Chapter 9
Cain sat on the floor of his cell with his legs crossed, being careful not to lean back and touch the wall. The lacerations across his bare back were still bleeding slightly, and it pained him to move. As he stared at the ground with his head in his hands, he wondered how much longer he'd have to endure this. He'd lost track of how long it had been; Krystal had been his link to the number of days, but she had stopped visiting him. He worried for her safety, and missed her healing touch. She had often fixed the worst of his wounds until the pain was bearable, but she had stopped coming and the beatings had gotten worse.
More than anything though, he wondered if he was going to meet his end in this dark room, bleeding out while the guards stood around ignorantly. The area that Cain and the others had stopped in was only temporary, and if things had gone according to plan, they should have left long ago. The redhead considered whether or not they would pack up and leave without him, and he felt his stomach churn. Surely, they wouldn't... There must have been some clue left on that grisly battlefield that could point them towards his location.
Rubbing his temples to try and soothe his pounding headache, Cain let out a low groan. He was tired, he was in pain, and he was lonely. With Krystal around, he didn't notice it as much, but now that he hadn't properly spoken to anyone in days, he realized just how much he missed his best friend Abel. It was strange, how much one could rely on someone's presence and not even notice until they weren't around. Even before the war, they had rarely been apart, and there was a hollow spot in Cain's heart that Abel's cheerful presence usually filled. Closing his eyes, Cain sighed. Where are you now, Abel? Are you looking for me? … Are you even alive?
Cain was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of the metal screeching as the door to the cell swung open. He scowled, raising his head to meet the gaze of whatever group of idiotic guards had come to haul him away once more. One of the strongly-built men stared down at Cain, judging him to have about as much worth as a scrap of dirt. "Are you going to talk today, ya worthless bastard?" The guard mocked him.
Standing up on his own before he could be yanked up, Cain glared at the other man. "Bite me."
The guard scowled. "You're lucky Jiol thinks he can squeeze some information out of that weak head of yours," he snarled. "If it were up to me, you would have been put in the ground the first day." Cain didn't respond, but held his hard stare until the other guards got frustrated and acted first, forcefully dragging him away towards whatever punishment they had prepared for him.
Prince Marth sat on empty cot in the tent that Abel was resting in. The injured soldier was sitting up, clutching a canister of water. He had been explaining to Marth every detail that he could remember from the incident, but his memory was foggy and it took him quite some time to be able to sort out the order of events. Suddenly, another face appeared; the young mage, Merric, ducked underneath the flap.
"Ah, excuse me," he stammered, hoping he hadn't interrupted. He clutched a piece of paper in his hand, and held it out towards Marth. "We've managed to sketch out a map of the area," he explained. "It looks like there is a small town not too far from here…"
Marth studied the map, his brow furrowed in concentration. "We might be able to find some information about Cain's location from this village," he said finally, handing the map back to Merric. "We'll visit it immediately."
Nodding, Merric rushed out of the tent, presumably to go prepare the horses for travel. Abel's eyes widened; he threw the thin blanket off and prepared to rise from the cot. "I'm going too."
Not surprised that Abel would be quick to act at the premise of anything that would help Cain, but also unsure if he was in any position to be moving, Marth hesitated. The determined look in Abel's eyes proved that he would argue if he was told to stay. Sighing, the prince nodded his head and gestured for the cavalier to follow.
The two exited the tent and located the area where Merric had rallied three horses. Abel was a bit shaky on his feet at first, and even shakier on the horse, but he soon settled back into the comfortable and familiar rhythm.
The party reached the town fairly quickly; Merric stayed behind to guard the horses while Marth and Abel ventured into the small but bustling village. "We'll cover more ground if we split up," Abel suggested.
Marth nodded, but he put a hand on the green-haired man's shoulder before he could turn away. "Don't do anything stupid," he warned. "I know you want to find Cain, but remember where you are. We don't know anything about these people."
Abel nodded firmly. Satisfied with the response, Marth waved a quick goodbye and the two went their separate ways to scour the village for information.
Cain was led to a room that he hadn't been in before, and the mere sight of all the disturbing instruments in it made his stomach churn. He was roughly shoved against a wall and then quickly chained up by his wrists. The tender lacerations on his back tingled with pain as they hit the wall, and he winced. Whatever they were going to do to him, he just hoped they made it quick. "What is it this time?" He spat out, glaring at the assortment of guards that littered the room.
The response to his question was a swift punch in the gut, and he would have doubled over if not for the bindings that held him in place. "We ask the questions," yelled the guard that had punched him. He moved out of the way; another guard had nabbed a whip from the wall and unraveled it and was ready to strike. Rearing his arm back and then launching it forward, the leathery strip connected with Cain's face, slicing the skin across his cheek and creating a crevice from which a deep maroon liquid spilled. The whip came many more times, forming ugly lacerations across his face and chest. Cain writhed against the wall, trying to endure the searing pain. He couldn't keep his voice down, and miserable cries flew from his lips at each strike.
After what felt like an eternity, the guard stopped; probably more to rest his arm rather than out of mercy. The first guard approached Cain once more, shoving him up against the wall by his throat and giving him a hard slap. "Are you ready to talk now?" A hideous sneer spread across the guard's face.
Cain felt blood well up in his mouth from the slap, and he spat it out across the face of the guard that stood before him. That action earned him another harsh punch in the gut, and he gasped for air. Quickly catching his breath, Cain raised his head and glared at the guard. "Get it through your thick skull," the prisoner yelled, baring his teeth. "I'm not telling you anything."
The guard snarled in anger, slapping Cain again. "I should just kill you now," he threatened, clenching his fists and raising them in preparation.
"Do it, then," Cain dared him as he tugged against his restraints, his fiery eyes full of hatred. "Do it!"
The guard let out an enraged yell as he began pummeling Cain with his fists, landing blow after blow on a victim who had nowhere to run. With no means of escape, and not able to shield himself, he took the full force of every hit thrown at him.
After a moment Cain became vaguely aware of the fact that the punches had stopped; the fist that had been hurling at him a moment before was being held back by another one of the guards. The abusive man was pulled away by one of the others, leaving the redhead chained to the wall, the cuffs cutting red lines into his wrists. His vision wavered, fading from a bloody red to black. Cain's entire body was in torment, and he was tired, so very tired…
