Disclaimer: Devya, and Jayden are the creation of my friend Amber. Darken Rahl, and DHara, Serena and Tarralyn are the creations of Mr. Terry Goodkind. I take absolutely NO credit for these things. I DO however own Ansleigh, Mistresses Brionna, and Evelyn, as well as the random servants and the few guards roaming about. I also own the Forest of Weeping Moss , the Sisters of Destiny, the Kingdom of D'Auvael, and the Temple of Destinies. The other sisters of the Temple, being Rebecca, Amberlee, Justine, and others that are at the moment unnamed are technically copyright themselves; the wonderful members of .com/darkendestinies/ . This also applies with the personal guard, Commander Nightshade.
Chapter Eight: Breaking Point
It had not been easy. The days had ticked by torturously slow. But Mistress Evelyn of the Temple of Destinies, and leader of the Sisters of Destiny, had found the correct calibration. The perfect blend of physical agony, mental anguish, and emotional torment. The precise cocktail that would bring their defiant victim to his knees.
Literally.
Darken Rahl had found them back bravely; he had tried everything to keep himself from being broken. He had fought them back when he was physically able. When he was not suspended by his aching arms above a reeking pit of filth. But the punishments for outright defiance brought swift and brutal retaliation. Even when Mistress Evelyn herself had not seen to his torture, she put either the Mistresses Amberlee or Justine in charge. Always one or the other. While the Mistress trusted her other sisters, it was these two that were the highest ranking within the temple beneath their Mistress. And there were horrible days that the two of them worked together against the man.
Darken's eyes were always bloodshot with the pain he was trying to keep himself from acknowledging it. But the longer he fought them, the longer the torture would endure. And the longer it endured, the less of himself would there remain. He knew this as well as the others. He had briefly seen what Ansleigh did to have these women trained. It had turned his stomach on him. While he enjoyed their company in his throne room (and also in his bed), and took pleasure in the information only they could glean from certain enemies of the state, he did not see the need to have them so brutally tortured.
It was hard for Darken to judge who was the worst of the two subordinate Mord'Sith. Mistress Amberlee spoke in circles; promising him freedom and a release of his pain, only to then beat him worse. But Justine was a brute force like her Mistress.
Justine, with her long blonde plait, would beat him as Mistress Evelyn watched intently. She kept a hawk like eye upon her Mord'Sith and the man whose breaking she had been charged with.
Mord'Sith were to undergo three breakings of their own while they were trained to wear the leathers and to wield the agiel. After they had been taken from their families as children, they were thrown into the dungeons of their future sisters. There they rotted away for a time, over come by fear. And rats. Fear and rats would set them into a state of unbalance. When the doors of their prisons were finally opened, each surviving child was brought into the harsh light of the interior temple. It would burn their eyes beyond what the sun had ever done. It was then that each young girl was chosen by a Mistress, or the very rare Master (male Mord'Sith were like male Confessors, very hard to control and ultimately very evil.), who would train them. The first breaking was the very torture that Darken Rahl was enduring at the moment. To be broken and beaten within an inch of their lives by the woman that had chosen them. But even death when it came (and that was unsettlingly common) was no match for the Mord'Sith that sought to create another of their kind. The Breath of Life was administered, waking the dead from their sleep before it was too late. Before the Keeper kept them in his clutches. When they were finally defeated, the girls would do anything for their Mistress. Anything to stop the pain.
A Mord'Sith was the exact opposite of a Confessor; taught to inflict pain. And with that suffering to control her victims in anyway she so desired. While the Confessor's power was born of love, the Mord'Sith's was born of hate and torment.
When the first breaking was completed, the second breaking came. It was worse than the first in ways unimaginable to the child at first. Each young girl was forced into watching their Mistress (or Master) bring their mother before them. To watch as the woman who gave life to her was beaten and broken by the agiel as the child herself had been. And when finally the time came, and their mothers were begging for death, their Mistresses gave the death blow; an agiel either to the breastbone, ear, or temple.
The third breaking that the girls underwent was the one that took any last shred of love and goodness from them. Once more their parent was brought before them. But the final task was one that would prepare them for the service of their King. They were to break their father. Put him through unbelievable torture, both physical and mental. And when he was a scrounging dog, begging for his Mistress to give him orders so he could please her, she was to kill him. The act of destroying their family as the last test, and the first murder they would perform for their superiors, destroyed their hearts.
A Mord'Sith was filled with nothing but hate. It fuelled the magic given to her by the ruling Lord Rahl.
And the ruling Lord Rahl was facing the same breaking as the Mord'Sith were subjected to. But in place of his mother and his father, who were both already in the clutches of the Keeper's claws, he was to kill two completely innocent people. People that had never done a thing to hurt him.
And even as he hung from his arms enduring, but barely withstanding the power of the agiels, Darken Rahl couldn't bring himself to think the dark thoughts that would be require of him to bring to death an innocent person. He could not fathom the cruelty that it would taken. Yet he wondered that if he just caved in if it would end the torment he was being shown.
Mistress Evelyn of the Temple of Destinies, and leader of the Sisters of Destiny, had found the correct calibration. The perfect blend of physical agony, mental anguish, and emotional torment. The precise cocktail that would bring their defiant victim to his knees.
She had realized that his breaking could go two ways. If he continued to fight it, he would grow weaker as would their agiels. He would draw out his own torture for the longer. Eventually it would ruin his mind and he would give into the power of the Mord'Sith Mistress. Or, she and her sisters could tell him the truth. That his magic was the one fuelling the implements of their cruelty. Though he was already aware of this fact, and had been for years, having the truth of it reiterated to his breaking mind may break him faster. He would want to escape into death.
But he already had. Three times he had died under the skilled and brutal hands of the Mistresses Amberlee, Evelyn, and Justine. And three times they had breathed into his lungs the Breath of Life, ripping him away from the warm and safe confines of death and back into their icy clutches. In a prison he could never escape.
There were only two reasons he continued to fight against their attempts at breaking him.
Jayden, and Tarralyn.
Both needed him, both loved him just the way he was. How could he ever think of letting the Mord'Sith mould him into a being that he was not? How could he ever let the Mord'Sith transform him into a monster whom his child and his lover would no longer care for? The thought had struck a deep nerve inside of him. Without his father, without his mother, Jayden and Tarralyn were the only true family he had left. He had to fight for them.
But days turned to weeks, and weeks lengthened into months.
By now the Rada'han around his throat had worn his supple flesh raw. The Mord'Sith of course did not care for his comfort. He should of counted himself lucky that they gave him a jail cell with a thin bedding of straw. It was better than they could have done. The could have left him strung up by his arms for days on end. Though as the hours passed, days tended to blend together. He knew he had been left that way for nearly three days before.
By now the desecration of his hair had started to undo itself naturally. Without magic, without a spell, his dark locks were growing back. They were just below his scraggly bearded chin. The choppy tresses were a further mar upon his once proud self.
He couldn't take much more. Something had to give.
And then he broke.
Screaming out in pain from one last agiel strike, Darken Rahl's pride was destroyed. His body ruined.
His training only a third completed.
"No Mistress! Please! I'll do anything you ask of me!", the voice of the broken man came pouring out in terror. "I swear I will!"
Mistress Evelyn paused as she had moved to strike him once again. Her eyes had widened, but quickly narrowed suspiciously. The dark blue darkening further till her eyes were nearly black. She didn't trust this little outburst. He had never once called her Mistress before. Even when she ordered it of him to stop his pain. Could it be true that after so many months that the Sisters of Destiny had finally destroyed him? That they could finally start to rebuild him, only to break him the second time?
Evelyn glared at him harshly. The other Mord'Sith watched with baited breaths. Could all their have work have truly paid off?. Mistress Evelyn held her agiel threateningly nearly his face. His eyes immediately crossed as he focused on the tool. "Get up!", she practically yelled in his ear.
Darken Rahl scrambled, pushing himself up off of the cold floor. No matter how badly his joints ached. No matter how much of his body was bruised and battered. Torn and burned. He stood as swiftly as he could, pulling his shoulders back and standing at perfect military attention. Keeping his eyes forward as not to make eye contact that would warrant him another thrashing.
Evelyn kept her eyes narrow, quickly flashing them between Rahl and Mistress Justine. But they found their way back to the broken man. The man who was forcing himself not to tremble with anxiety and hurt. "Remove your shirt."
His hands immediately moved to the hem of the ragged and disintegrating old fabric. At one point it had either been a tunic that had been ripped, or it had been a grain sack that had been haphazardly repaired by one of the good sisters. He gripped the hem with his arms crossed, before lifting the article up and over his head. He stupidly dropped it upon the floor.
"Did I tell you that you could let go of it!", Evelyn brought the agiel hard across his face.
Darken's face head snapped to the side and he fought to keep a pained whimper from passing his lips. "No Mistress. I am sorry."
"Good.", she walked around him in slow circles, looking for unmarked flesh. Finally she found it, upon his lower back. "I command you to remain silent. If you make even the slightest sound, I will beat you within an inch of your life. Do you understand me, Maggot?"
He kept his face shielded of emotion, not wanting to offend any of the Mord'Sith. "Yes Mistress. I understand.", but he had to know what was coming.
Evelyn watched him, waiting for a long moment. She wanted to draw it out, force him to let his guard down if he thought by putting up walls he could save himself from the pain that was to come. When she saw him relax, even imperceptibly, she ground the tip of her agiel into the lowest curve of his back. The black and red welts erupting as his flesh turned to fire.
He grit his teeth and squared his jaw, but he made no move, or sound. The pain was unbelievable, as the agiel always was. But he had promised his Mistress that she would not hear even the faintest sound from him. His nostrils flared, and his pupils dilated, but there was no other reaction from him. Darken Rahl was broken. When the touch came, he was lost. Darken Rahl was no more.
Evelyn walked around him and stood face to face with him. Her pet's eyes continued to look at the wall just over her shoulder. Good. He knew his place. He knew not to look her in the eye. It had only been six months of torture for him to learn that lesson. Here he was no King, he was no Father Rahl. He was not even a man. He was only a wounded animal in which the cats viciously played with. "If you are truly broken, than you will do as I ask, no matter what it is."
"Of course Mistress. I will do whatever you ask of me.", he briefly turned his eyes to hers, to show her he was listening and willing to act on her behalf. But he once again moved his eyes away, before she beat him for insolence.
Mistress Evelyn smirked sadistically. She looked to Mistress Amberlee. "Bring out our other guest."
Amberlee nodded her head. Stomping her foot lightly to the floor as she bowed her cranium to her Mistress. She turned quickly; her nearly blue braid lashing out as she took off into the darkest reaches of the Temple of Destinies. When the woman in red leather returned, she pulled with her a young girl. Maybe seventeen, eighteen at most. Her hair was a mousey brown, and chopped short. What length there was left was ragged with filth and matting. Her once pale flesh was coated in heavy grime. A mixture of sweat, dirt, blood, and bruising. She was black and blue with the marks of beatings. She had blood bruises covering her arms and the exposed parts of her legs. Her eyes were a common brown. But the muddy irises lit up when she saw the man before her. His appearance into her world gave her hope once more. "Father Rahl!"
Tirion. She had been captured not long after Darken Rahl had been brought to this eastern temple. She had been a prisoner almost as long as he. But Tirion was not destined for the place of Mord'Sith. The leathers and the agiel would not be her fate.
Amberlee looked down at the woman she had to practically drag out of her cell. She growled deeply and touched the agiel to the side of the girl's throat in order to correct her. She was not to address the other prisoners in any way. Especially not with their proper titles.
Tirion cried out in pain, the tears coming to her eyes. They streaked down her filthy cheeks as she looked to her former Master. The benevolent King of D'Hara. Her eyes were pleading for him to help her. Pleading for him to rescue her from this horrible place. She just wanted to go home and see her Mama again. Just wanted to forget that this had ever befallen her.
But the eyes that Tirion gazed into for help, were cold. There was nothing behind them. Darken Rahl was blank. He was a canvas to be painted; a stone to be carved. He could not, or would not, help her. But he kept those lifeless eyes upon her as he spoke, "What are your orders, Mistress?"
Tirion's eyes widened; all hope and colour draining from her face when she heard the words. Darken Rahl was broken. The world thrown into confusion. Her world was upside down. She thought he could have withstood anything, even the tests of the Mord'Sith. But she had been wrong. And it terrified her.
Evelyn looked to him, "She is you last test. To see if you are truly broken. I want you to kill her. In whatever way you choose."
Darken gave a nod and stepped forward. Approaching the daughter of his servant rapidly.
Tirion pulled, trying to escape the clutches of Mistress Amberlee. She wanted to be away from the man as fast as she could. She wanted to run, but she knew the chances of escape were slim. She had tried it before. But the Mord'Sith holding her suddenly released her, and Tirion fell to her backside on the floor. Her eyes were wide, and she kept trying to move back.
Amberlee had decided that it would be more amusing to watch the broken man become the predator and the little servant girl the helpless prey.
But when Darken moved passed Amberlee, he drew the agiel from the holster on her hip. She immediately went to stop him, but her Mistress' hand moving into the air to stop her halted her.
"Let him wield it. I want to see how he takes the pain.", Evelyn knew that he if could take the pain already, and he was broken as he appeared to be, they could turn him into one of them all the faster. But he would need to be out of his collar first. From the recesses of her blood red corset she drew the small iron key, and threw it to the harlequin green eyed Mord'Sith.
Amberlee caught the little key, and cast her eyes down. She nodded, "Yes Mistress." She walked forward, reaching up and grabbing the heavy collar around the prisoner's throat. Her gloved fingers scraped against red-raw flesh. But he didn't even seem to notice. With her other hand she forced his jaw up and out of her way before putting the key into the lock. The collar clicked, before springing open.
His eyes widened wildly as the magic came flooding back to him. He had never realized how empty he felt without it. It spread through him like warm water. From the top of his head down through the tips of his fingers and toes. He was positively alive. And the magic was begging for a release. Darken kept his hand wrapped around the weapon, no matter how much it burned. No matter how much it hurt. The agiel, now brought to life with its true master's han, was singing loudly, begging him to use it. The pitch of the weapon was so high that it was starting to burn the ears of those around. Those watching.
Tirion had frozen in fear; her mouth agape and her eyes wide.
The evil grin spread across his face and through his dead eyes as he got closer. In one foul movement he pressed the agiel into her shoulder. Enough to make her scream out in pain as the tears came to the young woman's eyes again. But he continued. He trailed the tip of the agiel down between her breasts, just over her thin dress. The burning trail it left behind would not soon be forgotten. It was slow, painfully slow. When he drew the weapon further down. He rammed it directly into the young woman's navel; Tirion wanted to scream, but the pain was so intolerable, and he was so inhumane, that no sound could come from her lips. All she could do was pant and stare horrified into cold and dead eyes.
But Darken Rahl wasn't finished. He played this game with her for many long minutes. He wanted his Mistress to see the things he could do. To see the tortures he could carry out when she asked it of him. He wanted her to see what she had done to him. The monster she had created from a good-hearted man. He bashed the young woman as hard as he could with the implement; the force broke her jaw. She cried out in pain but he didn't care. He kicked her down until she was flat upon the floor, and he kicked her again. His foot connecting with her abdomen as the agiel connected with her throat. By now the woman was writhing; convulsing with the shock of pain that threatened to override her system.
Tirion clutched at his ratty pant leg, looking up at him pleadingly. Begging for the man that she had met while making his bed, to remerge. He was flirtatious, and he was known not to have the best discretions when it came to private matters, but he was not a murderer. He was not at all a cruel man. Strict and stern when he needed to be, but no more. And that was why the people had loved him. They would have followed him to the ends of the earth. Tirion would have followed him to the ends of the earth in hopes of having just one more chaste kiss. But this man was not Darken Rahl. He was a shadow of the man she had known. Tirion gripped at the ratty fabric desperately. "Please…Father…Rahl…please…don't…kill…me…", her words came slow. The pain of her broken jaw unimaginable to her moments before. She could only pray to the Spirits that her words would get through to him.
They didn't.
Darken Rahl kicked her once more, knocking her off of his leg and back to the floor. He took the hilt of the agiel into his hand and slammed it down into her breastbone.
Tirion's eyes widened further than he had ever seen; she convulsed as nearly black blood bubbled up from her throat and out through her lips. Before long she fell limp.
He stood up calmly, and turned back to Evelyn, who watched with a raised brow.
"Impressive. Perhaps you have been broken. For that you will have a reward. One full day's rest."
The agiel was still in his hand, and still singing. But not for long.
Mistress Amberlee walked up behind him, Rada'han in hand. She locked the collar around him once more.
The agiel fell quiet, and useless. Useless to Darken Rahl that is. And just like that he felt empty once more. Less than a shell of his former self. Never before had he realized just how much of himself he had based on his blood magic.
Evelyn turned to the blonde Mord'Sith once again. "Justine."
The blue-green eyes of the woman turned to the matriarch, and she bowed her head slightly in acknowledgement. "Yes Mistress?"
"Take my pet here to his cell. Clean him up a bit. Cut off that horrible beard of his. He has proven himself, and he deserves to look like a wraith of who he once was."
Justine looked to the filth and broken man. She couldn't help but notice the dead eyes. She didn't like it. To her it didn't sit well, but she pushed it from her mind. The Mistress knew best. "Yes Mistress. Right away.", she grabbed onto the man's puissant arm and directed him out of the torture chamber once more. Forcing him through the halls until they reached his cell. But Darken did not fight her, he walked along at her side without missing a beat.
Inside the cell Justine shackled his hands above him so he could not fight back as she did as her Mistress asked of her. Once more Mistress Amberlee had brought to her the iron shears. She would need them to remove the course beard growth that Darken had produced over the last many moons. She opened the shears, and glanced once more into his eyes; they stared back at her. Unblinking. Unfeeling. Perhaps he was mere days from getting his agiel and his leathers. Well, figuratively speaking. Justine straddled herself over his hips as he sat with his back against the stone wall. She eased her weight down until she was seated lightly upon his thighs as she took to work cutting away the facial hair. On her belt she had a straight razor she would use to properly shave and shape the remaining growth. He had been a handsome man with his moustache and goatee. The beard did not at all suit him. He looked too much the part of a prisoner. Which he would not be for much longer. Not since he had proven himself with the killing of the stupid little servant girl.
When Justine had tidied up his face and reshaped his moustache and goatee to the way he had worn it before his capture, she felt a little more at ease. Even if he was still blankly staring at her. But she was Mord'Sith. What was the difference to her. Maybe he had just chosen that he liked her eyes the best, as he had no doubt chosen Evelyn's rump and Amberlee's bust. Anything to ease the breaking. But his hair, his hair was still a desecration to the man that he was once. And would be again. The choppy cut was horrible. In contrast to his face, it made his features all the more harsh. He already had high and defined cheekbones, but the hacked locks only danced upon them and made him all the more austere. She glanced at the straight razor in her hand, and back to his hair. Her Mistress wouldn't care. She took his tresses into her gloved hand and took to work with the razor. When she was finished, the mangled locks were gentle feathers around his face. It softened his features and returned the kind look to his eyes. Even if they remained cold.
Justine eased herself up off of his lap and leaned close over him. She reached and unshackled the wrist guards holding him to the wall as her blond hair tickled against his cheek.
The moment the Mord'Sith had gone and locked the cell door, Darken Rahl buried his face into his hands. He couldn't shake the memory of Tirion's horrified eyes from his mind. He couldn't forget her begging and her pleading. He had given her the only help, the only mercy that he could. He had given her death. He had been the one because he knew that the Mord'Sith would torture her horribly. Even worse than what he had done to her. He couldn't allow that to happen. Tirion was a sweet girl; a beautiful girl in that common sort of way. He had wanted the best for her. She had wanted him. But what he had given her was the sweet release of a permanent death. Evelyn had wanted her dead, she had been his test. And so she would remain dead. She could join her father and her grandparents an all of her loved ones in the Underworld. So what he had done had been a blessed release, had it not?
But did he have to beat her so violently first?
The memory of her screams of pain and anguish were echoing through his mind. He couldn't stop them, or forget them. He was sure that they would there with him for forever.
He wasn't broken. He only prayed for a rest from the beatings. Just one day. That's all it would take. One day and he could gather himself. Maybe if he pretended long enough than he would be alright.
Maybe if he pretended that he wasn't broken he could save his soul.
But no matter what side he told himself, it was wrong. He was neither himself, nor broken. But he was very well aware that he was losing himself. That much was certain. He knew that he was not himself. He had enjoyed her screaming and her flailing and her begging too much to be left to his desire to seem broken. No. He was being eaten alive from inside. He was changing. Any longer and he would lose himself entirely to the will of Mistress Evelyn. Avalyn's sister. Jayden's aunt.
After a long moment he rested his head back against the stone wall; his eyes were closed as he put his hands down onto the thin layer of straw that was his bedding. He could feel the cold metallic bite of the Rada'han in the raw back of his neck. The temple seemed to be quieting down for the night. At least he could get some desperately needed sleep. But his fingers found a stiff piece of hay that had been mixed in with the straw. His brows knit together in confusion for a moment.
But then it hit him.
His blue eyes snapped open.
Darken quickly picked up the stem and held it up to his eyes in the pale light filtering in through the breaks in the ancient trees of the forest, and down in through his narrow window. The twig was fine and tapered. A lock pick. His left hand quickly grabbed the collar and pulled it out from his dirty throat as he leaned his head away . His right hand carefully fitting the hay stem into the tiny lock. He held his breath as he cautiously twisted the plant matter around in the lock. Finally he heard the click and the Rada'han sprung open once more. Darken immediately pulled it from his throat and threw it into the area where the straw was the thickest; so it wouldn't make a horrid clang and betray him. For a long moment he merely relished in the rush of the magic through his being. It had always been there, but it had been locked away from him. The time was also spent rubbing his raw flesh. Trying to ease the burn. His mind was blank with pleasure from the satisfaction of being able to remove his last shackle. His mind was clearly changed if he had forgotten that he was a healer himself. He could mend the crimson flesh and ease the pain from it. But eventually it occurred to him as he ran his fingers over the abrasions. The skin turned from red to pink, and slowly turned to the natural tan of his body once again. But it was his hair that upset him the most of all. It always had. That had been the reason they cut it from him. It was punishment. It was a way of taking his identity. It was a way of creating a monster. But he wouldn't let them do that. He closed his eyes, running his fingers through his hair, as the locks started to grow out once more from his scalp. He stopped it when it curled up a little upon touching his broad shoulders. It was still layered around his face from where Mistress Justine had feathered it; he liked it. It was still long enough for him to be royalty, but this shorter length would be easier to deal with. The length he had worn before, had been as long as Tirion's had been. It was enough to braid into a short braid. But now, plaits were the last thing he wanted to wear in his hair. He did not want to be a Mord'Sith whether in name or personality.
Tirion. He could save her and bring her back with the Breath of Life! But, his heart sank as he realized that it was too late. And even if it had been within the first moments after her death, her body had probably already been burned by Evelyn. His heart sank.
He sighed, running his hand through his hair for a long moment. His knees were bent up, his back to the wall. But he knew there was only one chance. He stood up slowly, as his body was still aching. And dragged his toe through the straw, drawing out a pentacle. A magic implement to help him in his escape. He just prayed that it would work as he wished. Darken stepped in the center of the pentacle, and closed his eyes, lifting his hands and murmuring ancient words to make him disappear from one place and appear in another. As his words grew more and more in volume and urgency, the straw started to lift up from the floor. It started at his feet and moved its way up, circling him.
He vanished.
And the straw fell to the floor once more. Hiding any trace of the pentacle he had drawn.
