The Etherworld Giant

Striding in Darkness

Nearly an hour later, the Giant stopped for breath on a ledge halfway up the nearest mountain, breath heaving in loud ragged gasps. He probably hadn't needed to travel so far, since his pursuers probably could move only half as quickly as he could, even if they followed his trail exactly, but it paid to be cautious. He examined his surrounding as he regained his breath, taking steps in a small circle to take it all in. The light of the moon, half concealed behind clouds, weakly illuminated the rough terrain, shrubs and grass swaying in the cold wind. Near the end of his circle he spied a small boulder with a somewhat smooth top a stone's throw away, and walked over to it.

With a sigh of relief, he lowered his captive from his shoulders, setting her atop the rock on her side. She let out a small gasp, wincing, as her bruised ribs met the rock. He took a couple steps back, watching as she struggled with hands bound to set herself upright. One eye still watching, he pulled out his water skin and emptied it in three great gulps. It was barely adequate. He'd have to refill it in the morning.

The young woman watched him warily as she tried to massage the soreness out of her ribs. He could tell that she was frightened, and trying desperately to think of how to extricate herself from this situation. A fruitless endeavor, he thought, shifting himself a step closer. She stiffened, wide eyes reflecting the pale moonlight.

A few minutes passed in relative silence, the only sound the rustling of grass and shrubs in the wind. He didn't mind letting the time pass. Though his time for questioning the girl was limited, he felt that if he was to interrogate someone, he needed to do it right. And that required knowing some things about the person to be questioned.

This girl is one of those infernal magic users, he thought. And those aren't all that common, so she must be fairly important. But she's also quite young. How much does she know of their plotting? And how to get it from her?

He thought of past interrogations and various tactics he had utilized to enhance fear or to inflict pain. The memory of some of the things he had done in the name of freedom made him grimace, shame welling up inside his chest. He had heard of such tactics being used before, back in his homeland, on prisoners of war or rebels, but hadn't realized before using them himself just how cruel they were.

When did I become such a monster, that I would even consider torturing someone? It had started with simply holding a man while others inflicted pain and asked questions. It had quickly progressed to striking the blows himself, and even suggesting new methods of exacting pain. It had felt like a necessary sacrifice at the time because the details their prisoners held were vital to freeing a people, and the flame of justice within him had urged him on. But that fire was dead now, extinguished in a few short moments of realization which cleared away the smoke clouding his mind. A fresh wave a sorrow and guilt washed over him as his eyes took in the frightened girl before him.

I no longer have a reason to fight them. So why am I holding one of them, a young woman, prisoner?

He paused in thought as he noticed her hands moving slightly, half hidden beneath a fold of her robe. He let out a long, weary sigh, the sound lost in the cold wind.

"You can stop that now.

She started at the sound of his voice. Though her eyes had been on him, she had obviously been focused on trying to loosen the knotted rope around her wrists without being noticed. Her hands stopped fidgeting.

"What is your name?" he asked.

She made no reply.

He repeated the question. Another minute passed in silence.

"Fine," he said, stepping forward with the intent of untying the rope himself, but she took it as a threat, for she immediately responded.

"Madria," she said, eyeing him as him as he knelt beside her

"Not so difficult was it," he said, grabbing her hands. "I'll untie you."

He could hear her begin to breathe faster, surely imagining some dire pain he was about to inflict upon her. Of course she's worried, he thought guiltily. I did just abduct her. I had better clear her mind of worry now before she worries herself faint.

 He paused halfway through the knots and looked her in the eyes.

"I've decided that you are not of use to me, except to deliver a message to your comrades."

She seemed to calm down, but continued breathing hard. He resumed untying the knots.

"Tell them that their time is being wasted pursuing me. Tell them that...."

The rest of his words died off as he noticed a long twisting tattoo that seemed to extend up her forearm, partially obscured by sleeve and shadow. He caught her arm as she tried to shift it to hide the marking. He slowly forced the mark back into the moonlight. Though he couldn't see all the details, due to the pale light, he knew exactly what the tattoo was. It was of two serpentine winged beasts locked in combat, wings flared as though in the air. Their long tails extended down toward the wrist, twisted around each other, one ending in a wicked barb. A dragon and a wyvern, which he had heard symbolized Othagos and Pratebes, gods which these people revered, and of which he knew little. He had seen this mark before. And its memory did not have anything to do with religion.

His expression did not change as he continued to stare at the young woman's arm, but inwardly he was on fire. Memories of pain and suffering flashed through his mind, causing a tremble to wrack his frame. A deep anger began to rise within him, a hatred, a loathing, of those who had used magic to destroy his life, leaving only a shadow what he once had. His thoughts were not so much in words as in feelings, churning and crashing together like water at the junction of two rivers. Monsters... Pain... I didn't deserve... Should forgive... Injustice... Wasn't right... Shouldn't seek revenge... But they deserve....

And along with these came the touch of the Old fears.

It was then that he noticed the young woman was trying to free her arms from his crushing grip, gasping in pain, tears streaming down her cheeks. He hadn't realized he was gripping so tightly. He let go of her arms, allowing her to turn away from him, and stood. He could see that she kept a tentative eye on him, in case he decided to harm her again.

Why? he thought, looking up into the dark sky. Why did they have to destroy my life? What could they have possibly gained from it? Why are they still trying to crush me, even when I have nothing left to lose?

 His eyes returned to wary prisoner. I know she's to young to have been among those responsible. But she is one of them now. She will know things, and I may never have an opportunity like this again.

With that thought, he had made his mind. He would still question her. But perhaps he could do so without resorting to physical pain.

"The Dukuran," he said sternly. "Why did they send you? To kill me?"

A minute passed in silence.

He repeated the question, but she made no effort to reply.

"No answer?" he said, stroking the stubble on his chin. "Very well." He folded his arms. If she refused to talk when asked nicely, then coercive means would be called for. An idea, a cruel one, but mostly pain-free, came to his mind. She seemed to have responded to the threat of pain already, even if it had been unintentional, so what he had in mind would certainly get her to speak.

"Stand," he ordered.

The young woman slid gingerly off the boulder and stood, facing him.

"Walk," he said, pointing toward a patch of trees a couple hundred feet away. She hesitated a moment, but obeyed, walking carefully across the rocky ground. He followed several paces behind. As she neared the first tree, he called for her to stop. He stopped a few feet behind her, scanning the nearby trees. I hope I know what I'm doing, he thought ruefully as he spied what he was looking for. And that I don't let myself go to far....