Anaid Eiram

Alice balked, a terrified sob threatening in her throat. She clutched her sticky shirt to her chest, bending her knees in an unconscious attempt to seem smaller, less of a threat. She could not take her eyes off the demon that demanded the removal of the one thin barrier between her body and his cruel intentions.

In this subtle light, Alice saw the man-demon Arysk clearly for the first time. Her pre-dawn capture had left her with an impression of black, hollow features, while the firelight had made his face angular and harsh. Now she understood that he needed neither nighttime nor fire to give him an evil countenance.

Chiselled features, harder than stone, defined his strong, angular face. A straight, aquiline nose divided two sturdy cheek bones above a severe, unsmiling mouth. Brown hair – so dark it was almost black – hung at odd angles over his tanned forehead, partially obscuring black brows and his cruel, silver eyes. She thought that perhaps she could just make out a hint of the host’s original blue, but was not game to stare at those eyes too long lest she begin screaming.

Backing away, Alice realised there was little that could keep her from the power of his lean, wiry arms should he decide to force her. He was too big, too evil, too frightening. She shuddered and he glowered.

“I thought we’d been through this,” he said fiercely. That baritone voice – harsher than the blizzard outside – seemed fitting for the monster before her. “My self control will only stretch so far.”

Alice could not help herself. She wrapped her arms protectively around her body, trying to savour her wholeness while it lasted.

“I maintain that you are an idiot. You are covered in blood and soot. I am not going to take you back there until you are clean, and your wounds washed. I see little sense in you bathing in the only dry clothes available to you. Now take it off.” The last sentence was a hiss.

Not reassured in the slightest, Alice stumbled further back. Her hand came up to her face, idly wondering what he had meant by ‘wounds’. Her whole body ached, but she hadn’t noticed any physical tears in her skin.

Her fingers quickly found otherwise. She must have fallen at exactly the wrong angle down that icy cliff because the stinging on her right cheek indicated a wide, bloody gash from her eye to her mouth. An inspection of her forehead revealed a similar wound stretching across her brow, and her hands came back from her scalp with dried blood on them. Alice whimpered, coward that she was, and wondered what other damage this shirt hid.

In her peripheral vision, Alice saw his hand come up, and she cringed into the wall. Stinging on her face suggested another fresh injury, but that was the least of her problems as Arysk’s rough, calloused hand caught her torn collar and pulled her forward.

She struggled pathetically, but he was too strong as he held her arms in a vice-like grip. Arysk marched her over to the water’s edge, grumbling something incoherent as she tried to fight him off.

“Please, please, please,” she was begging between sobs.

“Are all humans this ridiculously short-sighted?” he snarled, spinning her away from him.

With one arm wrapped firmly around her middle, Arysk’s free hand quickly undid all five of the buttons down her front. She cringed away from his fingers, but before he so much as touched her, the shirt was gone and Alice was pushed straight into the tepid water.

An explosion of bubbles surrounded her as she fought her way through the warm water to the surface. She launched her head into the air, choking in great lungfuls. The water assaulted her face, battering her eyes and stinging her wounds. She spluttered and somehow reached the ledge where she clung to the rocks with white knuckles, arms shaking uncontrollably when the current tried to tug her around the basin.

Gasping hysterically, Alice wiped the wet hair from her face. The first thing she saw was a worn boot planted right in front of her. She squealed at his closeness and accidentally let go of the wall.

Immediately the current took her under. She choked in the depths, feet flying for purchase, arms reaching for the surface. Her eyes were open but all she could see was the blackness and the bubbles of the heat source far below. She flayed, trying to scream, watching the precious air in her lungs float before her eyes.

Suddenly something grabbed her wrist and she was lurched upwards.

Alice’s head breached the confining waters with a spray of half-worded profanities. She choked and gasped, both hands securely wrapped around the object suspended above her head. She didn’t even cringe when she realised the object was Arysk’s left arm.

He stared at her, evaluating her terrified expression which for once, was not aimed in his direction.

“You can’t swim,” he stated bluntly.

Alice clung to him tighter, terrified that he might find some amusement in pushing her back under.

“I fail to comprehend the survival of your species,” he spat, dropping her wrist.

If she hadn’t been hanging on with such determination, Alice would have gone back under. As it was, she scrambled for the ledge and released his arm in favour of the rocks, heedless of his boots in her face this time. He shifted away.

The noises above her did nothing to remove Alice’s attention from the rocks under her fingers. After everything she’d been through thus far, there was no way she was going to lose her grip and drown to death. How anticlimactic that would be.

A soft splash sounded behind her, but she didn’t look back. She was contemplating whether to try and haul herself out of this pool of death and risk falling back in, or to wait for Arysk to find some mercy. When she finally looked back up, it was to find a crumpled pile of clothing only a few metres away from her face. She studied the familiar items and blanched.

Alice whipped around, pressing herself into the rocks to maintain her balance. Arysk emerged halfway around the basin, wet hair pushed back and arms spread wide as he hovered a small distance from her. There was no kindness or mercy in his eyes. Only disgruntled resignation.

“Come here,” he ordered.

Not likely, Alice thought to herself, hugging the rock wall.

“Do I have to remind you about my low tolerance for your fear, again? You either come here, or I fetch you.”

His tone was menacing, but Alice honestly doubted her ability to make it to him even if she were she so inclined.

How had it come to this? Alice was convinced that they were somehow trying to trick her into complacency, but then what purpose could they possibly achieve? The only reason to keep an enemy alive during a war was to get things desired from their bodies or their minds. Though she was still terrified of the first possibility, it seemed that the second was more likely. But what could she possibly know that would be of use to these monsters?

The immediate monster before her briefly ducked his head then spat water across his shoulder before beginning to move forward. Alice tried to keep herself calm, knowing it would be easier if she just closed her eyes and pretend it was all a bad dream.

The hard hand that snatched her elbow was not gentle as it dragged her back into the depths. Alice stiffened, but her face never approached the water. Instead, her feet were firmly planted on a large rock below the surface and she was surprised that she was able to stand. When she dared to open her eyes it was to see a wet hand cupping fresh water reaching for her cheek. It splashed her mildly and she felt the sting, but other than that it was not overly terrifying.

This process continued until Arysk was satisfied with the injuries on her face, having rubbed the grit from them roughly enough that they were bleeding afresh. The smell seemed to tempt him briefly, but then he turned his attention to her arms. A brisk search of both revealed only dark purple bruises. The evaluation of the rest of her body was not as comfortable, but he never touched her in a way that made her feel dirty or abused. When he was finally satisfied that the ice cuts on her hands and knees were clean, he turned his attention to her scalp.

That was easily the most painful part. Most of the wounds on her scalp had bled closed, but that had resulted in her hair becoming trapped in the hard crust.

“Shut up or do it yourself,” he growled when Alice whimpered yet again.

She knew that she was too much of a coward to inflict this kind of pain on herself, so she fought to remain quiet as Arysk yanked strand after strand free.

Suddenly her legs were knocked from under her. Alice barely had time to scream before she was drowning, hair flying around her face. She snatched for any anchorage and was brought up roughly by Arysk’s knee. Choking in air, she belatedly realised that he had dunked her purposefully to wash the blood from her head.

“You could have just asked,” she spluttered, sucking in frantic, moist breaths.

She knew she was not imagining the snarl as he left her side. Alice kept her eyes down while he stepped from the basin, too embarrassed to raise her head until she was certain he was decently clothed. When she did look up it was to see that same black shirt stuck to him in wet folds, the worn jeans belted at his waist and his boots being kicked into place.

Foolish, she told herself, looking down. She should have taken advantage of his preoccupation to get out of the water herself. Now she would be forced to struggle in all her glory to retrieve her black rag to cover herself again.

Alice took a deep breath and studied the distance from her perched position on the submerged rock to the ledge. She estimated that she could make it in one leap.

But if she couldn’t? She would be swept under. Would he be merciful enough to fetch her a second time? Or rather, would he be merciful enough to let her drown?

Calm, she told herself, eyeing Arysk’s glare.

She measured the distance one last time and leapt across, arms outstretched. They smacked into the ledge and she fought for purchase, clinging for dear life. It took Alice a moment to realise that she had succeeded.

Relief overwhelmed her. She sobbed and buried her head in her arms, heedless of her audience. Slowly, inexorably, she clambered out of the swirling basin of death.

Bruised and bleeding, Alice finally scuttled over to her shirt and flung it about her shivering body, heedless of the water still running in rivulets through her hair.

When she glanced up it was to find Arysk in the doorway, eyeing the darkness. The moment her buttons were done he marched off and Alice had no choice but to follow. Clean and somewhat refreshed – though inarguably shaken – Alice made her way after the creature with a hand lightly trailing along the left wall. Using it as a guide she barely stumbled and always kept Arysk in sight.

The warm flicker of firelight eventually warmed the tunnel ahead, broken only by the large shadow six or seven paces before her. There was broken guttural conversation flowing in the end room, but Alice didn’t recognise the foreign voice until she stepped from the gloom.

Immediately, an unfamiliar pair of silver eyes turned to her. Alice studied them for a short moment, finding it impossible to recognise that face with its new, cruel expression.

When she did her heart faltered.

Alice screamed.

Anaid Eiram

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