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Salas tried to step to the side, in the hopes of being grouped into a floor cell, but he must have run out of luck when the beasts had decided not to kill him earlier that day, as he was pushed towards one of the hanging cages instead.
He hesitated as he approached it, his body tensing to fight, though he’d never raised a hand to anyone before, nor someone else to him. That changed when the guard, impatient, slapped him across the face when he failed to maintain haste.
The slap stung, though not as much as his own shock as he worked to reorient himself, his frozen fingers dappling at the prickling skin.
“Go!” The guard demanded.
Salas looked at the cage, which had been lowered on its chain to waste-level. It was much too small. There was no way he would fit.
“Go!” the guard repeated, shoving him towards the cage.
In the dungeon, there were similar fusses surrounding them as the birds struggled to come to terms with their new confinements.
“It’s too small!” Salas pleaded. “Please, there must be some other arrangement! This can’t—”
Something was pulled out of the cage, first. Something thin and stiff with leather skin and a crackly construction, draped with moth-eaten clothing. An aged corpse. Someone who’d been in this same enclosure, and who had not made it out.
Salas gasped in fear, struggling with all he could. He was, of course, no burden to the mountainous northern men, who held him still in their solid grips.
The guard who’d humiliated him took away the binds at his hands, grabbed him and lifted him from the numbing ground. Feet first, he was pressed into the entrance of the cage, his body folding as it was made to fit inside the compact space. Drawing up his knees to his chest, the fetal position was the only one that allowed him to keep all of his body mass within the enclosure, his back and knees digging against the chapped iron.
With the vision of the forgotten, dead body in his mind, he heard himself rambling, begging, perhaps attempting once more to make some type of bargain. Not even he could fully make heads or tails of what he offered for freedom, most likely naming things he had no way of giving.
“Please! And jewels! In the Susconian Palace!” he was saying. “Please, I know where Eldron has them hidden. Only I know! Please, take me to the King and he’ll want—Please, just let us out. I will make you feel good. Oh, so good, please. I can—” The guard, the one who’d led Salas down the path here and had humiliated him so thoroughly, grabbed another fistful of Salas’ hair and yanked it so his head hit the bars of the cage, making it ring.
The world spun, the darkness of the dungeon clouding together and never seemed to fully sharpen once more. When Salas refocused, he found the guard’s eyes on him, hand still fisted within the scarlet locks. He was staring at Salas with an odd glimmer to his gaze, something akin to satisfaction when Salas’ head had struck the iron. Like a child watching a natural disaster with delight and wonder at the destruction.
The guards behind him started speaking to the one who held him, and the man turned to them, finally dropping Salas’ hair. They seemed to be making some type of decision, but every once in a while, their eyes moved to Salas, igniting both hope and fear. Was their discussion working in favor of him, or against him?
At the moment, he didn’t get to know, as once whatever decision was made, they started making their way out of the dungeon. With their prisoners tucked behind bars, they left.
Long moments of silence followed. The lapse in conversation was replaced with the moans that came with tears as the prisoners wept to themselves, self-placation failing with the list of torments they’d gathered.
Salas put his hands to his lips and attempted to breathe warmth to them, pushing away the image of the dead-caged-man who must have suffered by such callous means before his body stopped caring to continue its functioning. Salas would not allow himself to see the same fate.
Only five of the other birds had been placed in the hanging cages. The remaining birds on the ground cells had, quite obviously, far more room. He couldn’t help the spark of jealousy that softly ignited at the thought of stretching his legs.
Because already, they were beginning to grow stiff and numb. And he doubted five minutes was the maximum length of time of his imprisonment.
He thought about the despairing events of the day. The only people he had truly known were dead. Eldron was dead. The man who had given Salas his home, his comforts, and his helpful teachings. Only a quaking emptiness was there, now. Everyone was gone, save for Jovack.
Jovack. The traitor.
Salas thought about all of the political meetings he’d attended, as well as all of the times Suscon’s neighboring nations had been discussed. Had Jovack ever hinted of an insurrection, placed between words like one of his ill-humored jokes? Perhaps. Salas couldn’t remember. Perhaps this had been his plan from the start.
And now the country would be written as another fallen kingdom. The great marble halls of Suscon, would he ever return to them? Would they tear down the statues? Would the floors crack under the unrest of the retribution of the beasts?
The only light within the dungeon came from a shaft of pale, dim moonlight that bled through an iron grate. Soon, the light warmed as morning approached, allowing fractional warmth.
The birds were speaking, now, attempting to pick up their spirits. Salas joined them, craving any distraction from the uncomfortable position he’d been left in.
Some of the birds he knew, but he learned a few more names as they spoke. The newer one who had attended him just the other morning was called ‘Lio.’ Salas warmed to him immediately when the boy expressed concern at Salas’ position, which was sweet, given that he was in the same position. Yet still allowing Salas to complain openly. The sympathies crooned back to him soothed him.
Eventually, though, it was quiet once more.
Salas was blinking in and out of a fitful sleep when the keys behind the locked dungeon door rattled, signaling the approach of the guards. Three of them walked in, led by the guard that had handled Salas. When they glanced up at him, he felt his spine stiffen. They wordlessly moved as a team to work the pulley system that lowered his cage on its chain.
His cage was unlocked and he was unceremoniously pulled out, his feet dragging when his unsteady legs failed to hold him. Then they began to lead him back up the staircase while the other birds looked on, murmuring their confusion and concern.
