The Atlantean Chronicles: Call of the Sea

Chapter Nineteen

Diana had stopped keeping track of how much time had passed since she had first been imprisoned by Meison. Each day seemed to blend into the next. She'd given up studying the guard rotation, and no longer noticed, nor cared which meal was morning and which was evening. With no windows, she didn't even know what time of day it was anymore.

It had been three weeks since Meison had first brought her to that torture chamber. Three weeks of endless agony, her soul slowly being chipped away from her.

For weeks, she had fought the guards in whatever way she could. For once, feeling proud of her stubborn streak. The only form of entertainment she'd received had come from watching the guards' looks of irritation whenever they interacted with her. But even that small form of rebellion had begun to ebb away.

Asherah had not tried to contact her since the first day Diana had arrived and Diana didn't have the strength to try herself. She wondered how Asherah had managed this long, it made Diana feel weak and pathetic, just as Meison had said she was.

She never saw any sign of Arielle either. A couple of times she had tried calling out to her only for a guard to reach in and butt her in the chest with the end of his staff, sending her tumbling back against the cell wall. Her limbs were covered with bruises from days of struggling to break herself out. Her wrists were red and raw from where the cuffs had worn away her flesh. She couldn't remember the last time she had bathed either. Her hair hung in long greasy strands and her face was covered in grime and bruises from her struggles with the guards.

She felt weak and hollow, a husk of who she once was. She'd tried, tried uselessly to defy Meison, to stand up to him. She never told him where Jacin and Reith may have been, she truly did not know. She was certain they'd have left the beach house in Maine- it was clearly compromised- but she didn't know where they'd go from there, if they had anywhere else to go.

She hadn't been used as an example in a while and she found herself growing fearful every time a guard entered the Holding Hall. There was no way she'd stand a chance against anyone in her current state. All those months of training, of building up her muscles and her mind had been for nothing. Her limbs were all but useless, her mind so fogged and dreary she couldn't have used her mystic abilities even if the inhibitor shield hadn't been raised.

Meison had won. It was only a matter of time before he finally decided on an execution date for her and Arielle. At this point, Diana was certain Meison was only drawing out that decision because he knew Diana would happily embrace death at this point; better to draw out her pain and suffering for as long as possible.

Diana tensed as the door to the Holding Hall opened. Heavy, booted, steps clicked along the floor, growing closer. Diana feebly, lifted her head as she heard the steps stop in front of her cell. Hroth was staring down at her and she was surprised to see something like pity in his dark eyes.

He began to unlock her cell door and Diana hugged herself in the corner of the cell, eyeing him warily. She felt like a caged animal, beaten into submission. Hroth leapt down into the cell and approached her, drawing Diana out of her thoughts.

"What are you doing?" Diana asked weakly.

She couldn't be certain, but she thought she saw a grimace flash across the guard's face behind his helmet as he bent down and helped her to her feet. Two more guards appeared in the doorway of her cell, reaching their hands out to help haul her up.

Diana could hardly walk as she was practically dragged down row after row of corridors, Hroth in the lead. Diana stalled as she heard the unmistakable sound of a roaring crowd coming from somewhere up ahead.

The guards leading her exchanged an irritated look before tugging at her bound arms. "Come on," one of them growled.

Hroth pushed open a magnificent set of towering golden doors, allowing the full extent of the crowd's cheers to greet her. Diana tentatively looked around as she was dragged to the center of a small, circular arena. It was different from the one Meison had thrown her into before. It looked more... formal... and there were far more viewers in the stands that circled the polished floor.