Book 2: Chapter 39

Book 2: Chapter 39

The cell that Garrett was dumped in was damp and cold, and smelled awful. A single solitary torch at the far end of the hall gave him just enough light that he could see his hands as he touched the bruises and welts on his face and neck. The jailer had taken every opportunity he could to abuse Garrett and Carraway as he dragged them into the prison, only throwing them into the cells when he got tired of beating them. This was not what Garrett had expected, but he bore it as well as he could, thankful for the strength and endurance that his shaper level awakening had brought him. He could feel his soul spark sending out traces of energy to heal his wounds already, and had to consciously suppress it to keep it from closing up some of the more prominent cuts on his face.

Though there were a good number of people who knew he was an awakened, he had no desire for his level to be outed by a couple of cuts that healed overnight, so he did his best to bear with the pain as he suppressed his soul spark. Dragging himself along the stone floor, Garrett angled himself to find a wall and then searched along it until he found some metal chains that he could use to pull himself up. Not having use of his legs was manageable most days, but it was times like now when the stark reality of his situation made itself known. A low chuckle escaped his lips as Garrett contrasted his current situation with his accommodations a scant few days before.

From a nobles manor to a rat infested jail cell. Quite the swing.The source of this content nov(el)bi((n))

Unfortunately, the chains didnt reach quite far enough for him to wedge himself in the corner, so he remained where he was, his hand hooked into the chain as he closed his eyes and considered his situation. The jailer had searched him and taken everything he carried, delivering kicks that tenderized his ribs in between. Clearly, there had been no personal animosity in the mans actions, just the casual cruelty of someone who liked to wield power like a club. It would be a lie to say that Garrett wasnt angry, but he knew full well that now was not the time for hasty action.

It wouldnt have been hard to plant a dream seed and turn the man into a slave, but Garrett was suspicious, too suspicious, to do something that blatant. Ever since he had run into the merchants from Port Reverie, a seed of doubt had been growing in his mind. They possessed artifacts that would likely warn them if any sort of mental energy was used around them, allowing them to identify when someone tried to pull something, and if they had that capability, why wouldnt someone in Insomnium. Besides, Garrett had seen the sealing symbol that the exorcists used, and he wasnt discounting that other, detection based symbols existed as well.

If someone had spotted the strange spread of dream flowers, they would undoubtedly be trying to find the source of it, just as the exorcists were trying to do with the Ghosts Mirror. Though Garrett knew he was sharp, he wasnt so full of himself to believe that he could move unhindered through the world. There was a high likelihood that he was just being paranoid, but better paranoid than dead. If this imaginary person found out that he was the source of the dream flowers, he would end up just like one of those mysterious artifacts, sealed or destroyed.

Better that they thought he was just part of those affected. But to make that work, he needed to be more careful about how he planted them. And ultimately, that meant taking a beating without responding in kind. Feeling the cool wall on his back, Garrett concentrated its texture to take his mind off of the burning pain he felt in his face and torso. The sun was in the process of going down, and though Garrett couldnt see it because his cell was underground, he could feel the creeping approach of the dream starting to press in around him.

The slow shuffle of feet grew closer and closer as whoever it was approached Garretts cell and the tension in the air seemed to build until Garrett gestured silently into the air, almost as if he were conducting. On beat, the whistling started, a jaunty tune that was at complete odds with the building tension. Louder and louder it grew until it seemed to fill Garretts cell. If he closed his eyes he could almost imagine himself walking down a street, whistling the tune himself. Almost. The hard stone, his wet clothes, and the biting chill that the combination of them produced was too strong for him to imagine himself anywhere but in a dark cell.

The whistling stopped outside his cell and a key sounded in the door. Again, there was a long pause between actions, but Garrett didnt care. He simply closed his eyes and focused his attention on what was about to happen. Garrett was laying on the ground, stretched out along the wall to the right of the door, which opened left. So when the cell door finally opened and the person stepped inside, he swung the chain as hard as he could, putting every ounce of his strength and anger behind it.

Tearing through the air, the chain slammed into the mans shins, causing a sharp crack to echo in the room and down the hall as his left shin snapped in half. Both of the mans feet were swept out from under him and he fell to the ground screaming dreadfully, dropping something with a loud clang as he hit the stone floor. In the faint light, Garrett could see metal glimmering but he didnt care. He let go of the chain and grabbed the mans arm, pulling him close. Too disoriented by the pain to know what was happening, the mans screams were suddenly cut short as Garretts fingers closed around his throat like iron bands, choking the breath right out of him.

Though it would have been much easier with another hand, Garrett didnt have any other option so he tugged his enemy over, feeling the coarse leather apron he wore as he rolled over on top of his enemy, keeping his chest to the mans back as he wrapped his right arm around the mans head, pulling his head back to get a better grasp on the mans neck. Sharp pain bit into his back as he rolled onto the axe that the man had dropped, but he ignored it, twisting his right arm sharply as he wrenched with his left. He was rewarded with a sharp snap as the mans spine cracked, but he didnt let go until the twitching stopped. When it did, he let out a gasp, his lungs desperately searching for air, and heaved the corpse off of himself.

The axe had cut deeply into his back as he rolled on it, and he was completely exhausted from both the tension and the physical struggle, so he let his soul spark work freely, sending rejuvenating streams of energy throughout his body. He could feel the wounds starting to mend, but once the bleeding had stopped he restrained it again. By the time he had the energy to move, half the night had passed, and he spent the rest of the night arranging his cell and planning his next move. The feeling of impending crisis was still weighing on him, and Garrett was starting to get worried. He had expected that tension to vanish now that he was in the middle of a problem, but the fact that it hadnt spoke to something bigger on the horizon.

When the dream finally receded, Garrett felt like he had done all he could. Viper and the ghouls were in position, with some of them even making their way to the crypt that lay under the prison, and Ryn, Obe, and the rest of the awakened were standing by at the inn. Though the sun did not make its presence known in his cell, Garrett could feel its influence even in the dark damp. It was like a warm light that crept over him, driving back the cold of the dream. Time passed slowly in the cell, but Garrett had plenty of plans to make and he amused himself by coming up with as many plans as he could for how he would find whoever had arranged this little play.

Eventually, the door, which had never been re-bolted, opened and the sounds of heavy boots echoed in the hallway. There were angry voices too, including one that Garrett had been expecting. Light danced down the passage, chasing back the shadows and forcing Garrett to squint his eyes. In less than a minute, Grant stormed into the cell, his face dark with fury. Behind him, the belligerent jailer was trying to keep up, but both of the men stopped dead when they saw the scene in the cell. Garrett was sitting by the wall, his back perfectly straight, with bruises and dried blood covering his face. What drew their attention, however, was the man across from him.

The light of the lantern that Grant held shone over a shirtless man with a heavy leather apron that was covered in splatters of dried blood. A rough sack mask covered his head that was lolled to the side, his neck wrapped with a chain that rose to a bolt stuck in the wall. The chain was not quite long enough for his butt to reach the ground, but his legs were splayed out, supporting his back against the stone wall. If that were it, it would have been fine, but what caused both of the men to shudder was the bloody axe the mans fingers gripped, and his left leg that lay in two pieces.