bit younger than my Mary. The thought sent a crippling wave of pain to my heart and I fought to push back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm me.

The girl looked nothing like Mary, of course. Her eyes were dark brown, her hair was a mess of dirty blond curls. A sweet innocent being born to captivity but still young enough to be horrified by my disfigured form. Did she understand that this might be her future? Was that why she stared now.