Chapter 31: Did you know...?

The armour embraced me snugly, it was quite comfortable. I wasn’t sure about the look though. It made me look like I had just escaped a mental asylum, so walking around town with it on probably wasn’t going to happen. 

Not that the day of my return felt like it was getting any closer. 

I still bled from the stab wounds left from the nails, and I figured I would have to get them treated sooner rather than later. Sadly there were no supplies for stitching up wounds in the cellar. Even if there were, I wouldn’t. I didn’t trust the hag to keep things sanitary. It might have been good enough for her victims, but they all met an end I didn’t want. 

The others debated over who should carry John now that all except Samara were out of commission. To me it seemed like an obvious choice, but no one seemed to share my opinion. Was it so bad to let the esteemed Solburne daughter carry a man like a sack o’ taters? I certainly didn’t think it was beneath her. If I had learned one thing since waking up in this fucking place it was that everyone had to get their hands dirty, or you’d end up with a library situation all over again.  

“Can we just get going already?” I groaned. 

Nea glared at me. “And what? Just leave John?” 

“Just let Samara carry him for fucks sake...” I whispered under my breath. 

They fell silent, mulling over my words. Nea shook her head. “No. That won’t do. I’ll do it.” 

“You?” I scoffed. “You’re the worst off out of everyone. You have a fist sized hole in your stomach. The fact that you’re even standing is a magically fuelled miracle. A blessing.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, so? My blessing gives me a sturdy body. Might as well use it.” 

I sighed. “Whatever. It’s your funeral.” Yusuf shifted uncomfortably in place. He probably wanted to offer us a hand in carrying John, he was that kind of guy. “Find anything useful?” I asked to switch topics. 

Yusuf shook his head and lifted up the dirty rag draping over the operating table, taking a quick peek with his nose scrunched. “Nothing but junk.” 

“Then let’s get out of here before.” Before someone bleeds to death.  

I didn’t wait for their reply and limped to the stairs. Now that the adrenaline faded, the pain of battle returned. It was nothing like having been strung up on a hook for weeks, but it sure as hell wasn’t pleasant. 

I muttered, “What I wouldn’t do for some ibuprofen,” and stepped onto the stairs. Now that the dark had retreated, we could see the small path. It was a miracle neither of us had gotten hurt. The steps were thin, and slanted by years of heavy use. On both sides there were rough walls of stone, as if the cellar had been built by drilling through a mountain. 

Nea’s ragged breath bounced between the walls. I glanced back at her with a scowl, but only for a moment. Her forcing the task upon herself when we had a perfectly fine member of the party was… unconventional. Or just plain stupid. It’s not like Samara was an actual princess. Just a spoiled brat with a famous surname.  

We stepped into the doll room. I shivered, for the last time, I hoped, and shuffled out. 

Now knowing what I did, the house didn’t feel very quaint any longer. I felt sick just knowing what had happened there. 

I pulled the curtains to the side to have a peek outside before opening the front door. The streets were desolate as always, well apart from when stumblers gathered en masse.

The door opened with a creak. I groaned after making my way down the steps elevating the house above the street. I read once that back in the day houses were built like this to keep them above the pools of horse-poo. I didn’t know whether or not that was true, but I doubted this place used to have any horses. There was no land for them to graze, no pastures to roam. Only patched up buildings of stone and metal. 

My satchel swung gently behind me. The dwindling supply of ammunition clattered against each other now that it wasn’t as well-stocked. The time for a resupply was getting closer. I shuddered at the thought of going back to the Chambers, but it was inevitable. Without ammunition for the wand I’d be left fending for myself with a dagger, which didn’t seem like a great idea. Especially not when I had a habit of getting impaled. 

Our pace was slower than before, a lot more so than I’d have liked. Samara seemed equally distressed by the fact that Yusuf and Nea slowed us down, but she held her tongue with a wrinkle creasing her brow. 

“So,” Yusuf said to break the silence. “What’s the first thing you want to do when we get back?” 

How very optimistic, I thought. Samara answered without hesitation. “Take a bath, and I’d like to eat a nice, warm meal.”

I chuckled. “What? You getting tired of the canned food?”

She rolled her eyes. “What about you then?” 

“I’d be content with just a good night’s sleep.” God’s honest truth. The bags under my eyes grew darker with each day. If not for being strengthened by the blessing, I doubt I would have stayed standing. Every time I shut my eyes since coming here, I saw either the jailor, or my family. Neither was a very pleasant experience. 

“Boring. What about you Nea?”

Nea walked hunched by the weight of John on her back. Sweat framed her doll-like face as she bore her eyes to the ground. “Um. I’d like to have a funeral…” 

Samara stiffened at her reply, like she hadn’t expected the answer. Of course that’s the first thing Nea would do, who the hell wouldn’t in her place? 

Yusuf cleared his throat. “I for one would like to just enjoy the sun.” 

Good answer. His words resonated with me to a level that felt odd. I didn’t know I’d miss the sun as much as I did. The false illumination of the seventh layer was cold, and depressing. In the torture chamber we at least had some form of natural light. 

***

Seconds turned to minutes, minutes to hours. My stomach twisted, but we couldn’t stop to rest just anywhere. Either we needed medical supplies, or civilization. There was no middle ground. If we stopped before then we wouldn’t be getting up again. At least I probably wouldn’t. 

“Wha?!” John grunted. 

Poor Nea felt his waking wrath first hand as he squirmed out of her grip, sending them both tumbling to the ground with a crash.

John squirmed around on the ground, his arms and legs still tied up with my magic thread.

As I came to know in the previous encounter; describing them as sturdy was doing them a disservice. 

Despite John’s overwhelming physical might, they held him down long enough for us to do something. Samara walked to him, her arms stretched out, palms facing the ground and rhythmically waving up and down. “Woah, calm down John. There’s no need to panic.” 

He thrashed like a fish on land. “What did you do to me?! Where the fuck are we?!”

“I just knocked you out for a bit. You were being unreasonable, as are you now.” Samara’s voice was soft and comforting. The yellowish tint in her eyes pulsed as she spoke. I bit my cheek. Mind tricks. 

John’s eyes softened and grew calm. His eyes wandered between us. “What happened to you?” 

Nea whimpered, still struggling to get to her feet. “A crazy old hag.” 

John looked at her quizzically, then to me—his gaze hardening. “And this prick? What’s he doing with you?” 

I opened my mouth to retort, but Samara was quicker.

“He’s alright,” she said reassuringly and walked close enough that she could reach out and touch him. Her eyes pulsed. “Don’t do anything uncalled for.”

He gnashed his teeth and nodded. Samara bent down to untie him, but just couldn’t seem to get a grip on the threads. They wriggled like worms in her fingers. She creased her brow and focused before deflating, throwing me an accusatory glance.

“Sorry,” I chortled. 

John jerked back at my approach. I rolled my eyes. “Jesus Christ dude. Give it a fucking rest already. Just look at me! What do you suppose I could do to you in this condition?” 

His eyes moved to the trails of blood leaking from under my straightjacket armour. He didn’t say anything for a good few seconds, then nodded cautiously. “Fine. But I’m keeping a close eye on you.” 

Samara patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. We all are.” 

What a vote of confidence. Really assuring. 

I swallowed my dissatisfaction and untied him. Fortunately, he didn’t do anything stupid like attacking me. I didn’t know how many more wounds I could take before I’d actually keel over.

“So?” John asked and massaged his wrists. “Where are we?” 

“We’re heading north, looking for the group with the kids,” Samara explained. 

“Is that really wise?” he scowled. “Look at what happened to our last group. We can’t just go around trusting people.” 

She raised an eyebrow. “Then what do you propose we do?” 

His hands balled up into fists. “We should strike back.”

I rubbed my eyes. Was he being serious? Us five against an army of stumblers and blessed? I didn’t take him to be the suicidal moron kind of person. 

He looked to each of us, his scowl deepening. “Listen. I know it sounds stupid, but they took us by surprise. If we move around as a small group we can harass them. Guerrilla warfare. Use the alleys and rooftops to our advantage.” 

Samara sighed. “And what’s to stop them from doing the same?” 

He snorted. “They’re obviously not sane!”  

Samara snapped. “Don’t underestimate them.” 

John stepped forward to protest but was shut down with but a sharp glance from Samara. 

“This is what we’re doing. Whether you like it or not.” 

And that was the end of it. The discussion was over. 

I didn’t like not knowing how much she used her blessing to affect the others. Sera seemed to grant me a bit of resistance to her, whether by design or not. Without her I’m not sure if I could have withstood her charm. Probably not. Only a select few seemed exempt from it. Not letting people think for themselves didn’t sit right with me. Her influence was probably why people showed up to the library from nowhere. I had no proof to the claim, but it just sounded too good to be true. As my father used to say: when something smells like shit… it’s probably shit. 

With John walking on his own, things moved at a much quicker pace. We left the merchant’s quarters behind. The further out we got, the more different things looked. Shops became family houses, plazas became untended gardens with grass up to the windowsills. How it grew without sunlight was beyond me.

Here, the houses of white marble and well-kept roofs stood up to the test of time. Even the roof tiles were uniform and symmetrical—not at all like the patchwork of sheet metal near the library. The streets were rather clean, no glass, no soot. It was a welcome change of pace. 

I took a deep breath. The wounds still stung like when I first got them. But things were looking up… until Samara ruined the reverie. 

“This can’t be good.” 

I groaned. John pushed a hand to my mouth, silencing me. My scowl deepened.

He whispered, “Someone’s been here recently.” 

I was just about to ask how the hell he managed to deduce that when something creaked to our right. 

We all whipped toward it in synchrony while pulling out our weapons. 

A child. 

“Um,” the boy gulped and raised his hands. A paper bag filled with everyday items and cans of food clattered to the ground, emptying the contents all over the vestibule stairs. “I… I  surrender?” 

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I shouldered the wand and stepped forward. “Charlie?” 

The boy twitched at my approach and pushed himself against the shut door behind him. His mouth opened and closed, at a loss for words.

There was no doubt about it. The kid was Charlie. I was sure of it. 

I would never forget him after the suffering he put me through on the plane to Turkey. He’d reclined his seat and made me spill my coffee within the first ten minutes, and when I finally managed to get cleaned up and returned back to my chair he apologised by reciting a gazillion penguin facts.

I smiled, trying hard to not look like a bloody lunatic in a straightjacket.“Charlie, it’s me. It’s Cal.”

He pressed himself to the door hard enough that I thought he might become part of it, “Umm…”

“You told me about the percentage of ice on Antarctica that’s said to be penguin pee.”

He relaxed a little, but still held that quizzical look to his face.

“Then you explained that penguins can’t actually pee and that it’s false.” 

He tugged at his brightly orange bangs, “...Well, apparently they mix their pee into their poo. So there could be some truth to it.”