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I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. I’ve experienced enough pain in my life to have picked up a few tricks. Deep breathing, mindfulness, distraction, positive imagery. But this is something different altogether, and nothing in my usual set is working. I can’t fool myself into ignoring this level of physical suffering.
What would The Mother want me to do? I wonder to myself. I glance around the dungeon, hoping for a sign. But there’s nothing that grabs my attention and directs my actions. It’s sparse and dark and dreary, as one would expect, and offers no clues.
Just then, I hear the clanging of metal from nearby. Before I can process what is happening, I feel my body shifting on the rack. I slide slightly lower, my arms automatically moving toward my shoulders.
Confused, it takes me a minute to understand. My chains have come loose from the rack that I rest on. They’re still wrapped around my arms and legs, but I’m no longer bound to this horrible thing. The weight of the chains, with nothing to anchor them, has caused the shift in my position.
Immediately, my body fills with relief, even before my mind has figured out what is happening. The discomfort I felt has been instantly alleviated, and though my body still aches, it’s so much more tolerable than it was.
Slowly, I work myself up into a sitting position. It’s no small feat, as these chains weigh a ton. Not only are they hard to move, but I must be careful not to hit myself with them. A few missteps in the beginning proves just how much that stings.
“Oh, Holy and Most Revered Mother, thank you for your blessings and the kindness shown to your faithful servant,” I say reverently, fully convinced that what has just occurred is thanks to The Mother. I was looking for a sign from Her, and I certainly got one.
I stand up carefully, peering at the spot where the chains had once fastened to this bed of torture. The metal plate is still fixed in place, but the link that held the chain has snapped clean off. It’s quite rusty and gives the appearance of having been eaten clean through until it snapped under the pressure.
The same appears to be true for the leg chains, as well. I know, of course, that it was The Mother who provoked this failure, and I am ever so grateful for Her divine intervention.
It’s very rare that any of the gods pay attention to humans here on Protheka, so her rescue fills me with a special warmth. The Mother takes better care of me than other humans do.
I examine the manacles that are wrapped around my wrists and ankles next. Despite my best efforts, no amount of prodding gets them undone. I study the lock, even trying to claw it apart with my fingers, but it is futile.
I need the key. I stop to think, rubbing the sore tips of my battered fingers. Then I recall – I watched that demon hang the key over his neck when he tied me down here.
The last thing I want is another exchange with him. And yet, it’s the only way for me to get free. The chains are heavy, not something I can simply take with me as I sneak out a window and make my escape. With them still on, I have no chance.
The idea of seeking him out terrifies me, but it’s the only option. A little gnawing pit of dread settles in my stomach as I search my way to the stairs. The heavy chains rattle behind me, making the climb painfully difficult.
Finally, breathlessly, I have reached the top. I am out of the dungeon, anyway. It’s hard to take too much pride in my success, though, as I still know what waits just ahead.
The dread worsens as I hear the worst commotion I have likely ever heard in my life. It sounds as if a pack of wild animals are tearing the house apart. The sound of things breaking and smashing in what must be just utter destruction rings through my ears.
It seems, perhaps, almost worse that I cannot see what is happening. I only hear it, and my overactive imagination fills in the rest. It certainly doesn’t make me more eager to find him, and I must do a lot of internal coaxing to get myself to push open the heavy dungeon door.
I step inside the house, chains still dragging behind me. The sound is quite loud and grating, or at least, it would be if it wasn’t competing with the pandemonium that I hear a few rooms over. I bend over, doing my best to bundle the metal into a package in my arms. It weighs down my center considerably, but makes it easier to manage.
My gait is awkward as I try to creep through the house, afraid of what I might find. Luckily, there seems to be no one else here to detect me. I reach the room where all the noise originates from without being seen or stopped.
Pressing myself up against the wall just outside, I waver, trying to decide just what to do. I know that I need the key and it is wrapped around the demon’s neck. Still, from the sound of it, he might tear me limb from limb if I enter now. For all I know, that’s what he’s doing to someone else, already.
The fact that I don’t hear screams, at least, helps to give me courage. It certainly sounds destructive, but it’s the sound of glass and metal, of his cursing, of furniture flying as it’s thrown. I’m still afraid to go in there and of what I might find, but I don’t think it’s another room of torture.
Finally, the noise begins to settle. I wait anxiously before resolving that there’s no time like the present. Sucking in a deep breath to fortify myself, I push myself into the doorway.
The room is absolute chaos. He’s torn just about everything apart and broken whatever he can find. Everything that I pictured walking here did not prepare me for the actual vision before me.
The most bizarre part, to me, is that I can’t understand why. If the noise had been the sound of him torturing someone, it would at least make sense. It would be horrifying but make sense. A stampede of animals would make more sense than this.
This just seems to be destruction for the sake of it, with no rhyme or reason. Why would he ruin his own house? Why would he break his things? I stare around the room in shock, utterly baffled by what has transpired here.
It doesn’t take him long to notice me. Even as I take in the scene, I can feel his sharp purple eyes boring into me. I try to gather myself, putting my focus back on him.
He stares at me, studying me. His gaze is intense, but the rest of him does not bristle with the cruel energy he had in the dungeon. His shoulders are slumped, and he looks almost defeated.
“Please unchain me,” I ask, lifting one leg as if to remind him of the manacle that he put there. He furrows his brow, ignoring the request.
“How did you get out?” He demands curiously.
“My prayers were answered,” I reply honestly. “I asked The Mother for help. She must have been watching me and chose to intervene.”
