Chapter Four
Whispers in the Dark
Merry didn’t know how long they had been in that dark cell, but it had to have been days. They had taken John away more often than she cared to think about, and he always returned more bruised than when he had left. She began to worry about him; it took longer and longer for him to wake up, and he was often disoriented. Once, he had called her “Mom”.
This last time had been the worst. He had lain there for what felt like hours, only to wake suddenly, surprising her. He obviously hadn’t remembered she was there; he had nearly screamed when she placed her hand gently on his arm. Of course, it could have been the new cut there; it was the entire length of his forearm, and bled sluggishly. And it hadn’t been the arm where they had broken his fingers, either. She had to be extremely careful about how she curled up next to him now.
They hadn’t spoken in a long time. She had almost forgotten what his voice sounded like.
She jumped when he finally spoke, hours after he had been returned. His voice was gravelly and pain-filled, and it seemed to take too much effort to speak.
“Hey, Merry.”
Her own voice was a shock. It shook a little and was higher than she remembered. “Yes?”
He pulled her closer; she could feel him wince. “How’re you doing?”
She stared up at where his face must be. “I…I’m fine, John.”
“They haven’t…they haven’t done anything to you, have they?”
She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see it. “No.” She waited for a second, then reached up with one hand to touch his face. She managed with just the tips of her fingers before he pulled it away. His voice was shaky.
“Don’t.”
She pulled him closer to him, wishing she could at least offer more comfort than her touch. “What about you? What have they done to you?”
He tried to pull away, but she wouldn’t let go. His hand on her hip, where he held her, shook a little. “Nothing…”
She felt the first twinges of anger. “Don’t lie to me, John. You’re…you’re…they’re torturing you…John, you can’t tell me they’re not. I just…I know it. Please don’t lie to me.”
She felt more than heard him take a shuddering breath. “It’s bad, Merry. I…I don’t really know how bad, but if how I feel is any…it’s bad.”
Merry tried not to picture everything it could be. She knew about the arm, and the fingers, and the head wounds, and she knew he might have broken a few ribs, and there might be something wrong with his leg. She just couldn’t tell.
“I’m so sorry, John. If I hadn’t…”
“No.” His voice was harsh with pain and conviction. “No. We don’t leave people behind.”
*
They had fallen asleep like that, as they always did. She tried to ignore the gasps and wheezes of his breath and focused instead on the steady beat of his heart. She heard him blow a piece of hair out of his mouth, but she must have fallen asleep soon after.
It was so difficult to tell, now. She had always enjoyed being in the dark at night. She had always preferred cave-like bedrooms, but this was just too much. She would kill for a look at the city again; she hadn’t realized how often she looked out of her window at the stars at night.
She wasn’t sure when smell had become unimportant to her. Always, she had kept herself clean; she had always liked the feeling she had right after a long, hot shower. For the first few days of their capture, she had wasted some of the water they were given in a vain attempt to wash her face, but ever since John’s fingers had been broken, it hadn’t mattered as much, and he didn’t seem to mind. At least, he never said anything.
The clothing they had given her before throwing her in the cell was thick with sweat and dirt, but none of it mattered next to what they had done to John. The bandages they had wrapped around her middle were sodden with sweat and blood; her wound broke often now, and seeped almost constantly, but it hurt less and less each day. She couldn’t tell if it was because the pain was less or if she was just becoming more tolerant. She had never really liked pain before, but it was a constant companion now, and she liked it even less. She couldn’t begin to imagine what John was going through.
No matter what he said, it was still her fault they had been captured.
*
This time, when their captors came, they were both grabbed. She nearly shrieked when the hands came out of nowhere and pulled her to her feet, and she stumbled along the dark hallway. She could hear John being dragged behind her, his feet taking the occasional step.
They walked until they came to an intersection and turned right, walking only a short distance before they were shoved through a door.
Merry stumbled into the room, blinking against the harsh light. There was a single kerosene lamp burning on a rough table; it looked very old, and the glass chimney was black with soot, letting very little light out. It was, however, enough to hurt her eyes badly after days without any light at all.
She was thrown into a corner; there was a sizable puddle of blood there already. It was dry, a dark rusty brown that was splashed against the walls and floor. She stared at a spot of it, trying to figure out whose blood it was and what the shape reminded her of.
She was jerked out of her reverie by the sound of another body hitting the floor. She looked up, her eyes hooded against the light. John was sprawled on the ground. Her first thought on seeing him was of blood.
He was covered in it. Dried strings of blood made gory designs across his face, and his nose was swollen to twice its normal size. One eye was completely swollen shut; the other was a mere slit against the light. His fingers on one hand were swollen grotesquely, obviously broken, and the long slice on his arm was red and looked infected.
She turned away from him, trying to stop herself from taking in any more details. There were three men in thick furs already in the room, and four guards, the ones who had brought them, stood against the wall at attention. Merry watched the man in the center, a large bald man wearing black fur, make a motion towards one of the guards. The man picked John up and stood him against the wall; she heard him grunt as the large man slammed his head, hard.
She took a step towards him, but one of the three men in fur moved in front of her and twisted her arm behind her back. She nearly shrieked when it pulled on her stomach wound, but other than panting heavily, said nothing.
The man in black fur, who was obviously the leader, walked slowly up to her. He had the walk of a predator, and with the fur, looked like a large dog. His eyes, what she could make of them under heavy steel gray brows, were black and glittered in the light. She was surprised when the man on the other side of him spoke.
The man was tall, wearing thick red furs, and had a head of straw blond hair. He had a child-like face, which made his voice all the more surprising. It was, quite possibly, the deepest voice she had ever heard, like rocks rolling down a mountainside.
“You. Who you?” He pointed straight at Merry, and his eyes locked onto hers. It would have been comical if he hadn’t been deadly serious. She hid an insane smirk and frowned. John was groaning; apparently, they hadn’t waited for him to answer. The man in brown fur was hitting him repeatedly, with something of a rhythm.
He was mumbling something. The man in red fur asked the question again, a quizzical look on his face. In a lull between punches, she heard finally heard his broken words.
“Don’t…say…anything…nothing…”
His next words were blocked by another hit, this one making him silent.
Merry lunged towards him, but was restrained by one of the guards. The man in brown fur was standing over John with a satisfied look, and said something to the man in black in a musical language that was quite at odds with their fearsome clothing and manner. Black Fur nodded, and Red Fur turned to her, a grim look on his face.
“You tell me name.” His voice was harsh; there was a frightening look on Brown Fur’s face. When she shook her head, he grinned a death’s grin. She didn’t even notice that she whimpered.
Red Fur frowned. “Tell name.” He pointed at John. “Tell name.”
Merry shook her head. When Brown Fur pulled out a knife, she pulled in one sobbing breath. Red Fur walked over to her, motioning to the guards to pull her arms behind her back. “Tell name and he lives. Tell his name, and he goes.”
She frowned, fear clouding any questions in her head. “If I tell you his name, he can go?”
Red Fur reached out one finger- she noticed that it had been dyed, like the rest of his hand, a bright blue- and ran it down the side of her face. “Tell his name and your name, and he go. Tell more, both go.”
Merry took one look at John, his sprawled form prone on the floor. He wasn’t moving. “His name…His name…” She thought back on all of the old movies she loved to watch; mobsters never let you go if they had all the information. But if she could get John released…
“His name is Frodo.” She didn’t look away from him. “Mine is Sam.”
*
She nearly giggled every time they called her Sam. The men had believed her, and dragged John back to their cell. She had nearly spit on Red Fur when he told her where they were bringing John, but she wasn’t all that surprised.
Brown Fur had handed his knife to Red Fur, to the man’s distaste, and he and Black Fur, along with all of the guards, had left, shutting the large, rough door behind them. Red Fur had his back to her, so she couldn’t see his face.
When he finally turned, what felt like hours later, he had a blank mask that was at odds with the behavior she had seen in him before. He held the knife in his hand, twirling it between his fingers but carefully not touching the blade.
“Sam, tell where from.”
She nearly gave an insane giggle, but held her breath until the urge passed. “Frodo and I just came from Mount Doom, where we dropped the Ring of Power into a molten pool of lava and destroyed it. Actually, Golum bit Frodo and then fell into the lava, but you get the general idea. We were on our way back when you attacked us. The eagles were supposed to pick us up, but I guess they forgot.” She let her eyes fall, trying to suppress hysterical giggles. “It came at the end of years of travel to destroy Sauron’s power. Sauron was a big, Wraith-like bad guy.”
Red Fur was staring at her. The mask had slipped, and an incredulous look was on his face. “What eagles?”
Merry looked up at him with earnest eyes and began to gesture wildly. “Eagles? Big, big birds.” She glanced at her hands, hiding what felt like an evil smirk. “You know, I’ve often wondered something. If the eagles were going to fly over Mordor and pick us up anyway, why didn’t they just fly us over the mountain and drop us off? It would have taken far less time, you know.”
Red Fur still looked confused. “Why destroy ring?”
Merry couldn’t help herself. She smirked. “So the bad guy wouldn’t get it, of course. Why else?” She paused thoughtfully, pulled herself to her feet, and began to pace. It seemed Red Fur was honoring their deal. She stopped mid-stride and turned to the man; at least, where he had been. For such a large man- he towered over her by at least a full head- he moved silently and quite quickly.
“Red Fur?”
She turned at a noise behind her. The knife, golden in the lamplight, flashed as it made its way to her stomach.
She heard a ripping noise as the knife sliced through her bandages, stabbing its way into the arrow wound.
Her eyes wide, she looked at the sympathetic face of Red Fur.
Whispers in the Dark von Emagen Laile
Kapitel Bemerkung: Thanks to all who read and reviewed!
Kapitel Abschlussbemerkung: Please let me know what you think...next chapter should be up in two days...
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