Wangaia by Gayle P. Nastasi (novel24 .txt) 📖

tent and I followed you trustingly--to what? To this! My end!"

"I swear, I didn't deceive you! I had no idea he'd be on the other side of that doorway. He wasn't even supposed to know there was a doorway there!"

"It seems that the only person who knew about that passage through the wall was you. It is clear that you told him, as you told me. What sum has he paid you for my bounty?"

"Nothing! I am not working for him. Damn, I wish there were a way to make you believe me! What reward could he have offered me that would have been worth this?"

Gareth was silent. His brooding eyes turned toward her for a moment, and then looked quickly away. But she'd seen enough to know they were filled with doubt and confusion.

Casey tried to lean her head back, to give her neck some rest, but the position of her arms prevented it. Her shoulders ached, and her arms had lost all their feeling. Rath's soldiers had chained them, in a seated position, side by side. That, she was thankful for, because the heat of Gareth's body where it pressed against her side was the only thing keeping her from shivering in the dark, dank cold. Gareth's backside was firm against the floor, but Casey dangled slightly, her arms and body just short enough to keep her from reaching the ground. Their hands were bound together with thick iron bracelets, and then chained to a single ring in the wall above them. She was almost relieved that her arms had gone numb, because the metal shackles had cut into her wrists and before the numbness there had been pain. A lot of it. Not something a 20th century writer was exactly accustomed to. She drew her feet toward her and tried once again to take some of the pressure off her arms and shoulders. The shackles on her ankles were chained to a ring in the floor, and there was no way she could bring them in close enough. She let her breath out in a shudder of pain.

The dungeon was damp and moldy, dark but for the torch that burned in the sconce just outside the barred window of the thick, wooden door. She turned to Gareth and realized he had been watching her struggle. His face was a mask of red firelight and black shadows, and she couldn't judge his expression.

"You're bleeding," he said, and his voice was surprisingly soft after the fury of the moment before.

"I don't exactly reach the ground," she replied, trying to hold back the whimper of pain that wanted to accompany her words, "My weight's causing the bracelets to cut me."

"Can you lift yourself, just slightly?"

"I . . . I think so, why?"

"Just do so."

She fought the numbness of her arms and forced them to bend. The effort raised her body up an inch or two. Gareth, whose legs and body were far longer than hers, was able to bend his knee, and he quickly shoved it beneath her.

"There, lower yourself. That should help."

When she did so, she found herself sitting on his thigh, the pain in her back eased, and her position much more comfortable. For the moment. She was pretty certain that wouldn't be the case once the feeling started coming back into her arms, though.

"Why would you do that for someone you believe betrayed you?"

"Because," his breath was warm on the side of her face, "Even if you did betray me, it seems you did so only to be rewarded with your own death. Perhaps I simply have a weakness in me to take pity on the hopeless."

He had turned slightly toward her, and the new position had him much closer than she was comfortable with. His warmth soaked into her, and she fought the thoughts that teased her, the wish that he could put his arms around her. He was a fictional character, for heaven's sake! She was just working on convincing herself that she was simply delerious from fear and confusion, when it struck.

The blood had reached her wrists.

"Oh, God." She shut her eyes tight and fought the urge to faint. The pain ran like fire down her arms, throbbing and pulsing, each beat more furious than the beat before.

"Your arms?"

"It hurts," she moaned.

"I feared this. It will ease, just be still. It will not go away all together, but it will ease."

"I.... " the word turned into a groan, the pain so great that she could no longer formulate whole thoughts. The fire in her arms made its way to her brain, and she began to black out. Somewhere from a distance she heard her own voice cry out in agony.

"Shhhhh--" his lips pressed against her neck.

The shock of that was worse than the pain. Her breath caught in her throat, she forced herself to cough in order to start breathing again. Her eyes opened, and the room was once again there around her. The fire was still there, but steady, no longer shooting up and down from her mind to her hands and back.

She turned to face him, nose to chin, and stared into his face. "Did you just kiss me?"

"I see it worked."

"Pardon me?"

"You were going into shock--fainting would only have increased the pressure on your wrists as your body sank. I attempted to refocus your attention away from the pain."

"Oh." The disappointment she felt over the coolness of his words was absolutely disgusting.

A sound from the corridor drew their attention toward it. Casey stiffened, listening, trying to identify the noise. Something was scratching on the wood of the door. She stared out the high, barred window--nothing could be seen that would make the sound.

A tawny, furr-covered face appeared. Casey jumped, sending arrows of pain down her arms again.

"Yow!"

"Zimmer!" She struggled, fought her chains to go to him.

"Please, sit still," Gareth complained, "You're pinching me."

"Sorry, it's Zimmer! How on earth did he get here?"

"Obviously, he followed us."

"Row?" The cat reached a paw through the bars, clawing toward Casey and Gareth, trying to get to them. He pressed his muzzle against them, tried to force his face through.

"They're not wide enough, kitty," Casey said, worried that he would get himself jammed in the door. What would the guards do if they came back down and found a cat hanging in the doorway? She didn't want to think about it. "You'll never get through."

Zimmer, however, had no concept of too-narrow spaces, and continued to press. With an impossible thrust, his head was through, then one foreleg and shoulder. He reached around, clawing against the wood on the inside of the door. The sound of his hind nails scrabbling against the wood grated on Casey's nerves like nails on a chalkboard.

"Oh, God, he's stuck," she whined.

He was, but only for a moment. The front claws found a hold in the rough, rotting wood of the door. He pulled himself forward, inch by inch, until the other shoulder popped free. Once that was accomplished, it was a simple task to pour the rest of his body, like feline liquid, through the gap. He shook himself, sat and licked at a sore shoulder, and then trotted over to his human friends.

"Prrrrt." He rubbed against Casey's shackled feet, hopped to her shins, and rail-walked the length of her legs to her lap.

Gareth shook his head in wonder. "Would that we were cats! These shackles would not hold us. What other tricks does your little friend know?"

"I didn't know he knew that one!" Casey wished fervently that she could free a hand to stroke her purring companion.

Zimmer sat, content, seemingly oblivious to his mistress's predicament. His eyes were half-closed and he purred loudly, kneeding Casey's thighs for comfort.

"Well, i'nt that cosey."

The gruff voice at the door jolted Casey's attention from the purring cat in her lap. Keys jangled, grated in the lock. It opened with a creak and a groan that spoke of long disuse, and a fat, bearded guard entered. He carried a tray, which he placed on the floor beside Gareth. A second guard, then a third followed him into the cell, each holding pikes at the ready. One stood on each side of the prisoners, the heads of their weapons leveled at Casey's and Gareth's throats.

The bearded man continued to taunt. "All cuddled up in his lap, with your cat an' everything." He paused, his keys in his hand, and scowled till his face turned pink. "How'd that cat get in here?"

Neither Casey nor Gareth spoke.

He shrugged. "M'orders is to free your han's long enough for you to eat. 'E wan's to keep you alive just so's he c'n kill you his'elf." The man snorted with laughter as he clicked the key in the shackle locks.

Casey's arms dropped like lead, spearing her with bursts of flaming pain that made her dizzy all over again. Nausea grabbed her stomach in its grip, and she bent forward to try to stem its flow. She clenched her teeth tight against the wave that nearly overcame her, and against her instinct to cry out with the pain.

Gareth, whose wrists were marked and bruised but not cut, reached forward to help her.

"Nah y'don't!" the guard to his left warned, and thrust the pike against the side of Gareth's neck. "Keep those hands in yer lap till we're out o' here!"

Casey remained leaned forward, Gareth froze in place, and the guards began to back cautiously away.

"Y'think it's a demon or somethin'?" one of them asked as they reached the door.

"What're you talkin' about?"

"Th'cat. I'nt natural. Wasn't here when we locked 'em up."

"Probably jest a cat. We'll tell his Lordship about it, though."

The door banged shut, and the key once again echoed in the lock. The footsteps of the guards disappeared down the hallway.

"Lass, are you all right?" Gareth reached out and began to rub Casey's shoulders, using light, gentle strokes that were ever so careful not to hurt.

She sat up, shuddered with the surge of pain the movement caused. "It's getting better, a little. Thank you, that helps."

Despite the irrational urge to stay in his lap, soaking up his caresses forever, Casey slid to the floor and moved closer to the ankle chains. She bent her knees, pulling her feet beneath her, and with difficulty and no little pain, stood and stretched.

Zimmer and strolled over to examine the contents of the tray. He sniffed at the scant plate of stale bread and moldy cheese, made a pass over what appeared to be mugs of dark beer, and then turned to scratch the floor in a mock-act