Let them take you, the voice says.This is how it has to be.
I have no other option, I tell her.
One of the men says something in a language I don’t understand, prodding me with his foot.The tall one next to him snaps at him.I might not know their words, but I do know the tone of command, and he just delivered one.Are they here to rescue me?
I’m carried, again over someone’s shoulder, away from the small boat, the dead Fethest.The little dock is set on fire, the small vessel, too, leaving Portuk and Vivenne no options, I suppose.
And then we’re climbing a ramp at a jog, my body jostled by the motion, and I’m on a ship I don’t recognize, being carried down a hatch.There’s no sound, no shouting, just quiet and creaking and the rattle of chains, and I’m thrown down onto something harsh and scratchy.
Left there, the scent of feces and urine in my nose, cheek pressed to it, in the dark.When the hatch closes, it’s pitch black and stuffy, but at least it’s not silent anymore.
A few soft, sad moans punctuate the heavy air.Not that I’m paying attention, though.The fire has started up again, the pain in my arms and legs, traveling to my torso and my gut.My head is burning, raging with agony, and I throw up twice, unable to move away from it, before oblivion takes me—
so hot
so fucking cold
insects eat me alive
from theinside
how, how are theyinside
scream
there’s something in my mouth
a rag, a stinking rag
no I stink,I’mthe rag
can’t breathe
where is the air
my head won’t explode but I need it to burst
please, just let me die
just let medie—
I blink.Groan.Roll sideways.Vomit, though there’s nothing to come up, I discover, stomach cramped with emptiness, squeezing around the nothing inside me.
And fall back into darkness.
It hurts.I’ve been in pain before, after battles, recovered from wounds, from torn muscles and beatings and endless hours of strenuous training that left me limp, wrung out, useless.Nothing has ever hurt as much as this hurts, the flaying, tearing, itching, devouring feeling of endless agony that won’t stop.Why won’t I die?Is there nothing I can do to make it stop?
There are touches of things outside me that I lash out at, screaming denial, shrieking revolt.Impacts shake me, that pain added to the old.
And then sleep, though there’s no rest.Not for me.
Not ever again.
Something hurts, but not like before.That pain has subsided at last, though I protest opening my eyes, battle against the forced surfacing this time.I tolerate this annoying and then irritating and then unbearable pain for as long as I can, but I can’t stand it.
Iwon’t.
I open my eyes.It takes some effort, the lids glued shut, lashes thick with goop and crust, but they peel apart at last while I groan over the pain.New, sharp, invasive pain, localized.When I inhale for what feels like the first time in my entire life, I realize I can move.My hand slides up the rough wood beneath me, bats at the poking bite that jabs my cheek, jars whatever it is loose.
