Chapter Seven

Whispers and Screams

"I guess what scares me most now is the thought that I won't be able to protect you."

~Julia Hoban; Willow

It was the sound of quiet cries - the sound of his daughter's cries - that dragged Dustfinger from the deep sleep he had somehow managed to fall into. Panic rose up in him at the sound, urging his heart to beat faster until it pounded again his chest. He jolted upright, eyes darting around the cell in search of Rosanna's small form in the dim lighting, but she wasn't there. Fear and confusion filled his still sleep-addled mind until he finally remembered the events of the night before; the sound of Rosanna's cries, Basta's hand clutching her hair, his knife at her throat, drawing blood. Rosanna was in another cell now.

He pushed himself up to stand, walking towards the door that trapped him here and peered out the small window of metal bars positioned in the upper part of the wood where the guards could look in. Dustfinger couldn't even see his daughter out there, couldn't be sure she was okay. He turned, pressing his back against the door, silently cursing Basta, Orpheus, even Argenta's queen; anyone who had a hand in this.

Suddenly, other voices managed to reach his ears through the sound of Rosanna's persisting sobs; voices, laughter, the unmistakable tone of a man who wanted more than just friendship and a woman who seemed to want the same, and perhaps might just give it to him. It seemed as though the guard had been visited by one of the castle's women, most likely a handmaiden. Their only guard had left his post. Perhaps, without him posted between them, he could speak to Rosanna without the guard hearing over his own words and the woman's laughter, sounds that echoed loudly even down here.

"Rosie," he called softly through the opening in the door, making sure to keep his voice quieter than those of the guard and the woman. Rosanna's cries stopped, replaced for a moment by silence and then, the sound of small feet running across the cold stone floor and the gentle noise of her hands hitting the wood of her own door at the same speed.

"Daddy?" she called, imitating the softness of his words. He breathed a sigh of relief at the sound of her voice. Whatever had made her cry while he slept, at least she was well enough to respond to him.

"I'm here, little one," he said, glancing in her direction through the small bars but he couldn't see much on either side, let alone his daughter or the cell that housed her. "You're not alone. I promise."

"Daddy," came the child's voice again and he couldn't miss the desperation and terror behind her words. "I'm scared, Daddy."

Dustfinger gave a shaky breath as her words reached his ears, every sound cutting into him. "I know, Rosie," he told her, eyes closed as he pressed his forehead to the cool metal of the bars. "It'll be alright. I'll see you soon."

He tried so hard to make his voice sound comforting, fearless despite his own terror, but even he could hear all he did not want to make known in his words. The thought of his baby trapped in that cell, scared and all alone though only layers of stone separated them, hurt him more than he could have imagined. He hadn't felt this kind of fear since his eldest daughter sat crouched and crying in the cage Orpheus had put her in, the Night-Mare dangerously close and ever threatening. Just like then, every part of him was screaming to go to his daughter, to protect her and take away her fear and the tears she cried, but there was nothing he could do this time. And now, even if he could, they would never escape on their own. They wouldn't even survive the attempt this time, he was sure.

"And then we'll go home? I want to go home," she whimpered.

Dustfinger nodded even though she couldn't see him. "That's right, little one," he agreed. "We'll go home and see Momma and Jehan and Brianna. And then you can run around the fields and play."

"I can show you all those pretty flowers that Momma grows." When Rosanna spoke again, he thought he could hear the slightest hint of a smile, and he managed to small smile in return, though it disappeared from both their faces as fast as it had come.

"I would love that," he replied, putting as much enthusiasm as he could muster behind his words, though he knew full well that the chance of getting back to the farm seemed relatively slim now. Guards would be doubled, if not more, after their last attempt to escape and they'd be monitoring the secret passages now too. Any attempt at escape would be futile, at least until he could come up with some sort of plan. For now, they were at the mercy of Basta and whoever he was serving under, to be used or killed as he pleased.

He didn't regret his decision to come here, not if he could see his Rosie again and offer her even a little comfort in this place, but for a moment, at the thought of never going home again, he almost couldn't breathe. Roxane. Brianna. Jehan. It was possible he would never see them again. He would be forced to leave them again, and this time, perhaps they would never forgive him of the sorrow they would feel.

Roxane would be hurt the most. She wouldn't have told Brianna about her sister, not wanting to give her false hope, but when the shock wore off, the hope she shielded her daughter from would make its home in Roxane's heart; hope that when Dustfinger finally returned to her again, he would be carrying their little one on his hip like he used to. If he couldn't get home, if he couldn't get Rosanna home, she would feel the pain of both their loses once again and that hope would break her.

"We have a baby goose too," Rosanna added, voice breaking for a moment, threatening the return of her tears. "I can show you her too. She's really cute."

Dustfinger gave a soft, half-hearted breath of a laugh at the thought of Roxane's ornery old guard goose being called 'cute' at any point of its life. "I would love to meet the goose too."

"She won't let me hold her though," she said. "I've tried."

"Oh, I'm sure she wouldn't," Dustfinger said, the image of Rosanna chasing a miniature version of her mother's goose through the yard behind the house playing through his mind. He could picture it all so vividly, Rosanna's voice mixing with the sounds of the goose's beating wings and the cackling she would give in protest as Rosie tried to convince her to come to her to no avail. But, of course, Rosanna wouldn't have given up so easily, wanting to bestow upon the creature all the love she felt for it. "But I'm sure you tried very hard."

"I did," she said, falling quiet again as the words passed her lips. The sound of her quiet sniffle sounding through the dungeon, reaching his ears yet again. Rosanna was crying again, though it almost sounded like she was trying not to. The cell suddenly felt too small, like the walls were closing in on him, and her too. Dustfinger needed to get out of here. He needed to get her out of here.

"Soon, little one," he said again, the resolve in his voice stronger this time though he was just as helpless to help her as before.

"I want you, Daddy," she cried, voice sounding even more desperate than it had. "I want you now."

"I know, Rosie," he said, forcing the words around the lump that had settled in his throat, making them quiet and hoarse. "I'll be with you soon, okay? I promise."

"You promise?" she asked through her tears, another sniffle following soon after the words.

"With all my heart, little one," he agreed, nodding futilely once again.

"Okay, Daddy. I'll see you soon." Her cries never lessened any, even as she spoke.

"I'll see you soon, Rosie."

"I love you." No sooner did the words pass her lips did the sound of footsteps draw nearer, echoing off the stone. Suddenly, Dustfinger realized that the voices and laughter had died down, leaving their words vulnerable and obvious.

The sound of an armored hand banging across the wood of the door reverberated through the whole dungeon, quickly followed by a short, shrill scream and the soft thud of the child falling backward, her cries returning in full. Dustfinger tensed at the sounds, his heart beating too fast in his chest.

"I love you too, Rosanna," he whispered under his breath, the words only soft enough to reach his own ears.

The sound of footsteps, light and quick, echoed across the stone and roused Dustfinger at the too light attempt at sleep he had only just fallen into. He opened his eyes, peering at the door before him through the darkness. These were not the steps of their usual guards. These were lighter, coming without the metallic clanging of heavy armor. Another servant, perhaps, to bring them food or water?

It would be much appreciated. Neither he nor Rosanna had actually eaten since Katerina had snuck in the bread and he had been feeling both his hunger and thirst for some time. He couldn't even say anymore how long ago that had been. It was impossible to tell if it was day or night down here and he could not tell how long he had managed to sleep.

But when he heard the voice that came with the steps, Dustfinger knew it was no servant and any thoughts of food or water were instantly replaced by cold, numbing fear. Every muscle in his body tensed as if prepared for a fight, or perhaps it was in preparation for the pain he had come to associate with that voice, even after all this time.

"I'll be back for you," purred the all too familiar voice of Basta, the sound of his steps pausing as he said the words and resuming again right after, coming closer and closer towards Dustfinger's cell.

Dustfinger scrambled to his feet, though he kept close to the wall behind him, the chill of the stone mingling with the chill of his panic. There were few reasons that would bring Basta down into a place like this and none of them could be good. Basta stopped outside his door, quickly unlocking it and stepping inside, his knife in his hand and that chilling, sadistic smile plastered on his face. Dustfinger swallowed hard at the sight of him.

"Well, what do you know?" he said, his voice sounding far too pleased with himself to offer the Fire-Dancer any sort of comfort. "It looks like I'll be able to make good on my promises after all." He ran the blade of his knife through his fingers, emphasizing the threat. "I won't be starting with you, of course. But I'm sure you knew that."

Dustfinger could only stare wide-eyed at the blade as it passed through Basta's fingers, the fire-raiser's words ringing in his ears. I'll be back for you. Realization sent another jolt of fear through him. Basta had been talking to Rosanna. Rosanna, who was in another cell now, far out of Dustfinger's reach and with no one to protect her. Of course. Why would Basta punish him in ways he already had before when he could take out his anger on Rosanna and hurt Dustfinger in ways he never could before?

The thought of that knife anywhere near his daughter sickened him, his heartbeat quickening as his mind unwilling conjured images of his baby helpless in Basta's grasp, the knife biting against her skin. He could almost hear her screams and see the blood it would draw from her.

Basta chuckled at the desperation in the fire-eater's gaze as he turned to leave, pausing in the doorway to add, "Don't worry, Dustfinger. You'll get your turn." Leaving those words hanging in the air, he turned, locking the door behind him before the sound of his footsteps echoed in the air once again.

It wasn't until Basta had gone that the numbness seemed to wear off, leaving only the panic. Dustfinger moved forward, running the few paces to the entrance until his hands hit the door. Even through the window in the door, he couldn't see Basta but he could hear him stop and the sound of a key as it entered its lock. As soon as the door swung open, the hinges creaking loudly as they moved, Rosanna's cries began again, echoing across the stone until they reached her father's ears.

"No," Dustfinger breathed, pressing himself against the door as he strained to see what was happening but it was futile. He could see nothing of his daughter or the man who threatened her.

The sound of heavy, armored footsteps joined the noise, the sound coming to a halt in the same place Basta's footsteps had disappeared. "Grab the girl," the fire-raiser demanded. How many guards were there? Two, maybe three, from the sounds of it. The footsteps sounded again and suddenly, a shrill scream pierced the air.

"Daddy!" the child managed to call, over and over. Dustfinger could hear nothing anymore but her screams and the sound of his name.

"Leave her alone, Basta!" He practically begged over the heart-rending sounds of his daughter's terror. "She's just a child! She didn't do anything!" But if the fire-raiser heard him, he didn't respond.

Dustfinger couldn't breathe. He couldn't think. The only thought in his mind being that he had to get to Rosanna. But he was locked in this cell, helpless to save the baby girl he was supposed to always protect. All the while, her screams echoed in his ears, the sound of his name, the small voice begging him to save her….

And then her screams changed. It was no longer just fear he heard in them, but pain. Excruciating, torturous pain. And then there was nothing, only silence, and Dustfinger's heart stopped.