Chapter Seven –
Surrounded by the Darkness
Nightmares plagued Elowyn's unconscious, until she finally awakened, an indeterminable amount of time later. Feeling slow of movement and perception, as if she had been heavily drugged, she raised one hand and put the back of it to her forehead, eyes remaining closed.
Something is wrong…
Briefly, she gathered the strength within herself, lying still, to summon her powers to her, and harness them once more. They felt as if they were strangely weak, however, as did she.
What had happened? Her head was full of a peculiar, dull, pounding pain, and her entire body felt as if it was one huge ache…
Then, as she lay there, not knowing where she was or how she had come to be there, or who might be with her, she began to recollect, to try to remember.
Slowly, the memory surfaced.
She saw a flash of the scene of herself and her friends playing a game – Shadow-Sweepers, she remembered; it had been at night, and she'd run into the forest. But then something had chased her. Something had chased her? Why? And how? Nothing with evil intentions could or even would dare to come so close to the faeries…so why…
Fair maidens should fear the dark…
All at once, as if that ghostly, horrible voice had spoken directly to her, straight into her mind once again, Elowyn felt a jolt of fear – involuntary terror – go through her entire frame, and her eyes flew open: for the first time.
And what did she see around herself?
Her prison.
She was lying on a huge bed, all of which was of foreboding, austere and rather gothic black and silver, from the four thick posts, to the canopy that hung above her, to the sheets that had somehow become tangled around the lower half of her body as she'd slept. Slept? Or lain comatose?
Just thinking about that horrific jolt of power – or whatever it was – that had gone through her frame, rendering her helpless to run, to fight back, made her head whirl. Exactly whom was she dealing with?
The bed took up about a quarter of the room, which was – in and of itself – alarmingly large, and rather empty as well, but for her aforementioned resting place and a long, silver-black table and two throne-like chairs that had been placed at either end of it. Each of the three pieces looked as if only a brace of war-horses might be able to move them. Elowyn eyed them with apprehension.
Obviously, her captor – whomever he was – had a distinctly dark sense of interior design. Everything that she saw around her was of black or silver, spiky and razor-sharp, with gargoyle faces leering at her here and there, watching her every move.
The faery princess sent them a cold, defiant glare, not to be frightened by conventional scare-tactics. Her captor would have to do a lot better than that if he wanted to cow her into submission. Which he couldn't, without some doing.
Becoming a bit bolder as her strength and wits returned to her, Elowyn pushed back the sheets that had been drawn up over her and swung her legs around so that they stretched straight out in front of her.
Someone had taken away her muddied and torn tunic, breeches, boots, and cloak, and now she wore some absurdly wispy, insubstantial black silk gown with skirts that draped down to her ankles, an empire-waist, cowl-neck, and no sleeves. Her hair was sliding in its unruly, long pale blonde curls over her shoulders, like slippery golden snakes.
Elowyn frowned.
This little bit of nothing that she'd been dressed in was not only a gown, but also just plain insipid. What kind of person did her captors think she was? The slit that had been cut in the skirt, just to the side of her leg, reached almost up to her hip.
After reaching up to tie her hair back with the fastener that she'd left on her wrist, she got out of the bed and walked into the center of the room. The walls of black malachite reached up to a concave ceiling, with ribs of grim, silvery granite meeting each other at its zenith, and the floors were made of black marble, streaked with silver veins, very cold on her bare feet.
Even the air in the room was chill, causing her to shiver a bit as she continued her progress across the floor. Directly to her left, but more in front of her, was a large, rectangular window, framed with thick black stone with heavy draperies of shroud-like material to match, and to this she went. A tiny little balcony let her out of the dark chamber, and now, standing upon it, she looked out over the realm of her captor.
For as far as her eyes could see, there was nothing but an endless, winding maze: a gigantic labyrinth full of shadows, twists, and turns, its walls made of thick stone and it pathways composed of shimmering sand. Very faintly, if she squinted her eyes a good bit, she could see rolling hills of sand: vast and far-off, and at the very edge of the horizon, something sent a sudden beam of light into her eyes – like the sun, glinting off of the top of distant rooftops. She couldn't tell.
But whatever it was, it was not anywhere near her. The labyrinth that surrounded the enormous, spike-lined tower that she was trapped within was simply much too large, too vast. She'd never get anywhere fast by walking, and it seemed as if this was the only way she could escape, if such a thing were even possible.
Somehow, she doubted it was.
There was nothing close by, for miles, it seemed, but the winding passages of the maze, the tower itself, and the unending dome of the sky above her head, which was tainted a strangely feral, menacing orange and red, which made the walls look as if they'd been stained with blood.
She was in the middle of nowhere, with no one…lost in the sands of what appeared to be a boundless desert…
A hot, arid wind swept around the side of the tower, coming up to meet her and twine around her head, neck, and shoulders, stirring her flimsy gown as if in assessment of the tower's small captive. Elowyn found herself both repulsed and annoyed by the view out her one window, and left the balcony, disgusted in some strange, inexplicable way.
On her return into her dark, cold chamber, she now noted that there was indeed a door placed in the wall opposite the bed, almost hidden beneath a heavy black and silver tapestry. Taking one of the long black taper candles from the heavy silver candelabra that sat on the table, she murmured a few words in faery: a fire-lighting spell.
Nothing happened – however, she could sense a pulling at the forces of magic that she could sense, faintly, in the air, as if whatever traces of enchantment-power that had been blown to this desolate place had felt themselves summoned by her spell, and wanted to do as she bade them, but couldn't. Then, at last, with much effort, the wick on the candle sparked, and a tiny flame grew into being. Elowyn decided that her captor had put some sort of magic-inhibiting spell on her prison, which allowed her to use her powers, but only just.
Trying anything drastic would probably hurt, she observed.
Still. She had an irresistible urge to see what else there was to this prison of hers.
Now, at this time, it must be noted that most maidens of her age – seventeen –, and circumstances – a princess with a prophesy hanging over her head, and, ultimately, her destiny, who'd just been kidnapped by Fates-knew-what kind of creature – would have been so utterly terrified out of their wits that they would have been rendered unable to do anything with themselves.
Elowyn, however, was obviously not the typical maiden-princess. She'd been in some very bad situations before, and she'd learnt many lessons from what bruises and scrapes she'd gotten from them. She was also an adventurer at heart, and who among her acquaintances could call her the type of damsel-in-distress who would faint dead away and beg, in tears, for mercy from a suit of armor? She was more likely, her mother and tutors had always said, to sit down and engage any opponent or would-be captor of hers in a fearsome battle of the wits before challenging him to a duel, or tricking him so that she could make her escape. And, in many previous cases, she'd won three times out of four.
Although she somehow sensed that this time would not be like the others…
The door opened into a long, dark stairway that wound round and round the tower, taking one down, down, and down until one had reached ground-level. Elowyn stopped. Something here was not right. There was no door – no visible restraints of any sort to keep anyone imprisoned inside from getting out.
She peered cautiously into the still, shadow-streaked labyrinth passageway that awaited her just outside the doorway.
A little whirlwind swirled around the corner of a wall that she couldn't see, stirring up the sand and making little eddies in the passage floor. It sounded like both a soft, laughing little hiss, and a gusting sigh. What could be out there?
Well. She'd just have to chance it.
And – stepping forward—
Zzzrak!
A blinding flash of green light suddenly shot out of the doorframe, hitting her on all sides, and Elowyn felt a horrid, numbing jolt go through her body – as if she'd just been struck by lightning. Her fingers lost their power, causing her to drop the candle she'd carried down with her for light, and her mind began to freeze. Oh bloody flipping underworlds! Not again…
And she was once more lost to the blackness.
* * *
The pale, defiant figure of the young, audacious faery princess fell softly to the ground; she landed with a faint noise of complaint, and then was silent. The swirling winds in the labyrinth whirled on their way, passing by her and investigating her long, unruly light gold curls that had been flung out on the sand.
She was silent.
A black-robed figure, which had watched the whole scene unfolding before him while standing around the corner of a wall, perfectly out of her sight but well within range of seeing her, then finally roused himself and came across the space, moving towards her: his long, full-cut cloak billowing in the hot gusts of wind that traversed that desert land. He knelt beside her, with movements of fluid, stealthy grace, and effortlessly gathered the girl into his arms.
Then, with a shake of his hooded head – condescending, but not at all pitying: amused, almost – he turned and mounted the steps into the tower, carrying her back inside.
* * *
Elowyn awakened strangely, with the memory of how she'd often fallen asleep, when she was very little, on a quilt spread out on the grass, underneath the shade of the glorious, spreading branches of an apple tree. Her mother, Vahlada, would have been reclining beside her, one arm draped about her sleeping child's body, to reassure and calm her even as she dreamt. She remembered well the feeling of the warm, sun-dappled shadows falling upon her face, as the breeze gently stirred the branches above her head and made the leaves dance merrily. Songbirds chirped and faeries laughed and called to one another throughout the gardens; there was music, strummed on ethereal instruments…
But this was not a garden, this cool, smooth surface that she lay upon; nor was the everlasting hiss of desert winds that she heard the singing of bluebirds or the music of laughter and gaiety – and the arm that had somehow become draped over her waist, drawing her ever closer, ever more possessively, into someone's hard, warm, gently heaving and then residing chest—
That arm was definitely not her mother's.
Elowyn's sea-green eyes narrowed dangerously, until they became mere glittering slits in her face, through which she stared at the black sheets before her.
She could faintly recall – from unconscious, unintentional and half-aware memory – the feeling of someone moving to stand beside her, and then arms sliding artfully beneath her, lifting her off of the sandy ground and positioning her against a hard, sloping surface.
Then, nothing.
Back to the present. The Someone who was with her was lying curved against her, knees touching the back of hers, chest fitting into the hollow of her back. She could feel his every breath, his every inhale and exhale, and the warmth of him was seeping into her skin. He was uncomfortably – disturbingly – close. And his arm, she now noticed, bore a chain and shackles, which connected to one on her own wrist.
Elowyn bit back a shrill, enraged scream.
Not only had she been reduced to keeping a bedroom-mate: apparently, he'd also seen the necessity of putting her in chains! As if locking her up in a thoroughly enchanted tower hadn't been enough to begin with!
Well, that settled it. It was the middle of the day now, instead of sunset, which meant that she couldn't try to make an escape with any hope of success, if she hadn't had this person – this creature! – lying asleep beside her. Probably just waiting for me to wake up and make a move, she thought, cynically. Then he'd straighten up proper-quick and it'd all be over for me.
And she indulged in some less-than-lady-like mental phraseology for a moment.
Her eyes focused back on the chain and shackles that were now on her wrist, then, and suddenly, all of her inner resolve and will to be brave somehow hopelessly dissolved.
Wherever she was, and however she had gotten there, she was in all likeliness far from her father, and her mother, and all of her beloved sisters, brothers, and family, and friends – and she had no one to turn to, no way to escape, no other alternative than to just sit where she was and wait for her beastly captors to drag her into whatever place they wanted and give her the cruel truth of what they wanted of her. Or whatever else they had seen fit as reason to kidnap her for.
The faery princess's eyes filled with hot, scalding tears of rightful fright, uncertainty, and desperation – and then they became tears of rage, as waves of tingling coldness swept over her.
How dare they do this to her! How could they think that she would let them get away with kidnapping her, stealing her away from her family, her home, and all that she knew and loved? There was one thing that she was sure of, at that very moment, and that one thing became her single most drastic and determined resolution for the entirety of her imprisonment…
She was going to get out.
And she was going to give them a world of trouble until she did.
* * *
A/N: Yes, indeed – Elowyn is not at all like the heroines of her friends and family who came before her in this series. It's most enjoyable to write about her: "Actually, it's rather liberating – don't you think?", to borrow the line from Guy Pierce's despicable Fernand Mondego of The Count of Monte Cristo. (That is such a good movie…I love it to no end.)
Anyways, do be so kind as to leave a review for me after you've read this. I'd so much appreciate it. ^_^ Oh – and if anyone is curious as to any point of this story: family ties, races, creatures, places, and such, do let me know, and I shall send you via e-mail the Index of Evyrworld that I made up to go along with the series…