Spans of time tangled together and I began to wonder if I had ever seen Mandy and Char in the marketplace in Drinnen. I hallucinated seeing them in my cell with me nightly. Mandy would cradle and rock me, singing to me like she did when I was a child. Char would be shocked to see me then run to me and hold me to his chest.
The hallucinations never smelled right, though. The sulfer smell of the hot springs permeated everything and I couldn't summon his smell of clean sweat and soap, freshly laundered clothes and horses. Mandy's smell of fresh bread, herbs and spices was even harder to conjure. My nose was simply dead and my delusions splintered into fog.
It didn't help that my jailers were nothing like them. They were all men. Sallow skinned and pinched from the lack of sun. They all wore dark robes against the winter chill but not so heavy as the robes of the city faithful. This place drew heat in abundance from the earth.
I made this discovery daily as I was led from my cell to a large chamber filled with jagged rock teeth and the stink of sulphur. I was bade to undress and wash in the unbearably hot water that bubbled from the ground into rock basins until I was deemed clean enough. They would then lead me to a basin filled with chunks of snow and I would scrub myself with it everywhere until I was tingling and frozen.
This process, though grueling, was much better now than it had been when I had first come to this place.
When I arrived, I was dirty and sick. The cold had caused chillblains to form on my hands and feet and under the huge manacle that ringed my neck. The trip in the dwarven bucket, though swift and comfortable had plastered me with greasy dirt from head to foot which had been exacerbated by my exhausting trudge across the valley kingdom. I had not had a change of clothes since I had left Joshua's cabin and my clothes had not been cleaned since I left Willigark and his wives. In short, I was filthy. I had picked up lice or fleas from somewhere. I had chilblains on all my extremities, I was deeply bruised across my side and hip and the burn on my hand had begun to fester. And I was pregnant.
All the other prisoners were led out of the cage before they came for me. They didn't even seem to be treated badly. The whipping sticks had been put away and all three trudged disconsolately inside under their own power. As I waited, I took in the place. It was huge and imposingly tall and seemed to sink seamlessly into the mountain. The whole place was protected by a semi-circle of tall wall which also merged with the cliff but it did not look armed. Everyone there seemed to be a religious zealot. Not a soldier in sight once we had entered the gate, except for the commander whose brother I had apparently killed.
Once the others had vacated the courtyard, everyone focused their attention on me. Several large acolytes that had not made the journey with us took hold of my chains and manoeuvred me out of the cage without letting me come too near any of them. They then led me through a wide doorway and through long, dim, stone corridors.
Eventually I was staked to the ground in a low ceilinged room with a floor that slanted to a central grate. The whole place reeked of sulphur and fear. I was suddenly alone and I crouched there in the hell scented gloom for an eternity. Dimly I could make out arguing in an adjoining room as well as the sounds of moving water and steam. At least I was warm. I held my cold roughened hands over the faintly steaming grate while I waited for someone to come. I tried not to let fear choke me, but my anxiety caused fearsome nausea and I ended up vomiting the contents of my stomach into the grating long before anyone came for me.
I curled my arms around my neck shackle to pillow my head and dozed uncomfortably on the floor until several men with buckets and torches entered the room.
The angular priest was foremost and held a flaming brand aloft to light the chamber.
"Witch, we come to begin cleaning you. You will remove all clothes." His men took up stations around me, but far enough that I could not touch any of them. I think he expected me to argue with him, but of course my curse allowed me only to do his bidding. I folded my clothes into a pile as I removed them, trying not to let them see my hands shaking as I tried to resist my curse, my face flaming with anger and embarrassment.
"Please, I am not a witch.." I began to plead with him.
"Be silent," he said in an offhand sort of way, and of course, I was.
As I was peeling off my last layers, the letter from my father, now stained and browned from contact with my skin, peeled off with my bodice and landed just out of my reach on the slanting floor. Fearing it would fall in the grate I reached for it, choking myself in the process. I strained for it as the angular priest extricated a pointed tool from his robe pocket and stabbed my letter on the point, examining it briefly before scraping it into a small white sac, which he handed to the man next to him. My focus on the letter unraveled in a second as my complaints began, protesting that I was still garbed in pantaloons and stockings.
When I had completely removed my clothes, I crouched over the grate to try to obscure my nakedness as more of the assistants carefully placed each of my garments into similar bags and carried them away. They were all certain not to touch any of my things when they bagged them.
When the last of the items was gone, I was ordered to stand and bucket after bucket of scalding water was thrown over me. I was scrubbed mercilessly with exceedingly long handled brushes from every angle then more hot water was thrown on me. When that was done, they tossed hand-fulls of loose powdery snow at me until I was covered and shivering then scrubbed me again with the brushes.
When this was done, a robe of undyed wool was thrown to me and I stepped into it, pulling it up my body then tightening the neck with a string. I was then led into a cell with a pallet and bucket in the center and my chains were fastened to the floor once more. They also left me with a fine comb and two bowls of clear alcohol and the acolyte indicated that if I had not groomed my hair and removed the lice by morning I would receive a shave instead of breakfast.
Carefully, I had combed through my tangled hair, removing lice and eggs and drowning them in one bowl of liquor, then I poured the other bowl over my hair as I carefully leaned away from my bedding. Even with my care, the stench of the liquor lingered all night, burning my sinuses and making my eyes water as I tried to rest.
After a fitful sleep of indeterminate length a new collection of acolytes came and took up my chains, leading me through the bathing ritual once more. I was given clear broth and weak tea when I was led back to my cell then left for another mind-numbing juncture.
I sickened almost immediately from the festering wound on my hand and the days blurred and stretched as I battled a scorching fever. Different acolytes dressed and bandaged me all without touching me directly, a confusing dance of tongs and metal probes, snipping bandages and delicately spreading ointments smelling of herbs and astringent washes poured from afar onto my heated flesh. Vaguely, I knew I should be afraid of losing the hand or my life but my mind could not focus on such an abstract thought through the pain and nausea.
Eventually, the fever diminished and broke. My hand had healed but a thick layer of shiny scar tissue remained where the burn had been, making it difficult to bend my hand and grasp small items. I was returned to a pattern of being washed by impersonal acolytes wielding long-handled brushes and scalding water but I was weakened by the ordeal. I had difficulty dragging my chains around with me and my guards were forced to come closer to me to take up the slack. Without the impersonality of distance and dark corridors to mask them, I began to recognize my jailers. They became men, not fearsome acolytes of an inscrutable faith. I began to name them in my mind. The angular faced acolyte who spoke some Frellan became Hawk-face with his scuttling assistant, the Scribe. There was a huge man, whose hair was so prodigious, I poured forth from the cuffs of his robe and out the neck. He became the Bear. He was always paired with a slightly stooped older man whose wattle of crepey skin on his neck and wall-eyed stare gave him the nickname Lizard. There was also a good natured young man that I nicknamed the Puppy and his older partner, whose dour expression made him Hound. Lastly, there were two who I disliked the most. A tall man with scant hair and a perpetual haughty frown was partnered with a broad shouldered young man who looked as if he would be more at home wielding a sword than a holy book. They became the Courtier and the Soldier.
The Bear was very careful to ensure that he bore as much of the weight of my chains as possible. He would never glare or chivvy me along and was placid and pedantic in his tasks. The Lizard seemed as if he may be simple, but he was not unkind, simply doing his tasks as instructed.
The Puppy was eager to please his companion and seemed to do everything with eagerness and joy. He smiled at me when his companion wasn't looking and seemed to try to fill whatever space he was in with chatter.
The Courtier and the Soldier were different, though. The Courtier would allow my chains to drag along the floor until I began to struggle under the weight and slow, then he would poke at me with a long pointy stick he carried. The Soldier leered at me, especially while I was nude and licked his lips when his companion was occupied. I was afraid of them both and wary of what they might do.
When I recovered from my illness they came in groups of four to take me for my forced ablutions. The pattern of cleaning followed by weak broth repeated until I was used to the timing and the ritual and was awake when they came for me most of the time. I was always hungry and bored but I was no longer in pain from my chilblains and the pervasive warmth and the sulfur baths eased my bruises and other injuries until they were gone. Even the lingering headache from my head injury eventually ceased, though I had long failed to notice it most of the time. I tried to tally my time there, but my initial state when I had come to that place thwarted my efforts at recollection and I had no method of keeping track.
As time went on, my guards dwindled until I was allowed to wash myself in a smaller bathing room where the water welled from the earth. Hawk-face would often attend my bathing and dictate notes in the corner to the Scribe.
My hallucinations of Char and Mandy changed to regular dreams as I became healthier and stronger. I began to test the limits of my chain in my room, hefting it around to strengthen my body. This tired me significantly with my limited rations and I slept better and deeper.
One day my routine changed. I awoke, ready for my cleansing and Hawk-face was there already with the Scribe when the Bear and the Lizard came for me. He watched and quietly dictated all through my cleaning and I glared at him as I washed, trying to hide my nakedness from them.
When we returned to my cell a table and chairs had been set up on the edge of the room and my habitual bowl of broth and cup of tea were absent. I was chained back to the floor and sat on my pallet watching as the other two men left and Hawk-face and Scribe settled themselves at the table.
When they were comfortable, the angular priest addressed me, "What name have you?"
I was sullenly silent. His order had lasted all these long days and I did not know if my voice even worked any longer.
He murmured to his assistant then leaned forward, "You will answer when we say questions but speak nothing else. You will say truths only. What is your name?"
I cleared my throat, delaying as long as my curse would allow me then told him my name in a creaking and disused voice.
He questioned me for hours, his assistant running through a thick stack of creamy pages to keep up with the answers. I learned that Hawk-face was named Father Igrod and Scribe was called Paetor Haffrey. They asked me about Frell and what my life had been like there. They asked about how I had come to Drinnen and in depth questions about the dwarves.
They left me alone then but not too long after, Hound came in and delivered a tray of food. A large piece of meat with gravy, vegetables and a slab of dark bread with cheese as well as a mug of small beer. I devoured every scrap ravenously and noted with interest that he remained in the room with me while I ate and took the tray away when I was done. Soon after Bear, Puppy and Hound returned and led me to a new smaller cell. When I was inside, they removed my heavy iron collar. None of them touched me directly and they all kept their distance once it was removed, but it seemed that they had decided all the cleansing had done the trick and I was no longer dirty or dangerous.
Though smaller, my new cell received a measure of natural light and I reveled in the feeling of the iron ring being gone. I received another sizable meal once the daylight had faded and enjoyed the feeling of being full. I still could not make any noises when I was not being asked direct questions, but I began to watch my jailers more closely now that they were not so rigid around me.
I also listened to my fellow inmates. I could hear others in the cells near me and watched people be led by my door. I did not recognize any of them as the ones I had ridden in the cage with and wondered what had become of them. I also began to gather words. I had always been adept at languages and now that I wasn't hungry, injured and sick I was able to pick up a handful of words from acolytes chatting together and prisoners talking to themselves.
The next morning Soldier came to my cell and opened the door then led me to a different bathing room. It was similar to the ones I had used before but now there was a salty scrub scented with oils to wash my hair and body. I used it generously and when I had sluiced myself off I noted that my lone guard was looking at me with frank appraisal. I quickly dried off and dressed without looking him in the face. He was a big man with serious square features and thick brows over his dark eyes and he frightened me.
Instead of leading me back to my cell, we went to a bare room with a table and chairs. I took a seat in a chair facing two others across the table and Father Igrod and Paetor Haffrey soon joined me. They spent a long time questioning me in further detail about my life and adventures, focusing especially on my experiences with Ogres and Elves. I tried my best to gather more words from these two when they stopped to discuss my answers in their own language, but I kept getting distracted by Soldier's regard as he watched me unblinking from the doorway.
When the questioning was over I returned to my cell with Soldier following me closely. Now that the chain was gone, he seemed to walk close enough to step on my bare heel. I could smell his musk, like an animal and quickened my pace, trying to keep distance between us. When we reached my cell he opened the door for me courteously but I had to pass very close to him to go in the room. I could feel his breath on my cheek as he bent near me and gently sniffed my hair as I went by. He never touched me, but I was terrified and memories of my battle with Lord Gow resurfaced like stinking gas rising out of a marsh.
My guts seethed with fear and eventually anger throughout the afternoon and the next days as the routine repeated. My meals, which had been a source of comfort and enjoyment, lost their appeal and I picked at them desultorily.
A few days later Soldier was once again my day's companion. He led me to the bathroom and I refused to strip until he turned to face the wall. He did so, with a mocking smile and I washed quickly with my dirty robe on then changed robes by pulling the new one over the old and pulling the old robe out the neck hole. He glanced over during this process and chuckled at me, a glint of challenge in his eyes. I focused during my interview, answering in depth questions about giant's weddings as well as Frellan ceremonies in general and refused to look up at Soldier as he stood indolently by the door.
He led me back to my cell, opening the door as he had before, forcing me to walk near him to enter the room. This time, he slid his hand down my backside as I walked by and cupped my bottom with his massive square hand. I jumped and ran into my cell, as far from him as possible and pressing my back to the wall but he slowly pulled the door almost closed and stalked after me into the cell. I crouched down, but he grabbed a handful of my hair, forcing me to stand. I tried to take some of the pressure off my scalp with one hand while pushing at him with my free hand.
He chuckled deep in his throat and growled a few quiet words in my ear before running his tongue up the column of my throat. I tried to squirm away, but the pressure on my scalp kept me close. I scratched at his eyes with my free hand but he grabbed my hand and crushed it in his grasp, lighting my fresh scar into a fiery agony. I grunted in pain and my complaints began in earnest. He disentangled himself from my hair and turned me, shoving my face into the stone wall, bruising my cheek. He began to pull up my robe in the back and I made renewed efforts to stomp on his feet and claw at his hand on the nape of my neck. His huge hand grabbed my hip with bruising force and pulled me backward.
In a horrible parody of my time with Char, I felt the blunt probing of his cock against my bottom before he slammed me against the wall once more, dazing me in his haste to push into me. I lost some time at that point but when I became aware again, he was still grunting and labouring while he raped me.
A crash of breaking crockery brought his attention away from me and the pressure on my neck eased slightly before he was torn violently away from me. I pressed my back against the wall, pulling my robe close around me and watched Bear hastily bundle a disheveled Soldier from the cell. They both trampled my lunch on their way out.
The remaining balance of the day passed in a haze. Someone came and cleared the broken crockery and brought me a new meal which I did not touch. A clean robe and hot water were brought when I refused to leave the cell and go to the bathing room and I washed my tender skin viciously. Then I slept through the rest of the day and the night.
In the morning Hound and Puppy came together to escort me to the bath. They had very somber faces and a neck manacle and neither of them would look me in the eye. I would not cooperate with the neck manacle and found that they were both terrified of touching my bare skin. They eventually gave up on the manacle and I went with them docilely enough to wash and change. The also would not look at my nakedness, instead, facing the door together, as far away from me in that small room as possible.
Given the time and privacy, I examined myself thoroughly and noted the bruises on my hip and face. I also noted that my belly was seeming a bit rounded and sticking out slightly. My pregnancy was beginning to show.
Crouched there in the muggy, sulfur scented closeness I ran my hands over my belly in wonder and dispair before straightening my spine and dressing for the day. I did not realize I had been crying until I caught a flash of sadness in Puppy's eyes.
Instead of our regular interview room I was again led to a room with a floor slanted over a sulfurous vent.
Father Igrod and Paetor Haffrey seemed nervous and anxious when they arrived, sidling around the outside of the cell to their seats and not looking at me directly. There was a lot of fussing before Father Igrod began the interview.
"Ella, did you know that Paetor Regald has died in the night." I shook my head mutely. I didn't even know who Paetor Regald was.
"I think he was your guard yesterday, yes?" I gasped, that horrible rapist was dead? What was I even supposed to think about that?
"It seems he was killed by a succubus in his sleep. This is also what happened to the Captain's son in the mountains and Conar Breitwulf has also died strangely while you have been here. Another man here lays in a sleep and will not wake" He watched me pensively while his assistant scribbled madly.
"We were not sure before but now we think you may have been cursed by the Lorelei." He spoke gently, coaxingly, like a favorite uncle, not my jailer. He then described the Lorelei in detail as well as her effects. It seemed that there had never been a maiden afflicted with her curse that had lasted so long. Normally, the Lorelei would kill one, maybe two abusers as a succubus then the maiden would drown herself. He then pulled a huge tome towards him covered in stamped leatherwork and inlaid with flaking gold leaf and perched a pair of tiny spectacles on his nose to examine the unintelligible runes within it. Eventually, he turned the book towards me and showed me a picture of the Lorelei. Her curly blonde hair floating around her in her idyllic pond and her deep dark eyes wickedly cruel over a mouth full of pointed teeth.
"Yes, I have seen her." I stated and recounted the story of our meeting. Father Igrod listened raptly while Paetor Haffrey scribbled furiously. When I was finished they conferred quietly for some time, forgetting my presence.
Bored, I considered the pictures on the page facing the Lorelei. Two columns of tiny pictures were drawn there. On the left a man in bed was tempted by the Lorelei then found dead. On the right all were tiny scenes of torture and death, a woman burning on a pyre while she pleaded. A woman being drowned, being tortured with many implements. The last picture, though, showed the same woman and she was kissing the man from the bed on the shore of the pond, each of them trailing their joined hands in the water. Reflected in the water you could just see the Lorelei turning away from them.