Voices Deep Inside (Book 1)

Chapter One

Voices Deep Inside

Chapter One

The Prison Tower

Screams of death had returned to the old castle. The smell of decay was disturbed; the sound of terror lingered. His chilling cry that night touched her soul, and this time, she ran towards the sound. The intricate corridors of the castle had been her playground, but now they were filled with cries of desperation.

His voice had touched a chord deep inside. Could she save him, or would it be too late? Who was he? At that moment, it didn't matter to Talia; she needed to try. Throwing on her servant's dress and grabbing a woolen shawl, Talia scampered out of the back of the kitchen, down the hallway, and headed for the staircase leading to the tower.

* * *

Roman Thanturnam laid crumpled in the bottom of the old 16th century pit of a prison tower, surrounded by piles of human bones from centuries of Huntley family murders. They had thrown war prisoners and traitors into the pit to fall upon pointed stakes; for the unfortunate ones that missed and were only wounded, they died a slow, painful death of starvation and dehydration.

The year was 1802, and the grand prison tower was showing wear. In one corner of the tower, water leaked into the ancient prison. Faint breezes of air filled the chamber. Moss grew on the stones, and the smell of mold entered his nostrils as Roman gasped for air.

The land war in Pennsylvania grew dark as the hunger for land increased. Omar Huntley wanted the Thanturnam Estate, which bordered on the south edge of his property. For the past year, the Huntley brothers had been busy; Thanturnam's field hands murdered, their horses stolen, and the estate threatened with fire. Gordon Thanturnam refused to sell.

One night, while on guard duty, his eldest son, Roman, was abducted. The Huntley brothers blindfolded and horse-tied him. They rode through the darkness of night to the Huntley Estates and drug Roman up the stairs to the prison tower.

Timothy Huntley, the youngest, had developed his father's taste for revenge, but Jamison, the oldest, was growing tired of being his father's henchman.

Omar Huntley loved this part of revenge, especially when he had been drinking. He reveled in taunting and teasing the victims in their last moments, like a little boy who tortures a small animal before the kill.

"With you out of the picture, your father will sign over his land to me to protect the rest of his family," said Omar with delight.

"He'll never sign," uttered Roman with conviction.

"The land will be mine, not yours. Mine," whispered Omar.

Roman turned and spit at the smaller brother who had been clutching his arm too tight. Timothy Huntley backhanded Roman across the face, jarring one side of the blindfold loose. Roman stared with one cold black eye, as if to bore straight through his bony face.

"I will come back and haunt you."

Then Roman rammed his massive shoulder into Timothy, pinning him against the stone wall of the tower.

"You bastard," hissed Timothy.

When he realized, Timothy was trapped; Roman pushed harder to make it difficult for him to breathe.

"Jamison, get this animal away from me."

His older brother was tired of fighting and wanted to drink. He stood up and knocked Roman's legs from underneath him. Roman continued to fight with the two brothers as the old man watched with delight.

"I want to hear you scream. Be sure to scream loud. It keeps me-e-e servants in line. There is not a one that dare steal from me."

Jamison threw Roman onto his back, and Timothy sat on him and spit into his face. The brothers realized he was too big to be thrown into the pit, so they pushed him.

Roman slid down the wall in silence, scraping his face and chest as he fell twenty feet into the decaying pit. With his hands still tied behind his back, he inched around until he was leaning against the wall. Then he tipped his head back, so the blood would not run into his eyes.

A man who stood tall and straight like a towering spruce spent his first hour in an archaic prison twisted in pain.

* * *

Roman Thanturnam had missed many of the spikes, which had become almost covered with bones, but he could not elude them all. They had ripped his flesh open on his right side, as he could feel the cold blood trickle down his lower back.

Roman lost all sense of time until the moon rose high enough to glow through the windows in the tower twenty feet above him. Hundreds of bones gathered on the spike pad, filling the pit.

With the beams of moonlight, Roman got his bearings and tested the ropes that encircled his hands. Working to free his hands, he clung to the thought of going up through the light.

Behind his back, his fingers searched for a small, sharp bone fragment. He located one, and picking it up with his fingers, he scraped it against the rock wall to sharpen. Then, after testing the sharpness on his finger, he twisted the bone and cut one at a time through the many strands of rope.

Through this tedious procedure, Roman concentrated on the dark, damp corner of the pit. Water was seeping in one corner of the tower. It made that area moist and cool, and the mortar soft and gritty.

While inching the bone fragment against the rope using the jagged edge, Roman's mind contemplated tunneling through the wall, if the stones were loose. His thirst grew as he strained against the rope he was cutting.

An hour later and nearly exhausted, his muscles were cramping. With one last effort, he strained the ropes to feel the breaking of several strands. He was making progress but growing weak with fatigue.

Roman closed his eyes to rest as the moonlight in the pit faded. His arms grew numb, and his thinking became unclear. Weariness overtook him.

He could feel something moving by his hands and on his head. He heard squeaking, and he realized he was not alone. There were rats.

The rats smelled the blood and came out to feast. He scrambled to his feet, pushing against the wall and shouting like a madman. His hands broke free from the restraints of the ropes, and the rats scurried in all directions.

As his heart pounded, he crawled along the wall toward the dampness of the water. In the motions of a desperate man, he lapped the water from the wall, knowing he could survive with water. With the rats waiting in the darkness, Roman was left to his misery.