Soul Lines (Completed)

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty
Elle's POV

It was cold in the cell made of stone. 

Once again, in the rotting cells, where bones remained shackled to the walls, time seemed to stand still. They'd shoved us into separate cells next to each other. Our legs were chained to the walls, but we could reach each other through the bars if we stretched a little.

Guards waited outside our cells, watching us waste away day by day. They were cruel and spoke nasty things about the packs, but they brought light into the darkness, and for that, I was grateful.

They didn't speak of our trial, and as time passed, it felt like we were waiting for our impending doom. We were fed scraps from their meals and water that made us sick, and when fever struck Kendra, they did nothing. I was forced to listen to her whimpers of pain.

The sound tore through me, eating away at my sanity, and now the only thoughts that crossed my mind were those of escape and survival. For her, I sacrificed my water to ensure that she stayed hydrated. Not sure if it helped or made things worse.

I didn't know how many hours had passed, how many days, but noise, louder than that of the change of guard, travelled down the passageway.

The Beta arrived, flicking his wrists towards our holdings, and the guards scrambled forward into our cells.

'Elliot Clarke and Kendra Mcgarth are summoned to the Umbra courts as crucial evidence in the Clarke case. Any resistance on their behalf will be construed as guilt and can be used in the court as evidence against them.'

Cold metal cuffs clamped around my wrists just moments before the chains around my ankles fell to the ground with a severe clank. The handcuffs were too tight and painful as they rubbed against my wrists. I didn't complain as the guards marched us down the tunnels. I kept my head high and my expression neutral, ready to face my future.

***

We were hauled into an old, grime-covered refectory, the metal of my chains burning rings of red onto my wrists, bruises darkening my skin from rough hands.

The refectory was filled with members of the Umbra pack, old and young, about fifty of them stamping their feet as the guards paraded us to the middle of the room. We were brought to the inner circle and restrained to our seats, where the guards rattled our chains. The room roared with anticipation, but as they dropped our manacles to the ground, they fell silent.

There was a minute of silence, overshadowed by their dark attire, almost like the mourning at a funeral. They hung their heads with a reverence that wasn't deserved because those they grieved for were the downfall that had become them. Lachlan was the only one deserving of their silence because he hadn't died for his sins.

The quiet spell that had befallen the pack was broken by a man who walked up, a robe sweeping around his feet as he entered the room.

The hem of his robe kicked up the dust, and those around us cleared their throats, sniffling away unwanted interjections, and then, like a scene from medieval times, he unwound a commemorative scroll and read aloud the list of the dead.

'Alpha Archer Thomms. May he rest in peace.'

His tone held a reverence that echoed through the air, and the room burst into sorrowful song as the pack stomped their feet, howling together.

'Luna Sarah Thomms, may she rest in peace.' The respect for the Luna was as strong as it had been for the alpha, but it died off as he listed the others. 'Tim Thomms. Lachlan Thomms. Ferrah Imblea. Ricard Glossly. Ean Qippel. George Osen.'