The sharp bite of rope digs into my wrists, bound tight and straining behind my back. A trail of blood strickles down the side of my face, already drying and crusting near my ear.
I drag my head against the door until my blindfold slips out of place. For a beat I keep my eyes clamped shut, pressed down under the crushing weight of exhaustion. My pulse hammers, a frantic, internal drum solo fast enough to rattle my ribs with every beat. Every stuttering breath is an agonizing effort, a fire that stings and catches in my chest.
The violent lurch and unpredictable shift as the carriage rambles along sends searing pain jabbing through injuries I cannot even begin to place or remember earning.
I inhale deeper, hoping to catch a steady breath. My lungs seize and resist the command, locking up like rusted gears.
The carriage jolts, an especially nasty bounce. My cheek slides roughly against the splintered wooden floor, and for a dangerous moment, my mind floats free again, caught suspended in the space between waking and unconsciousness.
It is so terrifyingly easy to drift. The thought itself is an alluring, tempting release. The dark pressing in around me feels soft, gentle, quiet. A complete surrender.
But something deep within my core keeps pulling me back. A faint, persistent tether in the gloom. Is it a voice I barely hear? A forgotten memory I cannot pin down. Or perhaps the faint echo of a promise I cannot fully grasp or recall making.
With a grunt of effort, I force one eye to peel open. All I see are swimming shadows and the low, planked ceiling of the box I'm trapped in. I catch the faint, mesmerizing shimmer of dust motes trembling and dancing on the dim air with every rattle of the wheels beneath me. I attempt to lift my head, but my neck immediately protests. A dull spreading heat radiates down my spine and across my lower back.
I blink. The effort feels immense. But I must focus, I tell myself. Anchor yourself to the immediate pain, and no matter what, stay awake.
If I slip under again, I fear I won't climb out from the dark. I need to count. Do something tactile, something I can grip to stop the rising tide of panic. I force myself to take one breath, then another. They are shallow, painful victories.
I shift my wrists, a desperate attempt to make it give. The rope bites deeply into my raw skin. My fingertips tingle with an aggressive numbness, the kind that warns of restricted circulation. I pull again, deliberately slow, testing the absolute bounds of my restraint, but my current strength barely makes the thick rope fibres twitch.
Not good. Not good at all. My mouth is bone-dry, my tongue thick and clumsy like my thoughts. They come in strange, floating bursts that refuse to join together into coherent sentences.
The carriage hits another rock, and a sudden violent crack. My body rocks back and forth, knocking into the foot of the facing benches. Pain flares bright, screams a warning through my whole body. A burst of air pops from my mouth on a soundless cry, stirring the dust under my nose.
I'm in no state to fight.
I swallow the tremor in my throat and strain my ears, forcing myself to analyze the sounds outside my wooden prison.
Wheels grinding over uneven earth. Hooves pounding a steady, relentless rhythm. There are voices up front, low and muted. I can't make out the words, only the cadence. One of the voices speaks from the right side of the reins, male. The other male answers with a short, rough grunt.
There indifference chills me more than any threat.
I roll onto my back as best as I can, and a good thing too. The carriage picks up speed. The pounding hooves intensify, pushing faster toward an unknown destination. Jostling my bruised body. I close my mouth firmly, trapping my breath. I have to stay ahead of the pain; prepare for wherever they are taking me.
I inhale again, a shorter, safer breath this time. The air is stale, a blend of iron and dust, mixed with a deep, musty moisture soaked into the old floor boards. I lie on a scattering of straw, probably added last minute to soak up my blood.
My arm presses into the straw as I push up onto my elbow, praying to glimpse a landmark, a sign, something to help me figure out where I am. Warmth trickles down my arm beneath my sleeve, a sensation I force myself to ignore as I press my face against the door and peer through rusty hole.
I blink through the haze. My vision drifts sideways. Through the narrow hole in the carriage wall, I catch quick flashes of the world outside. Dark trees. A blanket of thick, heavier darkness behind them. The sky above dips between deep, bruised blues and clouded patches of silver-lit gloom, as the moon fights its way past the heavy clouds.
Where are they taking me?
Curling my fingers, I clench them hard, a simple attempt to shock my numb limbs back to life. My hand twitches, barely a shudder, but it is movement. A reminder that I'm still alive.
If only my memory is so easily jogged. My head aches as I try to piece together the last clear memory. A brightly coloured room. A voice commanding me to run. A door slamming shut. A blue of movement behind me. Pain. Nothing after that.
My heart tightens in my chest.
Someone wants me taken alive or I would be dead. Someone paid for this journey, which means they knew exactly who I am. And I knew them, even if I can't recall my own name.
Goddess, help me. I close my eyes again, just for a shallow, steadying breath. My mind, battered as it is, still reaches for patterns. For meaning. For escape. There must be something in this horrible situation I can use.
My head swims too heavily, refusing to anchor thought to reality for more than a heartbeat at a time.
Stay awake.
Stay awake.
Stay awake.
The wheels shift onto smoother ground. The bone-jarring rattle of gravel gives way to the dull cushion of packed dirt and the ride steadies considerably. That relief should feel immense, but it only deepens my dread. A stable road means they're nearing their destination.
The voices of the men grow clearer. One laughs, a short, coarse sound that grates on my frayed nerves. The other responds with something I still don't catch. I strain harder, focusing all my will. My hearing wavers in and out as if I'm submerged underwater, unable to fully pull the words above surface.
My pulse flicks harder against my restraints. The ropes dig deeper into the soft flesh of my wrists. I inhale sharply and try again to move my hands, not violently, but with focused intent, feeling for give.
I find it. One rope has loosened enough to give me a single inch of freedom. Not nearly enough for escape, yet it is enough to remind me nothing is fixed. Not the pain, not the panic, and not damned knots.
Another fierce jolt. My temple cracks against the rough wood. I wince, tears springing to my eyes. The sharp bolt of pain does little to cut through the heavy fog clouding my mind.
How long have I been here? The question is impossible to answer.
It has to be hours. Maybe an entire night has been stolen from me. I have nothing to concrete to justify this, other than my body feels heavy with the dull weary echo of long travel, the endless vibration sinking into my bones, leaving my limbs stiff, and agonizingly caught in one position.
Light flickers through the narrow hole. Not the distant moon this time. this is closer, brighter. Torches, maybe. Or lamps posted along the road. Civilization. They are approaching somewhere established.
A cold, primal knot of fear curls tight in my stomach. The destination is near. My time is running out.
The carriage drags to a near stop, slowing as though the driver recognizes a familiar checkpoint. I hear the front wheels grind harshly against the dirt. The lantern upfront swings on its hook, casting a momentary, flickering glow that cuts the darkness behind the hole. More movement is ahead. I lift my head another painful inch, every muscle straining to listen harder.
Then it comes.
The low, heavy groan of metal shifting against stone.
Gates. Big ones.
I tense, my breath catching shallow in my chest, and my adrenaline surges again. the metallic sound grows louder as the carriage rolls forward, a long, tortured creak that vibrates deeply through the wood beneath me. Old gates, thick and reinforced, like the formidable entrance to a fortified estate, or worse, the kind of place you're sent to rot, never to see the light of day again.
The team of four slowed to a measured trot. The men's voices fall silent. The wheels bump roughly over a high threshold. Stone replaces dirt beneath us, muffling the carriage's rattle.
I am here, wherever here is.
The heavy gate groans shut behind us, and slams shut with a final clank that echoes the absolute finality of my imprisonment.
The carriage rambles on for a few more tense, agonizing moments, the wheels crunching against the stone ground. It lurches and comes to a complete, final stop.
Silence smothers the air for a long, dragging heartbeat. I hear whinny creak of hinges as the carriage doors pops open. Heavy feet hit the ground.
Silence follows.
I take a breath, hold it.
Then, the person moves. His footsteps approach, determined and unhurried, coming straight for the back of the carriage.