Chapter Nine: This Is Only The Beginning
The girl was huddled against the far wall, the sleeves of her undershirt ripped, dirty and wet from tears. She flinched in her sleep, twitching uncontrollably, her face a mask of pain. Her hands clenched and unclenched, the skin white and bruised. Her knuckles were red, the skin of her fingers ragged and torn, as if she had been tearing at the walls. Her hair was matted, gold and blue flashes visible under the black mass. The girl had a purpling bruise on her swollen jaw, and there was crusted dry blood around one corner of her mouth. She looked as if she had been beaten, thrown around and then beaten again.
Arthur couldn't quite keep the pity from his eyes as he stared at the tormented child before him. She looked Sarmation, but spoke with an Irish accent. She truly was a mystery.
Again, the girl writhed in her sleep, pure fear flashing across her once beautiful features. Someone behind Arthur let out a woosh of breath, as if it had been held in for a long time.
'Godsdammit, Arthur! Can you not see her pain? Wake her; spare her! The terror is in her dreams, the real world can do no more damage than her nightmares – can you not see it?' Lancelot couldn't hold his tongue any longer. Arthur, obviously wanting too to put the girl out of her misery, crossed the dim cell and knelt beside her limp body. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her, vehement but also gentle. The girl's eyes flickered open, and she let out a gasp and pushed the Roman general away from her, scrabbling backwards until the wall halted her. The look in her eyes was mad, like a horse in pain. The knights stared down at the girl, hesitance and compassion clear in their stances. The girl's eyes dimmed and the madness was replaced with anger.
'Get out! Get away from me!' She spat at Arthur, who took a step back, shocked at the sudden change in the girl's bodily behaviour and facial expression.
'Avilon.' Arthur stated, rather than asked. 'We have some questions. You either answer them, or I bring Tristan down here.' The threat was clear in his voice. Avilon stared, disgusted, up at him, then pushed herself up, using the wall for support. Arthur took a step back, wary. Finally free of her nightmare, Avilon's back straightened and she raised her head, staring straight past Arthur at the wall behind him.
'We know someone sent you, assassin,' Bors said curtly, ready to launch into a hissing rage. Gareth's death had affected Bors more than some of the other knights; he had children of his own and had developed a liking for the seventeen year old boy. Only Arthur raising his hand stopped him. It wasn't Bors' place to tirade against the girl. The knights didn't know yet why she had tried to kill Arthur, or how far she would go to kill him. After all, she had already murdered one knight…
Avilon snorted, her façade of strength and fearlessness back in place. She still had her eyes fixed on the wall just above and behind Arthur's right shoulder, as if she could see through the stone and was watching the most interesting scene unfold before her eyes.
'Who sent you?' Arthur asked the girl. She shook her head slightly. 'Who sent you?' he repeated, having to force his voice to stay low and calm. And still the girl ignored him. All the knights tried to get her to talk, Bors once again having to control his rage, Lancelot unable to rid his mind of the girl in the tavern, crying silently, Dagonet trying to coax her out from behind her defences.
But nothing could get the Avilon to speak, or even deign the knights with a glare. She just stared, blank-faced, at the cold stone wall, imagining patterns in the rough surface. She leant against the wall and traced swirling designs onto the damp rock with her elegant fingers. She even tried to clean the blood from her face, spitting on her sleeve and rubbing at her chin.
After an hour of endless questions and reverberating silence, Arthur stormed from the cell, followed by Dagonet and Bors, jaded and angered by the girl's resistance. Lancelot stared at Avilon for a solid five minutes, his eyes never once leaving her face. He could see by the way her hands shook that she was having trouble standing up. When was the last time she had eaten? He thought. Just as he was about to leave, Avilon's grey-brown eyes left the wall for a fraction of a second and roamed the Sarmation knight's face. Lancelot met her glance, and she dropped her eyes, hands curling into fists. Lancelot sighed and turned from her, locking the cell door behind him, unaware of the girl's long white fingers reaching out through the bars.
Avilon stepped back from the door, knowing that it was only the beginning. After all, the sea never stopped crashing against the cliffs, wave upon wave breaking down the soil and dragging it into the water's depths. Just like the sea, these knights wouldn't stop until Avilon had either died from their tortures or had lied. They would never believe her if she told them her story. She would have to lie, or sustain her will long enough to not talk until she died. Avilon swayed, unsteady. When the second wave came, it would be more terrible and painful than anything Larsen had done to her.
She was not disappointed. Tristan kicked open the cell door a minute later and crossed the cell, dragging Avilon up by her hair. Arthur was behind him, looking angry but also pitying at the obvious pain on the girl's face.
'Let go, you bastard! Get off!' Avilon screamed. She tried to push him away, slapping at the hand on her hair. Tristan backhanded her, his face void of emotion. Blood trickled down the girl's chin. She licked her lip and spat at Tristan. He dropped her to the ground and wiped his face on his tunic sleeve. Arthur looked away from the girl, cowering on the floor, a red mark already visible on her cheek.
'You either talk, or I leave you here with Tristan,' he threatened, still unable to look at the girl. She looked so unprotected, so alone, so utterly terrified and yet so strong, so unbreakable.
'I have nothing to say, Artorius Castus.' She injected such venom into her voice that Arthur stepped back, shocked. Avilon turned away from him, away from Tristan, turning her back on the world.
Arthur kept asking, repeating his questions. Over and over, again and again.
'Who sent you? Who are you? Why are you here?'
After a few minutes, Tristan took out an apple and a long bone-handled knife. He sliced pieces of the fruit, cutting cleanly through the skin and flesh. He stood back and watched as Arthur asked again and again. Asking was the wrong way to deal with this assassin. She wasn't going to talk. Arthur should have let Tristan take over already. The only thing these people understood was violence. Tristan shook his head and threw his apple core to the ground.
'Arthur.' He said quietly. Arthur looked at the solidly silent girl, then to Tristan, then back to the girl. He nodded reluctantly.
Tristan grabbed Avilon's arm roughly, bruising the white flesh. He punched her twice in the stomach. Avilon coughed and spat out some blood. It dripped from her lips and chin. She spat again and blood flecked Tristan's cheek.
'I wont tell you anything, scout. You're behaviour only confirms my beliefs about you being a soulless, heartless bastard!'Tristan punched her again and she was flung into the wall with the force of it. Coughing, Avilon looked up defiantly. Tristan punched her once more and she fell on to her hands and knees.
'Keep it up, scout. I can go for hours. I have done before,' she muttered contemptuously. The scout kneed Avilon in the stomach and she collapsed completely. Tristan reached down and picked her up by her hair.
'Tristan.' Arthur put a hand on his scout's shoulder, and Tristan dropped the girl to the floor. Arthur gave on last look towards the girl on the floor. 'Come on. We can try again tomorrow.' As they left, Avilon looked up towards their receding backs.
'What...' Avilon whispered, breathless. 'You... finished... already? No more... fun?' She gasped in air, hyperventilating. The Roman general gave her another glance, then slammed shut the cell door.
The next day, the knights were back in Avilon's cell. Dagonet checked over Avilon's face and stomach, having to use his great strength when she didn't co-operate. After the quick check-over, he stood back from her shivering body and whispered to Arthur,
'She has a slight fever and there is a green tinge to the lacerations on her stomach. If we don't get her out, the wounds might get infected.' He left quickly after, not wishing to watch Tristan's violence.
'Avilon,' Arthur scowled down at her.
'That's not my name,' she said, her voice shaking.
'What are you called then, assassin?' Tristan snapped. Avilon looked away, towards Gawain. His eyes were red and bloodshot. It hurt Avilon to see the pain she had inflicted on him. But Gareth had just been a fellow knight, a friend. Avilon had lost her family, her entire life. She had suffered unbearable amounts, so why should these knights, these men who were loyal to the man who murdered Avilon's family, go unpunished?
'If you don't answer our questions, I will leave you and Tristan alone again.' Arthur threatened.
'You think that scares me, Artorius? You think you or your pathetic knights can do more damage to me? But of course, anyone who is not Roman is below you. Arthur Castus. Half Roman, half human. The famous Briton who kills his own people.' Avilon spat on the ground.
'And yet you killed a child just for a chance to murder me? Gawain's brother?' Avilon looked up, suddenly scared.
'Brother? Not brother-in-arms? Brother...?' A tear dripped from her chin as Lancelot nodded viciously. 'I didn't know. I thought... I didn't know!' she repeated, shaking her head violently. But then she seemed to catch herself, and her eyes of steel returned. 'I have also lost family, and a brother. Yet you do not see me crying like a pitiable girl-child,' she spat at Gawain. He lunged towards her, vengeance clear in his eyes, but Bors pulled him back, out of the cell.
Arthur rubbed his tired eyes with his palms. He knew he shouldn't have let Gawain come. He was too distraught over his brother's death. He couldn't cope with facing his brother's murderer.
'Get him out of here,' he murmured to Galahad, and the Sarmation left with Bors and Gawain, leaving Tristan, Lancelot and Arthur staring at the girl in front of them. The knowledge that Gawain was so upset about the loss of his brother hurt Avilon. Not one person knew who she was, her family were all dead... who would mourn her when she died? That knowledge hurt her more than anything the knights could ever do.
'So Lancelot, are you not intent on killing me too? It seems that Tristan would, Arthur wouldn't hold him back and Gawain would merely watch or possibly join in. Are you not itching to kill me as well? It would be so easy...' She spread her arms wide and stared at him hungrily.
'How can you welcome death so?' Lancelot whispered, surprised at her obvious longing for his sword.
'I've been living in this hell for so long, death would be a release. Also, I'd never have to look at your ugly face again.' Lancelot snorted in disbelief.
'Excuseme?'
Avilon laughed out loud at the look on Lancelot's face. Tristan's lip curled too: the knight needed a kick to his ego. Then he shook his head. The girl's tricks were working on Lancelot, but they wouldn't work on him.
'If you don't talk, I willhurt you. And I promise you, I will also enjoy it,' he bared his teeth in a feral grin. Avilon didn't flinch; she didn't even blink.
'So hurt me,' she said simply. But fear curled in her belly, a dark weight that reached her heart and squeezed. Stop being so weak! Evin did worse things... her thoughts rebounded around her mind.
'So be it,' murmured Tristan. Followed by Lancelot and Arthur, he stalked from the room.
Avilon leant her head against the wall, clenching and unclenching her hands. She allowed the fear to overcome her, and screamed into the stone. She screamed and screamed until she was spent. Then, she pushed herself away from the wall and hurled her body at it again and again, bruising her ribs, arms, her face. Then, finally, she fell to the floor, and wept.
Avilon wept for the loss of her family, the years of pain with Evin, her aching body. She wept because she was alone, she wept because she was alive, she wept because of the memories. And finally, Avilon wept for Gawain, and the loss of his brother. Time passed slowly and the tears stopped flowing and dried on her cheeks. She looked towards the door then back at her bleeding hands.
'God, give me strength, for I am truly at your mercy. Spare my life, condemn me, I care not. Please, reveal to me the path I should take, for I am lost upon an everlasting sea,' she whispered, bowing her head in prayer.
'Forgive me...'