1. Waahid

There was a great gap between the young girl's words and Bane's response. As the sound of her voice washed through his mind, he found himself at a loss for the proper thing to say. She had made a comment that begged for confirmation, for acceptance, for some kind of answer. But he had not considered the topic since he himself was a child. Certainly then he had found the failure of so many people as they desperately climbed towards the light disheartening; but now he had grown so used to it that it hardly fazed him. It happened so frequently. One became accustomed to the scene of despair.

But the girl had been in the prison for quite some time now. Nowhere near as long as he had been, but she had been lowered in The Pit perhaps a year ago. Maybe more, maybe less. He supposed the specific date wasn't important. He had been there perhaps five or six years, if he could trust those that still practiced a calendar in vain.

A year seemed enough time to settle in. It had been plenty for him.

Bane swallowed the dryness in his throat and, as he leaned into the bars of his own cell, he asked, "What do they call you?"

The girl's gaze remained steady, staring at the wall opposite her. For a moment, it appeared she had said too much already—that she had betrayed a dangerous secret in speaking as much as she had already. Soon enough, however, the fear of being heard disappeared from her face and she answered. "What do they call me? Or what is my name?" She let her head turn stiffly, her glassy eyes resting on him. He felt obligated to remain silent. "I am called Amir," she said, determinedly lowering her tones. "It means prince."

Bane stared at her. "You are no prince."

"Quiet." Her voice was sharp. She did not appear comfortable with looking at him directly.

At the instruction, Bane turned away from her and began eating his rations for the day. It was nothing especially good, but nothing unusual, either. The small meals were a usual standard of rice and beans. Occasionally there was meat. Occasionally there was nothing at all.

"If you give me half of your rations…" The girl had spoken up again. "I will tell you my name at the fires tonight."

Bane frowned as he chewed slowly. "I'm not sure that's an even trade," he muttered. "Perhaps your name isn't worth me starving for the evening."

"Ah, but perhaps it is."

"But what of your rations, child? I am a growing boy. I am larger than you. Why should you get more to eat?"

He refused to look at her, although he could feel her eyes boring into his cell. The sting of her attention bit into him, and he wondered if she weren't trying to see right through to his organs. "I do not eat daily, my friend," she said, her voice growing lower still as Hassan approached the area again. Bane's brow furrowed, and the girl continued. "My crime was too great. I am fed once every two days, if I am lucky. And today I am hungry. I am a growing boy myself."

Boy. He almost scoffed at the word. She was trying to guilt him into feeding her. He would not allow it. "You are much younger than myself," he countered, willing to play along with her insistence that she, too, was a male.

"Not by much. I am small. But I daresay, I still deserve to eat sometimes."

Bane pressed his back into the metal, rusting bars on which he leaned. He exhaled through his nose as he ate, willing her to look away from him, to stop eyeing his meal so hungrily. Perhaps her crimes were indeed worth such strict rations. Perhaps she didn't deserve to eat.

Deserve. The word itself seemed cruel. As it was, he had come to accept that he had been thrown into a terrible prison for a so-called crime. Being assaulted in the world in such a way certainly merited imprisonment. He accepted that it was the way the world above operated. It was what they believed.

But did he deserve it?

With a growl against his own stupidity, he waited for Hassan to return to his own quarters before stretching his arm through the bars, bowl in hand. He reached as far as he could, until the iron caged his shoulder back from going any further. The food was directly between their cells, and the girl's stare had become positively unwavering. Her eyes swam with a mixture of emotions—a mixture Bane did not care to interpret. She took her time in reaching for the portion he was giving her. Her hand darted back slightly, as if waiting for him to retract the offer.

When her fingers curled around the edge, Bane briefly caught a glimpse of a white, swollen scar on the back of her hand. Upon closer inspection, he could see that Arabic letters had been engraved on her skin. He could not speak the language fluently, but he could read it all right. There was a word carved into her knuckles:

Whore.

She pulled the food into her cell and did not hesitate. She ate quickly and untidily. It was as though she forgot how it tasted over days when she did not consume anything at all. "You are kind," she said through a mouthful of rice.

He said nothing.

Bane waited through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening while dozing fitfully. Another prisoner attempted the climb. The chants were loud and fast, begging to man to rise, rise, rise, for God's sake. They all stood behind him, supporting one another, encouraging each other into success. But they were so deep under the world. So far down. Wasted hope.

When dusk fell entirely, the coldness of the place was washed in the flickering warmth of the fires. Bane was allowed to leave his cell to join the others in the center of The Pit. Some of the prisoners were not confined to a cell during the day; it was the younger, able-bodied ones whom were deemed dangerous enough to keep behind bars for much of their lives. Bane was not a small person, but he was certainly not dangerous as far as he was concerned. Despite witnessing several physical disputes and being the victim of an unmentionable attack, he had never had the desire to seek violence. He was no longer innocent the way a child was, but he would not lose what he had left to maliciousness.

The girl whom he had fed earlier was not allowed to leave her cell. Hassan passed by and gave her a bowl of water, but other than that, she went unacknowledged.

"Will you ever make the climb, boy?" A man addressed Bane in a husky voice. His scraggly, gray facial hair cloaked his mouth entirely.

Bane shrugged. "When I am stronger, maybe."

"Bah," spat a man to his left. "It's been years, good friend, yet you have not tried since you were a young child. You have had much time to gain strength. Some say you have no interest in escaping. Many of us have worked day in and day out to grow strong enough to succeed, but you do not work towards it. It is as though you believe strength will come to you on its own without being called."

Several of the men laughed, the fire eerily illuminating their faces in parts. "Perhaps it is not about strength," Bane replied, "but patience instead. Stamina. Determination. Strength is what carries you, but your spirit is what motivates you. Spirit is the key. And each failed climb slowly causes your spirit to deteriorate. I will not allow that. I will make the climb when I know that I will succeed." There was a rustling among the other men as they rolled their eyes and shifted at his words. "Perhaps that time will never come," Bane admitted, "but I will wait. You might be the strongest man in the world, but without determination, such a man would never attempt to climb. The desire must be there."

"And you, boy," the man hissed, "have no desire, do you?"

Bane got to his feet, clutching a thick tree branch in his palm. "I don't know," he said. "I don't know that there is anything up in the world of freedom that would entice me. Living as a free man would not change the fact that I am a slave to my crimes, would it?"

He broke away from the gathering and headed in the direction of his cell, where a smaller fire burned in the walkway. He allowed it to hold his attention for a while, stoking the wood and leaves beneath the feeble flames as he stood. He was highly aware that the girl who went by Amir was watching him intently. But he did not rush the impending conversation. What was a name to him?

"So you have come to collect what you are owed," she said through the shadows. Bane did not look over at her despite her words. He allowed the tending of the fire to occupy him. He shifted the materials specifically, making sure that the fire burned brighter and longer.

"What makes your name so great a prize?" he inquired casually. "I will call you Amir if you so choose. Your name is of no consequence."

"I never offered you a prize." Her voice acquired a wash of severity. "It is not the name, but what the name means about myself. The name never mattered." She drew a long breath through cracked, pale lips. "You already know my secret. I want to make sure that you aren't going to tell."

"You don't want them to know you're a female," Bane assumed in no more than a whisper out of respect for her wishes. "Is that right?" After a moment, she nodded slowly. "But someone else must have heard you speak before. To think your gender is a secret…"

"I assure you, no one else knows what you seem to be sure of," she said. "Speculation has risen, I'm sure." Her eyes were piercing in every possible way, the reflection of dancing fire wading in her crystal irises. Her gaze was intense, as though she had never known fear, but he was willing to bet that she had. Fear went along with imprisonment in The Pit. It wafted through each cell in turn with each new addition to the quarters. But the girl concealed it well as she stared at him, ablaze with determination. "You seem to know for certain," she said. "You know the truth, whereas no one else is daring enough to entertain the notion of my being anything other than a male. 'Such a severe punishment would never be fit for a woman', they think. But that is not so. They do not understand that no one is immune from hell."

Bane allowed the words to settle on the air around them, allowed them to be devoured by the spitting fire and the distant voices of those in easy conversation. Even still—even though she knew he was certain of her secret—she purposely altered her voice, making it as deep as she could manage. A strange voice to hear when he now saw her exactly the way she was. "You are wise for one so young," he said to her. "Do you remember your age?"

"Yes. Fourteen."

"You are small for fourteen."

She lowered her gaze. "Yes, this has been established."

Bane allowed her the silence after that. He, too, felt the need to rest, although the conversation had not been particularly heavy or long. He was left to the confines of his mind, to rework each word she'd said to him. Something deep within him—something buried low in his core—was fascinated by her. He felt a flicker of interest that had long since abandoned him. The girl ignited within him a feeling of hope, and immediately, his body battled to squash it away. There was no place for hope in The Pit, no matter what the others felt. They could dream and wish and believe in the taste of freedom, but it was nothing but disappointment, and Bane wanted no part of it. He had given up years ago, after the first climb. The physical and mental pain had been enough the first time. He had no intentions of rekindling them. For a moment, he thought to resent the girl for remembering her age, for holding on to her life, and for finding some motivation to survive. She radiated strength and belief in a life outside of all this, but he would not allow her to affect him. He had gone a very long time without knowing the first thing about her; it would be easy to go back to being strangers. It always was.

"Do you promise to keep it a secret?" She broke the silence the way an axe sliced through ice.

After a moment's hesitation, he agreed. "I promise."

"My name is Ari." She was charging her way through his barrier against her the more she said. "It may be of no importance to you, and I certainly should see where it wouldn't matter in the least to you. But it means a great deal to me. It is my last tie to the outside world. I alone knew myself when I have been forgotten to the rest of this earth. Sharing such a thing with you is the greatest connection I have made with anyone for almost a year, and to me, it is the greatest act of trust I have executed in so long." Bane shifted the leaves in the fire as their tips curled into glowing burned crisps. "We are in solidarity now—now that I am trusting you this way. For you have liberated me from a great secret, brother, and if you fulfill your promise, I will be forever grateful for your gifts of secrecy and liberation."

She reached her hand through the bars, the scraping of whore standing out even in the darkness around them. "What is your name?" she asked him.

They shook hands. "Bane."

"Thank you, Bane."

A/N: Surprise, the girl wasn't Talia : ) She'll be coming up a bit later in Part I. Thank you all for your feedback, follows, and favorites, you all encouraged me to continue on. Especially to those of you leaving encouraging reviews: soundnebula, Zazzy The Kitty, ktfoo, ilovehappyendings, Bane's Muse, Straight Edge Queen, baneorama, and the guest. I think I've gotten back to all of you at this point, but I'm glad I was able to capture your attention and thank you so much for your interest and inspiring me to embark on the journey.