Salt And Souls

At first Ceres feels only pain in her head. Then she realises her eyes are closed and all she can see is black. That heightens her other senses and why she quickly realises that she can smell body odour. It makes her gag twice as the smell reaches the back of her throat. In response she quickly unfurls her eyelids wondering what she’ll find herself faced with. She fears the worst, but what she finds isn’t what she had been expecting as she is staring at her own arm, which is folded over a post. It isn’t broken or mutilated, which she is thankful for. However, at first she can’t work out why her arm is where it is but as she tries to pull her arm away it becomes apparent. She is chained to the post, which in turn is bolted to the stone wall. It isn’t a manmade wall, but one of natural jagged grey stone. Ceres curses. She has no idea where she is but it can’t be good, especially as she’s chained up. It doesn’t surprise Ceres, though she isn’t about to just sit here and see what happens. So, she begins to try and test the chain that has her bolted to the wall.

The chain goes taut as she pulls on it and the cuff around her wrist digs painfully into her skin. Ceres refuses to give up and begins to twist the chain in hopes of putting it under stress and perhaps working a link to the point that she’ll be able to decouple herself from the wall. However, the more she works and kinks the chain the more the cuff bites into her skin. She can’t afford to cause herself any damage because if she does she’ll have no way of treating the wound.

After a few minutes however, Ceres has to admit defeat as the pain in her wrist is becoming too much for her to bear. It’s obvious there are no weak links in the chain, except she thinks herself, but then she isn’t in the chain. She knows she will break long before the chain will and so dares to look around her. As soon as she does she recoils in surprise as finds she isn’t alone and that the room is filled with other people. That shocks Ceres, who had been sure that she was alone in some tiny cell. It shouldn’t shock her she knows, but the sight of the weak and exhausted around her does, as the sight of them breaks her heart.

It’s a disgusting sight to see men, women, human and elf all captured and forced to endure these squalid conditions. Though, there presence explains the body odour that still assaults her nostrils relentlessly. However, she feels compelled to ignore her subconscious’ demand to screw her features up in response, as that would be disrespectful. None of these people have asked to be in these conditions and no matter what their lives have entailed it is not deserved. Though, by the looks of them most are normal folk likely just hoping to make ends meet and keep themselves fed and clothed as best they can.

Filth coats every inch of the floor which rats scurry across checking the chained people as they go to see if they are still alive. A few aren’t and so the rats quickly partake in an indulgence of flesh that most of those around the bodies seem utterly oblivious of. It doesn’t surprise Ceres as she shifts her body round, pulling at the chain as she does so she can get a full view of the room. It’s packed full of people who are less than a metre from one another. A few seem to be sleeping, but it could just as easily be praying. Ceres wouldn’t know as she has no faith in the divine. How they manage it though she cannot fathom. But then she reasons that she hasn’t been here as long as they have. It dawns on her that she might too be this compliant if she had been. Something tells her that isn’t true but she settles on not judging these poor souls as she doesn’t know the depths of the suffering they have been forced to endure. A pang of thanks flashes through her to be able to say that. A similar fate was what would have befallen her if she had not managed to escape Albin Torkester when she’d been a young girl.

Thoughts of her past give her a new lease of life and determination to regain her freedom. So she damns the pain in her wrist, telling herself to buck up and then starts to try and twist and turn the chain again. She has to get free, and then get all those around her free as well. She is not going to simply sit here and wait for death. But her attempts don’t last long as suddenly the sound of a heavy metal door clanging open rings out. In response many of the captured begin to shrink to tiny shaking forms of fear. Ceres can imagine that will bring a wide smile to Albin’s face as there is no doubt in her mind that that is who is going to appear. She can’t imagine anyone else would illicit such a response except the elf slaver.

Suddenly it dawns on Ceres that she is still on land. She has no idea why it has taken her this long to consider such a thing, but the relief she feels is no less for it, as there was every chance she could now have been at sea. Especially as she doesn’t know how long she was unconscious. If that had been the case then she may not have ever been able to return to the Good Grace. However, whether she is still in or around Baron she cannot say. She’ll have to find that out once she’s escaped.

Then Albin appears alongside a pair of some of the largest thugs Ceres has ever seen. The Captain of the Good Grace has no idea where Albin finds these guys, but somehow he always seems to have the largest cronies. The cronies stay near where Ceres guesses the metal door is located, while Albin begins to walk down the length of the far side of the room. If these people weren’t clearly here against their will Ceres thinks it would look like an inspection of sailors by an officer. The reality is that it isn’t and why Ceres keeps her eyes locked on Albin, who is wearing his usual sick demented and smug smile. He is completely unaware of Ceres and her burrowing gaze as he stops at a slave. He wonders how many of them realise that they will be sold off or forced to work for him until the day they die. It won’t be a quiet death. Albin always makes sure of that. And if the slaves that work under him think they will be well treated then he will soon cure them of that delusion.

He studies the weak faces of the less than dirt specimens he has here. Few impress him in any way, but some will provide him good enough service for however much longer they live. That is why Albin then raises his arm high above his head. He has a chunk of wood in his right hand, which he brings down on the captive right in front of with. The young woman roars in agony as the wood and its rough edges slam into and then scrap across her barely covered skin.

Ceres simply snarls. She is too involved with her anger to say anything as her eyes stay fixed on Albin Torkester while the woman continues to scream in response to each and every strike he delivers unto her.

Before long her already battered and bruised skin begins to weep blood. She is curled tight in a foetal position with her eyes closed and her free arm covering her face and head. If it were presented Albin would decimate it. The whimpering woman has seen that firsthand. She doesn’t intend to end up with a severely mutilated face because of the sick pleasures causing pain gives Albin. So that is why she is doing everything she can to keep her face covered and buried in her bony shredded knees and by her free arm.

When Albin finally stop beating her a couple minutes later and resumes his inspection, the beaten woman is relieved and thankful for the mercy. Little does she realise that Albin has none and just didn’t wish to kill her. That is how he treats all the slaves under his boot. Not that she did anything wrong, other than exist. A similar mistake a weak malnourished man makes as much the same happens to him as he too is beaten, but then also prodded by the chunk of wood that embeds splinters into his tattered skin. He, much like the woman before him, screams in agony. But unlike with the woman Albin doesn’t stop at a simple beating and instead delivers a succession of hard hits to the man’s ribs until finally Albin hears them crack. Somehow in response his smile grows wider but at least he moves on from the poor weak man who is left moaning as he rocks back and forth wishing for death. Just as long as the death is not at the hands of the slaver who has already badly beaten him and why he is now coughing blood onto his already tatty filth covered tunic. It can’t be said that the man is wearing the remains of the garment, which would more accurately be described as simply being draped over his unhealthily thin frame.

However, as Albin continues his inspection one of the captured can take no more of their jailors savagery and so when he thinks the slaver is within reach he throws himself at Albin. But the slaver simply takes a casual step back as though he had been expecting the attack. The male elf who threw himself at Albin falls short as a result. He crumples painfully to the floor almost shattering his jaw on the dirty stones which offer no remorse to the slaves plight.

Unfortunately, that is not the worst of it for the male elf, as Albin lays into him with the chunk of wood. The baton bites into the man’s flank three, four, five times before Albin decides to get more creative.

The slaver puts all his weight on the elf’s free hand. The elf screams in response, which isn’t surprising as his hand is being crushed beneath Albin’s heavy black boot. That gives the slaver the opening he needs to bring the wooden weapon down on the back of the elfs head hard enough that the poor captives face slams full force into the stone floor. The elf howls but isn’t given a chance to breath as Albin goes hard at the man’s head with strike after strike after strike. Before long the elf stops responding in any way to the assault he is being dealt, though he is clearly still breathing. That only makes Albin more enraged and is why the slaver then flips the battered elf over with the toe of his boot.

With the injured elf slave on his back and vulnerable Albin takes a swift swing at the man’s chained arm. His bones give and a loud crack rings out, followed a second later by a desperate pleading cry and then sobs of mercy. But the sobs only bring Albin joy and even if they didn’t he has no intention of stopping and providing mercy. This slave is disobedient and that means he has to be made an example of.

So with the slave elf now having broken ribs, fingers and chained arm, Albin resumes beating the elf’s head. Except this time it’s the elf’s face, which already bloody from its impact with the floor begins to become a mess of dark crimson until finally he splutters his last breathes.

There is little distinguishable about the elf’s destroyed head now and his body is completely still. Albin drinks in the shock and terror of those around him. It fuels him. Gives him purpose and he adores it. Then when he has had enough and is sure his point, though silent, has been made he resumes his inspection.

Before long, and without any further displays of brutality, Albin reaches Ceres. Her ice blue eyes are still locked on him, while a sickened look of disdain and hate is carved deeply into her features. Again Albin recognises her face but still he can’t recall from where or when. That irritates him, but it’s not something that even he can take out on the woman. If he did it would bring him no joy. He’s done it before and afterward he simply deemed it a waste. Still, he continues to gaze upon her searching his memories until suddenly like a flash of lightning it hits him. He can scarcely believe it but it has to be and all because she shifted her head in such a way in this light that he recognises the scar on her right cheek. An evil smile spreads across his face in the moments before he decides he will address her directly. It isn’t something he usually does with his slaves, but seeing as they have history he deems it appropriate.

“Ah, little…Ceres…was it? Looks like you didn’t get too far out of my grasp, now does it?” Albin says before erupting into a cruel cackling laugh that sees him throw his head back.

His cackle is loud enough to echo around the prison and many of the already cowering slaves manage somehow to shrink further. It would be impressive if it were not so devastatingly sad to witness.

Still, Ceres sees no reason to stay quiet and so fires back, “Long enough for me to have made a life for myself, you sick bastard.”

Ceres isn’t sure why she says those exact words but they seemed to be appropriate, in her mind, at that very instant. However, the response from Albin is a snarl and a darkening of his drawn out features.

Sadly, Ceres does not react in the manner he finds acceptable and it is clear that she thinks that she somehow has the upper hand over him. To dispel such a notion he delivers swift sharp kick to her side. Ceres exclaims in pain in response to the kick that throws her onto her side allowing Albin to beat her back painfully.

Ceres refuses to give him the pleasure he calls for as she represses the cries of pain as well as any wishes she might have to beg for mercy. The truth is she has no wishes to beg. Instead, she uses the pain to further fuel her hatred which she swears will be repaid in kind.

Albin is surprised Ceres doesn’t shield her face as she shifts, while being beaten, back into what is clearly a more comfortable position. Doing so however, allows for more of her body to meet the wooden bludgeon that smacks audibly against her body, which is covered in good quality clothing. That surprises Albin who had been sure when the girl had escaped that she would never make it. He’d deemed her too weak and that had been his own failing. What he should have done, and he knows it, is gone after her and put an end to her life. But he hadn’t, though right now he is pleased he didn’t. He won’t beat her to death like he did that insolent male elf though. He has a much worse fate planned for her and that is why he soon brings the beating to an end.

Albin doesn’t delay his departure much longer now that he is satisfied that his superiority has been asserted. So he and his twin burly thugs depart. A loud slamming clang of metal on metal ringing out as the cell door is closed. There is no shriek of a lock being put in place as Ceres would have expected. That revelation both surprises and delights Ceres.

It surprises the Captain of the Good Grace that Albin would take such a risk, but she’s delighted by his continued arrogance.

She shifts her body to a slightly less painful position and then reveals the presence of a dagger. She pilfered it from Albin during her beating, and was why she had refused to protect her face.

A smile creeps across her features as well as a sizable chunk of relief that the slaver elf had not resorted to disfiguring her. That had been a gamble, a necessary one. Though, it was not a decision she had taken lightly. Not that it matters now as her plan had worked out.

She immediately drives the thin blade of the dagger into the lock that is keeping her chained.

It takes a few attempts during which the dagger slips several times almost slicing Ceres open, but eventually she manages to release the lock. The cuff around her wrist drops away in response allowing Ceres to rise to her full height. It dawns on her that she could have stood before but for whatever reason hadn’t.

The scar faced elf woman winces as she feels the bite of pain from her aching body. Most of the pain is a result of the beating Albin delivered with the chunky lump of misshapen wood that he had in his hands.

That however, is not Ceres’ concern right now as she helps to work at the lock of the poor slave next to her. Releasing the lock is quicker now that she has both her hands available. She does make sure to take it steady and ensure that the thin blade does not slip. Doing so would slice the weak looking human woman open and Ceres doesn’t want that.

The process of releasing the slaves is one that Ceres repeats countless times until each and every captive is released from their chains, except for the perished. There is no need to release them. If Ceres did it would provide no relief, as they have sadly already suffered terrible fates which cannot be undone.

With everyone released though questions begin to be asked as to what good their release will grant them and to that Ceres urges, “The cell is not locked. We can escape. I will scout ahead, find a route and make sure it’s clear. Then you can follow. Regain your freedom.”

In response a number of the slaves refuse to take part and elect to stay behind. Ceres knows she should argue but doesn’t entertain wasting her efforts. Those efforts are better used on people who still have the fight to regain their lives. The slaves that insist on staying behind are too far gone. It’s a sad thing to admit but she has to be pragmatic and do what is best for the majority. Not that such a decision eases the guilt she feels at condemning those that will left behind. She doesn’t know what will happen to them but there is no way they will be serving Albin Torkester. He will be dead before long, she promises that.

“She is right.” A human male says from behind his long black beard, shaved head and still vibrant brown eyes.

Ceres doesn’t know who this man is but she’s pleased that someone has dared to stand with her. But the man doesn’t stop there as he urges everyone to conform, so they can escape and return to their respective lives. It seems to work as the mass of slaves quickly fall silent after a round of positive murmurs and mutters that Ceres guesses must have been agreement.

“What’s your name?” Ceres asks the tall man who is two hundred and ten centimetres in height.

Unlike the others he seems stronger, more alert and possibly capable. She hopes she isn’t wrong and that he isn’t some sort of plant who in reality is in the employ of Albin, but only time, she knows, will inform her of that.

“Itim.” The name replies with confidence. Though, his eyes dart around cautiously for a reason Ceres cannot guess. Doubts begins to well up from within her as suspicion sets in. But she pushes those feelings aside as she asks, “Itim, can you guide these people?”

“I can. But you are in need of a fellow scout more than a shepherd. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.” Itim responds and honestly Ceres cannot argue. She feels that perhaps she should as she doesn’t know whether this man can be trusted, but can’t. That surprises the Captain of the Good Grace. And that surprise keeps her quiet for a time. Then ultimately she accepts. “True.”

After that Ceres turns to the other slaves and orders, “Stay here. We will return once a path is clear. Do not follow us until we return.” Her tone is harsh and authoritative, but necessary. She can’t have slaves milling about aimlessly. That could easily result in not only their death but everyone else’s as well, especially if Albin were to find out. There can be no forgetting of the brutality of the man and she knows she doesn’t have to remind the slaves of that. They get the implications of what might occur if they disobey and so go into a quick furious round of nods confirming their understanding and conformity to the order. Relief washes over Ceres in the moments before she and Itim depart.

They make sure to ease the heavy metal criss-cross of a cell door open slowly so not to create shrilling creaks and squeaks that might draw unwanted attention. Then they slip through the gap, keeping low to the ground as they creep forward. Ceres curses the presence of the boots on her feet and wishes that she like Itim was devoid of shoes. She doesn’t have time to remove her boots so redoubles her efforts to keep her steps as quiet as she can make them, while the pair cover opposite sides of the averaged sized passage.

Ceres assumes they are underground as the walls are damp, stone and devoid of windows. She again wonders where they could be, but that is a question for another time. Right now she and Itim have to find a way out of these tunnels and then she needs to find Albin. The Captain of the Good Grace doubts he will have departed, though it is a possibility she has to consider. She doesn’t consider it for very long, but at least she can say that she did consider it.

Suddenly she catches sight of one of Albin’s thugs. He has his back turned to Itim and Ceres, who slowly creep down the tunnel and then leap at their prey. Itim grabs the thug around the throat putting him in a headlock to limit the thugs thrashing. Not that the thrashing lasts long as Ceres quickly drives the dagger into the thugs torso. The thin blade disappears into the thugs’ wide chest, spearing through his lung and then piercing his heart. The thug convulses in response even as Ceres withdraws the dagger and Itim finishes him with a low snap that is the sound of the man’s neck being broken. Ceres nods and then dares to release her previously held breath, while Itim lowers him silently to the floor. In that moment Ceres decides she is pleased to have Itim with her, and really hopes he isn’t deceiving her. She would hate to have to put him down, she thinks as she claims the short sword from the now dead thug’s effects. Itim claims a hatchet which he weighs in his hand to check the balance. It’s sufficient but not perfect; he decides just before Ceres gestures that they continue forward. Itim nods his approval a few seconds before they resume their advance.

Itim wonders how large this tunnel system is as they turn a corner after having made sure that it is clear. If it hadn’t been Itim had been ready to fling the hatchet down the passage to end the life standing between them and freedom. He has already decided that he likes the elf woman next to him. He is sure Albin called her Ceres, though as a human he isn’t about to make the mistake of speaking a name he does not know. Especially as there is a chance that Ceres is not her name but in fact some title, or perhaps even insult in their language. He knows they have one, but can’t say whether he has ever heard it spoken. Whether that is because it is a dying language or because they refuse to speak it in the presence of humans, he cannot say. However, he knows it can’t be because of a lack of elves as they number nearly as many as humans do, from what he has seen of the world.

Before long, the pair of scouts come across a pair of guards. They aren’t close enough for Itim to fling his hatchet and even if one was it would not solve the problem of the other who would have sufficient time to react and mount an assault, or worse, call for aid.

Without a word Ceres signals that she will take the one on the right, as she is on the right side of the tunnel, while Itim will take the thug on the left. Itim nods his approval of the quick thinking while continuing to silently move ever closer to the unsuspecting thug whose torso isn’t quite turned entirely away from him. The thugs head is however which is why Itim is taking the risk of advancing down the tunnel which soon opens out into an average sized square room. Itim is thankful no one else is present. Had there been anyone present he would have already been spotted. As there isn’t though he simply squat runs to close the short remaining distance and then wrap his arm around the thugs throat seconds before slamming the hatchet into the man’s skull. The skull of the thug cracks audibly under the power of the strike before the blade drives into the thugs’ brain. The thug in the employ of Albin dies immediately, allowing Itim to lower him silently to the floor, like he did the last body. Then he turns to find that Ceres has too felled her own target. By the looks of things Ceres sliced the throat of the thug. A thick pool of blood encircles the body which she has just finished easing to the stone floor of the tunnel. What impresses Itim most is the fact that Ceres has managed to keep herself from being stained by any of the spilled blood. He can’t comprehend how, though he would never have taken her method of dispatch, seeing as in his mind the death is not quick enough.

“Looks like we’ve found the way out.” Ceres declares while motioning toward a brightly lit doorway that is down a short corridor carved into the left hand wall of the average sized room.

Itim spins on his heels. He had been unaware of the presence of the corridor Ceres is indicating to him. Upon seeing it with his two eyes however, he feels a strong surge of satisfaction. He had feared that they might be wandering around blindly for hours and that would not only have brought dangers to himself and Ceres, but also to all the other captives they left back in the cell. That fear has evaporated now, instead replaced by joy.

“Itim, you must lead these people to safety.” Ceres says. The statement catches Itim off guard. He had not been expecting it and so simply queries, “You are departing?”

His words come out revealing more surprise than he had intended. Nevertheless Ceres gives him an honest answer. “Yes. I have to end these horrors, once and for all.”

Something about the look in Ceres’ eyes tells Itim that trying to reason or protest will only prove to be futile, so instead he simply utters, “I wish you well. May you find freedom and peace.”

With that Ceres smiles and then departs down the other tunnel. It’s directly ahead from where they entered this average sized space. Itim to watch her walk away, that is until she disappears around a corner.