Chapter Three
Absolute Darkness
John’s hand, shaking slightly, pushed the first symbol in and reached for the second. It took a few seconds before he realized that he was surrounded, dark arrows pointed at his face.
He could have fought his way through, maybe even without getting shot, but one thing stopped him. A few of the bulky men that had made up the approaching enemy were huddled around Merry, prodding her gently with heavily mittened fingers and mumbling in some unknown language. He couldn’t just leave her here, so he put his arms up in surrender.
*
Merry woke slowly, but she didn’t know it at first. The room she was in was pitch black; she wasn’t even sure it was a room. Groaning and holding her side, she crawled her way slowly in one direction, hoping to hit a wall. She made it to something solid much quicker than she would have expected. Using the wall as a balance, she lifted herself slowly into a nearly standing position, her arm clutched around her painful middle.
The wall, or whatever it was, was made of large rough blocks of heavy stone. Trailing her fingers in what she hoped was a straight line, she shuffled along the wall, trying to determine how large the room was. She made it to a corner rather quickly; she felt her way along that wall, counting her steps as she went. This wall was the same as the other- featureless and made of heavy stone.
It took eight steps to get to the next corner; she couldn’t be sure, though, because her steps were small and rather hesitant. Turning again, she paced off the next wall; eight steps again. The next wall was the same, but not made of blocks; it seemed to be carved out of a cliff. The last wall, the one she had started on, was the same as the other two, but with a big difference. There was a heavy wooden door, solid and rough, nearly two paces wide in that wall.
Merry had a picture of her cell in her mind; small, cramped, and carved out of a mountainside, with only one way out. She leaned against the wall, hoping to hear something outside that might give her a clue as to where she was.
She half-fell, half-sank into a crouch next to the door, leaning heavily on it and pressing her ear on the thin crack; there wasn’t even a space at the bottom for light to seep through. She tried to block out her fear and pain and concentrated on the sounds outside the door. There weren’t many.
She wasn’t sure how long she sat there, but it must have been a while; she had fallen into a doze before she heard heavy footsteps in what might have been a long hallway. Pressing her ear closer to the door, she began to make out three distinct sets of footsteps; one set was heavier and must have taken longer strides, and the other had quick, staccato steps; the third made an odd, shuffling sound. They were dragging something between them; the sound of whatever it was never left the ground.
They drew closer to her door, and she thought for a second of escape. She tried to drag herself upwards into a standing position, pulling painfully on her side; before she had stood fully, there was the dull scrape of a key in a lock.
She nearly screamed when the door to her cell opened. She fell out into the corridor; it was as black as the cell had been. Even if she had wanted to, she couldn’t escape; she had fallen heavily on her injured side, and the impact had caused spots to appear on the back of her eyelids. She lay there, panting, trying to regain her breath, when one of what she assumed were the guards pulled her to her feet and shoved her back in the cell. There were two heavy clinks, like metal on stone, and then they dragged whatever-it-was into her tiny cell.
Before she could speak, they had the door locked again.
*
Merry waited while the footsteps faded down the long corridor before moving to whatever they had dragged in. She felt along the ground with one hand, holding her side with the other; she thought she might have opened her wound again. It wasn’t long before she felt something hard and ridged; trailing her fingers upward, she realized that it was a boot, attached to a leg, and that that leg was attached to a person.
Merry let her hand make its way upward to the face of whoever her new cellmate was. The face was long and thin, with short stubble and longer, unruly hair. There was a wet spot near the crown of the man’s head; she was sure it was a man, because of the beard and…other things.
She jumped when the person groaned. Sliding backwards and breathing heavily, she backed into the wall and pressed herself into the corner. The person groaned again. She heard the movement of clothing, and tried to choke back a gasp of fear.
“Who’s there?” The voice, loud after her long silence and slightly rough, spoke harshly; she thought she could detect a hint of fear. She also thought that she recognized the voice.
“I know someone’s in here with me.” She heard him groan, and then the heavy sound of someone half-falling against a wall. “Come on; I don’t bite.”
She smiled a quick little smile. “Even if you did, you couldn’t find me to do it, now could you?”
The voice sounded amused. “I could probably find you by your breathing, you know. You’re not very quiet.”
Merry nearly laughed. “I’m clumsy, too. And you would be loud if you’d been shot with an arrow, too.”
There was a long pause. “What’s your name?”
Merry frowned. “Why?”
“Cause I think…’m Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. Who’re you?”
Merry gasped. “John? It’s…it’s Merry, Merry Steel. Doctor, I mean.” She tried to hold back the absurd question, but her brain wasn’t functioning properly. “Do you always stress the whole Lieutenant Colonel thing?”
She heard him sigh, and they didn’t speak again; they just waited while the darkness closed in even further.
*
It felt like hours before she couldn’t stand it anymore.
“John?”
She thought she heard him jump. “Yeah?”
“Are you…are you okay?”
He gave a strained laugh. “You’re the one who got shot, right?”
Merry giggled at the absurdity of the question. “Does that mean that you’re alright?”
There was another pregnant pause. “I’m fine.”
Merry snorted. “Right. I’ve heard that before. How bad is it?”
She thought she could hear the frown in his voice. “How bad is what?”
She began to feel her way along the wall, hoping he wasn’t too far away; she wasn’t sure how much movement her side could take. “Your head wound, for starters. Anything else they may have done. I don’t know; pick one.”
John sighed. “How’d you know about the head?”
She inched her way closer; he was on the other side of the cell. “I felt it when the brought you in here. There aren’t any lights, so I had to find out what they put in this cozy little place.”
He didn’t answer for a long time. She had nearly made it to him- she could feel the slight rise in temperature from his body heat- before he spoke. “The head thing is probably a concussion. I have some bruises all over, and I think I may have broken a few ribs.”
Merry stopped. “How’d you do that?”
She moved closer when he didn’t respond. She felt along the ground for his hand. “How’d you break your ribs, John?”
He heaved another sigh and flinched when she touched him. “I was protecting you.”
*
It seemed to take days before they heard the footsteps again. She wasn’t by the door, so they were nearly upon the cell before either she or John had heard them. There were only two sets this time; there were key sounds, then the rush of air that signaled that the door was opening.
John tried to push Merry behind him, but he wasn’t fast enough. The two men- she had to assume they were men, because she couldn’t see them- pulled John to his feet, eliciting a harsh cry from the colonel. Merry felt them pull John away, and heard the door close.
She was alone again.
*
They always brought him back unconscious.
Merry didn’t think they were being very fair to her. There she was, stuck in a too-small cell with only a bucket to do her business in and injuries that hurt more with each breath, and they took her only distraction away every few hours to be tortured. The least they could do was make sure he was awake when he came back.
It always took a few minutes for him to wake. When he did, he would crawl back to the wall, and she would curl up next to him and try not to aggravate the injuries they had caused this time.
He hadn’t objected the first time she had curled around him. She had been cold, and he had seemed to appreciate the extra body warmth.
The next time, they had broken his fingers. She hadn’t known at the time, and had accidentally sat on them. She had never before heard a scream that put the hairs up on the back of her neck, but that had done it. Since then, he was the one who made room for her; after the scream, she hadn’t wanted to touch him again.
They sat shivering in the darkness, one on each wall, until he couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Come here.”
His voice, sudden and harsh, nearly echoed in the cell.
Her whimpered “No!” seemed pathetic in comparison.
“I’m cold. Come here.” This time, his voice was firmer and brooked no argument.
So she had. After that, it was unspoken; they lay together in the darkness, gaining heat and comfort in the cold, dark cell.
Whispers in the Dark von Emagen Laile
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